Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter either. It belongs to its creator J.K. Rowling and probably Warner Bros. too. I'm not too sure about that. This piece of literature is simply the work of a humble fan. I also credit Laurell K. Hamilton and Jim Butcher for various themes, subjects, or references that I may use. It won't be a crossover but certain elements from the series will be used.

:Author Notes:

This will be leaning more toward alternate reality. It will have the same characters just a different spin on things. If you're not a fan of strong cursing or maybe even violence and bloodshed then there is a good chance that this story isn't for you.

"I know things. Knowledge is power. With power comes responsibility." Harry Dresden, Fool Moon: Book Two of the Dresden Files.

Slave of Dragons
Potter "Year Two"

Chapter One: Knowledge is Power

By: Water Mage

"Harold—" Dagda began, but Harry quickly interrupted him.

"I don't even want to hear it. Was Lyrio a plant?" demanded Harry, folding his arms across his chest, glaring defiantly up at the deity, his grandfather. "A fairy, one of your kindred, just happened to be here. Yeah right."

Dagda bored his green eyes, the same color as Lily's, into the identical colored eyes of his grandson. "I swear upon the Nevernever that I did not send Lyrio here. You are Faerie and the rhythm of Song of the Green beats from your core, unconsciously attracting Fey creatures to you. Lyrio had no idea who you were. He was unknowingly drawn to your Faerie blood." His green eyes looked heavenward as a deep sigh left his throat. "You were never meant to find out like this."

"When was I supposed to find out?" asked Harry skeptically, sarcasm laced through his voice. "When I was getting my ass kicked by a demon possessed Dark Lord of black magic."

Harry wondered inwardly did he sound a bit bitter. Hmmm… Hell yeah he did. The ass whooping that almost cost his life still haunted him. He had never been hurt so badly at one time a day in his life. And now he had found someone to lay blame onto. Sure, he walked into ass whooping, but his savior didn't save him. It was like a police officer seeing a beating taking place, and instead of taking care of the attacker, the officer gives his gun to the victim and tells him good luck. Harry wondered briefly if he had gone insane to be thinking of wild metaphors at a time like this. That little thought still needed further study.

"On the day of your sixteenth birthday was the day the truth was to come out," Dagda replied, softly. "Lyrio is a dew fairy. They have a penchant for troublemaking and mischief."

Harry shook his head, eyes still glazed over with the information he had recently received. It was all so much. And too soon. None of it made sense and yet made perfect sense at the same time. He looked up at Dagda and swallowed, seeing features that he saw, too, in his mother's face. It was eerie. Those eyes and the look of serenity, they reflected the photographs he viewed of his mother. It was like looking at her but not. Heaving suddenly, he tried to regain his breath. Harry opened his mouth to ask a question. It took a couple of tries but the words came.

"If my mother," he didn't know what else to call her, while standing before the god. "was a god, why did she die? Gods are immortal. I know that much from school."

And he said all that with at stuttering… Yes, making some progress.

"When Lilith was sent to Earth. Her godhood was still in tact, but her powers and abilities were bound. Her wizarding magic was merely droplets of her godly power that couldn't be contained. What the Killing Curse did was banish her essence from the mortal plane. She is 'dead' only in the sense that she cannot walk this plane again. She lives in Otherworld in her true godly form."

Something hit Harry in his chest. It wasn't an actual force, but a feeling from deep within. It grabbed at his heart and he was sure it skipped a beat. He kept his composure on the outside, not letting Dagda see how his answer had phased him. His mother wasn't dead. She was alive. Living and breathing in the Otherworld, once again a goddess of the gods. Harry swallowed. Did she want to see him, he wondered. A part of him longed to have his mothers arm wrap around him and hold him tight, and just tell him that everything was going to be okay. There was no way that she could walk the mortal planes again, but Harry could go to her. He would see her in her true form. Lilith, daughter of Dagda, and goddess of protection. Her earthly form of Lily Evans Potter was only a distant echo of how she truly appeared. He bet she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever seen.

"You wish to see her," Dagda mummered, his voice coming out thoughtful. He paused and Harry felt those green eyes bare into him, assessing him for all he was worth. "Lilith has not laid eyes on you since you were an infant, and yet you two are so much alike."

Harry cleared his suddenly dry throat. "What do you mean?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound as needy as he thought.

A slow smile spread across Dagda's face. "Your mannerisms are alike in many ways."

"Does my mum know you're here?"

Dagda nodded, still wearing that smile. "Yes, she does. Lilith says that she loves you and thinks about you everyday. The time is not now but soon you will meet."

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. Harry chanted in his head, thinking of anything to keep his emotions from welling up inside him and spilling over. Actually knowing that his mother, his real mother loved him and thought about him made him soar like a fucking schoolgirl with a boyband complex. Just hearing the words passed on to him caused him to feel all warm and mushy inside. Harry really wanted to just shoot himself for feeling like some sentimental fool. He wasn't good with the warm and fuzzy feelings. He was supposed to the toughest kid in the Empire. No other of the Chosen Descendents was as hard as him. He had taken human life before and felt no regret. Hell, there were quite a few kids at school he felt like taking a rock to the head to, but he had to face the facts. He was a marshmallow.

Suddenly, Harry grinned. Dagda blinked. His head tilted to the side, curiosity swimming within his gaze. The smile came so quickly and so spontaneously that it was frankly unnerving. It was bright as any light bulb but it lacked all the warmth. Harry cocked his head, still smiling that creepy, forbidding smile.

"I have all the information I need to know," Harry said, smiling. "Now leave."

Dagda's brow furrowed as confusion washed over his face. "I don't understand. Harold—"

Harry held up his hand, forestalling Dagda's sentence. He didn't know how dangerous this act was. Maybe the god would strike him down for disrespecting him or he would be slapped into the middle of next week. Right now, he really wasn't caring whether he provoked his grandfather's wraith or not. He was feeling something that he was more familiar with than the warm and fuzzy. It was something that he could rely on and find comfort in. An emotion he knew so intimately as rage. He welcomed it like an old friend. Feeding all his old feelings into it, making it go from simmer into a boiling substance that wanted to spill out. Those green eyes burned with fury as he took the rage that bubbled in his gut just let it go. On another level, he could feel it ravel up his throat, and then it erupt forth.

"What you don't understand is that I don't like you," said Harry coldly, delivering a heated glare. "I'm grateful for the shield around the compound and all, but I don't like you. I hate to even look at you. So do me a favor and get the hell out of my face."

Dagda sucked in a sharp breath. "Harold, where is this coming from?"

"All this time you knew where I was. I'm not saying you had to take me away, but there were no visits, cards, anything. Wait, I can't forget about that time where you showed up and gave me some power to face off against Voldemort, both times. Once, when I was an infant and the other was last year in the chamber under the school." Harry snapped his fingers, pretending to come to a sudden revelation. "Can't forget how well that last act of help worked. I nearly died!"

"Harold, you must understand—"

"No, you don't understand," Harry spat, interrupting Dagda once more. "I. Almost. Died. I was getting my ass kicked but you were nowhere in sight. Voldemort was only a second away from killing me. If my father hadn't stepped in…" Harry broke off, his anger made his words less coherent and sensible. He took a few breaths to calm down and regain his momentum before he continued. "I don't like you. I don't need you. You are my grandfather in blood only. So I say again. Get off my property. And out of my face."

Dagda took a step forward. "I'm your grandfather, child. You can't possibly mean that."

Harry stared. His green eyes bore into green eyes so identical to his own. Except Harry's eyes reflected no emotions whatsoever. They were empty offering no remorse for his proclamation. Harry offered no answer. He was through explaining himself and how he felt. Right now he was tired. Tired of the shit that people so much 'wiser' than him put him through. Dumbledore, with his bumble and snore ways, was always conniving and scheming, like any old man, but at the cost of Harry's safety. Hiring Quirrell to the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts last year, was a major and life threatening example. The aging Headmaster had to have known that Professor Quirrell, Voldemort, ancient Demon Monarch, whatever the hell he, it, was pure evil. Dot the 'i' and emphasis on the ev- part of evil. Gritting his teeth, preparing to really tell Dagda off, Harry inhaled a deep breath. He was ready to open his mouth and let loose, but stopped seeing the resigned look shadow across Dagda's eyes.

Dagda inclined his head slightly, eyes still clouded with resignation. "If this is what you wish, child."

He stepped backward and a golden glow surrounded his body, simultaneously a brighter gold light shined from his chest region. It split into two separate lights, one traveling up the length of his body and the other going down. Harry watched as his grandfather dematerialized right before his eyes. Harry blinked. Then blinked again. Teleportation. It was much, much, more flashier than apparition, that was for sure.

"Fake ass teleport," Harry muttered, heat coating his voice. He kicked a rock on the ground, the scowl he had worn through the meeting still on his face. He shook his head, staring up at the drifting clouds. "He may as well have tapped his chest and said 'energize'. I know he stole that teleport from Star Trek."

'These scheming old men, wizards, gods, whoever they are', Harry thought, Dagda and Dumbledore flashing across his mind's eye. 'They are not going to pull my strings this year. I'm not a puppet. So far they've been playing chess, and I've been playing checkers. Always, they've been two moves ahead of me... Well I think its time for me to take up their game.'

"A god? Like Zeus with the lightning wielding, Ares making with the war, god?"

Harry sighed. This question he had been getting for the past ten minutes since he had set foot in his father's study. Todd and Dylan stood together near the chair that Killian occupied. They had been startled when Harry burst into the room, gasping from the long run, and mumbling inaudibly under his breath, about liars and gods. He fell into his father's lap, shaking. It took the three of them almost ten minutes to calm him down. His nerves were shot. After a glass of water, Harry recited back the events of the last hour and a half. Now after they had gotten the full story, their questions had filled the silence of the room, weighing on Harry like a ton of bricks. He tried to answer what he could, but he didn't have all the answers. Hell, he had just as many questions himself. Was he different now that he knew this? But that was impossible another part of him said because this had always been apart of him, knowing his lineage now didn't change that he was still himself.

"Yes, that kind of god," answered Harry with a sigh of tiredness to Dylan's question. "I'm a demi god, I guess the correct title is."

Harry laid his head on the table, feeling the urge to bang his head against it, but instead just laid there. It was too much. All of it. So much was happening to him, all the time, and it seemed like the tide of changes wasn't going to let up soon. Suddenly, his body felt weary as if he had been up all night. All he wanted to do now was sleep. He had a vague feeling in his heart that maybe if he went to sleep then this would be all over. Like a dream. It was a forlorn hope, but he couldn't help it. He didn't see the concerned look that Killian aimed at him, but he did feel the hand that settled between his shoulder blades, rubbing at the muscles there, smoothing away the knots found. He looked up meeting his father's gentle smile with a look of thanks.

"Are you going to be okay, Tenshi?" asked Killian. He tucked back a lock of Harry's hair that fell from the band tying back the rest of his hair.

Harry shrugged. "I guess," he mumbled not sounding the least bit sure of his answer. "It's just a little too much. Me a demi god, that's so unreal. But it's the truth. I saw my mother's powers being bound. I saw it all, everything, even how I survived Voldemort's Killing Curse."

Harry shivered a bit at that last memory. Seeing the Killing Curse delivered live and in technicolor was something that wouldn't leave his mind for a long time. He could still see it. That green light that tearing through air faster than the speed of light, carrying with it the chilling power of the of the Grim Reaper itself, which was only a fraction of the true power of the King of the Dead himself. Harry shuddered at a passing thought. His eyes were the same color as the emerald light of the Killing Curse. Was this fate's sick way of making him never forget what he's lived through? It was just too ironic that the only person to only survive the Avada Kedevra would have eyes the same shade as the spell's light. He could just see the headlines now. Harry Potter-McKnight, the Boy Who Lived, the Miracle Child with the Killing Curse Eyes.

"You said that Dagda hinted your mother was still alive?" Todd asked. His face was pensive as he thought through the tale. Todd could always be counted on as the one to put aside his emotions and think in more logical, deep terms. A key reason he was the Director of the Division of Logistics and Operations of McKnight and Steele. He was in charge of setting up and keeping track of dealings both official and unofficial.

Harry nodded, sighing again. "Yeah. He said the Killing Curse only banished her mortal essence from this plane of existence. She is only dead in the sense that she can't appear in the mortal world anymore. I guess she's in the Otherworld. Somewhere in Faerie I assume. It's not like I can go there, so I guess she may as well be dead."

Harry smartly left off the fact that there was a possibility that he could go there. But he wanted to keep that to himself for some time longer. He didn't want to know how his father would react to finding out that Harry was thinking of finding a way to breach the barrier between worlds. Ha. Like he would like that. Harry hid his snort. His father barely liked him going to Scotland for school. Harry thought he had been fine with that, but the next thing he knew he had a team of bodyguards, secretly keeping tabs on him, sending timed weekly reports back to him. So, telling Killian about the thoughts in his head on that matter was a negative. Definitely. He did not want to go back to school with a tracking device planted in the molar in the back of his mouth. That would be all kinds of uncool.

"Faerie?" questioned Killian, eyebrow rising. "You say it like it's a place. I thought that was a race of people. Like your mother and grandfather."

Harry thought hard to the book he checked out once, months ago really, at Hogwarts. "The Otherworld is a big place. If you would gather the entire spirit realm together, Otherworld would be the sum. It's not a place like Earth. The land, the weather, all of it isn't real. The world itself is a shadow world; the entirety of it is magical. It can be formed and unformed with powerful thoughts."

"Oh, I think I get it," said Todd, slowly. "If the Otherworld is the entire realm of spirit then theoretically, any spirit realm one could imagine would be in the Otherworld somehow."

Killian looked thoughtful. "So Heaven, Hell, Olympus, Tartarus… They all could somehow be reached from the Otherworld."

Todd nodded. "That's a sound theory."

"The Otherworld goes by many names," Harry continued after a moment's pause. "The Great Beyond, the Everafter, or the Nevernever. Most call it Otherworld. The parts closest to the mortal world are completely controlled by the Fey. This part of the spirit realm is called Faerie; it has the closest ties with our own world. As a result, Faerie resembles the real world in a lot of ways. The land and the sky are constant, but other than that it still isn't Earth. Reality doesn't apply the same ways as it does here."

Killian regarded Harry with a puzzled gaze. "How do you know all of this, kiddo? I knew you had been doing some research into your heritage, but this sounds like almost like first-hand knowledge."

Harry opened his mouth to say, he read it from a book, but he stopped. That wasn't true. He could sense it on another level. He didn't get all that from a book. Some of it sure, but the technical aspects, no. Most wizards who even knew the way into the Otherworld were afraid to journey there, especially because the easiest entrance led you right into Faerie. And that was a dangerous and treacherous place to journey if you didn't have safe passage assured from some faerie. Most who went there never came back. Harry shook his head, paling. How in the hell did he know all of that. He had read that wizards sometimes stumbled into the Otherworld or the known passages were lost to the tales of time, but the knowledge he had on the subject, was something he didn't have before. How as this possible he asked himself. A part of him suspected that old bastard Dumbledore. The more logical side of him slapped the hell out of him and made him see reason. This was something different than the crap the Headmaster pulls. No this was some other force at work. Like a light turning on his head, the answer came to his mind.

"Lyrio," Harry whispered, his eyes wide, and face slack with disbelief. He turned to his father. "I think Lyrio, when he showed me mother's memories, something… I don't know… her thoughts or some of her knowledge stayed with me." Harry sighed. "I should have known there would be a consequence. There is no simple making a deal with a Faerie. There's always more to it." Stupid, little fairy. I wish Peter Pan would just kick his ass.

Dylan took a step forward. "Is this a bad thing?"

"I haven't decided," Harry replied with a shrug of his shoulders. It hasn't taken over my mind…that's a plus. His thoughts went unsaid.

Todd shook his head. "My knowledge of mythical gods only goes so far as the Olympians, Egyptians, and vaguely the Norse gods. Do you have any idea of how their pantheon is set up? How high do your Grandfather and Mother rank on the ladder of power? This could give us an idea of what to expect from you power wise as you get older."

Harry found that the answer came to him easier than he thought it would. Was it because he knew it already or was the leftover knowledge he gathered from the visions of the past he went through. Did he know for sure? No, and right now he didn't care. He was too tired to some in-depth analyzing of his inner core. So when he opened his mouth and gave his answer he didn't question its origins. He really didn't want to think about what this meant for him years later on down the road. He just wanted to think about the now for now. Worry about the present and let the future deal itself out.

"The Faerie are easily divided. There is the Seelie Court which is ruled by the King of Light and Illusions. Seelie are associated with light, summer and daytime. They are usually the more kind and helpful Fey. Their polar opposite is the Unseelie Court, ruled by the Queen of Air and Darkness. Unseelie belong to darkness, winter and night. Those that hold extremely high positions within either Court are the Sidhe, their nobles."

Okay, that was a definite ten on the weird factor, Harry thought, swallowing heavily. That came to me too easily. The day was only getting stranger as it wore on. Goody.

Killian looked at Harry, really looked at him. The way father's look at their children when they can tell something is different about them. "All that is more than textbook knowledge isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "I can't put my finger on it, but I know this is what my mother knew. Her knowledge is intermingled within my own. I know all of these things but I can't go deeper. It's coming more like instinct than anything. I can say this though," Harry stated, breaking off. He swallowed then met his father's eyes. "Dagda and the pantheon of gods that he rules are higher than the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. He is the High King over all Faerie. He and the rest of the Tuatha Dé Danaan are the children of the High Goddess of the Earth. They are very, very powerful."

"I don't know if I like this," replied Killian, frowning. "I hope this information is only temporary. I don't like the idea of foreign information swirling around your brain."

Harry laughed dryly. "How do you think I feel Dad? Do you think I like spouting off at the mouth without even realizing what I'm saying, but knowing it at the same time? It's not the greatest feeling!"

Killian grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed them. "Please son, I didn't mean it like that. I…I'm just worried about you."

The anger left as quickly as it came, and Harry smiled weakly. "Sorry Dad. I know you're worried. It's weird for me too."

"Weird for all of us," Killian replied with a half smile.

There was a silence in the room for a minute. It wasn't one of those weird awkward silences where everyone looks confused and looked at anything but each other. This was a comfortable silence. Each was lost in their own thoughts. Thinking about what they had learned, they each tried to apply it to their futures. What would their lives be like knowing that gods were one degree of separation from them? In the future would they have to fight to prevent Harry from being taken to his family? His real family. Killian shut his eyes tightly, willing that thought clear of his mind. He wouldn't let anyone take his son away from him. Be they man, wizard, god. They would have hell of time getting his little boy away him. For Death was not just a title he had earned lightly.

"If your Grandfather is the King of Kings of the Faerie," said Dylan thoughtfully, breaking the silence. "and your mother is a high princess. That makes you…"

Todd caught onto his train of thought. "Harold Potter-McKnight, God Prince of the Faerie."

Oh fuck… Harry went rigid as if lightning struck him.

At that, whatever energy he had left that was keeping him going vanished. The realization that he was now facing was too much. The events of the day caught up to him and swirled around his mind with a vengeance. He stood up, suddenly finding that he room was too small, and that the air in it was being sucked out. The fatigue from Lyrio forcing the visions upon him finally washed upon him, too, as he let his guard down. A choked sound left his mouth.

His father called his name, but his voice, which was right next to him, only seemed like a distant echo. His world swirled around him and in panic he grabbed at the back of the chair, but only succeeding in knocking it to the ground. Suddenly, legs buckled and then they just gave out. Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell backward, unconscious.

Over the passing weeks, Harry tried hard to keep the events of that day from his mind. After he had passed out, or fainted as Dylan so often reminded him, he had been in a sullen mood. Even when trying to concentrate, wiping his mind blank of all thoughts, somehow the events of that day came coming to the forefront of his mind. He had known his mother was different. He had assumed that she was just some faerie Changeling who maybe got left on a doorstep as child, like any other of the rare Changeling children. Never in a million years would he have even guessed that she was the daughter of Dagda, ruler of the gods of the Faerie. Thinking back Harry should have guessed that the god's interest in him was more than a harmless one. Now Harry was kicking himself for not putting all the clues together in the first place. Now that he knew what he really was, they had been staring at him plain in the face. His link to the Tuatha Dé Danaan that lay within him, his ability to See the Unseen, his durability. Who survives Avada Kadevra and comes out completely unscathed except for a scar? Not a scar, as Lyrio so bluntly put it, but the mark of Dagda. The god himself wore a similar mark upon his brow, but it shined a glimmering gold. Harry could have punched himself in the throat for being so blind.

"Harry, Earth to Harry?"

A hand waved in front of his glazed over eyes. He blinked and the room came into the focus with rush of colors and sounds. He looked around and found that no one had really noticed his daydreaming. Riley sat in front of him with an upturned smile. Harry suddenly remembered where he was and his cheeks flushed. Dammit, he was being such a flake. Spacing out at his own birthday party, he felt like a jackass.

"You alright there, Harry?" Riley asked, biting her bottom lip in a habit she often did when worried. "I've been calling your name for a minute now."

Harry put on a smile, pushing away his brooding thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking and I got a bit carried away."

Riley smirked, her lips sparkling with some kind of gloss that she applied to it. "It's a good thing you didn't have your little moment during your cake cutting. I would have pushed your face into the cake to snap you out of it. You know how I do."

Harry grimaced and rolled his eyes, and then replied back dryly, "Yes Riley, we all know how unlady like you are."

"Hey, you little snot," Riley snapped, hitting him playfully. "I am the epitome of what a lady should be. I dressed the part for your little party so you had better be nice."

Harry grinned and roved his eyes up and down her. Riley was right. The "I will wear blue jeans till the day I day" Rilana Adams had actually went against her anthem of 'comfort' before 'image'. She was wearing a white mini skirt that matched a turquoise short sleeved top. Her pale blond hair was out of its usual braid and it was free, hanging down her back in waves, brushed so that it shone nicely. Her makeup was light only accentuating her features, and some simple silver earrings and a matching necklace finished off her look. All in all, she looked good. And she knew it. It's not like she was bragging about it, but she knew that when she cleaned up, she cleaned up damn good.

As soon as Harry had seen Riley he had flocked to her. There was no way that he wanted to be trapped in a conversation with anyone of his father's business partners children, or his 'friends' that he had from his old primary school that he hadn't spoken to in almost two years. Those bitches were probably plotting his demise or something knowing them and their catty ways. He had only invited them because Killian thought it wouldn't do for their parents to think that Harry had gotten a big head and forgot his manners. Whatever. They were snobs, or socialites, as the papers so nicely put them, and snubbing their children would surely not put them in a good light media wise. He could see the little vultures circling the room, eyeing him, waiting for a good opportunity to cut into his conversation with Riley, just to suck up to him. It was sickening and irritating. It was irritating only in the fact that he couldn't slap one of the little piglets, and send them scampering back to mummy and daddy, tail between their legs. The humor of that image almost sent him careening off his chair cackling loudly.

Riley eyed Harry sharply, eyebrow cocked. "Why are you grinning if I may ask?"

Flushing, Harry wiped the grin from his face. "What?" he asked back innocently. "Cant a lad grin on his birthday?"

"If that lad wasn't you, then I would say yes," she replied bluntly.

Harry just grinned mysteriously and shrugged his shoulders, that Gallic shrug that meant nothing and everything all at once. She sighed, sensing he wasn't in a talking mood. Her father had and Killian both had warned her Harry had been in a down mood the last few weeks. It wasn't obvious to everyone but those who knew him. She personally thought there was an underlining sadness or something in the way he spoke. Blake Adams, her father, had said it was in the way he moved. Killian had said it was in everything that he did. It was something that hovered just above the surface, giving off a vibe of tension all around him.

"So," said Riley, after a moment's silence, trying to keep the conversation moving. "You ready for Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded. Something tingled in his gut at the very thought of going back to school. An anxious feeling that made him want to literally hop in his chair. Calm. Breath. He thought. Then he answered, "More than anything. With Quirrell gone, I'm thinking that maybe I won't have to constantly look over my shoulder this year."

"So glad that scum bucket is gone," smiled Riley happily. "I could almost do a little dance."

Harry pulled out crisp bill. "Oh! Please!" He paused. "I only have singles so I hope you're fine with that."

She laughed and flipped him off. A disappointed look crossed over her face suddenly. "There is still Snape though," she muttered darkly. "That bastard is still there. You're lucky that he only dislikes Ravenclaws. He damn well hates Gryffindors."

Harry chuckled. "Its safe to say that Snape hates me for reasons unknown too. But you Gryffindors are a little…hyperactive when you guys are together. I heard last year one of your housemates tried to fix her makeup while in his class. He snatched her compact from her hand, threw it at the wall, and then tried to ring her neck."

"Oh that. I was there. Timberly called him a cocksucker after he threw her compact. It got silent so Ryan tried to start up a slow clap. And that did not go over well…" Riley trailed, shaking her head at the memory of explosion that followed that retort.

Harry stared at her, incredulously. "And you wonder why he doesn't like you Gryffindors. You preps are bloody Hellraisers."

Riley tapped her chin for a moment, looking thoughtful. "You're right. It's a bit weird though that everybody thinks we're the school saints though."

"Angels to some. Demons to others," smirked Harry.

A shadow fell over them and Harry looked up. Killian stood in front of them, his suit tailored to his tall frame fit perfectly. It was a deep black with an executive cut, worn with black shirt and a shiny black tie. Not everyone could pull off the all black look in formal wear and actually make it look good. But Killian did it and more. With a suit that cost over a grand it damn well better had look good Harry figured. Unconsciously, Harry straightened his white tie, and smoothed out the wrinkles in his blue shirt, before buttoning up the suit jacket. His father had gone to all the trouble to throw Harry the party and buy him the suit, and it wouldn't do to look like an ungrateful snob. Even though he wasn't having the best time, he knew damn well how to fake like this was the best damn day of his life.

"Harry, you've been moping over here since the cake cutting," said Killian, his eyes reflecting worry. "Is something the matter?"

Harry shook his head, putting on a smile. "No, I'm just a bit tired I guess. Saying hello and thanking so many people for coming was an exercise."

"I think I'll go talk to my dad," said Riley quickly, slinking off. She was feeling a tad bit uncomfortable.

Killian sighed. "Harry, please try and enjoy your self today. It's your birthday. It's the day to leave behind thoughts of gods, faeries, fogged futures, and uncertainties. Just enjoy the day."

"I'm really trying to Dad," he replied sincerely. "It's just hard. It keeps popping up. But I'll seriously try and stop thinking about it and enjoy my birthday."

The grin that lit up his father's face made Harry smile in response. "That's my boy. I know Zachariah Winterstead has wanted to talk to you since he got here with his uncle."

Harry's eyebrow's rose up. "Lord Byron is here?" Damn, even royalty is here. It's just my twelfth birthday. Do these fools think this is the party of the year?

Killian nodded, still smiling. "Yes kiddo. He's here. You will take my place someday and they want to form ties that will grow stronger with time."

"I guess," Harry mumbled, sliding off his chair to stand up.

He could see the band on stage playing a slow number, the guitarist fingers strummed the strings slowly as his eyes closed, losing himself in the beauty of the song. Harry put on a fake smile, Showtime. He moved through the guest and chatted it up as he had seen his father do countless times before. He nodded politely and accepted the hearty claps on the on the back and the pats on the head the adults gave him. Inside he seethed and glared, and mentally threatened to rip their arms off. Of course he kept that to himself. It wouldn't do for him to be a bad host. No not that. Anything but that.

He kept up all appearance for a solid hour before he began to get so bored and a little irritated at the look how much you've grown's that he had to move outside through the balcony. He had tried to catch Riley once or twice but she had been entranced by a stocky teen, a few years older than her who seemed to be giving her undivided attention. Riley had stared at him with a silly smile on her face and stars in her eyes. Harry had even grimaced when he heard her do the stereotypical fake girl laugh. You know the laugh that girls do when they like a guy. Laugh at any of his jokes, with the most obnoxious, pixyish laugh that they have in their disposal. It was only one of many tricks that the female gender had in the arsenal. And the male gender knew no better. Thinking they were being really listened to, females slowly weaved him into her trap. Pulling the old okie dok. Play good, submissive girlfriend, then when marriage comes, you slap a ring on his finger then take over his life.

Well, that's how Todd explained it to him.

Harry walked to the back of the patio and leaned against the stone railing. He looked up into the stars, watching the twinkling lights above him shine brightly in the twilight sky. He tuned out he sounds of the party that drifted out through the open doors. Harry looked ahead as the clicking of shoe heels hitting the concrete registered. He only barely managed back a groan. Instead he settled for an impassive look that was surprising neutral. Walking toward him flanked by four other guys was Zachariah Winterstead. The favored nephew of Lord Byron, royalty, whose family line can be traced back so far that their blood was probably older than dirt. Zachariah was only about three inches taller than Harry, with wavy brown hair and light brown eyes. His face was full of sharp features that made you want to cock your head and just wonder why looked the way he did. It wasn't as if someone beat him with an ugly stick, but his appearance was unique. A more classic face.

"Harry, how good it is to see you again," smiled Zachariah, his upper crust accent making Harry cringe.

He smiled a rather weak smile. "I'm fine, Zachariah. Yourself?" Harry wanted to shoot himself for asking that follow-up question. Now the other boy had an opening for engaging in a conversation with him. Fuck, here we go.

"I'm simply smashing," Zachariah answered, smiling brightly. "How are you, old boy?"

Old boy? He decided to let them one go. He answered back with a civil fine. Harry looked to the four guys standing around. They looked more like miniature models or something. They were good looking in way that average males weren't. Oh great, I've been cornered by the P.B.C. The Pretty Boy Clique. Joy of Joys. I wonder do they all have tee shirts and badges. Harry snorted and Zachariah gave him a suspicious look, but Harry waved him off feigning a sneeze. He nodded and continued into some story he was telling.

"So like I was saying those with the right blood shouldn't be allowed into the country club," droned on Zachariah, five minutes later and still going strong on some topic or another. "I don't understand why they would even let commoners—"

"Oh you're still talking." Harry blinked and he came back into focus.

Harry had caught what the other mostly said but he hadn't really invested full attention. Shame, shame.

Zachariah looked like he swallowed a lemon. His face looked all screwed up like he wanted to shout but he couldn't quite get all the words out right. So he settled for pursing his lips together in a thin line, looking like some pissed off child with a fit. Harry had his eyes trained on Zachariah but from his peripheral vision he could see the P.B.C. move around so they formed a sort of semi circle around the two of them. If anyone looking were to come outside their view of Harry and Zachariah would be blocked. Harry sighed. These bloody piss ants really are working my last nerve.

"Get out of my way," Harry said calmly. See he could be cordial when he wanted to be.

Zachariah crossed his arms and fixed Harry with a malicious smile. "No."

It's always somebody. "What do you mean no?" asked Harry sharply. This bitch has five seconds to get out of my face. One.

The boy's dark smile turned into a smirk. "You think you're so much better than me. I know all about you," Zachariah said haughtily.

Two.

"My uncle says your father is nothing but a liar and a thief. And you're nothing but a bastard whose blood is as dirty as a street waif."

What the fuck! Three…

"You're just some bloke who got adopted and has no true parents. If you did they wouldn't be worth much anyway. I bet your father was a drunk who raped your filthy whore of a mother—"

Harry never made it to five. His vision clouded over and a dull pop sounded in his ears as he began to see red. A false look of concern flashed across his face as he leaned in really close to Zachariah's face. The boy stopped his tirade and his face lost its sneer and it froze in confusion.

"Have you ever had a nose job?" questioned Harry, staring at him still looking concerned.

The other boy barely shook his head and snapped out a "no" before the heel of Harry's hand went flying through the air, connecting solidly with the nasal bone. There was a low pop and crack and Harry grinned in satisfaction at the breaking of the bone. Howling, Zachariah went to his knees holding his nose, thick blood escaping from his hands. He opened his mouth to yell out but Harry brought his knee up quickly, aiming and hitting the hands covering his nose. His hands smashed backward onto the broken bits of bone, causing even more damage, and spilling thick globs of mucus and almost black blood onto the ground. Harry didn't give the P.B.C. time to react. He caught one with a roundhouse across the head, sending him reeling back. He kicked another in the gut quickly; using the spinning momentum from the roundhouse to give him needed speed. The last two came out him and Harry dodged a punch, grabbed the arm, twisted and flipped the boy onto his back. He kicked him in the knee cap at an angle. Above or below, didn't matter, just enough. Hot dam. The scream was answer enough he needed to know that he dislocated the bone. The last boy settled into some kind of fighting stance that had his legs crouched and his arms did this weird slant, a soft of L. One arm going stiff and straight, the other one bent and fist in the air.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Power Rangers?"

"A mix of Jujitsu and Tae Kwon Doe," was the bland reply.

Harry shrugged and settled into his Aikido stance, "Impressive."

Harry barely saw the fist that came out him.It was a blur of darkness that he barely managed to avoid. He didn't however avoid the kick that caught him the gut, making him double over in agony, as all the air left his lungs in one go. Harry fell to his knees, avoiding the kick that would have connected with his head. He felt the whoosh of air as it passed overhead. The boy kicked again and by reflex Harry caught the foot coming toward his head with both hands. He twisted sharply then pushed back sending the other boy to the ground, landing hard on his back. Harry quickly rose to his feet and brought his leg down hard onto the other boy's stomach. Then with a well aimed kick he hit the side of the boy's body, hoping that he had at least cracked a rib. Breathing heavily, Harry looked at the four boys on the ground, who were either passed out from the pain or were still groaning in misery. He walked over to Zachariah who was right where he left him, on his knees and bleeding. By the pale, shaky expression, Harry imagined that he most likely had seen everything. Bonus.

Harry bent over at the waist so that they were eye to eye. He let Zachariah see him for who he truly was. He dropped all the pretenses. The light behind his eyes died replaced by something that was much, much darker. It was anger, cold, and terrible. It grabbed at the other boy and froze him in his place. Harry could see the fear swimming in those brown eyes and it almost made him smile. Almost.

"You made a wrong choice in talking about my parents," Harry murmured, a slow edge to his voice. He regarded the bleeding boy, cold and distant and disgusted. "I could have broken your neck and not felt a tiny bit of remorse." He leaned closer till they were nose to nose, only a hairs breath apart. He kept his voice haunting and cold. "Tell anyone about this and I'll fucking kill you. Don't test me on this. Tell anyone and that will be your 'The End'."

Zachariah nodded quickly, his hands now totally red and quiet whimpers left his throat.

"Good," nodded Harry. "I'm glad you agree." He paused, looking introspective. "You know, I was all ready to kill you, but I'm honestly going to decide let you leave. That will give me the chance to tell my therapist I made progress."

Harry spun on his heel and walked toward the doors where the opening chords of some jazzy number was playing. Whistling a cheery tune, he walked with pep in his step, ignoring the dull throb of pain from the hits he took. He ran his hand over his hair to make sure it was still in place, and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit. With a breath he walked back into the ballroom, feeling a lot better now then when he did earlier in the evening.

Who knew kicking a boyband's ass would cheer me up. The nights starting to look up.