The phone was ringing.
Potter groaned, pulling his pillow over his head in a vain attempt to block the piercing sound.
The phone was ringing shrilly, disturbing his rest.
Potter swore and twisted around beneath the cover of his bed, bleary eyes searching for the digital clock in the darkness of the room.
The phone was ringing shrilly, disturbing his rest, at five in the fucking morning.
Potter was going to murder someone. Then he would bring them back to life and flay them. Then he would parade their naked corpse through the city like a marionette. Then he would-
"What?" Potter barked into the phone in a tone that would have broken lesser men.
"Mr Harry Potter?" a polite woman's voice inquired as if it were a normal hour.
"Speaking," he replied, eyes closed in hopes that he could just go back to sleep after the call was over.
"I'm calling on behalf of the Aestiva Hotel, Mr Potter. I left a message for you the day before yesterday, but you failed to contact me," the woman continued in business like tones.
"Terribly sorry about that," Potter replied in a tone somehow bordering between cheer and venom, "but I hadn't slept or eaten for a few days and was rather looking forward to catching up on my rest."
"I see. Regardless, Mr Potter, this is a matter of some urgency. Would you be amenable to a meeting at the Aestiva office headquarters this morning?"
"No," Potter responded, jaw clenched. "This isn't something we can deal with over the phone? Or, you know, at a time of day that doesn't leave me feeling homicidal?"
"It is in regards to the conditions of your stay at our hotel, Mr Potter. There seems to have been some irregularity with your paperwork," the woman explained brusquely, ignoring the wizards sarcasm.
Potter's face contorted in a silent frustrated scream before smoothing. "And what might the issue be, madam?" he asked in polite tones.
"The method of payment, Mr Potter. I'm going to have to insist that we meet at my office as soon as possible."
Potter massaged his temple with the hand that wasn't occupied by a phone. He was tired, cranky, and the sudden onset of a ravenous appetite wasn't helping matters. "Can't I just leave a fucking IOU at the front desk or something?" he asked grumpily.
There was a pause on the line. "That would be sufficient, Mr Potter. We can even have the relevant paperwork prepared for you at your convenience."
"Oh, well so long as it's at my convenience," Potter snarked.
"Indeed," the woman replied dryly in the first hint of emotion all phone call. "Thank you for your patience. I wish you a pleasant day."
"Yes, you have a pleasant day too, won't you?" Potter stated mockingly.
"Please don't forget the paperwork, Mr Potter, as I will be obliged to perform follow up calls until you comply if you do," the woman responded in a tone that was definitely amused before hanging up.
"Bitch," Potter muttered into the disconnected phone before placing it back into its cradle. He stretched out on the bed, groaning in pleasure as he worked out several kinks in his back, before throwing the pillow back over his head. Another thirty hours of sleep sounded like a good idea right about then.
X
Five hours later saw Potter awake and searching through the bare cupboards in the kitchen in pursuit of food. After discovering what appeared to be a menu, he quickly called up room service and placed an order for an English breakfast. Fifteen minutes after that, there was a knock on his door. The cart that was escorted in by an attractive brunette had his mouth watering in anticipation at ten paces. He hadn't even smelled a breakfast like this in years.
Some time later, a sated wizard relaxed back onto his couch, looking about the tastefully furnished hotel room as he digested his meal. A sheet of paper poking out from beneath the tray his food had been brought on caught his eye. Further inspection revealed it to be a fancily drawn contract, gold lettering on a forest green card with space provided for even the most flamboyant signature at the bottom. After a moment, Potter realised that this was the 'IOU' the woman from the hotel had been hounding him about earlier that morning.
"...I, Harry Potter, do acknowledge...existence of debt...Aestiva Holdings...in return for accommodation...discharged at CEO's discretion...blah blah...jargon jargon...sign here...oh, fuck off would you?"
Potter snapped his fingers, a spark leaping from them to the contract. He watched as the paper burned, inwardly amused. A fancy IOU like this might mean something to the Muggles and their businesses, but not him. Rising to his feet, Potter gathered the remains of his breakfast together on the tray provided and placed it out in the hall, the ashes of the card piled neatly on the plate. He then went about preparing for his day, a spring in his step. After twenty four hours of sleep, he was restored, recharged, and ready to do something exciting. With the image of his destination held in his mind's eye, he turned on his heel and disappeared with a quiet crack.
X
Inside a familiar club, Potter approached a door that led to his employer's office. Several young men and women were moving around the bar area, cleaning up the remaining mess from the previous night and preparing for the next. Some of them glanced at the strange kid who had recently been hired by the boss for his other business as he weaved through the couches and high tables scattered about the place. Approaching the entrance to his boss' office, he threw the door open without knocking and strolled on in.
"Good morning, Mr Potter," Marcone greeted without looking up from his dark mahogany desk. "It is good to see you returned to the world of the living."
"Hey Johnny," Potter stated casually, slumping down into the chair in front of the desk. "Miss me?"
Marcone refrained from rolling his eyes at the wizard's behaviour, but it was a near thing. "Terribly," he agreed with a perfectly straight face. "Mr Potter, I need a better way of contacting you than sending Miss Blue over in the mornings with coffee."
"Yes, you do," Potter agreed. "Terrible swill that stuff."
"Quite," Marcone stated dryly as he sifted through various paperwork. "I would appreciate if you would organise a method through which you may be contacted in case of emergency."
"Sure," Potter nodded, "I'll pick up a mobile phone or something."
"Excuse me?" Marcone sat up, giving his full attention to Potter.
"Isn't that what they're called?" Potter asked. "Or is it cell phones?"
"Mr Potter," Marcone began slowly. "I was under the impression that wizards of your and Mr Dresden's calibre were incapable of using modern technology without causing it to spontaneously combust."
"Uhh, I've never had that problem?" Potter replied in a bemused tone.
"Well, that is convenient then," Marcone considered, before moving on. "Mr Potter, I have a new project for you. The more I discover of the supernatural world, the more I realise just how woefully undefended I am against it. I would like you to remedy that."
Potter grimaced, thinking on his current magical disabilities.
Marcone, misreading the expression, held up his hand to forestall him. "I realise that you lack detailed knowledge of certain beings, Mr Potter. I am not so demanding as to ask for a defence for every possible creature or threat out there. I merely wish for a degree of protection that will stop such a threat from waltzing in off the street."
"There might be a bit of a problem with that," Potter revealed, sitting up straighter in his chair.
Marcone frowned almost imperceptibly, steepling his hands before him. "And what might that problem be?"
"Before you hired me, I was...injured, I guess would be the best word," Potter began, using the same tale he had revealed to Suzie after the failed lycanthrope attack. "Normally, I could weave a horrible amount of protective wards around any given place. Intruders would be burned, crushed, imprisoned. I could have caused the very existence of a place to be forgotten by all who knew of it, but..." he shrugged. "Right now I'm limited to whatever spells I can attach to the building. They're effective enough, but they wouldn't stop me if I wanted in."
Marcone pondered the new information, turning what he knew over in his mind. "Where do you come from, Mr Potter?" he asked, out of the blue.
"I was born in London," Potter answered easily.
"They don't have loup-garou's in London then?" Marcone inquired.
"Not that I've seen," the wizard replied.
"Mr Potter," Marcone began slowly. "Just how much knowledge do you have of the supernatural world?"
Potter took a breath, considering his answer. "Honestly?" he asked, receiving a nod in reply. "I probably have no idea of more than a fraction of what's out there. What I do know is from creatures similar enough that I can match them to."
"I am not pleased that you chose to withhold this information," Marcone warned, anger appearing on his face. "I hired you under the assumption that you held a certain knowledge of the supernatural world."
"No, you hired me under the assumption that I could smack your werewolf problem around like a little bitch," Potter retorted, leaning forward. "I may be temporarily limited, but my power remains unchecked. I never told you a lie, and I dealt with the problem you hired me for."
"My instinct tells me to trust you, Mr Potter, but experience so far has shown me reason to be wary. I cannot continue our contract in good conscience unless you stop hiding information that I need to know," Marcone revealed, delivering his ultimatum.
"You will not find another wizard with my powers on this planet," Potter told him calmly, no expression on his face. "There will always be someone stronger, and there are plenty with more knowledge than I, but you will never find another wizard capable of the things I can do."
Marcone stared his employee down, judging him. "The FBI agents," he stated suddenly. "You were able to control their actions. You had them turn on each other and dance to your tune. Why are you working for me, when presumably, you could work the same magic on myself?"
"I will never use that magic except on an enemy," Potter answered immediately. "It is a vile spell and I have seen it used to turn good men into mere puppets far too often to have any wish to do it myself. Besides," he grinned wryly, "making money is far more fun when it isn't just given to you."
"I see," Marcone replied, turning over the clearer picture he now had of Potter in his mind. "Then, as my employee, what would you suggest?"
"You should probably hire someone who knows more about what you want to know," Potter admitted easily.
"And what if I decide that I only need one wizard in my employ?" Marcone asked curiously.
"You won't," Potter answered easily.
"Oh? And why not?"
"Because I'm Harry fucking Potter," the man smirked. "And while you might find some wizard and drag him from his tower and into your business, no timid, well read scholar will ever be as awesome as I am."
Marcone's mouth twitched. "I see," he repeated, before reaching into a draw and pulling out a folder, sliding it across the desk into Potter's reach. The wizard opened it and flicked through the pages inside. "That is a list of properties I would like you to take a look at. Do what you can and record it in the space provided. Return it to me when you are finished."
"It'll take me a day or three," Potter responded, looking through the pages. He closed the file and tucked it inside his jacket, before rising to his feet.
"That is acceptable. Miss Blue has been informed of your task and will be available to aid you if you should need it. She should be at the office building where you obtained your new identity," Marcone said, his attention turning back to the work on his desk.
Potter gave his boss a nod before turning towards the door—and disappearing with a snap. Marcone twitched at the unexpected action, closing his eyes briefly before returning to his work.
A binding folder on a high shelf toppled onto its side throwing up a small cloud of dust where it sat near the only window in the office. Marcone frowned. He didn't recall opening that window. Making a note to have Hendricks' check his office for bugs, he was suddenly amused by the thought of what the possible eavesdroppers must have thought of him now, calmly discussing wizardry and supernatural threats in a serious manner. Allowing himself a rare chuckle, he once again busied himself in his work.
X
Suzie jerked and swore, hand going to the draw that held her gun as she suddenly became aware of a presence in her office.
Grinning widely despite the hand cannon aimed squarely at his head, Potter sat himself down on the edge of her desk. "Hey there Suzie," he greeted. "How's things?"
Her heart rate slowing to a normal pace, Suzie returned her gun to the draw. "Oh, things are great," she replied in a sarcastic tone, flipping blue hair from her eyes. "I've had to deal with idiots all morning, the work is piling up, and strange kid wizards are just appearing in my office."
"You're not old enough to call me a kid," Potter replied with an exaggerated pout.
"You know, I'm pretty sure you've been wearing those clothes every time I've seen you," Suzie stated, ignoring him as she examined his jeans, shirt and jacket with narrowed eyes. "You haven't been wearing those clothes every time I've seen you, have you?" she asked in a warning tone.
"Well, yeah," Potter admitted sheepishly. "These are the only clothes I own."
Suzie stared at him, nose crinkled up in disgust. "That's terrible! They'd have to be bloody filthy by now. Ugh, I don't even want to know what they smell like."
"They're not so bad," Potter defended his clothing. "Besides, I have magic to keep them clean."
"Buy some new clothes. Seriously," Suzie told him frankly. "And don't say you can't afford it. I know how much you got paid the other day," she said, before her expression turned teasing. "Unless the mighty wizard blew it all on booze and hookers his first night out on the town as a legal adult."
"Oh, like I need money to pull women," Potter groused. "And that wasn't my first night out. I'm not as young as you seem to think."
"Sure sure," Suzie waved him off airily. "Now, what are you invading my office for?"
"Johnny told me you'd be able to show me where these places are," Potter explained, pulling the folder he had been given from inside his jacket and throwing it down on the desk. He waited as Suzie flicked through it.
"Yeah, the boss man told me about this," she replied absently. "Most of these places are relatively close together. I didn't expect you until later though."
"Are you good to show me them today?" Potter asked.
"Yeah, it's no problem. Let me close up shop here and I'll drive you there," Suzie replied, a smirk spreading across her face. "You don't have any problems with me driving, do you?"
Recalling the...fervor with which Suzie negotiated the roads of Chicago, Potter narrowed his eyes at the impish woman grinning across the desk at him.
"Of course," he replied easily. "Why would I?"
X
Potter stepped out of the car with no small amount of relief. It seemed Suzie had taken his comment as a challenge to drive with even more wild abandon than their previous trip together.
"Decent time getting here, I suppose," Potter remarked in an uninterested tone. "Although you could have gone a bit faster along the overpass."
"I'll keep that in mind," Suzie replied, looking just a tad disappointed at his reaction.
"So what is this place?" Potter asked curiously as they approached the first building on the list.
They were in the middle of suburbia, surrounded by rows upon rows of near identical houses, green lawns and soccer mum vans. Their first stop was one of those houses, albeit one that looked more unkempt and unused than its neighbours.
Suzie shrugged as they walked up the small stairs to the door. "I wouldn't know."
"I thought you knew what all these places were?" Potter asked as he watched her examine the area around the front door.
"Silly wizard. I'm driving you around because I know my way around town. You expect me to know each and every building the boss man owns?" she raised a pierced eyebrow.
"Ok, now I feel a bit stupid," Potter admitted as Suzie began to lift up the numerous pot plants arrayed around the front porch. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for the key," came the short reply. "Are you going to just stand there or will you give me a hand?" she asked with a small amount of irritation. The sound of a latch turning and the door creaking open answered her question.
"Wizard," Potter grinned at her cockily, slipping his wand back up his sleeve. Stepping inside, the two of them looked around the place.
Despite its outward appearance, the interior of the house appeared to be well used, if a little empty. Sparse furniture along with a lack of pictures on the walls gave the house a sterile feel.
"What does the boss want you to do with these places anyway?" Suzie asked curiously as she sat herself down in the single armchair in the living room.
"Set up a bit of magical protection," Potter called as he wandered through the house, inspecting doorways and walls.
"Yeah?" Suzie replied, intrigued. "How does that work?"
"Well, normally I'd kidnap a few virgins, gather some gypsy tears and dance naked under the moon, but I'm limited in what I can do at the moment."
"Oh?"
"Remember how I told you I'd been injured and it was affecting my magic?" Potter asked as he returned to the living room, receiving a nod in response. "This sort of work needs the type of magic I'm having trouble with at the moment, so I've gotta fall back on something less elegant."
"And what's that?" Suzie asked, growing more and more interested.
"Pranking spells," Potter grinned. "Something I learned from the best."
"Pranking," Suzie asked sceptically, watching as the wizard began to mutter to himself as he sketched the outline of the front door with his wand.
"Never underestimate the potential for harm of a good prank," Potter lectured. "Sure, this spell here might turn someone's skin yellow, but it could also spell out a message screaming 'intruder!' that resists all attempts to cover it up, and if I wanted to be really nasty, it can even peel strips of skin of its victim."
"Fair enough then," Suzie replied, somewhat spooked at the idea of walking through a door only to have herself spontaneously skinned. Then a thought occurred to her, "how will you make it so it doesn't hit the people who are supposed to be here?"
"I'll tell Marcone how to 'key' people into it," Potter explained as he continued to work. "Then he can tell whoever needs to know. It's simple and you don't need magic for it, but hard to stumble across."
Conversation fell silent for several minutes as Suzie continued to watch Potter work. After muttering a litany of foreign sounding phrases to himself and tapping the doorway in various different places, he moved on to the window in the living room.
"Where did you learn all of this anyway?" the blue haired woman asked, curiosity getting the better of her at last.
"I went to a school for magic users when I was eleven years old," Potter replied after a short pause. "Stayed there for seven years."
"They teach teenagers how to make walking tree monsters and turn cars into tigers?" Suzie asked dubiously.
"Not normally, no. I was a bit of a special case though," he replied, finishing up at the living room window and moving into the kitchen.
"Why's that?"
"Because I devoured every bit of knowledge I thought might be useful and my mentors there knew better than to leave me with too much spare time on my hands," came the response, the tone giving Suzie an image of a satisfied smirk.
"So can anyone learn how to do magic?" Suzie asked nonchalantly.
"Find it useful, ey?" Potter called knowingly, teasingly. "Unfortunately, you either have it or you don't. If you had it, you'd know."
"Ah, fair enough," Suzie replied, keeping the disappointment from her voice. The conversation dropped off again as Potter moved to the back door, finished with the kitchen windows.
"What happened to your accents?" Potter asked several minutes later as he worked through the bedrooms while Suzie took the chance to relax in the rather comfortable armchair.
"My what?"
"Your accents. You know, how you sprouted off in English, South African and Australian when we met the other day," the wizard called impatiently.
"Oh, those," Suzie replied with an Irish lilt. "I can't say I know what you're talking about."
A pink light came whizzing out of the hallway and into the living room, hitting Suzie in the ribs and radiating a tickling sensation. Suzie shot up from her chair, clutching at her sides as she fought back giggles.
"That was just a light touch of what I can do," Potter called, amusement in his voice.
"It's a habit I've gotten into through my work," Suzie replied with a shrug despite the fact that he couldn't see her. "You'd be surprised how knowing someone's accent can help you."
"Your work?"
"Information. I've a talent for looking at a bunch of little things and coming up with something useful for the boss man," Suzie explained.
"What sort of things?" Potter had finished in the bedrooms and was now doing something to the hat stand in the hall.
"Like...give me the traffic ticket records of a guy the boss wants to find and the surveillance tapes of the gas stations around those areas and I'll tell you where he's based," she expanded.
"Sounds pretty simple," Potter replied, not sounding too impressed.
"If you know what you're looking for, sure," Suzie snorted. "But try coming up with an answer when all you have to go on is the area they distribute their product in and a vague description. You wouldn't believe the amount of shit you have to sort through to get what you want."
"I stand corrected," the wizard replied amusedly. "And that's us done here. On to the next one?"
X
Their next destination was another safe house, and after that a small office building. They ran through these locations in a similar manner to the first, Potter enjoying himself thinking up new ways to incapacitate possible intruders with vicious minded former prank spells. If he couldn't weave himself a proper ward, he was going to have to become downright fiendish with his use of static spells, especially when he eventually accumulated possessions that he couldn't afford to leave unprotected. He was sure his godfather would have been proud.
Things continued along this vein until they reached one of their last locations of the day, a small warehouse in downtown. While the workers at the office building they had visited had been content to leave them be, the few thugs loitering at the warehouse were apparently starved for entertainment.
"I'm afraid this is private property yeh're intruding on here," the leader of the four men hanging about at the delivery entrance of the warehouse grinned at the pair of them, revealing a set of yellowing teeth.
"Shove off, you little ingrate," Suzie snapped back with uncharacteristic force.
"Ooh, kitty's got claws," one of the men chuckled. The others moved to block their entrance to the building.
"You know damn well who I am Steiner," Suzie told the leader with a disgusted twitch of her lips.
"That I do young lass," Steiner, the lead thug, nodded mockingly. "But I don't know who the bloke with you is. Just doing me job protecting Mr Marcone's warehouse, yeh see."
"Hendricks isn't going to be happy if he has to come down here again," Suzie warned as she let her hand drift very obviously to the gun at her hip.
"Just like I'm sure Marcone won't be much pleased yeh shanghaied his number one into talking to a few small time yeh couldn't handle yourself," Steiner smiled unpleasantly. "And of the pair of us, I'm not the one who'd lose more getting into his bad books."
"What the fuck do you think you're accomplishing here?" Suzie asked after closing her eyes briefly to ward off her forming headache.
"I was thinking yeh could go out of yeh're way to make life a little easier for me and my boys," Steiner suggested, rubbing his hands together. "Yeh do that, and maybe I won't mention the little boy toy yeh brought into one of the boss's special warehouses."
"She could do that," Potter began slowly, speaking up for the first time. "Or you could just let us past and go back to sucking each other off."
"Yeh little cunt!" Steiner spat. "Who the fuck do yeh think yeh are, talking to me like that?" He pulled a gun from the back of his waist band, shoving it in Potter's face.
Steiner found himself staring down a thin wooden stick, grasped by the man who he held at gunpoint. "And what the fuck are yeh going to do with that?" he snorted contemptuously. "Poke me eye out?"
"I think the more important question, little man," Potter began thoughtfully, "is what are are you going to do with that."
There was no movement for a long moment as the thugs struggled to answer the obvious question. Then Steiner let out a pitiful little shriek, drawing all attention to himself.
In the place of his gun, a hissing snake was coiled around his hand, swaying back and forth as it rose. Its dark brown scales seemed to shine in the afternoon sun as it opened its maw, displaying a huge pair of fangs.
"It seems you've made a new friend, Steiner," Potter mused as the thugs looked on dumbstruck. "Do you know what that is? That's a Coastal Taipan, the deadliest snake in the world. I was bitten by one once, and I was lucky to survive," he smiled thinly. "It was excruciating."
Steiner began to shake, and the snake hissed loudly.
"Careful there," Potter warned, his tone light. "They don't like being shaken around like that. Maybe you should keep your arm a bit steadier?"
"What the fuck did you do?" Steiner whispered harshly, barely daring to breathe as he forcibly stopped his arm from shaking.
"I turned your gun into a deadly snake. What are you, an idiot?" Potter smirked. The snake in question began to pull back, readying itself to strike. "I wouldn't say anything more, you've gone and made it angry. Well, angrier. Would you like me to do something about that for you?" he asked politely.
Not daring to speak, let alone move, Steiner could only nod fractionally. He nearly leapt back in fright while his companions muttered startled oaths when the strange kid threatening him began hissing at the snake, his tongue flickering over his lips. He began to shake uncontrollably again when the snake began hissing back.
"She doesn't like you," Potter smiled, revealing a stretch of white teeth. "I don't like you either, so I'm going to have to ask you to give her to me. Careful she doesn't bite you."
Steiner took one trembling step forward, then another, before he was in reach of the crazy kid. He leaned forward with his arm still stretched out, not willing to get any closer. "Take it," he pleaded.
Potter tsked at him. "She, not it," he admonished, before reaching out to him. The taipan uncoiled itself from Steiner's wrist and slithered along Potter's hand, disappearing up his sleeve beneath his leather jacket. "Very good," he said approvingly, like a teacher to a student. "Run along now."
The thugs wasted no time in fleeing, one giving him a wide eyed look as they practically ran past, Steiner at the lead and no doubt headed for the nearest bar.
"That," Suzie began, "was the coolest and creepiest thing I've seen all day." She gave him a wary look. "Where'd the taipan go? I'm not going near you if it could poke its head out from your sleeve at any moment," she warned.
"What taipan?" Potter smiled, adjusting his jacket to reveal a pistol tucked into the waist of his jeans.
X x X
"What do you think you're playing at?" he shouted, and before Harry could say anything, Justin had turned and stormed out of the hall.
Snape stepped forward, waved his wand and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. Snape, too, was looking at Harry in an unexpected way: it was a shrewd and calculating look, along with a touch of amusement, and Harry didn't like it. He was also dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls. Then he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.
"Come on," said Ron's voice in his ear. "Move – come on..."
Ron steered him out of the hall, Hermione hurrying alongside. As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Harry didn't have a clue what was going on, and neither Ron nor Hermione looked like they were about to explain anything until they had dragged him halfway across the castle to the Gryffindor common room. As they passed an empty classroom, Harry freed his arm from Ron's grip and grabbed both his friends' arms, hauling them out of the hall.
"What's going on?" Harry demanded, slightly freaked out by the way his friends were looking at him.
"You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?" Ron demanded.
"I'm a what?" said Harry.
"A Parselmouth!" said Ron. "You can talk to snakes!"
"I know," Harry replied, a bit bewildered by the deal Ron was making over it. "I've done it before; I accidentally set a boa constrictor on Dudley once."
"Bloody hell Harry," Ron moaned, holding his head in his hands.
"What's the big deal?" Harry questioned. "I bet loads of people can do it."
"Oh no they can't," Ron told him. "It's not common at all. This is bad Harry."
"Why is it bad?" Harry demanded, temper rising. "If I hadn't told the snake to back off it would have bitten Justin!"
"Oh, that's what you said to it?"
"What d'you mean? You were there...you heard me."
"I heard you speaking Parseltongue,"" said Ron, "snake language. You could have been saying anything. No wonder Justin panicked, you sounded like you were egging the snake on or something. It was creepy, you know."
"I was speaking a different language?" Harry asked incredulously. "How could I possibly speak a language if I didn't even know about it?"
Ron shook his head. Both he and Hermione were looking as though someone had died. Harry couldn't see what was so terrible.
"What, so I was supposed to let the snake bit Justin's head off?" he demanded.
"No, but you stopped it in just about the worst way you could!" Ron shook his head.
"What's wrong with being a Parselmouth?" Harry asked exasperatedly.
"Nothing is wrong with it," Ron began bluntly, "except that every Parselmouth for the last few hundred years has gone Dark. You-Know-Who was one."
"It turns you Dark?" Harry asked nervously.
"Of course not," Hermione spoke finally, although she looked like she would have rather stayed quiet. "Only the very worst magics can do anything like that. Parselmouth is just another ability."
"If there's nothing wrong with it, then what does it matter if people know about it?" Harry threw his hands in the air.
"It matters," Hermione started in a sharp tone, "because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin house is a serpent."
"And now people are going to think you're his great great great great grandson or something," Ron predicted.
"Why should I care what they think?" Harry questioned with a scowl.
"Because they'll have you as the one opening the Chamber by morning, if they haven't already!" Ron almost exploded.
"If they think that all because I can speak to snakes then they're not worth the time to worry about," Harry retorted. "They think speaking to snakes is wrong? I'm not going to let them tell me what to do."
"Just...be careful, would you mate?" Ron told him worriedly. "There's people out there who'll take this seriously."
"I'll be careful," Harry assured his friends. "Besides, if this is something only a few people can do, then I'm already one up on them."
X
That evening, Potter returned to his hotel room feeling more tired than expected for the days work—although that could be explained by the shopping bags weighing him down. After finishing his work spelling the warehouse, Suzie had taken him to a nearby shopping mall, where she proceeded to drag him from store to store, but only after stealing several hundred dollars from his pockets. Despite the novelty of it, the Shopping Trip was still one of the most mind-numbingly boring experiences he had been through.
The bags he now carried through the door of his hotel room were laden with clothes, as well as a brand new 'flip top' phone (according to Suzie they were all the rage) and a small number of more uncommon objects he had found in what Suzie had called an alternate lifestyle store. A flick of his wand and the bags containing his new clothes floated into the bedroom, while his other purchases arranged themselves around the small coffee table that sat between the couch and the TV.
Sliding down to lean against the couch with his legs underneath the table, Potter up-ended a small bag over the wooden surface. A number of small semi-precious stones tumbled out haphazardly. He considered the collection of stones for a few moments, before picking out a peridot and moving the rest to the side. His inability to forge wards or weave enchantments wasn't something he could let stand. While he could still cast magic directly, he needed to find out what had curtailed his wider magical abilities unless he was ready to forfeit his hard earned skill in those fields.
Not likely.
Focusing on the green stone sitting before him, Potter concentrated on a basic cheering charm, enunciating each syllable to the spell clearly and moving through the wand movements precisely, making sure the spell was as perfect as he could make it before moving on to the next step. Holding the magic within him, Potter began to weave a matrix to hold the charm around the peridot stone. Once he was sure all was correct, he let the matrix holding the charm flow though his wand and sent it to latch around the stone. For a long moment, the wizard surveyed the stone, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he reached forward cautiously to grab the peridot.
His cautiousness was well warranted. As soon as he grasped the stone, a moment of cheer spread through him, before the stone cracked and shattered; the feeling changing, briefly becoming bitter before being banished. Examining the remaining small shards, Potter held back a sigh. If only it were so easy. Casting several diagnostic charms on the broken stone and monitoring charms around the table, Potter set in to work, determined to achieve some manner of progress that night.
X
The phone rang shrilly, jerking Potter awake from his position leaning against the couch. He had worked well into the night, and was beginning to make some progress—he could now feel his magic 'explode' when his attempted enchantment failed. Rubbing at tired eyes, he realised that he must have fallen asleep while working; not an uncommon occurrence whenever he found some new problem to sink his teeth into.
The phone rang again, drawing his attention. He summoned the clunky hands free phone from its cradle and waited for it to arrive in his hand, eyes closed. When it arrived he held it to his ear and answered with a deceptively mild, "hello?"
"Mr Potter, unfortunately it seems that you have failed to-"
Potter's eyes snapped open at the familiar voice, searching out the clock that hung on the wall. It was five in the morning. Again. Viciously and with great satisfaction, Potter thumbed the end call button, cutting the unnamed woman off mid sentence. Eyes closed, he tilted his head back on the couch in a vain attempt to get some more rest.
The phone began ringing again and his wand was in his hand with a blasting curse on his lips. Deciding not to start his day by destroying the room, he cast a silencer at the device, returning the room to blissful quietness. He settled down again, preparing to get some more rest.
It was not to be. A hundred different small noises and distractions conspired to keep his brain from shutting down, and numerous times he swore he could hear a small bird fluttering around his rooms or rats scuttling through the walls. Close to an hour later, he finally gave it up as a bad job and began to get ready for another day of 'warding' properties for Marcone.
X
Potter and Suzie visited several more of locations that day, including an isolated lake house, another safe house, another warehouse, and a bar that turned out to be a front for a supply cache of some sort. None of the men present at some of the locations gave them any trouble, and Potter in particular was subject to a number of wary glances. It wasn't until they were on their way out of the dark smoking bar that they discovered the cause of the wariness.
"I don't see it," one of the patrons announced loudly as Potter and Suzie made their way out, the wizard having finished his work.
The two of them paused, sharing a glance before turning to face the gruff man who addressed the room. "See what?" Suzie asked, a flat insincere smile fixed in place.
"You supposed to be some sort of magic man," he spat, nursing a jug of beer. "Steiner and his boys been telling tall ones."
"Would it be better if I wore a robes and a pointed hat?" Potter asked as he approached the man, real concern showing on his face as he looked between Suzie and the one who had called him out. The barman and the other few patrons scattered about the place watched in silence.
"I'll believe it when I see it," the man snorted, taking another swill of his drink—before coughing and spluttering the mouthful of liquid out. He rose to his feet, wiping a hand across his mouth to clear the substance from his lips. "What the fuck!" he demanded, looking at the glass in his hand that had somehow been filled with egg yolks and yellow.
"Oops," Potter said apologetically. "It was an accident, really."
"Bloody sleight of hand," the man swore. "You're a pissant street magician."
"You sure about that?" Potter asked with a sly smile, his eyes gleaming green.
The man shook his head disbelievingly and turned away from the strange kid, facing the bar again. Shrugging with an oddly satisfied look, Potter departed from the bar with Suzie at his side, leaving its patrons to gossip about the confrontation. The man sitting at the bar beckoned for another drink to replace ruined one. As he waited, he glanced into the large mirror that hung on the bar wall, partially obscured by racks of alcohol. Finding his own reflection, his heart jumped a beat as he caught sight of the magician, eyes glowing an eerie green, standing right behind him. He whirled around with an oath, only to find empty space and draw the bar's attention to himself once again. He looked back to the mirror; it was empty of anything that didn't belong. Shaking his head, he accepted the fresh beer and drained half of it in one go, trying to ignore what he knew he had seen.
It wouldn't be the last time one of the bar patrons caught sight of the strange kid standing at their back in the mirror, grinning slyly. Those who doubted the stories of how he talked to snakes—and had the snakes talk back—began to believe. Word began to spread. The Gentleman Johnny Marcone had a bona-fide Magician working for him.
X
Like he had the previous evening, Potter sat down at the coffee table in his hotel room with his back against the couch as he stared determinedly at the collection of stones before him. He had been forced to buy more peridot stones that afternoon, having almost depleted his collection of them in the course of his work. Setting up several charms to record and monitor his work, he began to cast the same simple charm he had cast numerous times the previous night, before wrapping it in the same simple enchantment matrix and attempting to attach it to a small stone that was almost identical to the dozens of others that lay on the table waiting for similar treatment.
Nearly two hours and thirty seven stones later, Potter broke out in a wide grin as the stone before him cracked down the middle. Despite failing for the umpteenth time at an enchantment that was taught to aspiring Enchanters in their first week of learning, he was extremely pleased. Instead of shattering into slivers as his previous efforts had, the stone had remained mostly in one piece—and he knew why. Instead of merely allowing the matrix to attach itself to the stone, he had tried to reach out with his magic and guide it to where he felt it should be. Granted, it was like trying to play pool with a tree trunk for a cue, but it was progress. Progress of a sort that he was damn sure hadn't ever been made before. It was all well and good to learn and master a spell, something he himself had done countless times—but it was something else entirely to intimately feel and guide the course of an enchantment on the level that he had just taken the first step to achieving. He would be able to craft a matrix capable of holding spells far too volatile to hold in any existing enchantment; be able to weave powerful wards on the spot...they were advances that hadn't been seen in either field in centuries, and they were within his grasp.
Potter grinned widely, turning over the cracked stone in his hand. This must have been how Albus felt when he examined that first jug of dragon blood as Flamel's apprentice, how Severus felt when he modified potions that had been used for decades for the better as a mere student. He wished Hermione were here to see this.
His good mood vanished, a slight frown crossing his face. He did his best not to think of his friends; it only brought to mind memories of how they died. He flexed his fingers, working out the stiffness in them. It was time for a break.
Twenty minutes later, he was riding the elevator down to the lobby, making use of the new clothes Suzie had foisted on him that day. Clad in the loose jeans that he had compromised on when the vilely cheerful woman had tried to pour him into a pair of 'skinny jeans' and a grey long sleeved button up shirt, he left the lift and made his way over to one of the women at the receptionist's desk.
"Hello, what can I do for you this evening sir?" The brunette at the desk greeted him.
"I'm looking for somewhere to have a good time. Do you know anywhere good nearby?" Potter replied shortly.
"Oh yes, there's this great pl-" she broke off abruptly, looking at something on the computer screen before her for several moments. "Sorry about that. There's a great place I know a few blocks over, Mr Potter, that I think will have what you're looking for. I can give you directions if you'd like?" she smiled.
"Sure," Potter shrugged, not really caring about the particulars. Moments later, he was on his way.
X
Potter impaled the twisted thing through its stomach with a spear of ice, pinning it to the wall before ducking the claw that would have taken his head off and severing it—and the arm it was attached to—from the body wielding it. The slimy, bat like creature snarled at him, ignoring its lost limb, before its head exploded in a gory shower. The magician turned to the creature he had pinned to the wall of the large bedroom, intending to interrogate it, only to find it slumped lifelessly, blood dripping to the carpeted floor.
He inspected the room about him, ignoring the two hookers he had killed. It was a back room of a classy escort service, apparently one of the better ones in town. The room was done up in Gryffindor colours and old Victorian modelling, much like the majority of the building, despite its office-like appearance from the outside. There was only one door, and the fight had been quiet, aside from various thumps and crashes, which he didn't expect to draw any unwanted attention.
Turning his attention to the dead creatures, Potter inspected them with a critical eye. They were ugly beasts, with dark flabby skin and bulging eyes, stronger and faster than their frames gave them any right to be. They had also appeared completely human as they led him to the room on one of the upper levels of the building after he chose them. He had been completely unprepared for them to shed their skin and attack him as they had, but he hadn't survived as long as he had while at odds with the Ministry and the Dark Lord by being slow, and it wasn't the first time a prostitute had tried to kill him.
As he considered his next plan of action, Potter reflected that he really shouldn't be as surprised as he was. He had been expecting directions to a club when he approached the receptionist, not a brothel, regardless of how high class it was. He should have been more suspicious.
Ah well. No use crying over dead hooker-monsters.
Stepping from the room into a thickly carpeted hall, Potter closed the door quietly behind himself. He was on the fifth floor of the building, and if he was smart, he should be able to sneak out without drawing any suspicion.
"What are you doing here alone?" a sharp voice demanded. "Guests are to be escorted-" the woman paused, taking a deep breath through her nose. "Is that blood on your face?"
Potter wiped his hand across his cheek and examined it. Part of the creature that ate a blasting curse must have hit him.
The woman, an elderly lady in a slim, expensive red dress with her dark brown hair done up in an elaborate style, bustled over to him. "We can't have you leaving here without tidying yourself up from your fun and games," she admonished. "Really, my girls should have taken care of you already."
"They're a bit indisposed," Potter admitted candidly, although inwardly he was bemused.
"I imagine they are," she said knowingly, as she produced a handkerchief and began to wipe at his cheek.
Potter, with manners and survival instincts ingrained from childhood and through most of his school career, didn't protest as what looked like a formidable woman fussed over him.
"Oh, this just won't do," the elder woman fretted. "Here," she licked her thumb and made to wipe the blood away.
A euphoric, blissful sense of exultation fell over the magician as the woman before him smiled cruelly, all traces of her grandmotherly act falling away. Another set of hands began to massage his shoulders from behind while their owner held herself against him. He could feel her breasts pressing into his back as the unseen woman began to kiss his neck, laving his skin with her tongue.
"Silly wizard," the older woman taunted. "What did you think would happen? That you would just walk out of here after killing two of my own?" She tsked sternly, a pleased gleam in her eyes. "You will be a useful thrall."
A spike of rage cut through the fog in Potter's mind. "Thrall?" he asked slowly, his heart pulsing in time with his magic. He had been drugged, he realised vaguely. This wasn't going to end well.
"Oh, you didn't know about the Red Court, did you child? Such a foolish young wizard. Our Kiss, our venom, will strip away all your inhibitions and take you to heights you've never felt before whether you want to or no," she revealed with a smile, baring fangs that had no place in an old woman's mouth, "and you shall love us for it," she gloated. "Girls, make sure he is properly addicted. Don't release him from the effects until you're quite certain he is under control."
"Yes Madam," several voices behind Potter chorused. He felt a number of hands take his arms and hold him in place securely, additional mouths plying him with venom.
"Inhibitions..." Potter slurred, anger thrumming in his veins. "Mistake, BITCH!"
The magician struggled in the grip of his captors, but was unable to shake their unnaturally strong grip. He went still for a long moment, before letting out a guttural roar and shifting.
The women holding him place were thrown off as his body twisted and grew, limbs and torso swelling to many times their size. White fur erupted across his body and his jaw elongated, turning into a powerful set of fangs pulled back in a vicious snarl. The floor creaked as his weight increased exponentially.
The Red Court Madam stared incredulously at the mammoth polar bear before her that took up the entire width of the hall. A wave of hot air hit her as the largest land predator in the world growled, the rumbling of its chest sending vibrations through her bones.
Potter gazed at the creature before him. It stank of blood. The fog in his head had cleared with his transformation into the larger form, but his instincts were still in control. He was surrounded by predators. Smaller and weaker than him, but still predators..and they treated him like prey.
They dared to treat him as prey?
One and a half tonne of enraged carnivore lunged forwards with surprising swiftness, kicking out with a back leg as it did so. The Madam leapt to the side, but was too slow to completely avoid the attack, while one of the women holding him was bowled into her fellows. Potter bit down and pulled back, his powerful hind legs leaving gouges on the floor. The Madam's right arm was wrenched from her body as she was forced to dodge away from the swipe of a massive paw that would have taken her head off.
"Shapeshifter," the Madam snarled, ignoring the blood dripping from the stump on her shoulder.
Potter spat her arm to the ground in disgust, seeing it transform into the same leathery, wrinkled form as the creatures he had killed in the other room. He could feel the other attackers behind him, watching his bulk cautiously; there were three of them. The Madam's eyes narrowed, and she gave an almost imperceptible nod. There was the barest sound of movement from behind the magician.
The polar bear spun with more speed than it had any right to, paw outstretched to clobber the charging creature in the chest. It was slammed into the wall, its torso crushed into a bloody pulp. A second creature followed on its heels, only for Potter's jaws to fasten around its waist. With crushing force, his jaws tore through its body, bursting it like an overripe melon as blood flecked over his maw and marred his previously pristine white fur.
The Madam was on him then, scampering over his back in her bat like form while clawed fingers scrabbled at his eyes. Vicious scratches were torn open atop his head and neck, causing him to roar in anger and pain. He reared up, his massive form allowing him to crush his attacker against the roof and wall. The creature ignored its pain as it clung to his shoulders, questing for his throat with bared fangs.
Distantly, Potter realised that the third of the creatures that had restrained him had fled, leaving the Madam to fight for herself. Again and again, he slammed his back against the wall and ceiling, trying to dislodge the foe on his back. Feeling the creature weakening, Potter turned his back from the wall and allowed his weight to carry him backwards, aiming to squash the Madam to the floor beneath his weight. The creature released its grip at last, leaping out from under his crushing weight. It shrieked in anger at the wounds it had sustained.
The polar bear drew in on itself, before shrinking back into the form of a young man with messy black hair. He stared down the bat like thing, waiting for its next move as his wand hummed in his hand.
"Vile brat," it croaked. "You could have been first amongst my pets. All you had to do was submit. Now you have to die."
The magician bared his bloody teeth as green eyes crackled with rage. "I am Harry James Potter and I do not submit," he snarled, voice rippling with power. The wand flicked once and the creature found itself struggling to move, like it was running underwater, before the wand flicked a second, then a third time.
A pair of large hands stretched out of the hall from either side of the creature, grasping her around the neck and waist before squeezing tight. They held her in place for a long moment, before pulling apart in a sudden act of violence. The Red Court Madam was torn in two, blood painting the hall as the hands dropped the corpse and receded back into the walls.
Shrieks and howls began to echo from around the building. Potter stalked down the hall, leaving bloody footprints in his wake. His ire was raised, heart pumping rapidly as he allowed his instincts to guide him. There was blood in the water.
The first door he passed was blown off its hinges and into the hall. A reflexive blasting curse reduced the door to splinters less than a second before it hit him, and blew a hole in the gut of the misshapen figure that had launched it. Two more of the Red Court creatures rushed towards him from another room, giving Potter a glimpse of a corpse lying within.
Potter threw another blasting curse at the first creature, adding to the blood covering the hall. The second creature he caught mid leap, leaving her to float helplessly as he turned and dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a claw swipe that would have carved him from hip to shoulder. He gutted the attacker that had approached from behind almost casually, before turning back to the creature that was still hovering mid-air, watching as she tried to 'swim' through the air in frustration. She hissed at him when she caught his gaze.
Ignoring his captive, Potter looked around the hall. He had dealt with eight of the creatures with ease, but wading through an entire building of them was just foolish. After a complicated series of gestures with his wand, a faint shimmer of a spell moved through the air comparatively slowly and his the creature, causing her to slump bonelessly, victim of a coma curse. A stream a flame issued from his wand, twirling about him like a gymnast's ribbon. A simple gesture, and the flame leapt onto the walls where it began to devour the plaster hungrily.
Not wasting another moment, Potter grabbed the slimy leg of his captive and disappeared with a faint crack, leaving the now burning building and its inhabitants behind.
X
Awareness was forced to the forefront of her mind, leaving her with a pounding headache and blurry vision. There was no gradual recovery, one moment she was out cold and the next she was awake.
'She' was Cynthia, a member of the Red Court and until recently, a mid class escort at one of the brothels run by her Court, and at that particular moment, she was tied to a tree in the middle of an absolutely silent forest.
Running over her memories, the vampire realised that the last thing she could remember was going to sleep the previous morning after a nights work. She had been taken from her room, out from under the noses of her superiors and a building full of her kind. She was interrupted before she could consider what this could mean, however.
"Hello there," a cheerful voice broke the silence, as the young man it belonged to strolled out from behind a tree, a pleased smile stretched across his face.
On principle (and hoping to subdue her captor long enough to escape from the flimsy ropes that held her), Cynthia spat at the human, hitting him square in the cheek. She wrenched at the ropes, expecting them to snap under her strength, only to find them much stronger than they appeared.
"That wasn't particularly nice now, was it?" the black haired man frowned as he wiped her saliva from his cheek with a handkerchief, apparently unaffected by the narcotic effects of Red Court venom.
"Fuck you," she snarled, still struggling at the ropes binding her.
"I'd just as soon not," he replied dryly. "I've seen what you hide under that human skin of yours."
Cynthia paused her struggles to glower at her captor. "Who are you, and what am I doing here?" she asked imperiously, looking down on the human who was still smiling at her, despite sitting on the ground while tethered to a tree before him.
"I'm so glad you asked me that," he answered, for all the world looking thrilled at her questions. "Usually they spend a good five minutes cursing me before they get around to that part. Oh, I'm sorry," he slapped himself on the forehead. "How thoughtless of me. I'm Harry, Harry Potter, and you're here to answer all my questions," he beamed at her. "Doesn't that just sound great?"
Cynthia stared at the man for a long moment. She was beginning to suspect he was slightly unbalanced, and she had no interest in remaining the captive of a madman whose motives she was unsure of. She twisted her wrist around uncomfortably and began to saw at the rope with her nails.
"Oh no, you can't do that," Potter chided, reaching into his sleeve. "You haven't answered any of my questions yet!" Then he drew a slim stick of wood from his shirt and flicked it in her direction.
Cynthia shrieked in pain as her hands were sliced from her wrists without warning, as if by an invisible blade. "Wizard!" she hissed.
"Here's how this is going to work," Potter explained as he hunkered down before her, a pleasant expression still on his face. "I'm going to ask you questions, and if you answer me, I'll cauterise your wounds. Answer me nicely, and I'll numb the pain. Don't answer me, and I'll cut something else off. How does that sound?"
Cynthia cursed him, and suggested several unpleasant things he could do with his mother. A displeased expression crossed the magician's face before her left foot was cut off. He waved his wand again and the severed appendages flew over to form a small pile where the vampire could clearly see them.
"And I haven't even started with my questions yet," Potter shook his head disapprovingly. "It doesn't look like this will end very well for you, does it?"
The creature tied to the tree said nothing, snarling and whimpering at the pain. When she quietened down, Potter tried again.
"Are you going to answer my questions?" he asked in a hopeful tone, twirling the slim stick of wood he held between his fingers.
"Ye-yes," Cynthia grunted, trying to ignore the blood that she could feel leaving her body, weakening her.
"Excellent!" Potter grinned, before waving his stick again. Cynthia flinched, expecting to lose her other foot, only for the pain to come from the leg already injured. The smell of burning flesh drifted around the clearing as the stump at the end of her leg burned, sealing the open wound. "See? That wasn't too hard. Two more questions answered and you'll stop bleeding out, then I can start numbing the pain."
Cynthia held back a pained curse, hoping that the sadistic wizard didn't cut her up again once she'd answered enough questions to be healed to give her 'motivation' to keep answering.
"Now," Potter prompted, somehow creating an elaborate armchair and sinking himself down into it. "Let's get into it, shall we?"
X
As he watched the burning corpse of what he now knew to be a Red Court vampire, Potter contemplated what he had learned. Vampires were real in this world, however unlike his old world there were several variations of them and they had organised themselves into coherent political structures rather remain moderately powerful nomads. He know knew the strengths and weaknesses of the Red Court and the Black Court, as well of the existence of the White Court, although his captive had been too low level to know anything that was not common knowledge about them.
The Red Court group that he had run into apparently made their way in the world by finding humans they thought useful and addicting them to the venom that was their saliva. He smirked slightly at this. It had been a long time since any enemy of his had even bother trying to supplant his will.
He frowned as he began to tidy up the clearing of the secluded forest. So far, his hotel hadn't proven to be the best choice of residence. They had some sort of rodent problem judging by the number of small creatures he swore he could feel around his apartment, they had directed him to a brothel that was run by distinctively unattractive hooker-monsters, and insisted on calling him at ungodly hours to hound him about payment. Perhaps it was time to find somewhere new?
Feeling tiredness creeping back up on him after a day of work and the the nights adventure, Potter turned on his heel and disappeared with a faint snap, thoughts of a comfortable bed on his mind.
