A/N: I finally gathered up motivation to continue writing. And, I must say, I'm actually pretty happy with this chapter.
Warning: Not proofread. I apologise for any grammatical mistake you may find within this chapter.
Enjoy!
The Value of Nothing
Total and unpredictable unawareness is never a threat. Or so Harry had realized after several accidental losses of consciousness. Why? Simple. Absolutely nothing can harm the unconscious mind. Inside the realm of forgotten thoughts and dreams there were nothing to fear but the mind itself. No knife nor bullet could travel through the walls separating reality from a man's slumbering mind. Within, Harry was sheltered from anyone and anything.
His physical body could suffer, bleed out or crumble. No matter, no thought would ever travel into the darkness without getting lost. Nothing would reach the slumbering consciousness.
That being the case, his current state was both unfortunate and distressing. Stuck in a wavering condition where his mind was in a constant sway in-between unconscious and conscious thought, Harry had grounds to be displeased. He was incapable of properly succumbing to the darkness, but also powerless over his own limbs.
It was an agonizing reminder. As if he once again had fallen into the veil.
Capable of thought and sensation, he was susceptible to pain. He'd rather be drowning in his own mind than slowly suffocating.
Harry became aware of a shuffling sound. At first he thought it had been a creation of his own imagination. However, now that it increased in volume, it became increasingly clear that at least one of his senses was in perfect condition. A weakness waiting to be exploited.
"Species?" A whisper through the agitated landscape, cold and foreign.
"Human.." Hoarse, smug and oh, so familiar. Harry felt nothing but a stirring sensation of acceptance.
Yes, four Bloody Marys and a narcissistic fool made a magnificent cocktail for the bored.
A pen danced over stiff paper, reminding Harry of a hush. A demand for silence and obedience. A command Harry heard, processed and let fly further into the darkness of his mind.
"Gender?"
"…Male…" Yes, his bodily composition did indicate that he was, in fact, a man.
"Age?"
"Early 20's," No, inaccurate. Harry was nearing his late 40's by now, not including the years he had spent in the veil.
"Name?"
"Harry Potter." Harry James Potter. A name he had been given at birth, nothing more, nothing less.
The unfamiliar individual hummed silently, pen tapping against paper. Silence spread like a disease. Then, after several minutes of controlled breathing. "Any skin irregularities we should be aware of?"
"Not that I know of," Jessie drawled.
An incomprehensible whisper, an order, and several hands were brushing over Harry's bare, cold skin. His eyes were forced open, permitting light and sight. However, only momentarily and the vague outline of other people, all dressed in white, registered before his eyes once again fell shut. Capturing him in total darkness. Ears, mouth and scalp were examined thoroughly. Every possible spot that could hide irregularities. At last, the chaotic sensation of being probed from the inside-out faded, leaving Harry with an uncomfortable, tingling feeling.
"There's an irregular color detected on his tongue, Doctor." Another, a woman, said softly.
"A tattoo?"
Harry felt his head being tipped back as his mouth was pried open by gloved fingers. "Possibly. The symbol appeared to be created by a cluster of concentrated natural pigments, rather than ink, Sir. Similar to freckles in contrast to the tongue's natural skin tone." His mouth was becoming unbearably dry from long exposure of air.
"This will decrease its value," the unknown individual muttered in disapproval.
Jessie sighed loudly. "It's on the tongue, no one will see it."
Lead hit paper harshly and Harry heard Jessie swallow harshly. Nothing else was said.
A steady mist had begun to gather in the back of his mind. Slowly but surely gathering and fortifying, a barrier between him and the conscious mind.
"The symbol's design?"
Letters, words and a sentence into the darkness. The sounds reached his ear, but the meaning got lost in the thick mist. His mind wavered and capsized in the chaotic, black sea, also knows as the unconsciousness.
øØø
"Never forget, Harry." She had been unforgiving, awful even. At any chance, she'd grip into his shoulder with sharp nails and whisper harshly into his ear. "I'll never forgive you if you do," Then silently, mockingly she'd add. "Neither will you."
The same words, a constant warning she never allowed him to forget.
Because they both knew he was a runner and if he got the chance, he'd run.
He'd dash across the dark room towards the tall and narrow arch, expecting a solution, an end, to his predicament.
The only way he'd erase the curse etched into his flesh.
øØø
"Never forget who you are, Harry." Hermione had always whispered, aging voice stirring with emotion. She'd grip his shoulders to push him against her in a warm embrace, strong arms keeping him still and present in the world they'd both been born into. Softly, sympathetically, she'd whisper into his ear. "I'll never forget you," Then gently she'd brush his hair away from his youthful face. "Neither will you."
It always rained on such days.
Both outside and inside.
øØø
Bones shattered and a ghastly scream escaped bloodied lips. The doctor was curling in on himself, eyes forced shut in an useless attempt on excluding the pain. His white coat had been decorated with a splatter of crimson, bringing life to his sterile appearance. It made a pleasing picture. Human life was so fickle. So prone to unexpected suffering. To death. Oh, he held no sympathy for such creatures.
The media have noticed a human trafficking circle catering to vampires, fix it. Or so the Queen had murmured in-between a mouthful of flesh. Dispose of every trace connecting us to a tasteless and recognised circle trafficking human flesh. Simple. Why he had to be involved at all was beyond him.
Eric leaned heavily against the white wall and sighing in vexation, eyes staring dispassionately down at the twisting being at his feet. According to the report, written hours before the raid, no vampire connection to the organisation had been found. The clients had, indeed, been non-human citizens, but none had been involved in the creation of the catering system. Yes, only several human minions and an aging, 60-year-old man had been found at the site. All deceased due to resistance to co-operate.
Cold, blue eyes gazed down at the doctor. All employees had passed away. He stepped forward to press his right foot against the man's temple, resulting in a hitched breath. A movement the man beneath him got to practise one last time before his skull cracked and caved in. Instant death, an unfortunate occurrence. It could have been avoided had the doctor not resisted. Or so the report stated.
Eric stepped over the cooling corpse, hands slipping into his pockets. The warehouse had been easy to find. After all, the organisation had catered to specific vampires that knew the Queen personally and had no desire to be involved in human matters. Eric had expected stained walls, visible drains and an overall unwelcoming appearance. However, the warehouse was surprisingly nice.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the muscle stretch comfortably. "Any survivors, Pam?" Eric murmured softly, eyes searching his surroundings.
A regal woman in her early forties stepped out from the shadows, mouth twisted in displeasure. "Yes," She replied as she swept her blonde hair behind her pale shoulder. "unfortunately." Eric couldn't agree more.
Massaging his temple in exhaustion, Eric tried not to think of the possibly crying - wailing - and terrorized human beings they'd have to rescue. "How many?"
Pam shifted, red lips curling."Too many."
"…" He lifted his eyebrows.
"…" After a moment of silence, she sighed deeply. "Three… Two women and a man."
"According to the report, none of the victims remember anything." Yes, apparently, someone had been very careful to keep them blissfully drugged the whole time. It was difficult to say how much damage that had been done to their minds. Such a pity really. "Let's fix that, shall we?" Eric whispered with a quick of his lips.
The women were huddled together in a corner, when Pam and Eric arrived at the designated prison room. Blindfolds drenched with salty tears, snot running and whimpers filling the air. One in particular was older than the other and had obviously taken the role of the protector. She was gripping the younger woman, pressing her face against her chest in an useless attempt at protecting her.
It was obvious why these two had been kidnapped. In human standards, they were beautiful, attractive blood-bags. Eric glanced back at Pam and nodded in a silent command. Do what you must.
The sound of relaxed breaths reached Eric's ears and he snapped his gaze away from the pitiful women, towards the only male in the room.
A pale Caucasian man, with messy black hair was sitting silently against the wall. He, too, was blindfolded. However, unlike the women, he was slouched casually against the wall, limbs relaxed and face dry from tears.
The other man was so silent, that had Eric not heard his puffs of breath and the sound of his beating heart he would've thought the man was unconscious.
Sighing loudly, Eric strolled up to the man and ripped the blindfold off, preparing himself to finish the entire ordeal as fast as possible. The black cloth slipped between his fingers as Eric leaned down to grip the young man's jaw, forcing their eyes to meet.
The sight of newly sprouted leaves met his sky-blue eyes. Clear and startlingly green, intense in their apathy.
To be continued!
