AAAAh! I am sorry for the delay! I had some exams. But I did have my draft ready-I just.. rewrote the whole thing thrice over again.
*Sigh
Thank you for the supports so far my dear, sweet readers- my update might suffer sometimes- but for you, I will try to give only my best to you.
(Which means my previous chapters might get a slight edit every now and then- nothing major, though, no worries- otherwise I would have to throw out the whole story too- hehe
*sob
Chapter-9
Summary- How does it look when a baby necromancer lets his temper slip?
Previously- Harry and his guide strolled into the belly of Knockturn alley, both preoccupied with their thoughts and banters. Fang's den was a pub in a hole that Scabier found... something to be avoided. Whichever way their argument might have gone- the entry of another person, his cordial( ?) invitation, and most importantly- Harry's curiosity had them inside soon after.
Harry was sure they would have gone unnoticed had the man not made a grandiose spectacle out of it.
The door was flown cleanly off its hinges.
"Look my dear friends, what the night blesses us with!"
That uninvited companion strode right in; arms open as wide as his smile. Heads swivelled in their direction and one particular fellow stomped towards them.
"Din't I say it, Rosa.. din't I? If you can't fix it, stop making it worse! "
This person didn't look like a Rosa- but, eh- to each their own.
Rosa drooped his shoulders- looking like a demented hunchback with how tall he normally was- and widened his smile, gesturing towards the two of them as if the attention on them was not enough, "I couldn't resist sharing my findings, brother! A wizard and its pet - why not treat them properly, I thought!"
"Then put that thought right proper where it supposed ta be!"
A bit of modification and this Rosa would be a perfect, over-enthusiastic mutt showing off their latest kill.
The entire things was ruining his appetite.
Harry tsked and looked away from the drama to scan the pub they had entered.
If rosa had meant to attract everyone's notice, he had noticed.
Every pair of eyes were fastened on them.
"Hah. Looks tinier than I thought."
Harry felt Scabier move undecidedly next to him.
"Wait till it brings along its mates."
Whispers floated up from the nearest tables.
"A wizard! Where did he come from?!"
Harry almost felt his eyes roll up to his head. Hard.
"Look at that soft skin! Reckon my teeth would sink to the bone?"
Harry looked up, brows quirking, when Scabier put a right hand on his nearest shoulder- the tendons all strung tight.
They were hardly familiar enough for casual touch- but Harry gave the poor man a little pat. Scabier seemed all out of sorts, tense eyes roving around.
Harry was inured to public loathing and much outlandish behaviour (although the comment of him being 'tiny' did sting a little), but Scabier seemed particularly sensitive to such things.
Perhaps this why he was against going in the first place?
Harry looked up regretfully at the man, only to find the man looking back at him with a desperate-seeming expression. His hair was all dishevelled- or rather more dishevelled than usual- in that sort minutes and the grip on his shoulder was starting to throb.
No matter, he will protect his own.
Harry gave the man another pat. The man twitched in his grasp.
"Lor! didn't I tell you?"
"Hey, Tim! I will have that one!"
And by that, he strongly suspected that the menu might just have walked in.
Scabier hissed at him, "You have gotta get out of here."
Harry consoled him, "You don't need to worry. We will be quite alright."
Empty words- meant for intimidation, but-
Rosa sifted to their position in a blink of an eye.
Vampire? Harry tilted his head when the grinning man circled around them
"Oh no no no- there is no more grace to be had, Scabier! No more hiding away! Let us feast upon your precious young master!"
Scabier growled.
Harry looked away from the whiteboard detailing today's menu to frown at the man, "That. Is rude."
Rosa curled his lips, "Ah? Not fond of our hosting, young wizard?"
"Not fond of the way you are treating him, no." Harry could care less about the predatory ways he circled them, hissing as if to scare their prey.
The man was implying a sort of relationship that Scabier strongly objected to and while Harry could care less whether they made him messiah or worm- he would not be a tool to ridicule another.
The lively bar slunk to whispers and mutters.
Rosa loomed over him (Harry hated how easy it was), curling his longer body over him- and the shadow cast a foreboding stance.
"How Curious. So defensive of your pet?"
Well- The man threw away all subtleties now, didn't he?
Harry twisted his mouth unhappily, looking up at the man that hovered above him.
"You are just doing it intentionally now." Baseless provocations-
Harry tsked again.
Rosa, the Vampire snapped his mouth open- in unpleasant surprise or delight, he couldn't know.
"What a smart little boy. Your papa must be mighty proud."
Harry opened his mouth even more unhappy, but apparently, Scabier had had enough of the facade going on in front of him and chose to put an end to it by dragging Harry behind him.
The older man blocked his line of sight with his larger body, "That is enough, Rosalind. You have no matters with the boy."
Never mind. The man chose to join the drama.
The voices erupted.
Behind him.
In front of him.
Above him.
They were surrounded.
A deep voice sauntered in, and the way Scabier and Rosa both stood up straight unconsciously had Harry attentive too.
"Doesn't he?"The man whispered, "Isn't he the one who managed to leash you, Scabier?"
The matter of a mob was that they needed but a single voice to act. And so, what was previously murmurs happening as the bar patrons stayed seated, what was previously looks of contempt from afar evolved to this.
Now that the jungle king had claimed them decisively as prey, the hyenas circled delightedly. They reached out their claws, hoping for a shred or two.
The crows came closer to peck.
"What did he promise you? A life free of Azkaban?"
What Harry didn't understand was why?
Why such an – in his opinion- overreaction over him?
Why the entire bar seemed up with arms and claws over a wizard child and a vampire?
"But you won't feed them any codswallop about us, would ya now laddie?"
Scabier snarled at the old man who had simpered their way in there. "Hahah. I never thought Scabier would be turn out to be a licker."
There was an immediate rise in the noise following that remark. Harry looked at one blond tosser, a scrawny sort of guy, who slunk in the periphery- plenty chuffed after he had dripped blood in the uneasy water.
"And I never thought you could be so tired off your tongue, Charles."
Charles, the tosser, did seem intimidated when Scabier took a step towards him. But the grinning Rosalind promptly took back control from him- sliding in between them.
"Why don't we ask your little master, then?"
..
.
.
"Wait."
"Where is that wizard?"
"Here," Harry answered from his tea and pair of roasted bread.
Harry munched and finished the dry toast in his mouth before answering.
(He had been starving, okay?)
"The service is excellent. Although the ambience could be better."
And it was. The host had not made a pip when Harry had ordered- but calmly slid them on the table. The furniture was neat, nothing dusty about it. Harry was not particularly vain, but it had not been long since he had started wearing such expensive clothes.
His peace was destroyed when Rosa smacked a hand on him. Harry managed to save his butterbeer in time, but the table had a huge crack in the middle now.
Harry sighed. He had hoped to at least get a bit more nibbles on his bread.
"You are not even going to be the one repairing it."
It was not the vampire that responded to his deliberate tone though.
It was the scraggly sort of man who had calmly stood watching them instead of snarling and sneering like Rosalind. The man who kept smiling at him with dark eyes.
The man who had Rosa and Scabier alert at the same time.
-t-m-r-
"He is not gonna be paying for it either," Lotte spoke – drawing attention to his figure as he walked closer to the pair.
The werewolf.
And the wizard.
All midget of one- soft-looking cheeks he could crush between his thumb and forefinger.
Then Brodric had to clean a whole lotta more mashed wizard from the floor.
His eyes flashed with cruelty.
The boy continued looking at him as if his fingers were not itching already and replied, "If you can't take up your responsibility, of course, I don't mind taking care of it."
The leech smiled down- fangs out and nails drawn- but the boy didn't flinch then either.
Lotte looked up from the hand on the boy's shoulder to the mard of a wolf.
Scabier met his gaze evenly.
Is it because of him, the boy felt filled with courage as he stood amid creatures' lair?
"Is it so?" He whispered, out of place with the vampire who was snarling gory threats at the boy all this time.
The disaster of a vampire, not enough venom in those fangs to even kill a little mouse- all that thing could do was bare them and hope the others ran.
It was on the promise of Scabier's fangs that the boy dares stand so stiff.
The next few moments, happened very fast.
The rest of the meats jumped away from the sudden flurry of activity.
Scabier hastily pulled the boy behind him as a burly body rushed towards him.
And Lotte snatched that very hand- that was steadfast in protecting a wizard- to break it clean...
Scabier howled.
Lotten snorted.
The wolf recovered fast- smashing forward with his broken arm turned away and the good shoulder jutting forward.
Lotte went with the momentum to fall against a set of chairs.
He didn't let himself be dazed at all.
The wolf was crafty and swift.
Scabier was not weak and it wasn't his first brawl either.
This could go on for hours- and Lotte wasn't sure of his win either.
He could have waited to let it slip to Greyback for discipline.
That was if he intended to keep it fair.
Lotte jerked his eye forward and kept Scabier busy with chokeholds and hard punches to the ribs.
Charles picked up the broken piece of chair.
And when it happened; Lotte kept his eyes on the boy, gleeful.
Scabier howled and the smell of blood rushed through the air.
The blood-sucker kept the boy in place, painted long nails digging in the shoulder.
Every predator stirred at the smell of blood calling them.
The boy would be in the middle of a wolf massacre- should he choose it so.
And now he had finally the chance to subdue Scabier- the one with far too much dominance in the Alley-
But with this one mistake- all his power was tainted.
Hah- he could thank the boy-
The boy with a pretty fine dress and pale face.
Drawn lips and wide-eyes.
The boy-
The boy would make a fine sacrifice-
But he should carve out those plucky eyes first.
"Are you still feeling brave, boy?"
He was high on his win. Charles and his men were holding down Scabier's limb and the boy –
.
.
It was perplexing-
Lotte tilted his head even as his hand pressed down the wooden dagger on Scabier's back- why hadn't the boy still flinched away?
Collapsed pathetically to the ground?
Why was it still staring at him with blue fire glinting in those eyes?
He didn't like it.
Lotte pressed down harder when Scabier started struggling a tad.
The wolf grunted.
"Look around boy. No one will help you out. Look here. Your hero is mewling-but still alive, see? If you want to live, get on your knees."
The boy didn't look around.
He didn't even look at Scabier.
The boy was still.
The crystal blue bore down on him without flinching.
"Why did you do that?" The boy was quieter than the whole evening. But the pub was still as a stupefied mess and he sounded as clear as a bell-tower.
Lotte smiled and opened-
"Why, hm? Still, hating the wizards, the ministry but not enough guts in you to take them, right? Like a coward you hide from those who could wipe you out and like a coward you would show yourself only before a boy and one single werewolf- only when the odds are very much in your favour. Even then, you had to rely on others, didn't you?"
Lotte stared at those eyes, crystal pure which had seemed as clear and tranquil autumn-
Where shadows merged now, darkening them slowly.
Why couldn't he look away-
The closer the boy came, the more sinister those shadows grew.
He was looking down at the boy, but it didn't seem to matter.
The eyes seemed unnaturally bright, at the same so dark, pulling him in inch by inch,
"You think you hate witches and wizards. You hate every species, including your own, Lotte Lawrence Peters- even though you became a wolf just so you could borrow some of that strength you saw in others...
But do you know what I see? Fear, endless fear because in your heart you know what you are-"
The voice was coming from inside him-
Small hands took hold of his loosening fist-
And the voice dipped low, as if intimate-
"So much fear."
And the sweet voice coaxed out the days of misery-
You can't look at the others.
You can't look away-
They can crush you-
And not even remember your name-
Just a pest crawling around-
You won't be missed-
"Not even becoming a werewolf changed that."
The touch left him, and the darkness shifted its attention.
And Lotte gasped to take in all the breath he had lost.
-t-m-r
The pub was eerily quiet, except for the lone werewolf gasping and sobbing.
Scabier grunted when the broken piece was removed from his back.
His head was down, sweaty dark hair limiting his vision.
Soft hands tried helping up. Despite the atmosphere, Scabier gave an amused exhale.
As if the boy could ever lift a full-grown werewolf.
He didn't resist and let himself be directed to a seat,
Soft hands groped around his back, "You will be fine. Your wounds are already healing. It was neither from a werewolf claw or a curse. There is nothing to be concerned about.
It will be gone by the time anyone brought a pain-relief too."
The boy hovered a while before moving away.
The pub had not bothered to breathe any louder,
Because-
That
terrible feeling-
"Wizard? Vampire? Leashes? the ministry? Don't make me laugh." There was a soft snort at the end.
Nothing- nothing took away the goose- bumps those words brought- with that suffocating-
(Can you give me a glass of milk please?)
"If the wizard walking in here had been powerful and strong- you would be lining up to serve him."
-that terrible pressure..
.
.
And that unexplainable fear
The boy's voice modulated in pitch as he walked back and forth. He was in front of the bar now- still holding on to the blood-stained piece of wood.
Scabier focused on the blood drops and the agony on his back and bones- to shift away from the fear.
To be able to breathe through his mouth-
And not choke-
-He still couldn't meet the boy's eyes.
"I do understand the concept of power, you know. The powerful rise and weak stagnate."
The boy was holding up the crudely made dagger as he spoke- offering up to the audience.
"I don't care much for it." He whispered.
They all heard it loud to their soul.
It reverberated inside their pores.
And that pressure bearing down his mind, and soul-
-suddenly spiked.
The wood started blackening- no.
Dying.
Shrivelling as if all the moisture was sucked out of it.
As if it had run promptly out of all the time that it had.
And they all felt it-
That dark magic that danced over that piece, fragile wisps really- alternating between transparency and vibrant green.
There was nothing left save-
Absolute terror.
Digging deeper-
Their ears were ringing. Even though it was absolutely quiet.
Their bodies were being crushed- even though they seemed perfectly fine.
Forced to bend before that-
Scabier held on to his stomach, holding to the urge to heave as if he could throw all that crippling fear out, and watched as the boy walked to Charles.
For the first time in his life, he felt empathy with that snivelling creature who was now trembling under the table.
For the first time maybe, Charles' sly tongue failed him.
The boy's hand was still wreathed in vibrant green- cheerful and pretty in a way it shouldn't be.
'He was going to do something stupid.'
But Scabier couldn't move, much less get up. He couldn't breathe past the cloying feeling that Magic bought.
Each and every pore of him wanted him to run-
Far
Far away.
From this—this-!
"I don't care much for back-stabbers either." He crouched down and Charles snivelled but was frozen in the spot- was frozen until the hand swirling in that magic crept closer and tenderly held the wrist.
"I will leave you a little reminder."
Charles shrieked as soon as the magic touched him. Scabier could see four delicate marks around the hairy wrist.
What was- what was this thin-
He was a boy.
A foolish... foolish boy who was trying his best not to faint on a chair.
Scabier shoved down his terror with his first staggering stride and rushed forward.
The boy's cheeks were bloodless and too cool to touch.
Scabier frowned.
"You need to go now."
He thought the boy would protest, but he simply nodded.
The frown-lines crinkled deeper, as Scabier carefully patted around the boy to see if he had missed anything.
"Mippy."
A particularly ugly house-elf popped in, and Scabier stepped away.
But for some inexplicable, perhaps ridiculous reason, the boy then looked at him expectantly.
The hopeful look further mutated into a pout the longer Scabier took to respond.
"Scabier?"
The man sighed- he understood already, "I am not going."
The boy hissed in annoyance, "Are you an idiot? You can't stay here."
The longer they took, the faster the pub patrons would shake off whatever was holding them still. He should send the boy off already.
That said, the man bristled at the boy's look of patronizing annoyance.
"Are you an idiot?! You can't just invite me home. I am a werewolf." This spelling out the root cause was getting too troublesome.
"So you have said repeatedly. Just because I look thirteen doesn't mean you get to be so condescending!" Of course, the boy would cross his arms and be precocious.
"I wouldn't if you stop to think about what it means!"
The boy uncrossed to raise a flimsy fist-
To do what?
Punch?
Thump on his head?
Shake like a five-year?
(It was the same hand that had dark magic holding it a few moments ago.)
Scabier held his fist tight.
And lowered it.
"I have to stay."
The boy pursed his lips again-
A small face that rarely was expressive, not like normal children-
Scabier read the concern in the clear eyes just fine, though.
"I have to stay."
Because he would be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity when all the predators were downed. To run and hide at this moment would be the single most blunder of his life.
He was not so kind as to let it be.
"But-"
Scabier ruffled the boy's hair- soft and too fragile.
"It will be alright." He was already getting excited- for what he was planning on next, "But you should go now." And the boy must not show any weakness, not now.
-t-m-r-
Mippy had been aghast when she found his master had been starving for so long. just confirmed that he could not take care of himself in that school.
Harry ignored her mumbling.
And let himself be swallowed in the fantastical magical thing- his bed.
If he had a time-turner and he could go back a couple of hours earlier- he would give a nice sock to the ear to the over-confident, strutting past-self of his.
When had Harry Potter been truly vulnerable?
It had been a long- long-long time.
Certainly as Harry Potter, the necromancer, the apprentice to his Lord Death – he had never been. And as the boy-who-lived, well, the adult Harry Potter did not like to remember those embarrassing days as a child, thank you very much.
The stubbornness and mulishness- of being a Gryffindor had stayed though.
He supposed it was the same stubbornness that made him- him as Adrien Silvan now, Adrien Silvan with underdeveloped limbs and infantile strength and rebellious magic- think he could stride the belly of Knockturn Alley sans any consequences.
And as usual, he remained oblivious until the truth bled out to get its attention-
Until one of his own got hurt.
That stubborn pride of his- not knowing when to accept his defeat.. to recognize when to retreat...
That stubbornness had been very vexing to his friends. During, the wartimes the same stubbornness had carried him forward.
Of course, it was the same stubbornness that refused to let him show his weakness when he had been overwhelmed already.
Harry sighed and turned over to his back. The light stung his already throbbing head.
Harry didn't call for Mippy for a potion- only put an arm over his eyes to shield himself.
He had come very, very close to toppling over.
To draw his necromantic magic like that- when his body was as strong as baby's arm and just as prone to breaking down-
That had been reckless.
He didn't regret it though.
He didn't regret a single ounce of it.
Behind the arm in the dark, his eyes burned with the remnant of fury.
A/N-
Soo! We have the beginning of action here! Did my pace seem fast *worried worried. The story was always going to be a sort of action oriented- not rapid but well- the plot will be driven by happenings- sooo..
It was fun writing Harry- it is such a struggle writing the amalgam of mature mind and childish heart with a proud soul- I had hoped to add more explanation- but I didn't want to stress you out with too many words fellas. Every action of Harry has some backstory- *looks through drafts to confirm.. And it will be explained along the way. I am trying not to dump the plot on you. And so..darling ones, you gotta have a little patience for all the explanations. Discussions are always welcome and if you think if you have any problem- feel free to ask.
I know the story might induce some anxieties when we are comfortable with OCness- for me though, I want my hero not to cry and snivel when his power is drained out.
He will be the sort that- ' eh? My sword broke? Imma gonna punch you to death!' - sorry, too gryffindor. I knew when I started it- this story was a bit off the beaten path, and might not draw as much as audience-*draw in all the courage from my hero
Too long notes.. oops.
Please give kudos if you like.
And comments! They are the salt of my life! Life is bland without them! Thank you for being with me, everyone!