Ok, so…I know it's been almost 5 years since I've written, and well…at this rate what I originally wanted for Of Keyblades and Magic is, essentially, a long dead and decomposed dead horse that I am frankly really tired of kicking because someone *glares at writer's block* decided to take up a near permanent residence around here. So, while I'm trying to get that back up and running, I have however, started something new. I hope you enjoy this, please read and review, flames will be given to Gred and Forge to experiment with; also, I apologize for any issues with how things flow here. I got a little too into writing the batty, senile Arabella Figg that might or might not have dementia or something in this story. Anyway, enjoy!
Please remember, I do not own HarryPotter or Assassin's creed. If I did, Harry would've never stayed with the Dursleys after his first year of Hogwarts and Desmond would still be alive and kicking.
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He loved moments like this. The wind in his hair, the slight ache of exertion, the feeling of all but flying over obstacles. It gave him a sense of freedom like no other. He would vault over the post box and fences, sprint on while his pursuers were forced around and about by objects in their paths, climb up houses and jump from roof to roof. Yes, in these moments, he was free…but this freedom never lasted. Besides, he had a record to break. He was soon leaping from the roof he was currently running on, tucking into a roll as he landed to continue his forward momentum as he continued to sprint away from the bellows and jeers behind them. Soon he saw it, the old primary school. Bolting around a corner into the side alley he was soon before the dumpsters, though they didn't stop him. With a grunt and a mental cackle he was soon clamoring up onto them, and then further climbing scaffolding from a recent repair that hadn't been taken down yet, hand over hand and foot over foot.
"Thank god this is here," he thought with a grimace; "I didn't want to try the gutter pipe again" a glance to his left showed that the very pipe was what needed repairs in the first place. Definitely a good thing he hadn't tried climbing it with how it was halfway off the wall. Before long he finally reached his destination, as he finally crawled up onto the roof. He sat there, muscles burning, chest heaving and sweat dripping from his brow, but grinning ear to ear as he hit the button to stop the stopwatch function on his wristwatch. Fifteen minutes and eleven seconds shone on its face. He huffed and went to wipe his brow only to nearly hit himself as he did a double take. Fifteen minutes and eleven seconds! He beat his past record by almost 5 minutes! He let out a whoop of joy before starting to madly cackle, because god damn he hadn't expected to beat his twenty minute record at all, let alone by almost five minutes. He laid back with a grin, still chuckling a little as he stared at the clouds above him, eyes glittering as he was able to enjoy true, honest freedom-
"DUDLEY VERNON DURSLEY AND HARRY JAMES POTTER! GET OVER HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" And there was the end to his temporary freedom. Green eyes rolled towards his feet as he rolled to stand before slowly making his way back the way he came, rolling wrists and ankles as he went over a mental checklist. 'Let's see…fingers are a little sore but that's normal, ankles are good…' he carefully kicked his left leg a couple times at the knee, testing a old injury from one of his…"uncle's" past beatings curtesy of the teen's being a wizard. 'Knee's not been knocked, thank Merlin…think its actually healing!' and on it continued, old injuries subtly checked as he also looked for new; thankfully, he found none. He climbed down the same way he went up, finally turning around once he reached the bottom to find himself facing not only his worried looking cousin, but also the one person in all of Little Whining, Surrey that he might hate more than both his uncle and Voldemort combined. With long white hair tied back in a ball so greasy it would disgust a pig, a tiny pushed in nose, and shrewd gray eyes stood Arabella Figg, a Squib who was far too controlling for her own good, if the amount of calls the local animal control got for what were obviously neglected and abused cats under her care was anything to go by. Hell, Harry himself had made them most recent one after finding no less than 10 cats crammed into a pair of dog crates being forced to live in their own filth during one of his nightmare induced wanderings of Wisteria walk. He and Dudley may have come to a odd sort off truce three years ago after Harry had been forced to kill a giant snake with nothing more than a sword and survive its corrosive venom, but the day just after he'd come home from his third year, when she'd tried to run Dudley over after he had tried to release one of her cats, had not only brought the two boys closer when Harry had somehow gotten Dudley out of the way of the vehicle, but it had also gotten them on her shit list for "hurting her precious babies". Not that freeing the poor cats would hurt them; if anything the poor things' health would probably improve after being freed thanks to Surrey's "catch, spay/neuter/nurse to health, and release" campaign. None of these things mattered to Harry at the moment as he unflinchingly gazed at the old woman with eyes hard enough to be made of steel, quirking a brow as he spoke.
"Yes Mrs. Figg, what seems to be wrong?" The old woman's already flushed face became red and blotchy as she suddenly started screaming about hooligans and video games and "idiot children running about like insane people when they should. Be. Home!" He tuned her out as his gaze found his cousin's, Dudley's beady blue eyes practically glowing with annoyance and the universal look of 'will she shut the fuck up already'; Harry barely kept from rolling his eyes as she droned on and on. 'Bloody hell no wonder her husband vanished and her daughters left as soon as they could. This woman's nuts!' on and on she went, Harry at this point completely ignoring the seemingly insane woman as Dudley surreptitiously looked to the side and began counting bricks, as neither of them wanted her admittedly claw-like nails digging into their arms if they tried to walk away. However, there was a charge in the air, something that had both boys admittedly guarded in how they stood; weight shifting to the balls of their feet, arms loose, fingers curled and eyes scanning the immediate area. All unnoticed by the old woman before them. Their attention was suddenly caught as she moaned and groaned, mid-tirade as she was.
"Dammit, I told Albus that he should've just spelled the lot of you to behave but he just won't listen! Senile bastard thinks that you and the boy will just 'go back to being boys'. It's not enough that he wont give me more for dealing with-"
"More what, Mrs. Figg?" She looked up like a deer in the headlights at that, the two boys staring at what they'd once thought was a crazed woman in shock and rage. "What, and from where?" Eerie green eyes glared at her from under black bangs as the air around the three seemed to grow colder and colder. The stare off continued for a few more moments before, with a huff, the batty old woman turned about and, with more speed than one would think she'd possess, stalked of to her house. Dudley was rooted, staring at the woman's retreating back before being startled out of it by voice.
"Dudley?" The blonde turned towards his cousin, worry marring his features when it became clear that "Albus" was someone Harry knew, and trusted. Or, at least he used to trust this Albus if the shaking off his clenched fists was anything to go by. The other boy gazed at him for a few moments before seeming to come to a decision. The dark haired youth sighed as he continued.
"I…I need to show you something, and I don't think you're gonna like it…" Dudley shook his head as he and his cousin began walking, their path taking them into what had once been the industrial hub of Little Whinning before it had been moved into Greater Whinning some 50 years before.
"Harry mate, you killed a bloody snake that's bigger than a lorry with a bloody sword and lived. I don't think whatever you're going to show me will phase me." Years later, Dudley would look back, and know just how wrong he had been.