A/N: Nothing. Hate Othello.
Disclaimer: I make no claims toward ownership of Harry Potter. I do,
however, claim ownership of Ange. 'Cause they're mine. I also
claim ownership of whatever else you don't recognize. Ie: Cais.
WARNING: This is rated R for a reason. Should you
choose to ignore said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism,
sadism, sensuality, graphic violence, and harsh language. Possible
male/male relationships, or female/female. Ye hast been warned.
Should any of the above be objectionable to you, there is a back
button on your browser, a convienient hyperlink back to the main Harry
Potter section of the site, and a simple right-click will reveal an
option for "back", if your computer works like mine. Can't help mac
users there.
Spoilers: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.
Chapter 3:
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0554, June 23
Harry stood next to Charlie's bed, his hands clenched, tears dripping
down his face.
Loki, but this was easy. Stupid wizards. No half-decent Ange would
have fallen for this shit.
A small utterance of pain alerted him to the older man's awakening.
Harry leapt forward, seizing the man around the middle, and gripping
him tightly. "Cha'!" He squealed. "I was s-so worried! When Remy hit
you with that curse while you were starting down the steps! I saw you
hit your head against the landing! I-I-I thought you'd died!"
He fought the urge to kiss the man. No kissing while he was still
impressionable. Couldn't let the old men get a whiff of Charlie's
sudden change and become suspicious. Pleasant as seeing the red-head
on his knees would be...
Not now!
Harry continued gushing wildly over the half-comatose man.
It wasn't until he was forcibly dragged away by a combination of Bill,
Moody, and the red-haired blue-eyed moron that he slowed his
outpouring.
Charlie would never realize that Harry had dealt him the damage. He
would live the rest of his life under the illusion that Remus had
cursed him. He would never trust the werewolf again. He would never
so much as face away from the man.
O Loki, what fools these mortals be.
Harry was dumped cermoniously into his bed. There was a certain
respect to it, one didn't just go around dumping prestigious heros
into four-posters without some sort of established method! No, that
was unthinkable! You first had to make sure that they landed on their
backs, to avoid injury to the more sensitive parts of their bodies,
and also that you drew the curtains quickly enough that you didn't
see anything incriminating. Like a tattoo that did not say "I love
Mom" on their shoulder. Things like that.
Harry stopped crying, and stared stupidly at the curtains.
What was this? They had just... dumped him in his bed? The hell!
They were humans! They were not supposed to be uncaring to their own!
They were supposed to love him! Comfort him! This was not how they
acted!
Well now. At least he knew. Knew who took the first place.
Well, actually, that was something he'd known for years. He'd kill
her, if she weren't worse off than dead already.
Not Lestrange, of course. She didn't deserve death. She deserved pain
beyond pain. Maybe he'd make her immortal just to watch her for
eternity as she writhed and shrieked in agony.
Fun fun fun.
Oooh! He could transfigure her into a chicken and then send her off to
the closest butcher! But... that would kill her...
Meh. She'd probably get booooooring after a while. The same damn
screams over and over and over and over and over and over and over and
over and over... ad naseum. Fuck, more like ad infinitum.
Maybe he'd just sort of hide her in a cave. Let her scream there for
eternity. That would be nice.
Sleepy sleepy sleepy...
"Only a werewolf would make me this fridgkin tired." Harry whispered
quietly. "For now," he bellowed, "sleep!"
And promptly fell asleep.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0723, June 23.
-------
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 2359, June 23.
Harry peeked out of the four-poster, peering breifly around the room
before sliding soundlessly out of the curtains. He stretched, feeling
and hearing the crack of his overly stressed joints releasing their
tension.
For a long moment he stood, his eyes roaming the room, flickering over
the shimmer no more than any other space. The action would have been
suspicious had anyone seen it. The distortion attracted attention,
even if only on a subconcious level. He should have made some
reaction.
Fortunately, the rythmic rippling of the distorted area assured him
that the idiot was sleeping.
Harry stalked toward the window with his peculiar swinging gait, a
damn impressive achievement, when one considered he was also
completely silent about it. His clothes, even more disconcerting in
the moonlight, attempted pathetically to swirl omniously.
He peered over the window, observing the three-story drop to the
flowerbed. His head cocked to his left for a long moment, before he
shrugged.
His jump carried him just beyond the flowers, and he landed with a
muffled, if not silent, sound. He stood, and without glancing back at
the house, swept away, nearly glowing in the night.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, 0000 June 24.
-------
??????. 0030, June 24.
Harry slid into the clearing. He wasn't exactly sure where he was,
hell, he didn't know where Grimmauld Place was anyway, but there was
something here.
Something big. Something hungry. Something angry.
Sounded like fun.
As such, it didn't catch him completely by surprise when it came
barreling out of the darkness and slammed him into a fairly thick tree
trunk.
Harry's sharp intake of breath alerted it to the fact that he was not
dead. And yet, the beast had slammed him into a tree at speeds that
would have slaughtered a fully grown werewolf.
Fear flared in it's mind.
Harry smiled ecstatically. There was a brief hiss, and his eyes
returned to cobalt and onyx.
The creature attempted to back away, only to find that his throat was
caught by the boy. It writhed wildly, thrashing about, flailing at him
with talon and claw.
Harry stared at it, nearly giggling at its pathetic attempts to
escape. He wanted to play...
Harry flung the beast across the clearing.
And then the clearing echoed with a snap and a drawn out sizzle.
??????. 0035, June 24.
-------
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0033, June 24.
Moody swore. Moreover, he cursed anything that moved. Fesulting in
the screams of several unfortunate house elves, and the destruction of
a certain painting.
More disturbing, his magical eye was not rolling in its socket. Not
that that particular trait was used for anything more than
intimidation. After all, the eye continously sent a three-sixty degree
panorama into his brain anyway. It had been the strangest thing, at
first, but now he couldn't imagine his former life, being only able to
see around one hundred fifty degrees.
None of which was relevant currently. Mostly he was just pissed that
Potter had disappeared from underneath the nose of one Mundungus
Fletcher. The third time in as many years that he'd fucked up on his
guard duty.
Moody considered letting Potter decide the man's punishment. Not a bad
idea. A rather good idea, actually.
He shook his head, snarled, and continued stomping around the house.
Surely, surely, Potter hadn't left! But... just in case.
"Nymphadora! Get your pink ass over here!" His bellow made the windows
flex dangerously.
Within moments he heard her, rushing toward the source of his voice,
not a difficult thing to find given that he was still roaring.
"Wotcher, Moody!"
He glared with both eyes.
"Sir, auror Nymphadora Tonks reporting for duty, sir!"
"Go. Find Potter. Look outside. Kick his ass for me." And with that,
he stormed away, cursing more random objects, and swearing at every
thing else.
Tonks pouted. "Diana, but he's an asshole."
She turned around to storm in the opposite direction, and promplty
tripped over a scurrying house elf.
Her screams soon agreed with Moody's.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. 0034, June 24.
-------
??????. 0037, June 24.
Harry laughed, his delight lighting his face. The fact that the beast
had him currently hoisted over its head was inconsequential. He was
having fun.
His face flushed lightly as he slammed into one of the higher branches
in the tree. Automatically he wrapped around it, and then pulled
himself on top of it.
He stared openly at the beast. It had been... well, a long time since
something had been able to manipulate him like that.
He laughed again, flexing his hands delicately before leaping off the
branch to plummet toward the animal.
The creature hissed loudly, and opened its arms to catch the boy.
What it hadn't counted on was his claws. It stared in confusion at the
gaping hole where it's gut had been moments earlier, and then looked
up at the man licking his hands clean.
The beast's death scream echoed through the clearing as it flung
itself one last time at the torturer.
To have it's head ripped from its shoulders by a simple backhand.
Hot blood spurted briefly from the corpse, managing to soak the front
of Harry's clothes.
He sighed contentedly, before looking upward in preparation for his
dedication to Loki.
To find another six of the things skittering down several trees.
Dearie me. He seemed to have stumbled on a nest.
Oops.
Harry caught the first one as it attempted to tackle him, and flung it
into the dirt, intending on stomping on it to finish it off.
Whereupon he was hit from behind and flew into an oak.
Crapitalism, he thought, rather eloquently as he stood. That hadn't
even made a dent in the tree. Irritating.
Slowly he walked back into the center of the clearing, allowing the
things to surround him again.
But he couldn't, and wouldn't, just let them attack.
And so, he lunged, spearing the closest beast on his claws, watching
the blood spill from its lips entranced.
A mistake, as he was caught from behind and flung upward. He started
to right himself, and stopped. Even over the cacophony of croaks he
could hear someone approaching.
Well, fuck. How annoying.
Tonks swore vehemently as she stumbled loudly through the forest.
Who's brill-fucking-ant idea had it been to go looking for Potter in
the middle of the night?
Moody was going to die. Painfully.
She tripped and crashed face first into a tree.
Very painfully, she amended as she rubbed her nose.
Her ears twitched sharply as they caught a loud snapping. Followed by
a cracking, and then a crash like something hitting the ground.
Ordinarily, she would have minded her own buisness, and gone on. Right
now, however, homicide was the most important thing on her mind, and
she darted for the source of the sound.
And promplty tripped over another root, forcing her into an awkward
roll to enter the treeless area.
She registered shock for a moment, observing Potter being thrown
around. By three...
What the hell were those?
Then again, she was supposed to find Potter. Here he was.
Now the question was, should she save him, or go report to Moody
first?
Decisions decisions...
??????. 0052, June 24.
Jess16--Poor Remus indeed. Mwuhahahaha...
Two Minds--Continued it is. And continued it will be. Intact, mayhaps,
but whole, certainly not.
http://big.freett.com/shanuff/stray.wmv