October 18, 2007: mmm, revisions...
original note: This isn't my greatest chapter. I've been doing Exponental Functions and Logarithmic Functions at school, so I've been more occupied by my crappy mathematics than with writing this. Oh well...
Notes on Living Weapon; it's unlikely that I'll post it here, on I MAY allow some readers of this to get a preview of it, however. I want to get Living Weapon published; I've been working on off-and-on it for about four years now. I've got the entire thing planned out, and a few scattered scenes here and there... I just have to connect the scenes. It's an exhausting process, you know.
Bleh, back on track, this is a Harry Potter fic not a "discuss Living Weapon" forum. :P
The Itch doesn't own Harry Potter. This is the fourth time I've typed that, too.
The Itch DOES own Daemen Wolfos, however. Wolfos is her sadistic little wolf-pup.
Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Four: Books
The Itch
Weapon had entered the library and was half-way to the Restricted Section before his eyes and expression returned to "normal". Harry stopped for a long moment, blinking in confusion as he tried to piece together what had just happened. When he did, he made a face-- he hated it when Daemen pulled that trick!
He figured that Merlin's Runes would be in the Restricted Section, as he'd never seen anything like them before. Not to mention that the blasted things all but hummed with the combined force of McGonagall's, Snape's, and Dumbledore's magic signatures. They had each pour a little bit of their own life forces into the runes to ensure that the spells would work. Spells such as that were considered strictly forbidden, and in many cases illegal, due to the possibility that one could put too much of their energy into the spell.
The end result being the death of the caster.
Moving in a way that was more suited to a wraith than to a human boy, Harry Potter brushed his fingers along the thick tomes near the back of the section. Books on the Dark Arts-- and oh, wasn't it a stupid idea to keep them where an intelligent student could find them, he scoffed, even as he tucked a couple into the crook of his arm-- books on dangerous creatures and how to tame them, books on illegal potions, and ah! Here it was. Books on illegal and forbidden runes.
And right there, like it had just been waiting for him to come and discover it, was a tome on Merlin's Runes.
"Must be the one they used to figure out the spell," he muttered to himself, carefully working it free of the over-packed book shelf. A glance around to ensure he didn't have any pesky little watchers was followed by quickly shoving the books he'd picked up into a bag that he had pulled out of his robe. With his task complete, he hummed a jaunty little tune to himself, and walked out of the Restricted Section. When he was once more in the "legal" section of the library, he tucked the back into a small alcove and promised them that he would come down to pick them up that night.
He was just about to leave the home of the books, when someone called his name. Turning, the Potter boy found himself face-to-face with the ever inquisitive Hermione Granger, "Mione?"
"I've been looking everywhere for you, Harry!" she huffed, but her eyes were bright and her lips were twitching in an attempt not to smile, "I wanted to ask you why you stayed behind to talk with Professor Wolfos."
"The old man asked me to take the Junior Moldywarts Kissers to Pomfrey, remember?" Harry seemed oblivious to his slip-up, but Hermione had most certainly caught it, and in return gave him a wide-eyed stare. Wolfos was vicious-- she had done a little bit of checking up on him right after class, and had found that there were records of all his detentions on file. Most students from his previous classes had called them "torture sessions." Harry, it seemed, just continued on without a care, "So I was just telling him what Pomfrey told me."
"And what was that?"
"That he needs to be more careful with his students," Harry shot her a lopsided grin, "Although what she said was a bit more... colorful."
"I'll bet," Hermione mused, half to herself and half to Harry. His little slip-up on the Professor's name was being added to the list of strange things that he had done in the short time since he'd returned, and this one just seemed to beg the question of whether or not he was attempting to commit suicide. However, before she could ask him anymore questions, she was going to have to put the effort into finding him again. While she had been lost in her thoughts, the young Potter had slipped out of her metaphorical grasp, and vanished into the halls of Hogwarts.
That was another thing to add to her list. Where the hell had he learned how to be Batman?
With night having fallen, a certain steel-eyed and black haired youth stole out of Gryffindor Tower. He was, as he had so often been in the past, cloaked in the Invisibility Cloak that had once belonged to his father, and beneath that he wore his collection of weaponry and muggle clothing. With his feet clad only in black socks, he glided soundlessly down the halls in the direction of the library.
Weapon was dangerous when he was awake, Harry knew that. But he figured that it was the best way to get what he wanted out of the library. His other half, of which was arguably the better half simply due to the fact that Weapon wasn't insane, was a silent, deadly predator. Just like had been taught to be.
Merlin's Runes stopped him from accessing his full power, and hopefully the research he had been instructed to look into would do something to help him break through them. Then, and only then, would he be able to wreak some havoc on his unsuspecting captors. Weapon only listened to one man, and that particular man just so happened to be the one to have released him from his confines: Daemen Wolfos. And even then, Wolfos' commands tended to be more like suggestions to the steel-eyed boy. Weapon was very well aware that he had the power to utterly destroy the older wizard. He didn't simply because of their relationship.
Harry supposed that the relationship between Weapon and Wolfos would have been the one he had with James, had the man lived past that fateful Halloween night.
Weapon's calm, easy stride became a rough ground-eating one as his insane side thought idly of James Potter. To think of James meant to think of Voldemort, and to think of Voldemort ultimately came down to the reason why Weapon had come to the fore in the first place, all those years ago.
Voldemort would get what was coming to him, Weapon decided firmly, and his followers would fall and die in a blaze of pain and fire and death. When he realized the particular turn of his thoughts, Weapon tightened his control. Weapon did not have emotions. It was impossible for him to.
Weapon was just as his name implied; he was a weapon of mass destruction. He was all of Harry's darkness, brought shockingly to life through the power of the killing curse some fifteen years earlier. Weapons did not have emotions, and therefore, nor could the man named for them. His other half was leeching into him, he understood, and roughtly shoved Harry's mental projection away from him. The insane child could come forwards after they had retrieved the books from the library.
This was your idea, Weapon scolded Harry when he imagined the other pouting at him. It never worked, so why did he bother? Ah, the insane. He would never understand one of them, although their antics were certainly amusing.
The door to the library was unlocked, as per usual. Weapon wondered if any of the teachers even cared that anyone could just walk in and pick up books on the Dark Arts. He supposed not; they were all too trusting in the students. It was as thought they couldn't realize that to a student rules were made to be broken.
Weapon did not care for rules. In fact, Weapon made the rules. He bent and broke any rule made by others whenever and however he saw fit. No one was allowed to bend him to their will, which only brought his thoughts back to one absolutely frustrating piece of knowledge. Oh how he would get his vengeance on the "Royal Ass" and his entourage. How dare they subjugate him!
He had no will to rule anyone, nor did he wish to destroy the muggles. There was no desire for any such nonsense. What he wanted was for people to acknowledge him. He wanted them to know that Weapon existed, to know that any danger to Harry Potter meant death. If it was not an instant end, then their suffering would only be prolonged until they were struck down when they were a paranoid little snot.
The half of him that was Harry laughed gleefully at these thoughts, adding in his own little bits and pieces. He didn't want to be the "Boy-Who-Lived", he didn't want to be the savior or sacrifice of the Wizarding World. He simply wanted to be Harry Potter. Though perhaps being known as the most insane Wizard outside of Azkaban would be fun, too.
Azkaban... Weapon bent and hauled out the satchel containing his books... that reminded him. He had to go and send a letter off to Sirius. Even during his time being shaped and broken and reshaped by Wolfos' methods, Harry had done his best to keep in contact with the fugitive Animagus. He wouldn't allow any harm to come to Sirius.
He had already dealt with seven threats to Sirius' life without his godfather knowing about it.
Sometimes, Weapon thought, with laughter ringing through his thoughts as he shifted back into Harry outside the library doors. Sometimes it was nice to be insane. People always said the most... interesting of things when they thought that you weren't coherent enough to remember any of it.
His cackling, insane laughter echoed through the halls, lingering in the air. By the time that Filch had gotten there, Potter was gone, and only the memory of his laughter was enough to say that someone had once been there.
Outside, Harry dropped himself into a seat in the garden, and admired the still shapes. It was always so interesting to sit out under the moonlight and watch nature as it passed him by. Things were so different at night; sharp shapes became menacing with only the soft and pale light of the moon to wash over them. Soft shapes became silken, while things perceived as friendly in the light of day turned dark and horrifying.
Harry loved it.
He tapped his wand against his chin, half muttering the light charm lumos before he hauled out his books. First was the book on Merlin's Runes; he would be unable to cast any Dart Art spells until the wards were gone, so that was first priority. He had tried so many mundane means, but apparently some of those runes were to protect against using muggle means to tamper with them.
It was bloody frustrating, that's what it was, Potter thought to himself as he idly flipped the book open to a dog-eared page. He tilted his head to one side and pointed his want at the book's pages as he read. A frown crossed his face, and he flipped though a few more pages of the thick tome. Well now, this was unexpected. It wasn't something that was truly unusual, simply... unexpected.
It was written in a dialect of old Norse; obviously, Merlin hadn't wanted just any old wizard to be able to read his books. Thank the gods that he had opted for Ancient Runes this year. Perhaps he could use one of his text books in order to translates it. It was doubtful, and he was annoyed that he would most likely have to learn a new language just to be able to read the research materials, but these things happened.
If he always dwelled on the bad things, he would never get anywhere. Somewhat brusquely, he snapped the book shut and sighed before tucking it back into his satchel. Following that, he dropped his chain into his palm, and he propped his elbow up on his knee.
He could always train now, he supposed. Figuring out what the book said would take quite a bit of time and effort. Grumbling at his misfortune, he tossed his satchel to the side and stepped away from the bench that he had chosen for his seat. Green eyes bleached to their cold steel gray, and he pulled off his shirt. He didn't need it to be getting covered in sweat as he worked.
And then...
Then he danced.
End Chapter
October 18, 2007: No original notes at the end of this chapter. In random news, I apparently have an astigmatism. This explains quite a bit about my life, and I will be getting glasses. Go me. More to come as I work on the revisions throughout BS. I hope you're enjoying version 2.