Wizard Under The Troll Bridge

Abby Ebon

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Disclaimer: This one does not own Harry Potter – or Hellboy.

Note; …so, I've written out "Bad To The Bounty" (which is quickly turning into story sized "one shot") and "Stranger In The Lake" though writing the two stories had turned out to be a bit longer wait then I thought, still, they are now posted, which is at least something… I just had to watch Hellboy again before I posted….-glances to scrambled notes- it might not have been the best idea….

Beta(s):

artscribler, (as of 11/4/09) who proved editing really is "worth the wait".

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Liquor Kills You Quicker

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"You will be careful of him, will you not?" This was a voice that had stopped wars, bestowed blessings, and named babes. There was an undoubted presence of power that came with such a presence. Feminine and soft, it left no doubt that there was a dire warning – a threat hidden in all that this voice was gentle in tone. Faced with that sort of being, subtle threat or not, a wizard would be a fool to protest.

Harry was still a cat. These words were meant for another.

"O'…of c-course, Lady Nuala…" Dung stuttered out frantically with eyes that looked in any direction but in the face of whom Harry had settled on the shoulders of. He was well aware of his danger. A great bulk of trolls stirred and murmured among their neighbors behind the Lady Nuala, most spoke the troll tongue – of which Dung only knew a handful of words. Those words that he understood would not have comforted him.

A slender pale hand reached up to scratch at his ears, Harry grudgingly allowed a rough purr to mark his approval. He had wondered how Bog'ma and Bogey might go about convincing his neighbors that Harry, even as an envoy, should be allowed the freedom to leave the Market without the "proper" escort following at his heels.

It was grudgingly that they had previously allowed him to breech the surface to the underground rail stations, and some of the closer underground stores; and that twice-a-month trip was for his health. Even so, Harry knew that even in the underground of the city, he was watched over. It did not matter that Harry could not see those protectors, they were there.

This would be no different. Except, as envoy, old laws and ancient vows protested his entering a territory without a visible protector (this, supposedly, so that he would not be mistaken for less, or more, then what he was) of like-nature to those to the territory he was entering. To a troll, this meant Harry – already a wizard and of human shape – had to be accompanied visibly in the upper world with another wizard or witch of human shape. Trolls did not see a marked difference between non-magical and magical humans.

While his neighbors would find no qualm in kidnapping a witch or wizard and manipulating them into going though such a task, Harry had a secret to keep. He was thought dead among wizards and witches, and he wanted to keep it that way. Which left his neighbors in a disgruntled position of blackmail to a wizard; fortunately, they knew just the wizard-thief.

Dung was a young man raised by non-magical folk, Unfortunately, when Dung had seen though the disguises of trolls, he captured their interest. They had waited until Dung knew what he was and already taking little things, they had approached him. He was one of a handful of wizard-kind the trolls would deal willingly with. He had never seen the Market. Yet he knew Harry, because when he had sickened, Fragglewump had asked him of wizard sicknesses. Curious in his own right, Dung had found out about Harry when he went to the surface for the first time.

It had been from Dung that Harry had gained the last Horcrux.

"Stinks, smells of fear…." Fragglewump protested in a grumbling tone.

"Smell fine, fresh, of good stock." That wasn't particularly comforting as Harry was fairly sure he had once seen a human finger among the "delicacies" on a plate of the bug-eyed troll (a sort of merfolk that took on the stooping shape of a frog) that had just spoken up in protest.

"Did any scent a lie on him?" Lady Nuala asked softly, paying no mind to the mumbling conversations that hushed as her question echoed in the dead-ended courtyard alley that led to the Gate. It gapped open, though it was not unguarded with the throng of trolls that stood between each side of the Gate. Some were curious of the outside world, some had been born to the Market, and knew no other world – still others detested the world beyond the Gate.

"Nay, Lady," Bogey finally spoke up, grudgingly. It was a truth, though not one well liked.

"I trust him," Harry spoke abruptly in Dung's defense. He had changed his shape with a cautious prod at his magic; it reacted with a violent and abrupt flare. Harry had never so swiftly went from a cat to a wizard.

His hand still rested on Lady Nuala's shoulder where he had flung himself off at a jump. She smiled at him; it was kind though there was certain sadness in her gaze. She looked then to Dung, Harry saw her sadness change to wary regard, and the kindness fade to a severity she showed only when she felt a situation was dire.

"Our green-eyes may trust you, if you betray our wizard, you will never die but you will suffer everlasting." Lady Nuala was the immortal daughter to King Balor, her threat was not an empty one. Nuala turned her attention from Dung as if he no longer mattered, and her gold eyes focused on Harry.

"You will take care." She made it into a statement; a fact. He did not argue, instead Harry nodded his head, not disagreeing. He noticed only then that his hand was still on her shoulder. She took his hand in hers, her fingers cold and soft, her lips on his skin were warmer then he thought they ought to be.

"Go then with our blessing." There were chuckles and screeching laughter, and soft mocking coos meant to tease, and leering grins from his neighbors. But Harry was close enough to see that Nuala meant no jest in her actions or words. He did not know what to do with the knowledge, or what to say. His tongue frozen, his body unmoving with his shock, Harry could only watched until Nuala moved out of his sight and though the Gate.

Words were spoken to him, or at him – of warning, of taking care – all of them echoed Nuala, though even together the sentiments and well wishes of his neighbors paled in comparison. He did not know what to think of it, so put it out of his mind. It would be dangerous – and foolish – to dwell on, however much Nuala might be fond of him, Balor was not.

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"You know, you don't have to come along with me. I'd be alright on my own," Harry had mused on how soon to tell this to the wizard-thief. Even after the Gate had shut behind them, he had stuck by Harry. His value was unquestionable. Harry would not soon forget the thief that had brought him the locket – the last Horcrux. Still, he managed to annoy Harry. He fidgeted and jumped at shadows. His name was Dung.

"Yes, I do. Believe me, I would love to be on my way – unfortunately, you have some very frightening friends – got me?" Harry reluctantly remembered Nuala, her threat no longer amused him, as he dreaded looking deeper into it, and finding something he would not know what to do with.

"Mind telling me where it is we're going?" Dung asked this in a hushed tone as they walked on the streets. He kept his voice low, though the only ones who could have heard him were the little's that ran amuck in masks and mocking costumes.

Harry had forgotten that he would walk the upper world on Halloween night. It was funny, in a twisted way. He had born in this month, now, knowing what he did now, he walked again on the surface. Despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, he had been lured up from the safety of the depths of the underground city that was even now waiting for his return beneath the sidewalk he sauntered across.

Harry looked upward to the night sky. His eyes had long ago been made sharp in the dark in which he dwelled, but even wizard sight could not see past the smoggy clouds. The stink of decaying leaves and the burnt smell of leaves itched at the back of his throat. It was strange to think that the underground was a cleaner place than the upper, but Harry only shook his head and tilted it as he stopped walking.

He had learnt a lesson long ago, he did not dare use magic and walk at the same time – he thumbed at the smallest cord of magic. It danced in his mind-eye, quaking readily at his touch. This time there would be no real-world aftermath. Dung would not see what he did. It was just as well, for he bit his tongue, crushing his hands to his ears. Sirens, and speech, and thoughts, that were not his own – or very nearby – washed over his mind like the oncoming tide. He saw the place, for it was burnt into his memory.

"Harry…Harry, are you alright?" Dung had a hand on his shoulder, and was looking about them nervously. It was as if he wanted them to be discovered. Harry shrugged his hand off and the lingering tang of sights, and smells, and words that were not his own. He knew where he was going now and strolled in the direction that felt the best match.

"A library…" Harry muttered reluctantly under his breath, aware that Dung needed an answer still. The wizard-thief had quicker steps then Harry, so it was no trouble to him to keep up with Harry. Still, almost carelessly, Dung tossed him worried looks and looked about to say something that Harry would sneer to hear. He kept his tongue, and Harry was glad, for among the troll to be insulted was to risk death. Harry would not kill Dung, but it was easy to read the wizard-thief's thoughts; weak.

"In New York? Very helpful." Dung had heard him well enough, though he rolled his eyes upward, keeping pace with Harry's quick steps they turned an abrupt corner and paused in the wake of what they saw; a sprawling crowd of curious non-magical people with cameras, and a museum with the claim of Machen Library of Paranormal Artifacts. On red background, black bold words proclaimed "magic," if in a different spelling.

"Yes, it is," Harry allowed no hint of sarcasm in his tone, though the irony was clear to read across his features. With his tilted brow and slanting lips, one could almost have claimed the expression was a grin.

"Harry…" Dung was glancing between Harry and the crowd, rightfully nervous. Harry held up his forefinger and thumb. There was a snap and then the lights along the road went out, police radios filled with white noise, cameras went dark, and batteries ceased to work. Some people shouted or screamed then were silent; they were tense and unnerved.

Then, almost reassuringly tender, there were murmurs in their minds of a Halloween prank, and that reassured the crowd. None knew the thought did not come from their own minds. Harry thought it a fair trade, for their thoughts had pressed in on his own mind first.

"We will not be seen, come along if you insist it." Harry reached for his magic, but it leapt to meet his touch and unexpectedly he became a cat. Then with an expecting look to Dung, the cat disappeared with little noise but a rush of displaced air. Dung gave a put-upon sigh. Holding his nose to rub away his annoyance and possible forming headache, he followed.

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It did not surprise Harry that human bodies stank. Blood had been spilled over polished tiles. Those would be cleaned by morning. Still, the bodies were long gone, – eaten or carried off – yet the stench lingered. As a cat, he sat in an out-of-the-way corner, and watched with curious green eyes and slanted pupils as people milled about even after the bodies were long gone.

Two people held his attention. An old man – who smelt of coming death – and a …being that he, even as a troll and wizard, had never seen the likes of. He wondered what his neighbors would think, or tell him. Harry studied the blue skinned one as he knelt by a sword, studied it in turn. Black eyes, wider than a human's though eerily like a shark-gaze, seemed to see things that were not here now, but had been. Harry felt a creeping sensation along his fur, as if a spider were creeping up along him unreachable. He brushed it aside, careless, watching as the blue-hued being jerked in reaction as if he had been struck.

Cat eyes narrowed, as web fingers twitched uneasily.

"Shit, Harry…?" It was a hushed voice, coming from a side-room that Harry sat near. It was just as well that Dung had opted for secrecy rather then appearing beside Harry. A cat might not be noticed or his appearance might be excused, but a man would not. Harry flicked his tail, trotting into the room – if only to reassure Dung.

It was then that he felt the creeping-spider presence bearing down on his mind, invading. His magic leaped to his defense, too late. The delayed reaction set the sensation into a tumbling tizzy that was a vision. He saw with blurred focus the security men die, then a woman with cold blue eyes and yellow-wheat hair, a lean man who dressed in black leather and held swords he was talented in – the curiosity being he wore gasmask and not even a hair was to be seen. Then the man Grigori Efimovich Rasputin, who should be dead – for he stank of death and darkness that was the Ogdru Jahad – arrived. Sand-that-was-not was spilled.

Sammael resurrected.

Harry crouched on his belly, trembling, and that was how Dung found him. With care, the wizard-thief lifted him, cradled him in arms that were solid and more real than the flashes of past-sight, to a chest that was warm and had a beating heart. There were no slithering tentacles of Ogdru Jahad reaching though his skin for Harry.

Harry relaxed only a little when he smelt the familiar spice-tang of the smothering underworld air. He was among his neighbors once more, he was safe, and there would be a hunt for Sammael to undo what had been done to him. Harry knew how, now that he had seen it done. There would be no second-guesses.

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Note; with this chapter you begin to see how volatile Harry and his magic are, no spells, or wands, yet undeniably there and dangerous. There is a good reason that I mention that Dung let the last Horcrux fall into Harry's hands, yet I do not mention – yet, Tom. They are "separated", soul wise, though there is still a connection; all this is connected to Lady Nuala and King Balor, though I want to hear your guesses first. Harry left the wizard-world at twelve, he is now nearing twenty, if any were wondering at the time between "now" and the "then" that Harry remembers.

Next, Harry will go a Sammael-hunting, and stumble into Abe and Hellboy and John Myers...