DISCLAIMER: I Don't Own Harry Potter.

When Hunting Monsters

Chapter 1: Following Footsteps

A groan and a thud was heard in the smallest bedroom in Number Four Privet Drive as Harry threw the book he was holding away from him. He suddenly got up off his bed; the springs in the mattress protesting noisily. For the life of him, Harry could not understand what the author was prattling on about. All he knew was that it involved what looked like Celtic runes and applying them to different rituals. It was a very old book, the little English it contained were anecdotes written in the corners and the bottoms of the pages. They had obviously been added long after the original copy had been written.

Upon returning to Privet Drive that afternoon, Harry had immediately rushed Hedwig and his two trunks to his room, not saying a word to the Dursleys who had, in turn, been strangely quiet the whole car ride to Surrey. Harry knew though, that it was too much to hope for that Moody's threats would keep his relatives docile for the whole summer. It was entirely likely that in a week or two Vernon would completely forget about the terrifying wizard in the bowler hat and return to his previous ways. Because of this, Harry knew he would only have a short amount of time to go through what his godfather left him, and proceeded to do so, despite Remus' warnings.

In the trunk he had found some curiously titled books, an assortment of potions, a bowl with strange carvings and a small dagger. Harry felt very depressed, having expected a letter or some form of communication from Sirius. He had certainly been anticipating something much more exciting than a few musty old books, and potions, though the dagger gave him a very direct sense of unease and foreboding. He had picked up the first book in the pile titled something he couldn't pronounce in Celtic and 'The Celtic Compendium' in English below that. He had spent the last several hours trying to work his way through it, hardly noticing the sun being swallowed by the inky blackness of night nor the sounds of his relatives as they progressed through their usual dining and bathing routines. Except for Dudley of course, who bathed very irregularly.

The book had been utterly frustrating and in six hours, Harry had not made it past the first ten pages. Runes was something he admittedly knew nothing about. Hermione was the one who took all these weird pointless classes, not him. So why on earth would Sirius want him to have this? All the book was to him was a bunch of squiggly lines and formulas that didn't make sense. With the desperate thought that maybe one of the other books would help him out, Harry quit his pacing on his dirty wood floor and bent down, rifling through the trunk. He hastily pulled out a vial containing a thick red potion that nearly broke with a loud clink against the trunk's lid, a book titled 'Dueling with the Dark Arts: Break your opponent',which Harry frowned at for a second before putting it down, and finally a nondescript, very worn, brown journal that had neither title nor markings on the cover.

He sat down at his desk and opened the journal, and found, to his bemusement, that the first page was completely blank. Rifling through the rest of pages showed that they were also quite similarly blank, except for a few smudges of ink and dirt placed sporadically throughout. This brought back unpleasant memories of the diary he had found in second year that ended up containing the memories and personality of a burgeoning sixteen year old Lord Voldemort. Perhaps this journal was of the same nature? No, Harry thought. Sirius wouldn't leave me something that dangerous. But maybe it works in a similar fashion.

Harry scrambled over to his desk and pulled out a muggle biro from a drawer before scrawling a messy hello onto the first page, only to find out his efforts to write on it were futile as nothing was showing up. He checked the ink in the biro by scribbling on his hand, there was indeed ink, and tried again to write on the page. Nothing again, except for slight indentations on the page where had written.

The gears in Harry's mind turned as Harry brainstormed for a reason as to why Sirius would leave him a blank book. However it made as much sense as leaving him a book of runes he couldn't read, maybe Sirius had meant to write a message in it but couldn't manage it before he died. Or maybe, thought Harry, his eyes lighting up with renewed hope, the journal is like the Marauder's Map and requires a password.

Harry grabbed his wand from his bed and tapped it on the first page of the open blank journal.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good!" He shouted with excitement and watched as the book shone with a bright light and then a title began scrawl itself in a loopy manner across the first page

The Marauder's guide to the Animagus Transformation

By Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Harry quickly turned the first page, eager to reveal the secrets the marauders had hidden within. As soon as the page was turned more script began to work its way across the page, although in a much more readable manner.

This guide is designed for future generations of marauders, specifically those who wish to completely fulfill the marauder legacy by becoming Animagi. Take heed that the process we underwent was extremely dangerous and has the benefit of being untraceable by the Ministry, but possesses the downside of being completely illegal and in no way registrable. This is because even the end results of the modern Animagus transformation are greatly different from the process detailed within, which happens to be a series of ancient Celtic rituals that don't require any wand waving (in case you happen to be in a place where doing so would attract ministry attention) but are very painful and complicated. It took Messrs. Prongs, Padfoot, and Wormtail five years to gain the required understanding of Celtic Ogham, and rituals in general, to attempt this feat of wizardry but since we've compiled the long years of research, trial, and error into a polished step by step procedure it should take you much less time. To complete the process you'll need an encyclopedia that has detailed Celtic ritual formulas and diagrams, since there's not really enough space in this journal. It shouldn't be too hard to find one, we recommend 'The Celtic CompendiumbyCernunnos Cocidius'. There is no English in it since it's dated back to the 4th century B.C. and there's not many copies of it, but it's popular among Celtic scholars, and should be easily ordered at Flourish and Blotts. It has all the necessary runes and formulas that the marauders spent ages looking for and the guide will show you how to locate and use the right ones. Good luck! – Messr. Moony

Relief and excitement flooded Harry as he read, he was going to become an Animagus, and had the answers to why Sirius would leave him these seemingly random and useless objects. Sirius obviously intended to teach Harry, and have him carry on the Marauder legacy.

"Well," Harry said to the empty room, "I should at least honor the man's last wishes."

Harry spent the remainder of the night reading through the journal, and attempting to memorize every Celtic character needed. It turns out there was a great deal of them, and the process, Harry learned, was somewhat horrific. The diagram he had been directed to in the compendium showed the sketch of characters covering the whole back and front of a body, and then listed every one. The guide, in turn, provided the correct sequence for applying them, and the potion to make the 'ink'. It ended up being one of the potions in the trunk, mixed with his hair and blood. It was the method for tattooing the Ogham characters, though that was particularly ghastly. It involved carving the strange symbols all over his body, which explained the presence of the five blood replenishing potions in the trunk, and then pouring the mixture carefully into the cuts, again in sequence. If anything in the process was not done in the correct sequence the results could be anything from losing his magic, to having all his skin burnt off.

The formulas for determining which characters to use were extremely complex but the guide tried to simplify it as much as possible. Basically since the transformation is a very individual thing, the characters to use of course, vary by person. Since the runes were Celtic the animals available were pretty much limited to ones you could find in Europe. One determined which runes to put in what location by things like the date of your birth, your name, what you've accomplished in your life, tragedies that have taken place and everything else that's of any influence to a person's personality. These runes when carved, linked, and inked in the right order would connect a wizard to their animal form during the ritual which he would also have to memorize. This was all of course, very daunting to young Harry, but he was determined to follow in the footsteps of his father and godfather. And so read, and read, and read until the sun was again shining through his moth eaten drapes, and Aunt Petunia banged loudly on his door.

"Boy, get up! I'll not be having food I cooked go cold because you want to lay about all morning! Get down here and eat your breakfast this instant!" She shouted, banging on his door all the while. Harry had locked it so none of his relatives could walk in and see the contents of Sirius' trunk strewn about the room.

"Er... yes Aunt Petunia, I'll be down in a second," was Harry's startled reply. Petunia never made breakfast. Had Moody really scared them that much? He grinned to himself as the thought of a summer full of subservient Dursleys popped in his head, before hastily tidying his room a little, putting the two books he had been studying underneath his floorboard, and heading downstairs to a breakfast at the Dursleys that he, for once, had not cooked himself.

The clinks of knives against marmalade jar and the scrapes of forks against plates filled Harry's ears along with the disgusting noises of his Uncle and cousin chewing, and the awkward silence that permeated the room. Everyone's eyes were very obviously avoiding Harry, and Harry's own were busy studying the patterns in a tablecloth that was already familiar to him. He looked up as Uncle Vernon cleared his throat.

"Hermm, boy, we've got some news," Vernon said straight to the point. He was that kind of man after all. Vernon scrutinized his freakish nephew's face, the dark circles under his eyes and the unkempt hair. His baggy shirt and jeans hung off him like he was a scarecrow. It didn't even cross Vernon's mind that the clothes were entirely his fault. It's disgusting, thought Vernon. Couldn't the boy at least try to make himself look presentable? Vernon cleared his throat again and looked his nephew in the eyes, noticing the irritation that suddenly appeared, and the lack of curiosity they displayed. This made Vernon very indignant indeed.

"Your aunt and I," he gestured with his hands, as if Harry needed clarification of who his aunt was, "are going on a…. business trip. I have a very important meeting to attend to in Paris about opening a new factor..." the boy zoned out again and looked down at his plate. "Boy! Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Vernon felt the vein in his temple throb.

The boy's head shot back up and a glare was evident on his face. That's better, Vernon thought. At least he's paying attention.

"Sorry. I was thinking about something, got a little distracted," Harry said in a half-hearted attempt at an apology. It was the truth. He couldn't get what he had spent all night studying out of his head. He watched as Vernon sputtered and his face turned red, before he calmed down again.

"As I was saying. We're leaving. That is, Petunia and I, Dudley is staying here." Petunia's face looked like she was sucking on a lemon at this news, it was clear how she felt about leaving her precious Dudders in the company of her filthy freakish nephew. Dudley of course wasn't really paying attention, being rather more interested in his food.

"Why is Dudley staying here?" Asked Harry, actually curious.

"He's got a boxing tournament in London next week. You're to stay out of his way so he can train, you understand, boy?" Vernon asked, his mustache quivering with menace.

"My name is Harry. Or Potter. Not boy," Said Harry, his upper lip curled in a sneer. He wasn't sure why he was feeling so antagonistic today.

"Fine… Potter," Vernon spat, bits of egg and sausage spraying onto the tablecloth. "Just stay out of Dudley's way and don't touch anything in the house."

Harry nodded his head. Vernon grunted. Petunia sniffed in a disdainful fashion. Dudley chewed. The news played on the telly on the kitchen bar, emphasizing the awkward silence between Harry and his relatives. He wondered if the Order knew they were leaving. He concluded it didn't really matter.

"How long are you going to be gone?" Harry asked, getting up from the table, and carrying his dishes to the sink, the picture of a beach ball like a five year old Dudley staring at him from the counter.

"A few weeks. Hopefully, one of your lot will have come to collect you by then." Vernon said 'your lot' in the same tone he used to talk about politicians he didn't particularly care for.

Harry didn't say anything in reply and headed back to his room to read more of the Marauder's journal. The day passed like this and sometime around noon Harry heard Petunia giving Dudley a tearful goodbye, and Vernon telling Dudley to 'make him proud'. They didn't bother coming upstairs to say goodbye to Harry, and Harry didn't bother going downstairs to say goodbye to them. He reveled in his silent room, except for Hedwig's hoots, and then remembered Vernon was gone so there was no need to keep her in the cage.

"Hey girl, guess what?" Harry said to his owl, grinning as he approached the cage. "The idiots are gone so I can let you fly around all over my room. You can even shit on the floor if you want, I don't care. We should be at the Weasley's or at Grimmauld Place by the time they get back. Just don't shit on the books please."

Hedwig just let an excited hoot out in response, and Harry let her out, watching as she took off and flew a few laps around the ceiling before coming back to perch on his shoulder.

"Alright Hedwig, you can stay there but try to be quiet because I have to memorize a bunch of stuff." Harry said, sitting back on the bed with his books. Except now, he had a biro and paper to practice drawing the runes with.

A few days passed like this, and Harry didn't come out of his room except to make and eat quick meals. He felt like he was making slow but steady progress. The complicated lines and patterns of the runes were finally sticking in his head and the formulas were starting to make sense. He had already figured out some of the runes he'd need to use, and had figured where a couple would go. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage to carve them on his back though without making a mistake. It'd probably be a good idea to practice first, with a biro or something. But he needed a break from studying in general. Harry felt that if he were to attempt to cram any more knowledge into his head at the moment, it would explode. And so, he decided to go for a walk.

Harry noticed Dudley wasn't in his room as he walked down the hallway to the stairs. He was probably at the gym or smoking with Piers. Harry wasn't sure how Dudley managed to box with the amount he smoked but then again, he could never figure out how Dudley even managed to move around with his walrus-like figure.

The Agapanthus look like they're withering, Harry thought as he made his way out the front door. But then what wasn't? It was getting dark now, but during the day the heat made Surrey feel like a desert. The restriction on water didn't really help the flowers lifespan. Harry looked up and noticed a figure in the distance, running towards him. Surprised, he took his wand out of his back pocket and hid it behind his leg, waiting for his cheap glasses to give him a better image of this potential Death Eater. Part of Harry hoped it really was one.

It's Dudley, Harry thought, surprised, as the figure got closer. Dudley and running seemed like a paradox, but there he was pounding the pavement.

He is starting to slim down a bit, thought Harry, wondering why he hadn't noticed before.

"Hey Big D! What'chya up to?" Harry asked as Dudley came closer. He was panting and had his hands on knees as he stopped and took a breath.

"What does it look like Potter? I'm running," Dudley said still panting between words

"I know. I'm impressed. Never thought I'd see the day where you actually did something physically challenging," said Harry cheekily.

"Shove off Potter!" Dudley's face was murderous as he stomped his way back inside. Harry laughed to himself and decided to head back in too, he had a long enough break.

Tonight Harry decided to study something a bit different. He needed to vary what he was shoving in his mind so he wouldn't burn out. He pulled out the book on dark curses Sirius had left him, although he still wasn't sure why.

Maybe Sirius just wanted me to know what I was up against, Harry thought. That did seem like a plausible reason.

For a few hours Harry became increasingly disgusted at the effects of the spells in the book, like the entrail expelling curse, or one curse that turned a person's eyeballs into acid, which in turn dissolved the rest of their face. But he committed the wand movements and incantations to memory; at least he would know when a Death Eater was throwing one at him. He was reluctant to admit it, but he felt a bit of excitement at the thought of using these curses on Death Eaters themselves. Such thinking reminded Harry of the prophecy that sat like a weight in his gut, and the events at the Ministry. He recalled the horror as he watched Sirius fall through the veil, the amazement at Dumbledore and Voldemort's duel, and what it had felt like to be possessed. Perhaps, Harry thought bitterly, things would have gone smoother if I could duel like Dumbledore. The things Dumbledore had done during the duel had been pretty wicked.

Perhaps you could be like Dumbledore, thought a voice in Harry's head. You just don't work hard enough. Like Snape says, you're lazy, arrogant, and mediocre. Was that really it; him not applying himself? Could he really learn to duel like that? Well why not, he had learned the Patronus charm in third year. Harry decided right then that he was going to hunt down and kill the monster that called itself Voldemort, and do everything possible to prepare himself. He would make the Dark Lord and his followers suffer for destroying his life, for landing him with the Dursleys, for taking away Sirius. Harry felt the anger bubbling in his stomach, just under his skin, squeezing his chest. The glass of water sitting on his desk began to rattle and Hedwig let out an undignified, alarmed squawk. He forced himself to calm down. It wouldn't do to get another letter from Malfada Hopkirk.

He wondered what spell Dumbledore used to animate the statues in the ministry. That looked like something he thought he could maybe pull off. In charms class they had done pretty much the same thing except with smaller objects, and making them dance across their desks.

Harry let out a yawn and realized how tired he was. He decided he should probably get some sleep, it wasn't like he'd be able to learn anymore in this state.

It was another week before Harry felt he was ready to start practicing drawing the runes on his body. He had spent the last seventy-two hours meticulously drawing them on paper, over and over, and memorizing the chant he'd need to recite after carving them. Whenever he needed a break he would go through the book of dark curses, and his old schoolbooks. Particularly he'd reread his charms and transfiguration texts as he was developing more of an interest in them. After taking a closer look at the theory behind animation charms, Harry figured that Dumbledore must have used a much more advanced version than the one they had been taught. It would have to have been more advanced to allow that kind of manipulation of objects that size. Hopefully they'd learn it this year, or else he'd look it up in the library. Hermione would probably want to help.

On a few occasions Harry had even joined Dudley on his runs, who had shown that he'd stay quiet and not insult Harry as long as Harry refrained from insulting him. It felt bizarre to be around Dudley for any length of time without some abusive verbal or physical exchange, but he also thought it was kind of nice.

Late one evening, Harry stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom completely nude after he had spent an hour in the shower removing any body hair that would get in the way, including the hair on his head, and even his eyebrows. He looked so strange, a completely different person. The runes on his face and in some other areas would be much thinner and barely noticeable, but it was necessary for them to connect over his whole body. He ran a hand over his smooth head, marveling about how strange it felt. He didn't like the way his baldness reminded him of Voldemort. With a shudder and the urge to puke, he recalled Voldemort's rebirth in the graveyard, how the Dark Lord had been so interested in his new body. He had run his hands over his head, his face, much the way Harry had just done.

It doesn't mean anything, Harry thought. Just a coincidence.

He took a hesitant breath and brought the biro to his chest. It took five minutes to finish the first rune, which thankfully turned out perfect, and at least five to ten minutes for the rest of the runes belonging on his face, arms, chest and stomach. He finished his feet and started on his back.

"Fucking hell!" Harry cursed as he realized there was no way he'd be able to do this by himself. Even with the aid of the mirror, he still couldn't draw the runes on his back accurately with a biro, how the bloody hell would he manage it with a knife? Harry knew he needed assistance, but who was there besides Dudley?

Oh dear god, Harry thought. I'm going to have to ask Dudley. He cast a scornful glance at the messed up squiggles on his back in the mirror, before throwing on his clothes and looking for Dudley who didn't prove hard to find.

"Er... what'd you do your hair?" Asked a confused Dudley from the recliner in his room

"I, uh, shaved it. Look, that's not important. I, um, have a favor I need to ask you." Harry said uncomfortably. Dudley got the most interesting expression on his face, and if Harry had to describe it, he'd say it looked like a mixture between constipation and Aunt Marge's dog Ripper trying very hard to think.

"Oh. Um, well, what's the favor?" Dudley asked, fidgeting in his seat.

"I need you to carve some runes into my body," Harry said bluntly.

"WHAT THE BLOODY-" Dudley exclaimed, only to be interrupted.

"Wait! That didn't come out right! There's an evil wizard who's chasing me right? Doing this will let me turn into an animal so I can avoid him, and give me an edge when I have to fight him." Harry tried to explain. Dudley looked very squeamish and still confused.

"So you want me to cut freakish signs into your body? Won't that hurt?" Dudley asked

"Of course it will, but I've been through worse." Dudley looked doubtful. "Really, I have. There's this spell called the Cruciatus Curse that makes you feel like you're being stabbed with thousands of hot knives. But anyway, I really need your help, there's no one else who can help me do this," Harry pleaded.

Dudley looked like he was going to throw up now. Harry could see he wasn't getting anywhere with him and gave up.

"Nevermind Dudley. I don't why I had the crazy idea you might be able help me out anyway." Harry started to walk out of the room.

"No, uh! Wait!" Dudley yelped, finally finding his voice. Harry turned around raising a questioning eyebrow. "I owe you, so I guess if this is how I can repay you, I'll... do it." Dudley said quietly.

"What are you talking about Dudley? You don't owe me anything."

"Yes I do. Those Demento thingies. Mum said I wouldn't have a soul if you hadn't of done your magic." This really surprised Harry. Petunia told him that? Wow.

"Well, hopefully, you would've done the same for me, but if it gets you to help me, you can consider us even if you do this." Harry smiled.

Dudley gave an uneasy smile back before getting up and following Harry to his room.

Harry, of course, had to teach Dudley the runes and how to draw them which ended up taking another week. Dudley wasn't much of an artist and got frustrated very quickly, so to placate him, Harry allowed frequent breaks during which the boys would go running. Dudley even managed to convince Harry to spar with him. Surprisingly Dudley didn't go out of his way to beat the crap out of the smaller boy, and Harry managed to pick up a few things. Harry ended up spending whatever time he wasn't spending studying, training with Dudley and helping him to get ready for his tournament. He felt like it was a fair trade for what Dudley was going to do. Carving anything into someone's flesh couldn't be much fun, unless you had the disposition of Lord Voldemort, which Harry knew Dudley didn't have despite his bullying tendencies.

Before either of the teens knew it, it was Friday, and almost time for Dudley to get picked up by Piers and Mrs. Polkiss who were going to take Dudley to London. Both boys were sitting in the yard enjoying the little bit of relaxation time they had before Dudley had to leave.

"I'd go and watch your matches Big D, but I'm not sure Mrs. Polkiss would appreciate me tagging along." Harry said, plucking a few blades of grass.

"Aw, it's alright. I doubt you could tolerate Piers for two days without hexing him into a cockroach or something." Dudley said jokingly, punching Harry in the shoulder. Harry shook his head in wonder at how drastically things had changed between him and his cousin. A year ago the word magic would have sent Dudley into a panic attack, and any mention of a hex would either have him running to Petunia or swinging his fists at Harry.

"Ya, I imagine that wouldn't be much fun," Harry grinned. "So you'll be getting back tomorrow night?"

"Ya, and I can help you with your… thing as soon I get back." A look of discomfort passed over Dudley's face before vanishing.

Harry looked Dudley in the eyes, noticing the hesitance in them.

"Are you sure you want to Dudley? I know I begged you and all that, but I don't feel right making you do something like this." Maybe it'd be better if he waited until Remus could help him.

"No, it's fine. I mean, of course I don't really want to. I'm not really looking forward to all the blood and all, but I do want to help you. I meant what I said before." Resolve like steel was in Dudley's tone and Harry gained a little more respect for him.

"Alright Dud, but if you change your mind, it's fine."

"I won't, but here comes Mrs. Polkiss, you'd better get inside." They both spotted a beige minivan making its way down the street, and got up off the ground, brushing the dead grass off their jeans.

"Ok, Big D, I'll see you Saturday night. Good luck!" Harry said, giving Dudley a slap on the back and heading back up the steps and into the house. He watched through the parlor window as Dudley got in the car, with his bag full of boxing gear, and rode off.

Waiting for his cousin to get back to Number Four Privet Drive turned out to be hell. Ten minutes hadn't passed before Harry was in room pacing, the dirty wood floor squeaking as Harry walked across it in his worn trainers. Hedwig was staring at him. Hedwig... I haven't written to the Order, or Hermione, or Ron, or anyone! Thought Harry in shock. He hurriedly grabbed a sheet of paper off his desk, knocking over an ink bottle, the contents running and dripping off the old, uneven desk onto the floor.

"Fuck!" Harry cursed as he mopped up the ink with an old shirt. He then grabbed a biro, jotting a quick note to the Order letting them know he was alright, although he was sure they already knew that. If Mundungus' loud snoring, his stench from not bathing and copious amounts of firewhisky were anything to go by, the Order was definitely watching him.

Probably why they haven't owled me, Harry thought. He was pretty sure he'd spotted a few of the other members too. On occasion while he was outside with Dudley he'd spot, for a second, what looked like a foot, or hair and perhaps hear breathing or footsteps. However, not one of them had attempted to contact Harry. He wrote a few more letters to Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Neville, asking them how their summers were going so far. He didn't dare tell any of them about what he was studying, before tying them all to Hedwig's leg.

"Alright girl, that's one to the Order, one to Hermione, one to Ron, one to Neville, and one to Luna. You got that?" Hedwig gazed at him balefully before nipping his hand and taking off through the open window. Hedwig wouldn't be back for a while with everything she had to deliver, which left Harry with nothing to do, except studying.

He threw himself back into his books, memorizing wand motion upon wand motion, and incantation upon incantation, desperate not to give his mind any time to think or reflect. Was it the image of Sirius falling through the veil, the horrible feeling of having all your hopes for a family, and for happiness crushed in a single instant that Harry was running from? Probably. But it didn't matter. He was getting things done one way or another, and he was finally, for once in his career as a wizard, putting some real effort into his magical study.

This was not a summer he'd spend laying in his bed and staring at the spider-web like cracks in his ceiling.

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AN:

Thanks RuneNeko for Beta reading this