Disclaimer: I do not own.
//This is Parseltongue.//
Paraselenic
Niggling // too preoccupied with details
Harry walked along the streets of Hogsmeade alone, having lost Ron and Hermione in Zonko's. He had Christmas shopping to do, and he didn't want to be questioned on the things he was buying. Unfortunately, he didn't even know what he was going to buy for anyone. He had already been through five of the smaller shops off the main road and though he had easily found gifts for his Gryffindor housemates, he was having more trouble with his older friends.
Exiting yet another store, he glared at the street. He hadn't had to buy gifts in years, and damn if it wasn't difficult. Dante was the most difficult, he thought, as the man really didn't like anything.
He spied a dark storefront at the next corner, a few Slytherins exiting it. It appeared to be some kind of knickknack shop, the mysterious look to it leading Harry to believe he might find something interesting there. It felt juvenile, but Harry made his way to the door, keeping an eye out for anyone watching him. It didn't look like the most reputable place to be. But before he could enter, echoing cracks of apparition startled him.
He turned on his heel, unable to see the main street at all. But it was obvious what was happening.
The screams had already begun.
Harry's eyes narrowed as the frightened screams resonated off the storefronts, their echoes unheard over the din of the already panicking masses. An attack? Without word to him? He snarled and dashed toward the main street, wondering who had sanctioned this. If this was totally unauthorized Harry was going to enjoy holding the perpetrators under some creative torture curses.
Harry darted into an alley that connected to his destination, swearing under his breath in a mix of English and Parseltongue. This was certainly complicated; he had to look to be assisting and being his Gryffindor self while attempting to figure out what the hell the Death Eaters thought they were doing and surreptitiously sabotaging any attempts at capturing Voldemort's -- his own -- troops. It made it infinitely more complicated that the Death Eaters still didn't know his identity, something he hoped to rectify over his Christmas holiday now that Snape was confirmed as loyal.
Harry broke into the middle of a veritable war zone, firing off Stunners rapidly at the ground near the feet of the black robed attackers while trying to assess the situation. There were a dozen Death Eaters terrorizing the shoppers on the main street, a handful of students and chaperones fighting them off. At least two of the masked assailants were bound in the thick ropes indicative of an Incarcerous, which Harry subtly freed them from before moving on. All the while Harry tried to discover why they were acting without permission, half his mind set on dodging badly-fired spells and on predicting his opponents' movements so he would miss with his own.
A hard grip on his hair took him off guard, eyes welling in pain as he was ripped backwards. After little to no attention to his hair as a child, he had found himself to have a tender head as he aged, and any pulling of his hair ticked him off immensely. He snarled, wrenching his head to the side and resisting the urge to bare his fangs. It was a large man he wasn't familiar with, a towering mass of dirty blond hair and roughened skin. He easily stood head and shoulders over even Harry's natural height, so he absolutely towered over Harry's fifteen year old guise.
But as the old adage said: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.
Harry dropped down as far as he could with the grip on his hair, sweeping his foot out and successfully toppling the brute. Harry went down hard with him, his head banging forcefully onto the dirt while curses spilled from his lips. Harry kicked out forcefully in an attempt to escape the grasp, managing to with the loss of a chunk of his hair. He spat a Stunner at the masked man and kicked him in the head to appease his own vindictiveness.
A Diffindo grazed across his shoulder near his neck, resulting in a hiss of pain. He couldn't risk being too injured in this battle; Madame Pomfrey would surely notice his lack of complete humanity if he was injured enough to require a medical scan.
Harry glanced around to be sure no one was nearby before he shot an earth-based spell at the feet of three advancing Death Eaters, knocking them on their backsides without lasting injury. Scanning the battle, he realized that most of the students had retreated now and various Order members and school staff were doing the fighting now. Harry quickly shot several Finite Incantatem at those Death Eaters that were bound and a Rennervate at the one he had stunned. In the continuous volley of spells between the Light and Dark factions, no one noticed. He knew his anonymity was temporary, though, and crouched in between two stores as he tried to decide what to do next. He couldn't actually take part in the battle, as he had a cover to keep with the Light and did not wish to pick off his own followers, so he settled for freeing the downed Death Eaters nearly as soon as they were taken down.
A loud crack very close at hand startled him, the sudden Apparition behind him taking precious seconds away as Harry was seized by the scruff of his neck. He bit his tongue as he was slammed hard against the alley wall with a spell binding his arms to his sides and sending his wand clattering to the ground. Harry swore and scowled into the meaty face in front of him; he didn't know who it was, but resemblance told him it was the father of either Crabbe or Goyle. He never could keep those two straight. For the millionth time he cursed his weak fifteen year old body, though he knew that physical strength would not help him now. Though he was sure he could shatter the weak spell holding him, the magical flux would call even more attention to him and likely endanger him even more. But he would be damned if he died at the hands of what was technically one of his own minions.
"Well, well, well… if it isn't Harry Potter," the man sneered, lip curling to reveal grayed teeth.
"Well, well, if it isn't a walking flobberworm," Harry said, raising an eyebrow calmly.
The man grunted angrily and raised his wand. "You'll give me endless fame and power, Potter. Master will be so pleased to see you dead…" Harry's eyes widened. He didn't think a follower of Voldemort would really be stupid enough to attempt to kill him. He was, after all, claimed by the Dark Lord himself. Apparently the sons took after their fathers. "Avad--"
Harry's saving grace came in the form of a silky drawl, inflectionless and bored. "I don't think you want to do that, Goyle, our lord would be… most displeased."
Harry let out a huffing breath as he took in the masked figure that could only be Lucius Malfoy, platinum hair perfectly placed even after battle, his wand lightly placed against the larger man's temple. "Oh my savior… however shall I repay you?"
Lucius smirked. "We'll just have to see how I can be… repaid."
"Free me from these bindings and we'll talk, Pretty. I'm currently very unhappy."
The blond glared but acquiesced, moving his wand from the elder Goyle's temple to flick Harry free. Harry immediately brought up his wand to the fat Death Eater's unmasked face and stunned him, pocketing it with a look to Lucius.
"So, care to tell me why there is a raid going on without my consent or any warning whatsoever?" he said in a deceptively pleasant voice.
Lucius pulled off his mask and inclined his head slightly. "I apologize for being unable to inform you. The owl sent with the letter from my lord was one of mine and returned with a tracking spell in place. I was able to Confund the spell long enough to make it appear to have gone elsewhere, but the fact that it was tracked meant it was too dangerous to allow another owl to deliver a message to you without time-consuming spells protecting it."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "What is this about, then?"
"As you know, I was left in charge while my lord was away." Lucius waited until Harry had waved his hand to tell him to move on. "Last week it was discovered that the failed raid a few days before Halloween was a result of a spy in our ranks, a lower level Death Eater that has been feeding information to the Ministry. He managed to evade capture and we found this morning that he was here in Hogsmeade. There was no way to contact you quickly enough."
Harry nodded, impressed with how professional Lucius was acting. It was a far cry from his defiant attitude of October, and Harry smirked. "So, Pretty, miss me?"
Lucius stiffened and his eyes narrowed, but he didn't snap back as he used to. "That name is repugnant."
Dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No insults? No descriptions of the pain you would like to inflict on me? No patented Malfoy Death Glare? No denial?"
Lucius looked away with his nose upturned. "I am attempting to be properly deferent."
"And what made you decide I was worth your deference?"
"I saw the images taken of Sybill Trelawney's… presentation."
Harry snickered. "So all it takes to impress you is creative mutilation? Hell, if I'd of thought it was that easy to get your illustrious approval I'd have done it ages ago."
"I was unwilling to believe that you had the qualifications to be my lord's equal. However, I now am willing to give you… a chance."
Harry chuckled and slid up to Lucius, running a finger down the man's chest. "Are you really, Pretty?"
Lucius' face twisted into a grimace. "Please, my lord, that is highly disconcerting while you look like that."
Harry grinned, respecting Lucius' discomfort and stepping back a bit to lean against the alley wall. "I'm sure we haven't much time left, but were you able to catch the traitor?"
"Yes, my lord."
"And everyone is still here because… ?"
"They await my signal. I apologize for those who dared attack you, my lord."
"It is not a problem, Lucius, I haven't told them who I am yet. I think I will have to remedy that over the holiday, though, if I can find a way to get away from here."
Lucius' slate eyes were getting wary now, eyes darting as the sounds of battle began to draw closer to their hiding place. "If you manage to find a way, I was requested by my lord to invite you to stay at Malfoy Manor. He should return by Yule and you will need to be free for the meeting he will call."
Harry pushed a hand through messy, short hair, wracking his brain for not the first time on what he would do to get away. "I'll figure out something, I'm sure."
"I should be going, my lord. It would look badly for one of either side to see us conversing."
Harry waved him off, smirking. "Can't wait to see you again, Pretty."
"Yes, my lord." Lucius studiously avoided his eyes and dipped into a bow much lower than any he had graced Harry with before, quickly straightening and raising his wand.
With a shouted 'Morsmordre', cracks of apparition once again echoed through Hogsmeade, signaling the end of the raid.
Harry gave a show of looking angry and angsty as the announcements were made; fifteen dead. Most were nameless Hogsmeade occupants but one had been an Order member - Elphias Doge - and two students - the seventh year Gryffindor Alicia Spinnet and the sixth year Ravenclaw Mandy Brocklehurst. Harry was, in actuality, very bored as he listened to the students mourn in a loud fashion, ducking his head to hide the wide yawn that cracked his jaw. There were many better things he could be doing, and he had yet to see the point of corralling all the students in the Great Hall like livestock. If an attack were to take place on the castle, wouldn't this just make them easy pickings? The enemy would storm the wide entry doors and block them in, the small side doors would be crammed with students trying to flee and people would be trampled. Really, it was silly.
He hated that he now had nothing to distract himself. He had been very purposefully keeping himself busy since his enlightening conversation with Dante the night before, unwilling to examine the parts of him his friend had pulled out. So, maybe he was sort of bad with understanding emotion.
Scratch that -- he was really bad at it.
It wasn't his fault, though. It wasn't as if he had had any great examples in his life. He'd grown up in a household where he was treated worse than a pet and without half the attention one would get; it wasn't exactly a breeding ground for a compassionate, emphatic soul. His early years in Hogwarts he had invariably been thrust back and forth between loathed future Dark Lord and vaunted Savior of the Wizarding world, and though having Hermione and Ron beside him had begun to help him understand about loving one's friends and going out of your way for them, they didn't help with the romantic world. He had no examples for that at all for years.
Cho Chang had been pretty, so he'd liked her. That was that. He'd known nothing about her, not her hobbies or personality, simply that his stomach did flip-flops when she was around and that thinking of her made for a good wank. This had not particularly been the best beginning to understanding romantic feelings, especially when she had turned out to be surprisingly lacking in a brain for a Ravenclaw and hard up for a personality as well.
When he had gone to Sceaduwe, he had been concentrating too much on training at first to attempt any kind of romantic conquest. It wasn't until just before his seventeenth birthday that he had found himself face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Long cinnamon hair, ample curves, full lips and slanted almond eyes had captivated him, and he had ended up jumping into bed with her the day he'd met her. He didn't exactly regret that, but he realized he had been quite stupid. He had found out quickly after just how vapid she was, but had consoled himself in that a brain wasn't necessary to enjoy sex.
Sadly, though, his Gryffindor morals had set in and disallowed him from a repeat performance.
Then there had been Valerian… witty, intelligent, mischievous, and quite possibly the most intriguing individual Harry had met to date. Over a year in Sceaduwe under the influence of his vampirism and physical training had done wonders for Harry, he had finally filled out in the appropriate places. And then one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen wanted him… him! Prior to the night Valerian had practically accosted him, he had considered himself a perfectly normal straight male. One night had, however, totally changed his mind. He hadn't been aware prior to that just how foreign the soft curves of a woman had felt until he had the firm planes of a man to compare the sensations to.
But he could hardly even fathom his current situation. His mind could not wrap around the mere idea of fancying Voldemort. While denial was a lovely thing, Harry had never been in the habit of lying to himself. He had tried to tell himself it was just friendship, but he knew it was a lie from the moment the thought danced across his brain. He felt differently for Voldemort than he did for his friends, the feelings too intense to be the same.
He couldn't equate the feelings with anything he'd ever felt before. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the years of hatred and near obsession that strung between them, the angry emotions managing to distort to such a degree as to end up egging on the strange fondness between them. Somehow he understood the reptilian man with only a glance, the subtle nuances of his expressions all Harry needed to comprehend. It was unnerving and he mostly tried to ignore the signals he had been noticing for months, the recent absence only compounding it.
It was wrong and frankly made his stomach turn, but he was enamored with Voldemort.
Tom Riddle, someone he had been rather accepting of calling his friend and always excited to spend time with. He did honestly know that looks were not the be-all end-all in a relationship… but could one feasibly be in a relationship with someone whose looks revolted them? He had found as the weeks passed that the man's looks no longer fazed him, but to imagine kissing or touching him in an intimate matter? Harry shivered. He didn't think he could do it. Not at this point. Though he could see himself finding the piercing red gaze erotic and he could think of more than a dozen things a forked tongue could be useful for… at the moment the bald head and flat snake-like non-nose were just too much for him to overcome. Did that make him shallow… or discerning?
Harry shoved his hands into his hair roughly and sighed, unaware of that over half the Great Hall had been watching him as he had toiled. Thankfully, all but a few bought that he was distraught over the deaths. And those who knew better could only wonder.
It was three days later when Harry finally found himself a bit of time away, meandering aimlessly through the halls. Ron and Ginny were away at Quidditch practice, Neville working with Professor Sprout, and no one else seemed interesting. His feet took his towards the library where he was sure Hermione would be; as usual she had been spending a lot of time there. She had begun her NEWT speech at the start of term, never mind that they had nearly two years until it was relevant, and had already begun stressing herself out over them.
She had been acting strangely in the last month, and there had been a tension about her that he usually attributed with an upcoming test. He had found that when Ron was not around she was a much more suitable conversationalist. Now that he was on a much more even playing field with her he found her fascinating, one of the only students he could stand to talk to for any length of time.
He found her exactly as he expected to find her, hunched over a book with several more piled around her. She was scratching away at a piece of parchment without even looking to see her writing, eyes firmly glued to the dusty tome before her. Harry used every ounce of his abilities to sneak soundlessly up behind her, suddenly feeling mischievous and wanting to give her a jolt. All playfulness died a quick death as he saw the parchment she was writing on, though.
Things Different About Harry
- Quieter (long bouts of inattention and contemplation)
- More serious (studious, less free smiles)
- No more Quidditch?
- Dark, brooding countenance (glares at nothing, deep in thought often)
- Decreased appetite (hardly touches food but to snack)
- Phenomenal strength (threw Malfoy)
- Increased intelligence and marks (actually manages on his own in Potions!)
- Often disappears at night (Neville saw him leave via broom their second night back)
Possible Conclusions
- Abuse (Dursley's worse than we thought? Unlikely due to the lack of anger and skittishness. Would not explain strength etc.)
- Secrets (Prophecy could have explained it, however has since been uncovered and changes have not ceased, would not explain strength etc.)
- Voldemort-related stress (would explain many of the psychological effects but not the intelligence or strength)
- Werewolf (No. Would explain most symptoms but he has been seen during several full moons)
- Vampire (No. Walks in daylight. No word of strange deaths.)
- Dark Elf (No. Unable to be 'turned'. Fitting, if he could be believed to be under a glamour to hide the dark skin, but unlikely due to no Elven blood in the Potter line.)
- Dwarf (No. Unable to be 'turned'. I find myself insulted for Harry for even writing it. Not nearly short or child-like enough, would explain little.)
- Veela (No. Wrong coloring for the potency required, would on--
Her quill continued scratching away at the parchment as Harry sighed internally and rubbed a hand over his face. It seemed her suspicions were far-reaching. Had be been so careless? He had known that he had been a bit lax in his security… but this was out of hand. Neville had seen him leave? Hermione had seen him with Malfoy? Brooding so deeply that he didn't notice he was being watched?
He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder but got no entertainment from the way she yelped and spun in her seat, brown eyes wide. "H-Harry!" she said, awkwardly shoving the paper into her bag without losing eye contact. "Did you need something?"
Harry's eyes were sad. "Suspicious of me?"
Hermione cringed, before straightening with a familiar look of determination. "Well, then why don't you tell me?"
"I think not." Harry glanced around and found them utterly alone in that portion of the library, consciously casting out his senses to be sure there was no one hiding. The closest person was far out of a human's hearing range. "I don't expect you to understand. I'm sorry for this, Hermione."
"Sorry for what?" she said with a wary frown while drawing back.
Harry pulled out his Blackthorn wand and pointed it at her forehead, closing his own eyes in pain as he saw hers go wide with betrayal. "Obliviate."
Revised: 3/19/09