Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise

Title: Vanteerian Charm

Author: Lady Treason & Tinkering

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affliates, I'm in no way connected to any of them, I do not mean to infringe on any copyrights or titles and I make no money off of this endeavour.

Warning: What can I say? It's a Harry Potter/Smallville crossover. There will be Snarry, there will be Clex.

Summary: Mostly HP but then a curious bald headed man and a gangly farm boy wandered into their universe…and were followed. So then the megalomaniac father of said bald headed millionaire started getting even GREATER "disillusions" of grandeur… am I giving away the whole plot here? Dude!

A/N: Perhaps I take unmeant offense but to anyone who doesn't like what we've wrote…don't read. Stupid.

Vanteerian Charm

By Lady Treason & Tinkering

Disclaimer: All HP characters and places belong to JK Rowling. The Vanteerian Race and stuff belongs solely to me. Ha.

Chapter One

Harry tucked his knees into his chest as he made himself as small as he could in the corner of one of the alleys in Little Whinging. He had woken, luckily, before the sun had risen the morning of his birthday, and had managed to gather enough coherence to realise that not only had he been kicked out with everything he owned, but he also had two huge wings sticking out of his back that were rather eye-catching.

He had collected everything up and thrown it into his trunk, leaving nothing but his wand and the cloak he had been given from Draco out. He was, admittedly, surprised that his uncle had even bothered to throw the rest out of the window as well, surprised, but relieved. He shrunk everything then with a wave of his wand, slipped the trunk into his pocket and the cloak on as best as he could with the wings, then fled.

He had spent all day hidden from sight, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and what was happening to him. He certainly didn't remember anybody else saying that they sprouted wings when they came of age and so he knew that this was an abnormal thing even in the Wizarding world. What was he going to do now? Walking out as he was now would be just as bad, if not worse, than jumping up and down shooting orange elephants from his wand, skipping, as he transfigured things and basically shouting out for all to hear that magic did exist. Merlin, how did he get himself into these things?

A part of him was sure that he would wake up any minute and find out that this was all a dream. In all the books he had read, and all the lectures he had listened too, never had he heard of men with wings. He wanted to curl up and stay hidden until everything had gone back to normal, he had gone back to normal, he wanted to stay away from everybody, muggle and wizards, but he knew he couldn't do that. If anybody would be able to help him and tell him what was going on, it would be his father.

Dumbledore would know.

Dumbledore wouldn't think that he was a freak and lock him up … would he? No, he couldn't afford to even question that now, he needed help and the old headmaster was the only one, perhaps, who would be able to give it to him. Merlin, if Voldemort found out, he would have a field day!

He shook his head and pressed his forehead to his knees. Why couldn't he just be normal?

He tried shifting more than once, to see if the things on his back would move. All he managed to do was make them twitch a little; it was incredibly hard to use muscles that you'd never had before. He didn't even know how. What he did know, though, was that he had to get in contact with his family, and he needed to stay hidden from the view of everybody until then.

He travelled only at night and then only through the back alleys, unless he had no choice but to go out onto the main part of the street for a minute.

So far he had been lucky enough to avoid even coming close to other people. It was like he could hear them from a good distance away, could smell them as well. When he did, he was able to move into the darkest corner and hide behind a dumpster or something similar until they passed. Most of the time, it was only drunken teenagers and they only spared the time of day for themselves and each others, so he was fine.

Now it was the third day since his birthday, he was cold, wet, hungry and feeling so terribly lost. He didn't know what to do. It was only a small comfort, knowing that Lucius, Draco and all of his friends and family would be looking for him now. They would have noticed when he didn't answer any of the letters that they must have sent by now, and then there was the fact that he was supposed to be at Malfoy Manor now. Yes, they would know, and they would be looking for him.

Would they know why he had been thrown out of the Dursleys?

Would they know about the wings?

Did he want them to know?

Half of him did, it would save him a lot of trouble and perhaps they would even know what was happening to him. The other half hoped that they would never find out though, he didn't need something else to make him more of a freak. He didn't need anything else to make him stand out in a crowd. He just needed to be Harry, nothing more.

His thoughts were going in circles, and he knew that he had to try and get some food. Sleep would help as well; he hadn't allowed himself to do more than close his eyes for a while yet, scared that somebody would find him when he wasn't expecting it. he pulled his black cloak tighter around him, still unused to the black wings that came out of his shoulder blade, went up to the top of his neck and then went down to just back his knees. They were uncomfortable.

When night was settled completely around him, he peered through the darkness, able to see clearly through the shadows, even though his glasses were lost days ago. How was he going to get any food? He was weak, covered in bruises, but all of his cuts and welts appear to have cleared up completely, without leaving a single mark. He ached everywhere and he was weary … but he needed to eat.

After checking that there was nobody around, he uncurled himself from the ball and pushed himself to his feet shakily. His joints protested strongly against the movement but he ignored them with a grimace and instead moved cautiously forward. He kept his back to the wall, as much as the wings would allow, and sidestepped slowly and carefully towards the entrance of the alley and onto the streets.

When he saw that there was nobody there, he took a deep breath and then stepped out of the shadows. As soon as he did, though, he felt a burning itch on his cheek. He blinked but took no notice of it and stepped further under the light of the street. The pain intensified and before he knew what he was doing, he drew back with a hiss that sounded much like a cat and jarred his wings on the wall again, bathed in shadows.

He blinked, and then whimpered. What the hell had just happened? He drew back completely, back into the alley, and then fell to his knees in the darkness again, panting as if he had just run a marathon. He hurt. His entire head felt like it had been held in flames, he glanced down at his two shaking hands, cringing when he saw the burn marks there, and the skin that was already peeling back to reveal raw red wrinkled skin underneath. Blood oozed out and covered his hands, and he could feel it trickling down his face too, knowing that that was in just as bad of a state as his hands.

What the fuck?

He glanced back out at the street with open confusion. There was nobody there. If it was down to Death Eaters, they would be running in there now to incapacitate him when he's injured. It wasn't Voldemort either. There was nobody there… his senses told him that, and his eyes confirmed it.

So what the hell had happened…

… Unless, the light?

He dragged his eyes up to the streetlamp that he had been stood over, and almost instantly his eyes started itching. The longer he stared at it, the worse the itch grew until it felt like a dull burning, and he had to glance away quickly.

Great.

Now he appeared to be allergic to light.

How could one just suddenly grow wings and turn allergic to light over night? This went against everything he knew. Besides, he was perfectly fine in the daylight. Nothing happened then … unless this was a new development. Unless he was about to shrivel up and turn into dust when the sun rose. Perfect. Now he'd turned into some sort of twisted vampire, who didn't apparently need blood, but had bloody wings. He'd never heard of vampires having wings. He couldn't even be a normal evil dark monster!

He buried his head in his hands, but then cried out when he managed to hurt both in the process. This was just going from bad to worse. The saying "out of the frying pan and into the fire" seemed to be weirdly appropriate. What the fuck was he going to do? This just wasn't even funny. He was so sick of being him.

He pulled his trunk out of his pocket with great difficulty and then fumbled with the catch, his hands swollen and oozing pus now, unwilling to work as he needed them too. He managed to crack it open and then pulled out one of his hand-me-down t-shirts. He put one end of it under his knee and then put all of his weight on that as he grabbed the rest with his hands, ignoring the pain, and used his teeth to tear off two strips.

He spent the next hour then trying to tie the makeshift bandages around his hands as tightly as he could possibly bear. The pain was excruciating and he was sure that it wouldn't have hurt this much if he had just stuck his whole hand in the fire for a minute. It most definitely was not normal.

When he was done, he shrunk his trunk and put it back in his pocket carefully and then climbed to his feet once more. He needed to find a nice dark place to hide before the sun rose, just in case. He didn't want to take any more chances.

He would wake up soon, he had too.

Three nights later, he still hadn't woken up.

He had found out, rather luckily, that the sun didn't affect him the same as other lights. He didn't know why, but then again, he didn't know anything about a lot of things, so why should this be any different? It was a relief though.

He still hadn't been able to find anything to eat, except for a half-eaten burger that he had found on the ground. Thankfully, it was wrapped up a little and so he didn't feel quite as disgusted as he would have done otherwise. Unfortunately, he didn't even manage to chew the cold rubbery burger for long before he spat it out. Not because it was cold, not because it probably had had ants and fuck knows what climbing all over it, not because someone else might of slobbered on it… but because he just… did.

It was as if he could taste every single ingredient that when into making it. His throat closed up and then he started heaving violently and throwing up so hard that his stomach and back ached in protest.

That had been yesterday morning, and Harry was still collapsed against a wall in some back alley, hugging his knees, shivering and throwing up whenever he could. Blood pooled out now, instead of the bit of sick he had managed. He will ill, he was dying, he was sure of it. For once, he didn't care. He just wished it was all over with.

He pressed his forehead to his knee, ignoring the dulled burning pain that was still surrounding his face, and shivered. He had been in a cold sweat since this whole started, and he could only guess that perhaps he had found something else that he was now allergic to. It couldn't be food poisoning, considering it hit instantaneously.

His hands were still bandaged and looked twice the normal size. The pus was starting to seep through the cloth, but he had managed to cast a few wandless healing charms on his face before exhaustion hit. He hadn't been able to walk on for two days now and he knew that he needed to change place before he was found. He had to believe that Voldemort and the Death Eaters were after him as well, if he wanted to survive long enough to get back to Hogwarts.

Somehow. He wondered where sweet Hedwig was now. She hadn't been there that night he had been thrown out, as she had been off hunting after days cooped in the house. Had she returned, to find that he wasn't there again? Was Hermione or Ron looking after her for him? He hoped she was alright, and he knew that if anybody could find him, she could.

He was trembling violently still, but he pushed himself to his feet. His stomach appeared to be settling slightly, even if his throat was absolutely raw from his being sick. He found a small comfort in all this: he most certainly wasn't a vampire. The taste of blood in the back of his throat had brought him to heaving again. Swallowing it as it rose hadn't brought him any strength at all. Not much of a comfort, but a small one all the same.

He moved slowly and cautiously, the arrival of the wings now the last of his worries as he walked on shaky legs. He kept his awareness open wide, stretching it out as far as he could as he slipped out of one alley and down into another. He wouldn't be able to go far, but at least he was away from that same spot now.

He knew he was weakening, because he needed food and rest, but he couldn't. Yes, he had been stuck on his arse for the last two days throwing up, but that was not rest. He needed a good sleep, not the little dose he allowed himself before shaking awake again.

The alley he was in now was really quite narrow, barely enough room for two people to walk side by side, if that. There was grass growing on either side, tall and tangled with weeds, leaving the smallest of paths in the middle.

He was about halfway down this alley when he found that he had to stop, not only because he felt that he couldn't walk another step, but because there were people coming. Three of them, men, he would never be able to hide from them. He was too tired to turn around and run in the opposite direction. Indeed, all he could do was curl up into a tight ball in the grass and pull his cloak around him as he shut his eyes and waited.

'Please don't see me. Please don't see me. Please don't see me.' became a mantra in his mind as the people came closer. He felt something, like a blanket, fall over him but he didn't dare to move or look. The longer he stayed there still and silent, the more it seemed to take out of him. He felt his magic entwining with the heavy-blanket thing.

Then the men were right there in front of him.

He held his breath for as long as he could, but the men didn't even turn to look at him. They walked straight passed without a single glance or anything. When they were gone, he chanced a look and raised his head, but they were out of sight now. The last thought he had before fallen unconscious, was the fact that the shadows had somehow entwined with his magic to hide him.

Then he closed his eyes, and was lost.

A/N: Okay, ahem. To those who read but didn't review, shame on you. Do you know how small a fandom Bleach actually has considering how big the anime is? And even smaller the readership for my favourite pairing Byakuya/Renji. Now if my Bleach story with that pairing managed to rustle up more reviews than a HP fic…obviously the readers have been skimming somewhere. That's all I'm saying on that matter. #points big flashing neon sign to the review button for people too dense for more roundabout speech#