Silver Claws and Cat Tails

Abby Ebon

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Disclaimer; I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own X-Men.

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Mutants-Alone-Can-Not-Make-It-Right

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Men cloaked in black stood to either side, his hands were chained – so too were his feet and tail for they had learned that lesson early. They whispered of his strangeness. Of the danger of mutants, they had bled him until blue fur was coated in dried blood. They did not use weapons to hurt him, but strange sticks that sputtered to life with a word and colored lights.

With ginger hair, one of his captures – pale skin fevered and freckled - leaned in close to look at his eyes. His bland expression shifted, becoming menacing.

"Harry…we've got one of your precious mutants, come collect him or his blood is on your hands."

Ron…

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

…bump-bah-bump…

"Harry…?"

It hurt. He hurt. It was a tight, clenching pain about his chest. He was vaguely surprised he could still breathe, that his heart still beat. He felt numb, everything but the vision of blood splattered fur and red hair and blue eyes glaring at him hatefully was dim; distorted.

"Harry…what – who - was that?"

Harry took a breath, then another. He found a lie at the tip of his tongue. It should not have been so easy.

"I'm not sure I know." There was a furious disbelief in Pietro. He was bewildered, frightened. He had wanted only a kiss. Neither of them had expected…this.

"He…he called you by name. There was blood. How can you not know?" Harry hunched in his shoulders, cringing. He knew his words had been flaky at best. He did not blame Pietro for his disbelief. He wondered if the silver haired boy had lost trust in him completely. Harry could find no resentment if he had. This vision proved his worst fear, anyone who had contract with him – they were all in danger.

Harry could not protect them.

"I…I just…" Harry found the words did not come, his gaze to his hands, clenched tight and white knuckled, pale nailed. Weak hands. He felt Pietro touch his shoulder, it was meant to be reassuring, though there was a hesitance that Pietro could not have hidden in his movement.

"Harry…Harry, I…I'm sorry, Harry." He felt like a traitor to Pietro as he moved into the other boys proximity, leaning on his solid warmth – it was a comfort he did not deserve. Pietro welcomed him, holding him – murmuring soft meaningless reassurances. Harry closed his eyes, and wished – heart aching as he did - that Pietro would sleep dreamlessly. It was Harry's turn to hold Pietro as the other boy slumped – crumpling, his body unresisting to the pull of gravity.

Harry knew he had to fix this. He had to make things right.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Looking nothing like a hero bringing down the might of an army upon his enemies, and more like a furious school-boy, with ruffled black hair. Harry Potter strode through the camp (although he did make use of the less obvious paths and stayed out of sight of the windows and doors) his path not deterring toward the grove of trees at the outskirts.

Logan closed his eyes, yet what he was seeing did not change. It had been a half hearted wish, but concerning wizards and witches, he had his suspicions on how the nature of wishes affected them. Still, it did not change facts. Harry was running away. After all that Logan had been through with Harry, his first thought was not to cowardice. No, he knew better. His first thought was to what Harry was running to.

It was not too far of a leap in logic.

With all the talk of witches and wizards, and their world being brought to ashes by folk like Grwy and Wyrd…Logan stifled a groan under his breath. He should have guessed Harry would do something like this, if only to be difficult. Yet he could not waste this chance, Harry was leaving – and while he might be mad enough to continue all the way on foot, Logan dared not risk getting someone and lose sight of Harry. Not that he was entirely sure that wizards – or witches, for that matter - just weren't naturally prone to these sorts of "accidents". It might explain a few things if that were just how things were. Like why such powerful beings weren't already ruling the world rather then sitting veiled in magic and the mysticism of myth.

It was enough to intimidate even Logan, yet still, he know better then to think that he could reason Harry out of whatever temper he had taken it into his head to act upon. When furious, Logan knew better then most that everything seemed to make sense. Harry wasn't the sort who could be talked out of that sort of frame of mind.

Logan had heard Hermione telling the others of how their world had abandoned Harry upon finding he was a mutant, plotting what to do with him behind his back. It was enough to make anyone sympathize. What had really likely thrown Harry was Ron. Even with Hermione, his wife, he had let the Ministry and its Council bully without a struggle. From what Logan understood, Ron was on the Council – as had Harry – so maybe the plotting had only been to remove him. Logan doubted it.

From what the magical world had done afterwards, and from what they faced now. He really doubted they didn't deserve everything they got. Fat lot of good they had ever done anyone. Logan most of all could understand – hell, even sympathize with Harry to the point of feeling the tug of rage in his throat. The urge to snarl was strong. He throttled it; he was determined not to be discovered – even as he followed Harry. Who was not, by any length, in the right frame of mind to be concerned about those who might be following him….it likely did not even occur to him.

Follow, like Logan was. It proved a point to Logan, that even with magic and whatever mutant senses that Harry still had were being ignored - the kid needed looking after.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Neither wizard-mutant or mutant were aware that large serpentine eyes followed their movements, with a flick of a tongue Wyrd tasted the scents upon the air – then the gaze shifted to the slender shadow that watched beside. A wary sort of smile crossed Grwy's lips, but she made no move to go after either. Instead she turned back to the camp, knowing that they would need a cool head in what was to come.

A snap of a twig – purposefully trod upon – alerted Wanda to being watched. With her hands clenched into fists at her side, and her gaze narrowed on Grwy she watched the others approach. She stood, tense, waiting for the other to speak. Instead, growing impatient, Wanda spoke first.

"Well? What do you want…? Do you have something to say to me?" Judging by the wry look Grwy tossed her way, her reaction had been expected. Wanda grits her teeth, grinding them only a little - determined not to snap at the unnerving woman. She remembered well her first glimpse of the woman and the serpent-dragon; it was not something she would soon forget.

"Mere proposition, it is time for you to understand, we have use of you." It was in a matter-of-fact tone, almost monotone. Yet there was wickedness in her eyes, or a tilt to brow, or how she stood, that belied mere words. Something was happening, and Wanda did not know what. It was more then a little disturbing.

"Do you now?" Wanda was aware then that she was not alone with Grwy. She did not look up, even though a large shadow had passed overhead. There was more then one of those serpent-dragons swarming about in the stormy grey-black skies. For all that is was supposed to be day, there was a chill that clung to that reminded them all that the Wild Hunt was renowned for being feared in the time between twilight and dusk. Something about them leant an otherness to the day, so that it was as if it were night instead.

"Oh yes, we are not what we were. We are in ruin, near forgotten, fragments of the past. Our art is near lost. Yet, with what is coming, there is hope for us yet." Grwy's eyes were far away, as if she were old enough to remember the Wild Hunt at its peek and pride. Perhaps she did, for some reason that thought did not disturb Wanda as much as she thought it ought to.

"I do not understand." She hated to admit it, as if it was a weakness that the vague words of the wild-woman did not really mean anything to her. For a moment, Grwy looked as if she understood that what she was saying was not sinking in. Her next words sure enough laid it out.

"I am asking you to join us, to fly." Grwy gestured to the sky above them, and Wanda was never more aware of the serpent-dragons then in that moment. The very air seemed to hum, waiting for a response.

"Ah, shite, ye be kidding meh." Her accent thick, Rogue stepped from where she had lingered. She had not meant to overhear, still, the pronouncement had shaken her. Wanda turned her head sharply to take in the sight of the other mutant, and then looked quickly back to Grwy who did not seemed very surprised at being overheard.

"I am not, if you both will follow me, I will show you how very serious we are." As if that settled the matter, Grwy lifted her arm in time to prevent dust from entering her eyes. It also made a very impressive entrance for Wyrd. With dignity, she climbed atop the serpent, settling between its spines. Glancing between each other, Wanda and Rogue followed, even as they scrambled after, for the first time giving thought to wonder if the silken-like spines were poisonous. There was a jolt of movement and motion, and it was too late to second-guess, they were airborne – and moving quickly into the shifting clouds above.

Still aloft, Wyrd paused above the cloud line; silver fluff seemed to stretch on forever below them – and above them the heat and brightness never seemed to end. Yet it was what was in front of them that left them breathless. In flashes of crimson and black, two serpent-dragon beasts fought, snapping dangerous teeth at tender hide, and for the first time they gave thought to if the silken spines along the serpent backs were poisonous – whatever the case, they certainly were being used as a weapon.

"What…what are they doing?" Wanda watched them, unable to look away – she blinked her eyes, not aware that she was crying. It did not seem right that they behaved like animals –mere savage beasts – Wyrd was proof that they could be so much more.

"Practicing the Art….they are no more then thralls of the Wild Hunt, once they had a awareness, yet it was lost when their riders fell." For the first time there was a thickness in Grwy's voice, as if she was sick. Yet she eyes remained on the dueling serpents, as if as sickening as it was, she could not look away. It was obvious to her what it meant, that this was one more proof of the ruin the Wild Hunt was falling.

"War. Ah don't understand, why bring us here?" Rogue asked respectfully, keeping her voice soft.

"Do you not see? If you gain their rapport, they will seek to save you." Grwy stated matter of fact, undeterred in her nature – it seemed as if she made her words unavoidable.

"Save…us?" Rogue asked haltingly, swallowing as an odd feeling crept into her head. It as if she had not realized until then how very natural it felt to be aloft, astride one of the sky serpents. Now she did, and it was very strange to realize she felt so out of sorts.

"Why would we need saving?" There was a catch in Wanda's throat, as if she had already figured it out but did not quite believe Grwy or Wyrd would do such a thing. Wyrd seemed to shiver, shuddering as if in laughter. It was suddenly very hard to hold on. The silky feeling spines were hard to grip. It struck Wanda at how reckless Wyrd was flying, as if what ever let them fly was failing.

Faltering.

"Stop this…! Are you mad…?" Wyrd twisted about midair, and Wanda felt dizzy as she was turned about around-and-around as if a bit of clothes in a laundry machine. Rogue lost her grip first, shrieking, falling though the billowing whiteness that Wanda knew sickeningly were only clouds and not at all as solid as they looked.

Wanda saw the blur of black and red serpents pause, just as she lost her grip and fell – though not before seeing Grwy's eerie smile and vowing vengeance if she lived through this. Wanda was determined not to die with her eyes closed – but that did not mean she meant to see the ground below approaching too quickly for her tastes. In a small part of her mind, she thought she was falling forever – why didn't she pass out into blackness and die? Not that she wanted to die.

No, she wanted to live.

As if the thought had summoned them, she saw them - twining about each other like a top too quick to see the details but enough to notice the colors whipping about in the otherwise colorless sky. As they dived, falling, it struck her that they might have mortally wounded each other and were dying – falling just as she and Rogue were.

Then the crimson serpent shrieked upon setting sights upon Wanda – it was joyful and wild and it was all for the setting sight on her. Wanda felt as if her heart might burst, yet somehow her chest was expanding and she could absorb all that feeling. Breathless, Wanda saw among all that crimson the black eyes that gently ensured that Wanda was set upon the sky serpents back.

She wasn't falling, she was flying.

She glimpsed the black sky serpent still diving, and even though she did not quite know how she did it, her own sky serpent followed it. She saw it (though Rogue did not, falling face-first, braver then Wanda had been) as the black serpent flung itself last minute between Rogue and the ground, lifting skyward triumphantly.

Another cry came, this one was from somewhere else – a cry to gather, a cry for blood. It was answered.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

It ran amuck in his mind, around and around…he seemed not able to think beyond it…."See – I told you, he has become a mutant monster!" Ron called from the back, his eyes wild, Harry found himself curling his lip in a sneer…. Those words, spoken from his best friend's lips – that had driven him over the edge. That had given him fury to denounce the magical world.

He had not regretted it, till now.

It was not Ron he faced.

Harry had known he would be expected – he had been called here by a vision of Nightcrawler. Or rather, he had been Nightcrawler – tortured, chained, and knowing he was without hope. Someone had spoken to Nightcrawler, yet not – they had addressed Harry, calling him out, summoning him. It had amused Harry, they thought him not a wizard, yet were sure that he had enough magic and enough of wild magic to be summoned. Then he had become even more enraged, he came to them of his own choice, not because of a spell.

Still, he was not without senses, he had intended on getting Nightcrawler to safety (or at the very least, freed) before facing Ron and whoever had gone along with this. Harry had intended to speak to them, to rave, to yell until they listened and heard how crazed they had become – perhaps then they would regret it, would retreat, or at least attack him face-to-face, anything at this point was better then the prolonged hide-and-seek "game" Harry had been enduring all the while among the mutants and muggles.

He had grown tired of it. He wanted an end to it. Come what may, he had determined, it would end here-and-now.

That had been when he thought he knew who he faced – now, now…he did not know what to think. It was the most dangerous position, for he had been utterly caught off guard, his rage derailed like a doomed train crashing into inevitability.

"Surprised, Harry…?" The words were drawled out, sick amusement thick on them. No one would need a spell, Harry stood frozen, his mind working furiously to come to grips with what he saw, with what he was hearing.

"So am I… that it would be so easy…I should have done this long ago, do you not agree?" He faced only one wizard, yet beyond him others – unneeded – had gathered, smirking and snickering among one another. Harry did not recognize their faces. He suspected their features had been shifted, altered with wand and potion alike. It might be impossible to later tell who had stood among them. It was just as well, Harry did not pay them any attention. His eyes focused, catlike, on the one who had spoken to him.

"Percy…I do not understand." He could almost suspect this all a trap, but it was all too surreal to be that. Percy was gloating, smiling at him almost comfortingly in the sight of his utter confusion. It was eerie. There was no rush here.

"Poor, poor, Harry Potter, I will explain. Ron came to the Council, delighted that his freak of a friend would be something so exotic as a mutant…a wild-magic user, we really can't afford the risk, Harry, I am sure you will come to understand…so, I used the Imperius curse on my own little brother, it was not as hard as I would have imagined. I expected more from him, hanging about as he did with you in your school days; I suspect it was too much to hope for to think it would rub off on him." Despite that he flinched upon hearing the term "freak" which had fallen all too often in his youth from his aunt, uncle, and cousins lips so as to become a twisted curse and almost-name… Harry still noticed the regret Percy spoke of in his last words. As if the lack was a disappointment to him, related as he was to the target.

"Then what I saw…" Harry swallowed his throat dry, even as he spoke he was remembering… "See – I told you, he has become a mutant monster!" Ron (not Ron…?) called from the back, his eyes wild, Harry found himself curling his lip in a sneer…had it all this been his failing? His fault that the magical world had fallen to such disarray that the Wild Hunt woke to bring it to rights…it ached within his heart, that thought, as if Percy had stuffed a knife in his gut and was discovering how to twist it. He might have well have.

Harry did not know why Percy was betraying him, he remembered how Ron had come to hate the mention of Percy, had called him traitor and worse, but as it had never affected Harry (it had been something Ron had dealt with, something about "keeping it in the family") even though he had thought himself as a adopted brother to Rom…still, he had never guessed that Percy would do something like this. He had thought it only that Percy hadn't wanted his family hurt, and had tried to protect them by turning against Harry. Or it had been out of a desire to fear no retributions from the Dark Lord while starting his own family with his own ties to the Light.

He had never thought it might come to this. He and Percy had never been very close, yet Harry had never suspected…

"Your sight has never been very good; I suspect at a distance, for the first time…one furious red head looks much the same as another." Spoken so coldly, so matter-of-fact, with a hint of mocking, Harry shook his head, remembering Hermione – Ron was her husband, surely she would have noticed…

"Hermione…." Harry knew he was grasping at straws. Yet there had to be some reason – something being overlooked.

"I kept him under the Imperius curse, Harry that is all…" Percy tsked, clicking his tongue as if he were a professor disappointed in a favored pupil. Harry felt his fury tug low in his throat, he growled – low, animalistic. Percy looked pleased. It washed over Harry, then, as if ice had been growing along his spine. Hermione had been as quick to temper as Ron – even more so then Harry if tempted – if she had been angry on behalf of Harry, she would not have thought much of Ron, she would have been off balanced and furious enough not to notice if Ron's actions were cold, at a distance, or even less like himself.

"How long…?" Harry felt the chill along his spine touch his heart; they had all been so blinded, played on their emotions like children. If something happened to Ron, if Harry lost his best friend…he did not think he could ever forgive himself.

"Long enough that he began to work back to being himself, though not quite quick enough, Hermione ran off into the Forbidden Forest…I was very disappointed in him…" Percy tapped a finger to his bottom lip, as if thinking of why things had gone the way they had. Harry wondered, distantly, if he found any answers.

"Where is he, Percy?" Harry heard his own voice, soft, frightened like a scared child. Percy looked to him, smiling, and Harry knew he would never have an answer unless he found it himself. Harry cried out, the chill melting off – it had been anger, betrayal, and fury that had started all this, but he would be damned if they were not enough to finish it.

Harry did not notice that the wild magic felt his need for vengeance and blood; he did not hear the answering cries….

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

The men cloaked in black that had stood at ready to either side had left him. His hands were still chained, so too were his feet – and tail. Nightcrawler found it ironic, how they had whispered of his strangeness, of the danger "his kind" – mutants – were to them and "their kind".

It was confusing to follow their talk, they spoke freely (clearly his appearance of an inhuman animalistic devil lulled them to false feelings of safety) around him, strangely, they muttered over magic and mysticism, of "their world" and "his". Nightcrawler could not understand all of their words, but it sunk in, despite the loss of blood that still coated his blue-black fur. It would be a mess to groom.

Nightcrawler let his thoughts linger on their strange murmurs, he could, if pressed, believe it of them that they were, indeed, not like most. Their sticks reminded him of the myths of wands and wizards, yet, still he could not bring himself to believe it. Still they had no weapons, save the wands – and no other way to explain how he had become so trapped, save with bonds and chains that had appeared out of nowhere.

Nightcrawler licked his lips, remembering words that had been spoken to him ("Harry…we've got one of your precious mutants, come collect him or his blood is on your hands…") – yet he was the vessel, the words had been meant for another… nonetheless, Nightcrawler thought of the Harry he knew, who had shared a cage with him for a night, then disappeared, he had worried until the facility had been all but destroyed.

It occurred to Nightcrawler, slowly, that he ought to try to escape, now that he was not being watched. He hadn't wanted them to know of this ability…

Bamf!

Nightcrawler stumbled, falling faintly dizzy and more then a little sick, he saw the ground coming up, and knew he would fall. He did not. Arms wrapped around him, holding him up while he steadied himself.

"Easy…" Nightcrawler recognized Logan's voice, and breathed a little easier. He was not in the arms of an enemy – or of one of the wizards. Logan looked about to say something, and then Nightcrawler flinched as cries – like a woman screaming, a beast growling, and some song howling on the wind – filled the air. He could not seem to think, until Logan tightened his grip on him, and then spoke lowly, slow, tightly controlled, showing none of the strain that tensed his body – Nightcrawler had to strain to hear him.

"Get us out of here." Nightcrawler did as told, without question – as he did not want to linger. Something bad was going to happen.

Bamf!

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

"Harry…" It was whisper soft, dreading any sort of answer.

Snow littered the ground; she had to wade through it as if it was high tide on the beach. Wanda's breath came in cloudy puffs, above her the sky swirled in darkness. It was daybreak. She could not really remember what had happened after she had heard the cry that summoned to mind bloodlust, it still haunted her. It ached, as if a itch she could not scratch, though longed to. Wanda knew with a certain longing that sinking into that mindset, it had been something that she would never forget, would long for.

That wouldn't stop her form killing Grwy or Wyrd if she ever got a hold of them. It was just as well that they were gone. Vanished. A little ways ahead off to the side, she saw Rogue moving more easily through the snow – above them two shadows flew, circling, watching for any sign of life.

It wasn't much to hope for, the grove of trees suffered to be blackened husks of their former selves, and somehow – it was snowing. The only reason Wanda and Rogue were so sure Harry had been here was the itch at the back of their throats and noses, almost smoke like, a sort of burnt-spice. It was the same smell – the call – that had led them here. Something very like it tugged in her memory, she had slaughtered and maimed wizards (and, possibly, witches) with a scent of that likeness, though it paled in comparison.

Her crimson sky serpent, Azel (she did not know how she knew its name, only that between falling and now she simply did) let out an uneasy questioning call. Hopefully, Rogue and Wanda traded glances – Rogue called out, her voice quaking at the end.

"Harry…?" There was nothing worse, Wanda thought drearily, and then being in the wake of a disaster and finding you were alone. Harry might have thought he killed them by calling for them. Or he might not know they had come at all. Most of all, both Wanda and Rogue hoped that Harry would be alive, and aware…

Rogue's black Zeim cried out in affirmative, the two circled the curiosity while Wanda and Rogue rushed to reach them.

"Harry!" Rogue saw it first, the silvery fur and black stripes over the tiger, blending well into the snow. Green eyes blinked open at their call, and Wanda's worry that Harry might not be Harry in this form was washed away to mere relief.

"Wha…?" Those green eyes, if not the voice within their minds - recognized them; Rogue mumbled soft reassurances as she petted Harry's head and scratched his ears. Harry yawned, stretching out his massive paws and extending feline claws, his entire posture telling them that he found the entire situation amusing.

It was then that Harry noticed his own shape, and with something like a snarl he hid his face in his paws. Wanda started snickering, then could not hold in her laughter, Rogue at first disapproving, let her lips twitch and was soon joining her – Harry grumbled not-words under his breath.

That was how the others found them.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

End

O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Final Note; Silver Claws and Cat Tails touched on a lot of things, mostly though, I was being childish about it, if I should continue with this story, its world will get somewhat darker then what I've been playing about with. I've left this off where it could be the end; a middle ground, if you will. I might pick this up and dust it off and carry onward to an ending that follows into a misted crossroad; or I could leave off and go another way. It isn't as if this is my only story, though it – as does every one of my stories – it means something to me, it does not mean everything. I'm not sure I have a story that means everything to me. Not yet, maybe never, though, if I ever do, I'm not sure I could share it, well, what I'm saying is this; I do not know what I will do with this, so I hope – for the moment – you are satisfied with this ending.

Nonetheless, it must be stated, I came to writing this with three goals in mind; to write Harry into the Brotherhood, to write mutants into Hogwarts, and then to write Harry into Xavier's school, likewise, only one goal has seen fruition; thus, it will likely go onward to a sequel, then, likely, another of like kind; if it does go on at all.

Or I shall go and drabble out something else to fulfill my goals, but first I want to do some cleaning up of this story – namely; making sure there are no lingering accidents with Brotherhood members knowing Harry's name before he tells them; and getting Remy's and Rogue's accents just-right, bugs the hell out of me in the itch-under-skin-can-not-scratch way with how ratty it is now, sorry, I'm a old-school stickler to these sorts of things. So, if anyone is interested in helping me out with either of these two things – or in merely editing the whole, speak up now, or hold your peace and grit your teeth.

It will take a while; count your selves lucky….

At one point in time last week, when I had only gotten a page out and thought the rest would never come…I wanted to re-write this entire story without ever finishing it…I almost cried with relief when it came to me at whole on April 1, if by chance this is some miss-guided cosmic "April Fools" due to my muses…I am not amused. Alright, the irony is a little tempting after all is said and written… thank god for LynnGryphon talking sense into me about finishing this…

One last thing, the sequel – if there is a sequel – will be called;

"Flick of Flame and Silver Hair".