Disclaimer: HP belongs to JKR, while BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon
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Harry ground the rooster bones together, mixing it with aloe leaves, turning the mixture into a thick paste. With no dregs in it, the cream symbolized warding against malevolent beings, specifically those who're nocturnal.
He had learned that, yes his uncle was really that workaholic. Considering the man had come to him, to ward the factory against vampires, even though he had to accept help from freaky magic, just so he could become more successful.
The stone bowl he had been mashing the paste slipped from his fingers, as his thoughts turned towards his aunt. He growled in annoyance, tightening his hold at it, and then went back to grinding.
His talk with Aunt Petunia had been enlightening. Not just because he learned that, his parents hadn't died in a car crash, which he was still miffed about. But, also because he learned how he came to be with the Dursleys; via being left on their doorstep with a letter, on November. And just because of that, that Dumbledore bloke was on his shit list.
Still the most dominant emotion he felt was annoyance, because he didn't really knew what to feel. He was sad because his parents were murdered because they stood up to that dark wizard, but also angry that they hadn't thought about the consequences, at the mean time endangering his welfare. He was angry because his relatives hadn't told him, who or what he was, but also thankful that they had at least taken him in and not left him on the doorstep to die, like a certain somebody had done. But most of all he was beyond furious because some wacked up dark lord, had killed his parents. Who had apparently managed to take the bastard down with them, as a result causing him to miss the chance to enact revenge.
So it was no surprise that he had thrown himself at his work. Going through the books, like nobody's business. Just so he wouldn't have to think, just so he wouldn't have to feel.
He put down the bowl, taking a cross, made of ash, inscribed with various symbols, which had taken him, a better part of the week to scribe. Then removed some of the paste with a spatula and carefully covering the cross with it.
Gently placing the previously white wooden cross, now covered with greenish gray mixture, into the chalk circle on the ground, he inspected his handiwork. A cross, enclosed in a triangle of blue candles, encircled in a white chalk circle. Absolutely perfect for trial.
The ritual, which was really nothing more than a simple ward raising, was actually a lot more complicated than this. However, he had arranged it as a prototype, to only cover the house, with a little of the garden.
He pricked his finger with a silver knife, than let a few drops of it fall on the cross, and then took the book from the table. Kneeling in front of the makeshift altar, he began to read the incantations, as the candles lightened themselves.
Even before he finished the passage, the feeling of euphoria overpowered him; chasing away his worries about if, it was supposed to happen like that. In his mind's eye, he saw the royal blue lines of magic, entwining with the, strangely enough, already present blood red magical field, and pushing back the few blackened purple threads that had managed to seep through the cracks in the red ward.
As the ritual closed to the end, greenish-grey paste slowly burned away, with a bitter tang in the air, leaving a cross with dark blue inscriptions. However, none of that mattered to him, as he lay on the ground taking huge gulps of air, trying to get his breathing under control. He slowly got up, his pupils dilated to cover almost all of his eyes and let out a drunken giggle.
Now that his business was over, he needed something to pass his boredom, after all sitting in his room for weeks had been enough.
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Harry groaned as he tried to shield his eyes from the light, only partially succeeding. His mouth felt like a sand paper. He tried to get up but his vision swam, and he landed on his bum, hurting his tailbone in the process.
What the bloody hell had he been doing? He remembered starting the ritual, than completing it. He remembered feeling; extremely happy? Or was it,…
He groaned again as a few memories of the previous day returned to him.
…He ran from a few bikers with leather jackets and painfully bright colored Mohawks, while giggling maniacally, a green and white striped hat pulled down almost to his eyes obscuring a part of his face. He turned in to an alley, after letting out an evil cackle. Jumping up and somehow managing to grab the metal pipe, he climbed up the pipe. He adjusted a few last minute changes to his plan, all the while trying not to let out a sound, but still a wild grin splitting his face.
''Where is that brat?''
''I am going to skin that piece of shit alive!''
Harry again had to smother another cackle, and pulled the cord he had prepared just for this moment.
Various colored paint, followed close by a few pillows worth of feather filled the alley, smothering the men's screams...
… He crept silently through the foyer of a tedious looking house, being extra careful to not let his presence noticed by the twenty-something year old blonde. He quickly tied a few glue-covered strings to the door, joined by plastic spiders, then prepared his master plan for launching.
The woman, who he didn't even know her name, continued her talk with the phone, while not noticing she was coming closer to the trap. So just when she was about to close the phone, trap sprung, entangling her body in the process.
He cackled manically, while she screamed in fright, and then activated second trap.
Her scream was, cut short as a smothered explosion rang through the house covering everywhere with flour, even flying out of window...
He groaned one more time, this time because of embarrassment. He wondered what he had done wrong to get this kind of an extreme result. He knew the spell had been successful. Then chuckled weakly, of course it was the magic.
While it would be nothing in the eyes of an established sorcerer, he was nothing but a boy. He had been arrogant to believe just because he could levitate a few books, which was a great accomplishment on itself, he could just throw some major mojo around.
It was one of the reasons, why most magical rituals required sacrifices; be it burning incense or killing a goat. The sacrifices reduced the required energy. Otherwise, the magic you channeled from your very being would feed on your mind, reducing your inhibitions, opening you more for the power. Moreover, he, being an eight-year-old boy, hadn't helped the matters.
He briefly wondered, if he had more stamina, along with the mental fortitude, would he be able to cast the spell with no problems. Still it wouldn't matter, as he was simply incapable of casting a spell of that magnitude without probably spending rest of his life in a mental institute, at his present self.
His musings were, cut short by a voice of a young boy.
''You know if you don't get up your going to get cold.''
Harry opened his eyes again slowly, light thankfully not stinging them this time, to see a black haired boy with a Hawaii shirt a size too big for himself.
''Rough night?'' Again, the question was addressed to him, but when he tried to answer all he managed to let out was a weak affirmative.
''Dude! Are you hang over?''
Instead of answering, Harry inspected his surroundings, which now he realized was a park.
''I don't think so?'' Harry answered unsurely, deciding that waiting anymore would be just rude, also not knowing what hang over really felt like.
''Here, let me help you get up.'' The boy replied, to his hesitant answer.
Harry, managing to get up on shaky legs, gave the boy a weak grin, feeling his stomach churn unpleasantly.
''Xander Harris, by the way.'' Boy introduced himself.
''Harry Potter'' Harry replied, still trying to not spill the contents of his stomach.
''Oh, British. Are you new in town?'' Xander asked, obviously already forgetting the fact that he had seen him passed out on the pavement.
''Yes, we moved in few months ago.'' Harry stated, now satisfied that he had succeeded in not barf all over the place.
''Heh? Haven't seen you around here.'' Xander said, leading him towards a bank.
Harry sat down and leaned his head back, letting out a satisfied groan, ignoring Xander's amused look.
''Haven't really had the chance. You know, had a lot of work to do.'' Harry replied.'' Actually, finally managed to finish it all yesterday.''
Boy grinned still amusedly. ''And decided to celebrate?''
Harry grumbled in response, at the obvious quip on his person. ''Bugger off. I wasn't drunk.''
''Nice hat, by the way.''
Taking it off, Harry looked at the adult-sized green and white striped hat that had been on his head, for the first time noticing that he really had that hat, and he really had gone on a prank spree.
''You know there was a rumor about a green and white colored hat wearing kid causing mayhem throughout the town, setting up pranks in dozens of different places.''
Harry let out a nervous chuckle, stuffing the hat to his pocket.
''I don't know what you're talking about.''
''I am sure you don't.'' Xander replied, now with a massive grin on his face. ''Though I saw the one with the stink bomb, It was awesome, the biggest I've ever seen. Too bad you don't know how its done.''
''I really don't.''Harry said, smirking lightly. ''But, if I did, I would probably say the secret is adding carbonate.''
''You wouldn't mind accompanying me to my house would you?''Harry asked, now the voice serious.'' I don't think I know where exactly I am, also my head is still spinning like it's nobody's business.''
''Fine, fine get up. I won't be carrying your drunk ass around, though.'' Xander replied, teasingly.
Harry rolled his eye in annoyance
''I am not drunk, you twat.''
''You know, I have no idea about what you just said to me, but I feel like I should be offended.'' Xander stated, taking on a mock serious expression. ''But what do you expect from drunk's ramblings, anyway.''
Harry only scowled grouchily, in response.
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