Chasing Storms
A/N:
Oni: I have returned!
Eridan: Oh no here wwe go again.
Oni: Things are going to start ramping up in the next few chapters, I hope. In the meantime, we're kind of just seeing Hogwarts through Eridan's eyes as Harridan grapples with his identity issues.
Harry: Oni owns neither Harry Potter (Wizarding World?) franchises or Homestuck. I guess this story is her's, though a lot is taken, parapharased, and quoted from the books. Our amalgam is her creation I guess.
Harridan(?): We HOPE you enjoy regardless!
Oni: AAAAND ONWARDS!
They didn't find Sirius Black that night.
Of course they wouldn't. The man escaped Azkaban and hadn't been found yet — Eridan doubted the convict would slip up now. Dumbledore had held a clandestine meeting at three in the morning with Head Boy Percy Weasley and Eridan had overheard every word.
"Any sign of him, Professor?" asked Percy in a whisper.
"No. All well here?" Dumbledore responded with little of the joviality that usually permeated the wizard's very being.
"Everything's under control, sir." came Percy's sure response.
"Good. There's no point moving them all now. I've found a temporary guardian for the Gryffindor portrait hole. You'll be able to move them back in tomorrow."
Eridan wondered who the replacement was. Was there a lottery drawing? Was one forcefully coerced? Did someone volunteer?
"And the Fat Lady, sir?" Percy's voice once again brought Eridan back to eavesdropping.
"Hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. Apparently she refused to let Black in without the password, so he attacked. She's still very distressed, but once she's calmed down, I'll have Mr. Filch restore her."
Dumbledore sounded quite grave, but the boy-that-wasn't-sleeping suddenly wondered if all damaged pieces in the castle went to Filch. Is that what being a Caretaker meant? Eridan doubted one man could clean a whole castle by himself — it was more likely that Hogwarts had House Elves like Dobby to do the major things, right?
Enter Snape, stage left.
"The whole of the third floor has been searched." Snape's quiet tones echoed in the silence of the Great Hall. "He's not there. And Filch has done the dungeons; nothing there either."
"What about the Astronomy tower? Professor Trelawney's room? The Owlery?"
"All searched..."
"Very well, Severus. I didn't really expect Black to linger."
"Have you any theory as to how he got in, Professor?" asked Snape.
"Many, Severus, each of them as unlikely as the next."
Eridan cracked his eyes open a fraction and squinted up to where they stood. Dumbledore's back was to him, but he could see Percy's face, rapt with attention, and Snape's profile, which looked angry.
"You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before — ah — the start of term?" murmured Snape, who was barely opening his lips, as though trying to block Percy out of the conversation.
"I do, Severus." There was something like a warning in Dumbledore's voice.
"It seems — almost impossible — that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed —"
"I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it," cut in Dumbledore — his tone making it clear that the subject was closed.
Snape didn't retort. Eridan wondered offhandedly if Snape suspected Lupin of all people to be aiding Black. It was the only way his babble of offhand implications made sense. That was odd. Why would Lupin help an escaped mass murderer? Or did Snape really hold that much of a grudge that he was willing to pin any shred of blame on the new DADA Professor?
"I must go down to the Dementors," continued Dumbledore, "I said I would inform them when our search was complete."
"Didn't they want to help, sir?" asked Percy.
"Oh yes," said Dumbledore coldly. "But I'm afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this castle while I am Headmaster."
Something cold settled in Eridan's chest at that. It seemed that like the Angels, dementors could be conversed with. They were capable of speech and reason.
…He had a sinking feeling that whatever awaited him in LOWAA involved them somehow. It was too much of a coincidence not to be so.
He didn't get any sleep at all — both Harry Potter and Eridan Ampora too worried for completely different reasons to allow him any rest.
The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder. Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of their next Herbology class telling anyone who'd listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub.
The Fat Lady's ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony. Nobody was very happy about this (in fact, Ron had groaned in disappointment as soon as the frame had been put in place). Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day. According to Percy, none of the other portraits wanted to volunteer as the Fat Lady's replacement for fear of becoming like her if Sirius Black were to strike again. Eridan felt the entire situation was overblown, or perhaps he simply refused to panic about this with all the other issues he'd been saddled with.
Perhaps that was why he'd been surprised when teachers started to make excuses to walk with him. As if he were a fragile, breakable thing. Delicate. He tried not to be offended by it. There was no way to know of his other changes, no way to know that he'd regained six sweeps worth of combat experience. And as far as they were concerned Black was a mass murderer who was able to tear a magical painting and was probably still targeting him.
At least, that's how the Observer attempted to placate BOTH halves of himself (that had been a weird feeling to deal with).
But it wasn't all bad. Eridan was able to converse with his professors on a more personal level, not used to doing so as easily with adults considering he'd never met one as a troll. So he just continued to ask questions, and they obliged answers from his genuine curiosity. It gave him a respite from the fear of what lurked beneath his feet or under his very skin.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Percy Weasley asked as the boy in front of him checked his reflection on a goblet for the third time at breakfast. "Is there something wrong with the pumpkin juice?"
The Head Boy had been following him around since, probably on his mother's orders. Or perhaps his honor as a person of authority forced him to watch the boy-who-was-targeted-by-a-murderer like a hawk. It was hard to ignore since despite Percy physically resembling Mr. Weasley with his tall, reedy stature, he'd always been a bit more of a mother-hen like Mrs. Weasley. A little more pompous, sure, but so was Eridan so he tried not to hold it against him (or think about the fact that the older boy was a lot more like the troll than the Harry part of him would like to admit).
His eyes flickered from the goblet.
"No, nothin's wwrong wwith it." He responded, resigned to his quirk by now. "There's just been a lot on my mind."
No more changes had happened yet, Eridan still looked human. Like Harry Potter. And a part of him was relieved. Another part felt vulnerable. It wasn't enough to garner a dissonance in the psyche.
They left early, Eridan having been called to see McGonagall in her office. Ron and Hermione stuck with him for most of the time, but with all the eyes around them there was little for them to speak about privately. So they kept their heads down. It was just Percy walking him down to the office, and the hallways were deserted this time of the day.
"Hey Perce… Head Boy has a lot of responsibilities, right?" He ventured slowly, trying to think of how to brooch the subject.
Percy puffed up his chest immediately. With the horn-rimmed glasses, Eridan noted privately that perhaps if Eridan Ampora himself were turned into a human he'd be like the middle Weasley child. He felt a twinge in his psyche at the thought.
"Oh yes." Percy explained, chin up. "Loads of responsibilities! You know, if you want to become Head Boy, Harry, you have to do well in your studies and set an example for your peers. Though I've heard that you've been applying yourself in your classes this year, so you're on the right track! Just don't go around throwing Professors again and you still have a chance."
Eridan let out a small laugh, sheepishly scratching his head. He didn't understand why Percy's siblings thought he lacked a sense of humor. Or perhaps Eridan Ampora's sense of humor was just that bad.
"For sure, yeah." Eridan responded with a nod, deciding to just get on with it. "Do you… talk… to the dementors? Do they listen to you?"
The Head Boy blinked, surprised at the question. It wasn't one people usually asked him. He shook his head.
"Headmaster Dumbledore is the one who speaks to the Dementors." Percy explained, his tone dropping the usual pompousness like it did when he really needed to think. This tone was more flat, somewhat lacking cadence. Eridan wondered if it was his real voice. "It's likely because Dumbledore is powerful enough to where they know he can't be crossed. Though I'm sure any of the professors could hold their ground against a few — as long as they can cast a Patronus, that is."
Ears proverbially pricked up; if he had his fins, they would have actually pricked up.
"Wwhat's a Patronus?"
Aaaand the pompous look returned with full force. Eridan now understood why his former friends thought he was unbearable if this was how he acted.
"The Patronus is one of the most powerful charms known to wizardkind." Percy began to explain with vigor, obviously having studied up on it. "It's immensely difficult to cast. The charm conjures a magical guardian, a projection of all your most positive feelings. Many witches and wizards are unable to produce a full, corporeal Patronus — which is a guardian which generally takes the shape of the animal with whom they share the deepest affinity. It's the only known spell that is capable of warding off Dementors."
Eridan mulled the answer over in his mind. A Patronus… that must have been what Hermione saw Lupin cast on the train.
"D'you knoww howw to cast one, then?" Eridan asked curiously, watching Percy's reaction.
"Yes! Er, well, no…" he admitted sheepishly, "I know the theory but can't cast one myself. Not yet… I don't think anyone really does yet, not with our past Defense Professors…" he trailed off with a grimace and that flatter tone, "Though Professor Lupin has mentioned that he will teach it to us. I think I saw it on the syllabi for fifth year up to seventh. Rather handy considering our current situation…"
Yeah, fifth year was nowhere near third year. Eridan didn't want to wait that long, dammit.
"Could you teach it to me? Evven if it's just the theory." Eridan asked, adding the last bit as he watched Percy open his mouth to retort something. The Head Boy pursed his lips together. "They do say the best wway to learn is to teach." Eridan entreated.
"I… don't suppose there's anything wrong with some extra study…" Percy finally acquiesced, unable to say anything more once they reached McGonagall's office.
Inwardly pumping a fist at the small victory, Eridan entered the office to see McGonagall regard him with a grave expression. Uh oh. That was never good. Did she know something about Eridan's lack of attendance in Ancient Runes?
"There's no point hiding it from you any longer, Potter," McGongall stated in a very serious voice, "I know this will come as a shock to you, but Sirius Black —"
"Oh! Sirius Black!" Eridan exhaled with relief, "Yeah he's after me an all that. Ovverheard that from Ron's dad. He wworks at the Ministry. Forewwarned wwithout Divvination, Professor."
Professor McGonagall seemed very taken aback by this. She stared at Eridan for a moment or two.
"I see! Well, in that case, Potter, you'll understand why I don't think it's a good idea for you to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the field with only your team members, it's very exposed, Potter —"
"What?!" he exclaimed, the Harry in him coming out in full force panic. "No! We've got our first match on Saturday! I've got to train, Professor!"
Professor McGonagall considered him intently. He knew she was deeply interested in the Gryffindor team's prospects; it had been she, after all, who'd suggested him as Seeker in the first Place. There was an odd glint in her eye and he wondered if she would bring up his sudden lack of stuttering — or perhaps she would attribute that to nerves.
"Hmm..."Professor McGonagall stood up and stared out of the window at the Quidditch field, just visible through the rain. "Well... goodness knows, I'd like to see us win the Cup at last… but all the same, Potter... I'd be happier if a teacher were present. I'll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions."
"As long as I can play, I don't care." He told her resolutely, and the strange look she held was replaced with a kind of reminiscent exasperation.
"Very well, Mr. Potter." McGonagall said at last, "I won't hold you here any longer. You are dismissed."
With a grin, the green-eyed Gryffindor nodded and made his way out of the office to find Ron and Hermione waiting for him instead of Percy.
"What did McGonagall want?" Ron asked curiously.
"Wanted to talk about Sirius Black, and then tried to stop me from practicing Quidditch because she thought I might get attacked." The black-haired teen explained as they walked to their next class together.
Ron's brows knitted together as he spoke before his expression morphed into one of outrage. "No!"
"Don't worry, I'm still playing—"
"I for one agree with Professor McGonagall, Harry." Hermione sniffed out, "What if Sirius Black attacks you on the field?"
"Then I'll do to him wwhat I did to Snape." Eridan said in exasperation. "I can handle this, Herm, I promise. Besides, there's gonna be a Professor present — Hooch is gonna be chaperonin'."
That seemed to placate Hermione, who just nodded. Ron high-fived him as they walked.
"Brilliant! Maybe you'll catch the Snitch and a criminal!" The redhead snickered out.
"I reckon there's no Quidditch where Eridan comes from, yeah?"
Eridan looked up from where he and Ron were playing chess. Ron's quiet question made electricity go down his spine. Nervously he looked around. Most people had gone to bed already, although Hermione was studying feverishly at a desk, and a few other scattered conversations were happening. It didn't look like people were paying attention to them.
"…There wwasn't any magic wwhere Eridan came from." he admitted quietly. "Wwhat made you come to that conclusion?"
"You didn't have a quirk when you talked about it after seeing McGonagall." the redhead pointed out quietly, "Now that I know what to look for, it's really easy to see the difference between 'Harry' and 'Eridan'.
"Is there a difference?" he asked curiously.
"Not big ones." Ron assured, "Mostly just the quirk thing, but you also shorten people's names down when you're more Eridan. Like… you call Hermione 'Herm' and Neville 'Nev', or I guess 'Nevv'. And Eridan sometimes uses bigger words like Hermione does."
Jade green eyes blinked. He hadn't even realized he was doing that.
"It's no big deal." Ron continued, nudging his bishop along. "We never finished talking about that stuff since the Boggart. I remember you said you died. D'you reckon that's why you got the Grim in your cup at Divination?"
"Yeah." Eridan mused.
He wondered why a Grim was even an omen of death. From what he could tell from the 'Runes of Creation', shouldn't death be Megido's thing? Why was it a large black do-
Oh.
Oh.
"Fuckin' hell!" Eridan hissed out quietly, "I think I understand the cup noww."
Jack Noir.
Their own personal harbinger of destruction.
Ron looked at him quizzically. Eridan glanced around again, decided this was not the place to have this conversation, and shook his head.
"Later." he grumbled, "I'll… explain evverythin' later. Not here. Not noww."
Ron ended up winning that match.
True to McGonagall's words, Madam Hooch began overseeing their Quidditch training. She apparently was not pleased with waking up before the crack of dawn, but one could not dissuade Oliver Wood from his fervent methods. The weather was only getting worse, which meant Eridan was in his element. Seadwellers were built for this weather. How many times had he FLARPed in raging storms? How many times had he taken to the air on Skyhorse to get Lusii for Peixes while the wind howled and the lightning struck?
Eridan had always loved the rain. The way it made the tides and waves high, the way such tiny particles can batter much larger things into submission. Rain was unrelenting, just like he had been. A force of reckoning that he had embraced.
It was times like these where the itch to swim in the lake nearly drove him mad. He didn't have fins anymore; or gills. Maybe he should look closer into Animagi. But what little of the troll in him had manifested was enough to run circles around the other members of the team (and he was certain all but Wood were cursing Eridan under their breath).
The mood of the team mirrored the stormy weather as Oliver Wood told them some rather unwelcome news during the practice session before the game.
"We're not playing Slytherin!" Wood raged, "Flint's just been to see me. We're playing Hufflepuff instead."
"Why?" chorused the rest of the team.
"Claims his Keeper 'accidentally' broke his arm and is now in the Hospital Wing." Wood seethed out.
"Wasn't us, Oliver!" Fred immediately shouted out against the downpour.
"Honest!" echoed George.
"I know!" Oliver hollered with the roar of the distant thunder, "It's obvious why they're doing it. Don't want to play in this weather. Think it'll damage their chances. We've been practicing all those moves assuming we're playing Slytherin, and instead it's Hufflepuff, and their style's quite different. They've got a new Captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory —"
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie suddenly giggled.
"What?" asked Wood, frowning at this lighthearted behavior.
"He's that tall, good-looking one, isn't he?" said Angelina with a knowing grin.
"Strong and silent." added Katie, and they started to giggle again.
"He's only silent because he's too thick to string two words together," grumbled Fred impatiently. "I don't know why you're worried, Oliver, Hufflepuff is a pushover. Last time we played them, Harry caught the Snitch in about five minutes, remember?"
"We were playing in completely different conditions!" Wood shouted, his eyes bulging slightly. "Diggory's put a very strong side together! He's an excellent Seeker!"
"I actually like the rain." Eridan admitted with a shrug during the tirade, watching the team stare at him like he'd admitted to having a crush on Snape instead. "I think I might play better in these conditions. All Flint did wwas set Hufflepuff to lose first, that's all."
"Gred, I think the dementor took all the sense out of our Harrykins." George muttered to his brother in a mock-grave voice.
"The damage was worse than we thought, Forge." Fred replied with a serious nod.
But Eridan had more important things to ponder about than the twins questioning his sanity or Quidditch (though his Harry side twinged at the thought). Instead of seeing the kind, calm form of Professor Lupin, he was instead met with the sneering glare of Professor Snape.
According to the dungeon bat, Lupin was ill. A shame, Eridan had hoped to speak with the man on possibly learning the Patronus after the lesson, but it appeared he would have to wait until the man was well again. Another shame is that they would have to deal with Snape again, though at least the dour Potions Professor still kept a wide berth of Eridan.
Something about Snape's tone rang odd, though. Especially when he easily dismissed Lupin's lesson planning as lackluster (which everyone knew was a lie, Lupin was an incredibly organized Professor with detailed notes — Eridan had seen so himself that Halloween in his office) and decided they would learn about werewolves instead.
Why werewolves?
There was a distinct obsession in Snape's tone when he discovered they didn't know how to distinguish between a normal wolf and a werewolf. So much so that Eridan was rather suspicious. Snape's Slytherin 'cunning' was coming off rather strong today, and the not-troll pondered this throughout the disastrous lesson even when the greasy old bat started bullying the Gryffindors because apparently hating on Lupin alone wasn't enough.
Seriously, how was this guy qualified to teach?
The homework given out made even less sense. Two whole rolls of parchment on an essay was excessive, but to have it on ways to recognize and kill (not deal with. Kill. Eridan knew the difference rather well) werewolves. His brow furrowed as they waited for Ron, who Snape had given detention because Ron had defended Hermione, who had been getting ridiculed by a grown adult.
"That wwas… particularly harsh." Eridan noted quietly to Hermione, "I knoww Snape has a wweird hate-boner for Lupin, but I wwanna knoww wwhy the lesson wwas so… intense."
Hermione wrinkled her nose at Eridan's wording, but sighed nonetheless. "I don't know," she murmured back pensively. "But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon..."
"I do too…"
Back in the Common Room, Eridan read the portion on werewolves again, wondering what was so important about it that had Snape on a warpath. Nothing of note seemed to jump out at him. With a sigh, he shut the textbook. Tired eyes took in the sight of the glowing moon, its soft rays having been his reading light for some time now. Alternia's moons were green and pink, and their phases tended to match. But they weren't like the silver orb that hung in Earth's sky. Seeing it helped ground him once again to the fact that he was here, with a second chance of some kind.
A yawn exasperation from this throat. It was getting late, and he had the Quidditch match tomorrow. The black-haired Seeker doubted that 'doing homework using the light of the full moon' would placate Wood much if it affected the game…
In the light of the full moon…
His eyes snapped back to the moon in dawning understanding. Lupin was ill today. Snape hated Lupin's guts. In Lupin's absence, Snape obsessively made sure Lupin's class knew how to recognize and kill werewolves.
Lupin had that odd smell to him.
"It makes me feel human."
Professor Lupin was a werewolf.
That revelation on top of his regular insomnia made it hard to fall asleep. And worse still, Eridan had nearly blasted Peeves in the face for waking him up by trying to blow in his ear before the sun even rose on Game Day, but had narrowly recalled that he was a) at Hogwarts and b) 'Just Harry' here. No bringing out Ahab's Crosshairs willy nilly. That would make people ask questions that he wasn't ready to answer just yet.
Instead he got dressed, picked up his Nimbus 2000 and invisibility cloak and padded out of the dorms (stopping Crookshanks from yet another assassination attempt on Scabbers — really what kind of animosity did the feline even have with the old rat?). Silently he snuck out of the Gryffindor Common Room in the wee hours of the morning, the thunder rocking the castle outside hiding his quiet footfalls. Even Sir Cadogam was only half-awake and let him out without his usual bravado.
Making his way aimlessly in the halls, Eridan sighed as he closed his eyes, listening to the crashing and howling of the storm outside. If he stood here, with his eyes closed, breathing the storm in, would he remember the days in his WarshipHive before the game? There had been fond memories there, too — of watching a storm block out the sun and the feeling of the rain against his fins and gills as he ran about on the upper deck at the tender age of three sweeps, waving a wand that would never work and shouting incantations that would do nothing?
His troll-vision allowed him to see just fine in the darkness — useful when one wanted to navigate the halls without alerting the portraits or any patrolling prefects. Eridan was about to pass by the hallway where the Hospital Wing was located until he saw the shambling figure of Professor Lupin, who was not only haggard, but sporting visible wounds and looking as though someone sucked all the meat from his bones. Lupin was being half-carried by Madam Pomfrey, who gutted at his condition but wasn't admonishing him.
So… Lupin had shifted back. Must be officially morning now. Eridan decided to follow him to the Hospital Wing, where Pomfrey gave him a few potions and cleaned his wounds. She had insisted he stay in the Hospital Wing, but Lupin insisted back that he would be fine and would rather get some light reading done in his own quarters. How he had the nerve to say that to Pomfrey was a mystery — the Harry side of him shuddered at the thought of crossing the Mediwitch. All the same, he watched Pomfrey strong-arm Lupin onto a cot anyway. When the mediwitch finally left, Eridan watched Lupin heave out a sigh.
"I know you're there, Harry." Lupin whispered out tiredly, "Invisibility Cloaks only hide sight."
Eridan wondered if Lupin smelled his presence. Like a barkbeast. His head popped out from behind his Cloak, and he noticed a flicker of… something… in Lupin's eyes as he did so. His non-existent-yet-functioning horns told him it was mirth and sadness, which made very little sense. Eridan sat on the chair next to Lupin's cot, still mostly wrapped in the Cloak in case Pomfrey returned. He wanted to say a good many things, but ended up staying silent.
"It's rather early for you to be out and about." Lupin began gently, "I'm sure you're wondering why I'm like this-"
"Snape told us you wwere ill." Eridan managed out finally, cutting Lupin off from whatever excuse he probably had at the ready, "An then circumvvented your curriculum to make us study wwerewwolvves." He winced internally on how much that sounded like a stutter.
Painful recognition shown in Lupin's eyes. But Eridan wasn't done yet.
"Nobody seems to knoww wwhy. It wwas a dick movve an wwe all desperately wwant you back. Snape's the wworst."
A chuckle, tired, but still holding amusement, escaped Lupin. "I'm honored you all feel that way. I promise I will be back to teaching come Monday."
"Good. You're the best Professor wwe'vve had on the subject an Snape's alwways been an unreasonable prick wwho has it out for any Gryffindor that questions his lackin' personality." Eridan muttered.
The next laugh was more pronounced. Some of the lines on Lupin's face smoothed out, like an unspoken weight was slightly lifted.
"You may look like your father, Harry, but that right there was pure Lily." Lupin chuckled out, shaking his head.
…Eh?
"You… you knew my parents?" The young Gryffindor asked with wide eyes.
Bittersweetness and nostalgia seemed to reek from the man in front of him. "Yes. I… I was friends with James and Lily. We were all rather close, but James and I were a part of the friend group, much like you are with Mister Weasley and Miss Granger."
He let that sink in. It made sense. It would certainly explain the level of familiarity on the train and would also explain why Lupin was alright with him sneaking around and talking to him in the wee hours of the morning.
Madam Pomfrey chose this point to shuffle around, forcing Eridan to hide behind the Cloak again until she left. The Invisibility Cloak sure was a handy device, he'd admit. Would've made quite a few things easier in Sgrub…
"You're much quieter under the Cloak than James was, though." Lupin's voice stated softly, as if reminiscing, "He and- and… well… he would always scuffle his feet a little bit. Could never quite stay still. Most people wouldn't notice it, but…"
"…You have enhanced hearing." The boy replied quietly, nodding his head that was poking out from under the Cloak, "Because you're a werewolf."
Somehow, Lupin was shocked that he managed to come to that conclusion. There was a wave of agony and fear from the man.
"Harry… I-I…"
"Does it hurt?"
Lupin blinked in shock.
"Does it hurt wwhen you transform?" Eridan asked again, looking intently at the Professor, "Does your wwolf havve a mind of its owwn? Does it coalesce until you sometimes can't tell wwhich is wwhich? Are you afraid a' your humanity slippin' awway?"
Lightning flashed behind the curtains, illuminating the room in stark white and black. Something in Lupin's eyes shifted. Eridan wondered what he looked like to the man at that moment.
"Perhaps those questions will be better answered at a later date." Lupin finally stated softly, his expression having morphed to one of exhaustion.
Ah, right. The man must've been dealing with being a werewolf for a full night. Eridan nodded.
"A' course. Havve a nice nap."
He could feel Lupin's eyes on him as he left, donning the Cloak proper as he reached the door and slipped out of sight once more.
Eridan was sure a hurricane could pass through Scotland and Quidditch would still be held. This lot was nuts enough to keep kids flying in deadly weather, but one little old murderer had them panicking. It made no sense to him. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went. Just before he entered the locker room, Eridan saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, laughing and pointing at him from under an enormous umbrella on their way to the stadium.
Eridan had donned his old glasses for the match (they were around the same prescription, thankfully) which was specifically designed to be worn while flying out in stormy weather. Glancing at the mirror in the locker room, he was hit with a small wave of nostalgia. The eyes behind those glasses were still Jade-colored, still whites and round pupils — not gray fading into violet, the glowing yellows and slit pupils. But it was still him. And he would do as both Harry and Eridan did best.
The team changed into their scarlet robes and waited for Wood's usual pre-match pep talk, but it didn't come. Their Captain tried to speak several times, made an odd gulping noise, then shook his head hopelessly and beckoned them to follow him. The wind was so strong that most of them staggered sideways as they walked out onto the field. If the crowd was cheering, they couldn't hear it over the fresh rolls of thunder.
The Hufflepuffs were approaching from the opposite side of the field, wearing canary-yellow robes. Wood had pointed out Cedric Diggory to Eridan in the corridor earlier that week; Diggory was a fifth year and a lot bigger than the scrawny Gryffindor third year. Seekers were usually light and speedy, but Diggory's weight would be an advantage in this weather because he was less likely to be blown off course.
With the shrill of Hooch's whistle, they were off.
It was obvious the main issue for this game was going to be his broom; the Nimbus wasn't suited for strong winds like Seahorsedad was. On the other hand, at least the broom wasn't his custodian so he could push the limits a little more.
Green eyes darted over the skies and the field. Finding the Snitch in this weather would prove to be difficult, dodging near-blind teammates and bludgers even more so. In a rare fit of unity Harry's Seeker skills and Eridan's FLARP skills meshed together to keep him from getting toppled. At times he would spot the Snitch in between flashes of lightening, but it would always escape him. Masked by the thunder, the Gryffindor Seeker growled in frustration. He could vaguely hear the commentary over the wind — Lee shouting that Gryffindor was currently in the lead.
Water battered at him, soaking into his clothes and chilling him. Damn, humans had extremely porous skin; he forgot how suceptable they were to weather. If only he had his troll carapace…
Another bludger zoomed at him and he flew higher to dodge it, the rain and wind fighting against him. He raised a hand to brush his raven hair out of his way, only to feel the familiar brush of his earfins against his gloves. Shock ran through his body. In the dark of the storm he could see clearly that his exposed skin had become grey (not as grey as it once was, but enough, it was enough), the carapace hardening to repel the water clinging to his clothes.
And he could feel the rain against the gills on his neck.
For a moment he stopped; for a moment he closed his eyes and breathed. Breathed in the air and rain and wind. For a moment he was both on Earth and on Alternia. Flying, free. Racing against the storm.
For a moment, Harry Potter did not fear the change within him.
For a moment, Eridan Ampora was alive again.
A flash of lightning lit up the stands. What he saw almost made him lose grip on his broom — the silhouette of an enormous shaggy black dog, clearly imprinted against the sky, motionless in the topmost, empty row of seats. Its eyes reflected the lighting, and for a moment he'd thought of Noir. He froze, paralyzed, for a second. When he gathered his wits to look again, the dog had vanished.
"Harry!" came Wood's anguished yell from the Gryffindor goal posts. "Harry, behind you!"
His neck twisted back to see Cedric Diggory pelting up the field, a tiny speck of gold shimmering in the rain-filled air between them.
Shit!
The panic of losing jerked away his initial shock from seeing the dog. Eyes zeroed in on the prize as he bolted towards it, hand outstretched. Everything else didn't matter; the noise of the crowd and the rain fading away as he got closer to the Snitch…
"Ha!" he cried triumphantly as his fingers finally closed around the small golden ball, his grin threatening to split his face it half.
It was only then that he realized the silence from before wasn't just from his focus; an eerie silence had fallen across the stadium. Like the wind, though as strong as ever, had forgotten to roar. As though someone had turned off all sound completly, as though he'd suddenly gone deaf.
What was going on?
A horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him, inside him, just as he became aware of something moving on the field below. Fighting every instinct in his body, he looked down and immediately regretted it. At least a hundred Dementors, their hidden faces pointing up at him, floated beneath him. Ice seemed to crawl up through his chest, freezing him in place.
Like the angels. Just like the angels…
His body became rigid, his muscles tightening as he felt numbing, swirling white mist filling his brain and clouding his thoughts. Waves of fear slammed into him, bolts of anguish, arrows of dismay.
And he fell.
Eridan Ampora was one of the few trolls that had to find out that Jack Noir had attacked Prospit and Derse by eavesdropping on Kar's panicked shouting. He'd gotten an excuse ready in case anyone asked how Noir had killed him — slashed from behind. Instant, like the others had said.
No one asked, of course. So no one heard the lie that never was.
He'd always thought they were lucky to have the Game, in a way. Dreamselves specifically. It was like an extra life if one died tackling the perils of Sgrub. Kar didn't have to use it, no either did Nep or Fef. Sol, that cheater, had two dreamselves because of his stupid fuckin' bifurcation. So when Noir killed their dreamselves, he destroyed their safety net, their fall-back plan.
Not so for Eridan Ampora.
Three days into the game, climbing gates as fast as he could build them, Eridan had been ambushed by the creatures on his planet called the angels.
Initially, he'd assumed they were his consorts — if unpleasant ones. They'd left him alone the first two days while he blasted away at the denizen-made imps and the like; and they, too, attacked the creatures without fear, with their whispers and chanting as they flew amongst dark stars.
There had been no fight. It was so sudden. One moment he was opening the doors to the empty Cathedral for the first time, admiring the architecture as he made his way towards the altar. The next, what felt like hundreds of angels swarmed him.
Not a single drop of violet blood was spilled.
He'd awoken in his dreamself screaming, still feeling the ice crawling up his chest and seizing his throat. He'd felt the waves of despair crash into him, memories of everything he'd ever done wrong dragged to the forefront of his mind. He'd still felt the largest Angel grab him, hold him in place as something in him tugged.
After that, Eridan knew those angels were not friendly, and had taken to wiping out every last one of them. It wasn't easy. They were fast, angry things. Rotting torsos that lacked eyes on their face with wide, toothy maws. Tattered wings with eyes poking out between feathers. A single Angel had to have taken the blast of Ahab's Crosshairs for a full minute to be reduced to ash.
Kar had thought he was doing something evil, but Eridan's warnings to the others fell on deaf ears. Don't kill the Angels, but we don't want to be near them either.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't fair that he had died and no one noticed. It wasn't fair that he had to find his original body in a sarcophagus in the Bell Tower, breathing, alive, but dead to the world. It wasn't fair he had to do his part mostly alone because nobody wanted to deal with LOWAA for more than a few minutes.
No blood was ever spilled. Color was too much for this stark world.
Even the Angels didn't bleed…
The Angels didn't bleed like he did when Kan cut him in two with her chainsaw, painting the ground violet…
Harry Potter didn't remember much of his childhood. But he found himself sitting in a crib. Everything was big. The mobile above him, the windows, the lion plushie beside him.
There was a woman. Tall, slim, with the reddest hair he'd ever seen. She stood in front, her back to him. He could not see her face.
And she was screaming.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now..."
Another voice. Male. High and cold and cruel. He couldn't see anything but a towering dark figure.
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —"
She looks back. She's beautiful. Alabaster skin, paler in fear, makes the freckles on her cheeks stand out. But what caught his attention was her eyes. Jade green.
His eyes.
Their eyes.
"Avada Kedavra."
Green light, sickly and almost yellow, and she slumps. Gone.
And he can do nothing as the man walks up to him and points a bone-white wand at his head.
"Avada-"
He had observed in detachment as Eridan Ampora and Harry Potter witnessed their own demise in what looked like two separate bubbles before they collided.
His head hurt from the first person view, and then the sudden shift to third-person where he was floating in a vast dark void.
This… didn't feel like his mindspace. This felt like the place Eridan Ampora went to when he dreamed after he'd been attacked by the angels. The vast void of paradox space.
He'd forgotten how frightening it was to dream of this place.
And now he was alone in the nothingness.
Alone…
Wait.
Where were the horrorterrors? Where were the vast entities beyond comprehension that plagued the void? Usually he could at least hear their whispers this far into this place, but there was silence.
After a few moments of frantically looking around for clues of whatever the hell was going on, his eyes picked up an anomaly in the distance.
Light. Multicolored cracks in the void that glowed brightly, decorating the black expanse with a spiderweb of rapidly changing hues.
What the hell was that?!
A/N:
Oni: And that's all for now, folks!
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Oni: And I'll see you next time, My Pretties!