![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
batsutousaiTitle: Stand Against the Moon
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort
Warnings: Violence, character death, Dark!Harry, werewolf!Harry, alternate universe, ending of questionable happiness, underage sexual relationship (depending on the way you tilt your head)
Summary: Cursed against his will, Harry made the best of his life until he found himself, again, wandering in Death's realm. When Death offers him a second chance, a chance to right the wrongs he'd been blind to for too long, he can't possibly refuse.
A/N: This chapter, I admit, got a bit away from me. I blame lack of sleep. Also, Harry. Because everything is always Harry's fault. (Except for when it's Luna's. Who isn't even really in this fic because the timeline sort of...worked against me there.)
Harry had been twisting and turning for hours, curled around the agony of a broken arm, before he finally managed to drift to sleep. He knew, of course, the moment he'd felt the bone snap, that he would be in misery until it healed. If he was lucky, it would heal straight. If he wasn't...
Well. He tended to be lucky more often than not when it came to things like how well he healed from things that happened to him at home.
"Hello, Harry," a male's voice said.
Harry turned to look, realising rather suddenly that he was in a white space, mist curling across his ankles. Bare ankles. Bare legs. Bare...everything. He gasped and tried to cover himself, embarrassed and horrified.
A voice chuckled, and while it wasn't a happy sound, Harry somehow knew the man he found standing in front of him was laughing with him, rather than at him. "Nothing I haven't seen before, I promise," the man said.
Harry didn't move his hand from in front of his crotch, but he did take a moment to observe this man: Messy black hair, darkened green eyes, lips a mirror of Harry's own. "Are you my...father?"
The man's smile was so very sad, but there was a suggestion of irony in the twist of the corners. "No. I'm you. Or, well, a version of you," he corrected, head tilting to one side while Harry stared at him in disbelief. The man shook his head after a moment. "You're too young to understand the specifics. Let's just say there are some people who hurt me that I never got the chance to hurt back, so I made a deal with Death for a second chance."
Harry understood where this was going. "What, as me?"
"Essentially."
"But then what happens to me?" Harry demanded, giving up on any thought of dignity and moving his good arm to push one hand against his chest, directly over his heart.
The man shrugged. "You know, I never asked. But I expect we'll meld together, become one person. We'll, neither of us, be the same person we are now." He snorted. "Well, that or you'll just vanish entirely and it'll just be me in your..." He frowned, eyes tracking over Harry's form. "You're, what, four?"
Harry nodded. "Nearly five." He took a deep breath. "And what if I don't want to chance disappearing? What if I'd rather...rather..."
"Suffer a broken arm for three weeks while it heals?" the man suggested drily before taking three quick steps forward and kneeling in front of Harry before he could flinch away. "I can get you – us? – away from the Dursleys entirely," he murmured as he gently took Harry's broken arm in one hand, a stick appearing in the other. "It'll take a bit, because we'll have to get Sirius out of jail first, but once he's free–"
"Who's Sirius?" Harry asked.
The man blinked at him. "Our godfather. He was framed." Then he tapped his stick against Harry's arm and it warmed, the ache of broken bones fading away.
Harry gasped and moved his arm, in awe at the easy heal. "How did you do that?"
The man smiled, too old, too broken, but entirely honest. "Seven years learning magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He reached up and tugged gently on a lock of Harry's wild hair. "What do you say, Harry? Free pass out of the Dursleys?"
Harry stared at the man for a long moment, seeing the great well of pain, the restrained violence and murderous intent, the monster hidden beneath his aged mirror. He should have been scared of the man, but he wasn't even passingly concerned about his intentions "Are you going to hurt the Dursleys?" he asked.
The man's expression darkened in a way that should have terrified Harry, should have had him running for the hills. But, instead, he saw every moment Dudley shoved him, every chore on the unending list, every night sent to his cupboard without dinner. "Oh," the man breathed, the monster hidden within lighting his eyes with gold, "they will pay for every wrong they have done you, and every wrong they'll never have the chance to do. I'll leave them begging for Death."
Harry rather suspected that the monster inside the man was also inside him, because his smile felt very much feral as he extended his hand. "Good."
The man clasped their hands together, and then everything faded to black.
There was a moment, when Harry first woke, where he wasn't sure who he was. Was he the nearly five-year-old, unwanted nephew of the Dursleys, whose good-for-nothing parents had died in a car crash? Or was he twenty-seven, a werewolf and auror, Master of Death? Was he alone and friendless? Or did he have a massive extended family, willing to support him despite his curse?
He shifted and his arm throbbed. He grimaced and forced himself to sit up and look down at the extremity, not that he could see much in the darkness of the cupboard. An absent flick of his fingers cast a lumos on the darkened light bulb above him, and he stopped for a moment to look up there, half disbelieving that magic was actually real. That he could control it so easily, despite lacking a wand.
A voice echoed in his mind, familiar and not: "Wandless magic is easy for children, because they haven't learnt structure, but the structure is safer, leads to less energy being lost. Well, and spells cast through a focus are stronger."
Harry looked down at his good hand, wondering how much that applied to him. After all, he knew about the structure, but he was still young, didn't have the muscle memory – magic memory? – of directing magic through a wand, or the specific twitches of his wrist that directed the magic flow.
Floorboards creaked upstairs and he turned his gaze to his bad arm. He stretched it out gingerly, wincing at the tingles of pain, but it didn't feel as bad as it had been the night before. He pulled up his loose sleeve and found deep bruises surrounding where it had been broken, giving a reason for the ache, though not for the sudden healing.
'Well, I suppose it could have been from that other place?' Harry figured with an uncertain frown, before he shook his head, another reason occurring to him. 'I'm a werewolf. Well, an abnormal one, but still. I expect speedy healing isn't something Death would have changed in tweaking my curse.' He snorted. 'If anything, I expect he would have sped the healing up. Which...actually, that would be nice. I'd appreciate that.'
Light footsteps sounded on the stairs above his head, and Harry snapped up his good hand to extinguish the light above him. Two beats of his heart later, Petunia was tugging the door of his cupboard open, face scrunched up in distaste. "You have five minutes in the bathroom," she announced before turning and walking into the kitchen to, Harry knew, put the kettle on.
Harry hurried through his morning routine with efficiency born of necessity more than familiarity. However, when he turned to leave, he froze, eyes caught on his forehead, where a lightning bolt scar had been yesterday. Now, however, the patch of skin was empty of any blemishes, and he stared at it in disbelief, reaching up with his good arm to touch the bare patch.
"Boy!" Petunia snapped.
Harry stumbled from the bathroom and into the kitchen, mind a whirl with questions that he couldn't hope to answer. 'Well,' he realised as he took his place in front of the cooker to make breakfast, ignoring Aunt Petunia's glare, 'there's always Death, I suppose. If I can figure out how to call him. Killing someone, I would suppose.'
Which brought him to another matter, and he frowned down at the frying pan he was using. 'I'm done playing servant to these pigs. I can't leave until I have somewhere else to go, but that hardly means I have to continue living as the unwanted house-elf.' He smiled down at the eggs, teeth showing far more than was polite outside of a werewolf pack. 'It's about time I put the fear of magic into them, anyway.'
Or, well, the fear of werewolves.
Harry waited until everyone had finished eating and Vernon had risen to leave for work – Dudley was long retired to the telly in the family room, by then – before he announced, "Aunt Petunia, I'll be away all day." Because he needed to hunt down Pettigrew, and that was going to take time, given the restrictions of his physical age and his lack of wand or money. The latter two could be solved, of course, but he'd much rather wait until Sirius was free and named his guardian before he considered tackling those challenges.
Petunia looked torn between glad to know he'd be out of her hair all day and angry at his attempt to claim some personal freedom.
Vernon, on the other hand, didn't have to deal with him during the day, so he went straight to angry at the disobedience. "You think you're going to leave your aunt to clean up your mess tod–?"
"Excuse me," Harry interrupted quietly, a twitch of his fingers silencing Vernon, "but I haven't left any messes in this house. Any dirt can be attributed to one of you three. More importantly, I start school in a couple of months, and it will be up to Aunt Petunia to manage everything on her own, then."
Vernon was turning purple, while Petunia had paled at the way his mouth moved uselessly. "What have you done?" she cried.
Harry tilted his head to one side. "Shut him up. Obviously."
Vernon let out a silent roar and started towards Harry, hands extended like claws.
Harry snarled and bared teeth that felt too large, too sharp for his human mouth, and Petunia let out a terrified little scream. "I wouldn't," he growled, the words slurring with the changed shape of his teeth. He waited a beat for his mouth to return to a more human shape before adding, "I would hate to force Aunt Petunia to clean your blood from the kitchen floor all by herself."
Vernon froze, hands still extended, but face gone nearly white in terror.
Harry stood, feeling a nasty thrill of pleasure at the way his uncle flinched back a step, and looked towards his aunt. "I will aim to be back by dinner, but I may be late. If so, leave the kitchen door unlocked for me and don't worry about leaving me any dinner, I'll provide my own."
Petunia gave a shaky nod. "Do you need money?" she asked, and Harry knew she was trying to placate him.
He smiled at her, a little cruel. "Not today," he allowed before stepping past Vernon and starting from the kitchen.
"Boy," Petunia called after him, and Harry glanced back at her over his shoulder. "Your uncle."
"The spell will dissipate once he's past the ward lines," Harry commented, then returned to walking towards the front door.
Vernon rushed past him while he was putting his trainers on – not that he'd be wearing them long, but it would look odd if he went wandering around the neighbourhood barefoot – and Harry smiled at his back, quite pleased at the lack of bellowing. Perhaps he'd make the spell a permanent addition to the man. Assuming he could figure out a way to have it reapply every time he entered the house, since the wards would remove any magic cast on people crossing them. (Meant to keep anyone from bringing a curse through the wards by way of a muggle, he knew.) Perhaps something on the doorknob? It would have to be simple, given his lack of wand.
Harry walked for a ways along the pavement once he was out of the house, going in the opposite direction from Mrs Figg's house. Once he dubbed himself a good distance from the house and the wards he knew surrounded it, he started looking for a good place to transform and hide his clothing, which wouldn't change with him like it did with animagi. Obnoxiously. (At least lycanthropy cured his poor vision, so he wouldn't have to worry about needing his glasses if he had to transform on the way.)
He found a bit of shrubbery that he could squeeze behind to hide from view, and a flick of his fingers had a weak muggle repelling charm blanketing them. He stopped to make sure he wasn't being observed by any cats – he honestly had no idea which of the neighbourhood cats were kneazles who reported to his watcher – before scurrying into the bushes and undressing, trying to ignore the uncomfortable poking of branches. Then he shoved a wad of his shirt into his mouth before he focused on transforming, uncertain if the change would still hurt when it was purposeful.
It turned out the transformation was still agony, and he ended up spitting out a torn shirt once he could make his jaw unclench. He glared at the shirt for a long moment, then shook himself and looked down at himself, letting out an irritated growl at what he found.
It shouldn't have surprised him to discover his wolf form was small, more pup than adult wolf, but it sort of did; every werewolf he'd seen transform had been an adult, and so had an adult wolf form.
'Well,' he thought as he slipped from his hiding space, 'this rather limits my travel speed.'
His original intention had been to spend no more than ten hours getting to the Burrow – which he could have easily managed had he been an adult wolf – then borrow a wand from someone – Wormtail, if he could get the bastard to transform – and apparate to London and Imperius the rat into turning himself in to the Ministry. But he had no idea how quickly this form could move, nor how long he could keep the speed up.
'Nothing for it,' he decided as he started in the direction he knew the Burrow lay – he'd wait until he was closer before transforming and casting a Point Me. 'Can't put Sirius' freedom or my sanity on hold just because I'm a pup.' He snorted. 'Not like there's anyone to worry if I go missing for an extra day, anyway.'
In the end, Harry managed to catch a ride on a lorry after an hour of trotting near the roads he knew were going in the right direction. He ended up wasting almost two hours in Bristol when the lorry made a delivery and lunch stop, but the whole trip still took him far less time than it otherwise might have.
'That's one nice thing about being a pup,' he thought as he started trotting again, having parted from the lorry in Exeter and stopped to cast his Point Me spell, 'people are far less likely to notice a small wolf hiding in the back of a lorry than they are to notice a great big wolf.' Speed may have been an issue, and he was sure it would be harder to scare people by turning into a pup than it would be to turn into an adult wolf, but it was much easier to get around unnoticed.
It took about another hour to reach the Burrow, and Harry was familiar enough with the area that he didn't need a second casting of the Point Me to find the house, which was probably for the best, considering how many magical families lived around here; the less transforming he did, the less chance there was of someone catching him out. (Not that going to the Burrow didn't chance that already...)
In the end, his small form served him perfectly in hunting Scabbers down, because no one there was paying enough attention to notice a wolf pup sneaking in the opened back door. He made it up to the second floor without notice, finally stopping outside the closed door of Percy's room.
'Well,' he realised, sitting on the landing and staring at the barrier, 'this is a slight problem.'
It was actually sort of pathetic that the door so distracted him, that he didn't notice he wasn't alone on the landing until hands wrapped around his middle and lifted him into the air.
Harry immediately growled, baring his teeth in a clear threat as he turned his head so he could look over his shoulder. The wolf inside him wanted to bite and claw at the person holding him, but Harry managed to push the instincts away, having no interest in harming any of the Weasleys.
Blue eyes stared back at him, amused for a brief moment before they suddenly widened in realisation. The boy – Harry realised it was Bill after a moment, thrown by the lack of familiar scarring and his youth – turned and hurried up to the third floor, where he stepped into an open room and shoved the door closed before setting Harry down. "You're a werewolf," he breathed.
Harry froze, heart thudding too-fast in his chest. How could Bill possibly–
'Right, he's going to make Head Boy,' Harry reminded himself, staring up at the eldest Weasley boy with narrowed eyes. 'Not as creature-mad as Charlie, but he's old enough that he's probably had at least one class covering werewolves, and Ron did say he took Care; it's quite likely he knows the difference between a normal wolf and a werewolf. And just because I'm a pup, doesn't mean the differences aren't obvious.'
Harry shook his head and grit his teeth against the pain, then forced his body back into his human shape.
"Merlin," Bill breathed out before a heavy blanket was draped over Harry and a careful hand touched the top of his head for a brief moment before it was snatched away, as though its owner was used to easing another's pain with physical contact, but remembered himself at the last moment. "How–?"
"How can I change against the moon?" Harry suggested, forcing himself to sit up and not show how much he just wanted to lay there for a couple hours and sleep off the strain of the day. "Dunno. I've always been able to do it."
Bill stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide and intelligent. "That's...bloody amazing."
Harry blinked; he'd honestly not expected that response. "Would be better if it didn't hurt so much," he heard himself saying.
Bill snapped to attention. "Oh, crap. Do you need any–"
"No," Harry made himself say, though he'd have appreciated a muscle relaxant; the fewer people who knew he was here, the better, and Bill collecting potions for him chanced questions.
Bill considered him for a moment, gaze searching, before asking, "Why are you in my house?"
Harry couldn't stop a smile, far too amused at the fact that the reason for his presence had taken a backseat to both curiosity and his own wellbeing. He would always adore the Weasleys and their selfless bravery. "I'm looking for someone."
"Who?" Bill asked. "I mean, it can't be easy to talk to one of us if you're..." He trailed off and motioned to Harry, who was currently wrapped in Bill's comforter.
"Running around as a wolf? Naked?" Harry suggested, and Bill grimaced. Harry considered him for a moment, debating his options, before admitting, "I'm looking for a man named Peter. He's an animagus, a rat, so coming as a human wouldn't really have helped me that much."
Bill's eyes had widened when Harry said he was looking for a rat, and he knew the older boy had figured out he meant Scabbers. "A grey rat?" he asked.
Harry shrugged. "Maybe? I'm not completely clear on his colouring, but I know he's missing a toe on his right forepaw."
Bill definitely knew who Harry was talking about. "I can get him for you," he promised as he got to his feet.
Harry reached out and caught Bill's robe as it occurred to him that having Bill turn Wormtail in would almost work better than Harry dragging him back to London and Imperiusing the traitor, given that he wasn't completely certain he could procure a wand to pull it off with, and he knew better than to try casting an Unforgivable wandless. "Wait. Can you... Your dad works for the Ministry, right?"
Bill frowned. "Yeah."
Harry nodded. "Could you ask your dad to take him in to the aurors? He's a Death Eater."
Bill's eyes went wide. "What?" he breathed, horrified. "A Death Eater?"
Harry didn't have to fake his regretful wince at the crack in Bill's voice. "Yeah. He's kind of a shit one, but he was absolutely working for V–You-Know-Who at the end there. Betrayed my parents to him and framed my godfather for it."
Bill reached down and dragged Harry to his feet. "Come on. We'll tell Mum–"
"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted, pulling away and trying to keep from letting on how very much not steady he felt standing upright right then. "Look, it's best I'm not involved in this, if you've got it, right? The Ministry isn't really fond of my sort."
"But, surely they won't–"
Harry laughed, the sound too old, too broken, to rightly come from a child, and Bill looked away, whole body tense. "It's always nice to see someone still has faith in the Ministry," Harry commented, and he couldn't even pretend to care that his voice was heavy with the bitterness of a man who had fought for five years to change the laws restricting werewolves in a Ministry far more lenient than this one, only to have everything undone practically overnight.
Harry closed his eyes and reached up to rub roughly at the corners of his eyes, swaying against his exhaustion. "Just..." He sighed. "Please, just let your parents know about Peter. For your family's sake, if nothing else. I need to start home." And wasn't that just a lovely prospect, trying to find his way back to Surrey on foot. At least it should be easier to find someone going to London than it had been to find a ride to Exeter. Hopefully.
"Hey, whoa, no way," Bill insisted, spinning and catching Harry's shoulders. "You look dead on your feet, kid. Why don't you spend the night? Get some sleep and such. I can bring you some food and you can leave in the morning."
That was tempting, so very tempting, but Harry wasn't sure he could chance it. Not because he needed to get back to the Dursleys, but because of the chance that he'd get caught if he stayed in the Burrow. The fewer of his secrets others knew, the better off he'd be, he knew. Especially when one of his secrets was that he was a dangerous magical creature that the Ministry would see dead in a heartbeat. (Bad enough that normal werewolves turned once a moon, but one that could turn whenever he wanted? And, at that, a child? Oh, he was someone's walking heart attack.)
"No one needs to know you're here. Promise," Bill swore, apparently reading Harry's mind.
Harry didn't give a verbal agreement, just sank back down onto the ground, curling in the comforter. "Yeah, okay," he agreed quietly.
A gentle hand ruffled his hair, the action seeming almost fond. "Get some sleep, kid. I'll go take care of Scabbers."
Harry let himself be helped up onto Bill's bed and curled up in his comforter. Once the boy left, though, Harry grit his teeth and forced himself back into his wolf form, figuring that would be the safest way to sleep.
Well, so long as no one snuck up on him.
When Harry woke, it was well after dark and Bill was on the bed next to him, halfway curled around Harry's wolf form and fast asleep. He slipped carefully from the bed and let his nose lead him to where a plate had been left next to the door with a loosely tied scroll next to it. The scroll had 'Growly' written on it and Harry huffed in amusement at Bill's sense of humour before turning his attention on the plate of food and settling in to clean it.
Once the food was gone, Harry nosed the scroll onto the plate, then carefully picked it up between his teeth, pawed the cracked door open enough to let himself out, and made his way down to the ground floor.
In the kitchen, he left both scroll and plate on the floor below the sink, then hurried off to the small laundry that he knew was attached. A moment's silent agony saw him back in his human form, and he searched through the laundry for a robe that would both fit him and wasn't too nasty from having been worn by rowdy children.
Once he was dressed, he returned to the kitchen and set the plate in the sink, where it immediately started washing itself, and opened the scroll.
'Growly,
'Realised I didn't know your name, so this will have to serve. Though, honestly, I'm not even sure you can read. You look about Ginny or Ron's age, and neither of them can read, but you also seem much smarter than either of them. Figured I'd take a chance.
'I admit, I half expect to wake up and find you gone. That's okay. I do hope to hear from you again, if only so I know you made out okay.
'Stay safe, kid. And feel free to drop back by if you need somewhere to lay low.
'Bill Weasley'
Harry smiled at the scroll for a long moment before slipping it into one of the pockets of his borrowed robe. Very likely, Bill would find out who he was very soon, especially once the Prophet got wind of Peter Pettigrew still being alive.
'Well,' Harry thought as he glanced towards the fireplace and the little pot of floo powder on the mantle above it, 'I'll have to send the robe back, anyway. Maybe I'll write him a letter back.' Years of familiarity with an older Bill left him with a mental image of Bill's likely expression upon receiving such a letter, and Harry had to muffle a chuckle.
Once he felt calm, he turned his mind to the problem of where he'd floo to. It would have to be somewhere in the alleys, he knew, but somewhere, too, that would both be open at this ridiculous hour of the night, and unlikely to question an almost-five-year-old wandering around. And he'd need to go by Gringotts to get money enough to both buy himself a set of robes and rent out an owl to send the current robes back. Gringotts and the owl post office wouldn't be an issue, as both were open at all hours, but the only robe shops that would be open were down Knockturn.
Harry blinked. "Oh," he whispered. Of course. He could floo to the non-human pub down Knockturn. He'd still get odd looks for being a child, but he could defend himself with his non-human half or magic and people would back off without him needing to worry about the Ministry hearing about him.
He reached for the floo pot, only to snarl upon realising he couldn't reach it without dragging a chair over, which he did. He took out a pinch, then shoved the chair back into place before tossing the powder into the grate and stepping into the resulting green flames. "The Bloody Eyetooth," he announced, voice steady.
He stumbled out into a darkened room and six pairs of eyes immediately turned to stare at him as the fire returned to red and orange flames behind him.
"Fresh meat," one man practically purred before flashing a fanged smile at Harry.
Harry replied by baring too-sharp teeth and snarling, "Try it and I'll rip your throat out, bloodsucker."
"The pup has claws," another vampire commented from where she was relaxing against the bar.
A man stepped forward, then, eyes glowing in the firelight. There was a level of awe in his expression that Harry hadn't expected to see, and he took a half-step back even as he identified him as a werewolf by his scent.
"Alpha Lord," he breathed before kneeling before him and baring his throat to him.
Harry blinked at him once, twice, then croaked, "What?"
Another werewolf peeled away from the tables, this one a woman, and approached them. She didn't kneel, but her head was tilted to show deference and her eyes glowed in that same way. "You are the Alpha Lord, are you not?" she asked, though it was clear she already knew what his response should be, even if Harry didn't have a clue what was going on. "You are a true-born werewolf."
Harry shook his head. "I'm– No. No, I'm not–"
"You change against the moon," she explained.
"Oh. Well, yes. But I wasn't born–"
She shook her head, even as she dropped to her knees next to the first werewolf. "It doesn't matter. You are the Alpha Lord."
The female vampire at the bar leant forward. "This boy is your leader of prophecy?" she demanded, eyes raking over Harry's small form.
Harry had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't stand to be underestimated, not amongst those who would eat him alive if he showed a moment's weakness, so he snarled and motioned with his hand, sending a burning coal from the fireplace behind him flying across the room to hover in front of her face. "I suggest, madam," he spat, the address dripping with scorn, "that you not underestimate me based on my apparent age."
The vampire wrapped her hand around the coal, hissing at the burn it caused. But she was smiling when she met Harry's gaze again, approval clear in her bloodshot eyes. "Message received, Alpha Lord."
The other three vampires in the room immediately ducked their heads, taking their cue from the female.
Harry stared around at the room for a moment before stepping forward and touching both of the werewolves' shoulders. "Get up, for Merlin's sake. And someone explain this bullshit to me before I lose my temper."
The two werewolves obediently rose, but it was the vampire at the bar who motioned for him to join her, snapping her fingers for the vampire bartender to attend them while Harry walked over. "What will you have, Alpha Lord?"
"My name is Harry," Harry informed her as he struggled up onto the stool next to her. When she offered him a hand of assistance, he sighed and accepted it, knowing he would only look more the fool if he kept struggling. "And I'll have tea, if you're willing to open a tab for a child," he added drily.
"You will find, Alpha Lord Harry," the female vampire said as the bartender went about getting his tea, "that there are very few non-humans who will accept your money once they figure out who you are."
Harry tapped irritatedly at the bar. "Oh, this sounds abso-fucking-lutely wonderful. Please wait to continue ruining my day for a moment so I can fortify myself with some tea, if you would?"
The vampire laughed, the sound entirely too pleasant for a woman who consumed the life force of humans. "Oh, I think you and I will get along wonderfully, Alpha Lord."
"Mmhm. And you are...?"
The vampire flashed him a fond smile as he accepted his tea. "I am Countess Carmilla Sanguina."
Harry let his eyebrows raise and took a careful sip of his tea before commenting, "I was under the – clearly mistaken – impression that you'd died over two hundred years ago." No wonder the other vampires had deferred to her.
Carmilla's eyes danced as she sipped at a wineglass of blood. "It does ease the minds of the humans if they think we vampires don't survive past two hundred."
Harry snorted. "Ah, of course. We must leave the humans with their pleasant delusions, lest they discover they have far less power than they think they do." Carmilla laughed again and Harry hid his smirk in his teacup. When she quieted, he said, "Now then, do forgive, in advance, any show of abhorrence, but I've never been fond of prophecies."
"Few are, especially when such spell out their own fate," Carmilla agreed and Harry sneered into his tea. "This prophecy was given long ago by a dying centaur, long before even my time."
Harry raised his eyebrows again at that, but busied himself with his tea to keep from commenting.
Carmilla nodded. "I have never heard the exact wording – doubtless, it has been lost to time, knowing how well werewolves and centaurs keep records –" Harry snorted "–but the gist was a foretelling of a werewolf who would be able to change whenever he pleased and would lead all non-humans to take back their rightful place as Magic's favoured."
"As long as she only gets the rest of you non-humans," a genderless voice said from behind Harry, and Carmilla let out an undignified sound and pushed away from her stool.
"Hello, Death," Harry said, glancing over his shoulder at the being standing behind him. "Getting possessive in your old age?"
Death let out a rattling sound, like someone in the process of dying trying to breathe, and Harry realised that was how it sighed. "Most amusing, Master."
"I rather thought so," Harry agreed. He took a sip of his tea, then turned around on his stool so he could observe Death without straining his neck. "You're scaring my new allies, Death. Not cool."
Death shrugged and let its bony fingers click-clack against the handle of its scythe. "Apologies, Master. I shall endeavour to avoid appearing again when there are others about."
Harry considered that for a moment, then shrugged himself. "No, don't let me stop you," he decided and got the distinct impression that Death was quite pleased with that allowance. "Did you want something, other than staking your claim?" Harry frowned, a thought occurring to him, and he leant forward and tapped his forehead. "And what the fuck did you do to my scar, by the way?"
Death cackled, the sound making everyone else around the room shudder. "I am possessive, Master," it pointed out.
Harry sighed. "Great. Did you fuck with the other horcruxes too, or was it just me?"
Death shrugged. "Only you, Master." There was a beat of silence, heavy with intent, before Death added, "I can affect the others, should you request it."
Harry tapped his chin with one finger, considering the offer. "Hm. No, not right this moment. I'd like to talk to him first; if I've some centaur prophecy hanging over my head saying I'm going to bring the non-humans back into power, I expect he'll serve as something of an ally, at least for so long as we can stand each other."
"Are you sure you don't wish to possess the Stone, Master?" Death hinted.
Harry stilled, temptation washing over him. "Well," he murmured, mouth feeling suddenly dry, "when you put it like that..." He smiled at Death, teeth showing. "Without the flesh eating curse, if you would. And do keep it intact for the moment; I know how to manage Tom, should he try my patience."
"As Master requests," Death agreed before vanishing.
Harry turned back to his tea and had just brought the cup to his lips when the Peverell ring appeared before him. He immediately curled his fingers around the artefact and let out a quiet breath. It was nice to have one of the Hallows again, even if there was no way he could wear it. He wondered, a bit idly, how hard it would be to get the Wand from Dumbledore.
Carmilla slid back onto her stool, clearly shaken. "Behold," she murmured, "the Alpha Lord, Death's Master."
Harry flashed her a smile that was all teeth. "I did warn you not to underestimate me, my Lady," he pointed out before setting down his empty cup and slipping awkwardly off his stool.
"So you did, my Lord," she agreed wryly. As Harry started for the door, intent on getting his shopping done before he got distracted again, Carmilla called after him, "Others will wish to pay you tribute, Alpha Lord."
Harry closed his eyes, irritation sweeping through him, only to be chased away with a sense of resignation that reminded him disgustingly of his days playing saviour for the humans. He glanced back at her and said, "I will be here the night of every dark moon to play to everyone's expectations. However, should anyone approach me outside this building and show me deference – especially if I'm with humans – I will brand them Omega and throw them to the humans. Am I clear?"
Every head in the pub bowed in understanding, so Harry left, feeling uncomfortable in his too-young skin.
'Well, if nothing else, it will be entertaining to watch ancient vampires dancing to the whims of a five year old,' he decided as he turned towards Gringotts and flashed his overly sharp teeth at a staring hag.
Bill Weasley stared disbelievingly down at the letter than had been waiting for him with a set of Ron's robes when he'd woken. He couldn't help but fondly think, as he burned the signature into his eyes, 'That smug little git.'
'Bill,
'I admit to a certain fondness for Growly; at least you didn't go with Hairy, or I might have actually chanced Azkaban time and bitten you. (I really wouldn't have.)
'You weren't wrong to expect I could read, though it is true I'll be attending Hogwarts with Ron. I have a particular habit for being a bit ahead of the curve, and only time can tell whether that will serve me well in future or not.
'I borrowed a robe from the laundry so I might floo to Diagon without scandalising anyone. I've bought myself a replacement, so I thought I should return the borrowed robes. They were hit with a cleaning charm, but I suspect your mum would still prefer to send them through the cycle, so do feel free to return them from whence they came.
'If all goes to plan in regards to Peter's incarceration, I should have no need to make use of your kind offer, though I do appreciate it.
'Harry J. Potter'
Stand Against the Moon Chapters:
Prologue - Like a Ghost in My Town
4 - Drop the Shades | 5 - The Little Victories | 6 - Uneasy Alliance
7 - Determining Boundaries | 8 - International Acclaim | 9 - Age of Mystery
10 - Absence | 11 - Eye of the Storm | 12 - No Regrets
Nose to the Wind Chapters:
01 || 02 || 03 || 04 || 05 || 06 || 07 || 08 || 09 || 10
11 || 12 || 13 || 14 || 15 || 16 || 17 || 18 || 19 || 20
21 || 22 || 23 || 24 || 25 || 26 || 27
.
