FanFiction.Net - unleash your imagination|
Author of 9 Stories |
Wind Rider
- By SuishouTenshi
REPOST (10/15/07): Yes, I'm back and this story is now officially alive and under revision. However, I'm too lazy to fix the first couple of chapters too much, so I just checked the grammar and some plotholes and inconsistencies. The language will still sound like a 16-year-old wrote it because I really did write this when I was only 16. So don't expect quality writing until chapter 10 or so.
I'll be putting up a revised chapter everyday, hopefully. And by the end of the repost, the newest chapter should be up. It's currently half done. If you've read everything before, then ignore the first 12 chapters.
Okay... here I go again!
Chapter One
Harry Potter sat forlornly on his battered mattress with his arms wrapped around bent legs. Two sparkling green eyes stared unblinkingly at the crimson digits of his alarm clock. Around him were piles of letters and birthday presents from his friends and mentors. Hermione and Ron had really gone all out this year. Somehow, the two managed to pool in enough money and had bought him a portable mini-TV and a DVD player. They also sent several actions films, mostly of them consisted of a star whom Harry hadn’t heard of for years: Jackie Chan.
Shanghai Noon played away in front of him, muted, and Harry paid no heed to Chan’s fast-moving fists. A more important event was at hand — July 30th was about to end in less than five minutes.
Harry sighed. He hadn’t imagined his birthdays could get any more depressing, but each year struggled to outplay the previous. Even the thought of a birthday wish seemed pointless.
Five years ago, he had wished to escape the Dursleys, and that had come true to a certain extent.
Now, five years later, Harry only had one wish in mind, but he somehow doubted that even the birthday fairy, if there was in fact such a creature — because you just can’t ever be sure of some things after living among wizards for five years — could bring a person back from the dead.
Time slipped by quickly, and before he knew it, the digital clock had turned to “12:00”. Harry gazed into the night sky and closed his eyes. He had to settle on the next best thing.
Sirius did not die in vain; I wish to have enough power to kill Bellatrix Lestrange.
The clock now shone “12:01”. There was no gust of wind, no bright light, no tingly feeling down his spine. Harry shut off the mini-TV and cleared everything off his bed. There was no birthday fairy after all.
Harry walked quietly toward his opened trunk and took out a fifth year DADA textbook. He didn’t quite read everything in it due to the events that occurred during the school year. Even though he received a solid Outstanding on the subject, he wanted to seriously study the text for future references.
The Dursleys didn’t know about Sirius’ untimely demise, and Harry didn’t feel particularly inclined to fill them in. They wisely left him to his own little world. There was tension, certainly, but neither side had openly antagonized the other just yet. Harry helped with the housework like always, and Aunt Petunia did not starve him. Overall, Harry’s summer went without troubles, even to the point of being boring.
Harry opened his text as slowly as possible. He had finished reading the parts about defensive hexes and curses and had moved on to the last section of the book: Defense against Dark Creatures. Harry had thoroughly studied the important creatures for his OWLs, such as the werewolf, the basilisk, vampires, mummies, and gorgons, but now that he had a chance to look it over in depth, learning about monsters that modern muggles considered as purely mythical gave Harry a thrilling sense of pride for his wizarding lineage.
The boy-who-lived began to read under the borrowed light from street lamps the last paragraph on European veela. He hadn’t realized that there were male veela at first, nor did he know about the dangers of observing their mating rituals. Unlike the dreadfully dull subject of Potions, Harry absorbed Defense Against the Dark Arts as if each chapter were a piece out of a fairy tale. There were so much more left to be learned, so many fascinating creatures that made up his world.
At the bottom of the page was a moving picture of a fully grown female veela. The picture first smiled seductively at Harry, and then slowly began to transform into the same bird-like creature Harry saw two years ago at the Quidditch Cup.
After the veela came something called the Zephyrs, known to some as Wind Riders. Surprisingly, the chapter on Zephyrs was extremely short, consisted of only three paragraphs. It briefly mentioned that Zephyrs were rare creatures that were often mistaken for angels by Muggles because of their noticeable wings. Nearly all Zephyrs were dark creatures, but there had been exceptions.
Harry’s eyelids drooped as he skimmed over the last paragraph on Zephyr mating, not really taking in any of the words. After a tired yawn, he extinguished the light and fell into a deep sleep, completely unaware of the dim shimmer between his eyebrows.
She gave him the benefit of the doubt. It was the boy’s birthday after all. Maybe he was upstairs cleaning his room. He usually left around his birthday anyway. Maybe he wanted to make sure that Dudley’s second bedroom was neat before he went away to his abnormal school.
Good riddance.
And yet, still no sign of Harry Potter.
After the warnings from those freaks, Petunia became wise enough to leave the boy alone, but this was getting out of hand.
The horse-faced woman marched up the stairs and put on a frown. She knocked on Harry’s door fiercely but received no response. No longer holding back her anger, she turned the knob and pushed opened the door, slightly cringing at the squeak it made.
Her nephew’s room was in complete disarray and smelled distinctively like owl droppings. Packages and parchments were strewn all over the floor. On top of the small bed was her nephew, still in day clothes and sleeping away without a care in the world.
Petunia hopped over the mess and kicked Harry’s bed angrily. “Wake up!” she screeched. Harry didn’t stir. “For goodness’ sake, boy, get up! It’s nearly five in the afternoon! Get up!”
Harry’s face was turned away from her, and Petunia decided to lean over to check whether he was truly asleep or simply ignoring her. It was then that she saw the bead of green light hovering just between Harry’s thick eyebrows. Slightly miffed that the boy was doing magic again and also worried at the abnormal sight, Petunia decided to shake him. Downstairs, Vernon had just entered the door and was calling for a cold cup of lemonade.
Petunia shook Harry rather violently. Fear spread over her as Harry’s head lolled around lifelessly on his pillow. Now trembling with trepidation, Petunia slapped Harry on the cheeks, shook him some more, and screamed.
Vernon soon appeared at the bedroom door, his fat cheeks were flushed crimson due to the heat.
“What has the boy done now?” he howled.
Petunia placed two fingers below Harry’s nose and waited. Then she let out a cry and covered her face. “He... he’s not breathing!”
Vernon’s face turned green almost instantly. Gasping, he sputtered in a horridly high pitch, “They’ll be after us! They’ll think we killed him. CPR!” he suddenly yelled. “Does he still have a pulse? Give him CPR!”
Petunia’s eyes widened as she felt around for Harry’s pulse — it was nonexistent. Vernon sank to the floor as she shook her head at him. Petunia then made a mad dash for their bedroom.
At the bottom of her drawer, she hid something that she thought she never had to use: A velvet pouch sent to her from Dumbledore three weeks ago in case of emergencies.
A note had come attached with the pouch: Your fireplace is now connected to a special network. Throw the powder into the hearth, place your head into the fire (it shall not burn you), and say “Number 12, Grimmauld Place” as clearly as possible.
Petunia didn’t have time to hesitate. She ran down to the sitting room and lit the fireplace immediately. As much as she loathed Harry and his world, he was still Lily’s child. She would not have him die in her house, not when the guilt and fear would likely shroud her conscience forever.
After she grabbed a handful of the glittering powder and threw it into the flames, the fire grew and began to glow eerily green. Adrenaline rushed through the woman’s veins, and for the first time ever, she felt immensely satisfied. If only Lily could see her now!
Not even taking time to doubt Dumbledore’s words, Petunia knelt down in front of the flames and felt cold fire licking her cheeks. She followed the instructions to the letter and found her head spin uncontrollably as the world began to whirl around her.
Next thing she knew, she was looking at an old kitchen. Table legs were in plain view, but there was nobody around.
“Hello?” Petunia croaked out. “Mr. Dumbledore?”
Footsteps approached from outside, followed by two bickering voices.
“The shop’s doing fine, mum. George is fine, Angelina’s fine, the Canary Creams are fine, the trick wands are fine, and my freckles are fine. We’re all bloody fine!!! Now will you let me see Moody?” A young and boisterous voice hit Petunia’s eardrums as the door opened with a creak.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Fred. Why would you need to see Alastor?” The sounds of footsteps came closer and closer.
“I have things to report and assignments to receive, mum.”
“What did I tell you about getting involved with Order business, Fred?”
“Mum, I am a member...”
“Excuse me?” Petunia squeaked as boldly as she could, slightly miffed that the two incomers didn’t notice her right away. But as soon as they saw the woman’s disembodied head floating in the fire, both jumped back and gasped.
“Hey, aren’t you Harry’s aunt?” the tall, freckled teenager exclaimed.
“Yes.” Petunia was tempted to huff at the boy’s rudeness, but now wasn’t the time. “Where is Mr. Dumbledore?”
“Oh, um, the Headmaster is at the Ministry.” The plump woman walked closer to the fireplace. “Is something the matter with Harry, Mrs. Dursley?”
“Harry’s not breathing, and he has no pulse! We didn’t do anything, I swear! I let him sleep in today because it’s the boy’s birthday and...”
The blood drained away from the woman’s face almost immediately. Her son, the one called Fred, reached out and caught her just before she fainted. He gently set her on a rickety chair and took out his wand.
“Stay there, don’t move.” The young man then disappeared with a loud ‘pop’.
The next ten minutes were the longest moments in Petunia Dursley’s life.
“Young man, you can’t go in there!” A Ministry guard pointed his wand at Fred’s back just as the boy was about to knock on the meeting room’s door.
Fred spun around and froze the older man with a heated “Petrificus Totalus”. Protocol was completely ignored as he practically kicked open the barrier.
Inside, sitting around a large round table, fourteen of the most important figures of the European wizarding world froze in their discussions and looked over to Fred Weasley. Even Dumbledore seemed slightly offended at the interruption, but one good look at the frown on Fred’s forehead, irritation turned into fear. The only time he had seen a Weasley twin so serious before was when Arthur was attacked.
Dumbledore ignored the protests from his fellow administrators and walked Fred to a secure area where they both Apparated back to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Albus Dumbledore, the greatest Headmaster in Hogwarts history, Order of Merlin First Class, dubbed the greatest wizard of the century, could not have seen this coming. Molly Weasley was pale, panicked, and pestering Petunia Dursley, whose head was floating in Grimmauld Place’s hearth, with questions that the latter didn’t seem to be able to answer. Both women looked to be on the edge of tears, though for somewhat different reasons.
“Mr. Dumbledore!” the head screeched. “Harry! He’s dead!”
Dumbledore was shaken by the news at first, but he quickly collected himself. According to the prophecy, if Harry were to die, it would certainly be at Voldemort’s hand, and Dumbledore doubted Voldemort would leave the Dursleys alive if he did indeed take down Harry.
There had to be some kind of misunderstanding.
“Gather Alastor, Lupin, and Tonks. Tell Ron and Miss Granger if you deem it necessary.” After the short instructions to Fred, Dumbledore Disapparated, and showed up in the Dursley’s sitting room seconds later.
Dumbledore gently lifted Petunia’s quivering body from the fireplace and guided her up the stairs, as if he knew exactly where Harry was even though he had never entered the Dursley household before.
Vernon Dursley scampered away from the old wizard and began to mumble incoherently along the lines of “not our fault”. Petunia went over to him, and he immediately went to shield her wiry frame with his own bloated torso.
There were no marks of any clear fatal injury on Harry’s body, and the bed sheets were free of blood. Dumbledore also could not distinguish any specific magic signature. Common sense reminded him again that it was impossible for Voldemort to hurt Harry inside this house. He felt for Harry’s pulse but found none. Perplexed, he then turned Harry’s body so that he faced the ceiling.
Dumbledore gasped.
Loud popping sounds echoed inside the tiny room. Vernon screamed as four cloaked figures appeared around him. Alastor Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, and Fred Weasley stayed back in respect while Remus Lupin walked gingerly to Dumbledore’s side. The werewolf stared at the bead of green light floating above Harry’s forehead and tensed.
“Albus, it’s not true... is it?”
Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “There is still hope, Remus. But it’s not up to us to help him anymore. There’s nothing we can do except to wait. Petunia, my dear,” he turned to Harry’s aunt, “I’m afraid Harry’s stay here shall come to an end. Thank you for keeping your promise for the past fifteen years. We shall take him to a place where we can watch over him until he recovers.”
Petunia gulped. “He will recover, then? He’s not... dead?”
Dumbledore shook his head again.
“Mobilicorpus.” The Headmaster cast the charm on Harry’s still body, only to have it faze into a sizzle. Harry remained in the same unmoving position, completely unaffected by the spell. “Oh, dear...”
“I’ll carry him to the fireplace.” Lupin did not wait for anyone to protest and gathered the sixteen-year-old into his arms. After a solemn nod to Petunia, Lupin disappeared out the door. Fred followed Lupin, his face still grim. Tonks cried “pack!” and swept her wand over the floor. She and Moody watched silently as Harry’s belongings crammed themselves into his trunks. After she gathered Harry’s Firebolt and Hedwig’s currently empty cage, she Disapparated back to headquarters.
Dumbledore gave Moody a curt nod and prepared to Disapparate as well when Petunia placed a bony hand on his arm.
“Yes, dear?”
“Mr. Dumbledore,” Petunia ignored her husband’s gurgles and grasped Dumbledore’s cloak even tighter, “tell... tell Harry when he wakes up, that he is welcome here on Christmas... if he wants.”
Dumbledore merely gave her a sad smile and patted her hand. Then both wizards disappeared.
Dudley Dursley came home that night to see the fireplace alight despite the blazing summer weather. His parents were both sitting in his former second bedroom. His long-hated cousin, Harry Potter, was nowhere in sight.
Ginny had her face buried into Neville’s shoulder; her body convulsed with suppressed cries. Neville wasn’t faring so well either. He had one arm wrapped around Ginny’s body, and the other determinedly wiped away the tears before anyone could see. Hermione knelt on the floor with Harry’s right fist in her hands and her frizzy head on his stomach. Harry’s body had become stiff and cold hours ago, and she constantly blew warm air onto his hand, as if to keep him warm.
Ron sat on the floor with his back toward Harry. He placed his forehead onto his knees and refused to open his eyes, claiming that if he couldn’t see his best friend alive and well, then he would rather not see at all. When he first received the news of Harry’s “death”, Fred was forced to subdue him with ropes because he adamantly insisted that the Dursleys had caused Harry’s untimely demise, and he wanted revenge.
July 31st soon died away. The Aurors went back to their homes and the Grangers retired into their room. Molly and Neville’s grandmother occupied themselves with cooking while everyone else remained still.
Night gave way to dawn, and Ginny had fallen asleep in Neville’s arms.
“When will Harry wake up, Professor?” Hermione spoke the first words in hours. Her voice cracked.
Dumbledore looked old and tired. The twinkle in his eyes was gone, and if anyone bothered to look, his irises were actually clouded with something akin to fear.
“I honestly don’t know, Miss Granger.”
“The green light... what is it, Professor?” Hermione wasn’t relenting.
“I don’t know, Miss Granger.”
Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand involuntarily. When did Dumbledore ever run out of answers? Her next question was almost too horrible to ask.
“Then, Professor, how can you be so sure that Harry will open his eyes?”
“Don’t say that, Hermione!” Ron suddenly yelled, so loud that he had not only wakened up Ginny, but Mrs. Black’s painting as well. The horrible woman screeched away, and everyone did their best to ignore her. Ron’s eyes were open now, so wide that the redness was clear for all to see. He then crawled over to where Dumbledore sat a few feet away and grabbed a fistful of the old wizard’s robe.
“Professor Dumbledore, you’ve got to help Harry, please. He’s like a brother to me. You have to help him!”
Fred and Arthur scurried to Ron’s side and tried to pry the boy away from the Headmaster, but Dumbledore halted them with a hand.
“Mr. Weasley... Ron, it is not within my power to help Harry anymore. None of my spells will work on him.”
“But you’re the strongest wizard ever. You defeated Grindlewald, and You-Know-Who is even scared of you! You...”
“My boy, I am confident that no matter how long it will take, Harry will open his eyes again. The hovering bead of light you see is proof. I do not understand why Harry’s heart stopped beating in the first place, but there is not a doubt in my mind that there is a strong protection spell shielding Harry’s body from outside harm. Harry is just waiting for the right time to wake up.”
Ron was silent.
“I have to admit that despite my age, I have yet to read all the books there are. In fact, I have only digested less than a quarter of the materials in our library. There might be something in there that will answer all of your questions.” Dumbledore lifted Ron up, but long-term immobility had taken its toll and the boy’s knees gave out. “Ron, will you allow Mr. Longbottom, Miss Granger, and Miss Weasley to accompany you to Hogwarts library’s Restricted Section?”
Seven heads all shot up. Lupin looked at Dumbledore inquiringly. “Albus?”
“Remember, children, for Harry’s safety, his condition will remain inside this house. The entire Hogwarts library is at your disposal. Neither Madam Pince nor Mr. Filch will stand in your way. The only things I request of you are to eat regular meals in the kitchen and to Floo back here daily to rest.”
The four heads nodded vehemently, all glad that they were able to do something to help their friend.
“Arthur, please keep Molly calm during this trying time, and go about your business as usual. Remus, as soon as you recover from the last moon cycle, I want you to go inside the Forbidden Forest and find Firenze. Ask him about Harry’s condition, perhaps our centaur friend can help us in this stressing matter. Ah, Fred...”
“Yes, Headmaster?”
“Please, call me Albus. How is the shop?”
For the first time in twelve hours, a smile broke out on Fred’s face. “Just fine, Headmaster. Goyle, Crabbe, and Nott all came by at least five times over the last month. They may not like the Wealsey name, but the three of them are single-handedly keeping our business thriving. Speaking of which, before this all started, I was supposed to report to Moody about something.” Fred’s eyes darted toward the younger children. His responsible side was finally kicking in, and as a young member of the Order, he felt a need to keep information strictly within Order members.
Dumbledore saw Fred’s glance but urged him to go on anyway.
“Well, Crabbe and Goyle usually never make a sound. But yesterday, without Theodore Nott with them, they began to gloat about something their fathers had told them. It seemed that You-Know-Who has every intention of breaking his captured Death Eaters out of Azkaban, and they shall be doing it sometimes next... well, this month.”
“Without the Dementors guarding the prison, that won’t be a very hard task,” Arthur commented with a hand on his older son’s shoulder.
“Voldemort has no love for his servants,” said Lupin. “All of the captured Death Eaters can remain in Azkaban forever for all he cares. But there is one prisoner whom he will get back no matter what.”
“Who?” Fred asked.
“Can’t you guess?”
Hermione gasped. “Lucius Malfoy!”
The room suddenly fell silent as everyone absorbed the information. Finally Ron choked out, “Professor Dumbledore, will Malfoy be coming back to school next term?”
Dumbledore nodded with a knowing grin. “Lucius may be a convicted Death Eater, but Draco is not. And since he is underage, he will attend Hogwarts unless he withdraws willingly.”
Ron looked over to the still Harry and said, “Bad news, mate.” He then went to sit next to Hermione and placed his hands over Hermione’s and Harry’s. “Wake up soon, okay? I want to hex Malfoy into a slug again, and I can’t do it without you.”
Ten days after Harry’s birthday, there was a mass breakout in Azkaban. The Aurors managed to recapture nearly all the prisoners and all the Death Eaters with the exception of Lucius Malfoy. It seemed that every precaution was taken so Lucius of all people could escape untouched. As they feared, one of the most prominent Death Eaters was now free once again. The Ministry raided the Malfoy Manor as soon as they got everything back under control, but the Manor was empty except for a weeping Narcissa and a disgruntled Draco. They even interrogated the House Elves, but found no useful information whatsoever. Another raid later, it was proclaimed that perhaps Lucius Malfoy never returned to his home after his escape.
Now, on August 14th, Severus Snape sat side by side with Albus Dumbledore in the Grimmauld Place’s sitting-room. The two wizards were accompanied only by silence and a dead Harry Potter. Dumbledore had decided to keep Harry’s body at a place where it was watched over by someone at all times.
Severus Snape, however, was very unnerved by the sight of Harry’s pale features.
“You bring us news, Severus?” Dumbledore prodded when the Potions Professor couldn’t take his eyes off of Harry’s body.
“Yes, Headmaster.” He somehow found strength to look away. “Lucius Malfoy came to my home yesterday. He is definitely staying in his Manor, perhaps in those Malfoy family rooms that are hidden beneath the ground. Ministry Aurors will never be able to penetrate the wards and find him; he’s indefinitely safe at the moment.”
“What did he want with you?”
“This might come as a surprise, Headmaster, but Lucius was asking me for a long time supply of calming draughts.”
“Ah, of course, we all have our inner ghosts. But what could have scared Lucius into asking you for claming draughts? Post-prison nightmares, perhaps?”
Snape shook his head. “This is what shocked me the most, Headmaster. He didn’t ask for a normal calming draught. This draught that he wanted is one that’s especially made for unmated Zephyrs.” Snape waited, his eyes did not move from Dumbledore’s wrinkled face. The old wizard’s eyes suddenly widened in surprise and he let loose a wild laughter.
Dumbledore stood up from his seat and sauntered to Harry’s side. His eyes fell on the boy’s figures and smiled warmly. “Luck seems to be on our side, Severus.”
“Headmaster?”
“Severus, will you do this old man a favor? Please go to Hogwarts, and you shall find four young Gryffindors in the library. Tell them to search and take back everything and anything they can find on Zephyrs.”
“Headmaster, you don’t suppose...”
“Lemon drops, Severus?”
That dreadful twinkle was back.
Malfoy Manor on a summer day was unbearably hot. Fifty feet below Malfoy Manor on a summer day in a round room full of mirrors and magical fires was simply excruciating. For that reason, young Draco Malfoy was eternally grateful that he only wore a loose pair of pajama pants. His parents and Aunt Bellatrix, however, were dressed from head to toe in ceremonial dress robes. Lucius’ cloak was buttoned up entirely, and the women’s dresses clung to their bodies like second skins. Draco didn’t see how they were able to stand the heat. The only parts that were not covered by clothing were their heads, hands, and two oval cutouts on their backs.
Lucius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix stood around a small, round platform in the center of the room and positioned themselves into the shape of a triangle. Fire blazed around them, and sweat began to swim down Draco’s naked back.
Lucius waved an elegant hand as Draco entered the room. The youngest Malfoy strolled over and gave his mother a peck on the cheek. After a nod to his Aunt Bellatrix, Draco stepped up to the center platform and waited for the right time.
Today was Draco Malfoy’s 16th birthday. At precisely 3:13 p.m., he was to go through the Ritual to see whether he was fortunate enough to inherit a gene that made his family even more special than others.
Draco glanced around him and wondered briefly whether he’d share the same fate as his aunt and parents and receive the gift of their special blood as proud riders of the wind. While all three had mainly normal wizard blood in them, their Zephyr genes occupied a portion of their magic blood. However weak their powers were, as long as they could still call forth their wings, and as long as Draco’s blood sire was there for the Ritual, there was still a chance for him to receive the same wonderful gift.
“Get ready, Draco.”
Draco gulped at the sound of his father’s voice. From what he’d read in the Malfoy family library, if the Zephyr blood coursing through his veins did decide to play dominant over wizard blood, this process was going to be extremely painful.
The fires around the room sudden dimmed, and Draco knew it was time. Lucius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix all began to mumble underneath their breaths and their chants increased in both volume and pace with time. Strangely enough, Draco felt nothing. The Slytherin let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps he wasn’t a Zephyr after all. He really didn’t think he could deal with all the expectations.
Sweat broke out on the adults’ brows. Draco saw that his mother was clearly trying her best not to interrupt the chant with a pained groan. They were only weak Zephyrs, and the initiation was taking a lot out of them.
The effects began to show as the last syllable fell from Narcissa’s lips. The grownups stopped their chants and fell to the floor gasping for breath. Three distinctively different pairs of wings had sprouted from their backs. Draco stared. He had only read about the wings, but had never seen them in person before. In fact, most of the time, his parents denied their Zephyr heritage altogether.
Seeing how he wasn’t affected by the attempted initiation at all, Draco jumped off the platform and reached down to help his mother.
“Mum?” Narcissa was only half conscious. “Is it very painful? Should I get some potions for you?”
Narcissa shook her head with her eyes closed. Draco knelt by her side, unmoving, his eyes studied the beautiful yellow wings fervently.
From the books he read, a grown Zephyr’s wings could reach ten feet wide, but only one feet and a half in height. The feathers were similar to eagle feathers, smooth, long, and graceful. Lucius, like his wife, was panting on the side, attempting to flap his beige-colored wings. Bellatrix, however, resorted to mumbling to herself about how the bloodline was finally lost. Bellatrix’s wings were pure white, and glowed iridescent in the dim firelight. But Draco wasn’t fooled by their beauty. The lighter the color of a Zephyr’s wings, the darker their spirits were. Draco could still remember the stories his Aunt Bellatrix used to tell him, about how she went to the muggle word and tricked muggles into thinking that she was an angel sent by the muggle God to take the lives of their children.
Draco sighed again. He was guiltily aware that if he actually turned into a Zephyr, his wings would be a very dark color, something that both his parents and the Dark Lord would not approve of. Of course, not that Draco ever really wanted to serve...
Oh crap...
Surprised by a sudden ache on his backside, Draco arched his body upward and let out an ear-splitting scream. Soon his entire being seemed to be engulfed in flames. The invisible fire scorched his skin, penetrated the flesh, and threatened to cremate the bones.
Through the pain, he was still somewhat able to hear his mother’s panicked cries and his father’s attempts to hold Narcissa back.
“Dad!” Draco called for his father’s help, but both father and son knew there wasn’t really anything Lucius could do to ease the pain.
It hurt so, so much. The pain from the heat was agonizing, but it was nothing compared to what was happening to him on his back.
Draco felt the back of his ribcage shift, and the bones twisted and grew, finally piercing his skin with a sickening split. Draco knew that his wings were going to keep on extending, and feathers were going to grow in the next three hours. But thankfully, his mind finally gave out and he fainted. The last thought he had was to pray that the color of his feathers would be of a pure-white, like Aunt Bellatrix’s, so his father wouldn’t see the truth within his heart and be disappointed.
His son, his own son sprouted dark green feathers, a sign that Draco’s soul wasn’t as dark as he would’ve preferred it to be. There was no way he could offer Draco’s powers to the Dark Lord now, not when the boy’s inner spirit seemed to be nearly completely pure. It was a shame really; Draco’s blood was one-half of a Zephyr’s. He could’ve been a powerful asset.
But then again, he shouldn’t be worrying about that at the moment. In Salazar’s name, where in the wizarding world were Severus and his calming draught?
“Don’t cry, Dragon, it’ll be over soon.” Narcissa cradled a whimpering Draco in her arms. Mother and son were tangled around the bed in a rather uncomfortable manner. Draco’s wings refused to retract, so he was forced to lay face-down on his mother’s lap. Narcissa’s normally expressionless countenance was wet with a mother’s tears.
“Mum,” Draco sobbed and sniffed, “I want to sleep. But, it...”
“I know, Dragon, mummy knows.” Narcissa patted Draco’s hair slowly and turned to her husband.
“Lucius, where is Severus?”
“I’ll go check.” Lucius rose immediate and left for the fireplace. This was a bad time for him to leave the Manor’s protections, but he didn’t trust anyone else with the job.
In truth, he wanted to cry too, or at least break something. It was horrible to see his son in such a state. He remembered how it had felt when he first came to his inheritance. After the scorching fire faded away and the pain from the new growth died down, a different kind of torture had taken over.
Lucius shivered at the memory. It had hurt so much, and he was only a quarter Zephyr. He could only imagine how it must be like for Draco at the moment.
It wasn’t really a pain that one can pinpoint. It was more of a thirst, a desire. The closest way to describe it would be an “itch”. But it was an itch inside of one’s chest, right at the heart. It would feel as if someone had cast a tickling charm from the very inside. At first it would be easy to ignore, but the intensity of it would increased with time. The itch would prevent one from focusing on anything else, including sleep. If not dealt with, it meant insanity.
Draco had been up for the last 34 hours, and with him, the entire Malfoy Manor. Insomnia was a terrible thing, especially if all you wanted to do was sleep. Lucius had Floo’ed to Severus’ place no less than twenty times already, and the Potions Master had been working nonstop.
Besides worry for his only son, Lucius had to deal with the guilt as well. There was a reason for the itchiness — Draco was hungry for his mate, his life partner. The itch would die down once he bonded with his Intended. Lucius was lucky. His inheritance happened during the school year, and he had found his mate, Narcissa, the very next morning. Narcissa’s boyfriend at the time, however, wasn’t so fortunate. Zephyr temper was fickle. Lucius had put a nightmare spell on the bloke, and he was nearly driven into insanity after a week.
Lucius sighed as he stepped out of Snape’s fireplace. Was there even another Zephyr family out there? Zephyrs only mated with ones of Zephyr blood, and Draco was the last child of the Malfoy line. Bellatrix’s husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, had very little Zephyr blood in him. And his only brother, Rabastan Lestrange, left no children. But didn’t Draco’s current pain indicate that his mate was out there somewhere? Lucius really didn’t want his only child to end up mate-less and insane.
“Are you done yet?” he asked through gritted teeth. Snape rolled his eyes, half annoyed but wary of showing it.
“I was just about to go over. It’s done.”
“Give it here!” Lucius hissed and held out a hand.
“No, I shall go with you. Too much of it can permanently damage Draco’s health.”
Lucius scowled, but allowed Snape to follow him back.
Severus Snape calmly entered the familiar setting of Draco Malfoy’s bedroom. He had been there before. Draco had always been a sickly child, and Lucius only trusted Snape to administer any potions to his only heir.
The most noticeable sight had to be the sobbing Narcissa. Snape had seen this before too, when Draco was only three and had almost died from a snake bite. A mother’s love was a great one, not even the aristocratic society could diminish that fact. Narcissa spoiled Draco a hundred times worse than Lucius did.
Draco was sobbing too, but in short gasps. His platinum-blond hair, which now reached well below his shoulders, was a crumpled mess. The boy was covered up by a blanket up to his waist, and was obviously without a shirt due to his newly gained wings.
The wings were hard to ignore, of course. A hippogriff’s wings were magnificent enough, but didn’t carry that lithe grace or the shimmering texture. Draco’s wings were thin, almost weightless, and the emerald green color so similar to that of a peacock’s tail was nearly blinding. Maybe the boy himself didn’t notice it, but he was flapping it gently, creating small waves of wind inside the lustrous bedroom.
Snape raised his eyebrows at the color of the wings.
“Severus, Severus,” Narcissa beckoned him, “help him, please! He’s in so much pain. Lucius, it’s not just the itch anymore. We’ve never gone through this, but he’s getting warm again.”
Lucius grasped Narcissa’s hand and put his left palm on Draco’s bare shoulder, only to withdraw at the feel of Draco’s heated skin.
“Severus!” he all but howled.
Severus Snape shook his head. If this was what parenting did to a man, then he never wanted to have kids.
Draco’s head was still on Narcissa’s lap, but Snape turned it sideways so he could feed him the potion.
Draco’s flesh did feel too hot to be possible.
“Uncle Sev...” The young Slytherin’s eyelids fluttered, sweat covered his forehead, and his lips looked redder than blood.
“Draco, drink this. It’s a bit viscous, but do try to swallow it all.”
“Uncle Sev... it hurts... sleep...”
“I know, Draco. Just drink this. It’ll make everything better.”
Draco’s arms hung limply at his sides. Snape took control and forced open Draco’s mouth and all but shoved the vial of liquid down Draco’s throat. The potion proved to be too thick for Draco’s liking and the boy choked on it for a few seconds.
“It will take half an hour for the potion to take complete effect.” Snape tucked away the empty vial and said to the Malfoys, “I have more of it and will bring it over. Draco will need to take the potion whenever he feels agitated, preferably on an eight-hour basis. But I’m warning you, unless you want him to become absolutely dependent on it, only allow him to take it when he can’t handle the pain anymore. Or...”
“Or find his bloody mate as soon as possible.” Lucius looked murderous.
Draco was already drifting off when he fluttered his eyes open again and made a groan of protest. Lucius sighed and bent down to smooth out his son’s hair. “Fine, Draco, I won’t insult your Intended. Try to get some sleep.” He then gave his wife a light kiss on the lips. “And you should sleep too. I will walk Severus out.”
Narcissa nodded with tears in her eyes but didn’t look up. “Thank you, Severus.”
“A pleasure seeing you again, ‘Cissa.” Lucius waved a hand, and the two men walked out.
It was a long and uncomfortable walk back to the drawing room where the fireplace was. When the door shut securely behind them, Snape finally brought up the unspoken problem.
“Draco’s wings, did Bellatrix see them?”
In an unexpected move, Lucius Malfoy drew his temporary wand out of his robe (his old one was still in the Ministry’s possession) and aimed the tip at Snape’s forehead.
“No, my sister-in-law left immediately after she recovered from the strain of the initiation. Yes, Draco’s wings are dark-green. And yes, I do realized what this means. Now the question becomes, Severus, can I trust you to keep this from our Lord, or do I have to Obliviate you?”
Snape pushed Lucius’ wand aside with an annoyed frown. “Do you really trust me so little, Lucius? I really do have Draco’s best interest in mind. I’ve been reading up on Zephyrs ever since you asked me about the potion, and I have to ask, how do you plan on keeping Draco away from the Dark Lord?”
Lucius sighed. “I can’t say that I’m not disappointed with the outcome. Draco never had to go through what Cissa and I did when we were his age. It’s no wonder that his wings show so much...innocence. A glamour charm can alter the color for now. Now that I see his inner self will never willingly work for our Lord, I’d rather have him stay far away from the war until it’s over. But we’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need to find every available Zephyr out there.”
Snape nodded. “Will you be coming back with me for the rest of the potions? I have some Pepper-up Potion that will do you some good.”
“Thank you, Severus.”
“And Lucius, do try to stay away from the Floo network. The Ministry is still looking for you.”
“I’d willingly go back to Azkaban after I find Draco’s mate.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“That’s the scary thing, Severus. I do mean that.”
Hermione wrapped a second blanket around Harry’s shoulders. Dumbledore and Lupin were questioning the other three Gryffindors about what they found on Zephyrs.
Personally, Hermione had studied that specific creature in depth when she was reviewing for the OWLs, and in her knowledge, she couldn’t see how the Zephyrs were connected to Harry’s little “death” problem. All the textbooks say that Zephyrs were rare but rather simple creatures. Their features were nearly human, with the exception of startling irises and noticeable wings. They were also called Wind Riders due to their ability to fly. Zephyrs were extremely beautiful, it was said, as they were distantly related to veela, elves, and some suspect – harpies.
Hermione hadn’t read all the books on Zephyrs yet. Though so far, none of them mentioned anything about sudden deaths and lack of decay. But Dumbledore asked them to research it, and Dumbledore always had reasons for his actions — with the exception of his odd penchant for lemon drops, of course.
“But Professor, there haven’t been any records of a living Zephyr for over two centuries.” Ginny agreed with Hermione on this matter, and she was currently trying to convince Dumbledore to let them go back to Hogwarts so they can do more research on that stupid little bead of light that was hovering above Harry’s forehead. That damn thing was now completely black in color, and Hermione had a bad feeling about it.
“Yes, I know, Miss Wealsey.” Dumbledore took out his old pocket watch and examined it. It was a pretty little thing with a capital D engraved on the cover.
“And none of the books said anything about Zephyrs or strange beads that change color or deflection of spells.”
“Ah, but you haven’t read them all, have you? Maybe you’ll find something.”
“But Professor!” Ginny was so agitated that she had begun to jump on the spot. Ron and Neville were both trying to hold her down.
Dumbledore quieted her with a hand. “Ah, Miss Weasley, look, it is three-thirteen.”
“Three what?” Now it was Lupin’s turn to look confused.
Any further questioning was cut off by a sharp gasp from Hermione.
Harry’s body was suddenly hovering four feet above the couch. His body was still perfectly motionless and his eyes remained shut.
The six spectators watched in silent awe when out of nowhere, every window and door in the Grimmauld house was blown open by a mysterious gust. Robes billowed, chairs and tables were overturned, potteries shattered, and Dumbledore was casting repair and locking charms left and right as he was the only one who wasn’t flabbergasted.
Thankfully, the gust died down soon enough. Harry’s body hovered an inch higher, and Ginny screamed.
She had a good reason for her reaction, for Harry’s eyes were now open, but his pupils were completely white.
Then the black bead began to pulsate and had taken to spin around in small circles.
The bead soon split into two, each glowed even brighter than the original. They orbited around Harry’s body once, and flew directly into Harry’s eyes.
Harry’s mouth was now open too. Nobody was sure at the moment whether his heart was beating again, but the boy was no doubt awake now. He screamed and arched his body skywards in agony. The two blankets Hermione had laid on him earlier fell to gravity’s pull.
“Harry!” Lupin wanted to rush forward, but Dumbledore remained perfectly calm and held him back.
Harry continued to scream, not even taking breaths of air. Slowly, the oversized red sweater he had on began to rip from the back.
Two glowing entities made their way out of Harry’s flesh, ripped his shirt, and continued to extend to the sides. The other occupants of the house were now all watching the scene with morbid fascination, especially Hermione’s muggle parents. Once each of the entities reached about four feet in length, the glow stopped and Harry’s body fell to the floor.
Dumbledore cast a fast levitation spell to slow Harry’s fall. It was then that everyone realized Harry’s body was no longer rejecting magic. Once the bright lightshow died, gasps resonated around the room as they took in the sight.
Harry grew... well, wings. Featherless, but wings nonetheless. The new appendages looked like oversized bat wings. Hermione immediately felt a need to reach down and touch them.
While they were all still watching in silence, Harry’s body stirred. The boy whose heart hadn’t made a beat for the past twenty-five days was slowing struggling to sit up.
Once he was on his knees, Harry blinked and smacked his head with a palm. “Aunt Petunia?” His voice cracked.
“Oh my god, Harry!” Hermione hadn’t allowed herself to cry at all in the past month, but now she was practically brawling as she wrapped her arms around Harry’s naked torso.
“Hermione?” Harry blinked again and tried to focus his eyes; he looked utterly confused.
Ron knelt down next to the two and placed a pair of round frames in front of Harry’s eyes. His own hands were shaking, and he appeared to be restraining himself from enveloping his best friend in a hug like Hermione was doing, even if it was just to feel the warmth of a living Harry again.
“Clearer now?” Ron asked with a lopsided grin.
“Much.” Harry smiled back in the same way. Ron exhaled in relief; Harry’s eyes were just as green as ever, if not brighter than before. Their spectators all sighed in the same way, and Harry was suddenly very aware of the sobbing girl clinging to his chest and his half naked state.
“Er... not that I don’t appreciate seeing you lot on my birthday, but you could’ve woken me up before you dragged me here... and undressed me.”
At those words, Ron couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He grabbed a fistful of Harry’s jet-black hair and tugged both he and Hermione into a tight embrace.
“You... you... you stupid, moronic, idiot!” Ron screamed with his chin on top of a very bewildered Harry’s head. “You made us all worry like that and you don’t remember anything? Damn you, Harry!”
“Um... Ron?” Harry choked. “Can’t breathe.”
“Oh, so now you want to breathe. Then what the hell were you pulling all this time?”
“Er... huh?”
Lupin approached the group with a relieved smile and rescued Harry from Ron’s death grip. “Harry, I want you to remain calm, but if you would turn your head around...”
Harry raised an eyebrow by did so anyway. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of his new bat-like wings.
“P... Professor?”
Dumbledore cut in. “Miss Granger, why don’t you let Harry go so he can take a seat.”
Hermione silently berated herself for acting so impulsive. She released Harry with a blush and went to sit next to an equally emotional, though better composed, Ginny.
With Ron and Lupin’s help, Harry found himself sitting on an old couch inside the familiar Grimmauld Place’s living room. His chest tightened at the memories, but now wasn’t the time to grieve Sirius.
“Can you feel this?” Ron touched his right wing’s tip lightly. Harry immediately felt the sensation and nodded. As soon as Ron drew away, however, it felt like the wings weren’t there at all. Harry was doing his best not to hyperventilate. Somehow he didn’t think that the wizards around him would want to lose their only hope against Voldemort to a panic attack.
“P... Professor Dumbledore, why do I have these... things?”
Mrs. Weasley suddenly appeared next to him with a cup of water. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but her face carried a very bright smile. The teenagers sat on the ground, so it left enough seats for the adults. Hermione’s parents were there too, and Harry wanted to greet them, but he currently couldn’t find the strength to do much of anything. His wings stretched open and took up the whole couch, preventing anyone from sit next to him.
“Harry,” Dumbledore started, “before we explain your wings, you must understand that today is not your birthday. The date is August 24th, and you’ve been ‘dead’ for the past 25 days.”
The old wizards paused to let the words sink in. Harry, after the immediate shock, began to laugh.
“But Professor, I’m alive... Aren’t I?”
Ron’s eyes widened in fear. The red-haired boy grabbed Harry’s wrist and searched for his pulse. A few seconds later, he sighed and smiled again. “Steady pulse. You’re all good, mate.”
Harry scoffed in disbelief. “All good?” He pointed to his wings. “Hello?! I’ve turned into a bloody bat!”
“Harry,” Dumbledore intervened, “your wings won’t stay that way. In a matter of hours, I suspect feathers will find their way out.”
“Oh, that’s just dandy. I’m gonna grow feathers! Professor, just what happened to me?”
Dumbledore then set out to explain to him all that had happened in the past 25 days, from Petunia Dursley’s head in the fireplace (something that Harry plainly refused to believe), to the bead of light that constantly hovered above Harry’s forehead.
“Harry, I cannot tell you in full detail why this happened. But I suspect that you’ve somehow received wings of a Zephyr. Do you know about Zephyrs, Harry? They were the last creatures described in your fifth year Defense textbook.”
Harry thought back to the night before — even though everyone insisted that it was actually twenty-five nights before — and remembered a bit about Zephyrs and Wind Riders. But besides that, he knew no more.
“Your friends went through vigorous hours of research and found these books about Zephyrs for you.” Dumbledore indicated a large stack of ancient texts that were piled up on a nearby table. “School will start in a week. Hopefully before then, we will get the answers we need.”
Harry gulped and didn’t even register the feel of Ron’s comforting hand on his knee.
“I’ll leave you to it, Harry.” Dumbledore patted the boy’s shoulder gently and Disapparated. Mrs. Granger whispered some words to Hermione about rest and retreated back upstairs with her husband. Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Longbottom went away saying something about a celebration dinner to welcome Harry’s return.
“How are you, Harry?” Lupin asked attentively. He was the only adult left in the room.
Harry gave him a bitter grin. “It’s just the type of thing, you know. I’m bloody Harry Potter, nothing is normal about me. It’s bad enough that a madman is after my head, and now I’ve become Batman in my sleep.”
None of the purebloods got the Batman reference, but Hermione chuckled. Harry was still sulking when she knelt down in front of him and placed a warm hand on his cheek.
“Just call me Barbara Gordon,” she smiled at her long time friend, “because Batman always has Batgirl by his side, right?”
Harry smiled sincerely this time.
“What are they talking about?” Neville asked Ginny. The latter shrugged, “Must be a Muggle thing.”
“It’s a Muggle comic book from the States about a bunch of crime fighting vigilante in tights,” Hermione explained.
“A comic book about bats?” Ron quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. His eyes danced jumpily between Hermione’s eyes and the hand she laid on Harry’s face.
Harry laughed. “Hey Hermione, I think Ron could possibly be Dick Grayson, Nightwing.” He gave her a wink. Ron mumbled something alone the lines of not wanting to be named “Dick”.
Hermione didn’t catch on Harry’s insinuation about Batgirl and Nightwing right away and laughed as well. “And Lupin is our Alfred.”
“Um... can I be something?” Neville asked.
“Of course, Neville, you can be Tim, also known as Robin.”
“Hey, what about me?” Ginny pouted.
Harry and Hermione exchanged amused glances before the latter spoke. “You can be Selena Kyles, or Catwoman.”
Ginny thought it over and shrugged. “Alright, I guess a cat is cute enough. And hey, cats, lions, not so far off.”
And so the problem of Harry’s new wings was lost in the air as Hermione and Harry took turns explaining Batman’s story with interjections from Ron about how nutty American muggles were to read about a man dressed like a bat and putting minors in things tight enough to be illegal. When dinner was finally ready, Harry’s bat-wings were covered with shining black feathers.
“Wow!” Ginny gasped. “Harry, they’re really beautiful!”
Harry shrugged. Though he didn’t want to appreciate his new “abnormality”, he secretly agreed with Ginny. The wings were weightless and as black as the midnight sky. He attempted to flap them, and almost caused a small tornado inside the house. The others laughed at this, and he couldn’t help but smile along.
The Gryffindor boy went to sleep that night on his chest. Before he fell to the grasp of his dreams, he suddenly realized that he and Bruce Wayne had so much in common.
Harry sighed. If he were Batman, then Voldemort must be the Joker. Well, at least old Tom was pale enough. Now if only Harry could convince him to dye his hair green and put on bright red lipstick...
Harry scoffed at his own silliness and made himself stop thinking about the darkest wizard in centuries wearing red lipstick.
-TBC
A/N: My God, my writing sucked ass three years ago! The only consolation I can offer is that by chapter 13, the writing should be up to college-level... So bear with me. A chapter a day (maybe even 2 if I'm not too tired from school work). Again, if you've never read this story before, I'm really sorry. If you have read it before, I'm doubly sorry. I'll go revise chapter two now...
:
:
:
:
