Disclaimer: The British Lady owns everything, even my imagination apparently. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Pairing: Marcus Flint/Harry Potter

Warnings: slash: male/male, adult language, AU Post-GoF, mentions violence and character death, underage relationships (15), sexual situations, sexual intercourse.

Ashen Knights

Part: I

Harry's breath was coming so quickly that he was sure he'd choke on it. This couldn't be happening, and yet, it was. Cedric was dead, Voldemort had returned, and no one believed him. Well, a few people did, but the rest thought he was an attention seeking liar. The Minister had used the Daily Prophet to slander his name, and people believed the lies. It was easier for them to ignore the truth than have to deal with it.

However, it was the solemn look in Dumbledore's eyes that truly terrified Harry. Those eyes, they had piled expectations upon him, and he knew that the Headmaster expected him to fight Voldemort and defeat him once again.

"I can't do it," he whispered.

Despite being sorted into Gryffindor as a first-year, Harry Potter wasn't a complete idiot. He still had that Slytherin self-preservation. There was no way that a fourteen, almost fifteen-year-old boy, could defeat someone who'd been alive and learning magic for decades.

But logistics aside, if he were completely honest, Harry would simply say that he didn't want to fight Voldemort. He didn't want to be part of a war in a world he'd spent less than four years in. He didn't want to spend his life battling someone who wanted nothing more than to kill him.

All Harry wanted to do was live.

He didn't care about being noble, or a hero, or a savior for a bunch of people who didn't seem to appreciate him and wouldn't believe him when he told the truth. He'd spent the first eleven years of his life being degraded and abused, and he didn't have to take that from a bunch of strangers who'd practically begged him to come to their school and into their world.

Then those same people had turned around and attacked him.

Harry gritted his teeth and growled lowly in his throat. He didn't have to accept this, and he wouldn't. He'd put up with the way things had been for too many years, and he had a way out now.

Harry smirked. McGonagall had unknowingly freed him in her very first lesson. When she'd turned from a tabby cat into a human, he'd known that he wanted to be able to do that. So he'd dedicated himself, and all his free time away from Ron and Hermione, to becoming an Animagus.

People assumed that the reason his grades were low in many classes was because he was stupid, or lazy. Neither was the case. He simply didn't have time to waste on doing homework for useless classes when he could be studying important matters, such as completing his transformation.

It'd taken him almost a year to learn to meditate properly. He'd always been good at remaining still for long periods of time when needed, something the Dursleys had drilled into him, but he'd never searched for his magic before, and it'd been harder than he'd originally thought it would be.

He'd finally figured out how to do it the summer before second year, when he'd been locked in his room for a week.

—

His magical core wasn't what he'd thought it would be, or to be more accurate it didn't look how he'd thought it would. The books always said that a person's magic was the same color as their eyes, or perhaps it was that the eyes were the same color as a person's magic. Regardless, he'd expected to find a ball of emerald green somewhere deep inside him.

He hadn't.

In fact, his magic didn't have a color at all. He couldn't even see it, but he could feel it. It seemed to wrap around him, like a warm embrace, similar to the very faint memories he had of being in his mother's arms before she'd been murdered.

The only light he'd found was a red string, and it hadn't taken someone of Hermione's intellect to tell him that it was a tie to Voldemort. Harry was determined to find a way to destroy that string too. He wasn't sure yet if Voldemort would be able to track him using that, and he wanted it gone before Voldemort had a chance to try.

He was just lucky enough to know that Voldemort was conceited, sure of his own importance, and someone who underestimated those he considered beneath him. He'd never even consider that Harry would have the skill to find his core at such a young age.

Harry was making progress in his second year, and he'd gotten used to falling into his core at night before sleep. It was the only place where he felt truly safe. With people being found petrified all over the school, and the hissing voice, he was even more nervous and restless than he was at the Dursleys.

"Safest place in Britain my arse," he said deridingly.

As getting in contact with his magic become a frequent event, his ability to perform spells rose. He formed a more intimate relationship with his magic and acknowledged and respected it, thus causing it to wish to aid him even more.

According to the book Advanced Transfiguration: Animagi, being able to pull your magic up so it encases your skin is one of the first steps. So Harry practiced. He coaxed and serenaded his magic until they worked as equals. His magic was his partner and readily aided him, cloaking him in a shield of sorts that he could call up. However, the shield still took a lot of concentration for him to hold, and so he had to practice.

Harry wouldn't give up though, and he dedicated his free time to practicing, he practiced in class, and at meals, and occasionally when he was playing Quidditch, just to see if he could. He was only grateful that it was impossible for one person to see another's magic, or else the professors would have noticed what he was doing.

This was his freedom, his escape, the Slytherin back-up plan that he wasn't going to let anyone figure out. This world seemed too good to be true at times, and Harry hadn't been naïve enough to believe people wanted what was best for him and cared for him in over six years now.

And he was right.

His Parseltongue abilities were revealed, though he hadn't known that's what it was called, and people were suddenly looking at him like he was Voldemort. He used it to save someone's life, but that didn't seem to matter. All these people saw and heard was that their precious savior had spoken in the serpent's tongue, and that was an ability passed down through dark wizards.

He was hurt for a moment, one moment when he realized that he'd foolishly started to hope that just maybe these people were different and that he really did have friends. But no, it wasn't to be and he'd been shown the truth. It wasn't something he'd ever forget.

So he practiced even more diligently, seeking a way out – away from the spotlight and judgmental glances. This place that had sounded like it was wonderful wasn't for him either. But his Animagus transformation would give him a way to escape.

—

"They were watching, but they didn't see," he whispered, tone a mix of fading sadness and rising anger. "No one ever sees or understands."

He remembered how excited he'd been in second year when he'd finally gotten a glimpse of what his form would be. He'd been meditating before bed, as always, and the feeling of soft and silky fur had brushed down his skin.

His eyes had popped open and the grin on his face had been enormous. It wasn't much, but it was a small sign that he was getting closer. That he was finally coming in contact with a form that he'd been born to have, that embodied his very soul.

So Harry had closed his eyes, sank back into his magical core, and allowed the feeling of soft fur to rub against him. Step two was complete, and he was very pleased indeed.

—

He knew he was on the cusp of a breakthrough, and that he'd soon learn what his Animagus form was, and then he'd be able to do all the necessary research on it so that he'd be prepared. He was restraining his urge to race through the halls and back up to the dormitories so that he could 'sleep'.

But no, he wasn't allowed to do that. He wasn't allowed to snuggle down in his magic and discover a wonderful new part of himself.

Ginny Weasley had been taken to the Chamber of Secrets and, as the only Parselmouth – and as the Boy Who Lived – he didn't really have any choice but to save her. So he went with Ron to get Lockhart, and he took them down to the Chamber, and then he was in there alone, facing off against a memory of Tom Riddle.

The next several minutes were a blur in his mind. He didn't remember what he'd said to Riddle, or what Riddle had said to him. And he didn't really remember pulling Gryffindor's Sword out of the Sorting Hat, but he did remember the piercing agony that accompanied the basilisk's fang as it pierced his flesh. He remembered the feeling of the venom traveling through his body and fighting against his magic. And he definitely remembered the sudden cold feeling as Fawkes's tears fell on the wound and a soothing wave of magic entered him, battling against the attacking venom.

He managed to pull the fang from his arm and stab it into the diary, destroying Riddle and saving Ginny. But not even that would bring him peace, because he could feel the two invading magical presences mixing and mingling with his own, and it felt alien in his body, powerful, and fierce, but different than it had before.

For one moment he felt like a stranger in his own body, and he wanted to curse the girl for writing in that stupid diary which had brought him here and led to this. However, that desire faded when he felt his own magic surge powerfully and swallow the other two. He felt as they were slowly disintegrated and then integrated into his own, and he knew that his magic had changed.

It was . . . more! More powerful, more caring, more . . . just more.

He felt safer than he ever had before. He knew that his magic would never turn against him. He could feel its willingness to serve him in any way, and that it was honored to belong to him.

"It's mine, and I love it," he said tiredly before passing out.

When he awakened in the hospital wing, he pretended to be asleep so that no one would bother him. He fell into his usual meditation and bathed in his magic. It swelled up around him, enfolding him closely as if it could give him all the hugs and physical affection he'd been denied in his life.

And then he felt it.

A thick, luscious fur rubbing against his skin, but this time it was also accompanied by the soft tickling of feathers.

The grin that spread across his face alerted the people at his bedside that he was awake, but their words didn't register for several minutes. Whatever he was, he was going to be able to fly, and he figured he had Fawkes to thank for that.

If there was one good thing this world had given to him, it was the ability to fly. Even though it was only the illusion of freedom, for those few hours a week when he got to zoom through the air on his broom, it seemed like reality, not an illusion.

When he'd been discharged from the hospital wing – finally, did Madam Pomfrey really need to keep him that long? – he went to the library. He headed straight for the section on Magical Creatures, knowing that no regular animal would have fur and wings, at least not as far as he knew.

The first three books he browsed through were utter rubbish. They were so clearly contrived that he wasn't even sure why they would be located in the school library. The fourth seemed more plausible, but contained no information on a creature that fit the description he had. The next several were along the same lines as the fourth and Harry was just about to leave in frustration when he saw a dusty old book hiding behind two others on the shelf.

He pulled it forward and blew gently, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Harry coughed twice and stepped a few paces to the left, hoping to keep the dust from getting into his eyes, which had been aching for the past few days. He'd almost mentioned it to Madam Pomfrey, but something told him that he should keep this minor discomfort to himself.

With the dust no longer obstructing his vision, he was able to read the well-worn title: Moste Fantasicale Beasts. Harry didn't know why exactly he did what he did next, but he did it all the same. He slid the book inside his robes, made sure it was secure, and then left the library quietly and efficiently.

He was holding his breath almost the entire time he was making his escape, afraid that Madam Pince would suddenly appear and accuse him of stealing, which he was. But she didn't appear, and Harry did escape, with the book up, to his dorm room.

He yanked the curtains around his bed closed, and then balanced his wand on his thigh. "Lumos," he said.

The tip of his wand lit brightly, filling the whole curtained-off bed with light. Harry grinned and moved the wand to one of his pillows before leaning back against another and opening the book almost reverently after stroking its spine.

His magic was reaching out to caress the book, as if to tell him that the answer would be found inside.

He ran one hand down the table of contents, staring in awe at the long list of creatures. Many of these were creatures he'd never heard of, and he was determined to look through them all until he found what he was looking for.

The first four chapters were on basilisks, phoenixes, dragons, and unicorns, and he skipped over them, knowing that these beasts were not this elusive part of himself. So he held the book carefully and started in on the fifth chapter. The writing was faded greatly, and in what he thought was Old English, so it was difficult to read. He'd only made it partway through the fifth chapter when it was time for dinner.

Harry closed the book when Ron called and slid it under his pillow. He'd have a while still until school ended, and the exams had been canceled, so he wouldn't have to worry about that. This would allow him even more time to work on finding the answer to his question.

His magic seemed pleased with that decision, because it pulsed warmly around him.

And even if he couldn't find the answer in the book before school ended, he could simply take the book to the Dursleys' for the summer. It wasn't like he wouldn't bring it back to Hogwarts next year.

The book did end up going with him to the Dursleys' and he had plenty of time to read it over the summer. His aunt and uncle wanted less to do with him than normal, and apart from his usual chores of cooking and gardening, he was left alone in his room.

Harry spent that time deciphering the difficult text. It wouldn't have been so difficult if the letters hadn't been so faded. Some were almost completely missing and he had to fill in the blanks mentally to guess at what the unknown author was trying to say.

It would have been depressing, working through chapter after chapter that wasn't what he was looking for if the chapters had been boring. They weren't though. The author's words were concise and to the point, but they were written with a flare, a wry sarcasm that Harry had quickly come to appreciate.

So he slogged his way through it, no less intent on the project and answering his question than he'd been when he first started. He'd been working towards this since his second day at Hogwarts and he wasn't going to give up now!

It also helped that his magic was encouraging him. That contentment and pleasure grew greater as he continued forward, never letting failure stop him where he was. This was something he wanted to do for himself and his magic; his magic seemed to feel the same way.

Harry was sure that their little routine would continue for the rest of the summer, until he was allowed to leave again to head back to Hogwarts, or visit the Burrow if Ron had his way and Dumbledore would let him.

But then his aunt came to visit, Marge, and she was worse than she'd ever been before. He wasn't sure if it was the rumors about St. Brutus's or not, but she was particularly vicious this visit, and she was treating him like he was her own personal slave, or 'house-elf' as he'd darkly joke in his mind.

She worked him to the bone from the moment he woke up until he crawled into bed at night to get what few hours of sleep he could before doing it all over again. The sheer exhaustion kept him from being able to open the book and read, and Harry could feel the frustration building up inside him. Not only his, but his magic's as well.

They were so close, and she was keeping them from finding out the truth.

His magic began to rankle and writhe beneath his skin, dangerously. He'd feel warmth and a furious brushing of fur and feathers before it would calm slightly. It never relaxed; it simply simmered beneath his skin, growing more resentful by the moment.

He managed to control it until August 6, when Marge made the mistake of verbally attacking his parents. That was it; he lost control of the fragile grasp he had, and his magic lashed out, inflating the woman who was suppressing their path forward and insulting his heritage, the only people who'd ever loved him.

Harry snarled and stalked from the room, muscles flowing fluidly as he turned his back on the scene. He couldn't stand it here, and he wasn't going to stay. He couldn't move forward if someone was preventing him from doing so, and Harry had no desire to remain stuck where he was.

He was in a room at the Leaky Cauldron minutes – hours? – later. He wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed; he was only grateful that he'd be able to move forward once again. At least Tom had provided him with a good room that had a lot of light he'd be able to read by. Then again, he couldn't really expect less when the Minister himself was paying for it.

So he settled down with his book and turned the page.

Nundu.

The word seemed to jump out at him, the title of this newest chapter, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. This was it. He could feel it; his magic was burning happily inside him and the fur and feather sensation was more intense than ever before.

As Harry started reading the chapter, the grin on his face grew wider. It made sense now, that integration of magic, after he'd destroyed the diary, from the basilisk and phoenix. He lightly touched the penned illustration that took up the entire opposite page.

"It's beautiful," he whispered in awe.

His fingers brushed down the paper lightly, and he continued to stare at the depiction of his Animagus form. It was a large cat, resembling an enlarged leopard, and it had feathered wings that sprouted out just below its shoulder blades. They were extended in the picture, each feather detailed so intensely that he was surprised they weren't moving.

He reluctantly pulled his fingers away and turned the page. As his eyes carefully read the text, his mind translated it into modern day English.

The Nundu is considered to be the most dangerous of all magical creatures. Their breath is extremely poisonous, and whole villages have been destroyed by a single creature. The poison is airborne, lethal, and remains for days after the Nundu has departed from the area.

Nundu possess large feathered wings, which are not just for decoration, and can support them in flight. Though a Nundu is dangerous on the ground, a Nundu is most dangerous in the air. They are skilled and graceful fliers, and are often considered to be a dark beauty directly opposite to that of the phoenix.

Harry lifted his head from the book and stared at the blank wall for a moment as he processed those words. Poison, wings . . . his original Animagus form must have been that of a leopard, and then the basilisk venom and phoenix tears altered it when they entered his body. He'd been at an important step in realizing his magic and bonding with it, and those magical characteristics had been blended in with his own.

"Merlin," he swore softly.

He lowered his head and began reading again.

A Nundu's wings can be folded down to lie against the back, just like normal avian creatures. These wings also serve as a protective shield in that they are impenetrable to almost all curses and weapons. Nundu also have increased healing and regenerative powers.

The last captured Nundu was caught by a party of wizards and witches led by Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor. It took their party of ninety-six wizards and witches four hours to subdue the Nundu. In return for their heroic effort they received a large plot of land in northern Scotland upon which they built a school: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Bloody Hell!"

Harry closed the book carefully, unwilling to read any more at the moment. He didn't think that he'd be able to process more information. His mind was still spinning in circles.

The giddy feeling of excitement and accomplishment welled up inside him and washed over so that his magic was rubbing all along his skin in a comforting hug and caress. He'd completed the third step and only had two more to go.

The grin on his face turned into a smirk, and his fingers stroked the spine of the book lovingly. His other part was powerful, very powerful, and it'd be able to keep him safe and provide him with an escape if he ever needed one. He'd be able to slip away and no one would find him. It was perfect.

Harry's eyes burned sharply for a moment, more intensely than the sporadic pains he'd been having for the last few weeks. "I must need to sleep," he said tiredly as he rolled to the side. Yes, he'd get some sleep and then focus again in the morning.

Note: Several people were curious as to how I'd write this pairing. I admit, so was I. Hence, when the idea came, I surrendered and wrote. I hope you'll find that it's worth reading. This won't be terribly long, but it's not short as hell either. Novella length.