A/N: Okay, I know that the entire Fanfiction population HATES OC's. I hate them too, to be completely honest. But with Harry Potter, there are so many characters, and so many places to put your own characters. Writing fanfiction is about having fun, and I am doing so by writing this story. I am going to try my hardest to NOT make my character a gary-stue/mary-sue, but I have to have him interact with some characters. I just want to improve the reputation of original characters (they aren't all bad!). This story is purely for my enjoyment. :^) I'm bored, and I lost my almost completed chapter to my other story when my laptop died. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my Original Male Character (OMC).

Warnings: Violence, Adult Content, Slash, Original Character(s), Darkness


"No more tears. I am giving you a gift. You will be more powerful than anyone else in your pathetic school. You will have strength beyond their comprehension."

Beltrano gasped for breath, his body wracked with sobs. His blood was in a pool around him. Every beat of his heart pumped more out, and more fire spread through him. He was so scared. It hurt so much.

He couldn't move. His eyes were frozen on his father's boots, shining brightly in the moonlight. He had polished those boots just the night before, smiling and laughing with his mother as he scrubbed them with the strong-smelling shoe brush. His father stalked out of the alley, his cloak swishing quietly behind him. Beltano heard the loud crack of Apparation (a noise that disturbed the whining creature beside him, causing a yelp and then a growl) and he knew that he had been left alone with the wolf.

The large animal panted against his searing skin, whining in his ears as he nudged him. Every touch was torture, and he moaned in pain through his stiff lips. The wolf sighed through his nostrils, and Beltrano wished he could scream when the rough tongue swiped across his side, aggravating the deep gouges and sending blinding pain through him. Despite his anguish, the animal did not stop. He cleaned the wound until Beltrano was only half-conscious with the pain of it. He wished he would die. He wished his mother would save him.

Then, Beltrano's vision cleared and the pain began to ebb away. The more the animal licked, the less the wound hurt. He no longer felt the trickling of blood past his fingers, and he realized that the wolf was cleaning his wounds. Healing them, even.

Suddenly, the wolf stood from its crouching position, and it slowly lumbered around until the boy and the animal were face to face. A pair of shocking, intelligent amber eyes locked with his, and Beltrano knew that it was no ordinary wolf. Slowly, the magnificent canine lowered his head; silver-faced with dove gray patterns showering back in thick coils behind his immense figure. The rough tongue splashed wetly against Beltrano's feverish cheek, and he felt the strange urge to smile. He supposed it wouldn't be too bad to die at the hands of such a beautiful beast.

He weakly lifted his hand from the pool of blood by his abdomen, and he let his fingers graze over the coarse fur by its muzzle. The wolf licked the small smear of blood from his face, and nudged the boy's fingers with his cold nose.

Beltrano smiled, his eyes drooping.

As he drifted off, he felt the warm body settling around him, cocooning him in comfort until everything went black.


Beltrano hated it when the other boys stared at his scars.

They never had the gall to actually say anything about the deep purple lines bisecting his torso, but he felt their eyes on him every time he dressed in the dorms.

He liked to lock eyes with them when he caught them staring. The other boys were intimidated by him. He supposed the scars made him seem mysterious, dangerous even. He didn't care what they thought of him anymore.

No one could hate him more than he hated himself.


Bel ignored his porridge at breakfast, instead deciding to watch Harry Potter and his friends across the Gryffindor table. The table was littered with the disturbed plates of their breakfast. The other students were chatting merrily, talking amongst themselves. Bel had never had many friends. He knew he was intimidating, and he held mostly acquaintances in Gryffindor house. Potter was sitting with his small group of friends, his hand holding his head up as he dozed.

Potter was a fifth year, one year younger than Beltrano. Bel didn't see what was so special about the boy. He was a gangly teenager, much like every other Hogwarts student. The only thing brilliant about the boy were his green eyes, wide and kind behind his round spectacles. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, but not much different from any other boy Bel had ever seen.

Fred and George Weasley's younger brother caught his gaze, and gave him a sour look. Bel tilted his head in challenge. The Weasley boy narrowed his eyes, making a show of cocking his head to the side.

Bel smirked and sipped his pumpkin juice. Apparently his smirk was intimidating, because the ginger fifth year turned away and dug back into his breakfast, his ears red.

"That Italian bloke is bloody creepy," Bel heard him grumble. He looked pointedly at his food, hearing Granger's reply of, "Oh, he's quite good-looking though, isn't he?"

Bel heard a snort.

"He's bloody weird. He always stares. He's even more of a vulture than Snape," Weasley muttered, sounding defensive. Granger sighed, and Bel felt her gaze on him. He dared a glance, and he saw that Potter had perked up to their conversation. He leaned in, and Bel had to strain to hear.

"Dumbledore told me to watch out for him. I don't know why, but there seems to be something...off about him."

Bel felt his face paling, and he quickly stood up and dashed from the Great Hall.


"Mr. Gallo, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Bel stopped in his tracks. McGonagall had never taken any special interest in him. In fact, he didn't remember her ever talking to him alone in his entire school career.

He was a sixth year.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, and the wave of her robes sent a waft of her sent into his face. She smelled of worry, Earl Gray, and ink.

"I'm going to make this quick, because I don't want to cause your lateness to any of your other classes. You need to be very careful, Mr. Gallo."

A cold feeling washed through him. He gave his Head of House a tight smile.

"What do you mean, ma'am?" He said politely. She reared back a bit, her stern mouth tightening into a white line.

"I mean, Mr Gallo, that it would be prudent for you not to draw attention to yourself with our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Take that as you will, she is not a tolerant woman. Professor Dumbledore can only keep your secret for so long. If she notices you, she will report you."

Bel went stiff as a board, his fingers clenching hard on his satchel. McGonagall can't do this to me, not in the middle of the hall! Fuckfuckfuckfuck…

He forcefully relaxed his grip, running a shaky hand through his thick dark hair.

"I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about. But if you are saying I should lay under the radar, Professor, I already do that quite well, thank you."

He spun on his heel, marching away with shaking hands. How did she know? How did Dumbledore know? Oh Merlin, he was going to be kicked out. If Dumbledore could find out, Umbridge could find out just as easily. He was going to be sent back to his father. He was going to have to face that thing every day for the rest of his life. He would never become a Potions Master. He would never develop a cure. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

He felt like a block of ice by the time he reached Potions. He was lucky they were brewing anti-Itch cream, a potion he could brew blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back. His lab partner, Maria Millar, was a helpful but quiet girl with light brown hair and thick black spectacles. She didn't speak to him much, but she was kind when she did.

Today, she stood back while he stiffly finished their potion and turned down the heat to let it congeal. His nerves were knotted, and he could smell her uneasiness. It was a tangible sourness in the air, and he could see her fingers knotted together in her lap.

"U-um…" Her voice was loud in his sensitive ears. He turned to look at her, his wand held loosely in his right hand. Her eyes widened and her face reddened.

She took a deep breath.

"Are you alright-Bel-Beltrano? You seem angry…" She looked embarrassed.

Bel frowned. Did he really look angry? He glanced around him, sensing the uneasiness of his peers. The boy to his left kept shooting him looks out of the corner of his eye.

He felt a bit guilty, because he had obviously scared the small sixth year. He smiled at her.

"Thank you, I suppose I am a bit on edge…Homework and all of that."

She deflated with relief.

"Oh, okay. Um, you know, if you need help with-er-anything you can always ask me. I'm-er-good at giving advice." Her face was bright red, so red it hid the freckles that covered her nose and cheeks. She glanced behind them, locking eyes with her friend who was giggling profusely.

His smile was almost genuine as he nodded to her, checking their potion (brewed to perfection), and putting his wand in the pocket of his trousers.

"Time's up. Please place your potions in your containers and turn them in at my desk. No matter what state they are in." He eyed Cormac McLaggen's cauldron distastefully. It was white, the correct color, but it was also the texture of cottage cheese and emitting purple smoke. His partner, Katie Bell, was grinding her teeth and tugging on the ends of her hair.

Bel scooped the cream into the round twist-cap container and quickly placed it on Snape's desk. Snape cracked his open immediately, his lip quirking upward a bit. Snape had never spoken to him in anger or kindness, so he supposed that was grudging approval from the Potion's Master. He planned on asking to be a teacher's aide in seventh year (if Umbridge didn't have him expelled) and then an Apprentice after he graduated. He didn't know any other Potion's Masters, and he desperately needed the time away from home.

One thing he always noticed about Professor Snape was, he had no smell. Not even the the scent of magic or potions hung about the black-robed man. It always confused Bel, because even the first years, with their small amounts of untrained magic, had a scent specific to them. Not Professor Snape. He expected the man masked his true scent, but that didn't make any sense. Even Dumbledore allowed his magic to remain poignant in the air.

Beltrano picked up his bag and walked quickly out of the room.


Umbridge gave him a T on his essay.

A T. He had never received below an Acceptable. In fact, he had never received an Acceptable. That would feel worse than a T, because he was just 'average', an honest worthy score. No, a Terrible meant a grudge. A Terrible meant that Umbridge knew something. A Terrible meant that he would be expelled. He would never spend another night in the Forbidden Forest, chasing unicorns and growling at centaurs. He would never converse with another ghost, or be in awe of another fantastic event in his school. He would never again feel pride when he saw his House win the cup, or receive a smile from a small brunette girl even after he had been rude to her.

His hands were trembling when he stepped into the corridor, free of the horridly perfume-y classroom with his loud rambling classmates.

He practically ran to the dorm, charging up the winding stairs to his four poster bed. He slammed his books down by his trunk and vigorously tugged off his school robes. Fuck! Fuck Umbridge! Fuck Dumbledore! Fuck me.

He gave a small sob of frustration. He tugged on a white cotton jumper and demon trousers. He had to eat supper. It was a full moon tonight. If he didn't eat, he could hurt somebody. If he hurt somebody, he would never forgive himself.


"What the fuck's wrong with you, Gallo?" Zabini hissed, his forearms poised beside his plate as he daintily cut his prime rib. Bel had decided to sit at the Slytherin table that evening. Their mothers were good friends, and often forced them to play together as young boys. (All Italians seemed to be friends with each other in England.)

"I got a Terrible on my Defense assignment."

Zabini faltered for a moment, then his lips began twitching uncontrollably. He let out a small burst of laughter, startling Draco Malfoy who was lazily bragging to Pansy Parkinson about his Father's promotion.

"It's not funny, bastardo. I've never gotten less than an E...I don't know what to do with myself. I think I might drown in the Lake later this evening," He complained miserably.

Zabini fought desperately to contain his laughter. His usually bored expression was replaced by what looked like his imminent sickness. Draco Malfoy watched in fascination, ignoring Pansy's cooing to his left.

"Gallo, if it means that much to you...why don't you challenge her grade? I doubt even Goyle has received a terrible in Defense," Draco chimed in. Beltrano ground his teeth, watching as Blaise's right eye twitched until it was almost closed.

"The last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself. She is just bloody awful."

Apparently Draco disagreed, because his eyes narrowed to slits.

"It's not her fault you can't do quality work, Gallo. The Ministry appointed her, and my father and I find her to be a very competent teacher."

"How would your father know, Draco? He's never seen her teach," interject Zabini, who had composed himself so only his eyebrow was twitching.

Draco glared even more heavily, his arms crossing over his chest and his nose pointing in the air.

"He knows her personally. My father works for the Ministry, and he has a lot of inside knowledge on their movements. Umbridge is a wholesome woman who hates Halfbloods and is trying to purify our school. She's sure to keep reign on the blithering old fool's nonsense."

Zabini clicked his tongue, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice that he had transfigured perfectly into wine.

"Halfbloods?"

Draco's nose seemed to be gravitating toward the ceiling.

"Yes. She's been the founder of many laws regulating magical creatures. She's the one who convinced the Minister to execute that Hippogriff in third year. She and my father have been friends ever since."

Bel sucked his lower lip in between his teeth and bit down hard.

Fuck.

Zabini calmly took another sip of his drink, mulling over Draco's statement.

"Well, I suppose my views on her have changed. After the incident with Professor Lupin in third year, there really do need to be regulations on magical creatures. Don't you agree, Gallo?"

Oh, fuck you Zabini!

"I think if magical creatures are respected, there will be nothing to fear from them. Excuse me, I have an unfinished Potions essay to work on." Bel gave the two Slytherins a polite smile before the fled the Great Hall for the second time that day. Did everybody suspect him now? Who the fuck had told anything? His father?

He lay face down on his bed, dreading six o'clock when he would join the rest of his kind in the Forbidden Forest.


A/N:

One more thing to say.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione are very perceptive and sneaky people. They seem to find everything out through either spying or Dumbledore's 'warnings'. This seems like something canon to me. If there was a werewolf at the school (one not trusted or put there by Dumbledore), Dumbledore would warn Harry about him.