The Last Guardian
Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter, even if I got plastic surgery to look like J.K Rowling, as sadly as it is. This story will contain mentions of slash, key word being mentions because I don't want my story to be deleted. I will be posting the slash containing chapters to its sexy fullness on my tumblr blog.
The Last Guardian
Two sorrowful, emerald eyes stared hazily into the ceiling. The image of Sirius falling through the veil still kept him up at night, but the knowledge that he was still alive let him rest for a couple of hours. The long days of slaving for the Dursleys' seemed infinite, the stabbing feeling he had in his chest was a constant reminder of Dumbledore's manipulations and betrayal. Harry knew that he only had Sirius, Remus and Luna. The Golden Trio broke up after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, with the excuse of being too tired of the constant danger that the once fun adventures brought to them. They were still civil in school, but their friendship was irreparable.
"Hedwig", whispered Harry, who missed his only constant friend and companion. He sent her to Grimmauld Place, hoping that she wouldn't starve like she did during their stay with the Dursleys.
Harry tossed his ragged blanket to the floor, the hot summer air making the room unbearably hot. He flicked his hand and bright, crimson numbers appeared midair. It was the eve of Harry's sixteen birthday, and only seven minutes remained until the change of day came upon the world.
He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, pushing his bangs aside. The numbers where still floating counting down to midnight. There were only three and a half minutes left. He wondered if his parents' souls were there with him on his birthday, like they were for his birth. Harry still kept the album that Hagrid gave him five years ago, which he added photos of the few moments that he could record and save forever. Pictures of his first Hogsmade weekend with Luna, Christmas morning with Sirius and Remus, and the odd picture of him sent by Collin were some of the things he added, all emotionally heavy moments of his adolescence.
"Ten... Seven... Four... One", were the only words Harry could say before the unexpected pain settled in. Terrified shouts and agonized screams echoed through his small room, none leaving the walls of the second bedroom. The silencing charms were still erected.
Harry screamed like he was being burned inside out. Tears streaked his face, his lungs getting almost no air. He felt his blood pressure increase and his body jerking, hitting his head with the thick night table. He trashed around until his body gave out, his mind slipping into unconsciousness. Harry laid there, his bed a mess from his trashing.
Harry glowed, his skin reflecting the moon's rays. There was more hair around his head than before, its color darkening and rivaling the night sky. His body healed, leaving no trace of the painful change he had undergone. He laid there like a sleeping, glowing statue.
When his aunt screeched for him to get up, he groaned out discomfort from the loud noise and reluctantly, he got up, expecting to see a bruised and sweaty body in the damaged mirror. Only that his reflection was anything but.
The person staring back at him was too beautiful in Harry's opinion to be him. The young beauty in the mirror had skin paler than snow, with contrasting long, silky, ebony hair. A pair of eyes more brilliant than any emerald adorned the face, which seemed to be from a sculpture of an angel, carved by an old master. Raspberry red lips where open in awestruck, making the sight of the beauty seductive.
Harry's trembling hand came up to touch it's cheek, only to realize that he was touching the mirror, a reflection of himself.
His body moved with its own consciousness, kneeling in front of his school trunk. Harry stayed there, unmoving, until the urge to open the trunk was too grave to ignore. His hands opened the bronze locks, pushing the lid upwards. He took out a thin, long sleeve jersey, and his old pair of jeans. He looked around until he saw his quill set, taking out a small piece of old parchment. Harry took a damaged quill and wrote a warning to the Dursleys' a, fearing that he'll be treated as a bigger freak once they saw him, his excuse being that the Death Eaters would kill them when the wards fell once he left.
He planned to escape, to go to Grimmauld Place where he knew there'll be answers. Harry grabbed his wand, placing a curse on the note, a curse that would erase the Dursleys' memories of him when they read it. 'Hopefully, they'll get out in time' thought Harry. He still hated them, but he hated more to know that they would be murdered when he left the wards. Because he knew that the Death Eaters will be waiting for a chance to attack.
"Conligo", whispered Harry, all his stuff flying around the room and packing itself into his expanded trunk. Once everything was packed, Harry walked over to the trunk, shrinking in while doing so, and gathered it with his cloak.
'Maybe if I make the room…' thought Harry. The Dursleys' would live life as normal if the room was still Dudley's second bedroom, showing no evidence of another soul living in the house, in case of the curse fading or the Death Eaters searching the house for him. "Protean Cubiculum", he said clearly. The air was charging with magical energy, the room changing colors. The bed disappeared, a blue couch taking its place and a mess of broken toys filling the area.
He wound his cloak over himself, walking down the stairs and going for the dining room. They were all there, his relatives eating the breakfast Petunia had cooked in Harry's absence. He carefully put the note on the table, watching them curse loudly at the freakishness of a note appearing from nowhere.
He watched as they got a clouded look to their eyes, knowing that the curse had begun and that they would not remember him in a couple of minutes. He made his way to the back door, which he knew they always had it opened in the morning, and walked to the rose bushes near the front of the house. He ripped a cream rose from its branches, casting a Portus Lunare, which would keep the rose alive and forever blooming with the moon phases. He grabbed the rose and flinched at the tugging sensation behind his navel.
Landing on the front step of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, his cloak fell off his shoulder and revealed his flushed and frazzled appearance. He grabbed the bronze knocker, hitting it against the thick wood door and waited for Sirius to appear behind it.
Conlingois the Latin verb ofpack, gather, collect, etc.
Protean Cubiculum = my version of the Protean Charm for a room.
Portus Lunare = Port of the Moon in Latin.