The Kindly Ones

The Kindly Ones

Chapter Fourteen

Harry Potter is Fates Bitch

Disclaimer: I have disclaimed so much I fear soon I will not own anything.


Authors Note
Yes, I am still writing and alive and now have solid internet time. Yah! For me!


In retrospect, Victor was always a little unclear about those next few minutes. That's the way it goes. The moments that change your life are the ones that happen suddenly, like the one where you die.
-- (Terry Pratchett, Moving Pictures)

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There are some mornings when you are just about to wake up; you're warm and safe in bed and you feel like curling up into a ball and sleeping for a thousand years. This was not how Harry felt when he pried his eyes open as he hurtled towards the ground.

On a scale of one to ten, this would be for Harry the fifth worst waking he had ever experienced; there had been worse - like the time Dudley had decided to see if putting someone's hand in a bowl of warm water when they are asleep really did make them wet them selves and invited all his little friends around to view the experience Or when he woke to get a close up view of Lockhart's nostril hair in second year. Blue fire made his vision lose focus and blur what he hoped would not be the ground rushing up to him.
"I'mgoingtodie,I'mgoingtodie I'mgoingtodie,I'mgoingtodie" Flashed through the tiny part of Harry's mind not smothered by a primordial hate for what was attacking him. The pounding beat that had echoed through his ears felt like it was making his skull vibrate. As the ground grew nearer and nearer he scrambled at the air desperately and hoped in the next five seconds he could learn how to fly. So Potter's luck came into play.

As the air ripped through his hair, he breathed in short gasps as he could feel something happening to his body that he had no control over. As a powerful force was clenching the muscles of his back and he screamed partly in terror as well as pain. Bringing his arms in front of his face he yelled. 'I'mgoingtodie,I'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodie,I'mgoingtodie,' To be stopped as he slammed face first into the grass of the Quidditch pitch and blacked out again in fear and pain. Unaware of the blue flame that had settled onto his skin.


Draco, who had been watching the slow fall of Harry was reminded of the many times he had seen him fall in the past during Quidditch matches and had hoped the bloody Gryffindor would break his neck. But incredibly, strangely, he didn't this time. Which worried him immensely, much more than the sight of several dozen blood thirsty flying birds demanded.

Running out from behind the Quidditch stands he gave up any hope he had for catching a nap and rushed towards where he knew Harry was going to hit the ground. Only to stumble to a stop and nearly fall to his knees as he was ten meters from the future crash site Harry was covered in a bright blue flame, and from his back a pair of wings, immense in span and as dark as a navy night, cut through the air with a crack.

However even spread out they were not enough to stop the boy-that-lived-to-be-a-in-pain as they slowed him a little, but he still landed face first into the lawn with a thud.

Draco held back a laugh and wished he had a camera as the wings arched around the unconscious gryffindor like a collapsed tent. He hadn't seen something this funny in months.

While this was happening the birds had flown much closer and were circling the pitch, a slow but steady rain of their deadly feathers were falling towards the unconscious Potter and a smiling Malfoy.

The Gryffindor quidditch players were being held inside the changing sheds by a adamant Hagrid who had identified the flying meat mincers as the Stymphalians.

Draco stopped laughing as a silver feather cut through the air and sliced a shallow cut along the back of his right hand. Imagine a paper cut then pour lemon on it, that was what the razor sharp fletchings of the feather had left Draco. Cursing under his breath he turned to run back to the stands and under cover but the birds had begun to dive low and he could see them skim the ground in front of the stands.

'Bloody boy-that-lived, couldn't save himself from a cold." Draco muttered under his breath as he was forced to turn back to the centre of the pitch where Harry had crashed. His wings
sticking up in a huddled mess. Ducking his head Draco pelted across the pitch towards Harry, who was beginning to stir.

Harry woke, his face felt like he had walked into Vernon's fist again. In fact he could feel the blood bubbling through his nose painfully as he tried to breathe. Without opening his eyes he tried to breathe through his mouth and gasped at the pain in his face. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed this would all go away and he would wake up back in bed. Nah, it hadn't worked wherever he had faced Voldemort so he doubted it would work now. All he could see when he opened his eyes was darkness and blood. His nose had splattered blood over the ground. Aching he reached to push his arms underneath him and lever himself up but was stopped as his back sent splinters of pain through to his very bones.

'Merlin's hairy Scrotum, that hurts!"

Harry cursed and arched back blinking at the tears forming in his eyes. It was then he noticed the
darkness was not from his eye but because bloody great wings blocked the light and he nearly blacked out for the third time in as many minutes.

Draco watched the birds formed into a tighter and tighter circle over the stirring Gryffindor. Acting before he could think. Pulling his wand out from his pocket Draco cast the first spell he could
think of. 'Fumotueor' the spell cast a shadowy fog over the pitch, obscuring the grounds and hiding
the boy-that-lived from the circling vultures. It wasn't the best of spells but then Draco was not known for thinking quickly under pressure. A grey mist poured from his wand like a thousand chronic smokers. Hiding from view all that stood on the pitch. Draco realised the problem with his plan when, still running, he stumbled over Harry's abandoned broom, falling to his knees. He couldn't see his hand in front of his face which would have been helpful and would have stopped him from smacking himself in the eye while he was searching for the broom on the ground.

Harry swept his hand in front of his eyes and pushed himself onto his knees. Catching himself several times on the longer feathers arching from his back. He had wings, not just a pretty tattoo, actually bloody great useless wings. Wondering if there was a god and if so, would it be possible to bitch slap the entity. Harry was distracted from his internal rant by the flash of pain as a silver feather parted his hair and he saw it arc into the soft ground in front of his eyes. Blood began to drip down his head and into his eyes. As quickly as he could Harry tried to stand up, and turn to face the flying menace above. Only to stop as a grey mist surrounded him. 'Could his day get any better?'

Pulling himself to his feet he nearly fell over backwards with the weight of his new appendages, they must weight a good thirty kilos and moved his centre of balance to hell. Looking up in the sky he muttered to anyone that was listening "It was a rhetorical question."
Crouching over Harry moaned as his nose began to bleed again and wondered if he could just crawl off and no one would notice. Only to curse out loud when someone stood on his new wings.

Draco with Harry's broom under one arm slowly moved forward, towards where Harry had been before he cast his stupid spell. Cursing himself, the only thing he could be happy with was at least no one could see him make an arse out of himself.

From above his head he could hear the caws of the birds change in tone from intent to confusion as they lost the sight of the one they had been hunting. Well at least he had got one thing right. Now what they needed was a really big cat and they could get rid of the flying rats.

Stumbling forward he made his way slowly across the pitch and kept an arm out in front; unfortunately the hand missed Harry who was hunched over and Draco stopped when he put his leather boot down on the soft flight feathers of one of Harry's new wings. And fell over.

Harry jerked his wing out form under Draco, who fell backwards onto his arse and cursed at the sharp pain in his rump.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry cursed, his voice muffled by his broken nose.

"I don't know... going for a nice morning jog. What do you think?" Draco scrambled to his feet and was just able, after staring, to make out the faint outline of a crouching Harry, his wings arching
behind his back like a fallen angel.

"What's with the new fashion accessories, Potter?"

Harry grimaced and wondered: if he killed Draco could he blame it on the birds? "Do you know what just happened? The birds, the mist?"

Draco leant on the broomstick and peered up at the noise of the confused birds. "I am glad that you are willing to acknowledge my greater depth of knowledge in all matters. And the birds I recognise; they are Stymphalians,My father has - well I guess I now own - their breeding grounds in the Peloponnese. They are very nasty and deadly and Father would threaten to throw me into their nests if I misbehaved. The only thing they are afraid of is fire. The mist, well, I think I saw the Weasel cast a spell, it's probably his fault."


Harry stood slowly and gently felt his nose. The sounds of the birds was getting louder and clearer. He peered into the mist and could now see the outline of Draco, his pale hair shining in the fading mist. Of all the life threatening situations in all the world he had to walk into this one.

"We must stop running into one another like this. Really we must. Do you think a 'ignitus' would send them away?"

Draco laughed under his breath. "No, you would need a bonfire and a dragon to get these flying razor blades out of the air."

"So do you have any idea how we can get them to bugger off?"

"How about you run about waving your arms, get their attention while they're attacking you, I'll run back to the changing sheds, how about that?"

During the boys little argument, the covering mist had been growing thinner and thinner. Until Harry could see ten meters in front of him. Soon the birds were going to see the students. Taking a deep breath Harry tried to hold onto his temper and grit his teeth.

"If you don't have any ideas then shut up." The pain which he had been ignoring for the last few minutes settled on his skin in a wave and he clenched his teeth. His little fangs pressed hard against his bottom lip. He could feel his pulse thumping through his head and closed his eyes. The blue light was beginning to grow before his vision again.

A random feather arched through the air and caught Harry across his right shoulder cutting through his thin T-shirt. Another cut to add to the others it missed the wings and Harry clutched his arm in pain.

"That is it!" Harry screamed up at the sky standing up he drew his wand and screamed. 'Ignitus!' A stream of flame erupted into the air and the sound of startled seagulls with the smell of burning
feathers and cooked chicken filled the air.

"Bright move Potter, now they know where we are."

Draco settled the broom into the air and perched upon it. "I'm getting out of here."

Harry scowled as he could see the movements in the mist of the birds getting closer and closer to the ground and closer to seeing the boys. "I have had it." Draco shook his head and sent the broom into the air ready to move off only to stop as another random feather passed through the air and caught the Slytherin across his throat. "Oh crap." Draco felt the blood drip down his chest and as he began
to wonder why it was getting so dark he fainted.

Harry watched the figure of Draco fall the short drop from his hovering broom and something inside him he didn't want to think about grew angry. The blue light that had once again appeared in his vision ate away his sight, until it was all he had left. A cold icy voice spoke through his mind and he followed its' commands.

Pulling from his pocket the miniature whip he had kept there since his little adventure on Tuesday night, he flicked it out and as the whip moved through the air in a lazy arch it grew until it reached its full length.
The silver medusa's decorating the handle began to move in agitation at the smell of Harry's blood. Spreading his new appendages out, he stumbled under the weight and shook them out. The voice did something, the wings shuddered, in a flash of silver fire they were gone, and all that remained was the tattoo. He just couldn't do anything with them, yet.

Striding over to the still hovering broomstick he grasped it out of the air and sat astride, speeding into the air, his whip coiled in his right hand. Slowly he rose through the air, gently he flicked the whip out and hunched forward over the broom; unseen by Harry began to glow in red and blue flame. And slowly the end began to splinter as though it were a fraying rope until the end had formed thirteen tails and it sparkled in the fading mist.

Suddenly, a bird appeared in front of him, gun metal silver, it flashed in front of his eyes and passed beyond his sight. Bringing his arm back he watched the eddying mist and the flashes of moving silver as the birds spotted their prey. Harry sensed the attention of the flock focus upon him and he grinned. Bringing his arm back he waited in the air until he saw the birds gather above him until they were about to dive and brought his arm forward Flinging the whip before him in a rain of red sparks. The flaming tails like shooting stars arched through the air and caught five avian killers.

Striking them their metal feathers spat like water hitting hot oil, they seemed to melt. The birds fell from the sky. With this, the Stymphalians knew Harry was near. Grinning he dove through the air avoiding the attacks and flicking the flaming whip before him, the birds smoked and fell from the sky around him.

Until the air was clear and he could nearly see the Quidditch pitch was clear of mist and psychotic birds. Sighing he felt the whip shrink and he laughed. That hadn't been so hard. Which is the point in which a Stymphalian he had missed, dived down upon the false victory of Harry and struck its razor sharp claws into Harry's scalp through to the bone.
Screaming he clutched the bird and raised a fist smashing down on the crying bird which was flapping its metal wings. Harry's ripped the bird away and squeezed down upon its chest until it stopped moving.

During this the knife edged wings had been cutting into Harry's hands and face and Harry moaned at the pain. The blue fire fled his sight and the full weight of his physical injuries hit him like a brick wall. He would never play the piano again laughing weakly at his own joke he drew in a stumbling breath he shuddered and felt every cut and bruise. The blood drained from his face in agony and for the third time that day Harry fainted.

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Standing in one of Hogwarts towers, Mr Scuta stared down at the Quidditch pitch and the metal birds littering the field. Their bodies surrounding the crumpled forms of the two boys. That had to be a Kodak moment, when Harry Potter landed face first into the ground with his wings just opened. Well that was easy; he had found the Erinyes. Nott owed him a beer.

He swore there was no way Potter could be the Boy-who-live AND an Erinyes. No one person could be that unlucky. But William knew that yes, someone could be that unlucky. This was Harry Potter, if a tree fell in the forest he would be the only person standing underneath it trying to save an injured squirrel.

Scuta watched the mists finally clear and the Quidditch players storm the field. If he hadn't been working, this would have been the perfect moment for some rotten eggs. Now came the hard part, getting the boy out of Hogwarts and into Voldemort's little love nest.

Authors Note

As always a huge thanks goes out to my wonderful beta's Licelli and Ashley who make sure that it is readable.

Please review and tell me what you think.