My Past Will Always Catch Up

Title: My Past Will Always Catch up
Author: Allanasha Ke Kiri
Summary: After the deaths of both Ron and Hermione in their seventh year, Harry ran. The pressure was too much; they thought he’d be back, after he realized they needed him. But he never returned, just ran and hid in the one place he was sure no one would look for him.
Rating: M
Warnings: Sexual content

Chapter 1


My music is somewhat different than my colleagues. My ‘act’ is somewhat different as well. They dance, they strip, they tease. I just dance. But my act is just as worthy as theirs. They reveal, I hide. While they tease the customers with the flesh, I tease their imaginations. What they could have, if I willed it.

My music is not loud or fast, it’s not melodic either. It’s erotic, perfectly made and timed for my acts. The song tonight started out soft, and I was already onstage when the lights came up, lain out as if asleep. As the music rose in pitch, so to did I begin to rise.

There was something in the air as I danced; something besides the usual lust. It was something that I hadn’t felt for years. Magic. I didn’t let my face show any recognition, or that anything was wrong at all. I just danced. It happened occasionally. A witch, or wizard would show up, interested in the Potter look-a-like, but when I turned them down, they left me alone. I don’t take customers, unlike some of my co-workers.

This magic had a different feel to it though, it was familiar, something none of the others had been. I knew him (her) then. Who though? Not that they’d have any chance of guessing who I really was. I act nothing like their savoir of old.

These thoughts spun around my head as I found the poll standing in the middle of the stage and grabbed hold, allowing my body to grind against the metal.

My eyes flashed out amongst the crowd. I couldn’t see them, not really. They were nothing but shadows to me. But they could see me, see my eyes, and they could think that my looks were just for them. They loved it, the looks I gave them, as if I wanted them to fuck me right then, right on the stage … or as if I wanted to fuck them. It all really depended on their preference.

I slide down the poll, leaning to the side to start crawling farther down the stage, closer to the audience. I’ve been told I look predatory when I do this, that it’s like one of the large cats is constrained within my skin. I can only shrug in response. Years of training (first with the Dursley’s, then quidditch, and dueling) had trained my muscles from an early age, and now they easily did what I wanted them to. I suppose it also helped that I’m a panther animagus.

Upon reaching the edge of the stage, I sit up, sliding my hands back along the stage, then up my thighs, allowing them to brush along either side of my cock. They hesitated there, for only a moment, as the music paused, then continued up my torso when it started once more. My tongue darted out, catching my lip and pulling it into my mouth as my hands brushed over my chest and up over my neck.

A deep breath in and my hands had risen into the air. I rose up onto my knees; eyes closing, head tilting back as if in ecstasy. I could feel it around me, in the air. The lust, the need, the desire. It was all for me, because of me. The power that I felt was intoxicating.

Slowly, the music slowed, the volume lowering, and as it did so, I gently drifted back, until my back was on the stage, my legs twisted back on either side of me, stretched up, the backs of my hands brushed against the stage from where they rested above my head.

Gradually, the music rose, lowering after a moment, and my torso rose with it. My hands never left the stage, and my head only rarely. I knew what it looked like from the audience; that was point. I was meant to be a fantasy, a living, breathing fantasy. Something they could see, but not touch. Never touch. That wasn’t allowed.

I suppose I’m not really much of a dancer. I don’t do much dancing, not really. What I really do is have sex on stage. Just not with any of them, and not with any being that can be seen. But I do it, and the stench of their lust follows me back stage and well into the back.

A couple of the other dancers had seen my act. Their eyes were ranking over my slight figure. They’d done it before. It wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to. It didn’t matter.

Sliding into the chair in front of my mirror, I let my gaze settle on my reflection. My hair had grown, if only slightly. It fell to just below my chin. Not as messy, but waved and curly. I was still small, petite (even if that’s what a girl would be called). It was the reason I never allowed my hair to grow longer than it was. Any more and I would probably be mistaken for a girl. I didn’t want that. Though I might consider it if I ever have to hide again.

The dancers (strippers) move around behind me, each one preparing for their act, but my eyes never leave my reflection. My eyes haven’t changed either. They’re still the same brilliant green my mother had had. Though they’re dimmer, blank. I’ve been told that they light up when I’m on stage, that they’re filled with a primal urge that gets right to their groin, but it never happens when I look at them. They’re always blank, uncaring.

It’s as if they died when Ron and Hermione had, as if they had been my emotions. Perhaps they had. It had been long enough since then that I should have gotten over it. Perhaps they had been the only reason I’d fought. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Their savior had had saviors of his own.

A smirk twisted my lips before quickly fading. It didn’t matter, not anymore. Glancing off to the side, I look at my bag and slowly reach down, pulling it into my lap. My wand is inside it, and my eyes slide closed as my fingers brush along the smooth wood. I never use it, never had any need to, and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself with unneeded magic.

I longed to, sometimes, just to feel that familiar rush as my magic channels itself down through my wand. But I don’t, because I know that if I’m found, I’ll have to run. And it will be even harder to hide a second time.

“Raven.”

I glance up at my name, blinking at the boss.

“Go home, Raven, you’re done for the night.”

I nod, smoothly standing from my chair. I ignore the look he gives me, one of pity and sympathy. He thinks I’m hurt, that I was broken by someone long ago, that that’s why I’m here, doing this. Perhaps he’s right, I don’t know. But it doesn’t bother me.

I swing my bag over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Jonathan.”

He nodded with a sigh. He tells us to call him Jon. I don’t see the point. It’s just another excuse to get attached. And I don’t want to.

The magic users are getting more and more frequent. They either suspect that I’m their missing savior (or enemy) or their desperate. Either way, I probably wont be staying for much longer. I don’t want to get attached to anyone. It’ll only make it hurt when I do leave.

I make my way out the back door exit the alley next to the club. Out on the main street, I nod to the bouncer, who nods back, and make my way out into the night, relishing the feel of it closing around me. I’d always enjoyed it. It was the only time when the Dursley’s left me alone, when they were snug in their beds and I was locked in my cupboard, and later my room. It was the only time when people didn’t stare at me, or whisper behind my back, when the hallways at Hogwarts were silent and free of noisy children. Then again, I suppose I was one of them, once upon a time. It feels like millennia ago.

A noise off to my side has me tensing up, turning wary eyes in the direction it had come from. At first, I see nothing but shadows. But, just as I begin to write it off as a stray cat, there’s movement, a shadow detaching itself from the wall. I take a step back, debating between running, or going for my wand.

I don’t have time to decide.

“Stupefy,” The voice catches me by surprise, from behind me. And the next thing I know is darkness.

--

I tried to get this longer. But it's kind of hard to do when most of it is inner thoughts. Chapters will get longer as the story progresses, that I do promise. As a general rule, I try to get all my chapters (with the exception of the prologue) over 2000 words. I don't always manage it, but I try nonetheless.

As I stated last chapter, don't expect frequent updates. I'd written the prologue months ago (and then promptly forgot about it). It's pure luck that I happened to be in just the write mood to write this and put it up. This is going to be something I write just when inspiration hits, and I am so not going to force it because there's no way I could get it to do anything if I do.

Also, I've never attempted anything like this before. Meaning, first person, or this dark. So if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to give them. I'm always happy to receive constructive criticism.

Allanasha Ke Kiri