Twisted

Chapter Six: Bad Moon Rising

The woods seemed to go on forever. With every step Harry could feel something inside of him growing—anticipation. The furious excitement was pressing against his ribs, making him want to run. He longed to stretch his aching spine, to race ahead of the heavy footsteps in front of him.

What was that calling him? It wasn’t like the vampire’s cold chains; it was warm and alive, wrapping around his insides with a seductive embrace. He could smell it, like warm earth and familiar fur. Before he knew it, he was rushing through the trees, barely aware of the human wolves running beside him.

Without warning, the tree line broke into a clearing where hundreds had gathered in various forms. Some were human, some were wolf, and others were somewhere in-between. Harry paused to catch his breath. Jason and some curly haired wolf were beside him, their eyes otherworldly and locked on the great throne thrusting up from the earth.

The Ulfric sat there, and Harry knew that he was the source of that power. The thought irked him. Could he have been so taken with someone else’s magic that he followed it blindly like some lost pup? Harry grimaced. He’d had enough of following people blindly. It only led to trouble.

He was aware of many eyes on him, as he stalked forward. None were as heavy as the Ulfric’s. They weighed on him, making him want to skulk to those brown feet and abase himself in misery. Harry gnashed his teeth together at the thought, his back going rigid. Whispers followed his procession to the steps where Richard stared down at him. His wolf did not like that at all. He hated having to crane his neck back to look up at those amber eyes.

Stiffly, the wizard forced himself to kneel, even though every muscle protested. He didn’t even want to know what his face was doing. The muscles in his neck trembled as they fought his bowing head.

“Tonight the Thronnos Rokke Clan welcomes its newest member,” the Ulfric boomed, his words carried on a laden wind.

The trembles spread from Harry’s jaw all the way down his back, until every muscle in his body felt tense, quivering, and ready to attack. It was not only his muscles, but also the growing heat in his belly. It writhed inside him as his skin burned. The Ulfric continued his speech and Harry was sure he was making him bow this long on purpose. Richard was forcing his dominance over him.

Harry fought the snarls rising in his throat even as his teeth and jaw began to ache bitterly.

He only stopped concentrating when a pair of small, slender feet appeared before him. A harsh silence filled the clearing, and Harry lifted his head. It wasn’t far he had to look up to meet the cold eyes of a slight female. She dared him to attack. He would rip her to shreds. He wanted to so badly.

Harry stood, breath hissing in and out of clenched teeth. Challengingly she leaned forward, as if unconcerned with his obvious state of distress. As if she didn’t believe he could overpower her. She was so wrong. He could break her only too easily; his arms itched to do the job. Harry leaned forward, teeth aching for the hot blood and screams waiting just below the skin.

As his cheek brushed hers, his eyes locked onto glowing amber. The Ulfric watched him, and Harry could see the tension weighing every limb. Lines were pressed into an anxious brow. Harry’s lips quivered and spread into a nasty smile that revealed every one of his wicked teeth.

Dull agony flared down his fingertips, igniting the nerves up his arms and into his chest. A moan escaped his lips as he shivered in ecstasy. It was with too much pleasure that he turned his head aside and licked the woman’s lips, slowly tasting his prey. He was sure it looked nothing like submissive.

How he wanted to dig his new claws into her soft belly. He wanted her hot entrails to spill over his feet. He wanted to see the dawning look of horror on her face as she realized death was on its way. That pain would be the price she paid for disrespecting him.

He shivered again, the maniacal grin still in place as he watched her expression. He could see it, the faintest flicker of fear behind her eyes. The sight was sweeter than ambrosia.

Stubbornly, she kept her eyes locked to his as she backed away, but he could see the tremor at her mouth. Chaffing laughter escaped his lips and he caught her flinch; it was barely a movement, but he saw it none-the-less. She was broken, even if she glared at him defiantly. Her fear belonged to him.

The monster shifted his eyes to the Ulfric and stalked forward, taking the steps one at a time…

…………………….

Even I shivered as Sylvie took a step back; Harry’s aura was terrifying. Before, it had seemed clean enough, neutral and strong, but now it caressed my magic with an oily appendage and I wanted to cringe. It was heavy, black, and oppressive. It clung to me, trying to contaminate me with its poisonous smog.

I concentrated on separating it from myself and I had to wonder how he could survive living with this thing devouring him, but quickly realized the answer. He wasn’t. It was driving him insane.

An icy finger of foreboding traveled down my spine. I doubted even Jean-Claude could control him when he was like this. Instinctively I pulled my gun, ready to blow him away if he tried to harm Richard. Rationally, my mind told me that he could probably burn us to dust before I could get a shot off, but my trigger finger didn’t want to listen. It sat, jerked to attention, on my Browning Hi-power because there was nothing else it could do. God, I hated feeling so helpless.

Harry knelt down in front of Richard, the ropes of power writhing around him like aggravated snakes. His eyes were locked unblinkingly onto Richard’s. I watched as the irises changed, swirling from a jolting emerald green to a piercing yellow. They weren’t the soft gold of my leopards, or even haunting amber of the wolves, it was electric and cruel. I could feel the tension riding his body, like it was barely containing the beast inside it, ready to attack.

A cold hand seized my elbow, and I jumped. Cool reassurance poured through the marks as Jean-Claude stood beside me. I was panting, my heart was pounding crazily, but it couldn’t be helped, so close to this much raw power. How could it stay in the kid’s body when it was practically tearing mine apart?

It was then that I realized that almost all of Jean-Claude’s power was concentrated on Harry. With his touch, I could almost see the bands of his magic, like a steel net enclosing over the struggling aura. The power was close to snapping.

“Jean-Claude,” I whispered, alarmed as the blackness spiked.

“Help me, Anita,” he said, fingers biting painfully into my elbow.

I didn’t even hesitate before allowing my marks to fall open, my necromancy rising up to pool with what was left of Jean-Claude’s power. I felt the tug as he pulled on it, reinforcing the web of spindly magic. I could see it glowing behind my eyelids when I closed my eyes to catch my breath. When they opened again, Harry was scowling as he rose from his kneeling position.

The oily snakes writhed harder, and sweat poured over my temples and down my sides. It was almost as if they were inside of me, pushing against my skin from the inside. The sensation was sickening and I had to fight the bile that rose in my throat.

With what was left of my strength, I reached out to Richard, but he was completely closed off, like sliding against smooth metal. I panted at the effort, but couldn’t do more. The blackness was consuming our power.

Harry smiled as leaned toward Richard, a malicious smirk. He brushed his pale cheek against the golden one, in a long, seductive movement—or it would have been, if his expression hadn’t been so feral. He pulled back and swiped his tongue across his Ulfric’s lips, all the while looking like he was about the chew them off.

“Ulfric,” he said, ducking his head, but the word dropped meaninglessly from his lips, like a used tissue. I didn’t even feel the pull of power when Richard wrapped a clawed hand around that thin throat. Harry’s eyes flashed for a second, and he opened his mouth to—

Crack!

Crack!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

It was as if half-a-dozen cars were backfiring in the midst of the Lupanar. My gun was up without me having to think about it, but it shook viciously beneath my fatigued muscles. I could barely keep it up.

Richard screamed and I swung around, gun pointed directly at Harry, or where he would have been. He was already at the base of the stairs, head swiveling wildly from side to side, searching. There was silence for a moment as the wolves looked around, backing away from the black-haired boy. Then the screams started.

……………………….

Harry couldn’t believe it, not even when he heard the telltale sound of Apparating. His heart was pounding in his throat, and his guts were twisting wildly. Strange sounds were coming from his mouth; were they whines or snarls? He couldn’t tell, maybe they were both.

He strode forward, shoving the few wolves who weren’t smart enough to get out of the way viciously aside. Then he heard the piteous chorus of screams. Jets of colored light rose above the heads. For a split second, he was back to that night—the horrible one, where everything ended.

For a minute, the shock left him empty as he stared at dark robed figures cursing anything and anyone in sight.

“Come out, come out, Harry Potter!” one of them cackled. “We’ll kill them all until you come out!”

Just like before, they thought they were safe behind bystanders. They. Thought. Wrong.

The rage exploded from him, his roar splitting the night. Harry lunged forward, tearing clothes and skin away from his body, revealing his fur and fangs. He wasn’t thinking, he was breaking, tearing, clawing anything in his way until he got to them. They were shooting hot sparks into the crowd, wolves were moaning or lying still on the grass. He could smell the blood. It drove his lust higher.

There was one close to him. He reached out and swiped away the mask. The face beneath went with it. Too fast; he had died too fast.

The others turned when he went down, their wands trained on him. He dodged the spells as best he could, but some hit, slicing into his flesh, and blood ran in torrents down his body. He got to a second one and let his itching claws dig furrows into the man’s belly. The scream was like a shiver on his spine. He wanted to hear more. He dug deeper, pulling out the hot ropes of intestines, wrapping them around his furred arms like macabre jewelry. He coughed, choked, on the high pitched sounds emitting from his jaws. Laughter. He realized he was laughing.

He tore away from the corpse; it was no longer interesting when it didn’t scream. The others, they were fighting off masses of angry wolves. Their masks had fallen; their robes were being ripped away. The screams filled the night. He laughed, until he recognized the reedy voice and that zig-zagging jet of purple light. The same light had killed Remus Lupin.

The heat doubled inside of him and he was tearing away snarling jaws and scrabbling claws. He lifted the man above the rabble and tossed him hard into a tree. Something snapped.

“Dolohov,” Harry forced out of his mutated lips, spittle flying. The heat had solidified into a razor-edged line of clarity. He could feel it teetering inside him as he strode forward.

The man panted, trying to sit up, to raise the splintered piece of wood in his hand. Pity, only his arm was broken. Harry could see the bone punching out of his skin. Fur brushed his legs and he growled, tossing the wolf away. The others stayed back, pacing in an eager circle, waiting.

“Harry Potter,” Dolohov said over the ring of gunfire. He spat the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “A werewolf now, are you? Disgusting.”

A slow growl was building up behind him. Harry smiled, and knew the effect was less than pleasant in his blood-splattered form. He vaguely realized that he was still wearing someone else’s insides. He crouched down, relieving his over-extended spine, and inched closer to the Death Eater, keeping his smile in place.

“Stupid Death Eater,” Harry growled. “To come here. To die.”

Dolohov spat at him, but the gob landed between them. “Hurry up and kill me, Boy-Who-Lived. The others will get to you, even if we failed.”

Harry let his head cock to the side, his lips spreading wider. Harsh chuckled erupted from his mouth like barking coughs. “You. Will. Live.”

………………………….

I ran to where the most wolves had gathered, my Browning clutched in sweaty palms. The other attackers were in the process of being dispatched, or eaten, however you wanted to put it.

“You. Will. Live.” I was amazed the kid could still pronounce words; his thin form was twisted and elongated into the scariest wolf-man I had ever seen. Instead of being large and muscled as I was used to, he had gotten taller and was impossibly thin, almost skeletal. It pulled at the planes of that lupine face, bearing white, wickedly sharp fangs against jet fur. Thick ropes of bloody saliva were dribbling down his chin. His clawed fingers were too large for the thin arms they hung on—were those someone’s…

It looked like the muscle-memory hadn’t caught up to the fact that the intestines were dead—or that damned magic was keeping them alive. Those guts were still moving. I choked back the gorge that rose and had to lean on Jean-Claude’s steadying hand. It was only because he was with me that I had been able to stay, otherwise I would have been torn apart in the frenzy. I didn’t even know where Richard had disappeared to.

“You killed Remus,” Harry bit out, yellow eyes feral, one of the claws dug around the man’s throat. “You will live for a long time.” The depravity in his voice forced a tremor along my spine and my gun twitched. This thing shouldn’t be alive. It wasn’t anything but a monster. I killed monsters the monsters. Before they killed me.

………………………..
Draco edged along the alley and took a breath to prepare himself. Heading into a nest of vampires was not his idea of a good time, but…

“Fio Umbra!” he hissed, pointing his wand at himself. It was only the second time he had preformed this spell and he didn’t like the odd sensations it caused. As if he was being hollowed out and left with a shell as thin as a soap bubble. He looked down; there was nothing, nothing but shadows.

He slid along the wall of the Circus of the Damned and between the gap in the door. He flitted through the maze of empty stands and darkened corners. Rumor had it that the Master of the City lived beneath the Circus, or at least that’s what the pin-striped moron of a vampire had told him, after a few well chosen spells of course.

The ghastly clock at the top of a gaudy tower began to chime. It was an awful tune. Five A.M.? Draco had to hurry before the weres returned from the full moon. He had to find the door. He might be invisible to a human, but he didn’t trust a lycanthrope’s nose. Would he smell like a wizard when he was like this? Draco liked himself the way he was, very much alive.

The infernal ticking followed him around the silent tents and flashy posters. Where was it? When did the sun rise? When would the vampires wake? Tick. Tick. Tick…

He didn’t know what would happen if he was struck by light in this form—didn’t shadows disappear in the light?

Tick. Tick. Tick. Had the vampire lied? He would peel his skin off and use it in a longevity potion if he had. Tick. Tick. Where was it?

Tick. Tick. Tick—There!

The door was nearly hidden behind a corn-dog stand. Relief filled him as much as his airy body would allow. Thank Merlin.

He pinched himself underneath the door, sliding into a stone landing. Below him a long tunnel of uneven stairs unfolded. He needed to find some place to hide, somewhere they would congregate, where he could listen. And watch.

And wait.