Actions

Work Header

Fur, Magic, and Metal

Chapter Text

There were good days, there were bad days, and then there were Harry Potter days, or in this case, Harry Potter weeks, months, and in the case of the majority of his childhood, years. This particular day seemed to accent the whole Boy-Who-Lived-to-End-Up-In-These-Situations. A long but appropriate variation on a ridiculous title that was nevertheless accurate in the general see-saw of his pure dumb luck.

"This is it Potter! Lets end it here and now!"

This rather snarled declaration was made by an immaculately groomed, icy blond teenager by the name of Draco Malfoy. This 16-year-old teenager was glaring at a teen of similar age, though in his case, his features consisted of dark hair whose consistent lack of grooming had offended the blond since the first day he had lad eyes on Potter. It was the exasperated rolling green eyes the colour of the darkest curse out there, an irony considering his status as a symbol for all that was righteous and Light, that offended Draco's sensibilities the most though, as they always looked upon the Pureblood as if he were somehow less then what was his natural right as a Pureblood of the most noble House of Malfoy.

Unlike the challenge ready Slytherin however, this night Harry Potter lacked the usual drive for combat that was the standard norm as school rivals. In fact, Harry didn't feel like registering Malfoy at all and instead, keeping his attention on a rather interesting painting of a surly witch with ginger hair and a large wart over her right eye.

The painted witch glared down at the two students who dared to wander around after hours and sniffed in distaste, returning to her painted scroll that was held in her equally painted hand and stomped out of her frame to find a picture with a quieter setting.

"Potter!" The blond snarled again, brandishing his wand.

Harry groaned. It figures, he tried to be the mature one in this relationship/rivalry for once, turn the other cheek, but no, the stupid shellacked prat just had to start things off before he had even properly slept in his own bed the first night back.

Though he supposed that it was partly his fault for leaving himself open by being out n the halls after hours on his own.

He had been avoiding going into the common room because he was sure his friends would be waiting to pounce on him with questions and support towards his well being.

Harry grunted in annoyance. Not that he wasn’t ungrateful for their concern, but all they did was tread around him on tip-toes since Sirius had died, or tired to get him to talk about his loss when he just wanted to not think about what happened at the Ministry for magic at the end of the previous school year. Frankly he was getting tired of being handled like he would crack at the slightest pressure.

Sure, he had not slept for a long while. He was stressed, why wouldn’t he be? He was under the aegis of a freakin’ prophesy that had cost him his entire family, both blood and godfather, from the mouth of a drunkard whose encounters with Harry consisted of predicting his death with great inaccuracy whenever she clapped eyes on him.

The only upside to the summer was that both Harry and Voldemort, for once in their exchanges, had come to an agreement over something. In this case not to utilize their mental link against each other.

It was a bold move on both their parts and both would deny that the agreement ever happened, that is if anyone thought it possible enough to even ask. Voldemort didn't want his super secret war plans to fall in the wrong hands and Harry just wanted to avoid a headache. Besides, he wasn’t a member for the Order anyway, to young they said, despite his apparent importance as their one shot to victory, wouldn’t be able to reveal anything of interest to the Dark Lord.

The both of them had come to the conclusion that the link was more hindrance then help to either of them, and thus one evening, without any warning, rather cruelly downloaded (for lack of a better term) the knowledge on how to construct Occulmancy shields, with the terse command to use them already through Harry's raging headache and nosebleed.

Harry suspected the man wouldn’t have bothered to have shown him how to protect himself in that quarter and would have just remain comfortably behind his own barriers and just ignored the link, if it weren’t for that rather awkward evening when Voldemort had been enjoying the lusty attentions of a few of his followers, while Harry that same evening, had gotten fabulously drunk at a rager he’d crashed a few streets over, and had been busy finding solace in the arms of a few drunken party goers himself. in the throes of ecstasy, both had been accidentally drawn into the moment of the other’s trysts.

Neither of them had been pleased that the Dark Lord had been present on the night that Harry lost his virginity, and Harry had saw more then he cared to of the Dark Lord’s followers.

“Damn it Scarhead, don’t you dare ignore me!” Draco Malfoy growled, drawing Harry's attention back to his rival, “this is a matter of family honor! I am here to avenge my Father!”

”Your father?” Harry asked incredulously, “that’s what’s got you so bothered?”

Draco’s wand trembled, and little red sparks burst from the tip as he hissed, “because of you he was sent to Azkaban!”

Harry snorted, “Yeah, and I would agree that at least it sucks he's in there if it weren’t for the fact that your father was broken out of jail months ago by your precious Dark Lord.”

The tip of Draco’s wand dropped briefly in shock, “how the hell do you know that?! Not even the Ministry is aware that Father escaped yet!” Draco spluttered.

Then to Draco’s confusion Potter blushed a brilliant red, “Erm, trust me Malfoy, you do not want to know how I know.”

Draco dismissed the odd reaction and focused on the matter at hand. He puffed out his chest and said seriously, “Well, Father may no longer be in Azkaban, but he is now a fugitive! Shunned from legitimate society! And because of you, the Malfoy family’s reputation has been irrevocabley tarnished!”

Of course, it being Draco Malfoy, being of one of the oldest Pureblood families in Britten, groomed for succession of his father's title, raised in riches, spoiled and arrogant despite any sort of rare humbling experience he may have along the way. As the Malfoy heir, and because he considered Potter a git, he did what he did best when angry, he got even.

Draco Malfoy's voice echoed through out the hall as an old curse his father had taught him once fell from his lips, his wand sliding in a smooth sideways 'S'.

A dark gold light erupted form Malfoy’s wand, heading straight for Harry in a widening expansive arc that was impossible to dodge, and with a startled yell, it hit him full in the chest with what felt like the force of a triple-decker Knight Bus, and slamming him into the wall behind him.

Everything went brilliantly gold, then white, and then darkness swallowed him whole.

Ooo ooo ooo

Harry's head felt fuzzy and achy. At first, his confused mind thought he was back under the stairs in his cupboard. It was stuffy and dark, and there was very little room to move. But the space around him was tipsy and jarring, like he was being carried in something, and he was also achy all over.

He mewled unhappily, perhaps he shouldn't have sneaked that flask of rum he had stolen from his Uncle's secret stash onto the train, his foggy faculties concluded.

In fact, he was feeling a little nauseous to. The rhythmic rise and fall of...wherever he was, was not helping his sensitive stomach at the moment.

Harry woozily tried to put his body upright and into some semblance of order, only to end up in a sprawled mess back on the ground. he didn't feel right; joints, muscles and so forth were not obeying his brain's commands within the expectations of how this or that part was supposed to move. It also didn't help that he couldn't see anything in the strange pitch black surroundings.

Finally, after struggling some more, he was finally able to heave his body upwards, though without any finesse, and found himself blinking in sudden nearly blinding sunlight as his head popped outside.

It took only a second for his eyes to adjust to the unexpected light, and when they did, it was yell in fright as spread out all around him was vast blue sky, clouds, and above his head was a (from his perspective) owl bigger then he was long was with it's talons clasping the strings of the box to which Harry had burst out of.

The owl gave an annoyed hoot in his direction, Harry squeaked in alarm, pulling himself back under the cardboard flaps.

The sudden light had also provided him with another revelation into his circumstances, as he stared down dumbly, utilizing the light filtering through the half open box which was casting dark rainbows in the glossy fur of two paws instead of the dusky tan of hairless human hands.

Harry, again no stranger to Defense Against the Dark Arts, McGonagall's Transfiguration lessons, and most of all the Weasley twins more creative pranks, was at least somewhat prepared for the reality that he had been turned into some sort of animal. He still remembered that one Easter holiday as a Canary after all, such startling transformations loose their shock value when it was as common as custard in his experience. Instead he was more alarmed by what this all meant in conjecture with the fact that he was currently being sent by owl to someplace unknown, far from any sort of magical aide that could reverse his current dilemma.

Harry growled. The first thing he was going to do, once he had gotten himself, somehow, out of this situation and turned back to normal, was to kick Malfoy's arse, then turn him into a ferret. He still remembered Barty's little spell from Forth year, see how the git liked being Owled somewhere unknown.

Harry settled in for the long haul.