AN: AN: I do not own Harry Potter or any of these characters; they all belong to the very lovely JKRowling. These are just my ideas.
Chapter Nine. An Interlude.
Hermione had shooed the men from the room, her magic making light work of the cleaning she allowed herself to relax slightly knowing they would be soon able to free Harry. She was in control of her impulses no longer a monster. Her guides had finally relaxed around each other and drew closer every day to sealing their bond. The twins gave her strength, and her interaction with Ron merely showed to her that nothing could stand in her path or threaten her family. Fred was a mystery to her, his mischievous side under pinned by a thread of power and darkness, mingling with a strong a pure heart. George was easier to read but his strength lay in his compassion and grasp of humanity. She hummed softly to herself hearing the shouts of laughter drift in from the open window, often following flashes of coloured light and loud bangs. She dried her hands and drifted outside to watch her boys’ mock duel. Leaning against the doorpost she grinned as she watched a shirtless Fred face down a wickedly grinning Sirius. Now if only she could have her little brother her family would be complete.
He tossed and turned on the narrow cot. The thin mattress doing nothing to alleviate the pain from the hard pallet. The thin blanket doing little to alleviate the seeping cold. The windows were curtain less allowing the cold harsh moonlight to illuminate the scene. The room was sparse of furniture and colourless. No homely touches or personal belongings were visible. A small room, with a single bed and a single hardback chair. Grey in colour with little in the way of comforts and a hard concrete floor. It was a room for a prisoner not a warrior and a hero. The man in the bed thrashed weakly, dark dreams carrying him further from reality, dragging him under with their current. No help came for him; no one appeared to sooth his pain. Magic crackled in the air, wind whipping the thin blanket and lightening flashing briefly to further illuminate the scene. The man on the bed was painfully thin. His cheeks sunken and pallid, his bare chest showed sharp collarbones along with the shadows of harsh bruising. His skeletal hands gripped the sheets tightly and his chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. His long matted hair crackled with electricity, its healthy blue sheen almost eradicated from treatments and potions, the strands not moving lay in dark contrast to the thin white mattress. He suddenly stopped moving, breathing shallow and quiet, the magic dropped from the air suddenly. Without warning he sat upright on his cot, screaming bloody murder. Emerald eyes wide open, fire erupting from his palms to die on the surface of the walls. An alarm sounded in the distance and the sound of running feet and cursing could be heard in the small cold room. The man pushed to his feet now silent and deadly despite his small frame. His magic held the door, but in his weakened state it would not hold for long, he could feel it starting to splinter as he dallied. Smoothly he walked to the wall furthest from the window, preparing himself. He could feel the edges of his physical form start to blur, his senses sharpening to the point of pain. He drew that pain into himself, focusing so completely his magic failed. The door came crashing in and he heard screams of alarm as he shattered the window powering outward. Laughing wildly he allowed himself to free fall, feeling the sheer terror of his captives was over him as they watched him plummet to a grizzly death. Just out of their sight and seconds before he collided with iron railings he spread dark wings and allowed the transformation to overtake him completely. Hands grew wicked talons. His features became sharper, skin whiter, teeth more deadly. He let out a roar, feeling the silence wash over him as his leathery wings pulled him higher, magic rolled over his skin in swirls of silver. He revealed in the power, feeling injuries heal and his mind clear of its drug-induced haze. He grinned as he fled through the air, the call of the night, of mischief pulling him forward. He threw back his head and roared again, the sound echoing across the bustling darkness of London. For the first time in his life Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Light Saviour was free.
George stopped his duel with Severus and stood back panting slightly. Without warning pain flared through him, he screamed once before collapsing to the ground in a dead faint. Foot steps flooded the ground around his head as four people took a defensive stance around and over him. All laughter forgotten the current occupants of the Burrow turned as one to face the new threat. Under his worry Fred noticed he was the only one to have drawn his wand. Severus and Sirius crouched low in front of the all forming a black barrier between the young folk and the threat, in their hand wicked curved blades seemed to appear from the air, the bronzed blades glowing with a dark light. Hermione was knelt beside George her eyes closed; a gentle bronze light around her hands as her hair danced gently in the still night air, her skin was glowing with swirls of gold. Fred felt inadequate as he stood guard over his fallen twin, yet he made the most impressive sight of the four left. His skin, white with shock, was highlighted by hundreds of silver scars, his muscles clenched in anger and a across his normally smiling features all added to the sense of danger surrounding him. His eyes glowed with an unnerving light and his shoulder length hair danced lightly across his bare shoulders. Ignoring warning hisses from the two men crouched in front of him he swiftly moved around them, allowing anger and instinct to guide him. He pushed his wand in to the waistband off loose pale jeans, his bare feet planted firmly he raised his head to stare into the blackness. Magic coiled around him, drawing the night to him like a cloak. He dove through the air; mad laughter bubbling threw the night. An almighty crash rent the air and the all was still.
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