This being an Ai no Kusabi crossover, if this little fic gets serious the rating will very likely go up.
Chapter 1: An introduction
'I don't think there's a being on this earth that could ward off the bone deep chill this place brings.' A bleary eyed dweller thought to himself.
A dusty rag of a blanket shifted further into a similarly time worn mattress. Only a slew of black hair escaping from the top revealed the innards of the moth-eaten burrito.
'Or, should I say… a being in whatever the hell fucking planet and/or alternate universe I've landed in anyway.' The mattress seemed to wobble slightly as the blanket shivered.
Harry gave a murky scowl beneath the swathes of barely-warm cloth. He sniffled a little and cursed under his breath at the still stuffy feel of clogged sinuses.
Perhaps he couldn't help the bad temper of the moment, trust him to land in another dimension and or Martian territory and catch the common cold.
...Well, it was either that or the heavy dust in the air giving him some bastardized version of Hay fever. Harry wasn't sure which option he preferred.
He shifted again and reluctantly drew his ice cold feet out of his foetal position to wiggle his toes and encourage blood flow to his steadily numbing legs.
Well, perhaps he did slightly prefer the idea of an Earthian virus; he contemplated while rotating his ankles. At least the concept of having something remotely recognisable to him brought a shitty measure of comfort. Nothing like a bright, shiny ray of hope to his somewhat dismal situation.
Cold feet to cold feet again, ratty fucking mattress to another, slightly less ratty mattress, and barren concrete walls to even more (admittedly, considerably more) barren concrete walls…
Alas, he'd somehow managed to mystically disappear from one grotty backwoods prison in Russia of all places, and –instead of God/Merlin/Satan/Dumbledore's fucking ghost or whoever granting him sweet, sweet freedom?
He lands smack in the centre of what appears to be; another gigantic fucking prison. Like Magic.
Harry was full on feeling sorry for himself, all the while erring on the side of caution. The reason he wasn't wholly convinced of his planetary and or dimensional situation was that fact that his new jail looked like something out of a Ridley Scott movie. Specifically, it wouldn't surprise him if a 9ft fang tongued lizard monster was stashed away in a bloody Cryo tube somewhere with all the 80's fucking sci-fi gadgetry that was scattered around the place. It would be just his luck too.
Even the doorways were great hulking polygonal monstrosities of metal, each one looking just as rusted and disused as the last. But for all Harry's worth of trying, he couldn't budge a single one. He'd even tried tampering with the small, dimly lit panels at the side of a few. But not only did he not have a clue how the -very obviously- futuristic technology worked, his reserves of magic were running significantly low considering he'd just spent the last two years locked in a rune blocked cell.
The upside to his situation? There was a lot more space to explore, you know, without the advantage of being able to find his way out.
The downside? Concrete walls, cold bloody feet, and a just as ratty mattress. Only this time there wasn't a soul to commiserate with. No steadfastly comforting cellblock neighbour named Pietro; to spread joyous feelings of companionship through the dividing stone walls by repeatedly bashing his own head against it and grunting enthusiastically (in a spectacular show of conversational ability.)
No friendly guards silently standing by to engage in a thoroughly stimulating bout of fisticuffs whenever boredom decides to bite him in the arse.
Also, no food.
...Admittedly that last one was more concerning than the former, but Harry would miss Pietro, and perhaps even Dmitri, the nice gentleman two cells down who would always give him a dashing leer whenever Bath Time rolled around. Though it'd been a while since the man had properly leered at much of anything, not since Harry'd been forced to punch out his teeth in a particularly aggressive way of saying 'Nyet.'
So here he was, trapped in some god forsaken sci-fi structure feeling thoroughly frozen to the bone and swaddled in whatever threadbare cloth he could find to ward off the chill.
He would really really like his magic back right about now. And he could feel it too. Buried deep under the surface of his skin, but unreachable like a particularly irritating itch he couldn't scratch yet. And the lack of sustenance was NOT helping the situation. More like prolonging it.
It was entirely frustrating.
It was agonising.
It was… probably not entirely undeserved, but still.
It was far too fucking cold in this room.
Harry sighed profoundly and swung his legs off the mattress, following the momentum into a somewhat upright position. If being half-sat half-tilted sideways towards his makeshift nest could be called upright.
He shook off the temptation to make another attempt at sleep, and wished he could shake off the foggy headedness as well. But he sniffled instead and decided that movement was probably a better idea.
Evidently he had nothing better to do than mindlessly take a trip around the room to get the blood flowing.
It didn't look like he'd be going anywhere else any time soon.
This story is an expression of my muse ;) I like where it's headed in my brain so i'll likely keep going with it in exploration, but unless some super serious plot device suddenly ups and bites me on the ass this fic will likely have pretty short chapters (around 1000 words or so per chap.)
Alas i hope you like the sound of it so far xx
Also, Ten points to whoever's managed to guess where, exactly Harry has managed to land himself x3