Stahl Nacht

A/N: Okay, uhh... This idea's been obssessed with me lately.
Please excuse any spelling errors, my first time trying to
use Notepad for anything... Title means Steel Night. Oh, and
go find Samurai Deeper Kyo. Just do it. Sixth year will be
revealed through flashbacks and whatnot. Potter ain't gay,
got it? He's perfectly fine with both sexes. And sex with
both.

Disclaimer: I make no claim toward the ownership of
Harry Potter, whom belongs to one J.K. Rowling. I do, however
claim ownership of Ange (which happnens to be French for
"Angel"), as they are my invention. Note that I'm assuming
a one hour time difference between Hogwarts and Privet
Drive.

WARNING: This is rated R for a reason. Should you choose
to ignore said reason, read at your own risk. Masochism,
sadism, sensuality, graphic violence, and harsh language.
Possible Male/male relationships, or female/female. Ye hast
been warned.
Should any of the above be objectionable to
you, there is a back button on your browser, a convienient
hyperlink back to the main Harry Potter section of the site,
and a simple right-click will reveal an option for "back", if
your computer works like mine. Can't help mac users there.

Spoilers: OotP, GoF, PoA, CoS, SS.
Summary: Seventh Year fiction. Harry's been a bit
distressed. Sirius's death pushed him somewhat over the edge.
And that was a year ago. When, over the summer, he vanishes for
eight hours, seven minutes, twenty-two seconds, it understandably
concerns several people. Of course, he comes back. But he's
different. He's doing things Humans can't. Unfortunately for the
world, no one knows just what an Ange is.

Chapter 1:

Number Four, Privet Drive. 0723, June 22.
Harry leaned back against the desk of his room. It wasn't much
of a room, but it was all he had. He glanced down at his hand,
through which was dancing a coin. He had very carefully ground
an edge onto the piece of metal, and was entirely prepared to
use it. Or not. Whichever came first.

Slowly, with it clenched between his fore- and middle fingers,
the boy traced several lines across his empty palm. He very
deliberately ignored the way that the lines traced a word onto
his flesh in the stark white that accompanied the general pressure.

He sighed, bored already. The room was too damn pale. It needed
some color. Some darkness. Some light. Blue, he thought. Blue
would decorate the spartan room well. Red would contrast well
against it as trim.

Blue he didn't have. Red he had in abundance. The gods of irony
were surely taunting him. Again. Bloody bastards.

He brought the coin harshly across the back of his hand, drawing
a red line to cross the still unhealed "I will not tell lies"
forever engraved in his pale flesh.

He sighed contentedly. He wasn't scared by the way that, instead
of pain, a nearly sexual gratification swam out of the open wound.
After all, he'd lived long enough with the Muggle bastards that
he would have long comitted suicide if he hadn't.

Then again, there was no guarantee that it was the pain that his
sudden arousal originated from. It could well have been from the
action of drawing the line. Was there a difference between
causing pain, and receiving it? Had there ever been? Who could tell?

His fingers froze halfway through a spin of the coin. It slipped
easily between his motionless fingers, clattering to the floor.
Slowly the boy stood up, listening to something. Several shaky
steps took him to his bed, where he stepped onto it.

And so, without fanfare, without trumpeting, without anything,
Harry Potter vanished from Number Four, Privet Drive, Little
Whinging, Surrey.
Number Four, Privet Drive. 0729, June 22.

Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts. 1252, June 22.
The dull roar of conversation was abruptly sliced apart by an
alarm screaming for attention. Dumbledore, ever regal in his soft
white beard and platinum hair stood to look at his wall of
instruments, frowning.

That was... unusual. The alarm was from Proteus. But he was on
guard duty as Harry's guardian today. That meant that Harry was
missing... But if that was the case, several other alarms should
have gone off first. One when someone unidentified, or identified
as a Death Eater, entered the plot of land of Number 4, Privet
Drive. One when Harry left.

It was true that Harry was almost at legal age, at which point the
spell that detected him would no longer work properly...

Oh hell. Harry was of legal age. Possibly not by Wizarding
standards, but certain spells had a tendency to react by conception date,
rather than birth.

Dear Merlin! The boy could have been missing for hours! days! Why
had he picked those particular spells!

As his calmer mind gently reasserted itself, he corrected. Not spells,
spell. The enchantment to detect people entering was still functioning.
He had seen it work this summer already.

The postman had been understandably surprised as he was surrounded by
people in robes, waving bits of wood at him.

Thank Hephaestus that the man had been busy with the mail while they
had apparated in. That would have been a nightmare. It was strange
indeed to run into a mailman who knew nothing of the wizarding world.
Most were, for whatever reason, descended from wizards, if not wizards
themselves.

"To arms mine brethren! To arms! To arms! One of our own has been snatched
from the cradle! To arms! To arms!"

That was it. Dumbledore was seriously having second thoughts about
using an alarm with a degree of sentience.

Number Four, Privet Drive. 1529, June 22.
Two men rested in front of the door to the spare bedroom of Number Four.
One had a head of mixed grey and tawny hair, and crow's feet spreading
from the corners of his eyes. The other man had his red hair pulled
back from his head in a ponytail, revealing the dragon tooth earring
in his left ear.

The man with red hair stood leaning against the door to Potter's room, the
side of his head resting against the door. The shock of grey hair rested
on the man's knees, and a muffled sobbing could be heard through his cupped
hands. There was a spreading puddle of moisture under behind his feet, where
they rested, his legs pulled in for comfort.

Inside the room, several long bands of yellow warning illusions wiped around
the walls. It seemed that the wizards hadn't actually entered the room for
long enough to notice anything. Like the sharpened coin lying just under
four inches from the edge of the desk.

Abruptly, the sanctity of the room was broken, a person appearing out of thin
air, his right arm resting on the corresponding knee, his left dangling
to the elbow, as the rest of the limb was resting in the pocket of his khakis.
His left leg stuck out, nearly touching the desk. His glossy black hair hung
down below his eyes, curling somewhat at the ends. His skin, at least, what
could be seen of his skin, was starkly pale, giving him the appearance of
an albino.

The person tilted his head back, revealing onyx irises with cobalt pupils.
Slowly he stood, glancing around a bit before spotting the shine of the coin.
He snatched it up, his thumb caressing the Eagle on the back, while his
forefinger stroked the head on the front.

He walked slowly toward the door, his clothing rippling oddly. It was white,
though that seemed to be more because dye wouldn't adhere to it than out of
choice considering the digruntled glance he gave it once or twice. Strangely
enough, it matched the color of his skin, giving the unwary, and probably
innocent, observer the impression that he was naked.

His shoes made no sound as the moved him across the cold hardwood, despite
his walk slinging his feet out in curves before placing them on the opposite
side of his body from the hip they were attached to. At first glance, and
most likely second and third, they looked like plain worker's boots. Upon
closer inspection, it would have been revealed that they were actually
about mid-calf length, and fastened with clasps rather than the traditional
shoe laces.

The man cocked his head to the side, forcing his hair away from his left ear,
for all the world looking like he was listening to something.

A single snap echoed through the room, though it was actually several hundred
so close together that they sounded like one. The man almost collapsed,
slumping into the wall before standing up again. His fingers seemed to have
grown slightly longer, and his face put on more flesh. The only change anyone
untrained could have actually noticed at first glance was his eyes. From onyx
and cobalt, they twisteded to emerald and black.

He quickly wrenched open the door, and snatched the man who tried to fall in
with the wood. His left hand clasped the red haired man's mouth shut, and his
right wrapped around the newcomer's midsection, pinning his arms to his body.

"Hey-o... Charlie? Well, now that's a new one. Hmm... I guess that would make
the poor sod sniffling out there Remus, now wouldn't it?"

The man's blue eyes stared at the one holding him, and nodded as much as he was
able in the hold.

"Oops. Wells, if I let you go, you's gonna haveta be silent, okiies?"

Another weak nod.

The man lowered Charlie to the floor, careful to remain soundless as he did so.

"Wells, I is gonna haveta have a little talky with Remy there, so do be silent
a little longer. Understand?"

Charlie nodded.

The man in white slipped silently from the room, and came to a halt in front of
Remus, squatting to look him in the hair. He would have prefered a face, but
whatever. This would do.

He took a short breath before almost screaming, "Hey-o Remy! How's you this fine
fine day? What, did someone die on me or something? I'll kill them if they dare!"

The man shot to his feet, nearly soiling himself with surprise as he was caught
unawares by the man in white.

"H-Harry?"

He was rewarded with a splitting of the man's face. "Yep. You expected maybe... S.
Claus?"

Remus laughed, relaxing slightly. He was terribly aware of the way that he had
not drawn his wand in response to a possible threat, and more than a little
freaked by the fact that he had not noticed Charlie's disappearance.

He pressed his body against the wall as Harry stood, uncomfortably close.

"Something wrong?" The quiver in his voice was probably a result of spotting
the more than slightly predatory look in the boy's eyes.

Harry only had to lean in a few centimeters to press his lips against the
older man's. He stayed for a moment before pulling back to inspect Remus's
face.

Shell-shock and revulsion were the easiest ways to describe the look,
though a couple choice words also came to mind, in a language that would
not be created for a few years yet.

"Don't swing that way, eh? Damn. And here I was, hoping..."

It didn't sound like he was saying 'that you would', more like 'that
I'd find someone with enough strength to survive'.

Or rather, it would have sounded that way to someone who had been
around a sociopath or two. Maybe a serial killer to recognize the
even more subtle, 'damn, now you have to die' message.

Harry hopped backward, grinning joyously, unfortunately misjudging the
distance to the stairs, and thus as he landed, with only half his feet
on the second floor, he made a quick decision. He tilted backward, letting
himself fall, while arching his back enough that he could bring his arms
to bear in recovering. It didn't quite work, and he ended up in an
impromptu handstand, before his feet came down to land squarely on the
landing.

Remus goggled. It would have taken years for him to learn how to do that,
with all of his werewolf strength, and Harry, of all people-just a boy!-had
done it in front of him. Dear Artemis, what had he been doing all year?

It was then that he finally noticed Charlie, as he rolled out of the
room, clutching feebly at his ribs, twitching with muffled laughter.
Remus's eyes narrowed darkly as he drew his wand, slowly and omniously.

To have it knocked away by a flying sickle.

"Now now Remy! You know that any magicalness going on here is all my fault,
righty-o? No magicalness goes on then!"

Remus glared at the seared red mark across his fingers, where the sickle had
left its mark. Artemis, it burned!

He bent down to retrive his wand, keeping his glare-of-imminent-pain directed
steadily at the red haired man as he stood.

From the first floor heard the bellowed, "C'mon! Food! Yummy, succulent meat!"

It therefore came as no great shock as he heard the fridge door being more or
less mangled as it stood between a hungry Harry, and his desired dish.

For Kezina-Orion-Siri: Did I forget the OOC warning? Oops. Oh well.
Alas, this is, by and large, acknowledging a few errs, English
spelling. I have no idea what ye mean by 'busy words', but such is life.