Categories > Books > Harry Potter
The Outcast Army
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Harry Potter. I’m just an adrenaline junkie with a Harry Potter fetish. It is very unlikely that I will ever own Harry Potter either, so I’ll just use this disclaimer to cover the whole story.
Chapter 1
The trip ‘home’ for Harry had been uneventful, even boring. It was rush hour in London and the only entertainment he got was watching Vernon’s face change colour. He started off fairly calm, but his complexion quickly reddened before turning purple. Harry swore he could see the veins on the back of his uncle’s neck throbbing as his heart pumped the blood around his body. Unfortunately, if Harry laughed he would probably get punished later so he resigned himself to staring out the window. It had started to rain as well, which did nothing to lighten his mood.
Finally they reached Privet Drive. It was exactly as Harry remembered it, except it looked as though the grass would need cut and the hedges trimmed back. Guess who would be doing that, again. Year after year it was the same routine; they would arrive home and Vernon would order Harry to store his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs until he was due to leave. Then Vernon would tell Harry to cut the grass, trim the hedges, weed the flowerbeds and all the other housework the Dursleys had so kindly left for him to do.
Apparently, though, this year was different: there was no purple-faced Vernon bellowing at Harry to get all his work done and then make dinner. Harry decided to chance his luck and started to drag his trunk up the stairs; when the Dursleys ignored him he quickly pulled it into his room and shut the door. This was his sole place of reprieve within the Dursley household.
He sat on the bed and reminisced about his past year. He had done all his mourning for Sirius during the last few days of term. He had been depressed until Ron pointed out the fact that this was not how Sirius would have wanted Harry to feel. He would’ve wanted Harry to think of a few pranks to play on the Slytherins and Filch. Harry had been surprised at Ron’s new found sincerity. The brain must have affected him more than anybody had thought.
Throughout the next week Harry’s mood got worse and worse. So he hadn’t received any letters from his friends, even though they had promised to write to him. The only mail he had got was the “Daily Prophet” and it wasn’t looking good. Since Voldemort’s appearance at the Ministry he had decided to go public. His campaign of terror was leaving a trail of bodies across the country; it was only a matter of time before someone in a position of power was assassinated.
Harry had newspaper clippings from both magical and muggle periodicals about the recent attacks. The muggles were in a panic. They had blamed the attacks on terrorists and many foreigners were being racially abused, and even beaten in the street. The only good thing about this summer was that the Dursleys had left Harry alone, little did he know that was about to change.
During the past week Harry had been trying to train himself for his future. He had taken to running in the morning and working out whenever he could, as well as studying his old school text books. Not only did it get him in shape, and help him prepare for the fight against Voldemort, but it also meant that whenever he went to bed he was very tired. This led to him falling into a deep sleep nearly every night, without any nightmares.
It was late at night, Vernon had been working late and the full moon was shining brightly in the sky. Harry was staring up at it, dreaming about freedom, rather than this imposed imprisonment. He knew it was for the ‘greater good,’ but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
As Vernon’s car pulled into the drive and the whale manoeuvred himself out of the car Harry heard him swear. He was in a bad mood, and this wasn’t good for Harry. As expected the instant Vernon came in the door he shouted up at Harry, demanding food.
“Freak, where’s my dinner?” he called aggressively.
“I haven’t made it.”
“And why not?”
“You didn’t tell me to,” replied Harry, quickly realising that this was probably one of the worst things he could have said.
“Don’t you take that tone with me!” shouted Vernon, as he raced up the stairs as fast as he could go, which was actually a rather pathetic sight. At the top of the staircase Vernon flung open Harry’s door, but his aggressive monologue was cut short at the sight of the newspaper clippings which covered one of Harry’s wall.
“Why do you have these, boy? They have nothing to do with you,” said Vernon dismissively.
“They have everything to do with me,” snapped Harry.
“Oh, right,” said Vernon disbelievingly, “And I’m the Queen of England.”
Harry bowed deeply, saying “Your Majesty.”
“What the hell, boy? You’d better have a damn good explanation!” said Vernon as he curled his hand into a fist.
“Basically, it’s one of my kind, you know, a wizard, who’s killing all those people and there’s this prophecy which states that I’m the one with the power to kill him -” Harry started, intending to continue, but he was interrupted by Vernon.
“Then why aren’t you, freak?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why the fuck aren’t you out trying to find some way to kill the bastard?” shouted Vernon as he swung his fist and caught Harry in the cheek, sending him backwards, into a chair. Vernon raised his fist again, but the sound of breaking glass came from downstairs. Vernon turned to face the door as Harry scrambled to his feet and tried to find his wand.
He had just picked it up off the desk when he saw a werewolf sprinting up the stairs and punching Vernon in the jaw. There was an audible crack as the bone broke and then Petunia started screaming. Dudley was still out, probably drunk. The werewolf stood guard over Vernon’s prone body as Harry heard the sound of breaking glass coming from his bedroom window. He spun round just in time to see two females land in his bed.
Both had pale skin and long flowing hair; the one to Harry’s left had red hair and the other was a light brunette. Harry was stunned at the clothes both were wearing as well. They left nothing to the imagination: skin-tight black armour all the way from the toes to the neck. They were stunning. However the most startling thing about their appearance was their fangs.
Harry stood still, unable to move as the red-head approached, swinging her hips as she walked, which made her look quite seductive. She then leaned over Harry and slowly licked his cheek where Vernon had hit him. He could feel the pain dying down as she did it. The other vampire smiled, almost angelically as she reached out to Harry’s wand.
“Sorry, they can track this,” she said, before quickly snapping it in two.
“What are you doing?” asked Harry, finally finding his voice.
“We’re taking you away from here,” said the brunette.
“Don’t worry, that’ll be replaced,” said the red-head, nodding her head towards the wand.
Harry weighed his options. If they were working for Voldemort, the chances were that he would be dead. That meant whoever had organised the group had wanted them alive. He decided that it didn’t really matter what he thought: the truth was that he didn’t have much choice; the way Harry saw it, he had to go with them.
He nodded his head as one of them pulled out an old chain. Where the brunette got it from he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t mind finding out. She held it out to Harry and the three of them grabbed it.
She then shouted something to the three werewolves who were standing guard and muttered the activation word, which Harry didn’t hear. He felt the familiar tug of a portkey round his navel and felt himself travelling.
*
As he arrived he fell to his feet. He rose slowly and looked around the room he found himself in. The walls were black and tapestries hung throughout the room, although Harry didn’t recognise the coat-of-arms on them. It was dimly lit, barely enough for him to see by. The room was basically a long, wide hallway.
The two vampires that had taken him here were now flanking him and the werewolves were forming the other part of the escort: two were rearguards and another took point. Along the sides of the long room were rows of humanoid figures. Some were vampires; some were werewolves and Harry didn’t even recognise some. As he was marched through the room to the far end the beings to either side of him knelt on one knee and stayed like that until he was at the opposite end of the room.
His escort marched him up to within a few metres of a vampire, who was obviously the leader. As he turned round he looked at Harry, waiting for him to talk first.
“Where am I?” asked Harry.
“You’re home, Harry.”
*
A/N: Well, that’s chapter one done. I’ve decided to take a short break from my other story “The Dark light Within,” and I’m going to alternate between them. Please review; your comments are always welcome.
Thanks
Concealed-Convict
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Harry Potter. I’m just an adrenaline junkie with a Harry Potter fetish. It is very unlikely that I will ever own Harry Potter either, so I’ll just use this disclaimer to cover the whole story.
Chapter 1
The trip ‘home’ for Harry had been uneventful, even boring. It was rush hour in London and the only entertainment he got was watching Vernon’s face change colour. He started off fairly calm, but his complexion quickly reddened before turning purple. Harry swore he could see the veins on the back of his uncle’s neck throbbing as his heart pumped the blood around his body. Unfortunately, if Harry laughed he would probably get punished later so he resigned himself to staring out the window. It had started to rain as well, which did nothing to lighten his mood.
Finally they reached Privet Drive. It was exactly as Harry remembered it, except it looked as though the grass would need cut and the hedges trimmed back. Guess who would be doing that, again. Year after year it was the same routine; they would arrive home and Vernon would order Harry to store his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs until he was due to leave. Then Vernon would tell Harry to cut the grass, trim the hedges, weed the flowerbeds and all the other housework the Dursleys had so kindly left for him to do.
Apparently, though, this year was different: there was no purple-faced Vernon bellowing at Harry to get all his work done and then make dinner. Harry decided to chance his luck and started to drag his trunk up the stairs; when the Dursleys ignored him he quickly pulled it into his room and shut the door. This was his sole place of reprieve within the Dursley household.
He sat on the bed and reminisced about his past year. He had done all his mourning for Sirius during the last few days of term. He had been depressed until Ron pointed out the fact that this was not how Sirius would have wanted Harry to feel. He would’ve wanted Harry to think of a few pranks to play on the Slytherins and Filch. Harry had been surprised at Ron’s new found sincerity. The brain must have affected him more than anybody had thought.
Throughout the next week Harry’s mood got worse and worse. So he hadn’t received any letters from his friends, even though they had promised to write to him. The only mail he had got was the “Daily Prophet” and it wasn’t looking good. Since Voldemort’s appearance at the Ministry he had decided to go public. His campaign of terror was leaving a trail of bodies across the country; it was only a matter of time before someone in a position of power was assassinated.
Harry had newspaper clippings from both magical and muggle periodicals about the recent attacks. The muggles were in a panic. They had blamed the attacks on terrorists and many foreigners were being racially abused, and even beaten in the street. The only good thing about this summer was that the Dursleys had left Harry alone, little did he know that was about to change.
During the past week Harry had been trying to train himself for his future. He had taken to running in the morning and working out whenever he could, as well as studying his old school text books. Not only did it get him in shape, and help him prepare for the fight against Voldemort, but it also meant that whenever he went to bed he was very tired. This led to him falling into a deep sleep nearly every night, without any nightmares.
It was late at night, Vernon had been working late and the full moon was shining brightly in the sky. Harry was staring up at it, dreaming about freedom, rather than this imposed imprisonment. He knew it was for the ‘greater good,’ but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
As Vernon’s car pulled into the drive and the whale manoeuvred himself out of the car Harry heard him swear. He was in a bad mood, and this wasn’t good for Harry. As expected the instant Vernon came in the door he shouted up at Harry, demanding food.
“Freak, where’s my dinner?” he called aggressively.
“I haven’t made it.”
“And why not?”
“You didn’t tell me to,” replied Harry, quickly realising that this was probably one of the worst things he could have said.
“Don’t you take that tone with me!” shouted Vernon, as he raced up the stairs as fast as he could go, which was actually a rather pathetic sight. At the top of the staircase Vernon flung open Harry’s door, but his aggressive monologue was cut short at the sight of the newspaper clippings which covered one of Harry’s wall.
“Why do you have these, boy? They have nothing to do with you,” said Vernon dismissively.
“They have everything to do with me,” snapped Harry.
“Oh, right,” said Vernon disbelievingly, “And I’m the Queen of England.”
Harry bowed deeply, saying “Your Majesty.”
“What the hell, boy? You’d better have a damn good explanation!” said Vernon as he curled his hand into a fist.
“Basically, it’s one of my kind, you know, a wizard, who’s killing all those people and there’s this prophecy which states that I’m the one with the power to kill him -” Harry started, intending to continue, but he was interrupted by Vernon.
“Then why aren’t you, freak?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why the fuck aren’t you out trying to find some way to kill the bastard?” shouted Vernon as he swung his fist and caught Harry in the cheek, sending him backwards, into a chair. Vernon raised his fist again, but the sound of breaking glass came from downstairs. Vernon turned to face the door as Harry scrambled to his feet and tried to find his wand.
He had just picked it up off the desk when he saw a werewolf sprinting up the stairs and punching Vernon in the jaw. There was an audible crack as the bone broke and then Petunia started screaming. Dudley was still out, probably drunk. The werewolf stood guard over Vernon’s prone body as Harry heard the sound of breaking glass coming from his bedroom window. He spun round just in time to see two females land in his bed.
Both had pale skin and long flowing hair; the one to Harry’s left had red hair and the other was a light brunette. Harry was stunned at the clothes both were wearing as well. They left nothing to the imagination: skin-tight black armour all the way from the toes to the neck. They were stunning. However the most startling thing about their appearance was their fangs.
Harry stood still, unable to move as the red-head approached, swinging her hips as she walked, which made her look quite seductive. She then leaned over Harry and slowly licked his cheek where Vernon had hit him. He could feel the pain dying down as she did it. The other vampire smiled, almost angelically as she reached out to Harry’s wand.
“Sorry, they can track this,” she said, before quickly snapping it in two.
“What are you doing?” asked Harry, finally finding his voice.
“We’re taking you away from here,” said the brunette.
“Don’t worry, that’ll be replaced,” said the red-head, nodding her head towards the wand.
Harry weighed his options. If they were working for Voldemort, the chances were that he would be dead. That meant whoever had organised the group had wanted them alive. He decided that it didn’t really matter what he thought: the truth was that he didn’t have much choice; the way Harry saw it, he had to go with them.
He nodded his head as one of them pulled out an old chain. Where the brunette got it from he didn’t know, but he wouldn’t mind finding out. She held it out to Harry and the three of them grabbed it.
She then shouted something to the three werewolves who were standing guard and muttered the activation word, which Harry didn’t hear. He felt the familiar tug of a portkey round his navel and felt himself travelling.
*
As he arrived he fell to his feet. He rose slowly and looked around the room he found himself in. The walls were black and tapestries hung throughout the room, although Harry didn’t recognise the coat-of-arms on them. It was dimly lit, barely enough for him to see by. The room was basically a long, wide hallway.
The two vampires that had taken him here were now flanking him and the werewolves were forming the other part of the escort: two were rearguards and another took point. Along the sides of the long room were rows of humanoid figures. Some were vampires; some were werewolves and Harry didn’t even recognise some. As he was marched through the room to the far end the beings to either side of him knelt on one knee and stayed like that until he was at the opposite end of the room.
His escort marched him up to within a few metres of a vampire, who was obviously the leader. As he turned round he looked at Harry, waiting for him to talk first.
“Where am I?” asked Harry.
“You’re home, Harry.”
*
A/N: Well, that’s chapter one done. I’ve decided to take a short break from my other story “The Dark light Within,” and I’m going to alternate between them. Please review; your comments are always welcome.
Thanks
Concealed-Convict
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