In the Arms of an Angel, Chapter 1
(Harry Potter/ Anita Blake crossover, post-Voldemort, post-KD)
Warning: not all sunshine and kittens... which should not surprise those who know Nathaniel.
“I wish I’d brought my broom,” Harry Potter mused from an altitude of 3,000 feet, being forced to place his trust in a British Airways jet as he crossed the Atlantic Ocean. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avoid putting pressure on his right leg. His friend Luna had suggested that a working vacation would be just what he needed to take his mind off of the recent battle between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters. She understood that boredom would surely kill him faster than any curse. For that, he was quite grateful. He had spent nearly a week holed up in his room at Headquarters, trying to avoid his fellow wizards and witches as much as possible. He did not want anyone to fuss over his injuries, and had refused to be taken to St. Mungo’s for evaluation. Since the house at Grimmauld Place was Unplottable, this proved to be both blessing and curse. While it kept out all but members of the Order, it was still a dreary place to live. Molly had insisted on trying to brighten things up, but it would never feel like home. Hogwarts would always be the only home he had known.
His traveling companion gave him an amused look. Luna Lovegood seemed to study him as if he were a rare species of mammalian life. She commented, “I am rather fond of flying the traditional way, but Muggle vehicles are far more comfortable. Provided that you do not get airsick like my father…”
The miserable editor of the Quibbler barely looked up as he drank a sip of ginger ale. It was rather unfortunate that although Lysander Lovegood had been bitten with the wanderlust at an early age, that he should be prone to motion sickness. Floo Powder was out of the question for normal outings, so finding alternative travel arrangements had been an interesting experience. He wryly mused, “Comes with the territory, Luna dear. If one wants to observe the beast in its natural habitat, one must be willing to suffer through the indignities of air travel.” The stocky, blond man added in a conspiratorial whisper, “After all, intercontinental Floo travel is still under prohibition and I fear that I’d have splinched us both if I attempted transatlantic Apparation. So, British Airways it is. They come highly recommended.”
Harry closed his eyes briefly, thinking that this would be an interesting trip. In spite of his earlier reservations about leaving the Weasleys to rebuild the Burrow, he was beginning to feel the first stirrings of curiosity about the Quibbler assignment. His official job description was Production Assistant to the Editor, but in reality Harry was to be a jack-of-all-trades. Carrying the photography equipment and video camera, he would be required to film and help to edit the documentary footage shot during the Lovegoods’ latest expedition. Being behind the camera actually felt refreshing and it was a learn-as- you-go sort of experience. Too often lately, he had been the subject of photographers and reporters, each clamoring to have an exclusive interview with the Chosen One, the boy who had defeated the deadliest wizard in their lifetime and helped to round up the last of the known Death Eaters. Although in regards to Bellatrix Lestrange, the full credit should have gone to Neville Longbottom. He would ask that Mr. Lovegood set the record straight before they returned to London.
"No," he admonished himself. "There will be no thinking of casualties on this trip."
"Hmm?" replied Luna, looking out her window.
"Nothing, talking to myself is all."
"Have a good conversation," she replied distractedly, not really paying attention to him. Then again, with Luna it was difficult to tell.
Harry was looking forward to getting to know her better. He was looking forward to being able to camp outdoors and learning how to set up the tents and building a fire… He used to dream about going fishing with his dad. Harry soon was lost in thought as he imagined that Luna’s dad might teach him how to fish, since he had insisted on doing things the Muggle way during previous expeditions. It aroused less suspicion to limit the amount of magic used, the man had admitted, and did not startle their subjects. That was the reason why Ministry-trained researchers had been largely unsuccessful in uncovering more information about exotic animals and plants. They simply were too impatient and relied heavily on magical means to achieve their ends. In short, Lysander had said, they’re lazy.
By the time that Harry had finished this train of thought, the flight attendant had announced that the plane would soon be landing in St. Louis, Missouri. Harry was unsure of what his employer wished to document in the United States; however, he had a feeling that it was connected to a recent law passed in that country concerning the legalization of vampires. At least, from his understanding, that was the official reason for their visit. Unofficially, this gig would provide the cryptid hunter the opportunity to study magical creatures in the United States without having to worry about airfare. All that he needed was to write up the article on vampire citizenship. How difficult would that be?
Apparently, more difficult than they had anticipated… Harry soon found that working for the Quibbler meant interviewing the locals for their reactions to the legislation, recording video footage for the Muggles, and then hours of writing and editing. He found the whole process of retrieving the information and then transcribing it into a magical format for the newspaper to be fascinating, if time-consuming work. This had given Harry the opportunity to see first-hand how the Marauders might have created their map, and it was with only a little caution that he decided to show it to Lysander. His first boss seemed intrigued by the piece of parchment, and had been suitably impressed that a group of teens had created such a complex bit of magic together. He explained the magical theory and practical applications to Harry, and gave him a tutorial on enchanting a blank sheet of parchment to record a simple image of Luna lost in daydream.
Harry had not realized just how much physical work went into running the newspaper, or how difficult some of the interviews could be. He was quite glad that during most of them, he had been fortunate to stay out of the limelight and just observe things. Lysander Lovegood had been in talks with a friend on the St. Louis Dispatch, a Muggle newspaper, about potentially interviewing the Master of the City. Irving, one of few reporters known to have spoken with the secretive vampire, had informed him that the vampire had his hands full with running various businesses in the tourist district, but that he might allow himself to be quoted. It was entirely possible that Harry might be required to come along. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, since he had briefly met one vampire before. Somehow, he didn’t think that it was enough of an impression on which to base his beliefs.
There was one drawback to interviewing American Muggles who had just recently had to admit to themselves that the monsters are actually under the bed. They had a tendency to either whole-heartedly embrace the unusual or band together to try to destroy it. His recent encounter with a group that called themselves Humans First still gave him the shivers, and nearly made him sympathize with the vampire community. There had a been a few members of the higher echelon that reminded him eerily of the Death Eaters, and he wished that he would not have to cross paths with them again any time soon. This job had been meant to be a respite from the rest of the Wizarding world and to mentally and physically recuperate from the defeat of Voldemort. He was not ready to become embroiled in another war any time soon, especially if it involved Muggles that knew peripherally of the supernatural. As Luna had pointed out, it would not take long for the Americans to lump witches and wizards together with the monsters and decide that witch burning was back in fashion.
The first time that Harry saw him, he was standing on a street corner, hustling for survival. For the next two weeks, the cherub-faced teen had become a fixture in Harry's new life, as normal a sight as the temporary Quibbler office each day. Harry didn’t know his name. They had nodded in passing, from one man to another. Nathaniel told Harry later that he had liked him because Harry had respected him, in spite of his occupation or maybe even because of it. Neither one of them could exactly call their lives their own. Both of them were slowly dying inside, calloused and disillusioned by the world in which they lived in. The world that was about to explode in a media frenzy that would be talked about for decades to come.
Having forgotten to set his hotel alarm clock for work, he had awoke that morning to a world in chaos. Harry had been having the strangest dream; he remembered waking up in tears and not knowing why. The night before, the boy had not been on his corner, and it bothered him. It had become commonplace; he had become a part of Harry's routine. Something was wrong. Something about the air felt… wrong. It was difficult to breathe that day, and at first Harry thought that it was unnaturally humid for the city of St. Louis. Later, Harry would turn on the news broadcasts and draw in a sharp breath as he realized just how close to death he had come, if not for a street kid who failed to come back from one of his tricks.
As he ran down the street from his hotel, something had compelled him to stop by the street kid's corner. When he got there, Harry laughed aloud, even though it wasn’t funny. "Why did I expect to find him here? Surely the men in blue would have picked him up had he been propositioning strangers early in the morning. They tend to notice things like that." As he stood on the corner, he heard the unmistakable sound of retching in the nearby alley. Curiosity made Harry turn to investigate the source of the noise. Compassion made him stay.
What Harry had expected was to find a vampire. What he beheld appeared to be an injured woman who lay wrapped in a bloody sheet. Within moments, Harry had knelt by the victim’s side and began to assess her injuries. To his surprise, “she” turned out to be a “he”, the kid on the corner. The boy, because he surely wasn’t much older than Harry, had unusually long auburn hair which had obscured both his gender and the extent of his injuries. Harry delicately tried to pull some of his hair away from the wounds, and was nearly overcome with nausea when he realized that the boy had been gutted by what he assumed had been a large knife of some sort. The boy’s wrists were red and chafed, as if he had been chained down while they did things to him. There were other graphic injuries that sickened Harry, but none so much as that first glimpse of how cruel Muggles could be to those who were different.
He lay there, exhausted by his convulsions, in a pool of his own blood. Harry bent over to check his vitals. His eyes fluttered wildly as Harry listened to his shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat. Suddenly, his eyelids snapped open, and then he turned his head to Harry. He had a glassy, odd look to his eyes that frightened the wizard, for he had seen it so many times before on the faces of friends. Harry gasped when he beheld their unusual lavender color. Before another spasm of pain wracked his body, the boy managed to whisper, “Thank you…” Then he sank into unconsciousness.
Warning: not all sunshine and kittens... which should not surprise those who know Nathaniel.
“I wish I’d brought my broom,” Harry Potter mused from an altitude of 3,000 feet, being forced to place his trust in a British Airways jet as he crossed the Atlantic Ocean. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avoid putting pressure on his right leg. His friend Luna had suggested that a working vacation would be just what he needed to take his mind off of the recent battle between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters. She understood that boredom would surely kill him faster than any curse. For that, he was quite grateful. He had spent nearly a week holed up in his room at Headquarters, trying to avoid his fellow wizards and witches as much as possible. He did not want anyone to fuss over his injuries, and had refused to be taken to St. Mungo’s for evaluation. Since the house at Grimmauld Place was Unplottable, this proved to be both blessing and curse. While it kept out all but members of the Order, it was still a dreary place to live. Molly had insisted on trying to brighten things up, but it would never feel like home. Hogwarts would always be the only home he had known.
His traveling companion gave him an amused look. Luna Lovegood seemed to study him as if he were a rare species of mammalian life. She commented, “I am rather fond of flying the traditional way, but Muggle vehicles are far more comfortable. Provided that you do not get airsick like my father…”
The miserable editor of the Quibbler barely looked up as he drank a sip of ginger ale. It was rather unfortunate that although Lysander Lovegood had been bitten with the wanderlust at an early age, that he should be prone to motion sickness. Floo Powder was out of the question for normal outings, so finding alternative travel arrangements had been an interesting experience. He wryly mused, “Comes with the territory, Luna dear. If one wants to observe the beast in its natural habitat, one must be willing to suffer through the indignities of air travel.” The stocky, blond man added in a conspiratorial whisper, “After all, intercontinental Floo travel is still under prohibition and I fear that I’d have splinched us both if I attempted transatlantic Apparation. So, British Airways it is. They come highly recommended.”
Harry closed his eyes briefly, thinking that this would be an interesting trip. In spite of his earlier reservations about leaving the Weasleys to rebuild the Burrow, he was beginning to feel the first stirrings of curiosity about the Quibbler assignment. His official job description was Production Assistant to the Editor, but in reality Harry was to be a jack-of-all-trades. Carrying the photography equipment and video camera, he would be required to film and help to edit the documentary footage shot during the Lovegoods’ latest expedition. Being behind the camera actually felt refreshing and it was a learn-as- you-go sort of experience. Too often lately, he had been the subject of photographers and reporters, each clamoring to have an exclusive interview with the Chosen One, the boy who had defeated the deadliest wizard in their lifetime and helped to round up the last of the known Death Eaters. Although in regards to Bellatrix Lestrange, the full credit should have gone to Neville Longbottom. He would ask that Mr. Lovegood set the record straight before they returned to London.
"No," he admonished himself. "There will be no thinking of casualties on this trip."
"Hmm?" replied Luna, looking out her window.
"Nothing, talking to myself is all."
"Have a good conversation," she replied distractedly, not really paying attention to him. Then again, with Luna it was difficult to tell.
Harry was looking forward to getting to know her better. He was looking forward to being able to camp outdoors and learning how to set up the tents and building a fire… He used to dream about going fishing with his dad. Harry soon was lost in thought as he imagined that Luna’s dad might teach him how to fish, since he had insisted on doing things the Muggle way during previous expeditions. It aroused less suspicion to limit the amount of magic used, the man had admitted, and did not startle their subjects. That was the reason why Ministry-trained researchers had been largely unsuccessful in uncovering more information about exotic animals and plants. They simply were too impatient and relied heavily on magical means to achieve their ends. In short, Lysander had said, they’re lazy.
By the time that Harry had finished this train of thought, the flight attendant had announced that the plane would soon be landing in St. Louis, Missouri. Harry was unsure of what his employer wished to document in the United States; however, he had a feeling that it was connected to a recent law passed in that country concerning the legalization of vampires. At least, from his understanding, that was the official reason for their visit. Unofficially, this gig would provide the cryptid hunter the opportunity to study magical creatures in the United States without having to worry about airfare. All that he needed was to write up the article on vampire citizenship. How difficult would that be?
Apparently, more difficult than they had anticipated… Harry soon found that working for the Quibbler meant interviewing the locals for their reactions to the legislation, recording video footage for the Muggles, and then hours of writing and editing. He found the whole process of retrieving the information and then transcribing it into a magical format for the newspaper to be fascinating, if time-consuming work. This had given Harry the opportunity to see first-hand how the Marauders might have created their map, and it was with only a little caution that he decided to show it to Lysander. His first boss seemed intrigued by the piece of parchment, and had been suitably impressed that a group of teens had created such a complex bit of magic together. He explained the magical theory and practical applications to Harry, and gave him a tutorial on enchanting a blank sheet of parchment to record a simple image of Luna lost in daydream.
Harry had not realized just how much physical work went into running the newspaper, or how difficult some of the interviews could be. He was quite glad that during most of them, he had been fortunate to stay out of the limelight and just observe things. Lysander Lovegood had been in talks with a friend on the St. Louis Dispatch, a Muggle newspaper, about potentially interviewing the Master of the City. Irving, one of few reporters known to have spoken with the secretive vampire, had informed him that the vampire had his hands full with running various businesses in the tourist district, but that he might allow himself to be quoted. It was entirely possible that Harry might be required to come along. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, since he had briefly met one vampire before. Somehow, he didn’t think that it was enough of an impression on which to base his beliefs.
There was one drawback to interviewing American Muggles who had just recently had to admit to themselves that the monsters are actually under the bed. They had a tendency to either whole-heartedly embrace the unusual or band together to try to destroy it. His recent encounter with a group that called themselves Humans First still gave him the shivers, and nearly made him sympathize with the vampire community. There had a been a few members of the higher echelon that reminded him eerily of the Death Eaters, and he wished that he would not have to cross paths with them again any time soon. This job had been meant to be a respite from the rest of the Wizarding world and to mentally and physically recuperate from the defeat of Voldemort. He was not ready to become embroiled in another war any time soon, especially if it involved Muggles that knew peripherally of the supernatural. As Luna had pointed out, it would not take long for the Americans to lump witches and wizards together with the monsters and decide that witch burning was back in fashion.
The first time that Harry saw him, he was standing on a street corner, hustling for survival. For the next two weeks, the cherub-faced teen had become a fixture in Harry's new life, as normal a sight as the temporary Quibbler office each day. Harry didn’t know his name. They had nodded in passing, from one man to another. Nathaniel told Harry later that he had liked him because Harry had respected him, in spite of his occupation or maybe even because of it. Neither one of them could exactly call their lives their own. Both of them were slowly dying inside, calloused and disillusioned by the world in which they lived in. The world that was about to explode in a media frenzy that would be talked about for decades to come.
Having forgotten to set his hotel alarm clock for work, he had awoke that morning to a world in chaos. Harry had been having the strangest dream; he remembered waking up in tears and not knowing why. The night before, the boy had not been on his corner, and it bothered him. It had become commonplace; he had become a part of Harry's routine. Something was wrong. Something about the air felt… wrong. It was difficult to breathe that day, and at first Harry thought that it was unnaturally humid for the city of St. Louis. Later, Harry would turn on the news broadcasts and draw in a sharp breath as he realized just how close to death he had come, if not for a street kid who failed to come back from one of his tricks.
As he ran down the street from his hotel, something had compelled him to stop by the street kid's corner. When he got there, Harry laughed aloud, even though it wasn’t funny. "Why did I expect to find him here? Surely the men in blue would have picked him up had he been propositioning strangers early in the morning. They tend to notice things like that." As he stood on the corner, he heard the unmistakable sound of retching in the nearby alley. Curiosity made Harry turn to investigate the source of the noise. Compassion made him stay.
What Harry had expected was to find a vampire. What he beheld appeared to be an injured woman who lay wrapped in a bloody sheet. Within moments, Harry had knelt by the victim’s side and began to assess her injuries. To his surprise, “she” turned out to be a “he”, the kid on the corner. The boy, because he surely wasn’t much older than Harry, had unusually long auburn hair which had obscured both his gender and the extent of his injuries. Harry delicately tried to pull some of his hair away from the wounds, and was nearly overcome with nausea when he realized that the boy had been gutted by what he assumed had been a large knife of some sort. The boy’s wrists were red and chafed, as if he had been chained down while they did things to him. There were other graphic injuries that sickened Harry, but none so much as that first glimpse of how cruel Muggles could be to those who were different.
He lay there, exhausted by his convulsions, in a pool of his own blood. Harry bent over to check his vitals. His eyes fluttered wildly as Harry listened to his shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat. Suddenly, his eyelids snapped open, and then he turned his head to Harry. He had a glassy, odd look to his eyes that frightened the wizard, for he had seen it so many times before on the faces of friends. Harry gasped when he beheld their unusual lavender color. Before another spasm of pain wracked his body, the boy managed to whisper, “Thank you…” Then he sank into unconsciousness.