Divinity Forensis
By: RogueBHS
Prologue - "Getting Away With Murder"
Author Notes: I'm not abandoning "Faith," I promise, but this just jumped into my head, and I've been unable to shake it. So here it is. There will be some similarity between this and other fics, I'm sure. But oh well. The closest to this that I've read myself is "Moonlit Nights," on Portkey. (Great fic, btw.)
This IS a vampyre/werewolf fic, based on the ideas used in the movie "Underworld." There are other little pieces of ideas from other vampyre movies, even the classic "Dracula" and the newer "Van Helsing" movie. A few characters from the movie Underworld will make appearances here, so I guess that technically and all, this is a sort of crossover. But HP is the main verse being used here, so please, don't run away screaming just because it's a sort of crossover. Though its contents has little to do with this fiction, I've included Selene's opening for the Underworld movie. *shrug* So…yeah.
Disclaimer: I do not in any way shape or form own any of the ideas or characters from Harry Potter or Underworld. There are original characters involved, in minor rolls, which I do own, as they are my own RPG characters that I created. I'm also borrowing (with permission) a friend of mine's male RPG characters, whom he owns.
Notice: Any songs or spells used in a chapter will be listed at the end of it, just as in "Faith." Numbers in parenthesis indicates a song, letters in parenthesis indicates spells.
Full Summary: Harry's summer at the Dursleys' has never been worse; Vernon is drinking heavily, Dudley's using him for a punching bag (again), and Petunia is acting like nothing is wrong. And the Order seems to have forgotten him completely, despite their claims at King's Cross Station. Can he survive the summer alone? Or will it take drastic measures to keep him alive?
Main characters: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin. From Underworld: Selene, Kraven, Viktor, Marcus, Amelia, Lucian, and Kahn.
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"The war had all but ground to a halt in the blink of an eye. Lucian, the most feared and ruthless leader ever to rule the lycan clan, had finally been killed. The lycan hordes scattered to the winds in a single night of flame and retribution. Victory, it seemed, was in our grasp; the very birthright of the vampyres. Nearly six centuries have past since that night. Yet the ancient blood feud proved unwilling to follow Lucian to the grave. Though the lycans were fewer in number, the war itself had become more perilous, for the moon no longer held her sway. Older, more powerful lycans were now able to change at will. The weapons had evolved, but our orders remained the same; hunt them down and kill them off, one by one. A most successful campaign, perhaps too successful. For those like me, a death dealer, it signaled the end of an era. Like the weapons of the previous century, we too would become obsolete. Pity, because I lived for it." - Selene's opening thoughts - Underworld
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"You're sure its possible?"
"Yes. It's simply a matter of finding the proper bloodline that now contains the virus, since the Corvinus families died out too long ago, with the exception of Marcus. And we've been through why he's not a candidate."
"I'm fully aware of that fact, thank you."
Raising an eyebrow, the doctor looked askance at his old friend, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Indeed."
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Viktor's Mansion, outside London-
Feeling the blood slide down her throat was like ambrosia, and Selene could sense her body energizing itself with every drop that passed her lips. The fact that she held the attention of Kraven and his circle of friends didn't faze her in the least, despite the way he looked at her. For centuries ago, she had sworn she wouldn't become one of Kraven's women, and that was a vow she planned to keep. Though without her sire, Viktor, that was proving to be a more difficult task than it was in his presence. She would never understand Viktor's choice to leave Kraven in charge of things, but until his awakening three days from now, there was really no way to ask him.
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Little Whinging-
"Somewhere beyond happiness and sadness
I need to calculate
What creates my own madness
And I'm addicted to your punishment
And you're the master
And I am waiting for disaster" (1)
The sound of shattering glass and cracking wood inside of Number four Privet Drive had the heads of neighbors turning to look at the house in surprise. Such sounds had become common since the return of the Dursleys' charge, a freak boy who was rumored to attend Saint Brutus' School. And while in the past, most had doubted that it was really the rail-thin black haired boy who was criminally inclined, the sounds coming from the house gave them pause. Mind you, it wouldn't have surprised any of the neighbors if the sounds were really caused by that Dursley boy, Dudley, having a fit. It was a well-known fact that the boy was a brat, and absolutely despised not having his way. His gang of miscreants was known for going around beating up younger boys, and other despicable things. Yet the boy's parents, Vernon and Petunia, didn't seem to notice. Indeed, they turned their eyes to their nephew instead, and founds all of the faults that were actually their son's, in the boy, Harry.
But the neighbors had no idea of what was really going on inside of Number four. If they had, more than one would have called the police. Or perhaps an ambulance as well. Granted the second the police or whomever knocked on the door, they'd have been told a well-practiced lie by Mrs. Dursley. But no lie, however well told, could have fooled someone who saw Harry as he was at that very moment.
"You worthless brat!" A swift kick was delivered to the backside of the boy as he knelt over a pile of broken glass, sending him flying into it, face first. Yet he let out no sound of pain, having learned just two days ago upon his return to Privet Drive that such things only fueled his uncle's rage. Instead, he picked himself up off of the floor gingerly, half glad that his glasses were still up in his room on his desk. At least that meant he didn't have to worry quite as much about eye damage. Though the fresh cuts on his face certainly felt bad enough as it was. Before he could get up and look in the mirror, however, Vernon's fist caught him in the back of the head, effectively sending his already abused body into a wave of nausea at the loss of equilibrium.
The smell caught Vernon's attention first, then the sight of his nephew vomiting all over the scattered pile of glass registered. And fueled his temper further. "What in the hell do you think you're doing boy?!" His meaty fist reached out, and grabbed Harry by the back of the neck, pulling him roughly off of his knees.
It took everything Harry had to keep from retching again at the jolt of being pulled up in such a way. "Nothing, sir," he managed to choke out. "I'll clean it up." He swallowed, ignoring the burning sensation in his stomach. "I'm sorry."
"You bet you'll clean it up. Your aunt has enough to do without cleaning up after your sorry ass."
"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, his tone more of a hoarse whisper than anything, due to the soreness in his throat.
The second his uncle's hand released him, Harry was on his knees again, gasping in air. He heard the sound of his uncle stomping up the stairs, and then a door slammed. If he could, he would have sighed in relief, but he wasn't sure his throat would take it. Leaning forward on his hands, he closed his eyes briefly, trying to compose himself before he attempted standing up. So it was a small surprise to open them, and find a glass of water setting on the floor in front of him. He looked up, squinting his eyes in the direction of the sink, only to see a pinkish blur that he assumed was his aunt. She must have come in as Vernon left, Harry thought. He certainly hadn't heard her turn on the tap in the kitchen though.
Slowly, Harry picked himself up off of the floor, picking a piece of glass out of his left hand as he did so. He set the piece of glass on the counter, then turned, surprised to see his glasses sitting there when he knew he had left them up in his room. He slid the glasses on with only a small hiss as the metal slid over one of the cuts on his face. Turning, he saw his aunt clearly now as she busied herself with cleaning the kitchen counters. Her head was bent over her work, but a worried frown was evident, even from that angle. Though he half wished the worry was over his own condition, he was more than sure that her worry was for her husband and the way he was drinking so heavily Sighing, he moved towards the counter where the paper towels were, then looked up sharply when his aunt placed a hand on his arm.
"Just clean up the glass and mess, Harry." She kept her voice near a whisper, obviously afraid of Vernon overhearing her taking away from the boy's chores. "Then go water the lawn and flower beds." Her eyes glanced towards the kitchen door before she added, "The fresh air should do you some good."
Stunned, Harry only nodded, and proceeded to do as his aunt had told him. But all the while he was cleaning, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, his aunt didn't have a part of her that wasn't so bad after all.
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"[Chorus]
I feel irrational
So confrontational
To tell the truth I am
Getting away with murder
It isn't possible
To never tell the truth
But the reality is I'm getting away with murder
(Getting away, Getting away, Getting away)" (1)
"BOY! You get down here this instant!"
Oh great…Harry thought, what did I do now? Sliding gingerly from his bed, Harry put on his glasses as he called down the stairs. "Coming, Uncle Vernon."
A pain in his legs as he stood had him sliding to the floor in a heap, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Obviously the use of a golf club to the back of his legs had done more damage then he'd thought yesterday. Mentally cursing the weakness of his limbs, though there wasn't much he could do about it, he was starting to pull himself off of the floor when the bedroom door slammed open admitting Vernon. When his uncle spotted him on the floor, he let out a sound of anger from somewhere in his throat, drawing Harry's attention to him. Another beating seemed eminent, and Harry tried to pull himself up faster, only to land in a heap again. His legs just wouldn't hold up even his meager weight.
Enraged, Vernon stomped across the room, and hauled Harry up by the neck. "Stupid boy. Think you're going to get out of chores do you? Well I've got news for you…"
Vernon continued to rant as he very nearly carried Harry out of the room by his neck, stopping at the top of the stairs. "Get down there and help your aunt!"
The second Vernon's hand released his neck, Harry felt his knees buckling again, and grabbed futilely for the balustrade of the stairs, only to feel a meaty hand pushing on his back. His first yell had Petunia rushing from the kitchen, her eyes watching in fear as Harry tumbled down the stairs, hitting his head on nearly every other one. The second yell was softer, and followed shortly by a thud as Harry hit the wall on the first landing. A picture rattled on its nail, then came crashing down onto Harry's head, the frame circling his neck a bit like a necklace. Petunia let out a muted scream, and then looked up at her husband who seemed shocked at the results of his pushing the boy.
"Vernon," she pleaded, "what on earth have you done?" She glanced at Harry, and then back to her husband, who was now looking at her, clearly surprised to see her there. "If he's…dead…" the word came out in a whisper, "those people…they'll do the same or worse to us! You heard them at the train station. They'll be expecting to hear from him!"
Cautiously, Vernon made his way down the stairs, then knelt down at the boys side, checking for signs of life. His eyes seemed sunken and worried when he looked up into the worried gaze of his wife. "I can't find a pulse."
Shock registered first, then fear, and the latter had Petunia backing into a wall and sinking to the floor. Shaking hands covered her mouth as she looked at the still form of her nephew, whom she had promised to care for 15 years ago. And for the first time in those fifteen years, she felt that she had failed in the task. In fact, she was quite certain she had failed miserably. "Vernon…" Her eyes raised to her husband, who was now standing up, his own back against the wall, eyes fixed on the lifeless form below him. "Vernon," she repeated, finally drawing his gaze to her again. "We have to do something. I can write Dumbledore, tell him Harry is ill and told me to write the letter. Explain it's a simple cold."
Vernon nodded mutely, then bent, picking up Harry just as the front door opened, admitting Dudley into the hall. His son's eyes fixed on Harry's form, thrown like a rag doll over Vernon's shoulder, then moved to his mother. "What happened?"
"Harry fell down the stairs, Dudley. Your father's going to take care of it. Go to your room, and I'll call you when dinner is ready."
Dudley seemed to accept this for now, and edged past his father on the stairs. Once his bedroom door was closed, Vernon went down the last four steps, then into the kitchen, Petunia hot on his heels. She grabbed a rag and dampened it in the sink, then hurried back into the hall to clean up the blood on the wall and to pick up the remnants of the fallen picture. With her gone, Vernon headed into the backyard, then dumped his burden under some hedgerows alone the fence. Once he was satisfied Harry was well hidden, he turned, feeling little remorse over the death of the young wizard. But the fact that without careful planning, he'd have a house full of fully grown wizards had him plotting an escape. He would not allow them to do wreck his well constructed life, thank you very much. And with that in mind, Vernon strode purposefully into the house, yelling for Petunia.
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Four days after the accident -
"I drink my drink and I don't even want to
I think my thoughts when I don't even need to
I never look back cause I don't even want to
And I don't need to
Because I'm getting away with murder" (1)
Dumbledore,
I'm sorry for not writing to you sooner, but Vernon has been watching me like a hawk. Two days ago, Vernon pushed Harry down the stairs at our home, and I'm not quite sure of Harry's condition. Vernon didn't find a pulse, but he was drunk at the time, and I don't know if he actually knew what he was doing. You must check on him. He should be in the back yard, near the fence. Tell him I'm sorry for not intervening. I have no excuse, other than sheer fear of what my husband might do. Please let me know if he's alright when you can.
Petunia Dursley
Albus Dumbledore sat back in his chair, scanning the note in front of him. Hedwig had arrived with it barely five minutes ago, and was now resting next to Fawkes on the phoenix's perch. Frowning deeply, he rose and walked around his massive desk, going to the fire. Taking a handful of powder from the pot next to the fireplace, he threw it in, speaking clearly as he stepped into the now green flames. "12 Grimmauld Place."
The world around him seemed to revolve faster and faster, finally slowing down a few seconds later. He stepped out from the fireplace of 12 Grimmauld place gracefully, quickly taking stock of who was present.
As it was dinner time, Molly Weasley was busy at the stove, putting the finishing touches on what was to be not doubt, a superb dish. Her husband, Arthur, was carrying a dish of potatoes over to the table, carrying on a conversation with Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks. At the far end of the table, the Weasley twins, Fred and George were bent over a piece of parchment, no doubt thinking up a new invention for their joke shop. While next to them, Ron and Ginny were talking rather animatedly about Quidditch, and Hermione listened in, obviously bored with the topic. But the second the flames roared to life, admitting Dumbledore into the kitchen, all conversation stopped and all heads turned towards him. For the first week and a half of summer, his presence at the house had been rare, as he had his duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts to take care of. So this sudden appearance meant something big had happened.
"Remus, Alastor, I need to speak with you in the study. Now."
With a flick of his robes, Albus lead the way up the stairs and into the first floor study, followed closely by the two he had named. The second both were in the room, he shut and locked the door with a flick of his wand, then added a silencing charm for good measure.
"I need you to go to Privet Drive immediately. Harry's been injured, and needs to be brought back here, or depending on his exact condition, to St. Mungos. I'll leave that decision up to you. He may be in the backyard, but search the entire area if need be. Now go."
The two men in front of him nodded, and apparated almost immediately. With a sigh, Dumbledore headed back to the kitchen to wait for information. Hopefully all was well with Harry. But if it wasn't…There was a brief flicker of anger in the normally twinkling blue eyes. Merlin help Vernon for laying a hand on the boy, for he had a host of protectors. And Dumbledore wasn't known as the greatest wizard of the age for nothing.
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Privet Drive, same day -
When Remus and Alastor arrived at Privet Drive, both hurried towards Number four. From the front, the house seemed abandoned, and when then entered the home, there was no difference. Furniture and personal effects were still laying around, but it was obvious from the state of the bedrooms that someone had packed in a rush. Harry's Hogwarts trunk was still at the foot of his bed, and they didn't bother searching through it other than to make sure he wasn't in it. Outside in the backyard, their search again proved fruitless. But under the hedgerows near the fence, they found footprints that seemed somewhat recent.
"He's been here…two days ago or so," Remus said, sniffing the air. And not for the first time, the thanked Merlin that the enhanced senses of his werewolf form carried over into his human form.
Behind him, Moody nodded, looking around with his magical eye. "Not anywhere around here now, though."
Sighing, Remus stood straight and glanced at Moody. "We need to inform Dumbledore, and get others to help us search the area."
With another nod from Mad-Eye, the two apparated to the street outside the Headquarters for the Order, then hurried inside when they were sure the coast was clear. Dumbledore was seated at the kitchen table, simply enjoying a cup of tea when the two men burst into the room. His blue eyes looked up sharply, and when the door banged against the wall, all others in the room turned to see what was going on.
"He's not there…"
"What?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking curiously between Dumbledore and Remus.
Sighing, Dumbledore turned his eyes to those seated at the table. "It would seem that our young Mr. Potter has gone missing."
And with those words, Hermione felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. If Harry was missing, and Dumbledore hadn't realized it till today…Then Merlin only knew what had happened to him.
Oh god…let him be alright…
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A/N: Sorry for the shortness of this, but I can't end it elsewhere and have it fit in with how I've got this planned. So…look for another chapter when I can get it in. I do need to finish Faith's next chapter first though.
Oh…and for those who are wondering about the whole Hedwig taking a note from Petunia to Dumbledore thing, here's my idea on that:
Vernon has taken his wife and son out of the country. Hedwig was unable to find Harry through some fluke when she returned from hunting one night, and as such, searched out the Dursleys. Petunia kept Hedwig hidden the first few hours, then while Vernon slept, she wrote the note to Dumbledore and sent it with Hedwig. I'd imagine it would take Hedwig around two days at least to fly from France or somewhere to Hogwarts, and that's if she flew nearly all night too. There may be discrepancies in the timeline here, but I've got a lot to fit into his summer, so therefore part of the timeline would have been off anyway. Thanks for reading!