Glacies Nexium
Chapter 2: Muggles
by hpotter225
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Warning: This chapter contains graphic violence and gore, not for the faint of heart.
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For the tenth time that morning, Ron growled in frustration. "How do Muggles stand these contraptions?"
Harry and Hermione sniggered as they watched Ron from the counter as he struggled on the couch with new a pair of overly tight jeans. He disappeared behind the backrest for a few moments and then sighed in exasperation.
"Maybe you should have tried them on first, Ron," suggested Hermione.
"Maybe I should have…" grumbled Ron. "Maybe next time I'll give that horrendous woman a piece of my mind! Trying to sell me torn up jeans… Like I wouldn't notice. Honestly!"
Hermione nearly fell out of her chair from laughter. Ron looked scandalized.
"Well, if that's the way you feel," he said in mock-hurt, "then I'll just leave." He hopped to his feet, shot Harry and Hermione a snobby look, and hobbled from the room.
"When he grows up will be the day we all die," muttered Hermione, shaking her head amusedly. "Luckily, we don't have much to worry about."
"Speak for yourself," said Harry blandly, taking a deep drink of his traditional morning coffee. He smacked his lips and placed his mug down on the table, thoroughly satisfied with the bitter flavor. Every summer since he turned eleven, he had drunk coffee in the morning. He used to like it sweet and creamy, but since the beginning of his 17th summer he liked it black.
"So," began Hermione, "why here? Why Muggles?"
Harry smirked. "The Order has done such a good job hiding and protecting me that I figured I would take myself off their hands. If they can't find me, then I strongly doubt Voldemort will find me. Besides, I think McGonagall would try to make us go back to Hogwarts. We don't have time for that."
"You mean you don't intend on telling anyone where we are?" Hermione asked, appalled that Harry would even suggest such abhorrence.
"We have a winner," Harry said jokingly.
Hermione swatted him on the shoulder from across the counter. "That's not funny, Harry," she reprimanded. "They'll be worried sick!"
"At least they'll have something to do," Harry responded truthfully, "other than baby sit me and make sure that I stay out of trouble."
"You know they didn't do that," said Hermione, folding her arms across her chest. "They were just looking out for you."
"While keeping me in the dark about everything and treating me like a child," Harry continued. "Now I'm the one with the information and it's about time they experienced some of their own medicine."
"No," Hermione said firmly. "That's not right. They're the adults."
"If you don't like it then you can leave," said Harry. "It will end up better for you in the long run anyways."
The door swung open as Hermione opened her mouth to speak. Ron strode in, decked out in full Wizard robes and a baseball cap. He glared at Harry and Hermione with a look that dared them to speak.
"That's, umm, nice Ron?" asked Harry. "The red hat really doesn't go with your dark green robes. Sorry. Neither does your hair."
"You should have gotten the navy robes, Ron," chided Hermione. "I knew you would look terrible in those."
"Gee, thanks guys," said Ron with irritation. "My confidence is flying high now. Excuse me while I burn my clothes out back." He saw the serious expression on Hermione's face, however, and decided it would be better to stay. "What's wrong?" he asked, crossing the room and sliding into the seat next to Hermione.
As Hermione turned to answer Ron, Harry leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. He had noticed that the dynamic in his best friends' relationship was strikingly one sided. Ron cared, of course, and so did Hermione, but it was apparent that she didn't quite understand what she was getting into. It appeared that Ron wanted a typical Hollywood relationship with witty banter and arguments followed by making out. Hermione, on the other hand, wanted to sit around and talk. The two ideas did not mix well.
Harry quickly became bored watching his two friends converse, so he stood up and walked out into the hall of the hotel. The smell was repugnant. Harry had chosen the worst hotel he could find because he reasoned that it would be the most difficult place for him to be found. He suddenly regretted his decision as he watched two drunken women stumble down the hall to the stairs. He nearly gagged as he heard the sound of retching immediately after they rounded the corner.
Seeing no one around, Harry slipped his wand out of his sleeve. Ever since Dobby had set off the underage magic detectors in his second year, he had slowly come to the realization that the Ministry didn't track the wand user, but rather the location. Since they sent him a letter when he didn't perform the magic, then that meant they didn't know who cast the spell. They only knew it came from his house.
Now seemed like the best time to test his theory, with no one around and plenty of wretched, odorous infections to clean. He brandished his wand and raised it into the air.
"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?"
Harry froze. "I'm cleaning up this stench."
"You aren't cleaning that with your wand," commanded Hermione as she rounded on him. "You're not of age."
"They won't know I did it, though," said Harry. "They only track the location, and not the caster."
Hermione folded her arms as Ron came out of the room behind her. "You don't think they would expect underage magic coming from a Muggle area in Britain?"
She was right, of course, Harry knew. She was always right. And suddenly it came to Harry that she knew a lot, she was a powerful Witch, and she could apply her knowledge. Why, then, was he the one destined to kill Voldemort? She was far more qualified than him. Yet he was glad she wasn't. He didn't wish his fate on anyone else.
"You're right," Harry agreed, pocketing his wand. "I'm just going to go for a walk," he said, seeing Ron standing close, almost protectively behind Hermione. "If I'm not back in a couple hours then I'm probably fine."
"Why don't we all go? We could use some fresh air," Hermione suggested brightly.
"No," said Harry pointedly. "I'll be back." He turned on his heel and headed to the stairs.
"Change out of those wretched clothes, Ron," Harry heard as he began his descent. Then the voices faded away.
Harry breathed the fresh air deeply as he exited the front of the hotel. It seemed to flow through his body, cleansing the filth that he had inhaled inside. The sunlight washed over him, reflecting off his pitch black hair and off into the distance. He spread his arms out wide and shut his eyes, tilting his hear towards the sky.
After another deep breath, Harry took off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, passing quite a few tourists and stragglers on his way. He didn't know where he was going, or even why he was going. He was just going.
A few street corners later, Harry stopped as he saw a crowd of Muggles rushing down the street to his left. Someone jumped up and cupped his hands around his mouth, hollering loudly over the bustle. "Don't do it, man!" The crowd pushed even harder and began hollering louder. Harry turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.
At the end of the street was an old church with a large stained glass window almost covering the front side. The roof was slanted to either side around the entrance and a large steeple grew up in the front. Below the steeple was a tall window, and in the window was a young boy, held up only by his grip on the exterior stones.
The blood in Harry's veins seemed to explode with fire. He was already halfway to the building by the time he realized he was in a sprint.
Suddenly, the crowd stood still and the clouds came to a stop. The swaying trees and grass halted as Harry flew down the street, covered by the shadow of the massive steeple. His movements were completely silent and swift. He shoved open the door and rain straight ahead into a spiral staircase, a picture of the boy imprinted in his mind. There was something odd about him. And there wasn't much time. But there was all the time in the world.
"Open the door!" shouted Harry as he struggled with the handle at the end of the stairway. It was locked.
Silence followed.
"I said open this door," repeated Harry. "Now!"
More silence.
Then he heard it, amidst the roar of the crowd-an ear piercing scream. And suddenly all he could hear was his own heart pounding in his chest, threatening to jump into his throat. He kicked the door open and frantically lunged for the window.
It was empty.
Harry dashed to the window and grabbed onto the edges to stop from falling out. The sight on the ground was gruesome. He stumbled backwards and shut his eyes, leaning back against the cold stone wall.
"Why if it isn't Harry Potter," drawled a familiar voice. "What a pleasant surprise."
Harry's eyes snapped open. He had no words to speak to Bellatrix. His mind could not function. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, horrible, disgusting, perverted. Everything clicked at once-the glazed look of the child, the irresponsiveness of his eyes, the extended wand.
"The Dark Lord will be pleased. He has blessed me with the honor of killing you."
The words did not register. Harry's mind was still repeatedly flashing images of the innocent boy standing in the window. He figured out what was wrong with the image. It was the glint of wood in the background. The wand, the sunlight reflected off the eyes in the background, it all made sense.
"Good bye, Harry. Crucio."
The spell nailed Harry in the chest and the fire in his veins became an apparent reality. It spread through his skin and bones, through every organ in his body. His nerves didn't even consider reacting.
Harry turned towards Bellatrix.
"Crucio," she repeated. "You nasty little boy. Avada Kedavra!"
The green light moved towards him, inching through the air at a grudgingly slow pace. Harry didn't care. His eyes were locked on Bellatrix.
Destroy, mangle, rip, tear her, insisted a voice in Harry's head. She is nothing, insignificant, meaningless. You are ten times her. She is weak, defenseless, and miniscule. Crush her.
Harry smiled. He looked down and wondered when his feet had left the ground. He turned his head back to Bellatrix. She was staring where he was, seemingly oblivious to his movement. His arm moved freely in the air towards her face. His hand glowed red. His palm opened. His fingers spread and bent at the tips.
In a single motion his arm snapped into a straight line and the killing curse dissipated against the wall. For one instant, Harry saw the terror in Bellatrix's eyes. In the next instant her skull was bashed against the wall and her limbs departed from their home in her body.
Blood all over the ceiling and walls, splattered on the floor and on the door, covered Harry's legs and waist as he landed in a crouch. It seeped through the small cracks in the wooden floor, dripping down the side and splashing on the stone steps below.
Excellent, laughed the voice in his head. Excellent, indeed.
"No!" shouted Harry maniacally, ripping the door from its hinges and hurling it out the window. He punched the wall in a blind rage and felt his hand shatter against the hard surface. His vision swirled with red as he jumped down the stairs five at a time, sliding his hands on the slick wall. He ran through the crowd of Muggles as if they weren't there and stared at his smashed hands as though they were awkward and unfit for his arms.
Somehow, he arrived back at the hotel. By the time his hand closed on the handle to his room, his mind had returned enough for him to feel the blinding pain shooting through his arm. He pushed the door open and fell into the room.
"Harry!" he heard a voice shout over his pumping heart.
But his vision filled with blackness and he heard no more.
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A/N:
I have an odd feeling that this will be the end of the road for most potential readers. I'm sorry if this is so, but this is the way the chapter came out and I am far too lazy to change it. If it's horrible, please tell me. If it's too repulsive, I will rewrite it. If it's good, I will continue.
Please review and give me your thoughts!
Thanks for reading.
Until next time…
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