Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Spontaneous Action	By : Bagheera Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1446 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Dead Stag
- 2-Beyond the Stars
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: The usual.
Warnings: Blood, Vampires, Ron being not much more foulmouthed than usual, abuse of alcohol, Harry being slightly suicidal... or rather careless, future slash and past het.

Pairings: Future Ron/Harry (no love, mind you... just fooling around), future Draco/Ron (no love, mind you... just Draco being obsessive), future Snape/ Remus Lupin (no love, mind you... am I right?!) and past Ron/Hermione (mere idiocy...).
Included Characters:The trio, Draco, Snape, Lupin, Fred and George, Neville, Ginny, Hagrid, Dumbledore... minor muggle OC's... well, actually everybody might make an appearance. Yes, even Sirius, all though this is post-OP.
A/N: My view of vampires hopefully doesn�t conflict too much with the HP verse, I tried to stay true to the few things said in the books. If not, then I am influenced by Anne Rice and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Merlin forgive me.
Thanks for R&R!

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1 Dead Stag
Hermine was looking quite like that ugly cat of hers, as they passed by her in the common room, Ron thought. It was not meant as an insult, not even a quiet one, as she was really staring at them in exactly the way Crookshanks would if you had done something wrong. Her eyes were following them, accusing and disapproving, just not yellow but brown. It suddenly reminded Ron of when he had first noticed that they were brown. Really noticed. Harry was hurrying, so he didn�t get a longer glance at them, but when they had almost reached the portrait hole, Ginny�s voice rang from behind them.
"Where are you going?" she demanded. Harry turned, his look one of �just ignore her�. But Ron shrugged at his sister. She was � nobody would deny that � one of Gryffindor�s most beautiful girls, but she was still his little sister and was asking him this just like she had when she had been a tiny first-year.
"Hogsmeade," he said.
"But -," she protested, but to their surprise it was Hermione who stopped her, shutting her potions book and putting it away. Her eyes rested on Harry as she spoke.
"Let them go, Ginny. They know what they are doing... at least one of them!"
"What d�you mean?" Ron felt that this had been some hidden insult to him once more. He really, really liked Hermione, but this was the reason why it hadn�t worked out with them in his opinion. Because Hermione was still, after so many years, thinking deep down in her mind that she was somehow more responsible, cleverer and, yes, better than him.
"Nothing," she replied tiredly. "Nothing that you�d listen to."
"Come on," Harry prodded, ignoring her. Together they left, Ron still fuming half-heartedly.
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"What was that about?" Neville wondered as he sat down in a chair next to Hermione and Ginny. Ginny noticed how he always moved so very softly and quietly around them, not seeming to move at all, but to melt with his background. He had suddenly become a lot taller this summer, and it had taken away some of his weight, but his face was still very soft and round.
"Harry," Hermione said darkly.
"Oh," Neville answered, not wanting any more information.
Hermione looked at the clock on the red walls. Eleven forty-nine it said, almost midnight. It was Thursday, and tomorrow there would be lessons, but Harry didn�t care. It was January, and in a few month the seventh-year Gryffindors would have to pass their OWLs, but Harry didn�t care. Ever since the end of their fifth year, this not-caring had been a steady process. It was a strange effect. He had lost some of his rigid moodiness, and instead had become cheerier, brighter and careless, like someone who has nothing to fear. Not because there are not threats, but because he doesn�t care. Not for himself.
She had finally confronted him about this that fall, and had, during a heated fight, learned what it was about. The prophecy, that cursed thing, hadn�t been destroyed in the department of mysteries two years ago. At least, it hadn�t been lost. Because the man who had originally heard it was still alive : Albus Dumbledore. And he had told Harry about its contents. Harry would die, die and take Voldemort with him. At least that was what Harry had told her. She had read about this, or rather, tried to read. But there was nothing to find in the library.
His behaviour reminded her of someone who has just learned that he has only a few months left to live. Someone who suddenly hasn�t got to care for anything anymore, not his education, his job or his money. Someone who suddenly has nothing left to do but live life to its fullest. So he had started to neglect school (more than even before, she thought), to spend his afternoons playing quidditch instead of doing his homework, to spend his nights at Hogsmeade instead of sleeping. His teachers had reacted very differently. Most of them, like Hagrid, or Professor Sprout, had simply looked very worried but had been to stricken to say anything. Professor McGonagall had confronted him about it, but nothing had come of that talk. Snape had been the only one to simply accept it. Hermione didn�t know if he knew about the prophecy, but she suspected it strongly. His behaviour towards Harry stayed exactly the same, even though Harry�s behaviour did not. He had become outright defying and provocative towards Snape, but the potions master mostly kept his temper.
Finally, even Dumbledore had talked to him. It had been a very short talk. Since then, no teacher had tried to change anything. Hermione didn�t understand it. It made her angry. Didn�t they see how wrong it was? They were showing Harry exactly the wrong signs: that it was right what he did, that he had reason to give up already. She would certainly not do that. But most of all it was Ron who angered her: because he played along. They had been together, that fall, for not more than three weeks, and she thought of it as the most foolish thing she had ever done. Yes, of course, she loved Ron, as a friend, as a brother almost, as a companion and a comrade in fight, as somebody who would be loyal and foolishly brave no matter what happened � but she did not love him. No, the man of her dreams, if such a creature existed, was certainly not Ron Weasley. It had been the same idiotic thing that ad driven her to her interlude with Krum : that feeling that she was not exactly anybody�s dream girl, that she was lucky if she�d get anybody at all, that she should at least once have had a boyfriend during her Hogwarts years.
When she had come together with Ron, her dormitory mates Lavender and Parvati had reacted like she had suddenly grown another head.
"But Hermione," Lavender had called, gripping a stuffy pink cushion, "we were betting when you�d get together with Harry!"
"Ron Weasley," Parvati had added. "Don�t you see how wrong that is? You and Harry are made for each other!"
"Yes," Lavender had sque, ", "I mean its sad and all, for us other witches, but it is a thing we have to accept : you and Harry are a couple! Soul mates! Destined love! The stars have aligned to bring you together!"
It had been the strangest and most embarrassing thing she had ever heard, next to Ron�s stammered confession of love that evening.
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They used several secret passages to Hogsmeade shown on the marauder�s map, trying to avoid being regular, so Filch wouldn�t be able to catch them. But today he had nearly been lucky and they had to use "plan B".
The Hogwarts grounds were covered in thick snow, thicker and whiter than anywhere in Britain, of that Harry was sure. He had never actually seen that much snow in Surrey before his first year. The snow was muting every sound, but you could be spotted easier in the black wizard cloaks, too. So it had been no wonder that Hagrid had noticed them so quickly. He had been carrying a very big stag, obviously dead, the head dangling, with its soft dark eyes, and its big snout, and the huge antlers nearly touching the stone. Harry had neveen aen a dead stag before. He saw blood dripping down as black liquid into the snow but he could not see the wound.
"Harry! Ron!" he called, his voice rumbling by far too loud through the night. They waited for him, the full moon illuminating the night.
"What�re yeh doin� out here?" he asked suspiciously.
"Hogsmeade," Harry said, still staring at the dead stag. It had white, speckled fur, but the moon and the snow gave it a silvery glow. He shivered.
"Oh ... all righ� then..," he slowly said, obviously not knowing that it was no Hogsmeade weekend. He seemed troubled by something else, but suddenly his rough face lit up.
"Hogsmeade yer sayin�? Eh... wan� ta do old me a favour?"
"Um, well," Ron said nervously, already guessing that this would be trouble. Hagrids favours almost always contained huge and dangerous and not to forget illegal creatures.
"I�ve bin tryin� ter make a deal with some lad there, for ages, I tell yeh, an� he�s finally agreed jus� last night!" He pointed at the dead animal on his shoulder that was still bleeding quietly into the snow.
"But there�s bin a somethin� out in the forest, yeh know? Have ter go to Dumbledore." He hesitated a moment, obviously struggling with his wish to make that deal, whatever it was and the responsibility for his students.
"Yeh haven� gotta do much, all righ�? Jus� go and see this lad, an� give him this ..." he let the stag slump into the snow with a wet thud and rummaged around in his mole fur coat for something.
"Meet him �n the Hog�s Head, will yeh? Short lad with a hood, he is."
"Um," Ron said again, trying to see what Hagrid had just thrown in his hand.
"Great!" Hagrid beamed, and shouldered the cadaver once more. Its form had been imprinted in the snow with blood. "Have ter go now," he suddenly growled and wanted to go. But Harry still looked at him.
"What has happened to it?" he asked.
"Eh? Oh, that - ?" Hagrid shrugged. "Somethin�. Gotta ask Dumbledore �bout it. All righ� then..." and off he was. Harry stared after him. Ron wondered what had got into him, he was unusually quiet. Then he realised it slowly. The stag. The stag was Harry�s Patronus. He looked at the small packet in his hands. It was roughly wrapped in dark and somehow slightly wet leather and as he opened it, it contained a single galleon and some quills. Or, no, these weren�t quills, but feather ripped from some huge animal, maybe a swan or a goose or... a hippogriff? Harry looked at it and shrugged.
"Should we really do this?" Ron asked.
"Of course," Harry said. "Aren�t you curious?"
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Only a few hundred metreay, ay, two figures were standing at the edge of the forest, watching the scene quietly. They saw hoe twe two boys stopped at Hagrid approached, how he let the stag drop and gave the red-haired boy a packet, and then they parted, Hagrid heading for the castle, the two boys for the whomping willow.
Both figures were clad in dark cloaks from head to toe, and hoods veiled their faces. They were both not very tall but slender, and moved with silent, dangerous grace. A pale hand came from one of the cloaks, touching the shoulder of the taller figure slightly.
"They really did it," a voice from the hood said, sounding cool and melodious. "You�re brilliant." A hand clad in leather reached for the pale finger and lead them to the hood, kissing them.
"Of course," the second figure said, the voice just a small touch deeper. For a second one might have seen a silver mask glimmering under the black hood.
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Hogsmeade was actually really just a very, very small village, and on work days one of the most boring places to be. Harry and Ron, having been there countless times, paid no attention to the neatly snow-covered houses and the brightly lit windows, to the decoration still lasting from the holidays and the warm welcoming atmosphere, but headed straightway for the Hog�s Head. They would have gone there anyway, as Harry always suspected Madame Rosmerta of spying on the students for Hogwarts, more specifically, for Dumbledore.
The Hog�s had was as always � smelly and dimly lit, crowded and loud in a rough and unwelcoming way. They sat down at the counter first, looking at the other guests, searching for a short, hooded man.
"Damn," Ron said, and Harry nodded. About seventy percent of the customers were hooded men, the rest were either hooded women, hooded people of no intelligible gender or beings to obvious to even try and hide their identity : trolls, goblins and even a gibbering old hag.
The bartender greeted them with a curt nod. He was a very old man, tall and grey-haired, with a beard and a crooked nose and bloodshot blue eyes.
"The usual?" he asked. They nodded. Soon two glasses of fire whiskey stood before them. Harry glanced around the room, a wry grin forming on his face. "This�ll be a long night..."

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Two, or maybe four hours later, Ron had long given up the search for Hagrid�s �friend�, but Harry had in the meanwhile talked to at least five hooded men, bargaining with them until at last he always returned to their place with a shrug and a shaking of his head. He se to to be full of energy, while Ron was getting more and more tired, his head dragging him towards the wood of the bar.
"Let�s give it up, �arry," he mumbled but Harry was on his feet again. He groaned.
"Another one?" a silky voice suddenly said next to him, pointing at his almost empty glass. The second? The third?
"Um," Ron said, thinking hard. Then he looked at the person, seeing another hooded figure. She, as it was a woman clearly beneath her deep purple robes, was built lightly and rather short, but seemed to have a nice body. She took back her hood now, revealing a glistening mane of red-blonde curls. Ron blinked, at first he thought she had snow in her hair, but it seemed to glisten by itself. Her face looked no older than his and her eyes, pale crystals, caught his gaze and wouldn�t release them.
"Hullo," he said lamely. She smiled, and he could not have said what kind of smile it was, as he only saw her teeth, so white... everything about her seemed to be made of crystals, of pearls, of diamonds... hard and gleaming and pure.
"What�s your name?" she asked.
"Ron." He grinned.
"Hello Ron." She smiled.
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"Let�s go Ro � ", Harry stopped. Ron was already gone. His seat by the counter was empty, his glass of whiskey still there, not quite empty.
"He just left," the hoarse voice of the bartender imed med him.
"Left?" Harry asked dumbly. "Where to?" The old man shrugged, cleaning a glass with a towel.
"Seemed quite happy to me. Would have been that, too, with that little lady-friend of his...".
"Lady?!" Harry stared at him. Ron was famous for not having luck with the ladies. Even his closeness to Harry Potter couldn�t help that. It was something that Harry wasn�t really angry about, as there was at least one person worse with girhan han him.
"Sweet little thing... but if you ask mot qot quite his league." Girls actually didn�t visit the pub very often. Harry wondered if maybe this had been not simply a girl. His vigilance kicked in, warning him of something. It was that kind of feeling he always got once something was wrong. Normally, something meant Voldemort or similar people.
"Okay... ". He looked around. People seemed to watch him, from under the shadows of their cloaks, only sl ave averting their gazes. It was almost quiet... he was all of a sudden aware that they probably all knew who he was. He threw a number of coins onto the wood, and murmured "Good night" to the bartender.
Outside, it was snowing. The windows of the stores were still alight, but everything was dead silent. Snow was tumbling down like in a slowed down movie. The moon was gone. He looked for traces in the snow, but everything was gone, fresh snow like a perfect blanket around his feet.
"Ron?" he called. No answer. He cursed. Ron normally held his drinks well, but he did stupid things when he was drunk, like betting money he didn�t have or... or leaving with girls he didn�t know.
The sign of the Hog�s Head, a hog�s head severed from its body and bleeding with primitive red spots as blood, creaked as it moved in a breeze that Harry couldn�t feel. His glasses became foggy in the sudden cold and he had to put them down and clean them with his cloak. Suddenly a high pitched scream, like a banshee meeting Jack the Ripper in a dark alley echoed through Hogsmeade. Only that it sounded as if Jack the Ripper had screamed in fear, not the banshee. Harry cursed.
"Ron!" He called and run into the direction of the scream, retrieving his wand from his cloak without thinking about who or what to expect. He run past Gladrag�s and Zonko�s, down the main street of Hogsmeade, tumblin thn the almost knee deep snow. Sweat pooled in his neck and became cold on the icy air, and he dimly remembered having forgot his shawl.
"Ron! Where are you!" he yelled, not carfor for the Hogsmeade people waking up at four in the morning.

And as he ran between the silent houses of the village, beneath the cheery Christmas decoration and the starless sky, he suddenly realised what Hermione had meant. He knew what he did and he had reasons for it. But Ron didn�t and Ron was not meant to die. He was not endangering himself, as there was no way of getting himself into any more danger than he was already in � but he was endangering Ron.

TBC...
Next: Chapter 2 � Beyond the Stars
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