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Death of a Raven	By : dime Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 7805 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter book and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from or intend any harm with the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: This is the translation of my German fic 'Rabentod'.
Unfortunately, the 'RAB' idea only works out in German, but I think
the story might still be worth reading without it. ^^ Please let me
know if I kept any glaringly obvious German formulations in my text.

Also, if you like the story, please have a look at the Doujinshi
Tesla is drawing for it: D

http://animexx.onlinewelten.com/doujinshi/zeichner/301624/output/40448/

Please note: Hogwarts starts at age 12. In his 7th year, Harry is 18 years old.

Death
of a Raven

by Dime

Prologue
-

Happy
Birthday to Me

11:59 p.m.

A pair of green eyes was following the progress of
the longest hand on a battered old alarm clock sitting upon the
nightstand. Come on, Harry thought.

Only 40 more seconds... 38... 35... Harry was
struggling to keep a hold on himself. He had no wish to move the hand
forward with his accidental magic. Even though he had been staring at
it for hours, waiting impatiently for the clock to finally indicate
12 o'clock.

10 seconds left now... 5... 4... 3... 2... only
one more...

Harry's heels twitched. He was kneeling on the
bed, his eyes glued to the hand indicating the hours. Finally, the
crooked grey strip of metal gave the all-important lurch forward.

Midnight.

Harry uttered a wild,
joyous howl and jumped up. Wasting not a single thought on the
Dursleys, he tore open the door of his little room, ran down the
hallway, stomped down the stairs and finally slid to a screeching
halt in front of the cupboard that had been his home for ten of the
first eleven years of his life.

He extended one hand
and pointed to the door.

"Alohomora!"

The door burst open.
Harry lovingly gazed at the odd collection of piled-up paraphernalia
which represented his whole possessions: a big cauldron, filled to
the brim with school books and parchments - in the course of six
years at Hogwarts, he had accumulated a great deal of texts and
essays. In between those pages upon pages of school work, a
shimmering silver cloak was hidden, along with a broom boasting the
letters 'Firebolt' - Harry gave it a smile as though seeing a
favourite acquaintance of old. Behind the cauldron sat a large empty
bird cage, also a package full of ingredients for a great many
potions, writing utensils, an innocent-looking 'spare bit of
parchment', neatly folded and stowed for safe-keeping inside a book
by the name of 'Quidditch through the Ages'... And finally, there was
the item which had prompted Harry's mad dash though the house: his
wand.

Oh, how he'd missed it!

This year had been
worse than ever. Not that he'd had reason to fear an attack. Far from
it. He had finally defeated Voldemort, after the Dark Lord had shown
up on time for the end of the school year in order to give Harry a
new bundle of guilt and nightmares to take with him into the
vacations like every year. Habit, I suppose. Voldemort had
been vanquished and Harry had hoped to finally be free of the
Dursleys. But no. Dumbledore had insisted.

You know yourself that too many Death Eaters
are still at large, Harry. They are a danger to you. We must not take
this lightly. You will do best to spend the holidays with your aunt
and uncle, just this one last time.

Sometimes, Harry really
didn't like the headmaster.

No. One. Bit.

Harry had been angry.
Hadn't he just defeated Voldemort, a wizard of such power that the
whole Wizarding World had cowered before him in fear? Then why
couldn't he be trusted to take care of himself? This was so
ridiculous.

At least, Dumbledore
and Minister Fudge had felt sufficiently obliged to him that they'd
allowed him to do magic 'at home' (by which they meant the Dursleys')
starting with his eighteenth birthday - which, by rights, he should
have been allowed anyway. But when had the normal laws ever applied
to Harry Potter?

---

So here he was now.

"Harry Potter!!!"

Vernon Dursley's mighty
body was waltzing down the stairs, his angry little eyes screaming
murder at his nephew. His head was the colour of an over-ripe tomato
and a little vein on his forehead was pulsing and looked to be on the
brink of a nasty explosion. Just like the whole man.

Harry slowly turned
around.

For years, he'd
suffered the Dursleys' abuse. They had starved him to the point he
was unlikely to ever grow to his full height inherited from his
parents. They had lied to him about said parents and heritage. They
had never let an opportunity pass to show him how unworthy and
deficient he was; very likely, he would yet be struggling with this
trained self-depreciation for years to come. They had not clothed him
adequately. Never had taken him to the zoo, the cinema, to a
restaurant, or anywhere, really, if they could avoid it. There were
many features of the Muggle world he knew less about than a pureblood
wizard. Thanks to Dudley, he had never found any friends at school.
Aunt Petunia had been all too happy to heap a major part of the house
work upon his slim shoulders only a short time after he learned to
speak. And Uncle Vernon...

Harry thoughtfully
considered the obese man who had come to an abrupt stop in front of
him when he saw Harry's wand. Vernon Dursley had, during his whole
life, never had a single friendly word for Harry. He had always taken
his bad moods out on his nephew, at times accompanied by a ringing
slap to the face. Together, the three Dursleys had taught Harry to
consider himself a being which was of no importance to anyone at all.

It wasn't until
Hogwarts that Harry learned there were people in this world who cared
about him. The discovery had altered his life. He began to trust in
people, to laugh openly, tell others about his problems (though he
would never admit it, he did feel better every time after Hermione
had forced him to speak up about what was bothering him). Twice, he
had even thought someone were in love with him. However, he just
hadn't been able to deal with the broken-hearted Cho - he just could
not live his life knowing he would never be more to her than the
Number Two - and Ginny had eventually decided that no, she did not
love him. Maybe he was, after all, a person that no one could ever
truly love.

And whose fault is that?
he asked himself as his eyes narrowed in anger.

Harry had never been
able to defend himself against the Dursleys. Even when he had learned
that he was a wizard and had special powers, he had still been
forbidden to use those powers on the Dursleys, and his home life had
not changed one bit. They had mercilessly used his lack of permission
to perform any magic around them, had even forbidden him to do his
homework during his vacations.

But that was in the
past, now. He would never let them push him around and command him
again. It was his decision, now, when to get up in the morning,
whether to help with the household chores or what to eat for lunch.

He was free to use his
magic now.

Harry's lips narrowed
into a thin, hard line as he made his decision. He would no longer be
pushed around. By anyone.

Uncle Vernon had been
watching the emotions flickering across Harry's face, wondering
whether he could risk screaming at his nephew and punishing him when
the boy was holding a... a wand. He grunted in distaste. But he knew
well that the boy was not allowed to do... magic - another
grunt - outside his freak school. So he was not really dangerous.
Satisfied with his conclusion, Vernon got ready to call the boy on
his bluff.

"Boy, you will put
that thing back into the wardrobe right now! You are forbidden
to do anything freakish here, you know that perfectly well," he
said righteously. "Now get back to you room and I don't want to
hear another sound from you, is that clear? You woke us all up! That
will have to be punished. Tomorrow, it's gardening from sunup to
sundown for you, boy. And don't even think about breakfast, lunch or
dinner!"

To Vernon's great
displeasure, the boy did not look troubled by this announcement. In
fact, he was smiling.

And not moving one bit.

Vernon was furious.
"Boy, are you deaf? To your room, I said! Move it!"

Still, Harry remained
immobile. Had Vernon paid a little more attention, he might have
noticed that it was not a kind smile that stretched his nephew's
lips. But the red-faced man did not see anything beyond the fact that
his wife's disgusting, luckily long-dead brother-in-law's spawn was
defying his orders. He grabbed the lapels of Harry's worn-out old
pyjamas and raised one arm in order to remind the little demon-spawn
with a nice slap just who was the authority in this household.

He couldn't have known
that he was playing right into Harry's hands.

Harry raised his wand
with relish and hissed: "Petrificus totalus!"

Vernon froze in place.
Harry removed the man's meaty hand from his clothes. Then he leant in
to whisper into the irate man's ear: "Starting today, I am
officially allowed to do magic outside of school. You, Dursley, are
likely unable to imagine what that means, but you will find out soon
enough, I assure you. I owe you so much..."

Harry stepped back a
little to admire the effect of his words. He was rewarded with a
Vernon Dursley whose eyes were no longer sparkling in anger, but
rather wide with fear.

"Have you ever
wondered how I feel when you lose your temper at me? When you do your
worst to make me miserable, just because you're having a bad day? Can
you imagine what it's like to live every moment of every day in fear
of what those more powerful than you might do? No? Well, too bad. You
are about to find out..."

A shocked gasp from
upstairs made Harry raise his head. His eyes took in Petunia and
Dudley looking down at them with pale and frightened faces. They
seemed to have heard his little one-sided conversation with Vernon.

All the better.

He turned away
from his uncle and began to slowly ascend the stairs. His cousin and
aunt remained looking down at Vernon for a moment longer, then they
beat a hasty retreat. Harry raised his wand and forced them to stop
and look at him. He met his aunt's frightened gaze and growled: "I
know that through my mother, you have some idea of what damage a wand
can cause, dear aunt."

He spat the last words
in a manner that turned the endearment into a fierce insult; add to
that a twisting of his mouth as though at a bad taste and there could
be no doubt how dearly he truly held his aunt. Then he continued.

"Rest assured that
what my mother did was merely child's play. I, however, have been
training to defend myself against the darkest wizard of our age for
years - and you better believe I know quite a few spells that would
have thoroughly frightened my mother." Harry's face showed a
sinister smile and his eyes narrowed into slits as he slowly raised
his wand.

As soon as he released
his hold on Petunia and Dudley, they fled. Too frightened even to
scream, they high-tailed it back to the closest door and both dove
into the relative safety of Petunia and Vernon's bedroom. The door
was drawn shut behind them with a loud bang.

---

Harry gradually lowered
his wand until it hung relaxedly by his side. Then he scowled and the
evil smirk was extinguished. He raised a hand to wipe at the tired
corners of his mouth. Who would have thought that a sinister smile
could be this exhausting? Malfoy, Snape and Voldemort always made it
look so easy...

Calmly, Harry went back
to his room and closed the door. He was sure that his relatives would
leave him in peace for at least a day or two after this performance.
Still, he locked his door with some simple protective charms - just
because he could. Falling down onto his mattress with a happy sigh,
he thought about his friends and how he would probably get their owls
with some birthday presents any minute now. This time, his smile was
real and the warmth of it reached up to make his eyes glow with
happiness.

I will never again be abused and treated like
dirt. I will live my life to the fullest. That, I promised...him...

The memory of him
saddened Harry, as it always did. Angry with himself, Harry
rubbed at his suddenly moist eyes. Today was meant to be a happy day,
why was he crying again?

But how could one not
be melancholic with a grey ceiling like his overhead?, he tried to
distract himself. Harry sat up. This needed changing, right now!

"Solnyshko,"
he murmured and accompanied the Russian spell with a tiny motion of
his wand. Immediately, the walls and ceiling glowed in a resplendent,
warm yellow.

"Much better."
Then, he inspected the rest of his run-down room.

The grey, faded
bedsheets, one of two sets that Petunia had been using on his bed for
years, definitely had outlived their usefulness; the broken closet
door was truly annoying; the desk was a bad joke (but what would he
have written anyway, without access to his school books nor
permission to send Hedwig to his friends?); the stool was little
better; the empty window-sill looked abandoned and lifeless; the
window itself was still framed by grey chunks of cement where Vernon
had attempted a makeshift-repair after the twins had completely
ripped the thing out of the wall during their rescue mission...

There was a lot to do.
With a determined gesture, Harry rolled up the sleeves of his overly
large pyjamas and jumped right in.

---

A while later,
Harry was lazily turning an old sock into a flower pot. Huh,
roses? Harry frowned. He had
been thinking more along the lines of buttercups, not something this
pompous. How had this happened? Ah well, doesn't matter.

"Wingardium leviosa." The
flower pot hovered from the bed, on which Harry had settled down
again, over to the window-sill where it gently came to rest.
Meanwhile, Harry unconsciously wiped off his wand on his pyjama
pants. Ever since his first Halloween at Hogwarts, he had to think of
troll bogies when he used that spell. He had stopped paying attention
to it, but the reflex to clean his wand had tenaciously survived all
those years.

With a sigh, Harry sank
back into a big, fluffy pillow and inspected the fruits of his
labour.

Desk and chair were
clean and the wood sparkled as though polished. In the far right
corner, Harry had meticulously piled up his school books, next to
them stood an ink pot with magical ink (in rainbow colours!) and a
thin glass holding several quills.

Above the desk hung the
enlarged picture of his parents. It was his favourite from the album
Hagrid had given him in first year. Hermione, who knew how much he
loved his photos, had gifted him with a special solution last
Christmas that allowed him to copy a wizarding picture and also
taught him a spell to safely enlarge them without quality loss. His
inquiries into her sudden knowledge of wizarding photography had been
answered with a fierce blush and the mumbled words: "Victor's
secret hobby". Then she had thrown an apologizing look at Ron
which did not entirely dissolve the frown on his face, but at least
served to diminish it greatly.

Harry uttered a tired
sigh at the memory. Would his two friends ever manage to confess to
each other what everyone else already knew?

Anyway, Harry had
tested the solution right away and that same Christmas had applied it
to his favourite picture. In Hogwarts, it had taken pride of place
above his bed, but of course, he had been forbidden to openly put it
up at the Dursleys'. Moving pictures? Only over Vernon's dead body!

Harry thought that
could be arranged and remembering it just now, he felt tempted to
make at least some of his empty threats true, after all. At long last
he decided against it. Vernon would be sufficiently punished after a
night spent standing up rigidly in the kitchen, waiting for his
'freak' nephew to come back and torture, humiliate or kill him any
minute. Maybe that would be all it took to convince Vernon Dursley to
treat his nephew with the appropriate caution and respect in the
future.

Somehow, Harry doubted
that, but it didn't trouble him much. He would leave fierce revenge
to people like Snape or Malfoy any day, but under the given
circumstances, it would not be a hardship for him to be just a tiny
little bit... evil towards one Vernon Dursley.

When Harry finally went
to bed, he slept very well indeed.
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Death of a Raven