The Erlking

I got 412 (and counting, for the late reviewers) for WOLF. Can we see if The Erlking can beat that number by the time this is over with? Go on… give it a go…

Also, sorry again for the delay in the updates. My lecturers thought they were helping us by not giving us essays before Christmas… so now I have four of them due in two weeks and I only have one and a half done…. So… wish me luck!



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Words: 3,855
Chapter 6
The Uninvited Guest
November 1990.

Albania.

Three months were hardly consequential to someone who could not measure time. His previous body had shrivelled up and collapsed, rejecting his soul fragment from the empty shell. He had wandered, aimless, listless, searching. His follower was supposed to be here three months ago, but even while the Dark Lord waiting no one came to heed him. He had floated to and fro, possessing this and that in order to stay grounded.

Even that fool Wormtail had deserted him.

Gone to spy on the Muggle-loving red heads no doubt; to pretend he had uses. To prove he was useful. Voldemort snorted: or he would have had he been able to. Unfortunately, and as demeaning as this was, he was currently a spider. Don’t ask what kind, because the Dark Lord didn’t know. He did, however, know that he would definitely be needing a new body soon.

It could almost be a coincidence, but Voldemort didn’t believe in those. The lone Centaur was galloping straight towards him, but at the last minute, the beast seemed to spot the spider and reared backwards, slowing himself so he wouldn’t crush the creature. His moment of kindness was also a moment of weakness. His lack of speed was a hindrance. As Voldemort watched, a pack of hounds that seemed to float above the surface of the ground shot forward from the trees, howling and foaming at the mouths. They jumped, mid pounce bearing their teeth, and landing on the back of the Centaur.

He screamed, reared and kicked and tried to dislodge them. But the hounds worked effortlessly together, like a pack of lionesses. When one fell, another jumped into its place, biting and clawing and howling, until at last the Centaur dropped to the ground. Still alive, it groaned feebly and tried to kick and slap away some of the pack. Suddenly the dogs backed away, but before the Centaur could bolt, another set of hooves came into view. Voldemort watched, the spiders multitude of eyes taking in the scene from every angle.

A Thestral had appeared from a cloud of fog, and now stood directly above the fallen Centaur. As the beast moved, the Thestral lifted its front left hoof and pressed it down to the side of the Centaur’s face. The rider on its back nodded once, and the Thestral slammed its hoof down, crushing the head of the trapped animal beneath it. Upon the back of the Thestral sat Morfis, and now his cloak made from Centaur skin was spattered with blood.

Intrigued, Voldemort let the spider’s legs take him closer. Closer and closer he crawled, every leg taking him an inch nearer to one of the hounds that hovered before him. When he was close enough, he did what the spider’s residual instincts commanded he do. He reared back onto the back four legs and he jumped. He landed on the head of the hound, and allowed himself to slide down onto its neck. He struck, fast and true, the fangs embedding themselves into the dead flesh of the canine. He spat out the blood, but he allowed his soul to be sucked in.

What was left of the canine shuddered and writhed on the floor, but Morfis wasn’t paying him any mind. The Huntsman was busy skinning his kill. Voldemort shook his metaphorical head, clearing away the memories of kills and Hunts from the shell he now possessed. He lay, his belly flat to the ground, trying to get used to the feeling of being weightless. While he did weigh nothing as a spirit, when he possessed something he usually had weight. But now he didn’t. Because, he decided, the hound was dead to begin with; it was not living, nor was it like a living thing.

The Dark Lord hummed to himself, making the animal emit a small whine. He wondered who or what these creatures belonged to. And he also wanted to know why that – that insolent peasant just smacked the Dark Lord across the head.

“Blasted canis,”3 Morfis hissed when he heard the dog whine. “Go lick up the blood with the rest of them.” He smacked the hound once more, when it didn’t move, before turning to mount his Thestral again. The pelt was flung over the back of the beast. He whistled and the hounds looked towards him, Voldemort included. “Come, we Ride.”

XXX

As Morfis rode, the other Huntsmen rode. And as they rode they stole: lives, souls, emotions. They rode past houses with windows open, or children still awake and they tempted them outside with stories of the three daughters of the Erlking, and then they stole their souls. Or they ran through forests and woods, chasing mythical creatures and they stole their lives for sport. Or they came across a human, feeling happier than they themselves felt, and so they kissed them and stole away their happiness till all they felt was despair and all they wished for was death. But the Huntsmen would not grant that wish, for they found pleasure in the torture of others.

But when they finished riding, no matter what they stole or where from, they all returned to the same place.

The Eternal Lodge.

Where there sat the Erlking, surrounded on all sides by his three daughters, Aduro, Presul and Genetrix. They sat around a small campfire, the fire burning on air alone, as no wood or coal were being fed to the flames. In front of the fire stood a child and two men. One wore robes of purple velvet, tattered from three months constant use, while the other was dressed in threadbare brown cotton robes. The child however, was naked from the waist up. His legs were not human legs at all, instead they were curved like a horse’s or a deer’s legs, and his feet were cloven. Small, light brown, suede coloured hairs lightly covered those legs, and the child attached to them laughed as his fingers began to fuse together to form hooves as well.

Faun laughed and giggled until all that would come from his throat was a soft deer call, and the Erlking applauded as the ten-year-old child completed the full-body transformation once again. While the child had already been taught to change into his Animagus form of a deer, he had not until now learnt to change into a Faun. The mythical Pan, with cloven feet and hairy legs, was now as real as the boy in front of the fire. His chest was still childlike, as were his arms, and his face. But his hair was longer, and shaggier and turned a reddish brown, his hands and feet were cloven and his legs were not human. And when he spoke, he did not speak, instead he whinnied.

The man in the threadbare robes sighed. “Harry, beloved, try again, but don’t change your voice.” Faun looked over and nodded. His eyes closed and the Erlking and the Huntsmen watched as the fingers separated again, until there were five on each hand. The child’s hair shortened and turned black as well.

“Sorry Remus,” he said with a small smile. The Werewolf smiled back hesitantly then shot a cautious look at the Erlking. Audenarde was not forgiving to those who took advantage of his beloved – without permission. The Erlking didn’t move though, so Remus turned his head to look back at his pupil.

“Well done, Harry.” The Werewolf smiled. In the three months since he had been taken to the Lodge Remus Lupin had slowly learnt that the Huntsmen lived in almost the same way that a Wolf pack did. There was the Alpha, the Erlking. There were the Beta’s, Morfis, Galhar and Ramon; and there were all the others, those necessary to make up numbers, to make the pack look strong. And of course, there were the Omega’s, the bottom feeders whose sole existence was for the amusement of the important pack members. In the case of the Huntsmen, the Omega’s were anyone who didn’t belong. That meant Remus, himself, could be in danger. However, he was very careful to keep his relationship with Harry professional, and that same relationship made sure that he was treated fairly, if not with respect, because the Erlking’s beloved wanted it so.

However, Quillius Quirrell was not one of those under the beloved’s protection, if only for the sole reason that the Wizard was associated with both Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore. Therefore, the Erlking did not trust him, and so neither did his beloved boy.

“Now, Harry, change back for us, ok?” The boy nodded quickly and squeezed his eyes shut in concentration. Herein lay the problem; Harry had yet to master the art of conjuring clothes when he changed back, and that always meant the boy was naked. The Erlking did not enjoy it when people – or creatures – viewed what belonged to him in such a manner. “And try to concentrate on conjuring clothing, ok?”

“I’m trying Remus.” He whined petulantly, sounding like a boy his age was meant to.

The elder man snorted, before casting a worried glance at the Erlking – who still didn’t react. “I know, kid,” he said softly. “I know.” He smiled cautiously, watching, his eyes riveted on Harry’s legs as the hair began to shrivel and die. His legs were bare and smooth, but still curved. His toes appeared first, separating out until there were five on each foot, rather than two claws. His legs straightened, and, as Remus’ eyes travelled up to the child’s crotch. Before he could glimpse much of anything, black suede appeared, wrapping itself around narrow hips, and spreading to cover the thin legs from view as well. He was still shirtless, but it was a good start. “Well done, Harry!” Remus clapped, a laugh bubbling in his throat.

He stilled, and stepped backwards as the Erlking stood and approached them. Remus watched, half in fascination and half in disgust, as the creature before him stooped until he was eye level with the ten-year-old, and then took the boy’s lips in a passionate kiss. He watched, eyes wide, lips set in a tight line, as the thing he was too scared to stand up to touched the son of Lily and James Potter.

But, he consoled himself, Harry didn’t look unhappy. And the Erlking did take better care of him than the Muggles did.

The thought left his mind as he heard Harry give a high-pitched moan, before he whimpered. The trousers were gone, when Remus turned to look. The Erlking’s right hand cupped the child’s genitals, rolling the balls lightly and caressing the half-hard penis. While Harry was still to young to have developed sperm, Remus had seen the boy hard and panting numerous times. And all at the hands of the Erlking. The Werewolf shuddered; he couldn’t understand how anyone could bare the creature’s touch.

The hood had fallen down, and Remus averted his eyes from the scene. He glimpsed the creature briefly out of the corner of his eye, and again all he saw was a monster. The horns on his head were curled like a goats, and jetted out from a shock of long, pitch-black hair. His face was pale, and gaunt, almost skeleton like and his lips were thin and bloodless, and his eyes were ripped out, but he knew, that different people saw different things when they dared to look upon the Erlking. He knew for a fact, that when Harry looked at the creature, he saw an angel: dark and dangerous, but a saviour of sorts.

The boy was panting now, his hips thrusting lightly as the Erlking moved closer, capturing those petal pink lips in another kiss. Harry gasped, his head thrown back as he cried out the Erlking’s name. He orgasmed, but the Erlking’s hand stayed dry. Harry dropped to his knees, still naked, and his hands reached out for the Erlking’s robes. He wanted to please, to serve. He was beloved.

The Erlking stopped him, his hand taking hold of Harry’s narrow wrists, pining them together. “Stand my beloved.” His eyes met those of Morfis’ as he came back from his Hunt. The Canis’ followed after him as he dismounted the Thestral and shooed the beast away. The Canis’ scattered, except the one that housed the spirit of Lord Voldemort.

His red eyes narrowed at the sight of the beautiful, naked boy. The Erlking still held his wrists, and his body had begun to shiver from the cold. With a wave of his free hand, the Erlking’s cowl had lifted to cover his head, face and horns, and Harry was once again dressed in the black suede trousers. The Erlking released the child’s hands, and instead of pulling him onto his lap as he sat down, like he normally did, he shooed him towards his daughters. Harry went, happily skipping towards Genetrix. Harry was used to being sent away when the Huntsmen discussed the gorier aspects of their lives with the Erlking. And it wasn’t like he particularly wanted to listen to tales of bloodshed and slaughter. His eyes met Remus’ and he grinned, before allowing himself to be pulled down into the Mother’s lap.

Voldemort shifted forward. It wasn’t safe, he knew, to be the only hound in the vicinity. Someone was bound to realize there was something different to him, but he desperately wanted to know who these people were. He hated not knowing, he despised being clueless. Knowledge was power, and he was a powerful being – before a child ruined him.

And speaking of children, the boy before him was barely more than one. And he had remarkably similar eyes to the Prophecy Child who had destroyed the body of the Dark Lord. But, why would Harry Potter be here?

Slowly, hesitantly, he allowed his spirit to float free of the hound, and the creature dropped uselessly to the floor and remained there. He floated, taking phantom steps towards the child. The dark haired beauty stood, a small smile on his face as he walked away from the brunette woman. He waved once at the Werewolf, whom Voldemort recognized as a friend of James Potter. The Dark Lord followed the boy, his eyes landing on Quirrell as they passed. The turban-wearing man shuddered as two of the Huntsmen approached him and grabbed one of his arms each. They dragged him into the trees, and Harry watched disinterestedly until sounds of screaming and begging echoed back, followed by grunts and pants, and Harry finally looked away and kept walking.

Voldemort soon realized they were far from the eyes of any of the others, and he actually felt concern for the small boy. There was no one around to protect the child from any of those men, like the ones that were hurting Quirrell – not that Voldemort cared about that useless fool, mind you.

“Actually,” the child said, his voice soft and his eyes fixed exactly where Voldemort was hovering. “They’re asserting dominance on the omega through forced sexual intercourse.”

“You can see me?” The man smirked to himself when the boy nodded. “So this is a pack of Werewolves?” He considered since there was an omega and a known Wolf in the clearing, the rest may be wolves too.

“No. Similar power structure. The Erlking is like our Alpha, and I am his beloved.”

“Who are you, child? Why are you here?” Voldemort floated closer and Harry smiled, his hair falling to shade his Avada green eyes.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you those questions? But, I already know who you are Lord Voldemort.” The Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed as he took in the child. “That’s why I came out here, away from the others.”

“You lured me.” He accused, feeling ridiculous for no noticing sooner. But it had been such a long time since someone could see him, he had just assumed.

“Yes. But I want to know why you came? I’ve been feeling your presence for a while, I knew you were returning soon.” His hand brushed back his fringe and Voldemort caught sight of the lightening bolt scar. “I don’t know how, or why, but Remus said I feel your magic and your life force because we are connected by a curse scar. They wont tell me anything else though.”

Lord Voldemort narrowed his eyes, and suddenly a word forced its way from his throat, hissed in anger and disbelief. “Potter!” The child before him could not be one and the same with his nemesis. It wasn’t possible. He could not lust after the child who had nearly destroyed him.

Harry merely nodded, before tilting his head to one side. Before either of them could speak again, Remus came running through the trees. “Harry!” He cried, “there you are. What are you doing out here alone? It’s dangerous.”

“No one would dare attack the Beloved. And anyway, they are dominating the omega again and I didn’t want to watch or listen.”

“They’ve finished now, come on. We’ll see if he can teach you anything of use while my Liege is busy.” He didn’t even sense the presence of Voldemort, standing directly behind the ten-year-old. His hand moved forward, squeezed the child’s shoulder once and pulled back in shock. He could touch the boy. He could feel. He was growing stronger.

Voldemort followed the two back to the clearing. He watched impassively as Quirrell trembled and winced with every movement. The Huntsmen had obviously not been gentle with him. As Remus opened his mouth to speak to the dead Professor, the Erlking sat up straighter in his throne and turned his shaded face towards them.

“Come here, beloved. Introduce your friend to me.” Harry climbed obediently into the man’s lap.

He watched Voldemort’s spirit with wide eyes before grinning at him. “That’s Lord Voldemort.”

“Do you know who I am mortal?” Despite the fact that Voldemort didn’t have very much in common with mortals at the moment. “Have you any idea.” His bony fingers ran through Harry’s hair. The boy pressed his face to the Erlking’s chest, and pressed a kiss to the fabric. “My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?”1

Harry giggled, but whispered the following line loud enough for the Dark Lord to hear. “Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!”1 He looked at the Dark Lord as the man’s eyes widened, and he tuned his face away from the Erlking’s.

“The King of the Alders,” he breathed to himself. None of the others could hear or see the spirit but the Erlking and his beloved. And Voldemort was grateful for that. No one should see the greatest Dark Lord to ever rise show submission to anyone or anything, even if it was to Audenarde. “Be calm, dearest child, 'tis thy fancy deceives,”1 he whispered to himself and Harry laughed.

“Look, he knows the poem. Can he stay, please?” He looked up at the Erlking with begging eyes and the man bent to place a kiss to the child’s lips.

“He has his own mission in life. Even I do not dare to tempt the wrath of the Fates, my beloved.” Harry pouted in disappointment, and Voldemort felt a thrill go through him at the thought that Harry wanted him around. “You would like him, wouldn’t you?” The Erlking hissed, enraged. “To touch and taste and tease, wouldn’t you?” The Dark Lord, cleverly, did not agree nor disagree. He kept his head bowed; his eyes though, were fixed on Harry.

The Erlking continued to speak. “It is always the same. I find a beloved and I love him, and he is beautiful. But in time he must die, and become just another soul for my pleasure. There is nothing special about him, nothing beautiful or beloved. And so, I have learnt from my mistakes. He shall be my beloved until he is no longer safe in life. His life will be hard, and full of danger and fighting, and if he should die as my beloved I will not grieve like I would wish to. However, if he should leave me, my beloved boy, I will miss him and grieve him and continue to love him.

“If you offer me enough, I may grant him to you upon his 16th birthday, if my beloved agrees. Then he will be yours to love and he will be beautiful and beloved, and in his death, you may still grieve him, and he will once more belong to me.”

The Dark Lord looked up, his eyes meeting the stunning green ones set in a pale, round face. The eyes were smiling, and so Voldemort nodded his head in agreement. “I have many followers. If you could help me find a way to contact them, I will order them to find you people, souls, and gather them for you. I will bring the prisoners to Harry turns sixteen.”

“Agreeable, on the condition that the souls are pure.”

“Light sided children then?” Voldemort smirked. It would be much easier an order for his followers to carry out if the children kidnapped were not friends of their families.

“And adults. Our hunger does not discriminate against age.”

“All the better for me,” the Dark Lord murmured and dipped into a very brief bow. He swept towards Harry, quickly catching the lips in a kiss, before disappearing from sight, leaving a bemused beloved boy, and the Erlking whose lap the child sat in.

Remus frowned, unable to believe that the murder of his best friend had just practically bought his surrogate godson. Quirrell was hopeful that, if there were more misfits, there would be more omegas and he wouldn’t bare the brunt of the Huntsmen’s lust and rage. The Huntsmen, themselves, watched, having caught most of the conversation, and they cheered when the Erlking nodded. A feast like no other would celebrate their beloved’s coming of age. And all would rejoice with them, or tremble in fear by their feet.

Harry merely turned his head and demanded a kiss. The Erlking’s hand slipped inside the waistband of the black suede trousers, and Harry let out a delighted mewl. His head thrown back in pleasure, the Erlking whispered promises in his ear, of pleasures to come when the boy was older and of the delights of other men. And Harry nodded and mewled and swore his love from the creature beneath him, and Remus had to look away in disgust as Harry arched his back and orgasmed. He was unsure whether to cry “Audenarde” or “Voldemort” so he bit his lip and muffled a moan against the Erlking’s shoulder.

The Erlking knew, and in jealousy, his hand squeezed the boy’s cock until Harry gasped in pain. “For now, you belong to me beloved.” His head tilted to one side, a lock of hair falling from his hood. Harry tucked it back in as his cock was released. A hand caressed the child’s face lightly, before clamping around his jaw and turning to face towards his. “And if thou'rt unwilling, then force I'll employ.”1

XXX

3 Canis – Latin word for dog or canine. Canis Demonata is what I’m calling the Hounds, or demon dogs.
1 The Erl-King by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - http:// www . cs . rice . edu / ~ssiyer /minstrels /poems /920 . html


Words:
Chapter 7
Resurrection
COMING SOON…

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Bare in mind, that Quirrell was the one who found Voldemort in Albania, and Quirrell is dead now.

Thanks for reading, as always… I wouldn’t go on without you.