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Children of the Moon	By : aidoneuskiss Category: Harry Potter Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male Views: 11161 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or Harry Potter they and any similiarities are owned by their respective authors and I make not a cent off this fic

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
*****

Man, in his sensitivity, does not give names to animals he intends to eat but goes on giving names to children he intends to send to war.

-Robert Brault

*****

Lavender lashes quivered against bronzed cheeks as a curious sensation at his ankle drew him from the depths of slumber, and began climbing the back of Trunks’ left leg. Grumbling incoherently, he kicked out reflexively as the annoying feeling tickled the back of his knee, the action inadvertently knocking the bed covers to the floor, exposing his bare flesh to the room’s decidedly lower air temperature. The unmistakable giggle of a child rang out when his tail swatted at the area of his thigh where the irritation had risen, and his eyelids rose in curiosity despite his desire to sleep until his scouter alarm went off. Looking over a naked shoulder at his equally nude ward, he saw the boy’s tiny claw-tipped hands were caught round the wrists by his tail. Apparently Harry Potter was the culprit of this early morning wake-up call.

“I was just looking at your tattoo,” came the sheepish explanation to Trunks’ tiredly raised eyebrow, the words accompanied by a bright smile and laughing green eyes. Trunks groaned, dropping his face back into the dent of his pillow unable to stand such cheer so early in the morning yet unwilling to chastise the child for being happy, with the emotion so new to Harry in the first place.

Resignedly, the tail dropped to the mattress like dead weight, freeing the slim wrists and wordlessly permissing the boy’s exploration to continue. Harry’s hands returned to their previous position on the teenager’s well-muscled left thigh, the pressure, thankfully, much firmer now that he had no fear of waking his companion. Meticulously the fingers traced up Trunks’ hip, across his left flank, over his tail and through several coils along the expanse of his back, before insistent pressure on his right shoulder silently inquired that Trunks turn so that Harry could follow the long serpentine neck along his collar bone to the green- maned and horned- head of the Eternal Dragon, Shenron, whose gaping maw seemed to cradle the brand of his inheritance to the throne of Vegeta.

It was a spear-tip tattoo, the greatest honor a goblin warrior could receive as it elevated one to the position of clan leader. Those that joined one’s clan would receive a marking that held reverence to their leader’s own. In Trunks’ case, his subordinates wore a ring of seven dragonballs about their wrist, ankle or bicep. These tattoos were imbibed with the goblin’s magic, making them the catalyst of the everlasting armor.

“..Bit scary.” Harry summarized as his fingertips lingered on the dragon’s shining fangs. Green eyes seemed mesmerized as red eyes glowered back, the green mane seeming to ripple with Trunks’ every breath and the dragon’s coils, like all goblin craftwork, were so minutely detailed one could take a magnifying glass and count each scale individually.

Trunks yawned and then stretched with a groan, “It’s supposed to be.” And it was, Trunks’ ink work had been done by the best goblin craftsman still alive, due to the fact that the goblin people saw him as their “holy child”. Shenron was considered a god to the goblin and house elf societies yet, like wizard-kind, they had lost many of their ancestor’s powers and abilities such as the creation of dragonballs. Vegeta, Trunks’ father, had been resurrected on Planet Namek by Shenron and Trunks born afterwards. Shenron’s power ran through his veins. Trunks couldn’t manifest this power but the Namekian descendants could feel it. It was why they accepted him, taught him, and named him: Hatchling.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” Harry whimpered, shrinking back slightly and attempting to make himself as small a target as possible. Trunks stared for a moment, watching the boy’s limbs twitch in anticipation of warding off a coming blow. He made a sound then, a deep rumble beginning in his chest, a cross between a calming purr and admonishing growl. It was an instinctive action, wanting to reassure Harry that he wasn’t in anyway displeased to the point of punishment but also chiding in the fact that he should know this already. With an insistent nuzzle to the child’s mop top and tickle of his tail against Harry’s still rather prominent ribs, the momentary relapse of the Dursley’s conditioning was over and his charge a giggling mass of gangly limbs. Several minutes of wrestling ensued before Trunks sat back on his heels, kneeling astride Harry on the bed and grinning down triumphantly at his gasping for breath ward.

“Come on, we’ll order breakfast with the house elves, grab a shower, then go over the first couple chapters of your textbooks. It would be most impressive to your Professors if you entered your first day of classes prepared.”

And with that said, Trunks scrambled out of bed, gave Harry’s head a good tousle and made his way into the bathroom, confident in the fact that the child would follow. An hour later, the two males could be found in the exact replica of Trunks’ sitting room in Numengard Castle. Hogwarts Castle, being somewhat sentient, was able to fashion its professors quarters into what would make them most comfortable, for Trunks, it was his rooms at home. It was the least that could be done considering how grueling their jobs must be.

Sipping his coffee, straight black, no sugar, no cream, Trunks provided a silent support for Harry as he read aloud. The boy was situated between the teenager’s legs painstakingly sounding out words in an attempt to read to his companion. Harry had very little practice reading as the Dursley’s had worked him twice as hard once he’d started primary. His penmanship was even more atrocious, if his labeling of everything with his name was anything to go by. Then again, it could be the novelty of using a quill.

Running his hand soothingly through Harry’s black locks, Trunks mind wandered to the pressing issue of the best way to keep his charge’s sleeping arrangement under the radar. When Harry had Instantaneously Moved in a fit of separation anxiety the previous night and woke Trunks by latching onto him in crying hysterics, the half-saiyajin had realized his ward would not be bunking down with his housemates anytime soon. The question now was how to proceed? Would it be best to inform the boy’s Head of House? Or should he simply retrieve Harry from the Hufflepuff Dormitory once everyone was asleep and keep silent? The latter option was most appealing to the young prince, however, not only would Harry lose much sleep waiting up for him, but if the situation were to come to light later on, it wouldn’t look very good for the young professor. Telling Professor Sprout was the most logical option, unfortunately that meant bringing an unknown into his confidence and Trunks didn’t like giving people information that could be used against him, albeit, it could also give him an ally. On the third hand, there was the option of waiting and watching the Hufflepuff Head and then making an informed decision but time could also be a bad factor in the equation if it came to approaching the Herbology Professor. When the time came to join the student body for true breakfast Trunks was no closer to a decision than when he started his musing. It seemed a no win situation. Which option would have the least collateral damage?

The breaking of the previous night’s fast was spent in further contemplation; Trunks’ appetite in no way curbed by the earlier snack, his eating pace was noticeably slower while so deep in thought. He was completely ignorant of the Headmaster’s blatant staring. He watched Pomona Sprout as she handed out schedules, how she interacted with her students, if she favored some more than others. Results showed, from what he saw so far, that she seemed rather impartial, her smile never wavered, nor did it thin in disgust or widen in false exuberance, it only softened and became more reassuring when she interacted with the nervous little first years.

Time would tell, but as Trunks stood with the rest of the student body with the bell’s toll for meals end, he felt a bit more at ease; Madame Sprout seemed to genuinely care for those in her charge. Just maybe the situation was not as hopeless as he first made it out to be. He gave his frightened green-eyed charge a reassuring smile as the small child was swept away in the sea of students rushing for class.

For Harry’s sake I really hope she does.

*****

TBC

*****

Author’s note: Well, I’m back, my muse is kicking so I should have a couple chapter’s coming and much faster now that I’ve figured out how to upload from word instead of writing it all out on site. I HATE THE IN TEXT OPTION! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been like one paragraph away from being done and then it deletes ALL of my work. It sucks!

Anyway, ranting aside, a few explanations. The tattoo, I’m a very detail oriented person and it bothered me immensely that the everlasting armor had no tangible focal point. Not to mention that I kind of threw Trunks in with the goblins but never explained why they didn’t treat him derogatively for being somewhat human. I hope this clears that up.

As for Harry, I wanted him to be believable; it’s always miffed me that Rowlings had him raised like that and yet be so functional. My Harry has issues. He has a hard time reading because he has little practice and he’s not a very good writer, same reason. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a very smart kid, he can read people, but he’s misunderstood. His lack of participation in primary, bad homework, if done at all, skipping recess, never raising his hand to answer questions, was seen as acting out not the signs of abuse. He never had time to do his homework, nor did he get any help or was he allowed to ever outshine Dudley. As for recess, two words: Harry Hunting. He avoided Dudley and stayed indoors, when he couldn’t, well Rowlings even mentioned his accidentally apparating onto the school rooftop to escape his cousin at school. The separation anxiety is to be expected what with them being pack animals (think puppies when you first bring them home or go on long trips and they howl and howl), and his using the IM technique well Goku was able to copy and or block opponents moves once he saw them two or three times (think solar flare) say it’s hereditary or something.

Don’t forget ‘R’ cubed- Read, Rate and Review.
- 7
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- 9
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Children of the Moon