Chapter 8: Less Savory Types
1986 February
The black dragonhide boots of a young girl padded down Knockturn Alley with silent purpose until they found their target. The bedraggled hag glared at the cloaked figure and bared her yellowing teeth mockingly.
"Looking for a good time, sweetheart?" She croaked from her seated position against the wall.
"Looking for a job, my dear." Alana purred in reply while giving the women an appreciative once-over. Her appearance was cruel and withered with matted white hair and beady eyes, but the effect was diminished by an aura of wicked confidence. Hags were certainly not to be trifled with in her opinion. Rumour said they had once been witches who had dabbled in the dark arts and cursed their bloodlines with their actions. As most murmurs were, the rumours were false. They were their own race with a propensity towards darker and more arcane crafts. Most of them made elixirs and talismans. Because of this, it was both sad and unsurprising that they had been driven into Knockturn after being deprived of the necessary resources for their crafts.
Alana slipped two galleons between her fingers with a tricky sleight of hand and quirked her lips as the hag's eyes lit up. Greed. That was an emotion she was familiar with. The hag reached to snatch the gold, but the girl leaned out of her reach.
"Ah, ah, ah," she chastised gently. Her drawn hood revealed a mocking smile that would have seemed out of place on such a young face.
"You'll be wanting Raoul in Harley's. Two paths down to your right, behind Trackleshanks Locksmith before Horizont Alley. Happy?" The woman sneered as her talons encircled her prize.
"Ecstatic," Alana replied. "You have my gratitude, madam."
"It's Esme Reed. I ain't no one's madam."
"As you wish."
She found the place soon enough and pressed the rickety door open with little preamble. The tavern was spacious with round tables scattered throughout. A staircase to what she could only assume to be rooms for rent was pressed into the left corner of the room with a large bar taking up the wall beside it. The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air, the result of a rugged looking male smoking a purple liquid in a corner. The focal point of the room was a large mantled fireplace, and the muscular man lounging luxuriously beside it in a winged armchair. Quietly, Alana treaded her way towards the bar and took a stool. It was a much more difficult task than she had expected with her size. She heard a snicker and gave the bartender a dark look. 'Let's see you try it at this height,' she mentally challenged the tightly bodiced woman. Said woman just quirked a silent eyebrow and wiped the bench with a strong, tattooed arm. 'Is that a flayed man?' Alana eyed the artwork with morbid curiosity.
"What'll it be, love?" The barmaid who appeared to be in her late thirties asked in dulcet tones.
"A pint of leper's lute if you've any," the girl replied.
Skulking Knockturn over the previous two months had acquainted her to a variety of liquor, magic and races. However, she had only ever ventured into The White Wyvern and never this particular bar. She had thus far acquainted herself with a few half-veela, werewolves and a half-merrow (a relative of selkies). How that last copulation had worked was a mystery to her. Several books on magic had been purchased and consumed by her eager mind before she found herself short on funds. Gringotts Wizarding Bank was situated directly across Knockturn Alley's entrance from Diagon Alley. A quick dash across the shopping district at the beginning of her exploring had seen some years worth of busking money converted into galleons. It was a shame they hadn't lasted long.
Azrael may have helped her out, but she was reluctant to ask as he was already providing food and shelter in exchange for blood. Her sense of independence wouldn't allow her to increase her already large debt to the man. With the loss of two galleons to the hag, Esme Reed, she was officially bankrupt. This was the main reason she had ventured deeper into Knockturn Alley. Diagon Alley was the far riskier option to find work as its residents were far more likely to question the presence of an apparently unsupervised child cloaked in black.
Magical parents, in general, seemed lax in their duties from what she had noticed. However, they were extremely nosy. She speculated that this was a cultural norm because of the natural dangers that having magic entailed. She had considered getting a wand and learning a notice-me-not charm. Regretfully, there were no alternative wand shops in the area, and Ollivanders was under strict government control. Honestly, how did people think the trace on wizarding youths worked?
A bubbling white concoction was placed before Alana, and she savoured the taste. Alcohol seemed to have little effect on her despite her physical age.
"I'm looking for Raoul," she told the woman with an even tone. The barmaid considered her for a second before twisting her gaze over her shoulder. Alana had thankfully already felt the presence and cocked her head at the man behind her inquisitively.
"Looking for me? Rather small to be wanting my services, don't you think?" His voice was hushed as he leaned in with a curious smirk. The man was intimidating even to his own peers with tight muscles barely masked by a dragonhide jacket. Expensive yet practical. A few small scars ran across his chin where stubble grew, and coal eyes gleamed calmly. Alana idly wondered where he kept his wand. His magic one that is. His other was proudly noticeable despite him wearing loose pants. Evidently, the man had no love for traditional wizarding clothes. Neither did she.
"I'm looking for a job, actually. I heard you could help." Whatever thoughts went through his head were not apparent on his face as he took a nearby seat.
"What sort of job are we talking here?"
"Anything." The iron in her voice threw off any guesses he might have had at her age. She would do anything to improve her abilities and expand her knowledge. It was her only advantage in the magical world. She wouldn't be bound by the circumstances she had been born into or shackled by her own hatred of the being that had determined them.
"Anything?" As the sage advice goes, Sic vis pacem para bellum - if you want peace, prepare for war.
1986 November
Creation: Capricorn IV
Species: Library System
Level: 32
Capable of mind defence, complex thought and processing 15,200 words per hour
Creation: Aquarius III
Species: Inventory System
Level: 24
Capable of storing 14 objects. Summoning cost decrease doubled.
Creation: Pisces II
Species: Healing System
Level: 8
Magic focus increased x2 Dexterity increased x2
Eight months passed, and with it, Alana grew. She twisted deftly to avoid the Erkling's arrow. Several of the elf-like creatures surrounded her, and each of them was emitting high pitched cackles meant to lull children into their arms. Such a shame she was no child.
"Into darkness taking flight, whispers on the wings of night,
follow us, our lovely tune, as above the smiling moon,
Diddle-dee-dee, diddle-dee-doe, not far now, not far to go,
Into twilight, into gloom, sing the sound of dawdling doom,
follow us, our lovely song, know that we can do no wrong,
Diddle-dee-dee, diddle-dee-doe..."
They sang the song while waving their green, branch-like limbs. Sickly yellow eyes glinted from gaunt faces. With the aid of Pisces, a knife was thrown into one of the three-foot menace's torsos. It was soon devoured by flames when the runes on the blade activated. Another flash of silver and a second burned, leaving three more left. The masked girl growled softly and backtracked several steps before reaching into her side pack where Aquarius resided. A grin and two seconds were all it took for her to throw the creature in their direction. In the blink of an eye, the rest of the XXXX classified beasts were burnt to ash. Chlorine Trifluoride was one of the many chemicals she had fed Aquarius in vast quantities. It was extremely flammable and known to set fire to substances such as glass, sand, and people, on contact. Erklings were sadly vulnerable to flames. Alana gave their corpses a withering glare as she allowed Aquarius to swallow them. Their bodies would fetch a pretty price as potions ingredients after they were carved up and she knew just the guy to do it. She turned to finish her previous task.
'Break into the Ashworth summer estate and liberate a certain book from his shelves,' Greyson had said. 'It'll be easy,' he said. Pah! Were she not getting paid, she would whack the American thief's pretty head. That man must have a thick face to dump such a job on a ten-year-old. Bastard! The door was opened, and she wove past the wards with sharp, precise movements. She had invested weeks in preparing specifically for this raid. A few runes here and there were carved in the walls to break down small sections of the ward formation while Aquarius soaked up whatever silver it could find in the floors. The progress was slow going, but the silver was what linked the wards so tightly together and brought magic to the rest of the house. It was a relatively weak method of warding, so she didn't have too much trouble. The summer estate was inherited, and the condition of its defences spoke more of neglect than wealth.
She made it to the study in half an hour. Twenty minutes and Lord Ashworth would no doubt be notified of the break-in. The lordship ring he wore would be connected to the wards of all family-owned properties as most were. The book was easy enough to find in a box within the drawer of the desk. Aquarius devoured the thing with a burp. The slime was developing some rather strange habits through no fault of her own. If he burped then the box was probably cursed. She'd have to have it checked for trackers by Greyson later. Alana made her escape just in time to feel the pulse of magic that pulled up the second layer of wards. The second layer almost always consisted of defensive mechanisms and attack arrays. A little too late, but one could still appreciate the work of the ward master. A kilometre away, she pulled a portkey out from her left pocket.
"Back Sparrow." Two words and she was spirited away.
Alana stumbled at the wave of nausea she had learnt to associate with portkey use. With a scowl, she pulled herself upright. A series of moans caught her attention, and she turned to see none other than Greyson Harper with his dick half-way into a nameless woman.
"Fuck!" He screamed as they made eye contact. It was a high pitched sound that even a mother would have difficulty loving. She saw the woman under him flinch.
"No, thank you," Alana replied warmly as she threw herself into the nearest seat to lean back and observe the unfolding scene. Greyson had already been shoved off by the woman who gave him a dirty look.
"Clearly you're busy," she voiced stiffly and grabbed her things off of the floor. Greyson chased her with hasty apologies, but she was having none of it. He gripped her wrist tightly, and her palm met his cheek with a resounding 'Slap!' Alana chuckled as the door was slammed in his face and Greyson continued to curse. He whirled on the girl who, despite reaching an uninspiring 1.3 metres in height, managed to look for all the world like she belonged in the criminal's room.
"I hope you're happy with yourself," He growled.
"Immensely," She laughed and procured the stolen box with a gloved hand.
"You got it?" Surprise coated his tongue, and she rolled her eyes.
"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't. Mind not slacking off next time I'm risking my hide?" Her tone was sweet, but her words dripped with acid. He knew very well what she could do. Unfortunately, he also knew the threat was empty. He was valuable, as both an available wand and an excellent forger. He grabbed his own pair of gloves and wand and set to work. She didn't bother to stay as she'd seen him work a few times before and knew him to have his own tricks that he'd rather not share. It was routine for them to work together on stolen goods. He'd find the job and do any curse-breaking while she did the stealing with the reward split 50/50. Not exactly fair but beggars couldn't be choosers, and she was still wandless.
Alana caught the railing as she descended the stairs of Harley's tavern.
"The usual, Sparrow?" Willow, the tavern manager, called and Alana answered an affirmative as she strolled over to Raoul. The mercenary lounged in his usual seat though he perked up at her name. It was a diminutive nickname that he had come up with, but it had stuck.
"Anything interesting?" He struck up a conversation as she took a seat on the longer couch across from him.
"About fourteen Erklings," She grinned amusedly as his eyebrows raised in surprise. The job he had given her had been a part of a trial he had put her on to see if she was ready for higher stake operations. Raoul had a reputation of satisfying clients to keep up after all, and he couldn't have dead weight. Needless to say, she had proven herself capable.
"Quite the haul. I'm afraid to have missed the fun." A pause and then, "There's been a lack of jobs lately, as you know, so I'll need a few days if you wanted something."
Alana eyed the man with a frown hidden behind the mask covering her face. The lack of jobs concerned her, especially as it was mostly due to the ministry's recent attempts to get a hold on the more uncontrollable areas of the magical shopping district. It was improbable, to succeed, but the effects could still be felt. Raoul had felt it all too keenly as a mercenary with connections and the de facto leader of the underground these days. She knew for a fact that he was considering leaving Britain for France for better opportunities. He was already forty-seven but the same prowess that had brought him to the top of the food chain during the last years of Voldemort's reign of terror had not lessened in the least with age. He'd have little trouble getting a foot in France. What would be difficult was finding a successor with enough experience to cover Britain. She emptied her glass ponderously before paying.
Walking down Knockturn Alley at night was, in reality, safer for Alana than doing so in London. No one dared to attack another in an area home only to those well versed in the magical arts. Whether she was worthy of being placed in such a group was irrelevant so long as she looked it. The White Wyvern was her first stop after Harley's as her fingers felt twitchy after her drink. A few jigs on her violin took care of that. The patrons were friendlier there and the scent of fresh lavender soothing to more than just the werewolves. Now though, the melancholy of not having a job kicked in. She had barely taken more than a two-day break since she started working under Raoul. The lack of goal had her heart in such turmoil that she barely noticed her return to Azrael's abode.
The vampire in question was awake, of course. His kind had little need for sleep other than recreationally what with them being 'living-dead'. They were creatures animated by the magic which coursed through their veins and bound their technically dead souls to their corpse. What was thought to be an unnatural healing ability was, in reality, their magic keeping their corpses from decomposing on the spot. It was with such thoughts in mind that Alana found herself drifting off to sleep against her pseudo guardian that night lulled by familiarity of his presence.
1986
"What does blood taste like?"
The question was not unwelcome despite the peaceful quiet that had settled between the two over the past hour. Azrael stirred, his red wine irises turning to regard his companion. Alana thought he had the most exquisite eyes, sharp yet clear despite the crazed reputation of his race.
"Like life."
There wasn't any need for an explanation. Like life. Blood was joy, sorrow, hope, fear and adrenaline wrapped into one. It was a unique experience in every mouthful. She had noticed Azrael had difficulty expressing emotions. Perhaps, it was his age, but some days it seemed he could stand in the same place for eternity without noticing the world pass him by. She could not vouch for her own emotional stability, but the two seemed to complement each other well.
"What do I taste like, then?"
It was silent long enough for Alana to wonder if Azrael was ever going to answer the question. Then he replied.
"You taste like war." It was said with enough heat to make her skin prickle in response. "Like pain and passion. Like chaos and victory." His eyes burned into her with a conviction beyond her understanding.
There something intensely beautiful about the fire in his eyes that swept through her soul and seared itself into her memories. Had she ever had such drive, such purpose, even momentarily? Even days after as Azrael fell back into his usual but steadily improving state, she found she longed to draw that fire out again. She wanted to push the man far enough that whatever kept those feelings under control broke under the pressure. She wanted to see him tear at the seams so that maybe in touching him, she could share just a little in his emotion. The desire only grew.
-Minor sexual content-
It was only a matter of time until she acted compulsively.
Azrael had accepted her extra-curricular activities with little fuss, but that did not mean he approved them. It was only in the silent moments they shared that he let his opinions on the matter rest. There was easy contentment between them during such times when Alana leaned against him on the couch with a book in hand. Not yet tired despite the day's events, she abandoned her book to observe her partner. Unbothered by her examination, Azrael continued to read his own book, one that she was sure she'd seen him finish the week before.
The two stayed that way for some time before she moved. There was neither hesitation nor confidence in her movements but a slowness that spoke of curiosity and restrained want as she brought her hand up to trace his cheek with her fingertips. Azrael allowed the action with little reason not to and she shuffled closer, sliding a leg over his own so she could brace her other hand on the back of the couch. Her fingers explored the underside of his chin before wandering over his neck. It wasn't until lips touched his neck that Azrael reacted.
A sharp intake of breath and a shudder before he froze. It was an entirely human response and unnecessary for the man. She revelled in it. The shadow of his humanity still clung to him after so many centuries, much to her undisguised pleasure. She bit down sharply before soothing the love-bite with her tongue. He was cold, but she enjoyed his taste no less. She was far too warm anyway. Another bite a few spaces lower and then above. A hand had wrapped itself around his waist to settle on his back. Her other hand stroked his neck as she placed innocent, taunting kisses along his jaw. He was shaking with small tremors at this point, and she pressed herself closer to comfort him. He was beautiful like this, she decided as she moved to place her mouth where she had wanted to from the start. She could feel his muscled tensing below her as he struggled to keep his hands to himself. Break. She wanted that restraint to break.
"Enough," the voice broke towards the end, but it was no less commanding because of it. She paused almost immediately and pulled back a safe distance from the man. Her hands, however, refused to let go of him. She wanted him deeply. She wanted his war, his secrets, his failings and successes. She wanted his tongue on hers, his hands in her hair, his body on her or under her so long as they were both lost in pleasure. The image made her chest ache, and her body quiver like a tightly strung bow. Sexually frustrated was not a word she would usually use to describe herself, but there were few other words when the thought of him beside her filled her with such intense longing.
-End-
"You are still young, mon amour. I do not wish to hurt you." His accent was thicker than usual, and his eyes faintly pleading as he winced. She stared at him long and hard before giving a resigned sigh. She halted her ministrations and nestled herself in his arms with her head resting against his chest. She was aware, of course, of her body's restrictions. Lack of self-control was no excuse to take it out on him. She was too young for coupling, and at the very least, she should learn a contraceptive spell before she became sexually active. Not that she would need it with Azrael. Vampires couldn't procreate with wand-users unless they were half-breeds.
She could wait. She would wait. Azrael's arms soon found their place around her.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
linear_salo
linear_salo Thank you, kind readers, for your power stones which heal this writers tattered soul. You are invaluable as always. If anyone is interested, that chemical is real and Erklings are a confirmed creature in the HP universe. Alana and Azrael are so cute I want to retch. Blurgh! Like always, please comment if you are satisfied, scandalised or have any suggestions for my work.
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