Nigrum catulus amor

"I'll teach you-" Another fist slammed down into him again, "you ungrateful freak-" yet another pudgy fist slammed down onto his rib cage, braking at least two bones in his chest, "to waste food like that again". Harry was currently being dragged out of his dingy room by a very mad, and very perse Uncle Vernon.

Dudley's old rags were hanging off him in tatters as his uncle's belt had slashed through the worn fabric. He wore no shoes as he was pulled out of the room. His blood was staining the carpet as his Uncle lumbered out of the room, his fat fingers clenched around his thin fractured wrist.

Today was the day Harry finally lost it. Wasted what, the food? The slop fit for a pig. The cold soup? Was that what it was? Harry hadn't been able to identify the unpalatable substance that was served through his cat flap a mere twenty minutes ago. For you see he hadn't eaten these past three days and barely anything the days prior. So, he had gone on a hunger strike. He was not going to be subjected to eating slop, what little dignity he had left after years of slavery to these barbarians, he was not being coerced into eating that lumpy, brown shit, they considered food.

So here he was being flung down the stairs, literally head over heels into the accompanied wall. Smacking the whole right side of his body hard into the wood. He suspected a desolated shoulder and a broken jaw. A Humorless thought fluttered through his bulimic mind, this must be the only exercise the walrus gets.

He was too tired to scream or protest; a noise halfway between a groan and a whimper escaped his swollen mouth as he attempted to crawl towards the door. He had his wand and invisibility cloak stuffed done his pants, there was nothing for him here, there never was. He had stuffed Hedwig through the window just before Vernon had smacked open the door. There was nothing. Nothing. He cared not for the blood wards surrounding the house that kept him 'safe', he was beyond reasoning. In a way he prayed if the wards fell the death eaters would find him. At least then hopefully Voldemort would grant him a mercifully quick death. Yes, the bitter sweet, dark caress of death. He could taste it.

This was why he was not a Slytherin. They were such self-preservation bastards, where he was not, clearly evident in past circumstances. Gryffindor's were much more prideful and unfortunately it would be their downfalls.

So here Harry was a few mere meters away from the front door, freedom it was nearly in his grasp. Unfortunately, no, Vernon came barreling down the stairs at a pace Harry didn't know he possessed, grabbing Harry by the legs and pulling him back smearing more blood onto the pristine carpet, then presiding to kick Harry callously in the pelvis. Possible cracking the bone. Yet he could not come to care. His brain was being assaulted by Dopamine.

In the background he could hear his Aunt Petunia screaming for Vernon to stop. God, he must have looked a sight for her to intervene. He still was befuddled as to how his own blood, his mother's sister could stand by and watch her own nephew suffer years after years of abuse by her cunt of a husband. A Lovely tribute to her sister, it dearly showed how much of a jealousy complex Petunia had had earlier on in her life. Stupid bitch.

And so as Vernon went to grab Harry by the throat again. His instincts took over, thankfully, in a vain attempt to protect his battered body. Harry lifted he left hand in an attempt to swat away Vernon's beefy one.

Unbeknownst, to Harry though be had already transformed and become his animagus form. So when Vernon stumbled back howling in acute agony, Harry was pleasantly surprised. And finally the fates were merciful! He hadn't even known if he had enough magic left in his reserves to complete a full transformation.

Taking a brief moment to pier down at the paw that had sliced open Vernon's fleshy arm, he could see cellulite, blood and muscle stuck on and in-between his claws.

Now, Petunia was screaming for a different reason. Her wailings were directed to Vernon as his wound bleed profusely on to the carpet and his once brown jumper, but also to the now malnourished black panther, that was occupying her hallway.

Vernon swaying and stumbling like a drunk to the kitchen to see if he could find something to get his laceration to stop bleeding. And Harry, while both his aunt and uncle was somewhat occupied attempted to flee.

Not caring how he got out or where he went Harry, picked his wand and the cloak with his broken jaw, making sure both items were secure behind his sharp canines and headed toward the door.

With his good shoulder he slammed into the wooden door with as much force as he could muster and with a loud "thump," the door did not budge. A forced winey whimper was released from his mouth. He was becoming frantic now as it sounded as if Vernon was recovering and angrier than ever. So he stumbled into the lounge looking for some sort of escape or exit.

"His done it-"…"NO, dead Petunia, he is Dead!"

His heart racing; beating frantically as if it were trying to fit in as many beats as possible before it stopped at its untimely end. Harry was tired but know he did not want to die. He wanted to get out of this hellhole and he wasn't going to die here at the hands of his Uncle. A filthy muggle, the worst kind. At least if he were to die at Voldemort's hand he would die a martyr's death, with dignity. Imagine if he were to die at his Uncle's hand The-Boy-Who-Lived, oh the irony.

Uncertainly he looked at the chimney. Surprisingly his baffled brain deduced, that no, panthers could not climb up chimneys. By now he could here his Uncle's heavy footfalls making nearing the lounge. He craned his stiff neck over his shoulder and looked back. He couldn't go through the front or back door, or even up the damn stairs. He obviously couldn't go up the chimney. Fuck. He was trapped. His Uncle was practically round the corner and Harry was practically sweating in desperation.

He was looking and praying for an opening door just to appear to-

Wait, no he didn't need a door. There were plenty of windows in the lounge and they broke. Windows did brake didn't they? Before his brain had time to even consider that, he was already moving, ignoring the pain that shot through half of his limbs as he made to two unsteady bounds before he leaped. Right in the way of the window.

Quickly before he hit said window he twisted his neck so his face didn't get covered in glass. He already had one scar that adorned his forehead and that was already one to many.

"Smassh," favorably the window smashed and Harry went with it. Stumbling to the ground his face scraped onto the pavement and then onto the asphalt. Relief and absolute agony filled Harry as he tried to heave himself off the road. It seems even now Vernon was trying to take chase after Harry, but his unfortunate girth and looming heart attack prevented him from doing so. But he seemed content to spew vulgar terms at the teenager as he grasped the weak doorframe for support.

It was a sheer wonder at how the neighbors had not once, ever contacted the police or child services to report the yelling a screaming that nearly all occupants at the house had produced. It was probably something to do with the wards Harry mused as he stalked off as hurriedly as he could manage with a dislocated shoulder and most likely broken wrist.

Harry limped his way through the small wood not far from suburbia. Until finally his body couldn't take no more. Abruptly he dropped to the ground, whether from dehydration, malnourishment, infection, blood loss, or pure exhaustion he dropped. His eyes were already dropping.

Laying there, in his furry form, he didn't know for how long or even where he was, but he just lay there. Relaxing in the unadulterated serenity, the darkness surrounding him like a lover's embrace and the fresh forest aroma filling his nostrils. Was this death's sweet caress? Enticing him to let go, offering this alluring quiescence for all of eternity? It was a pleasant place to die he thought suddenly, a pleasant place to submit to the infinite mitigation that awaits in the afterlife.

And finally his eyes dropped.

He did not notice the masked men approach him, leaves and twigs snapping beneath their boots. Wands at the ready. Cocking their heads as if to see if the skinny panther were to make any un-planned and sudden movements. After watching the black mass breathe in and exhale for several minutes, they came to the conclusion that, the animal was indeed not going anywhere. Moving in as the one united unit they were, the small masked congregation of men picked up a part of the lithe panther's body. With the animal sufficiently raised from the ground one man activated a portkey, whisking the unusual coterie to an unplottable location.

All the while Harry was numb with pain. Thinking the usual pull from his navel was him being whirled away to his pleasurable damnation.

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