DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Just playing with Rowling's characters because they're ever so much fun to manipulate :)

Sooo…I should be updating my other stories (looks at wip's in vague guilt) but I am feeling out of sorts and depressed so I thought I would post this instead.

It is my take on the whole "Harry turns into a creature" and "Harry goes dark" genre. So, in case that wasn't a suitable enough warning: Harry will turn into a creature and go just a bit dark. This will end up a Harry/Draco, which indicates SLASH, and will be much darker than anything else I have ever written. Seriously. And I know dark fics aren't for everyone, so I promise not to take offense it you review me simply to curse me or pray for my immortal soul.

Like my other stories, I tend to start off slow and build up steam as the story progresses. Draco won't be involved until around chapter five, and you may hate me for the way I bring him in. Sorry. But please feel free to review and tell me your thoughts. All other stories will be updated as soon as I snap out of my funk. Which may be a few days.

Kisses and Love!

Roo

HDHDHD

Oddly enough, it was Ginny who allowed him to feel something other than pain or shame.

The journal had come to him the day after Sirius had slipped through the veil. Holding it in his hands, feeling the smooth leather of the bindings, seeing the bold slash of Sirius' handwriting; Harry had very nearly not opened it. To open the book would solidify the fact that Sirius was gone forever and his solicitor was following pre established orders to deliver it. But he had. He had opened it. And he had read the first page. Still reeling from the events of the day before, Harry had learned why Sirius had been chosen as his godfather instead of Lupin or even Pettigrew. Because he was his father's best friend, yes. And because he knew his mothers' secret. The secret she had told no one, and would not have even told Sirius if he hadn't overheard something he was never meant to hear.

It wasn't an earth shattering secret, especially compared against real problems. Harmless, really. Subtle. But it certainly had the potential to destroy, or at the very least tarnish, his parents marriage. Because James Potter wasn't his father. And Sirius had known. And had loved him anyway. And had still risked everything for him. He'd known, and he'd kept Lily's secret. Celebrated with James. Smiled for the pictures. Because, as he'd written, sometimes being a friend meant knowing something painful, and knowing it was best to keep your mouth shut. It was at this point Harry had slammed the journal shut; unable to stand the sight of Sirius' handwriting with the pain and shock and confusion swirling so violently inside him. Nearly desperate with the need to discuss this with someone who cared about him, and wouldn't judge him or his mother. He didn't think he could stand that right now.

Ron and Hermione were easy enough to find, as they were still confined to the infirmary due to their injuries. Harry sat there, paying attention with half an ear as they bantered and joked with Neville, Luna, and Ginny. Luna had looked at him in that eerie way she had, and then silently hid herself behind her magazine. Neville hadn't noticed anything amiss; neither had Ron. Hermione was too distracted by her injuries, the newspaper, and the new information learned to pay too much attention to anything. Ginny had looked at him with sparkling eyes as they both muffled their laughter at Umbridge's response to the Centaur noise, and that minute connection was enough to make her brown eyes sharpen with curiosity. Shortly thereafter, Harry had fled, desperate for escape, when Hermione had flung the Sunday edition of the Prophet down in disgust and the conversation had turned, naturally enough, to Voldemort and prophecies and Sirius. It was too new, too raw. He couldn't talk about Sirius. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And then he was in the hallway with Malfoy, and all the confusion was burned down in the face of his anger. Satisfaction welled as a flash of fear crossed Malfoy's face. Bitter pleasure as the flush of anger marred those smooth perfect features. The acidic burn of anger intensified when Snape interfered. Harry brushed past McGonagall and headed for the relative safety of Hagrid's hut, not really caring if Malfoy or his cronies chose to follow him. Welcomed it, in fact, as it would provide a nice distraction from all this crappy feeling. When the hand gripped his arm, he had turned with his wand drawn and a curse on the tip of his tongue. Only to blink in sudden confusion.

"Ginny?"

She bit her lip, looking behind her nervously, before thrusting a thick envelope in his hand. "I wrote you a note."

"Great." He sighed bitterly. "Another note. Just what I need. Tell me," he cocked his head to the side in a mockery of polite inquiry. "Does this also contain revelations that will shatter my concept of reality?" Ginny blanched. Harry's lips parted in shock. "Oh God it does. Doesn't it?"

"I know what you're feeling right now," Ginny said softly. Harry's expression immediately blanked. Ginny grimaced. "No, I actually think I might. You feel like you have no real place in the world. And that might not be a bad thing, because you really don't want to be a part of this crueler reality."

Green eyes narrowed. "When have you ever felt like that?" He sounded bitter, but he couldn't help it. Ginny was the baby, the only girl; pampered and adored by the whole family. Except for her first year of schooling, nothing extraordinary or earth shattering had happened to her. Ever.

Ginny ignored his question. "Don't shut me out," she said softly, holding up her hand as Harry started to interrupt. "Read the letter. I wrote it… oh Merlin, I wrote it nearly two years ago and have added to it as things progressed. Don't shut me out," she repeated fiercely.

"Gin," Harry closed his eyes, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "I nearly got you killed. All of you. And now with this stupid proph…" he stopped himself.

"I figured you'd heard it by now."

"What?" He looked at her carefully neutral face sharply.

"The prophecy," she repeated calmly. "You have heard it by now, haven't you?"

Harry stared at her incredulously; far too shocked to care about how stupid he may sound. "You heard the prophecy?"

Ginny smiled a secret little smile. "I've always known the prophecy." She started backing away. "Read the letter."

Torn between staring at the letter in his hand and the retreating form in front of him, Harry did nothing but stand there. "Wait!" But Ginny was gone; running back to the castle without a backward glance. Harry had stuffed the letter in his pocket, gone to visit Hagrid as had been his previous intention, and once again fled as Sirius' name had come up far too often. He'd retreated to the far side of the lake, deliberately selecting a spot isolated from the giggling students basking in the late afternoon sunlight. Countless moments passed before he realized he was staring fixedly at the spot where he had rescued Sirius nearly two years before. Desperate for a change, Harry had read Ginny's letter.

And his pain was replaced by shock. And the first faint stirrings of hope.

Slightly calmer, he sat and gazed unseeingly at lake; worrying and planning over his future. Over the twist his life had unexpectedly taken. Kill or be killed. It was cold by the time he felt stable enough to return to the castle. Cold, with a bite to the wind that hinted at winter instead of a June evening. Harry shivered, walking just a tad quicker away from the lake, when a flash of movement from the Forbidden Forest caught his attention. A Thestral. He'd forgotten about them in the ensuing chaos at the ministry and Sirius… He stopped that thought cold, unwilling to feel the rush of grief again, unwilling to feel anything, really. Without being consciously aware of his actions, Harry followed the Thestral through the forest, watching as it joined its herd.

He watched them numbly. Observing the awkward grace of their bodies, the fluidity of their movements, the way they seemed to connect to their environment, yet remained so singularly detached. But these Thestrals were different than others; Hagrid had tamed them. Such a contradiction of ideals. Harry could relate. Born wild; raised in captivity. Like the boa at the zoo. Like him. Far, far too often in his life he'd felt like nothing more than a walking oxymoron. The freakish boy who was a hero. The ungainly teen that was destined for more. He smiled bitterly over the fact that he felt more intone with animals than with his peers. But should beasts be tamed? Should he? After all, it was these very same tamed beasts that had submitted to teenagers and led them to a fight for their lives. Because Harry had been tricked. Had let himself be tricked. And used that deception to manipulate beasts equally tamed as himself.

Anger, hot fierce and alive, bubbled up inside him. Wild beasts shouldn't be tamed. Bad things happened when baser instincts were ignored or suppressed. Would he have gone to the ministry if he had been taught to analyze instead of simply following the ebb and flow of emotion? Would these beasts have taken hapless teenagers to the ministry if they had not been tamed into believing their purpose was to serve others? Without thinking, contradicting himself, Harry picked up a rock and threw it as hard as he could into the clearing. It hit the flank of a Thestral with a heavy thunk; causing all the surrounding Thestrals to slowly turn to look at Harry.

Heedless of the tears falling freely from his eyes, Harry picked up another rock. And another. Sobbing as he heaped abuse upon the animals he identified with. Unable, too weak, to heap the abuse upon himself. "Why aren't you running?" he shouted desperately, throwing rocks, braches, clumps of dirt; anything he could get his hands on. "Why are you still here? Why are you letting others dictate how you think, what you do, where you live? How can you stand knowing you helped lead someone to death? How can you even justify breathing?"

So caught up in his bubble of misery, Harry failed to notice the biggest Thestral of the pack inching closer and closer. Failed to notice, that is, until fangs clamped around his side and shook lightly, ripping the flesh beneath. The coppery sweet scent of blood made his nostrils flare and tickled the back of his throat. Too late he remembered Hagrid telling the class Thestrals wouldn't attack humans without provocation. "Oh." Harry stared down at his side in shock. His knees buckling as the pain finally reached his brain and set his nerves on fire.

The Thestrals gathered closer, communicating silently with each other as the watched him stagger and lean against a tree for support. And then one of them did the unthinkable. It stepped forward, intelligent eyes studying Harry, bent its head, and licked the wound. Harry whimpered, trying unsuccessfully to shove the beasts away as more inched closer and nudged against his bleeding flesh. "Sorry," Harry whispered, pushing weakly at the animals as black spots flickered in front of his eyes. "Sorry," he repeated dazedly. "So sorry. Sorry Sirius, Mum, Dad, Cedric. Sorry sorry sorry…"

All he could see was black, bat like wings as the Thestrals surrounded him. Nipping and licking at his wound as a haze seemed to smother his brain and still his movements. His focus narrowed. His world consisting entirely of the fire spreading from his wound and the glowing eyes of the animals before him. "Sorry sorry sorry. So sorry. Didn't mean to. Didn't mean anything." Beyond caring what he was apologizing for, or whether or not he would even survive this altercation, Harry leaned further upon the mass of bodies surrounding him and passed out.

It was dark when he regained consciousness. Dark yet oddly comfortable. Harry opened his eyes slowly, groggily, wincing as the faintest of movements pulled against the ruined flesh of his abdomen and caused blood to seep in a lazy slide once again. Instantly, glowing eyes appeared in the darkness. Studying him, watching him as he pushed away and staggered drunkenly to his feet. Seeming almost smug in their silence as they allowed his to leave the dubious safety of the clearing. Harry felt… weird. Lighter and heavier all at once. And even clumsier than normal; like his balance had abruptly shifted. But he couldn't go to the Hospital Wing. Ron and Hermione were there. Madame Pomphrey was there. Going to the infirmary would mean questions, comments, sidelong glances. He could handle that about as much as he could handle talking about Sirius. By the time Harry made his way to Gryffindor Tower, he was chalk white, shaking, and his shirt was drenched with a disgusting mess of blood, sweat, and saliva. So, instead, he cleaned himself up in the bathroom as best he could, wrapped an old sweater tightly around his waist to stem the flow of blood, and tumbled into a feverish sleep.

The next few days had Harry ignoring his slowly healing wound as best he could as he sent and received owls. Trying, best he could, to establish a future for himself that would appease everyone. Ron and Hermione left the Hospital Wing three days before the end of term and, aside from a sympathetic or understanding gaze, made no comment on how pale and withdrawn Harry had become. Hermione narrowed her eyes when she saw Harry trembling, and innocently began dishing up his plate for him with generous portions. Ron tried staying awake nights to ensure Harry wasn't suffering from nightmares again, but the pain potions and medications he was on had him snoring long before Harry snuck off to the bathroom to change his makeshift bandages. Ginny cast him searching glances when she thought he wasn't looking, but made no further move to approach him. It was his turn.

Finally they were standing at King's Cross, and Harry watched with a sense of undeserved emotion as Lupin and members of the Order threatened the Dursley's. With one last smile for his friends, he quietly followed his family to the car. "Awful bloody nerve," Vernon mumbled as he loaded Harry's luggage hap hazardously into the boot.

Harry winced as he sat down and placed Hedwig's cage gently on his lap; the familiar tightening of skin telling him that after the train ride his wound had once again opened. "Uncle Vernon?" he quietly asked. A scowl in the rear view mirror was his response. Ignoring this reaction, Harry withdrew a twenty pound note from his pocket and held it up for inspection. "There's been a slight change in plans. I need you to drop me off at Grimmauld Place, and then take Aunt Petunia out for a coffee before you head back to Surrey."

Vernon glared at Harry through the mirror. "And why, boy, would I do that?"

"Because then you would not have to deal with me for the summer, or next summer, or the summer after that." Harry kept his voice unemotional, ignoring Petunia's start of surprise as he focused his attention solely on his uncle's greedy eyes.

"Done with you, eh?"

"Yep."

"For good?"

"Yep."

"Grimmauld Place, eh?"

"Yep."

Dizzy, Harry swayed slightly from side to side as he watched his uncle's car speed away. Maybe he should have eaten more in the last week. Or slept more. It had been far far too light in Gryffindor Tower to sleep the night through. He looked up at the dark house before him, questioning his decision to live here for the thousandth time. But, he reflected wryly, it was too late to back out now. Sirius was gone, he was here, and there was no way in hell he would ever beg the Dursley's to take him back and lock him in a small room for the duration of summer vacation. One hand clutching his bloody side, the other clinging to his trunk and Hedwig's cage, Harry slowly made his way up the steps before him. Carefully removing his hand from his side, he twisted the knob and felt an electric shock shoot up his arm. The door shuddered violently, emitting a strange humming noise, before falling silent. Harry watched in horrified fascination as the blood, his blood, absorbed into the doorknob. Beginning to question the wisdom of opening a house previously owned by a dark family with a blood soaked hand, Harry was given no chance to back down before the door swung open in silent invitation.

Still he hesitated. The house was quiet. And seemed… to be waiting. Expectant. Harry looked around him warily before mustering up his courage, stepping through the entryway, and shutting the door silently behind him. The minute the door clicked into place, the house seemed to breathe a quiet sigh and settle into place. It felt different. Like home.

"No," an appalled voice uttered to his left. Harry turned and found himself looking into the oddly alert eyes of Walburga Black. Her frame literally vibrating against the wall with shock. "No," slowly her head shook from side to side. "It can't be."

"What?" Harry asked, wincing as his wound gave an unpleasant twinge. He glanced at his side in concern. Should his bite still be emitting blood almost a week after receiving it?

Walburga ignored his question, eyes following Harry's movements. She stared from his bloody hand to the door. "Should have known that fool son of mine would do something like this." She scowled. "And here I told Orion to formally disown him, didn't I? Burned him off the family tree, I did. Washed my hands of him all together. But that damn husband of mine couldn't be arsed to care to keep him away from our family's legacy. And now we're stuck with you."

Harry pushed his trunk to the side of the hallway, exhausted after the trip from school and the emotions rolling through him. "What are you babbling about now?" he asked wearily; idly wondering if he would be able to shut the hangings over her frame by himself.

High pitched crackly laughter followed this question. Walburga shook her head at him. "You don't even know what you've done, do you?" Harry looked at her blankly. Sighing, she swung one side of her portrait away from the wall, revealing a cubby hole filled with papers. "Go on then," she said irritably. "I'll not be hanging open all day."

"You can move?" Harry questioned bemusedly, thinking of all the wasted hours spent trying to get her off the wall. He looked at the papers in his hand in tired confusion. "What's all this?"

She gestured to his bloody hand and back at the door. "In one fell swoop you claimed your inheritance and transferred all warding over this place to you." Harry still looked confused. "Welcome to adult hood, Harry Potter. Or," her smirk turned slightly evil. "Should I say Lord Black?"

"Lord Black?" Harry stared at the smirking woman before sinking onto the stairs and rubbing at his temples. "Great," he muttered to himself. "Just great. First Sirius, then mum, then Ginny, now this." He shook his head bleakly, cursing the prevailing weakness in his body. "What else is going to happen to me before I break?"

Walburga laughed in genuine delight over this sentiment. "Oh you foolish boy," she giggled happily. "Haven't you learned by now that nothing good comes from asking questions like that?"