Venom
°•°CHAPTER 3•°•
Harry woke up again hours later, feeling much clearer.
His mind wasn't as fuzzy as before and he still remembered freaking out on Stark and him being so calm about it.
Reassuring.
It was weird.
No adult had ever done this before, and he wasn't sure if it wasn't the calm before the storm. Uncle Vernon did love tricking him before Harry finally realized that he's only doing it to be cruel.
His uncle would suddenly become calm and act all concerned, then proceed to ask Harry if he's doing okay, if something was wrong. And if Harry dared to voice his sorrows he'd be punished for being ungrateful.
He hoped he wasn't in the same situation right now, but Harry learned a long time ago that hope was for fools only, and it only hurts worse to have it ripped away from you again.
"Ah, you're awake."
Harry jumped and cursed himself for not realizing that not only he wasn't alone, but his wand wasn't there.
Where was it?!
No matter, he can still do wandless magic if the need arises, but the man didn't look like he was about to attack him.
Harry wasn't taking any chances though. Tom Riddle didn't look threatening either, and look what that bastard had done: set a basilisk on him! And this was the same fucker that tried to restrain him earlier.
"Who are you?" Harry demanded.
"Steve Rogers. Everyone knows me as Captain America."
Harry snorted. "Not everyone. Never heard of you, and that's a stupid fucking name to give yourself. What's next, Captain Britain? Any chance you're best mates with Captain Mexico?"
The man was frowning at him in a disapproving manner.
What a prick.
Standing there and judging him, acting all high and mighty, when the bastard attacked him first.
"Never heard of me? At minimum you should've been shown my videos during PE classes."
Major Lockhart vibes from this one.
Never heard of me? Nonsense! My teeth are blinding everyone from the three thousand posters I hung of myself in the Alley! I'm the best! Everyone knows and loves me!
Ew.
"We don't have PE classes." And thank Merlin for that. Besides, quidditch definitely counted as a sport.
"What kind of school do you go to that doesn't have PE?" The man looked confused, and sounded just accusing enough that it sounded like he was blamingHarry for the lack of PE classes at Hogwarts.
Harry glared. "The one that has a million fucking stairs. Pretty sure that counts as sport and if it doesn't, then it's a bloody crime."
"You shouldn't curse so much."
"And you should mind your own fucking business, but here we are."
They continued to stare at each other, until the man sighed and raised his hands in surrender.
"Let me out of here."
"No can do. Your leg is messed up, and we need to observe you in case the venom we found in your bloodstream has any long lasting side effects. What bit you? We couldn't find anything alike on our records."
Harry froze and looked at his leg.
No wonder it hurt.
These fucking muggles tried healing an acromantula bite with muggle medicine. It might not be lethal, but he really needed a fucking healer and some actual potions.
He had no idea what would happen if it was left untreated, but he didn't want to lose his leg.
Shit.
Why is it always Harry that ends up in these situations?
But these muggles knew about magic, right? Then maybe… maybe he could talk them into taking him to a wizarding establishment. For some potions and a team of obliviators.
He had no idea if the healing charms would even work against a bite.
Fuck.
He was in such a mess.
"No idea. Must've tripped and fell. Right into your kidnapping arms."
The man looked exasperated, but he was holding onto his composure well.
Shame.
"We didn't kidnap you. You… Stark says you teleported into his house. And then we patched you up."
"Great. Means I can go now, right?"
"No."
"Then this is a kidnapping."
Captain looked ready to strangle him, and Harry grinned. Oh, how he loved pissing people off.
It was extremely easy to rile up any gryffindor. They were so quick to anger and hot headed, the most innocent things push them over the edge… but slytherins? That's were the real fun lied. Bickering with Malfoy was one of the best times of his day, and he was pretty sure Malfoy knew it, too.
Certainly not the gryffindors. Ron was convinced that Harry hated Malfoy and Slytherin, and probably everything with even the barest hint of green and silver, but it wasn't his fault his friend was so blind and didn't look further than the surface.
Ron didn't know he had a secret slytherin by heart as a friend.
But it was better for Harry in the long run. If he was truly sorted into Slytherin, he would've been named a dark wizard immediately.
He didn't want to be scrutinized by Dumbledore more than he already had been.
He hoped that old bastard was being fucked over for losing him.
Harry now knew he could've pulled strings and gotten him out of the Tournament altogether, but he didn't. He stayed silent and passive, for some fucking reason, and allowed Harry to risk his life for nothing.
And not once did anyone listen to Harry’s complaints when he said he didn't want to participate.
A little too late for that now.
"I doubt you could even walk, kid. Your ankle is sprained to hell, not to mention your cracked bones and God knows what else. You'll be staying here until you're better and we find out what happened."
"For all I know you sprained my ankle so I couldn't leave. Sounds like kidnapping to me."
He liked Stark better. This 'Captain' couldn't even give him a good comeback. Just gritted his teeth and glared.
So boring.
"You're an impossible child."
"Feel free to leave."
And he did.
Thankfully.
Dramatically.
Harry yanked away the blanket, wincing when he saw his leg and signs of muggle medicine.
"Well, fuck."
His ankle was swollen.
Hopefully not broken, but…
Harry closed his eyes and called forth his magic, smiling when he felt his fingers buzzing with energy.
He concentrated on his ankle and felt a pressure increase to the point of bursting before it subsided, swelling going down with a cool brush of magic.
He watched how his ankle became normal sized again, yet it was still sore.
Probably needed some balm and another day of rest.
Now, for the more difficult part, Harry carefully took off the bandages from his acromantula bite wound and winced. It looked bad and if not for the muggle drugs in his system, he'd probably hurl.
"Brackium emendo," he whispered, focusing on his leg and could barely muffle his screams as bones and ligaments snapped back into place. It wasn't too bad, which meant doctors clearly tried to fix his leg and the cast was doing it's job, but it wasn't done perfectly either.
Fucking hell, his leg throbbed something fierce.
Harry had to take a moment and just breathe before continuing on with casting healing charms and everything else he learned for the tournament.
He quite literally devoured a few medical texts, just in case. After all, someone was out there to kill him and Harry hated being left helpless and at the complete mercy of others.
He was sick of relying on people who didn't give a shit: self sufficiency was the way to go. And Harry was exceptionally glad and thanking his past self for being thoughtful and learning something actually useful. For once.0
Now the acromantula bite itself was more of an issue.
Healing charms worked, but not as well as they would on a regular wound. He needed a potion to fix it completely, or even better: a competent healer.
He had neither of those things, so until he does, Harry was going to improvise.
He couldn't just leave it like that.
"Vulnus sanandum. Sanguinem emunda," Harry hissed quietly in parseltongue, putting his intent behind his words, imagining his wound healing, the venom leaving his body.
He continued repeating the words, willing his magic to heal and to cleanse, and it must've been working since he felt something seeping from his wound.
Harry opened his eyes to see something black seeping out. It burned.
Ew.
"Vulnus sanandum-" Harry continued on, shaking from concentration and the strain his body was going through.
It bloody hurt and Harry couldn't stop. He wasn't sure if he'll be able to do this again.
That's why it was best for another person to heal you if it was something more serious than a broken nose. Losing concentration meant the job would be done halfway or not done at all. And if you didn't possess a sufficient enough control over your magic, you could make your injuries indefinitely worse.
It felt like hours, but Harry felt like he got the venom out, or at least most of it.
Somehow. By sheer will and a wonderful gift that was parseltongue.
It might be considered a branch of dark magic, but Harry didn't give a shit, as long as it kept him alive. It was just another language anyway.
He thanked his past self for not being a slob and practicing some spells beforehand. He'd be fucked otherwise.
Exhaustion hit him like a train when he was done and Harry fell back into the bed, breathing heavily.
His head was spinning.
He must've overdone it.
"I hate my life," Harry groaned. "And I'm suing everyone."
He definitely should.
What would even happen if he filed a lawsuit against Tom Riddle? Would he be obligated to show up?
Would be fucking hilarious if he hired Lucius Malfoy to defend him against his own Master.
He should do it.
After he crucios the bastard himself, for laughing at Harry when he was being cruciod by his Lord.
He's gonna fuck them all up. Harry had a whole year to plan his revenge, when no one was talking to him. He had dozens of wonderful ideas swirling around his head, and none of them were merciful.
But first, he had to find out where he was, why he was here, and how he was going to proceed from here.
These guys seemed friendly, but Harry wasn't about to trust them easily.
His parents trusted Pettigrew and look where that got them? Dead.
Good thing Harry was used to being on his own.
He just needed to take a nap… replenish his magic.
And then he'll see.
"Sir, you must see this."
Tony trusted Jarvis but he didn't trust his own eyes after what he saw.
The kid just… did some magic.
He was sure of it, even if it sounded hysterical.
But the proof was right there: Harry's ankle was no longer thrice its size. The wound no longer looked as infected. In fact, that black goo was on the linen - ew - and it looked… better.
What the fuck.
"Jarvis, a scan, now."
What would he do without his AI?
"Sir, I sense no more fractures. His bones seem to be healed and the sprain looks to be weeks old. I'm afraid I cannot explain this."
"Magic," Tony whispered. "Holy mother of God. Or whatever. Any sightings of our favourite gods?"
"No, sir."
Damn it.
What was he supposed to do with a clearly traumatized and cagey magical kid?
He'd call SHIELD if he didn't think they'd start running experiments on the vulnerable hurt child.
"Heimdal? Pretty please, get your princes down here. Magic is so out of my realm of capability. I'm kind of stuck, just don't tell anyone I said that."
And that's not mentioning he could find no records of this Harry Potter anywhere, not even a visit at a doctor's office. Other than a birth certificate that didn't look legit and some shady records of primary school attendance, Harry was a ghost. And after that - poof. Gone.
Children don't just disappear. Unless they're kidnapped, but Harry insisted on attending some sort of school to Cap.
And he loved what a little shit he was to Rogers. It was so delightful. And not like Cap could just step over his overly high morals and curse the kid out.
Beautiful.
And according to the boy, presuming he wasn't lying, his school had a shitton of stairs.
Which meant, what? A high building? Dungeons? Castle? Could be anything, especially if he was from England.
Tony hated just how out of depth he was. That even with all of his technology, he couldn't find the answers he wanted. Was it that hard for people in England to digitalise everything so he could hack it?
Nothing made sense.
And what the hell was a Tri-Wizarding Tournament?!?
Panic ensued at Hogwarts when neither of the Hogwarts Champions returned from the maze.
Fleur Delacour and Victor Krum were waiting in the medical wing, having been rescued by professors circling the maze after they saw red sparks being shot into the sky.
Hogwarts victory was imminent, but as the night went on with no sign of either champions, everyone was starting to become worried.
Were they lost? Hurt?
After an hour of waiting, Albus Dumbledore ventured into the maze himself, along with Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall, followed closely by Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge, who insisted on waiting.
Dumbledore was extremely worried.
He just knew something to be wrong, especially as they came to the clearing and found the Goblet gone.
"They must've grabbed it on our way here," Bagman announced. "Hogwarts wins, either way."
Dumbledore shook his head. "I would've been informed if either of the boys showed up with the goblet while we're here. Something isn't right."
"Oh, nonsense, Dumbledore. The portkey was supposed to land in front of the maze. We aren't idiots, you know," Fudge chuckled, even though he, too, felt uneasy. "Let's get out of here."
"Should we search the maze?" Minerva asked as the Ministry's employees departed, lying to themselves that they would find the boys waiting.
"It would be best. However-"
"Albus," Severus hissed, eyes squeezed in pain as he yanked his sleeve up and the Dark Mark became visible to all. "He's back."
Albus' face lost all remaining colour while Minerva gasped, gripping her chest.
"Are you certain, my boy?"
Severus hissed. "Yes. He- he must have Potter. Somehow. I can tell he's furious."
Albus seemed to age in front of their eyes.
"The cup must've been a portkey. The one who entered the boy's name must've altered the coordinates."
"Albus, what are we going to do?" Minerva was incredibly worried for her students.
"We must tell the others. We've already wasted precious time and Voldemort will not wait either. We must hurry if we wish to find them alive." Albus paused. "Severus? You're the only one with access to his location. Could you apparate where the Mark leads you with a passenger?"
Severus nodded. "Yes. But the moment I appear not alone, both of us will be killed on sight. I'm not sure it wouldn't happen either way, considering I didn't show up the moment I was summoned."
Albus sighed.
He was at a loss of what to do.
It was a lose-lose situation, and he couldn't afford to lose Severus as a spy.
"Albus, we must inform the Ministry. Two of our students are missing. This isn't the time to keep this quiet and hope for the best," Minerva stated fiercely. She wasn't about to be led astray by her employer's schemes. She was going to protect her students by any means necessary.
"Fine. I doubt the Diggorys would've stayed silent either way."
Minerva turned to him furiously. "What, so if it was only Harry that's missing, you would've kept it quiet because he has no family?!"
Albus winced. That's not what he meant necessarily…
"I'm sure the boys will turn up. Harry always finds a way out in difficult situations."
At least he hoped he would.
Harry couldn't die before he completed the prophecy.
It was simply not feasible and Albus had no other Chosen One.
Perhaps… if Harry isn't found, he should finally invest some time in teaching Neville Longbottom. Merlin knows the boy isn't bright, but if Harry fell at Voldemort's hand already… Albus has no other choice.
The war has to be won. One way or another.