Demons
Harry Potter P.O.V
The attic was silent. The sound of children's laughter had stopped, one of the ways Harry knew night had fallen. The silence felt unnatural for an attic that hadn't been cleaned for five years, one would expect to at least hear the faint patter of mice, maybe a squeak or two. Harry didn't mind, barely even noticed it, too busy with the book in his lap. His eyes scanned the pages as his right hand flipped the pages he deemed useless. His left was tightly clenched around the hilt of the dagger, his fingers almost white with how hard he held it, afraid it would somehow be taken from him.
While Hector's entry would have been helpful to anyone without the means to make a suitable tool, himself included till just a moment ago. Once he found the dagger he knew no other tool would be suitable, he just needed to find out how to use it. Isaac had filled his wife's journal with the culture and religion of a forge master (as long as one understands and appreciates what hell has offered it can be whatever one interprets it to be), at least what he and Hector thought it to be, but has yet to mention how to do the work of a forge master but that little tidbit about the stones; and that was more Hector than Isaac.
Harry also knew magic was involved as he had only seen Isaac and Hector's entries since they caught his interest. The fact the book adds five more pages whenever the last page is turned also accounts for it; but he has no idea when the book ends, so he can't just open to-. He pauses, his finger just about to flip the new last page. 'It's magic.' He thinks, 'Why would a magician waste time flipping through pages, there must be a way to open to specific pages.' Harry stares down at the pages intently. 'But how?' As he continues to stare at the last page, fingers fiddling with the bottom corner he starts to mumble. "I'm also magic, it explains how I got onto that roof. It shouldn't be too hard, I just want to find out how to use a forge master tool and revive something-!" With those last words, the page rips itself from Harry's hand as thousands of pages blur together as they turn over on their own.
It is only a few seconds later that it stops, the book open on his lap as he is left to stare at it. He briefly reads the pages offered and distinctly notes that it's about reviv- reanimation, he rethinks as he goes over the introductory lines. He continues reading in a detached manner, not fazed by the disturbing, gory details that usually follow for others. He felt... excited. It was something different, something special, and definitely not normal; the Dursleys would have hated even the thought, making it even more appealing. He could barely stop himself from vibrating.
He could only read through the introductory and safety warnings (not all like one wouldn't a science experiment in school) before jumping up to his feet and dashing around the attic in search of a rat or mouse. Someone might have likened him to a cartoon by the way he dashed about, dodging broken glass, hoping over sentimentally held kitchen wear, and barely avoiding a pile of legos; he stepped on them enough already courtesy of Dudley. He spent an hour scouring every nook and cranny, every empty box, even risked moving the insulation around with a fork- and found no sign of any rat or mouse.
Going over to the box of blankets he unearthed earlier, he picked a few thick ones and moved towards the window. Moonlight peered through as though to watch him in his misery. Harry stood behind the line the moonlight created, tilting his head this way and that as he determined which spot was easiest to clean. The entire attic was covered in the mess he had made for his dagger; he didn't regret it, the dagger was worth the mess and inevitable punishment. Once he found his spot he slowly made his way over, carefully avoiding any glass. He dropped the blankets briefly hoping they didn't rip or get glass in them before cleaning: He flung toys and watched the shadows swallow them, carefully picked bigger pieces of glass off the floor and brought them a safe distance away, and used his oversized, stained grey shirt as a rag to swipe anything else away from his spot. It wasn't until he laid down the second blanket that he hurt himself, a sharp stinging pain from his elbow to the middle of his forearm.
A quick glance at the wound showed it not to be serious- for him anyway- it would heal within a few hours. He stared at it and watched as the blood flowed from him. Watched as it drained him of life and leaked his soul. Watched as tears he never let fall broke out in blood and fell to the floor, detachedly staring at droplets as they hit the glass guilty of releasing them hoping to drown it just like he to his relatives. Time passed as he watched the blood drip onto that shard of glass, and stared as his wound started to mend.
He was fascinated as he watched the wound scab over and new skin cells form to cover it leaving only a hint of scar tissue, all in a matter of minutes instead of days. It healed faster than before, Harry would've had to sleep for a wound like that to heal from past experience. He glanced at the dagger, 'Was it because I found it? That instead connection I felt? Maybe it was my acknowledgment of magic that mine finally surfaced? But I should have felt it earlier if it did happen, but I didn't get hurt earlier. Is getting hurt a requirement, specifically bleeding?' Questions and ideas floated around his head before getting caught in a maelstrom of them, only adding to the storm.
As his thoughts spiraled into a mass of unanswered questions, he heard a sound. Dismissing it to try and untangle his mind, he heard it again only a second later followed by a scuttling of claws against a window. 'The window-!' He twisted his head towards the window and saw a bat clawing and banging against it, speaking angrily at the glass that separated it from the attic. 'This could be my chance.' And with that, Harry willed the window to open, to leave, to allow the bat in. With a woosh and a sudden flutter of leathery wings, Harry's magic made it so. The bat flew in and circled the room once, twice before swooping down towards the glass stained with Harry's blood. It didn't make sense, bats shouldn't have sensed his blood from outside, even if it was a vampire bat.
'But maybe,' he thought as the blade flashed in his peripheral vision, 'It was fate that brought it here.' There was a humming in the air, an undescribable feeling as he crouched with his blade perfectly angled in front of him, a voice whispering in his ear "Change..."
The bat was unaware, focus solely on the blood in front of it. Harry's eyes which only seconds before held the reflection of the moon, seemed to have no light within them. He stared intently at the bat, his gaze hungry like any predator would gaze at its prey. "Change."
He took a cautious step forward, it went unnoticed. "Change... Change."
Another step. His eyes reflected in the blade, their intent unmistakable. "Change. Change."
Another step. His body was angled in a way his shadow wouldn't disturb the bat, he had done it naturally. "Change, Change."
One last step. The bat continued to feed unaware of Harry looming above. "Change, Change!"
Green sparks flickered along his blade. He lifted it above his head slowly. More sparks leaped along the side of the blade, splitting themselves in two. "Change! Change!"
A breath carefully pulled in. Small flames weakly flickered along the blade. A breath carefully let out, as the blade began its arched descent. Sharp flames exploded from the dagger. "CHANGE! CHANGE!"
The bat finally realized the predator behind him and stilled in fear for a brief moment. It flapped its wings desperately. "CHANGE! CHANGE!"
Spulch. The blade sunk into its prey and the snake's eyes gleamed with content as blood dosed The Shard of glass with the blood of the being it enticed. The dagger stuck out of the bat grotesquely, almost too big for the bat's body. It was on its back with the blade in its stomach, its angle from its brief time in the air was its result. The head was pointed up at him, black eyes stared soullessly up into his. There was no movement from the defiantly dead bat. For only a moment.
Harry watched with excitement as the same green flame from his dagger surrounded the body, making it jerk this way and that. He pulled out his dagger when the body started to transform: The wound knit back together, its body grew, its talons became sharper, its teeth sharpened into fangs, and the fire burned off its fur leaving a leathery texture. It was easily three times its size when the fire died down, the transformation clearly done. The cherry on top was when the creature opened its now green eyes, the same shade as his, and stared at him.
His demon, for it could be nothing else, picked its body off the ground. It tilted its head up at him, observing him just as he observed it. There was barely any resemblance to a bat, much less to the small one it had come from. There wasn't even a scar. Harry held no doubts it could kill with a single swipe and it was his, and it wasn't something his Uncle could take away. "Can you speak?" His demon looked at him, its eyes showed intelligence, a sentience that was more than simply following commands; it could speak, he knew.
"Yes, Forgemaster." It said it as if Harry was royalty, there was a reverence there.
"What should I call you?" His demon looked at him for a moment, letting silence fill the room as he looked down at it while he sat on his heels.
"... Apollyon." He gave a small hum but stayed still and otherwise silent.
There was another moment of silence. "What would you have me do Forgemaster?" There was malice in those eyes, a want for destruction, a glee of the anticipatory gore.
"Be my friend." Apollyon's eyes widened, disbelief apparent. "Other names are also caregiver, guardian, protect, and even parent if time and feelings willing." Apollyon's body was slack and he looked at Harry as if he was insane; maybe he was.
"You would have me, a demon, a bringer of destruction, an agent of chaos, a being that thrives off the pain of others be a friend?" Apollyon had a mental aneurysm right in front of his eyes.
He smiled, it was a sharp one. "It might be a weird request for one such as yourself, if not for the terms that come with it." Apollyon's head tilted curiously. "One of my terms for being a friend is to help make enemies... Disappear, by any means necessary. And I already have a few enemies on my list." The smile that stretched Apollyon's face was nothing less than bloodthirsty.
Harry was happy to return it.