Fall Through-Chapter3
Ne... Here is the next chapter. Might as well post it too.
Title: Fall Through
Genre: Drama, Romance
Category: YuYuHakusho/Harry Potter
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Harry survived the Killing Curse? He didn't.
KuronuexKurama or if you'd rather consider it, HarryxKurama, seeing as Harry IS Kuronue. Shounen ai.
The birds were atwitter, the sun was shining, and the storm from the night before was long gone. Kurama pulled up his blinds and opened his window to the morning. Wet earth emanated from his back yard and he could clearly smell his roses. It was nice, he reflected. Very nice and relaxing. He had been way too stressed lately, with all the studying he had been doing. He frowned slightly and stuck his head and shoulders out the windows where the slight breeze played with his hair and ran over his arms and shoulders. The least Koenma could have done was give him more time.
He was sure that he would miss his plants. He had created an impressive garden for his mother several years back. Daisies, roses, thyme... He even had grown her a few miniature trees and shrubs. Near a corner he had planted a sickly Cherry tree after his seventh year of living with his mother. Over the last several years it had grown and bloomed into a beautiful one--without his help.
He didn't particularly want to leave home. Much less did he want to go back to the building with the white everything. A puff of breeze ghosted over him and a few birds took flight. The last week had been exhausting.
Go a few hours, move to another room, flip back another few hours, go to another room, flip back, go, flip back, go... He even did it to get some sleep! Go to a room, flip back ten hours, sleep, and move on. He'd been in every room in the building at least twice!
He yawned a bit and quickly found himself having to spit out a mouthful of hair that the wind had playfully deposited into his mouth. After ducking back into his room he moved across the hardwood flooring to his desk. He moved a few papers off to the side and pulled the two folders he had placed there sometime earlier that week out. Bright green eyes stared intently at a book in the photo that was resting on top of one.
Kurama hadn't had much time to look over the folders in great detail, really. He'd been too busy. The first morning after he was given the mission, a man had come to his home around ten in the morning. The man, a person who he found out later was to be the teacher Koenma had stationed at the Japanese School of Magic, had interrupted him while he was in the middle of washing the dishes.
Kurama was tired.
He snagged the cream colored folder and made himself comfortable on his bed. The information in parts was relatively general, he thought, flipping through the pristine pages. Age, date of birth, weight, height, current family, etc, though he was relatively sure that the 'number of hairs on head' was meant as a joke. There were a few places that were more detailed. One that caught his eye was the 'Physical Condition' page. It was a history of accidents and such. It didn't sit well with Kurama, with how the list was so unusually long.
Sharp green eyes continued their way down the page and he discarded it into a pile he was forming. A pattern of read, discard, read, discard was quickly established. With the company of the chirping birds and the ruffling of paper Kurama quickly made his way through Harry's folder.
He sighed softly and watched the sunshine on his opposite wall. Harry sounded like he had had a rough life. His lips twisted in a sad parody of a smile and he reached for a pillow, wishing it were Kuronue instead. His knees were pulled halfway to his chest and his hair spilled messily on his pillow as he hugged said object. He wished that his mother was going to be late in making breakfast for once. He didn't want to leave his home. It's was comforting, how his room was bathed in soft golden light.
Sooty eyelashes fell to his cheeks and he felt himself fall into a light doze.
It didn't feel like much longer when he heard his mother calling up the stairwell.
Kurama pulled him out of his bed and found that he had to snap himself out of looking at it longingly. He couldn't help it, really. Berating himself silently for not getting dressed Kurama kicked himself into high gear, the manila folder somehow finding its way back to his desk with Harry's photo once more sitting on top.
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"Shuichi?" Shiori's voice interrupted the droning repetitive motions of the egg laden fork.
"Un?" startled, Kurama looked up at his mother. He couldn't help sitting up slightly and looking a little closer at her, noticing her unusually serious expression. "Yes mother?" The fork was once more on the plate and his full attention was focused on the woman he cared so much about. She was his saving light. She was his mother, just when he needed one.
She smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly in a weather worn look of love. She tucked the errant strand that always seemed to be escaping her behind her ear before speaking, "It's not that I don't want you to leave..." she absentmindedly brushed out the skirt of her apron and leaned a bit against the pale blue countertops. “I just wonder why you are going so far away. You've been gone so often lately..."
Kurama found himself silently cursing the infantile deity that ordered the mission he was soon leaving for.
Shiori looked down, as if trying to stem an oncoming ramble. She reached up to tuck the already tucked strand of hair, "I mean... You've been leaving for weeks at a time and coming home looking so tired."
Kurama had gotten out of his chair sometime during which she was speaking to wrap his arms around her shoulders in a gesture he knew she would appreciate a lot. He tightened his grip slightly, not enough to hurt her but enough for her to be able to feel the shift. He hadn't hugged her enough as a child, he reflected. Before the accident, he had shied away from most contact, thinking her an unworthy human. He probably would still think her unworthy if it weren't for the care that he could have documented, even before the accident. She had tried her best, even when his father had died, and that was enough for him. She deserved it.
"It is a boarding school, mother," he rested his head against hers in a soothing motion. "It will be a good experience." He felt distinctly guilty at the coming lie but didn't let it enter his tone, "I did not expect to get it, so I did not tell you till I knew for sure." His tone was smooth and his nimble fingers gently stroked her hair, "I am sorry," as if to amend the situation he continued with, "I promise to write you letters," in a slightly teasing lilt.
She laughed slightly at his tone, nodding.
She was the one to pull away, graciously letting her son get back to his breakfast. "What are you going to do there?" her feet made no sound as she made her way over to the sink where she busied herself with washing her dishes, if only to give her hands something to do.
The dark green eyes watched her dry a soft brown colored mug, with a white and blue checkered dish towel, and place it in the cupboards over head. The very same cupboards that once played home to the plates that sent his mother to the hospital for the first time since his birth.
"It is a classical little boarding school in Scotland." He'd told the truth there, though he hadn't said how classical it was. Actually, he mused, maybe it was a bit too ancient for it to be considered classical. It would rather be considered Medieval. "I expect I will get to work on my English while I am there and..." he blinked, suddenly recalling the permission slip, "Ahh. There is a town called Hogsmeade. I will get to go visit it a bit. It is a pretty rural town."
The gentle tone answered with a soft, "That sounds nice," as she turned the handle on the faucet and watched the sudsy water swirl down the stainless steel drain.
Kurama nodded pushed his plate off to the side. With one hand he traced the patterns on the time and with the other he tangled his fingers in his, as of yet, un-rushed hair. Catching a glimpse of the clock he purposely yanked on his hair in a show of frustration. "I need you to sign a permission slip for my trips to Hogsmeade. I'll be back in a minute." Kurama slid off his chair and, uncaring of any creaky floor boards, he gracefully strode across the hardwood flooring and up the old stairs. His open shirt made a show of fluttering slightly behind him in the breeze his grace made.
Back in the kitchen Shiori couldn't help but wonder how she was blessed with such a kind and intelligent son.
Up the stairs was another matter entirely. Kurama couldn't help but wonder why such a wonderful woman had been cursed with such an undeserving son. She deserved better, of that it was certain, he decided while ruffling through the papers in his bag. Pulling out the slightly crumpled sheet of paper he set it on the desk next to the picture and started buttoning up his shirt and pulling on his blazer. He had twenty minutes to get down to the building so he needed to hurry a bit.
A random comb was clenched between his teeth and the bag was slung over his shoulder when he hesitated in the door way. After a bit of thought he snatched the photo of Harry off the desk and put the picture in his pocket. With an almost laugh he shook his head at his developing obsessive-ness.
The stairs creaking underfoot, he half jumped down the rest and took a sharp left to head back to the kitchen. His bag made a dull thump next to the counter and he fished out the permission slip, deftly handing it to his mother.
She looked over the simple form and nodded. “This seems simple enough…” she dug a pen out of the junk drawer and quickly signed her name in, in both uniform English script and Japanese kanji. Shiori laughed and handed the form back to her son, who received it with a soft smile. “I am lucky,” she began, keeping her voice light, “that I still remember how to write my name in English, aren’t I?”
Kurama just smiled at her before looking at the clock. With a quickly hidden wince he bid her a good day and headed for the door. He wasn’t looking forward to where he was going. Magic wasn’t fun. Not at all.
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It was the tapping at his window that brought Harry out of his purposely induced daze. It was his thought, that if you didn’t think about anything, time would pass faster. It wasn’t necessarily true, but the effort of achieving something quite like meditation kept him busy.
It was his guess that how dirty his windows were what kept the owl from running into them. It might have been the fact that they were half open, too. With a loud creak from his mattress, Harry clambered off with the intent of opening the window just enough that the bird could get through. Feeling a tad sorry for the creature, he picked the tired owl up and carried him over to Hedwig's empty cage.
The owl was none other than Errol.
Nimble fingers from one hand gently stroked frayed feathers in a soothing and somewhat affectionate manner. He found that just seeing Errol made him miss his dear old Hedwig all the more. Harry’s other hand awkwardly untied the letter that had been tied to the owls leg. With a quiet sound of triumph Harry pulled it out of the cage and set it on his rickety desk.
He could only guess that the letter had been tied on to prevent the owl from loosing the letter. It would be very easy for such an old owl to drop it if startled by something.
The owl hooted softly when the other hand joined the first in stroking the grey feathers. Tracing over the delicate bones in the ancient owls wings, he smoothed the ruffled feathers. Errol looked so tired… With an apology at the lack of water, Harry found himself pulling the hidden floorboard up to reach for a battered water bottle.
The bottle was clear with a white cap and several dents. It had been one of Dudley’s when his parents had been encouraging him to get out more. Harry had easily nicked it from the living room when no body had been looking. Harry made a mental note to refill it soon, it was only half full.
After pouring a bit in the water dish, Harry finally diverted his attention to the letter innocently sitting on his desk.
The letter was decidedly simple. It was only a few sentences long.
‘Harry,
‘Be there at noon. Dumbledore said you could come to Diagon Alley with us. Have all your stuff packed!
‘Ron’
Vague annoyance coupled with relief were the feelings that he recognized. He was annoyed that Ron hadn’t thought to add anymore to the letter. The boy was supposed to be his friend wasn’t he? He hadn’t heard from him in months and three sentences were all he got. It was disappointing. The fact that he would be leaving early was his only form of relief.
A grin crept its way onto his face. He was leaving, he was leaving! He looked at the clock. 7:32 am. What on earth had possessed him to think that getting up at 6:00 had been a good idea?
Leaving his window open to let the morning breeze in and to allow Errol an exit Harry made himself as comfortable as he could get on the springy mattress. Trying to sleep couldn’t go awry, could it? He moved his head a bit and threw his right arm over his eyes to block the morning sunshine. It was times like this that made him dearly wish to be in his cave, or would he call it a den? Harry wondered. Cave versus den… He dismissed the idea, it didn’t matter.
It was a sudden thought. He missed his partner. Why did he have to die? He’d been so stupid! Harry pressed his arm against his face a bit harder, seeing waves of black in his already dark vision. Harry had made a bad choice-no, Kuronue had made a bad choice, after all, he wasn’t really Kuronue anymore, was he? Why had he gone after the locket? A spring of anguish bubbled up and he crushed it down mercilessly. He was over it. He had to be. Groaning out loud he rolled over and banged his head against the mattress.
“Happier times, happier times…” he mumbled to himself. Fifteen years and he still wasn’t over leaving his one and only behind. This life, he mused, could only be his punishment for being so selfish and arrogant. He was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, figurehead of salvation. He was the icon of light.
He differed drastically from in his first time around. Kuronue, Bat-Thief extraordinaire! Being a bandit had been rough but it had been his life and he had loved it. The adrenalin rush had been exhilarating, especially when he had had Youko Kurama by his side.
Thinking about Kurama left him wondering about their cave, den, whatever. Was Kurama still there? Had someone tried to loot it? How was Kurama? Did he miss him? Did he move on? He hoped Kurama wasn’t still in mourning, though he hoped the fox had at least missed him a little bit.
Kurama had been a very beautiful demon, in a masculine sort of way. Silver hair, gold eyes, and a height of seven-two, (217 cm) he was very beautiful indeed.
It wasn’t long before the steady sound of his own heartbeat and the mixed memories of Kurama mixed and he slipped off to slumber. It wasn’t long till a nasal screech woke him up, either.
Nary two hours later found Harry craned over the gas stove in the kitchen. Eggs, bacon, and hash browns were cooking at one under his skillful eye. He still remembered back when he couldn’t even cook to save his life. He smirked and absentmindedly tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. Fruit had been his friend.
“Boy!” Vernon barked imperiously, “Hurry it up! I don’t have all day!”
With a quiet, “Yes sir,” Harry focused on the temperature dials and went to re-center the pan he was cooking eggs in. He just barely stifled a yelp as his fingers came in contact with hot metal. According to the muffled snickers he could hear behind him, he hadn’t stifled it well enough. Where had his grace gone?
With a silent huff of despair he ignored the burn and continued working diligently. He could already tell that this was going to be a long day.
Title: Fall Through
Genre: Drama, Romance
Category: YuYuHakusho/Harry Potter
Summary: Have you ever wondered how Harry survived the Killing Curse? He didn't.
KuronuexKurama or if you'd rather consider it, HarryxKurama, seeing as Harry IS Kuronue. Shounen ai.
The birds were atwitter, the sun was shining, and the storm from the night before was long gone. Kurama pulled up his blinds and opened his window to the morning. Wet earth emanated from his back yard and he could clearly smell his roses. It was nice, he reflected. Very nice and relaxing. He had been way too stressed lately, with all the studying he had been doing. He frowned slightly and stuck his head and shoulders out the windows where the slight breeze played with his hair and ran over his arms and shoulders. The least Koenma could have done was give him more time.
He was sure that he would miss his plants. He had created an impressive garden for his mother several years back. Daisies, roses, thyme... He even had grown her a few miniature trees and shrubs. Near a corner he had planted a sickly Cherry tree after his seventh year of living with his mother. Over the last several years it had grown and bloomed into a beautiful one--without his help.
He didn't particularly want to leave home. Much less did he want to go back to the building with the white everything. A puff of breeze ghosted over him and a few birds took flight. The last week had been exhausting.
Go a few hours, move to another room, flip back another few hours, go to another room, flip back, go, flip back, go... He even did it to get some sleep! Go to a room, flip back ten hours, sleep, and move on. He'd been in every room in the building at least twice!
He yawned a bit and quickly found himself having to spit out a mouthful of hair that the wind had playfully deposited into his mouth. After ducking back into his room he moved across the hardwood flooring to his desk. He moved a few papers off to the side and pulled the two folders he had placed there sometime earlier that week out. Bright green eyes stared intently at a book in the photo that was resting on top of one.
Kurama hadn't had much time to look over the folders in great detail, really. He'd been too busy. The first morning after he was given the mission, a man had come to his home around ten in the morning. The man, a person who he found out later was to be the teacher Koenma had stationed at the Japanese School of Magic, had interrupted him while he was in the middle of washing the dishes.
Kurama was tired.
He snagged the cream colored folder and made himself comfortable on his bed. The information in parts was relatively general, he thought, flipping through the pristine pages. Age, date of birth, weight, height, current family, etc, though he was relatively sure that the 'number of hairs on head' was meant as a joke. There were a few places that were more detailed. One that caught his eye was the 'Physical Condition' page. It was a history of accidents and such. It didn't sit well with Kurama, with how the list was so unusually long.
Sharp green eyes continued their way down the page and he discarded it into a pile he was forming. A pattern of read, discard, read, discard was quickly established. With the company of the chirping birds and the ruffling of paper Kurama quickly made his way through Harry's folder.
He sighed softly and watched the sunshine on his opposite wall. Harry sounded like he had had a rough life. His lips twisted in a sad parody of a smile and he reached for a pillow, wishing it were Kuronue instead. His knees were pulled halfway to his chest and his hair spilled messily on his pillow as he hugged said object. He wished that his mother was going to be late in making breakfast for once. He didn't want to leave his home. It's was comforting, how his room was bathed in soft golden light.
Sooty eyelashes fell to his cheeks and he felt himself fall into a light doze.
It didn't feel like much longer when he heard his mother calling up the stairwell.
Kurama pulled him out of his bed and found that he had to snap himself out of looking at it longingly. He couldn't help it, really. Berating himself silently for not getting dressed Kurama kicked himself into high gear, the manila folder somehow finding its way back to his desk with Harry's photo once more sitting on top.
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"Shuichi?" Shiori's voice interrupted the droning repetitive motions of the egg laden fork.
"Un?" startled, Kurama looked up at his mother. He couldn't help sitting up slightly and looking a little closer at her, noticing her unusually serious expression. "Yes mother?" The fork was once more on the plate and his full attention was focused on the woman he cared so much about. She was his saving light. She was his mother, just when he needed one.
She smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly in a weather worn look of love. She tucked the errant strand that always seemed to be escaping her behind her ear before speaking, "It's not that I don't want you to leave..." she absentmindedly brushed out the skirt of her apron and leaned a bit against the pale blue countertops. “I just wonder why you are going so far away. You've been gone so often lately..."
Kurama found himself silently cursing the infantile deity that ordered the mission he was soon leaving for.
Shiori looked down, as if trying to stem an oncoming ramble. She reached up to tuck the already tucked strand of hair, "I mean... You've been leaving for weeks at a time and coming home looking so tired."
Kurama had gotten out of his chair sometime during which she was speaking to wrap his arms around her shoulders in a gesture he knew she would appreciate a lot. He tightened his grip slightly, not enough to hurt her but enough for her to be able to feel the shift. He hadn't hugged her enough as a child, he reflected. Before the accident, he had shied away from most contact, thinking her an unworthy human. He probably would still think her unworthy if it weren't for the care that he could have documented, even before the accident. She had tried her best, even when his father had died, and that was enough for him. She deserved it.
"It is a boarding school, mother," he rested his head against hers in a soothing motion. "It will be a good experience." He felt distinctly guilty at the coming lie but didn't let it enter his tone, "I did not expect to get it, so I did not tell you till I knew for sure." His tone was smooth and his nimble fingers gently stroked her hair, "I am sorry," as if to amend the situation he continued with, "I promise to write you letters," in a slightly teasing lilt.
She laughed slightly at his tone, nodding.
She was the one to pull away, graciously letting her son get back to his breakfast. "What are you going to do there?" her feet made no sound as she made her way over to the sink where she busied herself with washing her dishes, if only to give her hands something to do.
The dark green eyes watched her dry a soft brown colored mug, with a white and blue checkered dish towel, and place it in the cupboards over head. The very same cupboards that once played home to the plates that sent his mother to the hospital for the first time since his birth.
"It is a classical little boarding school in Scotland." He'd told the truth there, though he hadn't said how classical it was. Actually, he mused, maybe it was a bit too ancient for it to be considered classical. It would rather be considered Medieval. "I expect I will get to work on my English while I am there and..." he blinked, suddenly recalling the permission slip, "Ahh. There is a town called Hogsmeade. I will get to go visit it a bit. It is a pretty rural town."
The gentle tone answered with a soft, "That sounds nice," as she turned the handle on the faucet and watched the sudsy water swirl down the stainless steel drain.
Kurama nodded pushed his plate off to the side. With one hand he traced the patterns on the time and with the other he tangled his fingers in his, as of yet, un-rushed hair. Catching a glimpse of the clock he purposely yanked on his hair in a show of frustration. "I need you to sign a permission slip for my trips to Hogsmeade. I'll be back in a minute." Kurama slid off his chair and, uncaring of any creaky floor boards, he gracefully strode across the hardwood flooring and up the old stairs. His open shirt made a show of fluttering slightly behind him in the breeze his grace made.
Back in the kitchen Shiori couldn't help but wonder how she was blessed with such a kind and intelligent son.
Up the stairs was another matter entirely. Kurama couldn't help but wonder why such a wonderful woman had been cursed with such an undeserving son. She deserved better, of that it was certain, he decided while ruffling through the papers in his bag. Pulling out the slightly crumpled sheet of paper he set it on the desk next to the picture and started buttoning up his shirt and pulling on his blazer. He had twenty minutes to get down to the building so he needed to hurry a bit.
A random comb was clenched between his teeth and the bag was slung over his shoulder when he hesitated in the door way. After a bit of thought he snatched the photo of Harry off the desk and put the picture in his pocket. With an almost laugh he shook his head at his developing obsessive-ness.
The stairs creaking underfoot, he half jumped down the rest and took a sharp left to head back to the kitchen. His bag made a dull thump next to the counter and he fished out the permission slip, deftly handing it to his mother.
She looked over the simple form and nodded. “This seems simple enough…” she dug a pen out of the junk drawer and quickly signed her name in, in both uniform English script and Japanese kanji. Shiori laughed and handed the form back to her son, who received it with a soft smile. “I am lucky,” she began, keeping her voice light, “that I still remember how to write my name in English, aren’t I?”
Kurama just smiled at her before looking at the clock. With a quickly hidden wince he bid her a good day and headed for the door. He wasn’t looking forward to where he was going. Magic wasn’t fun. Not at all.
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It was the tapping at his window that brought Harry out of his purposely induced daze. It was his thought, that if you didn’t think about anything, time would pass faster. It wasn’t necessarily true, but the effort of achieving something quite like meditation kept him busy.
It was his guess that how dirty his windows were what kept the owl from running into them. It might have been the fact that they were half open, too. With a loud creak from his mattress, Harry clambered off with the intent of opening the window just enough that the bird could get through. Feeling a tad sorry for the creature, he picked the tired owl up and carried him over to Hedwig's empty cage.
The owl was none other than Errol.
Nimble fingers from one hand gently stroked frayed feathers in a soothing and somewhat affectionate manner. He found that just seeing Errol made him miss his dear old Hedwig all the more. Harry’s other hand awkwardly untied the letter that had been tied to the owls leg. With a quiet sound of triumph Harry pulled it out of the cage and set it on his rickety desk.
He could only guess that the letter had been tied on to prevent the owl from loosing the letter. It would be very easy for such an old owl to drop it if startled by something.
The owl hooted softly when the other hand joined the first in stroking the grey feathers. Tracing over the delicate bones in the ancient owls wings, he smoothed the ruffled feathers. Errol looked so tired… With an apology at the lack of water, Harry found himself pulling the hidden floorboard up to reach for a battered water bottle.
The bottle was clear with a white cap and several dents. It had been one of Dudley’s when his parents had been encouraging him to get out more. Harry had easily nicked it from the living room when no body had been looking. Harry made a mental note to refill it soon, it was only half full.
After pouring a bit in the water dish, Harry finally diverted his attention to the letter innocently sitting on his desk.
The letter was decidedly simple. It was only a few sentences long.
‘Harry,
‘Be there at noon. Dumbledore said you could come to Diagon Alley with us. Have all your stuff packed!
‘Ron’
Vague annoyance coupled with relief were the feelings that he recognized. He was annoyed that Ron hadn’t thought to add anymore to the letter. The boy was supposed to be his friend wasn’t he? He hadn’t heard from him in months and three sentences were all he got. It was disappointing. The fact that he would be leaving early was his only form of relief.
A grin crept its way onto his face. He was leaving, he was leaving! He looked at the clock. 7:32 am. What on earth had possessed him to think that getting up at 6:00 had been a good idea?
Leaving his window open to let the morning breeze in and to allow Errol an exit Harry made himself as comfortable as he could get on the springy mattress. Trying to sleep couldn’t go awry, could it? He moved his head a bit and threw his right arm over his eyes to block the morning sunshine. It was times like this that made him dearly wish to be in his cave, or would he call it a den? Harry wondered. Cave versus den… He dismissed the idea, it didn’t matter.
It was a sudden thought. He missed his partner. Why did he have to die? He’d been so stupid! Harry pressed his arm against his face a bit harder, seeing waves of black in his already dark vision. Harry had made a bad choice-no, Kuronue had made a bad choice, after all, he wasn’t really Kuronue anymore, was he? Why had he gone after the locket? A spring of anguish bubbled up and he crushed it down mercilessly. He was over it. He had to be. Groaning out loud he rolled over and banged his head against the mattress.
“Happier times, happier times…” he mumbled to himself. Fifteen years and he still wasn’t over leaving his one and only behind. This life, he mused, could only be his punishment for being so selfish and arrogant. He was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, figurehead of salvation. He was the icon of light.
He differed drastically from in his first time around. Kuronue, Bat-Thief extraordinaire! Being a bandit had been rough but it had been his life and he had loved it. The adrenalin rush had been exhilarating, especially when he had had Youko Kurama by his side.
Thinking about Kurama left him wondering about their cave, den, whatever. Was Kurama still there? Had someone tried to loot it? How was Kurama? Did he miss him? Did he move on? He hoped Kurama wasn’t still in mourning, though he hoped the fox had at least missed him a little bit.
Kurama had been a very beautiful demon, in a masculine sort of way. Silver hair, gold eyes, and a height of seven-two, (217 cm) he was very beautiful indeed.
It wasn’t long before the steady sound of his own heartbeat and the mixed memories of Kurama mixed and he slipped off to slumber. It wasn’t long till a nasal screech woke him up, either.
Nary two hours later found Harry craned over the gas stove in the kitchen. Eggs, bacon, and hash browns were cooking at one under his skillful eye. He still remembered back when he couldn’t even cook to save his life. He smirked and absentmindedly tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. Fruit had been his friend.
“Boy!” Vernon barked imperiously, “Hurry it up! I don’t have all day!”
With a quiet, “Yes sir,” Harry focused on the temperature dials and went to re-center the pan he was cooking eggs in. He just barely stifled a yelp as his fingers came in contact with hot metal. According to the muffled snickers he could hear behind him, he hadn’t stifled it well enough. Where had his grace gone?
With a silent huff of despair he ignored the burn and continued working diligently. He could already tell that this was going to be a long day.