Harry Potter and The Host Club

Chapter 8

Warnings: Slash, book spoilers, manga spoilers, angst, clichés, brooding, chocolate abuse, reflected-upon child abuse, trauma, crude language, mentioned character death, Ron bashing, Ginny bashing, Dumbles bashing, eventual mild sexual situations, AU for books 5, 6, and 7 of Harry Potter.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and her affiliates. Ouran High School Host Club belongs to Bisco Hatori and her (it is her, right?) affiliates.

Features: Independent!Brooding!Isolationist!Harry, Clingy!Paternal!Sirius, and the host-bu guys being themselves

Chapter 7

It was a normal day in the Black Magic Club. Seriously, nothing weird at all. Nekozawa had been looking up rituals all weekend, excepting the time he spent reading Shoujo manga to his sister (he had been reading a series to her called Hana Yori Dango (1) about a poor girl at a predominantly rich school who got on the wrong side of some rich playboys when the idea struck him) and found one that would prove interesting, or so he said. Harry honestly didn't get the appeal of using a ritual to make the candles change their scent every half hour, or what that had to do with Shoujo, but he didn't comment. It was all too... stupid to bother complaining.

With a sigh he set down the quill he had used to write the runes. The ink was color-changing, and could only be placed down when it was the same color as the candles they were changing, which meant he could only write one stroke every thirteen seconds. It was made especially difficult because his knowledge of runes was elementary. He'd picked up a couple books, but they were drier than Advanced Transfiguration Theory and he usually fell asleep reading them. It was a long endeavor, but at least he wasn't the only one doing it.

He just had to be the one to write the most vital runes because he had the largest magical core. Which meant he'd spent all of Monday practicing writing the runes... well, not all, but longer than he should have considering he still had to finish writing about the themes of Justice in those stupid Shakespeare plays. This was seriously cutting into the time he ought to be using for it. Not that what he had left was more than an hour's work, but he still had to get everything in order and type it up too. That would take him at least three hours. Hours that he would not have at school, since they had to be out of the building in half an hour.

Nekozawa helped him up from his crouch, even as Harry's legs let out a loud "crack" as they popped, before taking the head of the formation.

"Let's get started," the incontestably creepiest-guy-at-Ouran declared solemnly. Normally, one would expect this to lead into a bunch of muttering in some ominous language like Latin, Greek, or Olde Atlantian (which was almost impossible to be pronounced by anyone who hadn't grown up knowing the language without years of intense study), but such was not the case. Instead, Harry – who was at the foot of the formation (such magicks had to work bottom to top, even if only in a figurative sense) – touched his wand to the last rune he had written and watched as the ink proceeded to change colors.

As the roil of color worked its way up, it began moving toward the center as well, swirling in a vortex of pretty lights that looked highly out of place in the darkness of the Third Chemistry Classroom (with black room function). It took all of ten seconds to complete the ritual after the runes were done. Harry found the entire thing pointless, though he was slightly curious as to how the Never-Melt charms would take to the ritual.

In one final burst of light (which knocked the vaunted President out) the runes (which had taken three hours to write) vanished cleanly and all that remained were three puddles of wax that were flicking between color after color at an eye-searing speed, barely visible from the flickering light of the candles not used in the ritual. Harry slumped against the lab table behind him.