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Lycanthrope Factory	By : StarLightMassacre Category: Anita Blake > Crossovers > AB/Harry Potter Views: 23091 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Harry Potter; all rights go to J. K. Rowling. I do not own anything from Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter; all rights belong to Laurel K. Hamilton. I make no money for this piece of fictional writing and never will.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Last Time

It made sense to have the boy stay at the Circus, with all the Wererats and the hyenas running security detail, the vampires that lived here and the always visiting leopards and wolves, it would be that much safer for all involved if the boy was moved here first and then if it was proven that he wasn’t a threat, then he could have her spare bedroom if he wanted it, but just because Jean-Claude was right and his idea made sense, didn’t mean she had to like it.

Chapter Two – Awakening
The boy had not woken in eight days and they were no closer to finding out who he was, where he had come from or who the people that had taken him were, but he was alive still and under Lillian’s expert care, which could only be a good sign at the moment.
It had been a snap getting the boy from the hospital, as a federal marshal she had gone to a Judge who was known, but never proven in hard evidence, to hate lycanthropes after an incident that claimed the life of his supposed teenaged lover, again there was no evidence of the Judge having such a young lover and his Wife denied it viciously and perhaps a bit too often to be inconspicuous.

He had thought it a wonderful idea to allow such a dangerous animal out of a public hospital and into the private care of ‘specialists’ and the executioner of Saint Louis and he had made it clear to her that no charges would be brought against her in the event she had to use deadly force to save her own life or that of anyone else from the unpredictable and dangerous male. That is how he had phrased it ‘unpredictable and dangerous male’ not boy, or even man, but male. She suspected he had used the word male as a substitute for animal, because he couldn’t be heard saying such a word to describe good citizens of America, not when he was trying to keep a low profile.

Dolph was very, very unhappy with her and showed it every time she refused a police guard for the boy, but this was bigger than him, bigger than all of them. The five organisers of this factory had to be caught before they could set up another factory and start all over again. The very thought of them setting up another factory like the one she had encountered sent shivers down her spine at the possibility of another graveyard like the one that had been dug up at the factory site.

One hundred and thirty-one skeletons had been found in the surrounding grounds of the factory and still more were being uncovered, she didn’t want to go and scan the area with her necromancy, she was afraid of what would happen with so many tragic deaths around, with so many skeletons, it could help, or more likely turn into a disaster as all of the bodies had been murdered in some way, and necromancy and murder never mixed well even if she didn’t actually plan on raising any of them.

It had been determined that none of the executed experiments were from Saint Louis or the surrounding states, so the police were now looking at missing persons from further afield, even as far as Wyoming, Ohio and Georgia, but no hits so far. It was all very, very strange, surely someone was missing at least one of the people executed in that factory? They couldn’t all be alone, isolated people with no friends or family, could they?

She was so stressed and with no new leads, with no helpful information and only bad news coming in left and right, Anita was constantly in a bad mood. She didn’t mean to take it out on those around her, especially not Micah, Nathaniel and Jean-Claude, but she still did and she was forced to apologise, she hated apologising, even if she was in the wrong, but she still did, because she knew she was wrong to take out her frustration on them, what she wouldn’t give for a bad guy she could actually see and shoot, right here, right now. It might alleviate her stress levels a bit.
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Harry James Potter made a small noise as he woke up slowly. His first thought as he woke up was that he was sleeping on his back, which wasn’t right. His cage wasn’t big enough to lie down in. Unadulterated panic took over as he realised that his hands were restrained over his head and he was lying on his back. He was on an autopsy table.
He thrashed, tugged, screamed and yanked on his arms to free them from the restraints, but he didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t want to see. There was no falsely soothing voice; no stern reprimands to stay still, no small, sharp prick of a needle delivering sedatives that signified any of the doctors being present. Please no, please don’t let him be the next bisection on the autopsy table, he was interesting! They kept him because he was interesting! They couldn’t have lost interest in him yet, he had responded to the last experiment when none of the others had, he didn’t want to die!

He could feel people around him, too many to be the doctors, had they brought in trainees again? Or were they just stockists?

Harry heard a buzzing and panic made him rip at his restraints harder. He had heard that buzzing several times during his life and it always, always, preceded something terrible happening.

He screamed, high and frightened as he kicked out with his legs, yanking on his arms again and feeling his skin tear in a burning strip that signified a graze. At the first scent of blood, hands were on him and he screamed with a higher, more desperate pitch, struggling more and he felt the restraints give way.

His arms were suddenly free and he sat up despite the hands on him, he hit those hands away from him like they were nothing, he could smell them all around him, he shoved the people away and everything was black. He remembered that he hadn’t opened his eyes, which is why his hearing was acute and he could smell these people so strongly. Their scent was wrong, different, what was happening? His eyes snapped open and his ‘interesting energy’ spilled from him, freezing everyone and he looked at them all rapidly, with small, sharp movements of his head, taking them all in and smelling the fear that pooled from them all as he looked at them while they were stood frozen by his natural energy that caused such hard, heavy debates between the doctors.

He didn’t recognise any of them, or where he was. He looked around curiously and tilted his head until his ear rested on his shoulder, looking at where he was through a different angle, trying to make sense of what this strange place was, he had only ever known his cage and the laboratory he had spent most of his life, and very vaguely he remembered a dusty cupboard under a set of stairs and a small room with a tiled floor taken up by a large table with an even larger man behind it, a thin, blonde haired woman and a fat little boy only just older than he was. Every now and then he got flashes of memory connected to those people, none of them were nice memories and he didn’t like thinking about it.

He didn’t recognise this place, it was strange and unfamiliar and that frightened him as he crouched low to the floor and edged around the walls towards a door, he knew doors normally led outside and he wanted out of this room.

He stood up to try to work the door as he had seen the doctors do, but this door handle was like an orb and it wouldn’t press down. He shook it and the door rattled in its frame and he screamed at it, but it wouldn’t open. He kicked it and the door flew off its hinges and fell with a clatter to the floor after hitting the wall of the corridor outside it.

He looked one way and then the other, both sides were empty, Harry went one way, edging close to the wall, following the smell of fresh air all the way through the twisting corridors until he reached the end of the last corridor and he batted his way through a curtain of cloth at the far end that stopped him from carrying on forward.
“Lisandro? Claudia?” A feminine voice called out.
Harry stopped and reassessed his situation; he could go back and go down the other corridor, but this way smelt fresher, less damp. He knew this way led out and the other way led deeper underground, but there were people out there, or maybe it was just the one woman.
He closed his eyes and inhaled softly. No. More than one person, quite a few more. He tried to go around the flimsy cloth, but he kept hitting walls. He’d have to take his chances with the people behind the cloth if he wanted to leave.
“Fredo?” The woman called out again and there was a thread of tension in her voice that made him think danger and he hesitated again.
He crouched down and crawled on his hands and knees through the cloth and was glad he had done so. There were four of those shocky guns the doctors used to keep them under control when one of the specimens went feral. Harry had had it used on him twice and he had no want to make it a third.
He hissed and slid sideways, sticking to the wall.
“Mon Dieu.” A blonde man whispered.
Harry hissed again and cocked his head, still edging around the wall towards the door. A man with a shocky gun moved to block his way and Harry quivered, hunching away from the gun, the pulses in his mind each telling him to do something different until he raked his fingers through his hair and clutched the back of his head to stop the noise. He yowled and shook his head like he was shaking water from himself and fell to the floor in a heap, he edged backwards and yowled like a cat once again.
“It is nice to see you awake, mon petit pétale, we have been waiting for you to awaken.”
Harry stared at the man blankly. They had been waiting for him to wake up? Why? What did they want, why was he here, what had happened to the doctors and the factory, where was his cage? Was he still in the factory? Was this just a part he had never seen before? Had he reacted unexpectedly to an experiment? What was going to happen to him, what did they want with him? Why him and not one of the other specimens? How had he gotten here? He couldn’t remember. He hissed deeply at the man who had spoken to him.
“What did you do to Claudia, Lisandro, Fredo and all the other wererats in your room?” A woman asked him, her shocky gun held steady at his chest. Didn’t she know the shocky guns could kill him if aimed at the chest?
Harry cocked his head all the way to his shoulder again and looked at her from a different angle. He mewed softly to her. The one woman doctor had always pet him and given him a spoon of sweet stuff when he mewed and cooperated with her experiments.
“I think we can assume he doesn’t actually understand what we’re saying.” A man said to fill the silence.

Harry didn’t stop looking at the woman, who sighed and relaxed her body, but her shocky gun was still aimed at his chest. Maybe she didn’t like mews? Harry yipped instead and that got their attention again.
“Has he been taught to act like this or is it something that was the result of whatever freaky shit they did to him?” A man asked, looking at him like he was a bug to be stepped on, the head doctor had looked at all of them that way.
Harry couldn’t stay here if he was going to be hurt or killed. The experiments were okay, he was knocked out for most of them and they only hurt for a while afterwards, but he didn’t want to be an autopsy, he didn’t want to be awake when he died, he had to get out.
He pushed himself to his feet and pressed himself against the wall again, edging back the way he had come, perhaps the other corridor led to a different way out.
“No!” The woman shouted as she realised what he was doing and he suddenly darted between the fabric curtains and ran.
He wasn’t used to running much, except when they put him on the funny machine where he run on the spot for hours until he couldn’t run anymore and collapsed. He always woke up back in his cage. The ground didn’t move under him as he ran, it was so strange as he did everything he could to get away from the people with shocky guns who wanted to kill him, even if he had to hide for a while to wait until it was safe, he remembered hiding from the large man in his memories when he was very young and he hoped this time it worked out better than those times had.
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Anita was at her wits end. The boy was lost somewhere in the underground maze of the colossal Circus and they couldn’t find him. The only door to the surface had two guards on it, the vampires were afraid to die in the mornings, the wereanimals were afraid to sleep at night and they still couldn’t unfreeze the wererats from whatever the boy had done to them, but Lillian assured them that they were still alive, that it looked like they had been frozen solid, but how the boy had done it was anyone’s guess.
A few sightings of the boy in the underground maze had been called in, but they couldn’t catch him, corner him or lure him in with food or water.
“It’s been three days! You’d think he’d have at least tried to get some food off of us!”
“He’s been fed with a drip.” Lillian told them surely as if they should have known all along.
Anita looked to the older woman, this being the first time she had joined in on their little meetings to find the boy as she had conceded there was nothing more she could do for her frozen comrades, and Anita begged her silently to explain.
“He was kept in a cage not even big enough for him to sleep in properly, he doesn’t react to the presence of food or water, even though he should be starving. We can safely assume these people didn’t care much past keeping them alive enough to perform experiments on them, so it’s logical to assume that the victims were fed intravenously. In which case he has lost his ability to properly bite and chew food, probably his reflex of swallowing and the urge to eat food with his mouth. He’ll have to be taught how to all over again.”
“So there is nothing we can do to feed him?” Anita asked.
“No. He probably doesn’t understand why you are leaving food around, if it has become second nature to him to be drip fed, he likely doesn’t even realise what’s wrong with him and that could make him more panicked, more unpredictable and overall more dangerous.”
“We need to find him; we need to catch him before he dies. He is the only link we have to the factory organisers, we need him or there’s going to be a new factory popping up somewhere and more people are going to be hurt and killed.”
“I’ll enlist the help of Richard and his wolves.” Jean-Claude sighed. “I am sure our Jason has been keeping him informed of every minute of our search.”
“How will that help?” Anita asked grumpily.
“Perhaps they could pinpoint his location through scent.”
“We tried that Jean-Claude; we don’t have anything with the boy’s scent on it.” Anita told him frustrated.
“What if our Richard and his wolves could pick up a scent from the frozen wererats?” Jean-Claude replied mildly and Anita blinked.
“You mean trace him through whatever he did to the wererats? What if whatever he did doesn’t have a scent?”
“Then we can say we tried and send more people to corner him.” Jean-Claude gave a gallic shrug and Anita sighed resigned to giving it a try.
“Alright, we’ll call him and give it a try. I’m willing to try anything at the moment.” She relented.
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Richard had come straight from work, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his blue tie rolled up in his pocket. He had found the boy within half an hour of being in the Circus and carried the squirming, wriggling boy into Jean-Claude’s living room restrained to his chest, hands holding the boy’s arms crossed over his wraith thin body as the boy snarled and thrashed like a cornered feral animal.
When a frustrated Richard snarled back, growling deep in his throat, the boy fell immediately still and silent and whimpered softly, arching his head back over Richard’s shoulder, baring his throat to Richard’s mouth and by extension his teeth and simultaneously butted the top of his head against Richard’s chin. Cat and dog all in one.
“You have caused quite a stir, mon petit pétale.” Jean-Claude breathed softly at the child, thinking, like the rest of them, that any loud noise would set him off again.
The boy started purring. Honest to god purring and Anita wanted to let her jaw hang open. He truly sounded like a contented cat, not like the leopards who could also purr to an extent, but like an actual housecat. What had those people done to him?
“We have a bit of a dilemma.” Jean-Claude told the boy softly, who stopped purring to listen to him. “You see, you did something to some of my people.”
Those green eyes didn’t even register recognition of the words spoken. The boy blinked slowly and then turned away from Jean-Claude after the silence stretched on and began purring again, rubbing against Richard’s chin with his cheek, dismissing them.
“Can you reverse what you’ve done?” Anita asked.
The boy stopped what he was doing and looked at her as she spoke, but when she didn’t speak anymore, he went back to nuzzling Richard, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable.
“Can you unfreeze the wererats?!” Anita hissed in frustration.
The boy’s head snapped to look at her, the unadulterated fear in those wide green eyes made her regret her tone instantly as the boy slumped in Richard’s arms submissively, making himself boneless and making a high, pitiful sound in his throat, begging for forgiveness and making soft whining noises.
Anita sighed shakily and combed her fingers through her tight froth of black curls. She needed to calm down, but the thought of all the wererats, some of them personal friends, that this boy had frozen and seemed to be unable to understand them enough to reverse the effects made her heart heavy with guilt. She had suggested the wererats as the best bodyguards for the boy, she was the reason they were in that room with him when he had awoken.
“If he can’t understand us then we may never help those he has frozen.” Jean-Claude said regretfully.
“If we can get him to understand, teach him to speak and understand what we’re saying, perhaps he can help then.”
“Lillian doesn’t know how long the wererats have left. It’s been three days and she thinks they are only still alive still because they are lycanthropes, that if they had been human they’d be dead.” Anita answered Richard’s suggestion.
“I can understand you sometimes.”
Every eye turned to the soft voice that came from the boy who was now nipping at Richard’s jaw with small teeth.
“You can speak?!” Anita demanded furiously.
Green eyes blinked at her and he frowned as if he couldn’t quite understand, either what she was saying properly, or why she was so angry.
Richard moved forward and turned the boy around, sitting him on Jean-Claude’s desk and crouching down so he was eye level with the boy.
“Do you know what I’m saying?” Richard questioned softly, mildly, as if he were speaking about the weather to an elderly relative whom he loved very much.
The boy blinked slowly, his eyes holding Richard’s, but his eyes kept slipping down to Richard’s mouth. Anita wanted to hit him for thinking of kissing Richard when there were several people stiff and immobile in rooms down the corridor.

“You can look at my mouth if it helps you to understand me.” Richard told the boy soothingly. “Can you understand what I’m saying to you?”
The boy’s eyes stared at Richard’s mouth, sometimes mouthing the words silently to himself and Anita felt guilty that she had come to the conclusion of kissing so quickly, before anything else, it made her feel worse about herself that she had come to the thought of kissing first and not anything else, but she wasn’t likely to mention it to anyone else.
“Sometimes.” The boy replied after three full minutes of staring at Richard’s mouth and moving his mouth silently.
“Do you know your name?” Richard asked slowly and clearly, still in that soft, soothing tone.
“Specimen number one hundred and sixteen.” He replied immediately and clinically as he thrust out his wrist, the wrist where the number had been written on a little tag that they had cut off to use for evidence, but the action was automatic, ingrained and it made her swallow.
Richard swallowed his own lump of emotion down his throat.
“No, your name. The name your parents gave you.”
The boy did that strange movement with his head until his ear was pressed against his shoulder, looking at Richard through wide, wide eyes from a ninety degree angle.
“You know, your Mom and Dad?” Richard tried, but the boy looked even more confused.
“Harry?” The boy said it more as a question than a statement.
“Your name is Harry?” Richard asked for confirmation.
The boy nodded. “James.”
“Is your name Harry or James?” Anita snapped impatiently.
The boy flinched and Anita blew out a breath, she needed to calm down and she didn’t need the sideways glance from Jean-Claude or the dead-on glare from Richard to tell her that.
“Answer the question.” Richard encouraged the boy softly, oh so kindly.
“Both.”
“So your name is Harry James?”
The boy, Harry, nodded with a small, shy smile and Richard smiled back widely.
“Do you know how old you are Harry?”
Anita sighed as the familiar look of confusion took over the boy’s face. They would be here all night trying to get anything about the factory and the organisers from him, if he could tell them anything at all.
“I think you are asking the wrong questions.” Lillian commented as she stood silently by the door, an IV bag in her hands.
“What questions should we be asking?” Anita replied, trying to keep her voice emotionless and bland. It was a struggle.
Lillian walked over to the boy on the desk and Harry saw the IV bag. Anita expected him to freak and bolt, but he held out his arm docilely and allowed Lillian to hook him up to the bag with absolutely no fuss, watching as the needle was slid into his vein and taped in place, he even held his hand out for the bag so he could hold it up himself. It was all very strange and saddening.
“So Harry, do you remember being in your cage?” Lillian’s voice was mild and conversational, as if she were doing nothing more than asking his shoe size as everyone else sucked in a deep breath, waiting for the boy to stammer, close up completely, or just bolt. He did nothing of the sort.
“Yes.” He answered softly as he watched the IV bag as if mesmerised by it.
“Do you remember a time before you got put into your cage?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me about that time?”
“I remember a cupboard. I used to sleep in the cupboard. There was a fat man who liked shouting and hitting, a fat boy about my age who called me names and a thin woman who liked slapping me.”
“How many years old were you when you first remember being in your cage?” Lillian asked as she checked the boy over, who helped her by always being where she needed him, he was used to this and the familiar, clinical movements were actually relaxing him.
“Eight.”
Lillian strove not to react to that news even as there were gasps and curses from those around her at the possibility of this little boy being in the care of those monsters for at least four years. She fought her facial muscles hard to remain smooth and plain, to not make faces as Harry stared at her mouth so critically.
“Do you know how old you are now Harry?”
Harry shook his head.
“Can you guess?” Lillian encouraged.
“Seventeen?” Harry looked so confused as he answered, but that he thought he was seventeen, which was a very big difference to the twelve years they believed he had been, Lillian made the guess that Harry was older than he looked, perhaps much older, but she actually took comfort that he possibly knew how to count up to seventeen at least.
“Did the people who kept you in the cage turn you into an animal right away?” Lillian questioned.
Harry actually grinned then, a wide, happy, excited smile.
“Leowolftigpire!” He said in a rush, looking to her as if she should have immediately understood.
“What’s that Harry?”
The boy’s face fell, his smile vanishing and his eyes dulling from the excited sparkle.
“Me.” He answered softly.
“Can you say what you are again slowly?”
“Leowolftigpire.”
“So Leo, leopard?” She questioned. “Wolf is obvious; tig is for tiger and pire for vampire?”
That beautiful grin came back and Harry nodded enthusiastically.
“Lupus Pardus Tigris Sanguinus.” Harry told her proudly.
“You are a hybrid of a wereleopard, a werewolf, a weretiger and a vampire. Am I understanding you correctly?”
Harry nodded.
“Sweet Jesus.” One of the hyenas muttered.
“What animal do you turn into on the full moons Harry?”
Lillian had to repeat her question twice before understanding lit those eyes.
“All of them.”
“All together?” Lillian elaborated.
Harry shook his head. “Sometimes they fight for who gets to come out, the tiger usually wins, but sometimes he’s sleepy and lazy and cuddled up with the leopard and the wolf comes out.”
“Was tiger the first vaccine they injected you with?” Anita asked, feeling uncomfortable as those green eyes snapped to stare at her mouth.
“No. I had the wolf one first, then leopard, then tiger and vampire came last. Then the full moon came and it was the worst pain I had ever been in.”
“You’re a Panwere.” Anita said as fear built up. It was irrational yes, but she had only ever met one other Panwere and Chimera had not left a glowing perception of Panweres. He had been crazy, more crazy than anyone she had ever met before. Being so many animals at once had given him a split personality disorder so bad he actually believed himself to be so many different people and he had even looked differently depending on what animal he was portraying.
Harry just looked at her uncomprehendingly. He mumbled silently to himself, but the frown that pouted those lips told her that he did not understand.
“You’re more than one animal at once.” Richard told the boy.
Harry nodded.
“That’s what Panwere means Harry, that you are more than one animal.”
“Oh.”
Harry yawned softly and suddenly and gripped hold of Richard and pulled himself into his arms and snuggled in as Richard scrambled to hold him. Harry fell asleep in a position Anita would have sworn would have been impossible for anyone else, but she had to remind herself that this boy was used to sleeping in a tiny cage, so must have perfected falling asleep at any moment and in any position.
Richard moved that tiny body into a more comfortable position and held him; the look on his face was heartbreak and horror.
“This is so much worse than I thought it would be. If he is actually seventeen then he’s been in the care of those monsters for nine years.”
“Why is he still alive?” Jamil asked and everyone turned to him. “I didn’t mean it like that! I mean, every other experiment was killed sooner. Harry, if that is his name, said that his specimen number was a hundred and sixteen, that’s quite low compared to the other specimens found executed in the factory right?”
Anita could have kicked herself for not picking up on that sooner. The fifty-seven specimens in the factory had gone right up to two hundred and thirty-one. She yanked out the notebook she had started to keep track of all the numbers.
Out of the fifty-seven specimens in the factory, apart from ‘small, black haired boy’ who was Harry, the lowest number was ‘rail-thin, redheaded woman, possibly in early thirties’ who had been labelled as specimen number one-six-seven. That was a gap of fifty-one specimens, if each specimen was labelled in order of arrival to the factory, then there were fifty-one people between Harry and the other lowest specimen in that factory. Why? What made Harry so different, so much more special to the ‘doctors’ than the other specimens in that factory? Was the interest from him being such an impossible, yet successful hybrid of three lycanthrope strains and vampirism or did it have something to do with how he had frozen several wererats like wooden boards? There were too many questions and no answers forthcoming. She looked at the boy, Harry James, could he give them the answers they needed or was he too screwed to be of much help?

When he had been thrashing and snarling at Richard, she had thought he might have to be put down like a sick dog, but once he had submitted to the dominating presence of Richard and had calmed down it seemed he was capable of understanding what they were saying, even if the conversation was stilted due to his limited vocabulary and inability to comprehend certain words and sentences. She hoped he was able to help. She really, really did.
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A/N: This little plot has so much support I thought I’d put off Rise of the Drackens for a bit to bring you the second chapter, but don’t get used to it as this still is my secondary plot and comes second in everything, from research, to planning, to writing, to time spent on it, it comes second unfortunately. Again don’t expect fast updates as this will be one of those ‘updated every other month’ fics I’m sorry to tell you, I just don’t get that much free time, I wish I did, then I could spend my entire life writing, but real life is a ball and chain that everyone has to put up with.
Sarah999: You’re thinking of the fic ‘Big Bad’ by Shirokuri. It was removed by the author. Such a shame as I really did love it and it was the fic that started me on Jamil/Harry fics.
StarLight Massacre. X
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Lycanthrope Factory