Potter Holes [Harry Potter AU]

1 | All Mucked Up

ALL MUCKED UP

12-23-06

Rain poured down like bullets through the thick canopy of leaves over the muddy terrain, sloshing up the ground of the forest floor. The steady thrum of water droplets pelting the trees filled the atmosphere, accompanied by the squelching of mud underfoot nearby. The forest was drenched in the anger of the skies above, unleashing their torment upon the earth and its inhabitants with the relentless drilling of evening showers. The world stood in defiance of the torrential downpour, keeping ground in spite of mother nature's torture, shielding itself from the sure-fire demise that would result from submittal.

And there, on the path, was a boy. He tromped down the sodden path with reckless rage in his flitting dark eyes, long brown locks plastered to his pale face by the downpour. The boy stomped through the forest with angst riddling his dark facade, hardened and wrought with tension as he muttered and spat through his clenched mug. He slung a rucksack over his shoulders, the thin cotton material frayed and ripped by heavy use and stained with the dirt and grime of years worth of damage.

"Sweet mother of—" he growled tensely as he trampled through the overgrown muddy path, the earth sloping and mushing through the mesh of his browned sneakers. In the distance behind the boy there came a muffled shout, at first incomprehensible beneath the roar of the storm raging all around. The boy whipped his head around at the sound, looking back over his shoulder with an evident fear coursing through his veins at the sound. But he did not stop running, his footfalls churning up the muck faster and faster with every broad stride.

"Luca!" The voice called louder this time, stinging the thick wet air with its menacing ring. The boy felt a chill go down his spine at the tone of his father's voice, the stinging rage with which his name rolled off the man's tongue. "GET BACK HERE BOY," his father Harold screamed into the vacant air, his bloodlust shouts echoing loudly through the thick brush. Luca was terrified, almost freezing dead in his tracks with terror. He was immediately filled with a blinding panic, his advance fueled by the haunting thought of what might happen if he stopped. Luca was not about to find out what retreat entailed.

And so further he sprinted through the brush, losing himself to the forest with each stride. The rain seemed to grow more and more violent, penetrating through the canopy and ripping leaves from the branches, sending them swooping and diving through the air alongside the pelting droplets. Luca was now heaving, his strides becoming sloppier and his focus wavering. His energy was visibly depleted, and he slowed his pace until he came to a steady stop. He couldn't run anymore.

The lanky boy then doubled over in pain, his hands resting on his knees as his torso expanded and contracted in ragged, desperate breaths. A pain ripped through his chest, his muscles aching for oxygen. As his breathing slowed he rested his back against a tree trunk, tilting his head back for support. It was excruciating, the pain in his lungs and his chest, his body crying out for mercy after his vision had been flooded with escape. Luca couldn't even recall how long he had been running. The thought alone left him entirely disoriented as he slouched against the tree, shrugging his back off his shoulders and tossing it to the muddy forest floor.

Luca sat against the tree for a few moments longer before he glanced around him, taking in his surroundings. The torrential downpour had lightened up a bit since he took off on his mad dash through the forest, the light thrum of rain upon leaves filling the silence of the woods. Luca swiped a hand over his face to clear the long strands of hair that were plastered to his face, obscuring his vision. Through his foggy vision he could make out the silhouette of his backpack laying beside him, tipped upside down into the mud. He scrambled over to it, kneeling over to rescue the various books, clothes, and knick knacks that had tumbled into the muck.

Now completely drenched in sweat, water, and mud, Luca slumped backwards with an air of defeat, desperately trying to comprehend the chaotic stream of events that sent him running blindly for the woods.

At least he was safe here, he thought absently to himself. It would take ages for anyone to find him, if they tried at all.

Content with his temporary reclusion, Luca squinted through the forest, attempting to discern his habitat. It was growing darker and darker by the second, nightfall rapidly approaching. He reached into his bag, looking for a light source, thankful for his forward thinking in preparation for the worst case scenario. With trembling hands he dug fervently through the pack and the dirt-caked supplies he had kept there for ages.

That frayed and tattered pack had been his lifeline over the years of hunting and trekking through the backwoods of Scotland. Stocked with every essential item for hunting and survival, he had always been prepared for the worst. Never go anywhere without your knife. If you can help it, a lighter or some flint. It was something his father had instilled in him from a young age.

He still remembered hanging onto the man's every word, paying no mind to the gruff and stern approach the man took with him. He adored his father as a boy, admiration coursing through his veins at the mere presence of and slightest attention from the man. Harold had taught him everything he knew— had taught him how to defend himself, how to protect himself, how to escape.

He never thought his own father would be the one hunting him down.

Yet here he was, his heart pounding recklessly in his chest, his ears ringing with the recollected sound of a loaded shotgun. He could barely wrap his head around anything, could barely form coherent thoughts, could barely recognize the cacophony of emotions rattling about in his head. Except for the distinct feeling of panic, a feeling that settled mercilessly in his gut, his insides churning about in a fit of intense nausea. But there would be no settling tonight as the boy doubled over, gripping his stomach in pain as his vision flooded with snapshots, dread swallowing him whole as he remained drenched and disheveled in the deep woods.

And Luca remained that way deep into the night, unable to find rest in his constant cycle of torment that riddled his mind and his body. After he had laid in silence for what seemed to be hours on end, sleep finally came to the boy as his body shut down out of pure exhaustion, the adrenaline that kept him on constant alert finally depleted. And so the scrawny boy lay upon the forest floor, just a sopping shivering mess in his grubby cotton sweatshirt and mud logged sneakers.

His rest didn't last very long as he leaped up with a startled yelp, his eyes widening as he looked around at the dark forest clearing just ahead of him. Luca could hear the snapping of twigs underfoot, the creeping approach of something from the pitch black. Someone, something was stirring in the forest.

He wasn't alone.