So Harry left after admiring the bright structure for a few moments, deciding to take a quick shortcut down an alley so he could reach the next street and continue his walk.
It was while walking down that alley, however, that Harry's nose picked up something that immediately had him on alert.
Ever since he had become an animagus, one of the many things he had noted were his increased senses. His eyes could now see in the dark, his hearing was far sharper than it had ever been, and his nose was capable of picking up scents from a little over fifty meters away. Even when he was not in his Jaguar animagus form, his three senses were still much better than those of a humans.
And right now the tang of copper was on the wind. Blood. That was what he smelled.
Taking a few sniffs of the air around him, Harry pinpointed the general direction of the scent and quickly made his way towards it. His animalistic and predatory grace ensured that his steps were silent even as he increased the speed of his stride. Before too long, he discovered where the source of the blood was coming from. A second story window to a cheap motel was open, the coppery scent of blood wafting along the breeze came from there.
Harry took a deep breath, then blew it out as he opened a crack in the barrier containing his magic. The flow was directed towards his body, more specifically his limbs and core, strengthening them to the levels of an Olympic athlete.
His limbs reinforced with magic, Harry ran towards the building and then jumped.
The jump easily carried him a meter into the air. Harry's left hand shot out and caught onto a small ledge that was sticking out from underneath the window. The muscles in his arm tensed, then, with a powerful heave, Harry flipped himself over, his body contorting in ways that would make a gynmast green with envy as his feet landed on the ledge.
The ledge was very small, Harry noted quickly as his feet began to slip off due to their not being enough room to contain him. At most, he would say the ledge was only an inch or so long, and with only his heels being able to find purchase, it would not be long before he fell.
Utilizing one of the other powers granted to him as a natural animagus, Harry shifted his fingernails into sharp claws, which he dug into the grout in between the bricks of the building. Moving carefully, Harry soon found his way to the edge of the window, where his enhanced hearing easily picked up the voices in the room.
"È morta."
Harry blinked. That was Italian. His Italian was nowhere near as good as his French, but he had at least studied it enough that he could understand it fluently even if he still had trouble speaking it.
He made a mental note to find someone who could help him finish learning Italian. There was only so much he could learn from books.
"Come fai a dirlo?"
"Non sento il battito.."
"Non aveva un battito dall'inizio, idiota. È un abominio, ricordatelo."
"Oh, è vero."
Harry frowned. He could understand the gist of what they were saying, but there was so many holes in their dialogue that he was sure he was missing something.
"Sai, per essere un abominio non è poi così male."
The sound of something unzipping? Reached Harry's ears. Yes, that was the unmistakable sound of something being unzipped.
"Cosa diavolo vorresti fare?"
"Che c'è? Non scopo da mesi. E comunque non si lamenterà."
"Soddisferesti i tuoi impulsi bestiali scopandoti un'abominio!? Lurido maiale."
"Non stare a guardare allora. Vai ad aspettare fuori in corridoio come un piccolo idiota."
There was some more swearing and insults spewing from the other man, but Harry was no longer listening.
These... these sick monsters had just killed someone, some girl, and now one of them was going to desecrate her? Harry would freely admit that his moral compass was slightly skewed by his own ideals and desires, but he would never, in a million years even think about doing what this sick... sick... bastard was about to do now!
Without even thinking about the situation, Harry reacted, his body moving long before his mind began working.
He spun himself around, grabbing onto the windowsill and swinging himself into the room. As he rolled across the floor and sprung back to his feet, his eyes easily cataloged everything that was happening within the room.
There were two men. Both had a darker skin tone than people traditionally found in France, and their facial structures were different as well. They were of Italian descent, obviously. One of them was near the door, looking like he was about to leave. The other was standing over a pale looking girl lying on the bed with her arms extended to her sides in a sick parody of a cross with a shirt that was torn open, exposing much of her skin and bra, and had her pants off to reveal white lace panties.
.
.
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