Author's Notes:
Hello, and welcome to Harry Potter and the Mummy's Redemption.
This story is the result of a plot bunny that has been pounding around in my head for the last half a year. I have big plans for this fiction and hope I will be able to complete it. No guarantees, though; I have a problem where I can start stories but can't finish them due to lack of drive or inspiration.
Now, about the story:
This story will contain a powerful!independent!semi-dark!possibly-future-immortal!Harry. He will probably have very few friends, and will not be easy to get to know.
Rating is currently set at T. May be bumped to M. Depends on how violent it gets.
Pairings are undecided as of yet, but I can guarantee that Harry will be with only one girl. No harems, because I find the concept sickening. If there are mentions of slash, it will be because of Dumbledore's past relationship with Grindelwald.
Although I will try to keep this story as original as I can, I freely admit that parts of it may be influenced by other fics out there. I've read probably a thousand or so, after all. Don't be surprised to see a few cliches.
I will do my best to respond to any reviews I may get, but I request in return that if you review, you give me at least a couple of sentences. Don't just tell me you like or dislike the story, tell me what you do and don't like, what I can improve on, etc. Constructive criticism is appreciated.
In the future, author notes will likely be at the bottom of the chapter unless there is something that applies directly to what you are about to read.
Prologue
Pain.
It was everywhere... All-encompassing. He could barely focus through the haze of agony that seemed to be pressing even tighter around him at every moment.
Imhotep was his name. At least, that's what he thought. His memories seemed fragmented. Disjointed. The pain clouded them, twisting them into a tangled web that he was having more and more trouble attempting to unravel as time passed by.
How long had it been, since he had fallen into the pit? Seconds?
Hours?
Days?
Weeks?
Months?
Years?
It all seemed so endless, the pain.
The feeling was hotter than the most heated fire, and yet cooler than the coldest ice. The worst frostbite combined with the worst burn. Like skin being peeled slowly from his bones, and acid being poured onto the raw areas beneath. The untamed power of lightning tearing through his nerves. Although all of these feelings could be used to describe his suffering, they were but specs of dust to a universe in comparison to what he was truly going through.
It would ease up briefly but never leave completely, giving his memories just enough time to settle back into place, before striking out again with unbridled vengeance. He thought he knew pain-thought he had mastered it-but he was wrong.
Oh, was he wrong.
The pain struck again, lancing through his entire being and his thoughts were lost in the seemingly endless suffering that he would have to endure.
After what seemed like an eternity later, his memories began returning to him. Fragmented and tangled, as was the usual when trying to regain them in this place.
"Damn you, O'Connell," he thought.
Wait.
No.
It was not O'Connell's fault.
At least, not this time.
Last time was different.
This time it was his lover...what was her name?
A spark of memory flashed through his mind. He tried to grab hold of it, but it was too quick and it faded almost as fast as it had appeared.
Then...more. Mere fragments, but still enough to start piecing things together.
Her voice, with that light Theban accent. Her silky black hair which framed a stunning face. Brown eyes that, to him at least, were always easy to read. Her voluptuous body always covered in new layers of that gold and black paint by order of the Pharaoh.
Was it at all surprising that he had felt attracted to her?
Soon enough, his feelings were reciprocated.
Her soft caresses ... and tender kisses.
The promise they had made to always be there for one another, and their realization that for that to happen, they would have to get rid of the man who called her "mistress."
Their plot against and subsequent murder of Pharaoh Seti. Then the first snag. Her abrupt suicide, which had not been planned or even discussed.
His trip to Hamunaptra with the intent to defy the Gods and resurrect her, as was her wish. Being found by the Medjai, and his horrible punishment...the Curse of the Hom-Dai, which was meant to be eternal. The pain that the scarabs and their tiny teeth caused as they tore greedily into his flesh, crawling into his helpless body. He would endure this, because of his love for her.
His first resurrection. Fulfilling more of the Curse. The Ten Plagues. The deaths of many innocents. All for her. Then his second attempt to bring back his lover, and the taking of his immortal soul by Anubis. His stabbing at the blade of O'Connell; the pain caused by the blade slipping almost effortlessly into his gut, cutting through his flesh and organs.
His second resurrection and meeting the reincarnation of his lover. Using the wearer of the Bracelet of Anubis-who happened to be O'Connell's son-to lead him to the Sacred Desert of Ahm Shere so he could defeat the Scorpion King for her, his lover. Restoring her soul to the body of her reincarnation. Losing his powers due to Anubis wanting to give his servant, the Scorpion King, a fighting chance. Battling with O'Connell and later convincing the Scorpion King to attack him. O'Connell slaying his attacker, despite Imhotep's own attempt. All for her.
And then his last moments. Falling to his knees, screaming in rage. The shockwave that sent him and O'Connell over the edge. There both of them clung, desperate to survive. O'Connell was saved by his wife, while Imhotep's lover rejected him and sprinted away.
Yes. He remembered now.
It was all her fault.
Anck-Su-Namun.
Didn't she love him?
After everything they had been through together, after all that he had done for her ... and she left him when he needed her the most.
And his world was once more racked with pain. He tried to curl into a ball, but he had no idea if he was successful. He could not feel his own body. All he knew was pain.
What was his name again?
Was he even a 'he'?
His memories faded, vanished, and the man once known as Imhotep was left in the throes of torture once again.
The feeling of being pierced by thousands of barbed hooks, each one a different temperature. Bones feeling as though they were being pounded and ground into dust. The emotional feeling one gets when they know that they are completely and utterly alone, that nobody will ever understand or care for their situation. The total hopelessness. All the pain imaginable can be thought of, and even all of that combined is nothing compared to what those who were trapped in hell were condemned to experience for eternity.
Unknown to Imhotep, his thoughts were at the time being monitored. His memories were seen, his feelings of love, lust, anger and betrayal, as well as, at least eventually, his self-loathing for all of the things he had done in order to keep his lover.
A conversation was held between two of the gods, and when a tentative consensus was reached a trembling and nearly-broken Imhotep was brought before the pair.
It seemed to take him forever to come to his senses. Or it could have taken him no time at all; he did not know. All sense of time seemed to be inaccurate here, and he wondered, at least when his mind was totally clear for the first time, if time even existed in this place. But he had no time to ponder the thought, for as soon as he had regained his bearings something spoke to him.
The voice was powerful, and seemed to echo both in his mind as well as through the world around him. He-for Imhotep was certain it was a he-spoke in a low growl, reminding him of some form of dog.
"Imhotep, first son of Ptolemy." On its own accord, his body straightened in an instant, and the voice continued, "Pharaoh's High Priest. Keeper of the Dead. Commander of the so-called Death Legion. Elemental."
Now the voice grew hard and cold. As the speaker continued, Imhotep shrank back.
"Lawbreaker. Seti's Bane. Master of Plagues. Accursed. ... Creature."
That last one, more than anything else, made Imhotep hang his head.
"What are we to do with you?" the voice pondered.
"Am I not to be judged?"
"Normally, yes, even though you have entered this realm through a forgotten passage, bypassing the levels that visitors are meant to go through before being permitted. Be thankful that your heart is not being weighed, for there is no doubt in our minds that you will have failed the test! It is undoubtedly too heavy!"
Imhotep winced. "I did everything out of love," he snapped, only to fall silent suddenly, realizing that he was talking to a being who could squash him like a bug, if it so chose.
"We are aware," the voice growled. "My brothers have agreed that you will be granted a second chance. However," he went on, cutting off Imhotep's words before he could speak, "you will follow my conditions. Disobedience will lead to your total eradication."
That caught Imhotep's attention. If there was one thing Egyptians hated the thought of, it was total eradication. There would be no evidence that an eradicated being existed. Any accomplishments would either be reversed or credited to others. Friends and family would not know of his existence. His body, had it still been in the world of the living, would be gone. Even his soul would disappear, and the thought of complete and utter nothingness was terrifying.
"What are your conditions?" He was willing to agree to anything at this point, and not only to avoid eradication. After thinking over his actions throughout his life he was disgusted with himself and some of his choices. He had most things he could have ever wanted, and when he was not able to be with Ank-Su-Namun he lashed out like a spoiled child. And his actions after his first death...he shook his head. He knew he could not erase the stain he had caused upon the world, but he would try to redeem himself in any way he could.
The owner of the voice monitored his thoughts and was satisfied with what he saw, so he continued speaking.
"I am charging you, Imhotep son of Ptolemy, to watch over a young boy as he faces his destiny. Teach him. Make him grow strong and powerful. Aid him in his quest, whatever it takes."
"What is his quest?" This did not sound too bad.
"To vanquish a soul-splitter."
The former high priest hissed in anger. Soul-splitting, otherwise known among the peoples of Egypt as the process of making a Horcrux, had been outlawed because of the act of evil required in said process. The high priests tolerated many things, but murder for immortality was definitely against their principles.
The voice waited until he had calmed before continuing. "You are also charged to ensure that he does not fall to evil, at all costs. This must not happen. He is incredibly powerful, and from what we've seen he will live for centuries before anybody even gets close to challenging him."
"I swear," he stated firmly. He felt a slight tug on his spirit at those words and knew that he had been bound to his task. This, strangely, did not bother him.
"Now that you have agreed, I will inform you of a few things that you will need to know. First of all, both the black and gold books will be returned to Hamunaptra. The two of you will find uses for the pair sooner or later. Along with the book you will also be receiving the Spear of Osiris. As you are aware, it will be incredibly handy in dealing with the undead, and I will clarify your theory now and tell you that it does have the ability to destroy Horcruxes."
"May I ask how?"
"The spells that have been cast upon it cause the weapon to affect the soul more directly, as opposed to the vessel in which it is contained. Be very careful though, for it can also be used to harm you."
"I understand."
"You will be granted instinctual understanding of and ability to speak two languages, English and Latin. English is the language that your charge is capable of speaking, and Latin is the language from which many of the spells his school will teach him are derived."
Imhotep nodded.
"Finally, your fear of cats will no longer be a problem, but as payment you will no longer have power over the Ten Plagues."
There was a brief pause.
"That is fair," Imhotep murmured.
"Then farewell, Imhotep son of Ptolemy. Follow my directions and you shall be forgiven! But do be aware that I have set up a little reminder that shall force you to remember each year what you have endured here, lest you forget."
As Imhotep vanished, he heard the voice's last words echo through the vast empty expanse and he locked them away in his mind, ready to pass them along to his new charge. "Good luck, future Master of Death. May Imhotep's guidance bring you success in your endeavors."
It seemed to take only moments before Imhotep felt himself materializing on the mortal plain, although he was unable to move. It was not a moment too soon, either; he could feel a tug pointing him towards a child pulling himself up in a crib, as a redheaded woman stood before it, facing the barricaded door.
An instant later the door was blasted open, scattering the boxes across the floor. In walked a tall robed figure, holding a bone-white wand outstretched in his pale hand. His face, at least what little of it could be seen from under his black hood, was oddly distorted, with pale, waxy skin and eyes that seemed to hold a permanently-bloodshot look.
The redheaded lady glared at the newcomer, arms outstretched as though to shield the child from the wizard's gaze.
"Not Harry, please not Harry!" she cried.
"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside and Lord Voldemort shall spare you this night," came his reply.
"Not Harry! Please, have mercy!"
"Stand aside! I will not ask you again, stand aside!"
"No! Take me! Kill me instead!"
"Very well." He raised his wand. "Avada kedavra!"
The familiar jet of green light erupted from the tip and shot through the air, striking her in the chest. The child screamed as his mother collapsed, having died instantaneously.
Then the wizard turned his wand on the child, now standing in the crib.
Surely he isn't going to- Imhotep thought, stunned at the wizard's stupidity.
"You see, young Harry? This is why you do not place your trust in others. Wormtail's betrayal is the only reason I've found your family."
Harry's only response was an icy glare that looked alien on his young face.
"A lesson that you will never learn, I am afraid. The prophecy claims that you will have the power to vanquish me. For this reason you shall die. Avada kedavra!"
For Another flash of green light zoomed from the wizard's wand.
Imhotep felt whatever it was holding him in place release him, and he knew it was his time to act. He stepped forwards-out of the wall, he realized-and into the path of the curse. He grimaced as it slammed into his incorporeal form, the force of it hurling him backwards.
The origins of the Killing Curse dated back to ancient Egypt. Imhotep was not its creator, but he was very familiar with it all the same. It had been a common spell back in his time, used mainly during battles to both kill opponents as well as those who were too injured to be saved. The curse was designed to instantly stop all bodily functions, while at the same time latching onto the soul and removing it from the body in which it was contained. If it was cast with too little power, the worst the curse would be able to do would be to cause them to start bleeding from the nose, and possibly to wind them. If cast with more power than necessary, apart from killing the target, it would send their body flying several feet.
It was obvious to Imhotep, once the curse struck, that the wizard had done the latter, funneling a shocking amount of power into the single spell. He did his best to resist the blast, but since he did not have a body it was futile and he found himself shooting towards the child, chanting all the while, the curse having only been slowed slightly.
Thankfully the curse had not been designed to harm the dead.
When Imhotep came into contact with the child, though, something strange happened. He felt a drop of the child's blood fall through his form, the tug in his mind changed to a sudden jerk. He felt himself glow for an instant, before he was wrenched into the body of the child through the cut in his forehead.
He felt the curse come into contact through the cut directly afterwards, just before he could finish his chant. He strained against it once more, but then the curse suddenly halted. Imhotep felt another power activate within the child, from what he realized must have been one of the few rituals with the ability to grant protection against this particular curse. The magic had halted the curse, holding it in place for a moment, before hurling it back upon the caster. Imhotep watched from the child's eyes as the wizard, too shocked to move, was struck in the chest by his own rebounding spell. The force of the arcane energies tore his body apart. The wizard's soul, a small, frail thing, seemed to stretch before splitting in two. The larger piece shot off through one of the walls, while the smaller one headed right for the child.
Imhotep felt it as the fragment slammed into him. It clawed at him, desperately trying to gain a hold, but a human body was only meant for one soul. Two was pushing it, and there was no way it would support three. Imhotep knew that the child's soul was too young to fight off this intruder, and therefore it was up to him to do the deed.
Had anybody been able to witness it, they would have seen Imhotep, in his human form once more, facing off with the other foreign soul, which had the form of a small, pale child with red eyes. The souls clashed, and Imhotep gathered his energy. He had battled several foreign souls in his time, and he knew that this would take a while. Doubly so, since they were in a body already inhabited by another.
Hours passed.
Defeating the foreign soul had not been that difficult. Powerful though the other wizard may have been, the fragment of a soul was much weaker than the whole would be. Still, by the time Imhotep began to expel the other soul, an entire day had passed and unknown to him, Harry's body had been transported to another part of the country and had just been placed upon the doorstep of the Dursley family.
Just before Albus Dumbledore, Rubius Hagrid and Minerva McGonagall could turn away from the child, they saw Harry's newly-formed scar split open, releasing a black cloud that seemed to be trying to cling to the boy's skin. A dark substance with the consistency of tar also leaked from the wound.
Hagrid let out a startled shout, and McGonagall clapped a hand to her mouth in horror as the smoky cloud took the form of the face of Voldemort. Dumbledore leapt forward, face pale and drawing his wand, just as another voice, unrecognized by all present, rang out: "Aren ya woot!" A mighty blast of energy erupted from baby Harry's suddenly upraised hand, striking the black cloud. There was a long, high-pitched scream of rage and agony before the cloud seemed to shatter, the pieces fading away almost instantly.
"What the hell?!" exclaimed Hagrid.
"Oh my," breathed McGonagall.
Dumbledore alone remained silent, hurriedly waving his wand around the child's head before focusing in around the area from where the black substance had leaked. He slowly relaxed and, after a few more flicks of his wand, he stepped back with a sigh of relief.
"It seems that young Harry is luckier than I first expected," the old man said. "From what I have been able to perceive, a small fragment of Voldemort's-" the other two adults flinched at the name "-soul had tried to attach itself to the boy's body. Luckily for all of us that he was able to expel it."
"But Albus, who or what was that voice?" McGonagall wondered.
"To that, my dear, I cannot give an answer. Perhaps it was magic itself. I cannot help but feel that I recognize the accent, if not the language, but I cannot recall from where or when..." He trailed off and seemed to be in deep thought for a moment, before snapping back to attention.
"Whatever the case may be, our work is done here. Minerva, Rubius, thank you for helping with this important task. It is time for us to be off now."
"No problem professor!" Hagrid rumbled. "Suppose I'll be off to return young Sirius' bike to him. Hopefully he hasn't gotten into trouble...he had said something about hunting a filthy rat."
Before Dumbledore or McGonagall could question him more, Hagrid had started the motorbike and rose into the sky, the loud noise from the vehicle slowly fading away as he flew back toward Godric's Hollow.
With a curt nod to Dumbledore, McGonagall transformed into a tabby cat and took off down the street, leaving the old wizard alone.
Raising his wand, Dumbledore made as though to cast a warming charm upon the blanket that the child was wrapped in, and then paused upon noticing that one had already been placed upon it. Instead, with a few complicated swishes he extended the duration of the spell so that it would last another day or so. Then he took one last look at the baby.
"Good luck, Harry Potter," he whispered before turning his back on the young boy on the doorstep and striding confidently down the drive, returning the light to the street as he went.