By Death I am Embraced
Part One: The Beginning
Summary: Legend has it that when the Hallows are united under a Peverell descendent he shall become Death's son but Harry Potter has no memory of the Wizarding world and is unaware of the power he holds. With a new name he joins the staff of Torchwood Three. SLASH
This is a series of stories that I am posting on my livejournal. However I am posting each complete story here as a single chapter (depending on the size). So please bear in mind that each chapter will be fairly long and may take some time to fully write. As a result updates may be sporadic.
Notes: For the purposes of this story the events of series one of Torchwood happened in 2006, when Harry Potter was 26 and Ianto Jones 23 (lol by my calculations of course). This story (barring the prologue) will focus more on Torchwood in the beginning but will get progressively more related to Harry Potter.
Spoilers: Possibly all Harry Potter films/books, but definitely Series 1 and 2 of Torchwood.
A/N: Special thanks to Hope Night for having the brilliant idea of Ianto Jones being Harry Potter and letting me use it. You can find her story in my favourites
Preface
Torchwood Three Archives:
Captain Jack Harkness' Personal Files
Report ID: 134120
Agent: Captain Jack Harkness.
Agent ID: n/a
Date First Filed: 15/06/1947
Re-filed: 23/01/2000
Subject: Prophecy
Notes: Prophetic Portent as told by The Fortune Teller to CJH.
(See file on Fortune Teller for other encounters with this being).
Legend has it that when the Deathly Hallows are united under a descendent of Peverell line, this man shall become Death's son. His child, brought to life on Earth, to walk the steps he cannot take, with the grace and humility of the human race.
Though in essence Immortal but not in body, he must live in agony, must suffer as man must until his closed heart is again opened by life. Then henceforth shall he be unending. Deathless and the Heir to his Father's world. Wielder of the Four Gift's of Death.
His names shall be many, his admirers and enemies among the thousands. His human heart will break him, tear him apart in its sorrow for his road and his role is long. And terrible in its burden. The love of one who his Father can never take, shall be his saving grace.
And together they will bring great change and destroy corruption in all worlds.
One born of life and one of death shall be thy saving grace.
I have no idea what this means only that it has something to do with me. The Fortune Teller at least told me that much. CJH
Part 1/5
Harry Potter dropped to the floor and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the jet of red light that impacted the Earth just where he'd been only a moment ago.
He shot off his own stunner, satisfied to see it impact with the Death Eater even if it only just clipped his shoulder, spinning him around with the force.
"Diffindo!" Harry screamed. The cutting curse hit the man in the back of the neck, severing his spine.
As the head wobbled, the mask dropped. He had no regrets when he saw that flash of blond hair tumble out. He would never mourn Lucius Malfoy, though he knew killing the man would put him at odds with his friend, a boy he'd hoped would one day be more. Even though he knew that, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
He spared no more thought for what would happen, he moved on knowing that he would have to think about it later. Argue about it, hell maybe even fall out and lose someone over it but for now he had a battle to win.
Was Voldemort even here?
He hadn't seen a single hint of the snake faced bastard. He was supposed to be here!
How dare he not be here!
Harry had had enough, this was it, he wanted it to end. No more fighting, he'd set out today intending to kill or be killed. There was no more time to mess around. He was sick of hiding, sick of training, of living his life underground like a mole. He wanted it to end but it wouldn't.
It just kept going on, and on and on. An endless cycle of battles and missions, more often than not just hearing about them as he 'couldn't be lost'. No he couldn't sacrifice his life, just end it all like all the people out here. No he had a job to do and he better damn well do it or he'd be murdered in his sleep.
People were so idiotic, so fickle. They wanted him to win but prevented him from having a single chance at the man. He wasn't ready they said. And whose bloody fault was that. Theirs! Not his, theirs!
Another Deatheater leapt in front of him. Their mask obscuring their features but Harry didn't care, he no longer cared who it was under there. His feelings were dead and buried, locked away under a sea of hatred and insecurities.
The next few minutes were a blur of colours and gestures, he would never know what it was he cast and what the Deatheater had cast at the time. But when their two beams of light met the force of the impact sent them both flying backwards.
Harry's head exploded in pain. Trust his bloody luck that he'd hit a tree!
"Harry, Harry, Harry. So clumsy." A voice hissed in front of him. Opening his eyes, groggily Harry looked up into the smirking face of his nemesis.
"So you showed up then." He muttered, gripping his wand tighter.
"I've been here all along Potter. Just waiting for the moment to strike. You've been a thorn in my side all these years Potter and now I'm going to end it. No, stay where you are!" Voldemort ordered as Harry moved to stand.
"I'm not playing anymore Potter. I'm not giving you chance to get away again. I'm not going to talk until you figure out a way to escape. This is the end. Goodbye Harry Potter."
In that moment that Voldemort raised his arm, Harry saw his own death. He would die without really living. No! He hadn't come this far to die now. He was only eighteen for Merlin's sake!
Voldemort seemed to be moving in slow motion, it wasn't hard for Harry to raise his own wand and scream the words he'd never thought he'd be desperate enough to say. As green light erupted from Voldemort's wand, so did it from his own.
There was no Priori Incantatum this time. Voldemort had long since discarded his old wand in favour of others whenever he and Harry met. But this wand, this one was more special than any other. The wand the Dark Lord used today, the wand he hoped to kill the boy with, had belonged to Albus Dumbledore. He'd killed the man a year ago at the Ministry and today he would use it to kill the old man's last hope.
No there was no Priori Incantatum effect but the beams of light did connect. But in that instant of connection the spells reacted violently, combusting outwards, the force of the explosion more than either man had ever seen.
Instinctively, Harry threw up his hands, his magic acted of its own accord in that moment to protect him. A force field of raw energy stood between Harry and the blast, forcing it in the other direction. Unfortunately Voldemort's magic didn't go to quite the same lengths and the snake faced man was hit with double the back lash. His body was disintegrated, his soul ripped from his body. He was bodiless again. Wasting not a moment the spirit known as Voldemort fled. For as long as he had a Horcrux, he would stay alive.
Harry too weak to stop him could only lower his hands and collapse back against the tree. Barely aware he felt his own wand return to it's holster, but strangely enough he felt another join it. Dumbledore's! Safe in the knowledge that neither could be taken from him, Harry gave into the comforting blackness that had been trying to consume him.
Part 2/5
Harry woke up in a hard bed with a lot of white surrounding him. Hospital then. He thought. It wasn't the hospital wing of Hogwarts however.
He wouldn't be strapped down to the bed if he were there. And there wouldn't be an armed Auror standing guard with his back against the door and another in front of the window. Both of them had their wands trained on him. Harry could feel the suffocating energy of wards, like a blanket shrouding the entire room. Anti-apparition and portkey, as well as privacy and secrecy charms.
Glancing around, he realised the grim faced Aurors were one's who he didn't know. Whatever was going on there would be no help from them.
One of them must have called someone, for a moment later a knock came at the door and an official looking man stepped into the room.
"Mr. Potter, how unfortunate that you chose to wake up. I had hoped to do this quietly and without fuss now that I finally have the go ahead from Minister Scrimgeour's office."
Harry didn't say anything, he didn't need to. This was clearly a villain who felt the need to talk. Harry resisted rolling his eyes, even Voldemort had learned better.
He stepped up to the bedside table, took a box from inside his robes and began fiddling with the contents. Harry fought against the straps for a moment but soon gave up. He couldn't see what was in the box, the sight of it was just outside his vision. But the man was continuing to talk anyway.
"It seems Mr. Potter that now that 'He Who Must Not Be Named' is dead that the Government has no further use for you."
Harry tried to speak, tried to say Voldemort was not dead but he couldn't.
"Silencing charm." The man said pointedly. "Don't bother denying it, lying won't save your skin. Your scar's already fading. Various Auror's and Order member's saw his ghost flee the scene. Not that those idiots acknowledge he's dead, they just keep repeating 'but that's what happened last time'. Brainwashed idiots if you ask me, they're loyal to you Potter but after you die of your 'injuries' and Voldemort doesn't reappear they'll come back around to the Minister's thinking. They'll see that even though you and Voldemort are gone, the fight against the Dark continues. They didn't care what you did, said you didn't do it on purpose but when a Wizard uses Dark Magic, even in a shield they are a danger. The Minister has ordered that all threats be removed, we're moving against the remaining Deatheaters, the Dark Families and the Dark Creatures. Fortunately for you we have to be more subtle, no hunting you down, no public killing for you. Be glad of what you get Potter, you have me to thank. I asked that as a recognition of your past goodness we allow you a peaceful death, Avada Kedavra didn't work, hardly surprising given your history but neither do any other harmful spells. Not even Diffindo would cut your wrists, so we had to use this. Now Potter I haven't got all day, you were the Saviour, now lay still and be the good little martyr for me."
Harry had been in a state of shock throughout the first half of the man's speech but slowly that had lessened, only to be replaced by a certain numbness that always helped him think clearly.
Unfortunately when he saw the man holding up the seemingly innocent Muggle syringe 'thinking clearly' went right out of the window. He began thrashing, kicking, screaming although nothing came out of his mouth.
The Auror's left the door, coming forward to hold him. One grabbed his arm, trying to hold it still for the man to inject him.
He was terrified.
He felt the needle enter his skin, the man wasn't careful, it hurt. But he didn't have the chance to release the drug, again his magic reacted to save him. His attackers were thrown from his body, they bounced off the wall with wet 'thuds', a trail of blood was left behind on the wall in their wake. They'd hit the wall with such force.
He was just beginning to breathe again, to calm when he heard a soft whine of metal gears and a sudden hissing. He raised himself as high as he could from the bed. There was an air vent beneath the window, spewing out toxic smoke. The window was a fake! There was someone behind it, watching him. The first attempt failed so now they were pumping in gas! What is this a fucking Bond movie? He wanted to scream, but couldn't. Now that's just bloody ridiculous!
He was desperate, pulling at the chains, hoping his magic had loosened them with the blast, but they hadn't. He could feel himself, getting lethargic, slower. He was dying, suffocating to death in a hospital. Not how he'd imagined he'd go. And he'd never even found out about his friends...were they...alive?
It was getting harder, so much harder to think.
He was slipping towards unconsciousness. He was losing the fight. With a last desperate attempt he tried to direct his magic, he tried to get out of there. But the anti-apparition wards weighed him down. They kept him there pressed against the bed, he couldn't fight them. Couldn't breathe.
He was losing it. He felt himself drifting. He didn't even feel it when it happened, didn't hear the crack but suddenly he was standing and he felt cold air.
And then the world seemed to be filled with light, things were screaming, people, metal... rubber?
And then a pain more intense than anything he'd ever felt hit him. Or at least with the force of it, he imagined it to be as he was still so numb, he just couldn't feel anything. Only the cold.
Something hit him, something that filled the night with blaring sound. He didn't feel the impact, or the dozens of smaller impacts after that as he rolled. He heard squeals, the sick sound of meat being pounded and realised that that one had been from him.
The next impact he recognised. He'd hit the floor, hard. He gasped in a breath but he couldn't keep it. He felt it escaping into his chest and back out again. There was a gurgling whistle when he breathed in and a wet splutter when he breathed out. He felt like he was drowning.
He was dying all over again.
Part 3/5
"Give over. And watch the bloody road," She smiled, batting his hand away. "Honestly, anyone would think you were a teenager with the way you're behavin."
"I can't help it if I fancy yer." He replied.
"Leave it out Cameron. I'm old." She laughed, angling for the compliment she knew he'd give her.
"Oh my luv, yer not old. Yeh look just as yeh did the day we met, ya do." He said not taking his eyes from the dark country road before them.
"And don't ya forget it." She warned, sternly.
"Never could." He agreed.
He left her alone then, turning up the radio and singing along off key, which was almost as annoying as the tickling from earlier.
They passed another sign, this one telling them the same thing 'Open Speed Limit'. Bloody bollocks that, she thought. Narrow country lanes that twist every which bloody way and they tell you to go as fast as you can. Who made that chuffing rule eh? The bloody idiots who lived in big cities, that's who.
She'd always hated that, never understood it. And tonight she was feeling particularly edgy, like something was about to happen.
"Carrie? Ya alright luv?" Cam asked.
"Yeh fine. Eyes on the bloody road."
After a few more miles, when nothing seemed to happen, she relaxed. But she hadn't been wrong in her feelings. Barely a little way's further and Cam was again singing loudly. She was just about to open her mouth to tell him he was giving her a damn headache, when not ten metres in front of her something just appeared.
She didn't have time to scream, Cam didn't have time to stop. He braked but it did no good, in fact it made it worse.
The impact came before she could blink, she caught the sight of a pale face before the windscreen cracked and the figure (for that's what it was) swept over the car and fell out of sight through the mirror. Looking in the mirror above her head, the one she checked her make up in whenever Cam drove, she wished they'd never invented them. Mirrors, they showed too much truth. She saw the red on the rear window, knew it for what it was and she finally broke out of her shock enough to scream.
Later she would remember the sounds, the screech of the brake, the tyres and the metal of the bonnet as he hit, the crunch of what she assumed were bones and the rattle as he passed overhead. She didn't remember coming to a stop, Cam screaming at her, yelling, asking whether she was alright. She just sat there, not seeing or hearing him as he got out of the car and ran to the bloody form they'd left behind on the road, yelling, screaming into his phone. Shouting for an ambulance, even as he dropped to his knees and began doing something, anything to keep him alive.
He was a trained first aider, but this was beyond him. If the ambulance didn't get here soon the boy would die.
He was so young.
Part 4/5
It was hours later when Carrie came out of her shock. She found herself propped up in a hospital bed. Her husband waiting anxiously beside the bed.
After awhile she was aware enough to ask about the man they'd hit, only to learn it had been a boy. An already injured boy who was now in a coma in intensive care.
"He had surgery luv and he just hasn't woken up. Said he was in a healing sleep."
"Oh god!" she moaned. "Did they contact his parents? Are they here? Do they hate us? Where...?"
"Woah luv, slow it down. You'll work yourself into a state. Poor boy had no identification, they won't know who he is til he wakes up or til someone reports him missing."
"I've gotta stay here Cam. I've got to make sure he's alright."
"You ain't going anywhere yet luv. They're keeping you in overnight see."
She nodded, feeling suddenly tired. She laid back down. "Do you think they'd let me sit with him tomorrow?" She asked.
"Don't know luv, I just don't know."
It had been over a week since the accident and the young man still hadn't woken up. She wasn't allowed to sit with him, hadn't been until he'd come out of intensive care. He was recovering much quicker than the Doctor's expected, some of them even swore magic was behind it. He wasn't out of the woods yet but at least he was on a ward now, instead of in intensive care. She could sit with him and wonder where his parents were. Why hadn't they reported him missing?
She didn't like him being alone. She came every day, as often as possible. Cam would come with her whenever he could, but he had to work most days, so she came alone. The Nurses had long since stopped protesting. She wasn't family, in fact she'd been one of the ones to hurt him but there was something about this boy that made you want to protect him, mother him and the Nurses could see she meant him no harm.
No they weren't angry with her, they were angry at his parents. It had been clear to the first Doctor who saw him that the boy was malnourished, his growth had been stunted and he likely appeared younger than he looked. She thought he looked about fifteen, he still had that youthful innocence about him. In fact looking at him she could almost believe he was her son but that was just wishful thinking. She couldn't have kids, but looking at this boy she could imagine him being hers. He had her hair, messy and dark brown (though she could have sworn it had been black that first day) with Cam's pale skin. He even had her Mother's beautiful blue eyes. She'd seen them whenever the Nurses did a retinal check.
Day's passed like this and pretty soon it was close to two weeks since that night.
She went the next day as usual. For the last few years she and her husband had been foster parents, but they had no kids with them now so she had nothing to keep her away.
Hours later it was almost time to leave, when she looked up from the magazine she'd brought with her, she found two tired blue eyes regarding her. She shot to her feet, startling him but pressed the call button for the Nurses before trying to reassure him. She brushed his messy brown hair out of his eyes and spoke in a soft tone.
"It's alright sweetie, don't be scared. You were hurt. In a car accident but you're going to be alright now."
"Are you my Mum?"
The question threw her and she began to get a sinking feeling in her gut. She didn't even think on his accent, if she'd took the time she'd have noticed it certainly wasn't welsh.
"No honey I'm not. Do ya not remember who your Mam is?"
He just shook his head.
"Do you know what your name is?"
He just shook his head again.
She couldn't think of anything else to say. She heard the sound of running footsteps and turned to the door in time to see a Nurse rush in.
"Mrs. Jones?" The young woman questioned.
"He doesn't remember anything."
Part 5/5
"He doesn't remember anything."
Ianto Jones sighed, rubbing his temples, trying to get the words out of his head. He didn't know why he was thinking about that night now. It had been years since he'd thought about it. He knew everything about that time in his life, though he still didn't remember anything before that. It was like his life had started with that accident and there was nothing before it.
He didn't remember getting to the middle of that road, but he remembered the car hitting him. And had even clearer memories of when he'd woken up and every moment after that. According to the Doctor's he had perfect recall, which was ironic considering he still had no idea about his past.
All he had of his old life, whatever it was were two carved sticks of wood, a broken ring that he didn't have the heart to throw away or wear, and a small box decorated like a miniature trunk. The latter of which wouldn't open for him or anyone else. It was hard to draw conclusions from those items; the only thing that made sense was that they were just little trinkets that had only sentimental value. He'd been found with nothing else, no Id, no money, he'd only had them and the pyjamas on his back. The latter of which hadn't survived his run in with the car.
It had been eight years, he was now Twenty three, or at least they'd decided he was. There'd been no way to know his true age when he'd been found. He'd looked fourteen but had been malnourished and could have been years older for all they knew. At the time they'd decided that he should claim to be 15 years of age.
And on top of all that, for a time his personality had regressed and he'd acted like a ten year old, making his age even harder to determine. Whatever had happened to him before his accident had left him so traumatised that that along with the car accident had caused his mind to go into a type of shut down. According to his Psychologist at the time this had been a normal result of such trauma but that didn't mean he liked it.
There'd been moments, usually when he was watching fantasy or Sci-Fi films (anything with magic), when things would almost feel familiar. But that was just nonsense.
He believed that his love of all things weird and magical was what had led him to accept Torchwood's job offer. That was what had led him to this moment now.
It certainly hadn't been his parents. Carys (Carrie) and Cameron Jones, the couple who'd knocked him over that night, they hadn't liked the idea of him joining Torchwood at all.
Apparently the car accident, horrific though it was, had through serendipity saved his life, in more ways than one. He'd been dying of carbon dioxide poisoning and had had a fractured rib that had seriously restricted his breathing. That was bad enough but when the car had hit him that rib had actually punctured his lung. If it wasn't for his Tad's quick actions that day he'd be dead. It just depended on what got the chance to kill him first.
When he woke up, he'd latched onto them both like limpets. Again his Psychologist had had an explanation for that. She'd told him that subconsciously he was attaching himself to the first people to show him any affection. And when social services had come to place him with a suitable foster family they hadn't had the heart to take him away from them. Luckily they were both qualified foster parents and Carys had been a former nurse, so all his needs were met and no one had had cause to complain. He'd been happy with them. They treated him like he was their own, still did as a matter of fact.
Back then they'd all hoped he'd get his memory back soon so that they could find and prosecute his family, then they could adopt him officially but it had never happened. It had been eight years and he still hadn't gotten his memory back and now he was too old for it to matter, there was no urgency to know the truth anymore.
In fact as far as his memory went, he'd only ever caught glimpses of faces. A girl with bushy brown hair, a boy with red hair and another boy with blond hair. They were the ones he saw most often but even now, other than their hair he couldn't tell you what they looked like. There were no accompanying memories, no visions of him holding hands with the girl or anything, just partial glimpses of faces. There were never any names either.
He finished straightening his tie. Maybe the reason why he'd had a flashback that morning was what he'd thought earlier. That had been the day he'd set out on this path. And now look at him, Lisa was dead. He'd betrayed his boss, his friends, all for nothing. He'd been taken in by a monster wearing the face of an angel.
And now he didn't know what to expect. He should have been fired but Jack had only suspended him. Today was his first day back and he was going in early. No doubt Owen or Gwen would see it as him being up to something but the truth was the two of them were complete slobs and he had a schedule to keep. Which no doubt hadn't been followed while he was away, meaning the routine he'd set up for Myfanwy and the Weevils would have been shot to hell. That was the reason he was going in early, he wanted to get tidied up before anyone else came in so that he wouldn't be running late with all his other jobs.
And it would be easier to wander the Hub without any of the others around. He couldn't look at them and he couldn't take their pity or their hatred. He'd get the first from Tosh and the latter from Owen, who would take great pleasure in following him around, taunting him. If he got there early enough he might be able to escape down to the archives. Then again that was as long as Jack let him out of his sight.
And if he were in Jack's place, he wouldn't do that.
The End
Next part is the sequel which will focus on Small Worlds...