God Rest You
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter stories, its plot, characters, places, or any recognisable features in this story. Only unrecognisable plot features and characters are (hopefully) mine. This is written purely for entertainment purposes, and I am not benefiting financially from it.
Warnings: Harry/MuggleSlash, because I've never seen one before. Probably some variety of spoilers for DH as well, but no epilogue, and I will be twisting it all a bit. And there will be some overt religiosity, but I assure you, I'm not trying to convert anyone. I disagree with that.
And for those out there who disagree with homosexuality on religious grounds, and believe that you can't be both homosexual and religious (the 'gays will burn in hell –turn to Jesus!' type), I'm both gay and a confirmed Christian in the mainstream Church of England.
xxx
The sky turned grey with dawn as Harry approached his adversary across the field of battle. Voldemort stood on the steps of the castle of Hogwarts, surrounded by his Death Eaters. He had gathered all manners of dark creatures, and Dementors in their thousands glided across the lake to join their new master. Harry stood with the students of Hogwarts, the teachers, the Order of the Phoenix, and all those who opposed the Dark. It was still pitiful force compared with the massed ranks of Voldemort's supporters. The world seemed to lose all colour as the Dementors drew closer, and the air grew cold, Harry's breath condensing in front of his face. His mind clouded with doubt and sorrow. He saw the faces of all who had been killed by Voldemort and his followers, who seemed to cry out to him in pain, and his mother began to scream. No, not Harry! Please not Harry! Take me instead! Harry shook his head, trying to clear it, and raised his wand.
"Ready!" he shouted, as loud as he could. His voice seemed to break the forces of the Light out of their Dementor-induced trance, and they all followed suit, raising their wands. Harry stepped forward and turned to his allies, putting his wand to his throat and magically amplifying his voice.
"My friends," he called to those before him. "Let it now be the day that we overturn this evil once and for all. Join with me, and think of the death of Voldemort, the redemption of friends and family, the avenging of loved ones and the saving of future generations. Hold the faces of all those whom who love dearly in your minds. Cast your spell for them. Fuel it with your love for them. Cast down those who hate with your love. Now!" And he turned to face the enemy, and in unison with the forces of the Light, cried his last hope to the heavens: "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" It sounded as a great roar, echoing through the forest, resounding against the walls of the castle. Harry's wand began to shake violently, a great light growing at its tip. He remembered all who had fallen – they no longer wept, but cheered him on, about to be avenged. His mother no longer screamed, but he felt as if engulfed in a warm, loving embrace. A tear rolled down his cheek. And with a sudden thunder of magic, the greatest force he had every summoned erupted from his wand. The great silver stag exploded into being, engulfed in a fiery white nimbus. It tossed its bright head, swinging its antlers in challenge. It charged forward, across the lawn towards the castle. All along the line Patronuses were forming, and hurtled towards the Death Eaters. Ron's terrier joined Harry's stag from the left, and Hermione's otter swam through the air from the right. Together, the wave of Patronuses charged the dark cloud of Dementors, which fled away from the wall of light. They flew as fast as they could towards the ranks of Voldemort's followers, and in their desperation not to be engulfed by the Patronuses, they tried to bolster their strength by feeding on the Death Eaters.
Harry gasped in relief when the cold crushing hold of the Dementors vanished. Through the haze of light emitted by their Patronuses he could see the Death Eaters beginning to fall under the assault of the Dementors. None could produce a Patronus to save themselves, and were at the mercy of the life-sucking power of the Dementors. They all fell, unconscious, dead or dying from sorrow. Then the Dementors converged on their master. Lord Voldemort gasped in horror, desperately casting spells to save himself. But he was no longer human enough to bring forth emotions of love and happiness, and no Patronus was forthcoming. As one, the thousand Dementors began to administer their Kiss, still trying to gather enough strength to defeat the Patronuses. Voldemort's narrow frame shook violently, and he screamed as what remained of his soul was torn from his body. He raised his arms, clawing at the air above, his eyes gaping wide. He gasped for breath and choked, and screamed again, grasping at his face, before collapsing on the ground.
On the other side of the field, Harry too screamed. The part of Voldemort's soul that was within him was also being ripped out. He cried in agony, falling to the floor and convulsing in pain. Hermione and Ron were shouting his name but he could barely hear them. His body felt like it was on fire as the fragment of Voldemort's soul was forcibly removed. To Harry, it was almost as bad as having his own, whole soul taken. He screamed and writhed, unable to bear the pain.
Harry awoke screaming and sweating, the shouts of his friends ringing in his ears. He was sitting up in bed, the duvet in disarray around him. He wiped his hand against his damp forehead, pushing his went fringe away from his eyes. He stood up, getting out of bed, and groped around blindly for his glasses. When he found them, and after turning on the light, he took off his pyjamas and pulled on his clothes. He put on his coat and shoes, and went out of the house. He needed some fresh air to think. It was too stuffy inside.
The snow had been falling thickly, but had eased off now. Thick whiteness blanketed the streets of the small town, covering every surface. The sky was still black in the very early morning, and stars glimmered in its great clear expanse. Harry shivered as he walked, despite his thick coat, at the strange forms of the shadows cast by the moonlight. His thoughts were troubled, and he barely noticed where his feet took him as he wandered. He turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. He had reached the edge of the town, and the road curved off, leading to a small church atop a snowy hill. The church was lit from within, beautiful colours emitted from through its stained glass windows. He could faintly make out singing from within. He thought he recognised the song – a carol of some sort. Intrigued, Harry followed the road to the archway that led into the churchyard. He hurried past the graves that seemed to leer at him, but his fear was forgotten when he entered the warmth of the church. He had entered from the back, so no one noticed his arrival. The small congregation, who couldn't have numbered more than twenty, were all stood, and singing a sacred hymn.
"O, tidings of comfort and joy", they sang. Harry didn't quite agree with them, given his current state of mind, but he took a seat in an empty pew at the back. The service lasted another fifteen minutes, and consisted of a number of other carols, some of which he recognised from television programmes at the Dursley's, after which the vicar shuffled to the lectern, whence she gave a short sermon on the subject of struggles. Harry didn't think much of what the vicar was saying, doubting very much that most members of the congregation had ever struggled particularly, but he appreciated the gesture all the same. When the service was over, the congregation, which was made up mostly of ageing men and women, shuffled to the back of the church, ostensibly for tea and biscuits to warm them for their journey home. A couple came over to Harry, introduced themselves, inquired after his thoughts on the service, and expressed their most ardent wish that he come again for another service. Attendance was obviously in decline, and the parishioners were eager for some new blood. He was greeted by other parishioners, all of whom were very welcoming and eager that he come again.
By far the youngest member of the congregation was a young man of about Harry's age. He had short and slightly wavy light brown hair, and had very dark brown eyes. He wore jeans and a white tee-shirt, over the top of which he had a red hooded jumper, unzipped at the front. He had a calm and honest face, and was a bit more than just a little bit handsome, but Harry was still wary of the company of his friends, let alone strangers.
"Hey," he said as he approached. "I'm Josh Peverell." He held out his hand to be shaken. Harry barely withheld a choking splutter at the name. Was he a wizard? He didn't look like one. But, then again, Harry mused, neither do I.
"H…Harry Potter," he managed, and shook the proffered hand. Josh smiled, but other than that, Harry couldn't detect any other emotions. No wild pointing, no wide-eyed surprise, no looking hungrily at his scar. Muggle then. Hermione had said that Peverell was extinct in the male line, so the name didn't exist anymore, but it would be just like wizards to forget about squib lines.
"Did you enjoy the service?" Josh asked. It seemed to be the staple question from churchgoers. Perhaps they were all issued with a pamphlet – 'How to successfully welcome heathen newbies.'
"Yes, thanks," answered. "I haven't much to compare with, though. I've never been to church before."
Josh seemed surprised. "Never? How come?"
"I was brought up by my relatives, who weren't exactly god-fearing." Harry wasn't quite sure why he was being so verbose with a complete stranger. "When I was eleven I went off to boarding school, so I was unable to go then…" Harry trailed off. Boarding school wasn't the only reason why he had been unable to go to church, of all things. Just the small matter of the Second Wizarding War.
"Well, I hope you'll come again," said Josh eagerly. Harry might have imagined it, but Josh seemed to have more than the expected level of church-goer enthusiasm for this.
The vicar soon joined the conversation with a mug of coffee, and Harry soon found himself drawn into a philosophical conversation. Josh seemed an ardent debater, and so did the vicar – perhaps she even more so, and Harry felt a little out of his depth. It was enjoyable all the same. The vicar soon left, with a cheery farewell, and Josh turned to Harry.
"So… You had any breakfast yet?"
Harry shook his head.
"Do you fancy coming out to get some?" Josh looked nervous. Even anxious.
Harry restrained himself from laughing at his anxiousness over something as simple as asking someone out, when for years it had been the furthest thing from Harry's mind. He hesitated before he answered, however. Oh, sod it, he thought. Nothing's going to go wrong. It's not as if a Muggle is likely to be in league with the Death Eaters.
"All right," he answered. Josh looked immensely relieved. "Where do you want to go?"
AN: Hoped you enjoyed it (please, please review to let me know!). More chapters to follow.
Please check out my multi-chaptered ongoing AU fic, 'The Circle Around the Fire', if you enjoyed this fic. In it, Harry is abandoned by the Dursleys at age five, but is rescued by a strange old woman, who teaches him mysterious and powerful magic before his arrival at Hogwarts. From pre-Hogwarts to post-Hogwarts. Starting second year at the moment.