Title

Sanctified

Author

Sar'Kalu

Summary

AU. Extremely Religious. Trigger Warnings. What would happen if Harry knew God? If Harry turned his back on the Wizarding World? If Harry walked among Angels and Demons, Hunters, Vampires and Werewolves. Who would Live? Who would Die? And would Harry be Harry if he had no Magic at all?

Disclaimer

Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and Warner Brothers and their affiliated. Supernatural is the intellectual property of Eric Kripke and Kripke Enterprises and their affiliates.

Rating

M: violence, explicit sexual acts and blood and gore. References to abuse and sexual abuse.


...


Chapter One

Hail Mary, Full of Grace

...

The boy walked this route everyday before and after school. Too big shoes sliding on his feet, slick with sweat because he didn't own any socks. Shorts, three sizes too big, tied to his waist with a length of leather stolen from Mrs. Lewisham's messenger bag. A shirt tucked in and dwarfing his skinny frame with its baggy folds, coloured grey, ripped and torn from hard wear and tear. A bag, ragged and torn, slung over his shoulder, dragging at his back and filled with two sets of books. His own and his cousins.

From the school gate he darted across the road, looking both ways anxiously, his features tight and fearful as cars just barely miss him, buffeting him with their slipstream. Down Acacia Street and past the big white plaster house with a red tiled room. Crossing the road onto Johnson Lane and cutting across the park at the end where the park backed the big church with its red bricks, colourful windows and stark men that worked their, dressed in black and white, their features stern and commanding.

Running across the park and dodging the children playing their, their eyes mean as they watch him flee, cawing and jeering him to run, don't worry, we'll get you next time. While their parents sit and watch, hands in pockets and bags, their brick like mobile phones primed and ready for that call that would hail the police to drag him away. Crossing Wisteria Walk onto Privet Drive would be easy, no one but the lonely old man from Number Three would be home, not even Mrs. Fig at Number Seven. He would scoop up Chester, the orange cat from Five off the front porch, dropping the marmalade tom back onto his side of the street and then return to Number Four, slinking out 'round back to await his Aunt and Cousin who would have visited a department store, or the grocery shops as a 'treat'.

Today, however he didn't. His lips hurt from his cousin, Dudley punching him at school today. His shoulders felt wrenched and painful from the skinny rat-like boy, Piers, holding them back awkwardly, splaying him across Piers' front as the smaller crueler boy enjoyed every hit, grunt and moan spilling from his lips. Even his bottom and belly hurt, though Gordon and Malcolm were to blame for that. Gordon liked to kick people and his belly made a great target. Loud but wouldn't hurt Gordon's toes through his soft sand-shoes. Malcolm was different, he had a big brother who loved him very, very much. A big brother that would stroke him and whisper just how much he loved his baby brother, how pretty he was.

Malcolm had shown Dudley and Piers and Gordon what Trevor, his big brother, had done to him. Had wriggled his skinny, bony fingers into his shorts and stuck them up his bum, crooking and curving them and finding a little hot button on his insides. Malcolm had pressed that button and watched him squeal and squirm, watched his tiny bare penis get hard and leaky like Trevor's had. Dudley had been impressed, his blue eyes curious as he watched and listened and then had demanded the same treatment, guessing rightly that the whimpers and gasps from his cousin had been from pleasure, not pain. He had slunk away, humiliated and pained while Malcolm taught his friends about that button in their bums that made them hard like real men.

Instead of taking his usual route across the park and avoiding the cruel children and their parents who watched and waited, their mobiles and lips ready and determined to take him away, he instead slid across the parking lot, unaware of narrowed grey eyes that watched him curiously. He stood in the shadow of the great brick Church, the words of the Lord drawing his eye and making him feel humble and very much alone. As he turned away the doors that were always locked and always closed to him, creaked open, letting a waft of warm air reach his thin, bony form and like a magnet to a lodestone, he dragged his feet across the gravel pathway and into the entryway of the church.

In another time and place, this decision would be followed by him meeting the junior and very self important priest and being chased from Church lands for the first and last time in his life, loosing him from the fold whereupon on his eleventh birthday he would meet a great man with wild black haired man who would sweep him away to the north and into a society lost to time.

In yet another time and place, the church was empty, the junior priest watching him with dark eyes and a suspicious set to his mouth while the senior priest watched and waited, sympathy and pity warring in his ancient chest. After moments spent staring fearfully at the bleeding man on the cross and mumbling his way through the Lords prayer, what bits he remembered, he would slink away again, never to be seen there again and would seek out a better life for himself, but still end up in the north with a wild hairy man with kind eyes as his mentor.

This time and place was different because the junior priest was out on a house call at a local parishioners house, passing on the Churches condolences and hearing about the tiny, dark haired boy with golden-green eyes and too big clothing. He would listen and dismiss her worries, assuring her that her husband, recently passed, would find himself in Heaven and return to the Church and find a tiny dark haired boy with too big and blood stained clothing muttering the Lords prayer and kneeling at the statue of Jesus' feet, tears rolling down his thin face while the senior priest watched and waited but made no move to intervene.

The Church was a place for lost souls, drawing them in and giving them comfort and the ability to carry on during times both rough and gentle. As the junior priest entered the tiny brick church where he served and guided the tiny flock of Little Whinging, he watched his superior step forwards and direct him towards the tiny shaking figure of a seven year old boy, bruises flowering on his pale skin and blood drying rust red on his faded clothing. Pity filled him as did suspicion. He knew this child, knew his faults and knew his sins. He had listened to the Aunt and Uncle's confessions, had listened to the cousins and knew of the rage and arrogance that burned within such a skinny, innocent-looking child.

As both priests, dressed in pressed black slacks, with shiny black shoes and wearing their vestments, approached the tiny child at the feet of Christ, the boy looked up and panicked, fear flooding his thin face and widening too green eyes and both knew, with the immediacy of those trained to spot it, that the Aunt, Uncle and Cousin had lied. That this child was sick in mind, body, heart and soul, that there was nothing to do but to impart their suspicions and fears to the local authorities while comforting the child in the only way they could.

"Peace, my child," Father Matthew said calmly, soothingly and quietly. His deep toned voice ringing out in the Church and echoing back with the force of twenty.

The child staggered to his feet and fell once more, Father Thomas leaping forwards to catch him, supporting the too thin child in his arms, the marks of his tears like silvery trails on dirty cheeks. "My son, are you well?" Father Thomas asked, fear filling him. The death of a child was something to be feared and avoided for they are the true innocents in his mind, to be protected, loved, cared for and cherished.

"Daddy?" The child whispered, hopeful and heart breaking.

"No, my child," Father Matthew breathed, sinking beside Father Thomas and their young charge. "It is Father Thomas and Matthew, the reverends of God and the Holy Host."

The boy smiled, raising his eyes from the priests chest where their rosary beads lay and to their eyes where they felt something like forgiveness pass over them. Father Matthew, a man pushing sixty, had felt such things before and knew the child for someone special, someone who would disappear shortly after his eleventh birthday, like so many others and become someone truly great. While Father Thomas knew none of this and bowed his head, murmuring to his Father in Heaven and pleading for Grace and guidance, for God to send someone to him who could heal this child and remove his Earthly worries from him.

"What is your name child?" Father Matthew asked, resting a hand in benediction on the childs brow.

"Harry, sir," the child spoke quietly. "My name is Harry."

"I am no sir," Father Matthew smiled, slightly mischievously. "My name is Father Matthew."

Harry smiled brightly, "can you be my father?"

"No, child," Father Thomas broke in, helping Harry upright and onto his feet while Father Matthew struggled on his own. "We cannot, but we know of you, we know that you are alone on this Earthly plain."

Harry lowered his head in sadness and despair, tears rolling down his cheeks once more, accepting his fate. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Do not be," Father Matthew said, holding out his hand. "Come child, let me show you something." Harry nodded placing a thin, tiny hand into Father Matthew's own wrinkled but strong grip and smiled as the older man tugged him forwards, up to the alter and stopping at the base of the stairs. "Do you know who this is, Harry?" Father Matthew asked.

"Jesus Christ," Harry answered, his voice curious but nonjudgemental.

"The Son of Our Lord, Our Father," Father Matthew said. "You may be an orphan on this mortal and Earthly plane, but you are not alone, my child. God, His Son and the Holy Host love you and treasure you for who you are. You are never alone, Harry."

Father Matthew would have no knowledge of this until Harry turned eleven and turned his back on the magical world, but his words that day had a deep and psychological effect on a poor orphan boy. Harry, as he looked up at the bloody, gory statue of Jesus Christ knew deep in his heart of hearts that this man, dying in agony as he was on the Cross, was everything he wanted to be. Everything he would value later on in life.

Father Matthew and Father Thomas soon left, leaving Harry in front of the alter, mumbling the Lords prayer and gripping the banister before him. Before Father Thomas departed he drew from his pocket a book of bound black leather, creased and worn from use, the faded gold letters on the front reading: The Holy Bible. It would become Harry's most treasured possession. It would become Harry's life, love and work. It would be his salvation and his comfort.

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep." Harry read the passage slowly, barely faltering knowing each breath, every pause, line, and word. The ragged Bible in his hands was cradled as he lay beneath the thin blanket meant to shelter him from the cold and the night. "And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." Beside him, Dudley listened quietly, a different boy, a different child as he silently listened to his cousin speak the Word of the Lord and knew that what Harry spoke, was true. "And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness."

Dudley smiled gently, his face thinner, wiser than his fathers. His eyes more knowing, more understanding than his mothers. He knew his cousin was Heaven sent and Heaven bound, that it was his task to make up for the sins of his childhood, to carry Harry when the younger boy could not walk, to love him when no one else would, to know that his cousin was more of a family, a mother, a brother, a teacher, a father than anyone else on Gods green Earth.

"And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night; and the evening and the morning were the first day." Harry continued, his voice smooth and rhythmic, carrying gently to where his Aunt and Uncle lay sleeping above. Dudley shifted closer, unconsciously reaching out, seeking the comfort of his cousins bony hand and the strength the other boy provided. "And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters. And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so."

They were coming up to Dudley's favourite part now, and the older boy smiled, ignoring the time as it ticked closer and closer to midnight. Tomorrow was Harry's birthday and Dudley couldn't wait. It would be the first birthday since The Discovery that his cousin was a priest, a true Son of God. That when Harry spoke the Word of God, it was so. Harry tugged his cousin closer, the couch above them saggy and bare, neither boy willing to let the other suffer alone and so both chose the floor, as Jesus once did, so would they. For love, for family, for everything on Gods' Earth, for they were and are Children of the Lord.

Harry's voice picked up, knowing that his Aunt and Uncle were soundly asleep and unlikely to bother he and Dudley this night and so, with strident tones, he described the birth of their world. Gods Earth, theirs to care for and nurture. To love and guide. For they were Gods Children and this Earth was his favoured creation, above Angels and Humans both. And they would love her, hold her in the palms of their hands and close to their hearts.

"And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day." Harry paused, knowing that Dudley loved the next pat enough to memorise it. To know it within himself well enough to speak it as if Gods own Truth could let him see this moment in Creation. To watch as God lay His hands on the Earth and Ordered it so.

Dudley smiled, knowing his cousin waited for him to speak and continue: "And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so." He took another breath, steadier than the last, his chest fit to burst with pride at being his cousins chosen. Beloved enough to walk by his side. Forgiven in his sins. In his failures. As the Son had commanded and died, so Harry and Dudley forgave those who sinned against them. It was not theirs to pass judgement, for that power resided in God alone. Dudley, still smiling and still delighting in his chance to read and speak Gods word, continued:

"And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good." Dudley proclaimed in a loud toned voice, his excitement getting the better of him. God was good, God was great, but his creation of Earth was something that never failed to stir Dudley and make him grateful for being alive and well. "And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so.

"And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after his kind: and God saw that it was good." Dudley finished breathlessly, a wide grin on his face and fervour lighting his eyes.

Harry squeezed his cousins hand and pressed it tightly against his thigh, knowing that his cousin would be flying high for a while now. Their watches read 11:56, the faint light illuminating the text in the book, unnecessary because they knew it well. Reading it each night and each morning, breathing their prayers and living to the strict requirements set out within. Steering clear of fish on days not of the Sun, avoiding the mixing of two cloths and mixing of meat and dairy. They were Children of God and they lived their lives according to his Word.

"And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years: and let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was so." Harry read, squinting hard to read the tiny black writing on the pale yellow pages, thin and fine beneath is fingers. "And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also."

Dudley leaned his head back, able to see the stars that God made love his head, shining brightly white against the darkened sky. He knew the moon to be hidden behind the clouds that blew in off the sea, the rain from earlier having subsided and stilled when Harry quietly asked, his lips blue and Dudley shivering beside him. This was how they knew they were Beloved of God, he spoke to them through the world around them, they needed no words for His Love, for love is through thought, word and deed. This they knew. This they had faith in.

"And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth, and to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness," Harry spoke, trailing off as he heard noise outside and Dudley sat up, shadows casting his face into darkness. "And God saw that it was good," Harry whispered, grabbing his cousins arm and pulling him close.

"Who's there?" Dudley asked hoarsely, only to leap nearly a foot in the air as a resounding 'BOOM' shook the tiny hut on the rock they were in. Dust drifted in motes from the rafters, settling into their hair and turning it grey.

'BOOM!'

The door shook and both cousins jumped to their feet and hid behind the fireplace, the Uncle's attempts at starting a fire lay uselessly in the grate.

'BOOM!'

The Aunt and Uncle clattered down the stairs, finally awoken by the noise, the Aunt's face pinched and furious as she his behind her husband, who clung to the long, thin shotgun in his hands.

'BOOM!'

With a thundering 'Crash!', the door fell inwards, bouncing along the floor to land by the Uncle on the stairs. Had he been next to them, his feet would have been removed or shattered. A man, taller by half again than the Uncle, stepped through the doorway, looking sheepishly apologetic.

"Sorry abou' tha'," he said, his accent a thick Scottish burr that rumbled deep in his chest beneath his ragged, thick beard. His eyes twinkled kindly as he stared at the two boys, a smile twitching at his lips and his hands, as big as dustbin lids, wiped themselves down his thick moleskin coat. "Don' suppose yeh've go' any tea?"

The Uncle and Aunt stood, terrified, on the stairs while Harry shook his head and Dudley planted himself protectively in front of the younger boy.

"Damn shame," the man muttered, stomping over to the Uncle and tugging the gun from his nerveless hands and tying it into a huge knot. "Yeh coul' 'ur' someone wi' tha', Dursley!"

"Excuse me," Harry interjected, curious. "But who exactly are you?"

The man blinked, "righ', sorry." He apologised and sat on the couch, meeting Harry's eyes kindly. "Reubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwar's," he was proud of his title and it showed. "Of course, yeh'll know all abou' Hogwar's."

"Sorry," Dudley said warily. "No."

Hagrid barely shot the blonde a look as Harry shook his head. "No?" He was dumbfounded. "Din't you wonder where yer Mum and Dad learned i' ahll?"

"Learned what?" Harry questioned.

"Yeh'r a wizard, 'Arry!"

Harry took a step back, shaking his head. "No, no I'm not."

"Yeh've not done anythin' strange or abnormal?" Hagrid asked knowingly.

"He's not a witch!" Dudley hissed, outraged. "He's Gods Chosen!"

The Aunt jerked in shock, her hazel eyes darting over to her son in horror while the Uncle stiffened and opened and closed his mouth silently, trying to find the words to deny Dudley's claim. Hagrid just scoffed, shaking his head in disgust.

"God?" Hagrid asked dryly. "There's no such thin'."

Harry lifted his chin, "there is. God is real. He lives within us. He takes care of us. He loves us."

Hagrid shook his head again, "no there ain't. Jesus was just a wizard looking for some adulation. The Arabs took care of him in the first century. Only stupid Muggles believe those tales."

"No," Harry denied, his lips bloodless and dry. "God is real."

Dudley nodded fervently, "He created us from dust and to dust we will return."

The giant wizard stared at them, horrified and morbidly curious. "'Ow do yeh know? Eh?" He asked. "'Ow Can yeh be sure 'e ain't some fairytale?"

"Because He healed me," Dudley stated with utter confidence, tugging his shirt off and baring his pallid chest for all to see. A long thick cut ran from sternum to groin showing that the gash would have been life threatening. "Harry prayed for my soul, for my health and God granted me a second chance." Dudley's blue eyes were fervent and determined, "nothing you can do or say will convince me otherwise."

"Or me," Harry said, his voice calm and assured.

"Bu' why?" Hagrid pleaded for understanding, knowing that unless Harry accepted his position as a wizard that he would be unlikely to accept his position at Hogwarts.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time." Harry said, his face beatific in its expression and he raised a hand to Dudley's shoulder and continued, confident and assured: "wherein ye greatly rejoice, though now for a season, if need be, ye are in heaviness through manifold temptations: that the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ." (Peter 1:3-7)

Hagrid sat on the couch and knew, intimately as one who has seen and heard of this before, that to remove Harry know and introduce him to the Magical World would result in madness or non-acceptance. There would time enough later to convert him to the wizarding world, but it wasn't today. Today he needed to report to Dumbledore and alert the mage to the Saviours religious fanaticism.

Heaving a heavy sigh, the large man stumped from the room, leaving the door by the stairs and the children by the fireplace, the crunch of his footsteps fading away into the crash of the surf. Harry stood there, knowing that the wizards would be unlikely to leave him be but confident in his request now. Beside him, Dudley met his eyes and nodded knowingly, convinced and determined that this was the correct path for them both.

"Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon," Harry stated smoothly, twisting to meet their shell-shocked gazes. "I wish to join the seminary."

"As do I," Dudley added, their faces serious.

The Aunt and Uncle whimpered, confused and concerned by the changes that they had seen in their son over the past eighteen months. Dudley had grown and matured, distancing himself from Gordon and Malcolm, citing that they were dirty and foul boys who were cursed, while Piers followed Dudley around with the aura of one who worshiped the ground he walked on. They were not to know that Harry's miracle had more than one witness and that Piers' behaviour stemmed directly from it.

Vernon considered his boy, seeing a seriousness in him that his own Uncle Frederick had worn during his time as a man of the cloth. Vernon suspected that Dudley would be more likely to stick with the Church because of his early introduction. He hated Bible bashers but this was his son and for his son he'd suspend all disbelief and dislike and actually do something right with his life: he'd support him.

Stepping out into the bright hot sun from the air-conditioned terminal had Harry and Dudley both shielding their eyes from the light and squinting around them. The world around them was very different to the seminary they'd left behind. Six years of conditioning, schooling and living as Gods chosen had taught them both humility and the knowledge needed to survive out in the world.

Italy was a place of hot sun, bright blue skies and interesting people. The cobbled stone streets and ancient architecture spoke of a history and a liveliness that wasn't exactly similar to England. The rustic reds, the pale yellows and glorious blues drew the eyes and delighted the senses. Despite being dressed in plain brown cassocks, neither Harry or Dudley surprised those around them. Priests visited the Holy City all the time, they were no one special.

Making their way to the ranks of black taxi cabs, Harry slid into the first available on and quietly bartered with the man in the front regarding payment while telling him their destination. The fare was cheap because no one wanted to tax the Church. Not when it was their salvation, soul and eternity was on the line. Cynicism might be inappropriate for one of Gods Shepard's, but frankly, in light of his experiences, few though they were, he had learnt that being of the Church often gave you far too much leeway with those around you.

The car slid through the streets carefully, rolling around obstructions and screaming motorists alike while the cab driver pointed out various points of interest his rapid Italian keeping their attention throughout the hour long drive. As they approached the main gate, the taxi pulled off to the side and the two British priests stepped free of the cab, their bags slung across their shoulders with ease. Behind them the Guards stood to attention, their eyes curious.

Before Harry or Dudley could leave, the cab driver, quite taken with his passengers, climbed from his car and knelt at their feet. "Fathers, I am not a good Christian man but I do love God, our Father in Heaven," the man shivered beneath their combined stares and continued swiftly: "I know I do not deserve it, but I would ask your forgiveness and blessing."

"We are not God, the lone judge of us all," Harry stated seriously. "But if you seriously desire this, I would be glad to bless you, my son."

"Yes, Father," the man cried out, tears of shame and repentance streaming from his eyes. "Please, forgive me!"

"There is no need my son," Harry murmured, kneeling in front of the cab driver and cradling his head in his hands. "You are already forgiven as Christ died for our sins," Harry drew the cross on the mans forehead and then rested his palm on his forehead. "In the name of Our Father in Heaven, I bless this Child of God and grant him the comfort he seeks."

The cab driver felt warmth steal over him, a warmth he had not felt since his wife divorced him ten years ago and his mother died three decades ago. It was love, compassion and sympathy rolled into one, non-judgemental and caring and the cab driver cried, gripping Harry's cassock and pressing kisses to them.

"Stand, my son," Harry breathed, drawing the man from his knees and onto his feet. "You are not the Snake who betrayed out God, but the man who repents and forgives his sins."

The cab driver nodded, wiping away his tears and sliding into his car, drove away once more. Comforted in a way that he'd not felt since he was a boy. Six months later he would join the Church and become one of their most compassionate attendees, helping heal the sick, care for the poor and love those unable to love themselves. Just before his death, Antonio Romano would write a letter addressed to the priest who had saved him from himself and leave his entire amassed fortune to the Church so that it might aid those in need.

Harry watched the man leave with concerned eyes, Dudley's gentle hand on his arm drawing him away so that they might meet the priest that awaited them by the gates, his iron-grey hair clipped short and neatly against his head while his brown eyes watched them sternly, he wore a black cassock with a red sash, alerting them to his stance as a Bishop. As the duo approached the priest, Father Rossi, the man felt a kind of peace steal over him, the kind of peace that he rarely felt outside the Church itself and knew that the dark eyed man who had blessed the cab driver was touched by God.

"Welcome to the Vatican," he greeted, knowing that the men behind him felt the same presence and knew that they would be unable to resist receiving a blessing from the dark haired priest. "I am Bishop Francesco Rossi, and I will be your guide during your stay here."

"An honour to meet you, Bishop Rossi," the blonde man said bowing slightly and dipping his head. "I am Dudley Dursley and this is my cousin, Harry Potter."

"A pleasure, Fathers Potter and Dursley," Bishop Rossi smiled, gesturing for them to enter the second most Holy place on Earth.

"Please Bishop Rossi, we do not like out last names," Harry said quietly, his voice melodic and fluid, indicating that he had speech training and would be proficient at reading scripture. "We do not care for such formality, even though it may be inappropriate here, please, use our forenames only."

Bishop Rossi felt his eyebrows twitch upwards in surprise, "of course, Father Harry." The smile that Harry sent his way seemed to light up the world around him, cascading him in warmth and unbidden, unasked for love. In that moment Bishop Rossi no longer suspected, but knew that he was in the presence of a Saint. A man chosen by God to do great things and going by the calm and surety on his face, Father Harry either had no idea or cared little for his station. Bishop Rossi rather suspected that it was the former, for the man was kind and naive and not one for the Church politics.

"This way, please," Bishop Rossi beckoned, pausing long enough for the guards to receive their blessings. The first of which broke down crying as the cab driver had while the second knelt and tried to kiss the hem of the Saints cassock. Harry refused his genuflection, instead drawing him upright and telling him that he should bow before no one but God and his Vessel on Earth.

Bishop Rossi led the interesting pair through the grounds and towards the building that they would be staying in. Father Dudley occasionally pausing alongside his cousin as the gentle man caressed the flowers and trees around them a beatific smile on his face, delighting in all of Gods creations. The longer he spent in Father Harry's presence, the happy he felt and the more Father Rossi felt like asking for his own blessing from the man.

Their arrival at the dorms that they'd live in for the next three months was heralded by a gust of wind that tousled Harry's wild black hair, messy despite its short length, and made the man appear to have dark wings as his cassock danced against his skin. Bishop Rossi smiled slightly, holding Father Dudley back with one hand while gesturing Father Harry in, his gaze kind.

"How long has he been like this?" Bishop Rossi questioned, curious.

Father Dudley hummed lightly, amusedly. "Like what, Father?"

Bishop Rossi shot him a stern look, "you know what. Gentle and kind, saint-like."

Dudley's lips twisted sadly, his blue eyes shadowing with darkness. "Since he was very young," he answered, fiddling with the cuffs of his robs and staring out over the gardens, aware of the other mans curious gaze. "He found God not long after I and my friends at the time beat him to a bloody pulp. I was not a nice boy, but Harry still found it within him to forgive me."

"There was nothing to forgive, Dudley," Harry's voice broke over them like a song, his eyes shining with gentle joy, his thin form hidden by swathes of brown fabric hanging loosely from his shoulders. "You were ever the good son and Uncle bore me no good will. You obeyed as God intended, but in your obeisance, you lost your way as Uncle lost his."

"He has since returned," Dudley observed quietly, remembering the last time he had seen his father. Thin and wasted but kind, his infamous moustache and hair faded grey and thinned. Spending his time amassing a fortune on the stock markets only to donate every penny to the many, many organisations he belonged to.

Harry smiled calmly, "God is love and all return to Him eventually."

Bishop Rossi smiled in quiet agreement. "Well said, Father Harry." He paused in his leaving, hesitant but determined. "If you did not mind, I would seek a Blessing from you," Bishop Rossi stated formally, falling back on the manners and expectations that his parents had once drummed into him as a child.

"I would be honoured," Harry agreed solemnly, raising a hand and resting it on Father Rossi's brow. "In the name of Our Father in Heaven, I bless this Child of God, this Son of the Cloth and grant him the comfort he seeks so that he might walk among the Lambs of God and grant them comfort and serenity."

Bishop Rossi felt his knees give out and it was only because of Father Dudley that he did not break a leg or knee. The warmth that swept him was as unforgiving as Holy Fire and brought to him a ind of peace. In that moment, Bishop Rossi, unrepentant politician and quibbler of semantics, became a man who forgives all. In that moment he found God as he'd never found him before and knew what had driven the pontifical guards to their knees in thanks and gratification. Like he had with the guards, Father Harry drew him to his feet and smiled gently.

"Bow before none but God and his Vessel on this Earth," he stated, quietly and calmly. Harry had no need for obeisance, calmly assured in his position as a lowly priest serving the Lord High Above. Dudley smiled beside him, equally calm and comfortable as his cousins sidekick. Sometimes, all you need was a little love to make even the lowest position on this Earth comfortable and safe, the whole reason for you being here.

Bishop Rossi watched the two men disappear into the vestry, felt the same calm knowledge settle in his mind and left, his slow steps drawing him from the shadow into the light, his hands pressed into his cuffs as he meandered through the gardens, ignoring the pressing business he had else where. He was close to sixty-five, perhaps it was time to retire and find a flock of his own to love and guide in the way that the Lord had meant him to.

Coming to a slow stop beside the rose bushes, Bishop Rossi understood the desire of the two young priests to be called by their first names. He had thought of himself as Father Rossi for so long that it had lost all meaning and closeness. As he had desired to retire, so Father Francesco Rossi released his last hold on the past that he had hated, a past that his mind squirmed away from whenever he dared to painfully remember. Bishop Francesco, he thought to himself, it suited him far better than anything else in this world. Bishop Francesco, Shepard of the Lord God, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

It was like this that Heinrich Adler, minor Priest and Bishop Francesco's secretary, found him. Iron grey hair glowed softly in the twilight while eyes were no longer pinched with determination and frustration, but were warmly twinkling at the world around him. Father Adler hesitated, unwilling to disturb the Bishop from his peaceful reflection. In the gentle light the Bishop appeared to be almost gentle and soft, and kindly compassionate. A man you would not hesitate to speak with for you knew that his words could hold only wisdom.

"Are you going to stand there all night, my child?" Bishop Francesco inquired, tilting his head to meet the eyes of his secretary. "Come Father Heinrich, you are not normally this shy."

Nor could he have been, prior to his meeting with Father Harry, Bishop Francesco was a known hard-ass. A man not to be trifled with, embittered from his trials with hard-headed men too far stuck in the past, unwilling or perhaps unable to learn. Father Heinrich startled at the gentler tone that his boss used, hesitantly taking a seat by his side. Bishop Francesco smiled at the other man, taking in the bright blue eyes and blonde hair of the Aryan German and felt the usual bitterness slide off his soul and into the nothingness around them.

Just because he, as an ex-Jew had been stolen away by the Nazi's, didn't mean that Heinrich Adler was their Dogmatic Son; indeed the German Priest at his side was nothing but kind to him, horrified and guilt ridden when he had chanced a glance at his left arm, bitterly closing his eyes and never saying a word against his cruelly barbed tongue. Taking it as his penitence.

"I have much to ask forgiveness for, my son," Bishop Francesco said quietly. "Though from you most of all." Father Heinrich considered his boss soberly, knowing that a single word from him could send the other man in front of a board of ecclesial inquiry, but instead, spoke not a word, waiting for the other man to continue, which he did. "It is because of this that as of tomorrow morning that I will tender my resignation and nominate you for the position."

Father Heinrich stilled in shock, "may I ask why, your Excellency?"

"It has come to my attention that I have wandered from Gods path, failing him." Bishop Francesco stated, stroking the edges of his black cassock. "I have decided that the greed and politics of this place is no longer for me and that I would prefer to live as God intended, seeking forgiveness for my sins and atonement for my past mistakes."

Father Heinrich considered this and nodded his acceptance, unhappy as he was with the situation. "Then," he said slowly, calmly and fearfully as he met the brown eyes of the man beside him. "I shall send you off with own Blessing and forgiveness, though, to me, there is nothing to forgive." He stared out across the gardens and thought briefly, "I have seen the pressure you are under, seen the cruelty of the archbishops and their words, and I have never hated you or seen your frustration as anything but justly deserved."

"Thank you, Heinrich," Bishop Francesco murmured, standing once more and wincing as he did so. "That means a lot to me, thank you."

"I would however," Father Heinrich said with a hint of cheeky mischievousness as the Bishop turned around and met his eyes with some surprise. "Ask that you consider me your friend and keep in touch, if only so I can bombard you with questions."

Bishop Francesco was startled into bright laughter, his shoulders shaking with mirth. His teary eyes, sparkling with humour, met his new but old friends and he smiled widely, "Heinrich," he said in amusement. "It would be my pleasure."

Father Harry stood on the pulpit having been nominated to give a speech on love and tolerance for St. Valentines Day this year, the Holy Bible spread before him, his fingers gently stroking the pages, unaware of the bored but attentive crowd below him. He raised his hands, spreading them slowly to encompass the room and his movement drew the eye of everyone there, his cousin in the front staring devotedly up at him.

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth; and the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep," Father Harry stated firmly, his melodic voice, strengthened and harnessed by hours of reading to his cousin in the depths of the night, spreading like the wings of an angel over his congregation. Even the Pope, seated below him, was enrapture by his voice as he spoke.

"And with this Beginning comes all others," Father Harry continued, sweeping his eyes over the gathered people to give his words gravity and worth. "Without Beginnings there can be no middles or ends. With God, so everything Begins; and with God, so everything Ends.

"On this day, February Fourteenth, we come to celebrate Gods love for us, his people, his children, as we celebrate our love for each other. Saint Valentine was a man who was imprisoned for his desire to spread love and the joining of spirits. In this joining between man and woman, Saint Valentine not only allowed for love, Gods love to flourish and find favour, but also granted hope to many who had none."

Father Harry paused long enough to allow his words to sink in and smiled gently, "for his deeds, Saint Valentine was executed but his story, his hope and his desire lives on.

"On this day remember those who you have loved and lost, remember those who you have loved and gained, and think of those who you are yet to love at all." Harry raised his hands up higher, overtaken with his fervour and desire to share this miracle of love, and tilted his head up to look above him, "but most of all," he said hoarsely. "Most of all, remember the Lord our Gods love for you!"

He lowered his hands, and spoke with solemn intent, "let us pray." He lifted his hand, reaching out to his congregation that had, as one, stood without reserve, many crying from the emotions he espoused within them. "Grant, we beseech thee, O Almighty God, that we who solemnise the festival of blessed Valentine, Thy Martyr, may, by his intercession, be delivered from all the evils that threaten us. Through Christ our Lord.

"Amen."

Father Harry returned to his seat, flushed with Gods Word and muse, settling beside Dudley who gripped his hand enough that he was anchored from standing up and screaming out his Love for God and the desire he held for Gods work. It would be months until he realised that, on that day, an angel had watched him with golden eyes and arched wings, filled with his Fathers presence, to go out and spread the word that God had returned once more.

It would be months after that, that the angel realised that while Father Harry Potter was filled with Gods presence, it did not make him God. The golden eyed angel would be heart broken but devoted to the Saints cause, healing him, loving him and holding him within the palm of his hand.


A/N:

This is very much an exploratory fic, anyone here that flames it because of its religious connotations will be shot down, firmly and hard, and will most likely result in the removal of said fic.

Now that said, I know very, very little about Christianity, despite reading the Bible (both old and new), so if I mistake anything, or make a mistake, please tell me.

Thank you and kind regards,

Sar'Kalu