Emerald Eyes of the Idab

Warning: Gore, language, adult themes, possibly more warnings to come THIS IS NOT A SLASH FIC!

A/N: I do not own Dune or Harry Potter. I do not make money off of this. Please do not sue me.

A/N: This story is canon HP disregarding the epilogue. It is pretty adherent to the Dune canon up until the reallocation of Fief Atreides to Arrakis, only disregarding Paul of Dune and Winds of Dune since they contain a few facts that were contrary to the original Dune works (specifically where it says that Paul had never been on a Highliner before his trip to Arrakis)

A/N: I am looking for a beta for this story, preferably one that is well versed in the Dune universe. This story will mainly take place in Dune, but it may eventually extend into Dune Messiah or Children of Dune, so knowledge of those books are the most important, whereas it would be helpful if the beta was also familiar with the trilogies about the Butlerian Jihad and the Tlulax invasion of Ix since the events may be referenced in the background of the story.

Chapter 1: The Death of a Hero

After battling basilisks, storming top secret government facilities on rescue missions, hunting and destroying dark magical artifacts, and finally defeating the most powerful Dark Lord , the everyday magical world was just plain tedious. After the fall of the Dark Lord, he spent three years on the International Dueling Circuit, finishing on the Champion's podium at the World Championships in Rome in 2002. After his final duel against Augusto de Medici, he announced his retirement.

Once finished with his Dueling career, Harry was thrown back into the public's political eye. No longer did he just dominate the Sports column in The Daily Prophet. Now he was right back to front page news: "Who is Harry dating now?", "Where does the Dark Lord's Bane go to shop?", "What brand of shampoo does the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Save-Us-All use?" (At the time, Harry was actually surprised to see the last article… it was a slow news day) He quickly grew sick of it all.

So, in 2005, Harry James Potter retreated from the public wizarding world. He closed the Potter Family Mansion and moved to Ireland. After being advised by the only good friend that had ties to the muggle world, Hermione Weasley, Harry opened a small bookstore in Cork named The Aged Tome. He didn't need the money. No, his inheritance from both his parents and his godfather could support him for multiple lifetimes. Harry just wanted something to busy himself with. Over the years, he grew to love the muggle world. He only journeyed into the wizarding realm to visit his friends (with weekly Sunday visits to go see Teddy) and sort out his family finances.

The Aged Tome slowly became a literary hotspot. There was always at least one person in one of the lounge chairs reading, or standing at the counter with a cup of tea, chatting with 'Mr. P' about the latest book they read.

This was the way Harry had lived for the last fifteen years. Mr. P had become a legend around University College in Cork. He would host study groups after hours, direct students to the right references if students were having trouble on papers, he even gave relationship advice to young men who had no clue as to how to deal with women (which drew many laughs from his friends who knew him from school since he was probably the most oblivious kid in the history of Hogwarts when it came to matters of the heart).

Harry was not only successful as a businessman (while he may not have sold a great amount of books, the small café he eventually set up inside the store made up for the loss of revenue), but he loved his work. As soon as he started to read some of the novels that he stocked in his shop, he became addicted. While mostly steering for the Science Fiction and Fantasy, he read anything he could get his hands on. He could quote the Litany Against Fear of the Bene Gesserit*, name the Twelve Valar**, or name all the characters from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein off the top of his head. For the first time in his life, Harry James Potter, World Dueling Champion, Bane of Voldemort, proprietor of The Aged Tome, had found his place in the world and he was happy.

This all came crashing down one frigid February morning. Harry was relaxing after the morning tea rush had finally subsided. It had been particularly brutal this morning. Angela McKenna (one of Harry's usuals) had come in with a mob of relatives that were visiting for the day. Whereas Harry usually had between five and nine students casually sipping their tea, finishing up the assignments that were due that day on their laptops (Harry let them print from a printer in the shop for free), today there had been no less than twenty three people crammed inside the tiny, two story book shop. Harry spent the morning tiptoeing around people lounging on the floor (all of the eight chairs were occupied), picking up discarded tea cups before they got crushed, or picking up piles of books that had been unknowingly knocked off of the bookshelves. Once everyone had left, Angela stayed behind, apologizing for her family's behavior and helped pick up the mess. When all was said and done, Harry thanked and reassured the petite redhead that it was no problem.

Harry had collapsed in the rickety chair behind the counter once the bell attached to the door signaled Angela's departure. He picked up his favorite book, Dune, and started to reread it (for about the fortieth time), determined to get some relaxation in before the lunchtime rush. He had just reached Paul's trial by the Gom Jabbar when he heard the bell on the door ring, signaling the entrance of a new customer.

Harry sighed, resting his tattered copy of Dune on the countertop, he pulled himself to his feet. He winced as his right arm cramped. The old Basilisk bite he had received twenty years ago was acting up again. He smiled to his new customer as they made a beeline to the back of the shop where he was sitting. The customer had his hood pulled up, obscuring his face. Harry did not think that this was too odd, it was February, and it definitely was cold. Harry shrugged it off, thinking, 'He must have not seen the coat rack by the door.'

"How can I help you sir? Are you looking for something specific or do you ju-"

The new customer cut him off by pulling a revolver out of his sweatshirt pocket. "Let me see your hands!" Harry could tell this was definitely not going to be a good day. Calmly he raised his hands and placed them on the counter in front of him, on either side of his tatty copy of Dune.

'I just had to get held up on one of the few days I forget my wand at home,' Harry thought. 'I'm an idiot.' He continued verbally, "Alright take it easy, we don't want anyone to get hurt."

Harry's masked assailant threw a pillowcase across the counter. "Put the money from the till in there… and the moneybox under the counter. Yeah…that too."

Now Harry recognized the voice. "Brian, what are you doing?" he asked in a calm and sympathetic voice, "I am sure whatever you need we can work this out, just put the gun away."

Harry suddenly realized that it was probably a bad idea to let Brian know that he had been recognized because the hand that held the revolver immediately started to shake violently.

"No, Mr. P. I c-can't! I owe th-them m-money. They'll… They'll kill me if-f I d-don't pay them tomorrow."

Harry looked into Brian's eyes and dove into his Duelist training. In addition to the regular duelist's arsenal, he had developed a specialized form of legilimancy. Instead of reading people's memories and thoughts, he read people's intentions. Eventually he developed this into a way to manipulate those intentions. He was able to plant emotions and feelings (doubt, confidence, arrogance, cowardice) in order to chance the person's perception of the world around them, and thus their intensions. Right now, Harry planted reassurance and trust. To Brian, Mr. P was a person he could rely on for help (which Brian would have felt anyway if he wasn't coming down from a crack high).

"Brian, I can help you. Put the gun down and we can talk. I won't let them kill you. Let me help."

"Y-you'd really help me, Mr. P? You w-wouldn't be a-angry with me?"

"Yes, I will help you and no, Brian, I wouldn't," and Harry was surprised to find it to be true, he wouldn't be angry, just sad. Brian had been coming over to the shop since the first day Harry had opened. He had given little Brian The Wizard of Oz while his mother browsed and let him keep it for free when he was told by his mother that they really couldn't afford it. Ever since then, Harry had watched little Brian grow up, always drumming up a conversation whenever he entered the store (which was about twice a week). In the past six months, Harry had watched little Brian go downhill fast. He had dropped out of University College and started his crack addiction. Harry had tried to get Brian to talk about his addiction the past few times he had been in the store, but the young man had waved it off, saying that Harry was imagining it.

Brian broke down in tears, "T-thank you, M-Mr. P! Thank you! I don't-hic-I don't kno-"

Outside the shop, a car backfired, causing Brian to flinch.

Unfortunately for Harry, Brian's flinch caused the finger resting on the revolver's trigger to contract.

There was a spray of blood. Harry immediately clamped a hand to his neck, blood seeping out between his fingers. With his other hand he clawed at the counter, trying to find something that could possibly allow him to cling to life. Alas, Harry's fingers only clasped around his tattered copy of Dune.

Clutching the book to his chest, he fell to the floor, his life slowly staining the carpet of his beloved book shop. Seeing the horror that his actions had caused, the death of one of his oldest friends, Brian ran.

It wasn't until about a half an hour later when Angela McKenna hurried back into the shop, looking for her laptop which she had forgotten that morning, that Harry's body was found. She ran from the shop, screaming at the top of her lungs, trying to find someone to help Mr. P.

It was a solemn day. The wizarding world was mourning the loss of one of the greatest heroes of the age. Thousands attended the memorial service on the lawns of Hogwarts. While a handful of these had actually known Harry Potter, most were just well-wishers, paying homage to the man who had delivered them from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Minister of Magic Justin Finch-Fletchly had ignored Harry's will and commandeered the body so that it may be buried at the sight of his greatest victory, Hogwarts. According to the Minister, "The two greatest heroes Magical Britain has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, deserve to rest in peace together, at the site where their labors came to fruition in the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Of course, Harry's friends could not allow that to happen. In an operation that was worthy of the muggle spy novels, Teddy Lupin, the entire Weasley clan (including Hermione, Fleur, and, surprisingly, Percy's wife Audrey), Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and the aging Professor McGonagall 'liberated' ("Grave robbing" Hermione had coughed every time the term had come up, only to be silenced by McGonagall) Harry's body and returned it to Cork where his funeral would be held with his family and muggle friends he had made while living in Ireland.

In Cork, most of University College attended Harry's funeral. The students that had fallen in love with the odd man who ran the bookstore got to give their condolences to his loved ones, and swapped their fondest memories (magic excluded, of course) of Harry. Most of Harry's magical friends were shocked at how many people Harry Potter had helped and how many lives he had touched by just being there as a friend. Hermione had burst into tears when she had heard that the Literature department had almost doubled in the past five years, most of the students attributing the boom in the interest of literature to growing up at The Aged Tome and discussing books and stories with Mr. P.

A few close muggle friends had followed the casket back to England, to Godric's Hollow, where Harry was buried next to his parents.

Slowly, things went back to normal in Cork. Teddy Lupin and his new wife, Rose Lupin neè Weasley took over The Aged Tome, continuing the tradition of his godfather. The city of Cork dubbed a newly built, state of the art library The Harry Potter Memorial Library in thanks to Mr. P's "promotion of literature and culture within Cork". University College quickly adapted to the change in management of the small bookstore. It wasn't long until Teddy had to buy the small antique store next door to expand the bookshop. While the idea was that customers would actually have room to breathe in the shop (the shop had been getting more and more popular as time went on), the idea actually backfired. Now that there was more room for new shelves, there was more room for a more diverse inventory, which just drew in more customers.

Brian had turned himself in the day after Harry's murder. He confessed to the crime in its entirety. He had killed one of the few people who cared about him.

Angela McKenna was the Lupins' first employee after they had expanded the shop. Years later, when the Lupins' decided to open a second The Aged Tome in Dublin, down the street from Trinity College, Angela jumped at the opportunity to manage it, trying to carry on Mr. P's legacy.

It would seem that Harry's legacy ends here: the destruction of a Basilisk, the rescue of an innocent prisoner, the winning of the Tri-wizard cup, the infiltration of a secure location at the Ministry of Magic, the hunting down of Voldemort's horcruxes and his subsequent defeat, and finally (and most importantly to some, including Harry) the founding of a bookshop. It would seem that his story ends here.

But, no… That would be too easy. Harry James Potter's journey was just beginning.

BANG!

Pain. Heat. Falling…falling…falling.

Blackness.

"Urgh!" Harry mumbled to himself, trying to find the strength to open his eyes.

Finally mustering his strength, he opened his eyes. To his surprise, the room swam into focus. Apparently not needing his glasses, he scanned the room, drinking in the sight before him. The walls of this room seemed to have been made out of some non-porous material, lending the room a clean, sterile look. 'Since this is probably a hospital, the room probably is sterile.' All around the walls were shelves of alien looking devices and chemicals.

Glancing up at the ceiling, Harry saw that the same material that made up the walls stretched to cover the roof. Harry shivered as he had the idea that likened his situation to being trapped in a shrink-wrapped plastic box. Recovering from his moment of disturbia, he noticed that the only things that illuminated the room were four glowing globes, floating at a set height. 'OK, that probably means I am at St. Mungo's. I think I remember seeing something like that when I went to visit Mr. Weasley back in fifth year.'

It was on his third visual pass of the room that Harry noticed the other person in the room. He didn't see the person, per se, but rather sensed him since the boy was sitting on the floor, next to the bed, his back against the wall. Harry couldn't move his head that much because his neck seemed to be plastered in bandages. He tensed in preparation to sit up, wanting to face the child, not lay in bed like an invalid, and was immediately wracked with sharp pains that radiated from his neck and seemed to burn through his entire nervous system.

"Um… excuse me?" Harry coughed, his voice barely coming out as a whisper, "Would you possibly know how I can contact the healer?"

The boy sitting on the ground gracefully got to his feet. Clad in a black military coat, the boy cut an impressive figure. His short black hair was combed and styled with precision. His thin, aquiline nose was perched below piercing brown eyes. Harry mentally chuckled, seeing this child dressed in a military uniform. He couldn't be more than thirteen.

Harry shivered as the boy met his gaze. Harry could sense great power in this boy, but this power lay out of reach, locked away, waiting to be released. Above that power, closer to the surface of the boy's mind, his emotions played. The boy was curious about Harry, excited and wary.

"The doctor is on his way as we speak. I sent a message to him as soon as you woke. "

"I am sorry to ask, but could you tell me where I am? It looks a little like St. Mungo's, but I've never seen anything like those instruments before." He nodded to the shelves of devices.

"I do not know what or where St. Mungo's is, but you are currently residing in the infirmary of my ancestral home."

"I am sorry, but that does not tell me where I am."

The boy gave a small smile, "No, I guess it doesn't. Does it?"

Harry sighed. Dragging information out of this boy was going to a bit more of a challenge than trying to talk to average college student in his shop. The boy's aristocratic poise and speech patterns reminded Harry slightly of Draco Malfoy. The person in front him, however, was very reserved, only making judgments after all the facts were in. From the glances into the boy's mind, Harry was slowly gaining respect for the boy. While still a child, he spoke with the poise and confidence of an elder statesman.

"Well, let's try another question. May I have your name?"

The boy seemed to have been taken by surprise, as if he thought everyone would know who he was. "I am sorry, where is my manners?" the boy gave a slight nod of respect, "I am Paul Atreides, Heir to my father, Duke Leto Atreides of Arrakis, formerly of Caladan."

*From Dune by Frank Herbert

**From the Simarillion by JRR Tolkien

OK, I won't know how you feel about this story if you don't review. This is my first crossover so input would be appreciated.