Hey guys, sorry for such a long wait for this update. I've had a very busy and trying month, and I apologise. Aside from that, here is the next chapter. We get a brief glimpse into the past of Harry, and a snapshot of things to come.
A huge thanks to all my reviewers, followers and favourites. I'm getting a larger audience now and more reviews, so I'm keeping myy comments and thankyou's a small as possible to not overextend on word count, but nonetheless, you guys motivate me to keep writing in darker times :)
Most of you have been questioning Harry's connection to St or Death, and whle some of your comments are very interesting, not one of you is close to guessing the connections.
As for a review form one of my favourite authors Arawn D. Draven, yes, there is planned out interaction between our deathly couple and the Wizarding world, which I'm begginning to lay the groundwork out on.
To Dovahkiin1503 I do like the what role you assume Harry takes on in being the MOD, but thing of Harry's role being more... fluid.
And a huge thank you to my new Beta FlyingHunter. You're doing me a solid.
Any mistakes are still my own, but hopefully less.
As always,
Enjoy!
Chapter 3
All is fair in love and war, or when a hot ancient Egyptian princess starts a catfight with a rudely stalker-ish blonde, there was no need for him to even remotely try to be involved. After the nightmarish dagger was slammed right in-between his legs, Harold watched, mildly scared and half aroused, as Ahmanet launched herself from atop of him straight towards Jenny. He had briefly toyed with the idea of summoning some popcorn, before reminding himself it was probably a bad idea; when they finished up, for him to just be sat there with a cold butterbeer and snacks enjoying the show, he'd probably be the recipient of an ass kicking himself, so he refrained. As if reading his thoughts the spectre chuckled, dissipating into wisps and reforming after Jenny was thrown through him.
Jenny popped back up from behind the altar as Ahmanet began to prowl down to it herself, and stared at the nonchalant man incredulously.
"Harry!" She shrieked indignantly, gripping his arm.
"'Harry'," The man repeated in a mocking, nasally voice, "When is someone going to scream my name in the way that it counts, instead of shouting at me for a reason I'm supposed to impossibly decipher?" Harold stated petulantly, shrugging her arm off with an annoyed face. She gave him one of those 'are you serious looks' and he stared at her flatly.
"Oh for god's sake!" The blonde reached between the man's thighs to grip the dagger and Ahmanet growled dangerously, flying towards the blonde with a snarl, "shit!"
Ahmanet grabbed the blonde by the throat and slammed her into the wall, so incensed that she didn't notice when the woman stabbed her in the back with her own dagger.
Harold's vision blurred as the Egyptian shrieked, her hands clawing at her back to remove the dagger as she dropped Jenny.
Quickly Jenny grabbed the pale man's hand and dragged him from the church with more strength than he expected from the thin woman.
His brain felt like it had been scrambled, and he couldn't even piece together a single thought as Jenny pushed him into an ambulance and told him to drive. Bewildered, the poor man reacted on instinct and floored the gas of the ambulance, his mind slightly clearer. The words tumbling from the woman's mouth actually began to make coherent sense in his addled brain.
"And she still has the dagger Harry, what the hell are we going to do?"
"Technically, Jennifer, this is all your fault," Harold said plainly, turning left as his mind scrambled again. Shaking his head, he reached for the gear stick and tugged it upwards, speeding up slightly.
"What?" Jenny hissed, and if looks could kill- well, if he could be killed by a look, Harold imagined he'd be in more pain than that bloody basilisk put him through.
"If you didn't come waltzing in with your thieving friends, trying to steal my find, none of this would've happened," the emerald eyed man stated, throwing the self-righteous woman an annoyed glance, pushing his foot farther onto the pedal. He idly mused what would have happened if the belligerent blonde and her thieving associates hadn't come and ruined his day.
"There were terrorists coming Harry! I probably saved you!" Jenny shouted, pulling at her hair lightly in frustration before twisting her hands in a vaguely guilt manner.
"Again, this is all your fault, if you hadn't opened your legs, I probably wouldn't be in this situation, rather, I would be in my home, enjoying a nice, stiff drink and congratulating myself," Harold continued his offence, a small part of his mind wondering what legs could've opened, before shrugging away the ungentlemanly thoughts.
"Or, you'd have 5 inches of evil dagger inside your heart!" She protested, smacking his arm with a growl that spoke volumes of how crazy his obstinacy was driving her.
"Semantics, Jennifer."
"You, are impossible," Jenny paused, her eyes widening as they turned haphazardly, "She lured you there."
"What?" The ambulance jerked, speeding up.
"The dagger must have been there," Jenny continued, not bothering to elaborate exactly what the pale man had posed his question for. He let out a muffled sigh, tapping a finger on the steering wheel of the large vehicle as the spectre chuckled again.
"In the reliquary, actually," he elaborated, watching as the woman began to piece together the facts in her own, convoluted world sense. It was mildly amusing to watch, only if he could even begin to make sense of whatever cock and bull story would come flying out her nose, yet again.
"Of course, Christian crusaders hid holy, or in this case, unholy artefacts inside them, to keep them safe and out of the wrong hands," she muttered to herself, staring at Harold from the corner of her eye. She shifted, rapping her knuckles against the dashboard, blowing a few strands of hair out from her sweaty face rather ungracefully.
Harry pulled a face, turning the ambulance again, "yes, Jennifer, I know what a damned reliquary is."
The blonde puffed up at his dismissive attitude, and he almost let out a maniacal giggle at how easily she got riled up at his little pokes and prods. She was far more entertaining to annoy than the dungeon bat. Bloody spiteful bastard. He was so glad he rammed his wand down the traitorous man's throat and set him on fire from the inside out. Never again had he thought the scent of burning grease had been so satisfying. He let out a small, pleased smile.
"She lured you there Harry."
Aaaaand the smile was gone.
"Harold, and I went there of my own free will," the emerald eyed man rebuked, his free hand ragging the gearstick with a little more force than necessary. He had left the arms of a seductive Egyptian mummy for this? He snorted, not the first time his terrible luck had fucked him over 6 ways to Sunday.
"She would've killed you if I wasn't there to stop her and her mind games," Jenny said smugly, giving her black haired companion a smug look, crossing her arms in what she classed as a victory.
Harold rolled his eyes, sneering at the woman, "I would have lived Jenny, stop being so melodramatic," the sarcasm practically rolled off his tongue.
But of course, the woman wouldn't let bygones be bygones.
"She's inside your head, Harry, she's making you do these things," she insisted, her dark eyebrows furrowing at his dismissive, cynical attitude. He was really getting on her last nerve it seemed.
Harold could almost see the vein popping on her forehead, and he idly wondered whether or not he would give the archaeologist an aneurysm that would send her to an early grave. He shrugged, if he did, he did, he stopped giving a fuck after the woman shit all over his parade in Iraq.
The ambulance came to an abrupt stop, causing the blonde's head to bump against the dash none to gently. With a muttered curse, she looked up at him with murder in her eyes.
"You know what, I think you're right," Harry admitted, with a brief glance to the sky to see if it had started raining pillars of scorching hellfire across the globe.
"What?"
He motions towards the window.
"Oh my god," she shrieked in fright, and just this once, maybe Harold was okay with admitting the annoying woman was right. After all, the look on her face was one he'd have to archive in his pensive to be glorified for the rest of his long, long life.
There, outside the church they had exited not ten minutes before, was Ahmanet, stalking towards them with all the grace of a pouncing lioness, hips swaying almost melodically. A satisfied, superior smirk danced across her grey lips as she stared at them with hooded, smouldering amber eyes.
Jenny leaps out of the truck as if it burned her and crossed the van. Harold watched as she opened his door, shoved him to the side, and skidded off in a matter of moments. His emerald eyes looked down to the mirror on his door and connected them to golden ones. There was an anger burning in those doubled irises, a venomous one, but this split second of reflected eye contact allowed him the brief opportunity to send a message to the Egyptian princess.
'Stay safe. I'll find you.'
He ignored Jennifer's frantic, harried breaths and reached for the radio dials. He quickly switched onto a radio station, and relished in the severe offence taken in by the blonde when he turned up the volume. Just in time for the chorus of ACDC's Highway to Hell to kick in. He outright laughed when an inferi like creature jumped up and gripped the corners of Jenny's windows and clawed at her relentlessly.
His companion was absolutely apoplectic as she jerked about the steering wheel and elbowed the creature with a surprising tenacity. The zombified creature was sent careening into the woods with a sickening crunch as the undead construct slammed into a thick tree. The blonde floored the gas, panting for a good five minutes before the van slowed to a crawl at the end of the country lane where his bike was. Harold quickly jumped out of the vehicle and approached his bike with a smile. He hardly even registered the annoying woman exiting the car with him as he stroked the handle of his bike before mounting it.
"I need to take you somewhere safe, Harry."
He turned to look at the woman with incredulous green eyes, his hand emerging from his back pocket to retrieve his keys, "I can get to safety perfectly well on my own, Jennifer. In fact, I find it highly insulting that as a grown man, you find me incapable of handling my own safety."
The look she gave to him almost made him reconsider the fact she may have been completely off the rocker, "I highly doubt driving a motorcycle towards a murderous, life leeching mummy with a questionable amount of sobriety, gives anyone a reason to believe in your capabilities of being safe, Harold," she said, motioning to his bike, "besides, I know people who can help you."
Harold's glare almost resulted in Jenny having a heart attack, by the fact it was almost acidic enough to leave her hands shaking, "I don't need to be helped if they are anything like you."
Little did Jenny know, those words were last spoken by someone who should have loved him unconditionally, only to throw him to the wolves when he questionably needed them the most.
The tall man turned on his bike and flipped the kickstand in an angry manner.
"Where are you going to go?" She whispered so quietly, he almost didn't hear her.
"I'm going to see an old friend."
Then he drove off, nary a glance back at the shaking woman.
Ahmanet screamed in pain, releasing the blonde whore from her grip as she struggled to pull the blade from her own back. It came out with a wet, sliding sound that grated beneath her ears as she raged at the audacity the blonde had to stab her, a queen who rightly stood above insects like her who dare to interfere with Ahmanet and her Chosen's time together.
Her mind lolled about due to the feedback of the jewel-less dagger that had moments ago been in her back, and in a moment of clarity, she realised it affected her Chosen's mind too as the blonde bitch dragged him away, his jewelled eyes hazy and unfocused.
She screamed in frustration, her Chosen slipping through her grasp once again at the hands of the vile cunt who had separated him from her before. She hated that slattern with a frothing, erupting sense of jealousy. Who was she to take him from her? Who was she to touch her precious one so brazenly? Who was she to breathe the same air as her cherished future king with such audacity?
She was going to kill her. She was going to pin the thieving wench to a table and rip out her eyes with her own hands. She was going to rip the fingernails from her filthy, disgusting hands and relish in her screams, then pluck out her tongue so she could never utter a slanderous syllable to her Chosen again. She would pry her teeth from her large, loud mouth, then tear her hands from her body for daring to touch what was hers. She'd flay the skin from her disgusting body so she would be so hideous, her Chosen could never bear to even glance in the whore's direction again. And then, she'd hammer the nails down onto her limbs herself, and leave the bitch in the scalding sun to be eaten by the crows and rats like she deserved, for ever daring to touch what belonged to her.
She was so close! She almost had him, and she could almost taste him. She could still feel his warmth under her, and she felt the sparks igniting in her womanhood. Ahmanet licked her lips, letting out a brief moan at the recalling of him, laying underneath her, his hands and eyes devouring her with heat.
He was as beautiful as he was when he had freed her, perhaps even more. Handsome and dark and powerful. She shuddered, letting out a breathy sigh. He was hers. Even now she could feel his longing almost as much as her own.
Reaching into his still confused mind, she nudges him her way, relishing as he moved to her requests almost eagerly. She strode from the dirty church, her eyes searching the darkness, lighting the moment he arrived.
A smirk pulled at her lips as he was in front of her yet again, his eyes meeting hers with a satisfied glint and the ghost of a smile on his face. Her face contorts into a scowl as she approaches when the woman with hair the colour of sand jumps from the car and shoves her chosen into the bitch's previously occupied seat.
She runs towards them, her mind clouding with anger as the blonde takes him from her again.
Then their eyes meet through the reflected glass, his gaze a soothing balm to her soul.
'Stay safe. I'll find you.'
He will find her. He cares for her. That is enough, enough to know that the thieving blonde does not have a hold on him. She settles as they move away from her, sending a petty, disposable thrall to get one last shot on the woman she now regarded an obstacle to her success. Ahmanet resolved to let her live a little longer though. Her death would be so sweet, and she could almost taste it already.
She knows this place is no longer safe though, the concern from her chosen proving her train of thought, so she commands her thralls to return and decides to move, she will bring her chosen to back into her waiting embrace another day. For now, she will move through the cover of darkness until her Chosen returned to her. This would also give the Princess enough time to locate her stone by herself, and she resolved to try and restore herself, so the celebration of her penultimate victory with her Chosen will be all the bit more pleasurable.
With a muted rumble, Harold pulls to a stop outside the old, beautiful house he called home a long time ago. He shifts off his bike, and locks it on a second thought, before walking up the arched pathway leading up to the home of one of his greatest friends and ally.
Wiping his palm on his leg, he lifted and knocked on the old, dark pine doors. Tapping his foot mindlessly as he waited for a response. A few moments later, a dark skinned young man opened the door and blinked, almost in disbelief.
"Harold?" The dark skinned man whispered.
"Yeah. It's me."
Blaise Zabini hugged Harold with a reassuring strength, his hands clutching at the leather of his jacket.
"I've missed you man," Blaise said quietly, his arms tightening, and the tall, pale man's arms lifted too, to hug the man he thought of as his own family.
"I've missed you too, brother."
"Is anyone sat in here?" An 11 year old Blaise Zabini asked, his eyes darting around the cabin curiously, every picture of a noble, young heir, except from the fact one hand was nervously worrying the end of his robe.
"No just me," a young, less well dressed Harry Potter replied readily, staring at the young boy suspiciously.
"Cool, mind if I join?" Blaise asked, moving a little further into the cabin.
"Not at all." The young man's eyes brightened considerably, and he dragged his dark wooden trunk into the compartment, giving Harry a small, grateful smile.
The emerald eyed boy watched him like a hawk, searching for any sign of deceit, before looking back at his book, seemingly satisfied.
"Blaise Zabini, a pleasure." The boy of Italian decent introduced, a hand reaching out for an amicable handshake. The messy haired boy looked at his tan hand for a solid moment, before his own, similarly small pale hand reached out and reciprocated the gesture.
"Harry Potter. Nice to meet you too."
"Really?" Blaise asked, his dark hazelnut eyes widening marginally before he sat down, pulling a book of his own from his trunk before hefting it up into the overhead baggage shelf.
"Yeah, why?" Harry said, not really computing the fact that he was famous purely for the fact he killed a man as a baby. An 'evil' man nonetheless, but he still killed him.
"It's just, you've been gone for ages, and nobody knew where you were." The purple eyed boy said haltingly, searching for any sign of displeasure at his new cabin mate.
"I've been around." The pale boy answered mysteriously, his eyes trailing back to his book.
"Have you met your parents?" Blaise asked.
"I have parents?"
"Potter, Harry."
"Ravenclaw!"
"Zabini, Blaise."
"Ravenclaw!"
"I thought you said you were going into Slytherin?" Harry asked the scion, his hands moving to gather some food after the old man finished his stupid speech.
"Well, I can't leave my new friend on his own, can I?" He smiled, patting Harry on the back gently as he sat down in his new, blue and bronze trimmed robe.
"What are you doing hanging out with a slimy dark wizard Harry? We should be friends!" The ignorant, red headed Gryffindor first year shouted, gesturing wildly in his frayed, red edged robe.
Harry Potter's eyes could've split a solid beam of steel apart as he stared down the foolish, arrogant young man.
"Blaise is my friend, now fuck off," He ordered venomously.
"Harry!" Blaise shouted in a panicked, harried tone as a wall of scorching fire blazed into existence between them, separating the two staunch friends.
"Blaise, go back and take Padma to the nurse's wing, I can take care of it," Harry assured, desperate to get his two, only friends back to safety and away from whatever kind of man made monster he now had to face to keep them alive.
Blaise had tears in his eyes, recoiling from the flames that spurned him away from his best friend as he tried to reach out and help him. When the young, pale man walked away, he let a groan of helpless frustration escape him.
"Goddamn it Harry!"
"Harry… Potter… The-boy-who-lived… tell me Harry, how does it feel to be abandoned? We're quite similar, you and I. I was abandoned as well, by my filthy muggle father!"
"I…"
"Join me Harry! We can take our revenge! I know what those muggles have done to you Harry, I've seen your parents abandon you, they don't deserve you, Harry. Join me! Join me and we can rule them all!"
"You tried to kill me!"
"Foolish boy, if I was really trying, would you really still be alive?"
"Harry, my boy, I believe it's in your best interests to spend the summer getting to know your parents…" The twinkling eyes of the man who had surrendered Harry to those monsters riled him up like no one ever had before. Not Snape and his petty grudges, not McGonagall and her silent disappointment. Not the annoying stalking of the bushy haired, annoying self-righteous Gryffindor bookworm. Not the pretentious, blonde haired or red haired prats from Slytherin or Gryffindor. Not the tears of the woman who left his safety to another, and not even the shouts of the man who was married to her. This old man, this bastard, singlehandedly destroyed whatever hope Harry could've had at a normal life. He hated him.
He wanted to kill him.
"They abandoned me! They have no right!"
"Harry…"
"NO!"
"Are you sure you want to spend the summer with my family Harry?" Blaise asked quietly, concerned for his near silent best friend. Padma watched them, a hand reaching out to hold Harry's hand comfortingly.
"Of course Blaise, I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't." He replied monotonously, earning winces from his young companions.
"I mean, you do have a family of your own… if you wanted to stay with them I wouldn't be mad." Blaise said, trying not to frown at the thought of Harry going back to those… those… monsters.
"Don't be silly Blaise… they aren't my family, you are. You're my brother Blaise." Harry turned, his hand flipping to squeeze Padma's hand just as comfortingly as she held his, "and you're my sister Padma. I won't ever let you two down. I swear it."
They both smiled at him reassuringly, moving in to give him hugs, and for the first time in his life, Harry didn't flinch.
"Thanks Harry… let's have fun this summer, yeah?" Blaise said quietly into his ear, squeezing him lightly.
Harry looked about the lavishly decorated home in awe, his eyes widening at the golden filigree and chandeliers that decorated the richly painted walls. The portraits hung upon them smiled at him happily, some waving, others grinning at him from horseback as they charged across the beautifully painted canvases. Blaise's mother was there to greet them, and she smiled at him warmly, gently, as she embraced him in a soft, comforting hug, introducing herself amidst the billowing scent of her lavender, flowing robes.
"Call me Anastasia," She had said, pausing when trying to think of a name to call him, "…Harold," she murmured, sending him a brilliant, white smile as she guided him to the solar, "Mrs Zabini makes me feel far too old, you see, so I'd prefer it if you called me Ana," she sent the young man a charming wink as she looped her arms with both Blaise and Harold, "better yet, call me Mom."
Harry grinned.
Harold paused, gathering his wits as Blaise poured the two a glass of Myrmish scotch. He never quite grasped the theory of making such an exquisite libation underwater, but he tacked it up to magic and enjoyed the drink in his own merry way. He was startled from his ponderings when a familiar flapping made it's way through the window and a gentle, clawed weight made itself known upon his shoulder. His grassy eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled up at his familiar and long-time friend.
"Its good to see you again, Morgana," he said softly, pushing his index finger down her lilac tinted, black feathered chest as she preened and croaked at him gently, grooming a few strands of his long hair with her beak.
"She's been driving me up the bloody wall while you've been gone, peacocking about all over the business papers and making a general nuisance of herself to get answers on when you'd be back," Blaise stated with a wry chuckle, setting down the pale man's glass as he fell back onto the cushioned, cream sofa.
"She was just worried is all."
Blaise hummed before he reclined his head, nursing his glass as he smiled ruefully, "tell that to Commissar Elfdeuch, nearly ripped my head off for the footprints all over the latest export agreement."
"He's always got a bee in his bonnet Blaise, pay him no mind, he needed those more than he would like to let on. Let him blather for a while before you remind him this is a favour to him," Harold chastised, taking a sip of his drink, savouring the unorthodox, biting taste and smooth, slightly salty flavour that cleansed his palate.
"I suppose so," his brother wondered, "this is why you should be around more often, you have a better mind about this than me, I can bounce the paperwork off you instead," he paused as the man across from him let out a small chuckle, "So, what have you been up to then?"
"Ahh, avoiding terrorists, discovering tombs and awakening an ancient Egyptian princess who wants to jump my bones, teriibly normal stuff really, you wouldn't be interested."
Harold smirked when the tanned man gave him the look Anastasia Zabini was so famous for when her impeding honeymoon was about to become so terribly, unequivocally tragic. With no justifiable evidence of her involvement of course.
"Yes, well, I've been sorting through your mail as usual, a few suggested alliances, a marriage contract or two, or ten, oh, and about fifteen dozen letters from the Potters, they've been unusually persistent in the past two months."
"I thought they would have clacked their clogs by now and would be out my way, I suppose it would have been a foolish notion to entertain," he stated, swirling his glass with all the interest of a remote glacier.
Yes, he meant the inanimate, non-sentient mundane glaciers, not the magical, mischievous kind that sunk the titanic.
"One could only hope," Blaise sighed, his dark eyes refocusing on his wayward, adopted brother, "have you been in contact with Padma yet?"
"No," Harold blinked, "I've been terribly preoccupied. Truthfully my visit was a spur of the moment thing, though I'm not denying the relief speaking to you has given to me," He paused, "How has she been?"
"She's being driven bloody mad acting as PR for Parvati, I'll tell you that, hasn't stopped nagging about you though. She nearly drove my doors off their hinges the other week demanding to see her brother. I broke out the Italian truffles though, that subsided her more current irritation."
Harold let out a sigh of relief, "I'll have to visit soon. I find myself with nothing to do for the time being, so I suppose I'll make a few appearances here and there, to keep myself occupied."
Blaise reached over the small dining table with a winning, pearly smile and clapped his brother over the shoulder, "that's a good sport!"
They smiled at each other warmly, and clinked their glasses together in a celebratory fashion.
"All hail the return of the mighty Harold Potter!"
"Hmm, not for much longer," Blaise blinked at him bemusedly, "I'm due for an appointment at Gringotts, my Godfather has left me a rather useful inheritance, along with the Black name, and, well, being the Master of the Hallows affords me another, powerful title I think will serve me quite nicely."
"Peverell?"
"Quite."
"All hail Harold Peverell-Black, the mighty slayer of the Dark Tosser and Champion of Neutrality!"
"Do you want a job as my hype man? You take to it surprisingly well, Blaise."
He sniffed pompously, "I'll have a word with my lawyer, but I'll be too busy arranging your funeral for when Padma gets her claws into you."
If Harold could pale any further, he would have, "It's not that bad… is it?"
"Would white geraniums be acceptable, or a deep blue? They are for your funeral wreath, I'd hate to mess that up."
And all done! As always, thank you for reading, and I appreciate any and all feedback you can and do give me.
Until next time,
Kitsune.