Harry Potter: God of Darkest Magic: A Harry Potter/Percy Jackson and the Olympians Crossover Fanfiction
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own Percy Jackson or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to Rick Riordan. I do not own any other crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.
Plot: When Harry was a little boy, he discovered he was not as alone as everyone said. On the contrary, he has a whole world whom will soon worship him for the God he truly is. Oh shi…take mushrooms: we're in trouble now!
Author's Note: So, as weird and random as this story is going to sound, it's just what I need after the sad loss of some of my other works and ideas lately, so, as always, there's really only one thing to say.
If you don't like it, don't read it.
Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this story to FirstSilverKing for helping inspire me to write this story: my recommended reads are The Hollow Prince by FirstSilverKing, Dakaath: Prince of Darkness by LT2000, Harry Potter: Lord of Darkness by AngelSlayer135, The Downward Spiral Saga – Harry Potter and the Homecoming, Harry Potter and Salazar's Legacy, Harry Potter and the Year of Broken Chains, Harry Potter and the Return of the Lost, Harry Potter and the Dirge of Hope and Harry Potter and the End of War – by BolshevikMuppet99, Darkly Dreaming Harry by Lineape, Dark Lord Potter and Silver King by JustBored21, The Rise of a Dark Lord by LittleMissXanda, Kill me if you can by PercyPendragon3, Harry Potter: Rise of Darkness by Rezurex, Prince of Death, Return of the Speaker's Heir and Remembrance of the Grim Wolf by The Potters of the Future and This Is My Father's World by GenkaiFan
Key Pairing: Harry/Hecate
Other Pairings: To be determined
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
'Mental Speech'
/Parseltongue/
Chapter 1: I Am Your Father
Cold.
Dark.
Alone.
Scared.
Add all these emotions together and it wouldn't even brush against the tip of the iceberg that made up how little Harry James Potter felt as he hunched over in agony, the sting of his broken ribs only increased by the biting arctic winds of winter that seemed to blow all around him. On top of that, his throat burned from the screams he had let out during his torment and his apparent punishments, while his back felt like it was on fire as the cold winds washed over the lash marks from the belt.
And why was he in such a state, out in the freezing cold, one might ask?
Simple.
Because he'd scored a higher mark than his cousin in school.
God
Yes, seriously.
Harry had been punished for being a clever boy, who was the apple of his teachers' eyes and something of a prodigy, with how well he could read and write, at a level that many teachers compared to those of university students.
His cousin, on the other hand, was an incontinent idiot who only seemed to know how to do two things.
Scream like a big baby whenever he didn't get his own way and put food in his mouth, which was why he looked like a small moon at only eight years old, which was another thing the teachers complained about.
Harry, on the other hand, was short, unnaturally-thin and as pale as pale could go, with glasses covering his emerald-green eyes that always seemed to need more tape on the bridge, messy dark hair that never lay flat and clothes that could have probably hosted the Russian Circus, but they most-definitely wouldn't host Harry's small frame.
So, when the headmaster of the school had called the Dursleys in – again – and given them a stern talking to about Dudley's weight, his inability to do work, his bad reputation of bullying other kids and, of course, the way his only reaction to being wrong was to scream and throw a temper tantrum that, quite frankly, embarrassed many of the teachers, as well as some parents who saw the tantrums, in the Dursleys' very narrow minds, there was only one explanation.
Harry had to have been responsible.
When the headmaster then suggested putting Harry's name down for an advancement program that would probably see him in Oxford or Cambridge by the time he was a teenager, however, the Dursleys' last nerve snapped.
Oh, they put on the airs and graces and thanked the man for his praise, and even said they would talk to Harry when they got home.
But they never reached home.
Or rather, Harry didn't reach home; instead, the Dursleys had driven out into the middle of the countryside where, pulling into a local picnic spot, Aunt Petunia had spoiled Dudley rotten again, while Uncle Vernon frog-marched Harry into the woods before punching him, knocking him to the ground as he beat on the boy's ribs for being a show-off and a freak who made others feel sorry for him.
When he took his belt off, however, Harry had been left unable to do anything, but scream as he was lashed against a tree, his Uncle holding him there with one hand while he lashed Harry with the other, opening the boy's back and leaving him to bleed out.
Once that was done, Vernon threw Harry to the ground before he left him there, not even bothering to help Harry get out of the woods.
Instead, he was left alone.
Battered.
Bloody.
Broken.
And beyond help…
Well…
From anything human…
God
As Harry whimpered as another wave of cold stung at his bleeding, broken flesh, the young boy felt something else stirring inside of him.
Rage.
Dark, unprecedented levels of white-hot fury, which seemed to be exacerbated by each and every one of the open wounds on his flesh, as well as the breaks and fractures in his ribs. At the same time, the fury seemed to grow ever-stronger as Harry thought about his stupidly-large clothes, his cheap, painful-to-look-through glasses and, especially, how his only comparison to the cold he was lying in at the moment was the damp, dark, smelly and, often-times, ice-cold cupboard under the stairs.
As these thoughts fuelled his rage, Harry came to an epiphany as he lay in the cold embrace of the wilderness.
He hated the Dursleys.
No…
It was more than that.
He hated humans!
After all, nobody ever bothered to stop his cousin, aunt and uncle from beating him, abusing him, starving him, screaming at him and trying – and failing – to make him be less-clever, less-gifted and less of the real Harry that he was. They also failed in beating him down, no matter how much pain he went through at their hands, not that anybody even bothered to notice the danger signals.
Not neighbours.
Not teachers.
Not Social Services.
Not anyone!
As Harry felt his rage building as he realised how it was more than just the Dursleys whom he directed his anger towards, the young boy felt a new sensation washing over him.
Suddenly, it was like the icy-cold touch of the dark night and the lonely woodlands was gone; in its place, Harry felt an overwhelming surge of warmth, care and even love pass over him, as well as a strange, but funny tingling sensation that began to creep along his skin. As these feelings passed over him, Harry felt his body return to its former strength, allowing him the ability to move freely, if only into a sitting position, as he looked around in confused bewilderment.
Who…or what…might have been responsible for this weird, but nice feeling?
Whoever they were, Harry only had one thing to say to them.
"Thank you…"
'You are MOST welcome, Harry.'
Suddenly, Harry jumped as a soft, sibilant voice answered him.
The voice, a man's voice, he realised, seemed to fill Harry's body with more warmth, even as the eight-year-old boy looked around in surprise, trying to find the source of the voice.
As though the speaker noticed this, Harry then heard a chuckle before the speaker went on, 'Don't try looking for me, Harry; thanks to some fickle freaks of nature who claim to make the rules, I can only communicate with you like this, but it is enough, even moreso now you've decided to cast off the shackles of your humanity and embrace your true destiny.'
"Huh?" asked Harry, only aware of what some of those words meant, but, at the same time, he was confused.
Who was this speaker?
How did they know him?
And what did they mean when they said there were fickle freaks of nature keeping Harry from seeing them?
As though the man sensed his thoughts, Harry heard his mysterious benefactor's voice speak again, 'I know you must be confused, Harry, but if you wish to know the truth, I will tell you. But first, you must make me a promise.'
"W…what?" asked Harry shakily, even as he felt another wave of calming warmth wash over him; it was only later, when he looked at his once-wounded body, that Harry realised each pulsing wave of strange power from his unseen companion was actually healing his body, closing his wounds, repairing his ribs and even healing his eyesight.
In the meantime, the voice went on, 'If I tell you who I am, you must promise me that you will never again allow yourself to be bound by the weak wills of feckless humans and pathetic insects who think they make the rules. You must promise me that, when you learn who I am and, in turn, who you really are, you will take all that I bestow unto you and use it as only you wish to use it, nobody else…nothing else…not even me.'
Hearing those words, Harry's eyes widened with amazement, as well as disbelief and awe, all of which only seemed to increase the flow of the healing power that enveloped his body, even as the young boy licked his lips before, in a soft, weak whisper of a voice, he answered his helper.
"I…I promise…"
'Do you?'
"Yes."
'With all your heart?'
"With all my heart."
'And all your soul?'
"And…and all my soul," said Harry, finally taking note of his healed state, even as he gulped before he continued, "I…I don't know why I…I choose to let you do this, sir, but…but you've helped me and…and I feel…different, now. But it's not a bad different, not really; and…and like you said, I…I know how much I…I hate everyone else who chooses to ignore what the Dursleys do to me. But…but whoever you are, sir…you've helped me; you heal me and…and make me feel better than I can remember, so…so, whatever you mean when you say I have to promise this…I do. I swear it, sir, on my soul and all of me…I will be my own man…and I will never let anyone else weaken or control me…never again!"
To Harry's surprise, what could only be described as a flash of lightning seemed to emphasise his words, even as the voice chuckled, 'Very well, child; but remember, once sworn, this vow cannot be un-sworn. Should you choose to renege on this bargain, you will never know the pleasures of Paradise, nor the mercies of the Isle of the Blessed. You will wander the ether, lost and alone, forever…do you still wish to make such a pact?'
"Yes!" exclaimed Harry, his strength and determination fuelled by the fact that this stranger, whoever they were, couldn't seem to take his answer as he gave it first-time, which only angered Harry even more. "I'm not like them: I will never lie about a promise, sir. So, for God's sake, just accept that, when I say yes, I mean it!"
'As you wish,' replied the stranger, their words once again filling Harry with a pulsing warmth, which seemed to flow through every cell of his blood, even as the stranger's voice continued.
'Then now, Harry James Potter, you may know me: my name is Chaos, First of the First Ones, Creator of All, Divine Lord of the Void and Master of Nothing and All At Once. More to the point, young one, in the immortal words of another…I am…your FATHER!'
As Harry heard the words, he was unaware of how his emerald-green eyes suddenly shone gold while his body seemed to glow with an ethereal energy, which rose up above him, taking on the form of a diagram of the Solar System, all of which then became enveloped in a bluish-coloured essence, which seemed to swallow up the whole universe, leaving…nothing.
As the glow faded again, Harry gulped hard before he asked, "You…you're my…my Father?"
'I am.'
"But…but my Father's dead!"
'Correction,' replied Chaos, his words still sibilant, but edged by a note of calm comfort as he explained, 'My human shell is dead, and a tragic loss it was too, Harry. I regret all I did in such a limited form, but, in sacrificing my shell to regain my true place at the centre of all, I found myself able to observe and watch over you, subtly handing you the means to live your life and make the mortal world whatever you wish.'
"How?"
'As my son,' replied Chaos, now speaking with a tone of pride, if not self-importance, as he explained, 'All is yours to do with as you please; the very fabric of reality is your toy, as is the devastating fury of Destruction and Annihilation. Whatever you imagine will become real, with but a whisper of your will and, before you ask me how this is possible, my son, there's one more thing you should know. Something that will change the future for you, but, also, make you understand why your humanity had to be cast off, in order for me to be able to communicate with you and give you back your true identity.'
"Why?"
'Because, you are more than just some meek little boy, Harry,' replied Chaos, his energy once again flooding Harry, even as the voice of the ancient force spoke again.
'You are a GOD!'
Oh boy, talk about making a mountain out of the ruins of a destroyed molehill, but now Harry has discovered his mountain, can he fully embrace the means to sit atop it and rule over all who live in his shadow?
Also, with Chaos guiding him and saying how Harry's human nature had to be sacrificed for his future, how will this future affect Harry's apparent 'destiny' as a hero and saviour of a band of feckless humans?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: God walks among Man once more…mind you, what do you call a God who'd rather massacre humans and punish all who think themselves his masters? Chuck Shurley? Lucifer? Hmm…I'd call him Harry Potter, really: crap!
Please Read and Review
AN: Portrayal
Chaos: Benedict Cumberbatch