"Dry Her Eyes"
By Loki Palmer
Author's Note: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The Avengers belong to Marvel Comics and the late, great Stan Lee.
JannaKalderash: Sirius and Hel had relations years before he met Dr. Jane Foster. So, yes, they have a son. As to Her having issues with Dr. Foster … hmmm … it might be an issue, it might not. Dr. Foster, for her part, might have an issue with this previous relationship …
Chapter 11
As Harry fell off to sleep, he heard a soothing piano arpeggio playing as he saw a fog over the Surrey playground a short walk from 4 Privet Drive.
[The music here is "Light of the Seven" from Game of Thrones, season 6 as covered by the Grissini Project.]
"What am I doing here?" he said to himself.
A violin and cello played their melodies on top of the piano arpeggiation.
"Hei, bróðir!" (Hi, brother!) said a female voice out of the fog.
"Þú kallar mik bróðir? Sýn þik!" (Thou callest me brother? Show thyself!) he said back.
The fog cleared to reveal a slim girl approaching him, a needle thin rapier at her side. Her cold blue eyes spoke of anger … and of Death ….
She smiled at him and Her eyes lit up as She opened Her arms. "My dearest Harald … it feels like an Age since we last saw each other. May I approach? I assure thee on the Nine Realms – including Mine own – I mean thee no harm."
He nodded and opened his arms. Faster than he could blink, She ran into him and hugged him. She inhaled his odor as She snuggled into his chest. "Hmmm … I have missed this … thou hast grown so strong … thou hast to beat the maidens off with a stick, as the mortals say. Or are the maidens beating off thy stick?"
She wagged Her eyebrows at him. "Nay, it has to be that dear maiden of thine, is it not – Hermione Granger?" She laughed at his blush.
"How –"
"Harald, dear, I am Hel, the Lady of Dreams, Nightmares, and Death. The content of thy dreams is no surprise to Me. Hermione is fair, intelligent, she has saved thy adorable backside times without number – aye, I can see why thou art so attracted to a maiden such as her … mmm … she is a gem beyond value among the mortals."
"Jealous?"
She looked at him in shock and laughed again. "Harald, thou art a mischievous little tease! Whatever would Father say if He saw us like this, so close to each other?"
"Hmm … what would He say? He would say something like: THAT'S MY BOY!"
Now it was Her turn to blush as another laugh burst out. "Harald! By the fur of our brother Fenrisúlfr, thou art as incorrigible as Father!"
"Coming from Thee, Hel, I will take that as a compliment. What's the harm in a little teasing?"
"I meant it as a compliment. Thou hast Father's charming silver tongue that could talk any maiden into bed, I bet … oh, there I go, teasing thee again … I'm so naughty!" A third laugh burst out.
"Birds of a feather flock together, to quote the old saying."
"As to thy question: am I jealous? Why should I be? Hermione is a lucky maiden to have thee. But come now; I didn't come all this way just to tease thee and make idle chit-chat, fun as that may be for us."
She brought out a sheet of parchment. "Let's see: Dudley Dursley. Vernon Dursley. Petunia Dursley. Marjorie Dursley and her mutts. Of course, Voldemort is on this list of names as well."
"Names?"
"Aye, names; names of people I'm going to kill, torture, or torture and kill."
"Is Draco on the list, perchance?"
"Why would he be? He's a nuisance, not a menace; a cuddly ferret, not the dragon of his namesake."
Harry grinned. "Don't let him hear thee say that; doubtless he would say, My Father will hear about this!"
Hel laughed. "Oh, what a funny coincidence! That blond, snobbish, Voldemort-arse-kisser is on the list."
"Voldemort-arse-kisser? Hel, that's nasty! I didn't need that image in my head – thanks a lot!"
She smirked. "Welcome. That's what My files say about him. Let's see: at the end of thy second year, he said to thee, and I quote: Your parents were meddlesome fools too. Mark my words, Potter … you will meet the same sticky end!"
Her smirk turned into an icy glare. "Better would it be for him to run away with his tail between his legs like the beaten mutt he was than to threaten thee. Nobody, and I mean nobody, in all the Nine Realms, THREATENS MY BROTHER AND GETS AWAY WITH IT! I would bring the wrath of Ragnarǫk down upon Midgard if I thought it were necessary to keep us all safe. I would care not if I had to rip Midgard apart, slaughtering every foe I saw, even if the planet ended up in a sea of blood and guts."
A pack of wolves appeared around them. "These are bigger than any dogs I have seen," said Harry.
"They are thy friends, Harald, and loyal friends, at that. And, yes, they are larger than the Canis familiaris, or the domestic dog of Midgard. This breed is the ancient Canis dirus, or direwolf."
"Beautiful, though they do look terrifying …" The direwolf nearest to Harry kissed his face, prompting a laugh from him and Hel.
"Fear not, Harald, I think she likes thee."
"Does this mean she likes me as dinner, or does this mean a friendly liking?"
"If she wanted to eat thee, she would have done so long before now. Trust Me … thou art safe with them. I cannot say the same for a certain beached human whale who is thy … what is he to thee?"
Harry shrugged. "Just some nobody who liked to bully me in primary school with a game of Harry Hunting."
Hel grinned. "Oh, look who showed up!"
"Harry? Is that you I hear? And who's the pretty bird you have with you?" said Dudley.
"Pretty bird?" She looked up at Harry. "Brother, I almost regret My plans for him …"
~DRY HER EYES~
A couple female voices sang in the air, sometimes clashing with each other: "Arya … hey, Arya … hey, Arya … hey, Arya …"
"Hel … who's Arya?"
"No one …."
~DRY HER EYES~
She grinned at Dudley. "How wouldst thou like to play a game, Big D? Thou versus My direwolves? I will give thee a count of three for a head start."
Dudley gulped as he saw the direwolves growling and snapping at him.
"Run for thy life, Fat Boy!"
Dudley bolted into a run.
"Einn … tveir … þrír!"
The direwolves howled and ran after him.
"What are his chances, Hel?"
Hel's grin stayed on her face. "Not a snowball's chance in Muspellheim."
They heard Dudley scream as the direwolves tore him apart ….
"I love the sound of enemy screams in the morning," She said.
~DRY HER EYES~
Meanwhile, Vernon Dursley was dreaming of a fine meal with his boss: a big and juicy steak with potatoes and gravy on the side, and wine to wash it all down.
His boss smiled at him. "Well, Dursley, I hope you are enjoying yourself …"
"Oh, I am, sir. This meal is exquisite."
"Good … because it will be the last meal you will have with Grunnings Drills Inc."
"Sir?"
"Did you not think we would discover all the money you have embezzled from the company, Dursley? My accountants found a paper trail as thick as your gut, and this will not stand! You're fired! Security! Throw this fat thief out of here!"
Three security guards came and tossed Vernon into a flooded street. A bus pulled up and opened its doors. A slim girl sat behind the wheel.
"Need a lift?"
"Why, yes, thank you." He searched his pockets. "My apologies; I can't seem to find my wallet."
"Don't worry about it. Hop on; don't want to catch death by cold."
"Again, much obliged." He stepped onto the bus and sat down in the nearest seat.
"Mr. Dursley? Please buckle up."
"Ya, mon, buckle up … dis go be a bumpy ride …" said a Rastafarian shrunken head hanging from the front of the bus.
He found the seat buckle and buckled it.
"Oh, mon, I forgot to tell ya one last ting, Mistah Dursley …"
"What's that?"
The bus sped off at a hair-raising speed.
"No scream while de bus in motion, mon!"
~DRY HER EYES~
Petunia Dursley dreamed of looking out of the kitchen to see all her flowers were dead. Before she could scream, a THUD from a frying pan cracked her skull.
"Swing a frying pan at My brother? Not without retribution," said Hel.
She sang:
"Sing a song of horror,
With screams and with cries;
Three corpses of the Dursleys
Baked in a pie;
When the pie is opened,
Vernon will feel so sick;
Now, won't that be a horrorshow
To drive him 'round the twist?"
She placed the corpses of Petunia, Dudley, and Marjorie Dursley into the oven. (In the case of Marjorie Dursley, her own dogs ripped her apart. When the constables saw the grisly scene of her death many hours later, not only did they puke from the horror, they had to call Animal Control to shoot the dogs. The poor mutts had gone mad.)
~DRY HER EYES~
Vernon got off the bus, grateful to have made it home. He ran into his house.
"Petunia? Petunia?"
"I'm making dinner in the kitchen, Vernon!" she said. "Should be ready in a few more minutes!"
He sniffed. "Oh, that does smell good."
A few minutes later, she placed them on the table. "Your favorite: mincemeat pies."
He ate what he could, then stopped. "That was delicious. Where's Dudley? He should enjoy eating this."
Petunia cocked her head to the side. "Why do you ask? He's already here, as is your sister."
Vernon looked around him. "I … don't see what you're talking about, Pet."
"Come closer and see for yourself, Vernon." She leaned over and opened the pies. Vernon stared at the inside of the pies. A nauseous horror grew within his belly as he saw various body parts within.
He looked up, and rather than seeing Petunia, he saw the same slim girl who had brought him home on the bus. The sudden sight startled him.
"Who … the Hell … are you?"
She smiled. "Funny thou shouldst mention that, Vernon. I'm Hel, the sister of one Harry Lokison Potter, thy so-called nephew … and the last thing thou wilt see is My face as thy mind cracks … beyond all mortal hope of repair …."
A scream louder than a tornado siren echoed throughout Surrey …
Author's Note: Who would I have portray Hel? Well, while I could have y'all guess, I'll come right out and tell y'all: none other than Maisie Williams, also known as the psychotic Arya Stark of the amazing Game of Thrones series. More hijinks to come as I can type it, and I wish the living all the best of luck in the upcoming Battle of Winterfell (Sunday, April 28, 2019, 9 pm EST.) It's going to be epic on Game of Thrones, y'all!
Read and review!
Smiles and laughter,
Loki Palmer