Good afternoon. I received a comment last week on AO3 where it said that the text was difficult to understand, which I understand as the language barrier between English and Portuguese (my mother tongue). I beg you to tell me if you are having comprehension problems or if everything is readable.
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Posted in: 03/09/2023
The UK was on fire, Hera could tell as she saw all the light radiating from the map in her head as she dozed with a block of ice on her head. Even though she swore every year that she would stop, she also every year continued to drink heavily at Halloween parties. Zeus wasn't any better, not even having left the bedroom until now. Even Ares didn't escape a hangover from the mead he managed to steal from Thor sometime over the New Year.
There was almost no darkness at all in British territory. From London to Cornwall, from Cornwall to Thurso, there was a trail of light cutting across the archipelago, both Britain and Ireland. The red ribbons were upgraded to gold at various times all over the place, and that kind of made Hera happy and suspicious at the same time. What were mortals doing now?
"It's over! It's over!" A man shouted loudly in a disgustingly dirty bar, raising a mug full of highly greasy beer and being followed by the rest of the bar.
"To the Potters!" Another man shouted, raising his mug.
"To the Potters! To the Potters!"
What was with them? What were "Potter"?
"The Dark Lord is gone," One child whispered to the other in their room, hiding under the covers as the house erupted in celebration downstairs. "He's gone Anna, the Potters are done with him!"
Dark Lord? Defeat? Potter? What the hell have humans gotten themselves into now?
"Potter" and "Potter" circulated in the wind everywhere, restless, without any censure of time or company. Bottles were spilled and glasses were raised by that name, and Hera was filled with curiosity to know what it all meant.
The domain's voices were few when compared to the full span of her ears, but it wasn't something to be taken lightly, even for the Queen of the Gods. There were whispers and screams everywhere, overlapping and uninterrupted, in any medium – conversation, letter or electronic message. Even the story could not be said as more than fragments repeated mnemonically, never complete and never deepened.
"The boy is going to be famous, Albus. Everyone will know his name. Books will be written about him."
"I know, Minerva, and I can only hope the boy is ready when the time comes."
They weren't new words, but they had a greenish shade of fate notation, as if it were a direct inscription of history. There was none like it in all the islands, neither before nor after that little conversation. Hera leaned over them, looking at the position she was told, and saw only a satin green lawn and pink statues of flamingos.
Intrigued, the goddess lowered her consciousness to become a thought and appeared on that lawn, which exuded a fresh aura of prophecy. The autumn flowers were open in beautiful shades of warm colors in the November chill. The street in front of the garden was well paved, the sidewalks in perfect condition and beautiful gardens forming receptive walls in each house along the street. The houses that rose were all the same, with dark blue-green roofs almost gray and walls of different colors. The house on the special lawn was just like the houses around it, but with the walls in imitation stone colors. The porch was modest but comfortable. A few pots with small palm trees were arranged along the small fence that enclosed the roof barrier.
It was a family home, she could tell. Golden ribbons came out of the house and stretched long, connecting the family members to each other. The green trail drifted toward the house like windblown beach sand, so Hera beheld the Domain of Home to enter the place without offending Hestia's stillness.
The place was clean – very clean. At the entrance there was a staircase on the right, which went up to a second floor. On the left, an archway opened into a square living room with a heavy antique clock, two leather sofas, a recliner, a TV, and a brandy cabinet that made Hera groan with the headache again. Going straight through the entrance there was a somewhat narrow corridor that formed between the stairs and a wall in the room, and many portraits of a chubby and fluffy baby. There was a table in the middle of the way with a vase of flowers. At the end, there was a very large kitchen filled with many appliances and a large table and sink. Around this large table was a woman who was very tall by mortal standards and two babies, one sitting in his little chair and the other sitting on top of the table. Hera looked twice at the baby on the table, to see if it was really the same one she remembered.
Harry Potter was still the cutest baby Hera had ever seen, but she felt an instant haunt as she looked at the boy. He was bathed in greenish miasma, practically dripping with the sand of fate, and he gleamed with a golden sheen as intense as gold plate in the sun. He stared at the woman in front of him with a cute smile that made it even more frightening that a child was bathed in talcum powder from the hands of the Moirai.
"Quiet, boy," The tall woman snapped at Harry, who just laughed. "Stupid boy, it had to be her son..."
Though gruff, there was a tone to the woman's voice that made it sound fearfully affectionate and in denial of something else. It still wasn't enough for Hera to ignore the insult to her favor.
Harry continued to smile at the woman, completely oblivious to the curse directed at him. The woman, Petunia Dursley, sighed and turned to the counter, pouring hot milk from a baby bottle pan.
"Take it, boy," she snapped, handing the stuffed object into Harry's hands, who took it without difficulty. Then she turned smiling gently at the other baby, the one in the chair. "Dudley honey, here's what mommy did."
Hera's headache was consumed by her rage, destroying the structure of the dream and causing her to wake up, to keep her derangement away from contact with mortals.
How could that slattern woman talk like that to a child? With her chosen one, of all the others?
First of all, she should know what the wee was doing with that woman. Where were Lily and James? What happened to them not being with the one-year-old baby? The only thing that made sense in her head was that the whispers about the defeat of a Dark Lord came at the hands of the Potters, and that didn't make any sense.
The ice slipped off her head when she leaned over to look back at Earth, staring at the UK. The parties were still going on, 2 days in a row, and that was something that made Hera groan in pain again.
The divine domains were strange. Each god has a title; Zeus, the God of Thunder and Justice, Athena, Goddess of Wisdom, Justice and Knowledge, Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, Childbirth and Maidens, Apollo, the God of the Sun, Music, Medicine, Prophecy and many others . Hera herself held the titles of Goddess of Matrimony, Family and Home. Many gods bonded over their domains, and generally divided according to their preferences. However, there were some more... flexible titles.
"Love" is one of the 6 natural elements that form divinity, the others being Death, Life, Nature, Time and Space. Unlike the other 5, Love is distinguished by being an essentially arbitrary element – there is no cause of one thing and another, all relationships exist by pure and simple understanding. This fundamental complexity makes all domains delegated under Love extremely amorphous and arbitrary in many ways.
Hera has the rulership over Family Love and Parental Affection. Her senses expanded in all aspects of love related to family, any kind of love – a husband and a wife, a father and a son, brother with brother, all family love is under her eyes. This totality grants her certain extras over other gods, such as the ability to see beyond the realms themselves. Everything that once passed through family relationships is under her eyes, any event connected to that can be interpreted as well. And it was by tracing the ribbons of the Potter Family that she found her way into the British maelstrom, ending up in a room in London's undersoil where the green miasma of little Harry was making its way.
The room was large, neat, with a black stone floor and furnished with dark mahogany furniture. Seated by a well-built fireplace, each on a sleek black leather sofa, were a century-old-looking man and woman with their heads down and talking.
"... is already done?"
"Yes, Frederika. I imagine Mr. Potter is getting his morning care by now."
The woman, Frederika, let out a long sigh.
"It's over at last" the woman sank onto the sofa. She didn't look happy at all, just… relieved.
The couple was silent for a while, just looking at the fire burning in the fireplace. The room was quite cold.
"How much time do you think we have, Albus?" Frederika asked the man, not taking her eyes off the fire.
"I'm afraid I don't know," the man, Albus, replied.
The fire crackled, unconcerned with the mood of the room. The woman took a sip from the glass of brandy she held.
"What happened, Dumbledore? What really happened," She quickly interrupted Albus before he could respond. "I know what you said to the Aurors. The house was doomed and Voldemort was gone, my balls were gone that's all you saw."
Hera raised her eyebrows at the woman's words. For an instant, she thought of her own mother, Rhea.
"Tell me what happened. I want to know exactly what to expect to find when investigations into the case begin."
"I don't think you'll need to worry about that, Frederika," Albus commented. "I heard about two hours before I got here that the Potters' cottage had collapsed on itself at dawn. Fortunately, no one was hurt, the Muggle firefighters had already evacuated the people nearby in case something happened."
The woman sighed again, taking another sip of brandy.
"Anyway. What happened? I need to know before closing the case, as it won't be possible to investigate."
"It was... horrible." Albus admitted, to the widening of the minister's eyes. "I arrived in the morning, but it was still the way it was. James was in the living room, in front of the rug. His wand was still in his hand."
Hera felt a lump in the throat when she heard that, having an immediate understanding of what the old man meant.
"Lily was on the second floor. In Harry's room, across from his crib."
Hera gasped, horrified at the idea that a baby had seen its mother die.
"She didn't have a wand with her, her wand was in her and James' room. The only things in the room were Harry and a torn black robe. Whatever happened, whatever it is, it destroyed the ceiling and walls of the room. Harry had a scar on his head and he wouldn't stop crying and bleeding, from what hagrid told me, only stopping when they passed through Failand."
"And how did you know where to leave the boy?" Frederika asked with narrowed eyes, a gesture also made by Hera, who for a moment put aside James and Lily and remembered where Harry was.
"Severus Snape", it was Dumbledore's reply. "He went to the cottage after the attack. He was my spy in the Dark Lord's Inner Circle, he was one of the few who realized what had happened once the Dark Mark paled. The Fidelius's veil was gone too, so he managed to quickly find Voldemort's trail" the minister shuddered in her seat. ", to Godric's Hollow. He sent me a Patronus asking to meet me immediately, but I knew what it was as soon as I remembered the address of the cottage. I was hopeful, but he confirmed: Lily and James were dead."
The sentence was sharp as a blade of bronze, and Hera could feel ribbons being severed in the endless echo of her domain. She resisted the instinctive turn to see where it had happened, focusing instead on the old man in that dim room in the middle of London.
"We meet near Findhorn, it was raining a lot. He told me what he saw and how the house and the boy were, and I remembered something I once read in a book when I was still studying at Hogwarts, preparing for the OWLs."
Hera and Frederika were lost in the old man's words, and the goddess even ignored the words she didn't recognize.
"It wasn't very long, to tell you the truth, it was practically a paragraph explaining what is known about esoteric magic of the highest order I have ever seen in my life besides to the most disgusting magic that I will refuse to mention." Dumbledore was decisive, almost aggressive, a fire burning in his blue eyes and setting the limits on what he would say. "It was an almost accidental magic, based on the strongest love, pure love, together with the strongest will to protect someone, an instinctive will. By refusing, without any hesitation, to abandon the loved one even though the person could save himself, a magical vow is taken in exchange for burning the sacrificed soul entirely to ensure a binding vow on the person the sacrificed tried to protect. This vow is automatically taken with anyone who tries to kill the person, where all mortal damage is reverted to the one who launched the attack in exchange for a permanent scar on the person attacked."
"This means..."
"Immortality," Albus nodded, to the sigh of the minister and the goddess who had been waiting for their conversation. "Nothing can kill Harry but age and his own hands. It's not something that happens very often, so we don't know the details surrounding this defense."
"But how do you know it's really that?" Frederika asked, and Hera nodded.
"Intuition", The realization that it was a serious answer horrified both women. "Believe me, Frederika, I cannot imagine anything else. There is no spell, transfiguration or celestial thaumaturgical ritual that could make what happened in the Potters' cottage. The death of a helpless Lily Potter only makes it more likely."
"But what will happen to the boy?", Frederika was a little dizzy. "Everything that attacks him will die? He might accidentally kill other children!"
"That won't happen," Albus assured. "I doubt any child would want to kill him. Protection will only bind outright homicidal intentions, not childish rage."
Frederika didn't know what to say. Hera didn't know what to think. Albus just sighed, and waved his hand, making the brandy decanter float towards the woman in front of him.
"Merlin protect us" Frederika finally found her voice, downing a full glass. "I feel very happy that I can no longer be re-elected."
"Tired of politics, old friend?" Albus spoke with humor. The woman glanced at him.
"I will lock in the case. Any investigation will be shelved. Anything about the boy will be censored and sent to Muggle coffers." The minister declared, refilling the glass.
"Thanks, Frederika" Albus thanked him, in a tired tone and seeming to get old in seconds.
"Yes, yes, you're welcome," The woman dismissed him. "I'll make sure no one knows. Make sure no one goes near the boy, Albus. I don't want him dragged into this shit any more than he already has."
"I will guarantee it."
Frederika downed another glass, then refilled it.