Welcome one and all to another chapter of a Bad Moon Rising.
In this chapter, we meet Grandpappy Nuadha before skipping a few days for a surprise guest to show up.
But first! This chapter is dedicated to HeliosInvictus for being the 1000th person to follow BMR!
That's right boys and girls, every single main story of "The Heir to the Hunt" has over a thousand followers on FFN!
Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed reading my little story, because I honestly never thought I'd get this far.
On with the show!
Harry Potter.
The old man loomed over both Harry and The Morrígan as the stone behind them cried out. Nuadha's good eye is still locked on Harry as the young man slowly pushes himself back from the now-freed god. Harry swallowed nervously; he finally looks away and begins to open his mouth to speak.
Only for the stone to sing louder.
Nuadha frowns and slams his walking stick into the ground, quieting the stone. "That's-" he tries to say before the Stone starts to sing again. Which in turn causes the old god to slam his cane into the ground again. "Oh, for the love of-" Nuadha tries to say but the singing spikes again.
"AaaAAAAaaaaAAAAaaAaa!"
"Oi! Would ya shut the fuck up!" The old god screams over the singing before once more the stone falls quiet. "Fuckin hell, I regret ever picking that damn thing up from-"
"AAAAAAAAAAAaaaAAAAAAAAAA!"
"Oh, you cocksucker!" Nuadha yells before storming between The Morrígan and Harry and right up to the Singing Stone to start whacking it with his walking stick. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" he screams over the singing as he continues to beat on the large stone. Harry looks on in pure confusion as he watches the eldest of the Tuatha Dé Danann beat on a hunk of stone like an angry old man yelling at a telly. Nuadha raises his walking stick once more but it seems that the singing stone had enough of a beating because once more it falls silent and stays that way.
"Damn fangled thing," Nuadha mutters to himself before turning back to The Morrígan and Harry, his single good eye shifting between the two for a moment before staying on The Morrígan who, like Harry, had turned to watch Nuadha. "Bás Álainn," Nuadha says with a sigh. His voice reminded Harry of the crunching of leaves in the autumn months and the footfalls of hunters chasing the deer deep into the woods, deep and wise but crisp and loud for all to hear. The words he said sounded like a song to Harry and they rested on his heart like the weight of a glacier as he turned to The Morrígan with wide eyes.
It didn't feel whole in a way, incomplete and unfocused like something was missing, but it was without a doubt a part of The Morrígan's true name.
The Morrígan looks up to the old man with a blank face and a bit of fear dancing in her eyes. "Lord Nuadha," she says in greeting with a flat voice.
The old man looks at her for a long moment before sighing again. "Why the fuck are ya kneeling, lass? For the love of Dana, stand up and face me," Nuadha says softly, causing The Morrígan to do just that as gracefully as any ballerina as Harry scrambles to his feet as well. The old man limps forward and stands before The Morrígan while leaning on his cane. He barely came up to The Morrígan's shoulders as she stood her full height over the elder god, "By Dana's blessing, look how you've grown, so big and beautiful," Nuadha says with a sigh.
And it would have been a nice sentiment if he wasn't looking directly at The Morrígan's breasts.
The Morrígan rolls her eyes at the old god's antics. "Lord Nuadha," she says softly before looking down at the aging god.
"What? Oh, right. Important things," Nuadha mumbles to himself before taking a few steps back and looking at The Morrígan up and down before a deep frown twists his scared face into something angry. "Do ya mind telling me, lass, as to why you hold the crown and not Lugh? My rightful successor?" he asks while glaring up at The Morrígan.
"Lord Nuadha, as you know Lugh doesn't wish to rule-" The Morrígan tries to explain before she is quickly cut off by Nuadha slamming his walking stick into the stone. The strike echoes throughout the cavern like a cannon blast and shakes the earth around them as it silences The Morrígan.
"Which makes him the perfect candidate for kingship!" Nuadha snaps at her, causing the goddess to grimace at his words. "He doesn't seek power nor does he have a sense of entitlement, he is selfless and giving with the love of our people in his heart, his glory comes from what he could do for them and not on a bloody battlefield!" Nuadha yells at The Morrígan, his voice roaring like a lion as the air becomes thick with the power of the Hunt. Harry could feel it in the back of his mind as it threw itself at the cupboard door again and again trying to get out. As he felt the wood crack in his mind, Harry knew it would eventually break itself free no matter what he did, but for the moment the door held no matter how hard Harry flinched at the sounds around him and in him.
"Thousands of years of tradition undermined by your schemes and underhanded tactics! You usurped the crown on a technicality and wrapped that moron, Dagda, around your finger like he was a fucking ring!" Nuadha shouts at The Morrígan, a vein popping in his forehead as he screams and howls with the rage of the Hunt. Harry flinched at the sound before placing a hand on his head, he could once again feel the Hunt wanting out as it beat and clawed at the door in his mind. "And for what? For power? To prove that ya can do it?" Nuadha asks as he limps forward a bit. The Morrígan stands taller, her chin up and out, refusing to bow her head to Nuadha. "Well, what do ya have to say for yaself?!" Nuadha yells one final time before falling quiet.
"My actions are my own and I have done everything up to this point to see us not only survive but thrive as well," The Morrígan says with uncompromising steel in her voice as she stands against the god she was kneeling to just a few moments ago. "If you and the rest of the Dé Danann had listened to me when I told you that I foresaw Rome's arrival, that they were not like their Greek counterparts, we wouldn't have been sealed for all these years. We would have thrived alongside them, but none of you listened to me, so my only regret is that I didn't do it sooner," The Morrígan answers back with a glare, her icy face melting into fury as the cavern begins to freeze over with black ice.
"And what? Give up our pride? To live subserviently to our Roman overlords?" Nuadha snaps back at her, heedless of the rage in The Morrígan's face.
"What did that pride get us!?" The Morrígan yells at Nuadha, her hands thrown about in rage sending waves of ice cascading about. "We lost! Our domains fell to disuse, our kingdom crumbled to ash and misremembered memory, and our thrones usurped! Do not speak to me about pride, uncle, when you were one of the last to be sealed and did so without a fight!" The Morrígan rages and causes Nuadha to scowl at her in anger as a hurt and tired look flashes in his eyes.
Nuadha sighs before taking a few steps back to sit down on the singing stone. "I was tired, Bás Álainn," he admits with a frown. "Tired of war, tired of all the death, just… tired," he says as he reaches up and pulls down his hood to reveal a bald head splattered with liver spots. "I could have fought them, maybe I could have won. But when they told me their plans, I felt like a nap would do my old bones some good," he admits with a shake of his head, his eyes full of bloody wisdom and melancholy.
The Morrígan let out her own sigh as she looked at Nuadha with the same sad eyes. "I know, Lord Nuadha. If any of us deserved the rest it was you, and I did not wake you just to argue with you," she says softly as she steps toward the old god. "Things are happening that I need you for, your wisdom and your sword arm," she says mournfully, her eyes shifting to Harry for just a moment before looking back at Nuadha. "Tá an namhaid ag filleadh," The Morrígan says to him.
The reaction was immediate, Nuadha's one good eye blazed with an inner fire that caused the Hunt to rage against the door even harder causing Harry to scream out in pain. The silver arm that had remained immobile the whole time the two gods spoke clenched as an inner light began to burn brightly in it as the old god's anger began to rise once more and his face twisted in rage.
"Well," Nuadha says, his voice strained from holding back his rage. "Why didn't you lead with that?" he asks while bearing his teeth at The Morrígan.
They left the cavern after that with Nuadha shambling behind The Morrígan and Harry, who was clutching his head in pain. The Morrígan had turned to him a few times with concern in her eyes but otherwise left Harry be as they walked back out into the cold and snow. The icy chill on Harry's forehead from the winds had him sighing in relief as it cooled his pounding headache. Harry had then walked over to a small snow drift before dropping to his knees and sticking his head into it like some arctic emu.
"Who's the brat?" Harry hears the Nuadha ask, scoffing, probably, at the sight of Harry sticking his whole head into a snowbank.
"His name is Harry Potter and he's the son of-" The Morrígan begins to tell him before Nuadha cuts her off.
"Artemis, ya I could tell," the old god says before he begins to limp his way over to where Harry is laying. "In all my days of seeing dumb fuckin children battle with the Blessing of the Hunt, I've got to say this is a new one, even to my old ass," Nuadha says as he stops at Harry's side to look down at him, tilting his head to the side before jabbing Harry in the ribs with his walking stick. "Oi, ya listening, ya brat?" Nuadha asks and the only answer that he gets from Harry is a groan. Nuadha rolls his single good eye before planting his walking stick into the snow, grabbing Harry by the back of his jacket and hauling him to his feet.
"Look at ya," Nuadha says as he pushes Harry back, "A wimpy-looking Greek shit stain, built like a twig and twice as fuckin dumb," Nuadha growls out as he pulls his walking stick out of the snow.
Harry scrambles back after being pulled from the drift and pushed. The throbbing headache pounding in his ears and just behind his eyes. "Fuck you," Harry snaps at Nuadha with a growl of his own.
"Ha! I see the Greek got bred true in you, boy," Nuadha says as he hobbles up to Harry. "But I love to break it to ya, but I ain't no boy fucker like your mommy's kin, brat," Nuadha says with a mean look on his face. "Fuckin pathetic is what ya are boy, at least none of my kids ever fell to the Hunt unlike Cernunnos's crotch goblins did. Then again, I cared a bit more about the spring of my loins than his deer fucking ass ever did," Nuadha says with a scowl and a scoff before swinging his cane and catching the side of Harry's knee making him fall to one knee.
"What about ya boy?" Nuadha asks as he walks around Harry. "Where's ya fucking manhood? Or did ya momma snip it off to make sure ya didn't stick it into any of her hunters, hmm?" the old god asks cruelly, and the Hunt finally breaks through the cupboard door with a roar. Harry spins as he stands and takes a swing at the old god intent on knocking him on his ass. Nuadha ducks the swing and steps under it before using the crux of his silver cane head to catch Harry's foot and pulling it out from under the boy who lived. With a loss of footing, Harry crashes into the ground again before turning over to see Nuadha raise his cane to strike him. Harry quickly kicks out, meeting the cane halfway and kicking it back before throwing his legs over his head and pushing off the ground with his hands to back-roll to his feet.
As Harry reaches into his jacket for Serpent-Hunter he hears the old god speak under his breath. "There it is," before Nuadha's eyes widened at the sight of the Swiss army knife extending into the Gaé Bulg. "I dteagmháil léi ag an mbás, you're fuckin kidding me, there is another one of you?" Nuadha yells in surprise before Harry charges at him with a roar, his spear aimed to take the old god's heart. Nuadha waits until Harry is right on him before swinging his cane and knocking the silver-red spear off its path before the light returns to Nuadha's silver arm. The arm that had barely moved since the Nuadha was freed now sprang to life and lashed out. It was faster than Harry could follow with his eyes, but quickly felt the hot metal wrap around his throat before hoisting him into the air. With a single flourish of his cane, Nuadha disarms Harry and knocks the Gaé Bulg into a nearby snowdrift before choke-slamming Harry into the ground.
As Harry tries to regain the wind that was knocked out of him, he feels Nuadha sit down on his chest, pinning him in place. "Fuck, I'm getting too old to deal with this shit," he mutters as he places both hands on top of his cane. He sighed before turning to Harry who was struggling to get the old god off of him, Nuadha reached down and smacked Harry upside the head. "Cut that shite out," he says, causing both Harry and the Hunt to stop rampaging.
"You're a damn fool boyo," Nuadha mutters to himself before scratching his chin. "You're trying to lock something up that is wild and free and thinking it will work but it won't," Nuadha says as he looks over the snowy hills and forests of Ireland while Harry stops struggling under him, taking long deep breaths. "The more ya try to lock it up, the more it will fight to free itself. You're trying to control something that can't be controlled. I don't know how that momma of yours teaches her hunters how to live with the blessing, but one doesn't control the Hunt, ya live with it," the old god says, his voice solemn and full of hard-earned wisdom once more.
"Think of it this way, we are the Hunt and the Hunt is us, a part of us. We need to learn to live with it as much as it lives within us," Nuadha says before turning to look down at Harry, glowing amber meeting slitted green. "So I leave you with a question to ponder. Would you, who are wild and free, like to be locked up?" he tells Harry who flinches at the old god's words and looks away.
"That's what I thought," Nuadha says before standing once more. He turns away from Harry, who begins to push himself up off the ground as Nuadha puts his silver arm back into his sling. "But I think that's enough wisdom for the day," the old god says before taking a deep breath. "Dagda! I know you're out and about, get your arse over here! Now!" Nuadha yells before slamming his cane into the ground and a crack echoes around the Isles and shakes it.
It doesn't take long before the cold air shimmers and takes the form of the massive smiling form of Dagda dressed in fine robes of green, silver, and brown. He takes one look at the older god before throwing his arms wide, "Brother! By Mother's sweet tits, you're finally free!" the larger-than-life man yells before running over to Nuadha.
Right when Dagda comes in range to scoop up Nuadha in a hug, the older god merely says "Man check," before swinging his cane right between Dagda's legs, causing the larger god to crash to the ground with a cry of pain. The sight causes both Harry and The Morrígan to flinch as Nuadha swiftly sidesteps the falling form of Dagda.
"Huh," Nuadha says before looking back over at the Morrígan. "I am honestly surprised that you let him keep them, woulda thought they've been brassed and hung on some mantle somewhere," He tells the Morrígan with a half laugh.
The Morrígan merely shrugs. "It's been close a few times," she says before looking over to Dagda still curled up on the ground with an amused look on her face. "Are you alright my love?" she asks with a hint of a smile on her lips.
With a high, squeaky voice Dagda whimpered back, "I can taste them."
"Oh, stop ya whinging, you little pussy whipped moron, I didn't even hit you that hard," Nuadha growls out before pulling the other god to his feet. "Now come on, you can walk off the pain as we go get Orgm and Lugh for a drink and you three chucklefucks can show me around the isles and what's changed," he says as the still limping Dagda throws an arm around the old god to help him stand.
Nuadha stops for a moment to look back at where The Morrígan stood. "And what about you, Bás Álainn?" he asks.
"I still have a few things to take care of, so mind me not, Lord Nuadha. I'm not about to stand in your way if you wish to go out for a drink," The Morrígan says as she folds her hands behind her back and a bored look upon her face.
"Hm," Nuadha grunts out before turning away from The Morrígan. "While I may still be angry with you lass with all your scheming and underhanded tactics, I know old Oberon would be damn proud of you," He says more softly like a grandfather talking to his child. The Morrígan's eyes widen a bit as she watches Nuadha and Dagda fade away into snow and mist as they walk away.
Saint Mungo's, Harry Potter, ten minutes later.
The Morrígan had waited for Harry to catch his breath and pick himself up from the cold snow before she had brought them back to Saint Mungo's with a relieved sigh. She once again looked mortal as they walked down the pale green and bone-white halls of the hospital. Her heels clicked against the floor as she and Harry dodged different doctors and random patients wandering the halls, Harry was limping slightly as he walked behind her and was sore from his short tussle with Nuadha.
Neither of them speaks as they get closer to the Dangerous Bite ward of the hospital, it is only when they are a hallway away does The Morrígan stop and face Harry. Her cold brown eyes travel up and down his form with a calculating look before she speaks. "There are a few more things I need to speak with you about before I leave you to your holidays, Harry," she says, her voice flat and tinged with uncertainty.
Harry frowns a bit at the tone of her voice and the way she was looking at him. "Okay? About what?" he asks as he raises a brow at her.
Talia Peverell flicks her hand and Harry hears a soft crack of magic as she sets up a small ward around them before holding out her hand. "I need you to understand a few things, but due to the very nature of the subject, I can not speak about it with mortals. So, I need you to pay attention to what's about to happen," she tells Harry who still feels confused by what she was talking about. He shivers as the air chills while a thin line of ichor from her palm twists and forms into a crude knife in her hand. It had no guard and looked to be made more out of stone than metal as the blade had small pieces chipped and flaked off to form the edge.
"This has been made out of nothing but my own power, understand?" Talia Peverell asks Harry, whose frown grows but nods his head not understanding where she is going with this.
Until, with incredible speed, she thrust the blade forward and planted it into his heart.
Harry feels the impact, feels the blade slide into his heart, and the tip scrapes against his spine. He looks from the blade now buried in his heart to the cold, uncaring eyes of Talia and he blinks in disbelief. Talia lets go of the blade as Harry stumbles back till he hits the wall behind him, the panic and horror beginning to build as his legs give out and he slides down the wall. Talia, The Morrígan, had killed him.
As horror and bile crawled up his throat, he couldn't feel the pain yet. But one cold, logical part of his mind thought that it made sense, she didn't need him any more. All the Dé Danann were freed, she had no more use for him. As soon as he was dead all she had to do was kill Atalanta and all foreign influence from her kingdom was gone, she could go on to kill Voldemort with ease and claim it all for herself.
This was it, the clock was up. Harry was going to die.
No. No. Nonononono! NO! He had just gotten free! He had just left it all behind! He had… he had…
Visions of Atalanta and Sirius, of Ron and Hermione, of his friends and family danced in his mind as the panic increased. Harry didn't want to die, he still had to find out what life was like past the cupboard.
Talia kneels in front of Harry, her eyes still hard and cold but her voice comes out soft and comforting. "Harry, I know you're freaking out a bit right now. But I need you to pull out the blade, you need to do it because you won't believe otherwise," she says softly, her voice like velvet.
"Fuck you, you fucking cunt!" Harry yells at her through his panic, summoning all the hate in him as he reaches for the tap in his mind. He had to get to a healer, they could fix this! They had to!
"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that considering the circumstances, but I need you to understand something, so pull the blade out," Talia says, her voice thick with desperation, a need, and want for Harry to listen to her. "Please," she says one more time.
Harry's breath comes out rapidly considering it before reaching up and grasping the handle of the dagger with both hands. If it was the last thing he was going to do he was going to plant the blade in the eye socket of the cunt before him. So, with shaking arms, Harry pulls the blade from his chest. He feels the jagged blade cut through his heart and carve along his breastbone, the tip leaving his spine until, after a long drawn-out minute of agony, he pulls the blade from his chest.
Harry pulls back the blade to slam it into the eye socket of Talia but faster than Harry could follow, she catches his wrist and holds it still. "Harry, stop! I know you are rightfully mad at the moment but check the wound!" she snaps at Harry as he growls and struggles to stab her.
"Please," Talia says, her cold look cracking for once with a wild look of desperation.
With one word and look, it stops Harry for a moment. Just long enough to realize something, he couldn't feel any pain. Harry blinked before looking down, and instead of sitting in a puddle of his own blood as he expected, there was nothing. With his free hand, he reaches for his chest, pressing a hand over where he was stabbed. He expected to feel the hot wetness of blood, but he didn't. He pulled his hand back expecting to see it stained with his life, but it was clean. In fact, other than a small hole in his shirt, there wasn't anything damaged.
"What the fuck?" Harry says breathlessly before looking back at Talia, who is now smiling at him.
"Think, Harry," she tells him. "You're dense, not dumb. Think. Why didn't a blade I made not kill you?" she asks, desperate for him to understand something she couldn't explain in words. "Think of the prophecy, the one between you and Tom Riddle," she whispers to him, and Harry blinks in surprise.
"One must die at the hand of the other-"
"You've experienced a prophecy, they are intense things that the gods can't interfere with-"
"I do not know if I can find them, due to the protection of fate-"
"Don't! The boy is protected by higher powers, you could cause a backlash!"
"-For neither can live, while the other survives,"
"You can't kill me because the prophecy said that only Voldemort can," Harry says, his eyes growing wide. All the close calls, all his brushes with death, but none ever stuck. He'd been hurt, sure, but he'd never even been close to dying, but that also meant…
"You can't kill Voldemort either," Harry says in shock, it was the reason why the monster survived the graveyard. She wasn't playing with him, waiting for the right time to turn the monster into a smear on the floor that would be the most entertaining to her. No, it's because she quite literally couldn't, because Voldemort had the same protections as him.
"Now you're getting it," Talia says with one of her heartbreaking smiles. "Trust me, if I could, I would go directly to where that little snake face cunt is and turn him into a greasy and chunky mess on the floor. But sadly I can't," She tells Harry as she stands to her full height. "And as much as I hate to admit it, I need you, Harry. More than just freeing the Dé Danann, more than being an advantageous peace on the board," she tells Harry in a soft voice, "I need you to be what you were born to be, a hunter, a killer, and more importantly, a hero," Talia says, her words and stern look reminding Harry of Anand in the graveyard as he fought the monster.
"You may not have been born to the Tuatha Dé Danann as you should have been," Talia says with a hint of remorse in her words as she looks down at Harry. "But Lolanthe blood runs in you, my blood still runs in you, no matter how thin that blood may be. You are still of the Isles, and you are our only hope for what is to come. And that I am on your side, eight out of ten times, I will always side with you," she tells Harry before extending her hand to help him up off the floor. "I am asking for your trust Harry, I am asking you to fight the battles that I can't, I'm asking you to be my champion in what's to come. Because you're the only one who can," Talia offers Harry, her hand still outstretched for him to take in some symbolic gesture.
Harry sits on the ground, his heart hammering in his chest from the panic from earlier. He turns her words over in his head before sighing. "Is this the price of saving Atalanta?" Harry asks her, but Talia does nothing but wiggle her fingers at him from her offered hand. Harry stares at it for a moment before sighing once more before reaching up and taking her hand.
Talia's smile seems to split her face as she helps Harry to his feet. "Good, this would have been much more difficult if I didn't have your help, and I'm sure you have questions about my plans-" she says before Harry cuts her off.
"You're going to usurp control of the Ministry and reinstate the Dé Danann as ruling heads before slowly introducing the Divine into magical society," Harry says flatly to Talia, whose mouth had fallen open at his words before letting go of Harry's hand.
"Well," Talia says, sounding a bit disappointed for a moment. "Suck all the fun out of it, why don't you," she says while shaking her head and crossing her arms with a small smile on her face.
Harry just shrugs. "I have a Hermione and a Ron," he says as if that explains everything. "And just because I'm agreeing to this doesn't mean I'm gonna go to your rap-Non-con cavern," Harry says, stopping his words before finishing it with a roll of his eyes.
Talia throws her hands in the air with a scoff. "Well kill my weekend too while you are at it!" she yells before Harry turns and begins to walk away.
"I have a girlfriend," he tells her and almost trips as Talia answers him back.
"You can bring her too, I never said you couldn't," Talia says from behind him, Harry intent on ignoring her words with a shake of his head continues to go find Sirius and Atalanta. "Stop," Talia calls out in a voice as distant sounding as it cold, freezing Harry midstep before he turns back to look at the Goddess in disguise. Her eyes were black and rapidly shifting left and right as if she was watching something Harry couldn't see just before her smile turned cruel, cold, and bloodthirsty.
"Looks like we've run into a bit of luck, Harry dear," Talia says as she walks up to Harry, her smile never wavering.
"What?" Harry asks before she shushes him.
"We don't have a lot of time, so listen. Do you have any way to turn invisible?" she asks him quickly, her eyes shifting to the closest intersection in the hallways.
"Um, y-yeah, I have a cloak, why?" Harry asks, sounding confused.
"Is it on you?" Talia asks, looking back at him but Harry just shakes his head. "Okay, that's fine. Listen, I'm about to cloak you in the mist, do not move or say a thing until it's time to act. And trust me you'll know when that is and what to do, just trust those instincts you have," She tells him quickly before guiding him to a spot that was a foot from the wall and close to her side. "Remember, don't move or act until it's time," Talia tells him quickly before snapping her fingers just above his head.
Harry felt a cold, sticky sensation spread across his skin like a static shock. It was an uncomfortable weird feeling to him that made him want nothing more than a hot shower. Talia turns from him and takes a few steps back before pulling out a pocket watch to check the time as she retakes those steps forward. Harry was wondering just what she was doing when he heard someone call out to her from the intersection.
"Lady Peverell?" it was a male voice, high and proper like most purebloods spoke. Harry turns and looks at the man who spoke to find an aging aristocrat in the waning years of his life. The color had bled out of his hair leaving nothing but a short cut of gray hair that was combed back to show off a receding hairline and a few spots on his milky white skin. His robes were a mixture of grays and dark reds and lined with gold that looked neatly pressed, expansive, and well-taken care of. Harry didn't know the man by looks, but as soon as the man turned to walk toward Talia, Harry knew his scent.
He was one of the men from the graveyard.
Talia looks up from her pocket watch with a picture-perfect look of surprise on her face. "Lord Carrow? My, what a surprise. What brings you to St. Mungo's?" she asks in a light and polite tone with a smile just starting to curl around her lips.
"My granddaughter had a bit of an accident while working on her holiday homework for her potion class, I was just visiting her," Lord Carrow says with a polite smile, coming to a stop, not three feet from Harry.
"Oh, the poor dear, I do hope she's alright?" Talia asks with a heartbroken expression on her face.
"She'll be fine, they already have the problem fixed up. They're just keeping her overnight for observations, that's all," Carrow says with a smile as he slips his hands into the pockets of his robe. "But what brings you here?" he asks politely.
"Oh, I was just checking up on Bode to see where his recovery is at. I've been a bit worried about the man after all that happened," Talia says politely and with a smile as she tucks her pocket watch and crosses her hands down the front of her dress.
"Ah, yes. Nasty business that," Carrow says with a sigh and a shake of his head before looking up and down the hall. "Speaking of business, have you given any thought to the offer Lucius and I brought to you?" Carrow asks before turning back to Talia with a grandfatherly smile.
"I have, yes," Talia answers simply with a smile.
"And?" Carrow asks with a raised brow.
"No, I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn it down," Talia says politely, but Harry could see her smile growing colder and more cruel.
"Now, Lady Peverell, surely you can see how the wind is changing. It won't be long until the pretender that sits on his throne will be dealt with, then the-" But that was as far as Carrow got before he noticed the change in Talia's demeanor. Her face had fallen to a flat and angry look with a fire burning within them as they slowly bled back to black.
"Allow me," Talia hisses in anger at Carrow before she quickly contains her anger as ice begins to creep across the walls of the hospital. "To be perfectly clear about this. I would sooner lick the floor of a privy that hasn't been cleaned in a year before I bow and scrape before the snake-faced twat that you call a master, Carrow," she says frostily before taking a single step back. "And before you even begin with the brain-rotting speech about being on the wrong side of history, allow me to share with you a bit of wisdom I learned from a Muggle: History is written by the victors, and I assure you, Carrow. I'll be the one penning it," she snaps at him with cold, hard, finality.
"A shame then," Carrow says with a sigh and a shake of his head looking down at his feet with a mournful look. "But I can't say I haven't been looking forward to this," he says as he looks back up with a smile before pulling his wand and pointing right between Talia's eyes. "Imperius!" he hisses softly in her face.
Talia just tilts her head as her smile grows. "I think you may need a… hand to do that against me," she says as she smirks at the now-shocked lord with the gobsmacked face.
And with a flash of a blade that glinted with gold, Lord Carrow's arm was severed from his body.
Harry Potter, December 26th, 6 pm.
Mangraus Carrow was arrested not an hour later for the attempted use of one of the unforgivable curses and sentenced to life in Azkaban not three days later during a closed trial that all heads of the ancient and noble houses attended. The best part of it all? Mangraus Carrow, under the influence of Veritaserum, admitted to the fact that Voldemort had returned.
Fudge and the Ministry immediately tried to bury the trail under a mountain of litigation and red tape. But it was more than enough as, according to Sirius, other than the death eaters in the Wizengamot, Fudge's power base was beginning to crumble underneath him. And it was no more evident than on Christmas day the Daily Prophet announced that Dumbledore was retaking his position as ambassador to the International Confederation of Wizards with speculation that he would retake the Chief Warlock position before the year was out.
And like that, the first blow of the war was struck and Voldemort was being forced from the shadows and into the light of day.
As the Order had celebrated on Christmas Day, Harry had sat back and laughed, one that echoed the laugh of The Morrígan after Harry had severed the arm of Carrow before she had banished him into a wall.
By the time news had been announced, Harry, Sirius, Dora, and Lupin had picked up Atalanta from St. Mungo's for the celebration that saw the whole Order other than Snape and Dumbledore at Grimmauld Place. As well, much to Harry's surprise, Theodore. He had come with Fúamnach to celebrate Christmas with the House of Black on Sirius' invitation, seeing that Theodore didn't have any family left other than his great-great, how many ever, great-grandmother. Who, while Harry wasn't looking, joined the Order of the Phoenix and went by her actual name.
Harry had even crossed paths with Talia once more when picking up Atalanta. She was laying into a nurse for not checking gifts for patients at the hospital more thoroughly. Apparently, while Talia was taking a potted plant to Bode, one the front desk had handed her, a Hogwarts student who was there with his grandmother had spotted it and told her it was a devil's snare.
Harry hung out with Theodore, Atalanta, and the Weasleys before getting letters from both Hermione and Delphini. Hermione was filled with holiday cheer and celebration over what was announced in the Prophet before explaining that she would be over on Boxing Day to stay for the rest of the holidays.
Delphini was also in good cheer and exclaimed she was happy that she decided to stay at Hogwarts over the break, not wanting to be a part of whatever was happening on the other side of the war. She wrote that she had missed him and he owed her something special for leaving her alone for so long. She had signed the letter off "With Love,"
And Harry had no idea what to do with the rolling and bubbling emotions in his chest that those words brought on.
So, he shoves it aside for now.
As Christmas day passed in celebration and cheer, Theodore left with Fúamnach back to his home for a meeting between the circles about what was happening on the Isles. He was hoping between him, Bones, and Teacher they could convince the others to start preparing for what was to come. It was long after that Hermione showed up and a whole new round of cheer and celebration began. The only sour spot was when Sirius had yelled at Kreacher to leave after the house elf was caught trying to break into Sirius' brother's room again. It had caused a surge of panic to shoot up Harry's spine, and Atalanta had punched Sirius in the chest over it.
But not even that could stop the happy tidings of the Yule season as just an hour later saw Sirius and Atalanta dancing in the living room to muggle music that had Hermione singing along with and Ron bobbing his head too.
It was then the oddest thing happened.
There was a knock at the front door.
The effects were immediate, wands were drawn, bows were notched, and golden spears were produced as Sirius, grim-faced, went to answer the door. Dora and Lupin stood in front of Ron, Harry, and Hermione as Atalanta stood behind them with her bow aimed at the opening of the living room. With spells on the tip of their tongues, they had waited as the Iron Maiden record played the last of its songs.
"Well," Harry hears just under the guitars and drums of the Powerslave album. "Are you just going to stand there gawking, or are you going to invite me in," it was a female voice and one Harry knew. He felt his jaw drop as he took a few steps forward as familiar footsteps echoed down the hall as the front door closed behind her.
She crossed into the living room with the same perpetually bored look on her face, but a fire of anticipation behind her amber eyes with her hair done up into a high ponytail. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her silver flight jacket with no bow in sight. Her eyes scan the room before landing on Harry and a small smile appears on her face.
"Hello, Harry," Artemis says softly as the record stops playing.
Chapter done!
And I would like to thank my editor, Politically Problematic Prose Pundit for editing it so quickly on little sleep.
But boy was the Nuadha fun to write, just a cranky old man who has some fight in him.
So, Yeah, Harry is officially The Morrígans champion and now understands that Voldemort's death is wholly up to him. Let's just hope the words of Nuadha sink in deep enough for Harry to learn, huh?
And the first blow of the war goes to the Good(?) Guys, depends on what you think of The Morrígan to be honest.
But Artemis has finally arrived for the Holidays! Let's see what trouble we can cook up with her around.
Kingsaxcul, out