Chapter 8 - Light and Dark
An unfamiliar click, followed by a clack of something metal being placed on a table. The scratching sound of his father rubbing a hand over his yet unshaven face. A deep sigh. "I never wanted to touch these ever again", Charlus Potter's voice pierced through the bliss of unconsciousness.
A murmured spell swiftly followed by the soft clinks of glass being placed in cushioned crates followed by the ruffling of his mother's dress as she moved to embrace her husband.
"Do you know why you are the most irresistible man in the world, husband?", Dorea Potter asked idly as she cupped Charlus' cheek with her hand. He stared down at her with haunted eyes.
"It is because you are the most dangerous man I have ever met", Dorea Potter neé Black's gray eyes glinted with just a hint of madness mixed in with her smoldering gaze, "Every step you take is one of carefully controlled violence. Even when you swooped to my rescue at Hogwarts from the hands of Macmillan and his cronies, you had that swagger of a boy who was unafraid of killing each and every person in the room. Despite being outnumbered by upper-classmen, whose families were far more powerful than your own, you arrived like an avenging angel and you broke them. All without drawing a wand! I'll never forget walking out of attempted rape, arm and arm with my grinning savior".
James swallowed as his mother gently kissed his father, unmindful of her slowly waking son and uncaring of the chill of death still lingering on her husband's lips. Though the despair in his father's eyes seemed to begin to lift.
"I hardly think that saving a damsel in distress washes all the blood from my hands", Charlus responded, taking in his wife's face with the fervor of a saint at worship. Dorea smiled as life began to return to her beloved's eyes and she took his hands in hers.
"These hands are capable of the greatest of violence. Indeed they are soaked in the blood of your countless foes", she traced the lines and calluses on his palms, the many scars on Charlus' hands. James was glad his eyes were still closed and he was feigning sleep, because the sight of his parents 'ogling' each other was sure to make him vomit. She placed Charlus' hands on her own cheeks.
"But when you touch me and our son, these bloody hands of death are; gentle, kind, and warm. It makes me so incredibly WET", Dorea said and James had to fight the embarrassed blush from getting to his face, 'Mother magic, please make it end!'. His silent pleas were ignored as her mother continued.
"It makes me the most powerful woman in the world, to be your wife. I do not fear you Charlus. Despite your capacity for violence, you are the best of men. Do not be afraid of yourself and your infinite capacity to do harm, husband. Do not fear the pact you have renewed. Do not fear the fight ahead, because I will be right there with you. I will wash the blood away when we are done", Dorea Potter spoke the words with the finality of a martyr marching to her doom.
Life and fire relit in Charlus' eyes and he heatedly returned her fervor, pressing her up onto the desk in his study and smashing his lips to hers.
James wished he was dead. At least then he wouldn't have to listen to this tripe.
After a few agonizing seconds they separated and his mother continued to speak, "You are a good man, husband, and you will do your duty as a Lord Protector of the realm to the utmost of your ability". The heat in Charlus' gaze rapidly hardened to resolve and he nodded seriously. The Lady Potter placed a kiss on the corner of her husband's lips as she swept off the desk and resumed packing, the smoldering eyes of her husband never leaving her form.
"James. Stop cringing, it's perfectly healthy for husband and wife to be in love and to express it. Frequently and with ardour", Dorea snapped as James nearly jumped out of his skin. She whipped her wand towards another set of alchemical ingredients, and placed them in a crate.
"Now finish packing dear. I can polish your wand later", James' father gazed at his wife as if she placed the stars in the sky and shook his head with a bemused smile before returning to his own work.
James opened his eyes fully and sat up on the red upholstered couch in his father's study, trying to hold back his blush and exaggerated gagging. He loved his parents, but Merlin they were too much sometimes. The room looked oddly empty, weir light and the roaring hearth at the back of the room banished the darkness of predawn.
Every book, tome, and scroll was missing from the shelves lining the right wall, presumably packed away by a frantic Mipsy, who was now busy placing white sheets over furniture in the rest of the manor.
The hunting trophies of his father and ancestors lining the walls had similarly been covered in white sheets. The two sets of runic armor usually standing proud in the corners of the room missing from their posts.
His father was busy fiddling with one of his muggle firearms that he had taken from the hidden vault behind the painting of his grandparents, who whispered frantically in their portrait.
The desk was covered with the rest of his father's personal collection; a Lee-Enfield SMLE Mk III rifle, a Bren Mk I LMG, and the huge Boys anti-tank rifle. Father finished his inspection of his Enfield Mk I revolver with a satisfied nod, loaded the handgun with a speed loader, and holstered it on his left hip.
James stared at his parents, finally overcoming the discomfort of witnessing their displays of affection. The numbness of witnessing his father's death and resurrection still weighing on him.
The pair continued to work, his father inspecting his arms with practiced ease of long use while his mother went about moving enough ammunition for a regiment going to war, out of the vault and into a nondescript leather satchel. She would at random pick out a round from one of the spelled wooden containers and inspect them, quickly eyeing the infinitesimally small runic matrices engraved on each bullet and searching for flaws.
"James", his mother's voice startled him from his despondent staring. He eyed his parents wearily remembering the horrifying ritual he had just witnessed.
"Father is a Warlock", James said quietly, watching his mother intently.
"I know", she replied softly, watching her son in turn. The anger roiling under the surface since witnessing his father's sick actions rose to the surface with a vengeance. James' face contorted into a furious snarl and he shot out of his seat.
What James saw as his gilded life of the child of the greatest heroes of the light, was extinguished in two words. His parents were no better than the Wizards they killed in Grindlewald's war. The words of headmaster Dumbledore ringing in his head, 'The ends do not justify the means'.
According to his studies, modern magicals are usually classified in three ways. Wizardry, the study of the weave of magic throughout the cosmos and the magical core, what makes a creature magical. A wizard, "or witch!" James ignored the voice of Lily intruding on his inner thoughts, uses their magical core to induce a reaction with the greater weave of magic. This reaction between the magical core and the weave of magic in the world is what creates magical effects. Thus all the wand waving, botched Latin, and rituals. James could imagine Remus' eye roll at his quick mental summary of the higher mysteries of the arcane.
Sorcerers are those with unique bloodline abilities; metamorphmagus, parseltongues, and most elemental or spell affinities fall under this category. Often these magical abilities are inborn traits, unique magical effects driven by the magical core of the person in question, without any input or reaction from the weave of magic throughout the world.
James' thoughts immediately turned to Sirius, heart clenching at his missing brother in all but blood. Sirius was strange, but his ease with much of his spell work could not be explained by rigorous tutors and training. Sirius put no effort into studying magic, yet never had a problem bending the world to his will. His wand work was quick, but often slightly off, an extra twist, a shorter jab, a longer flick, all of which should make his spells fall apart before they fully manifested, but they never did…
Lastly, Warlocks borrow magic from another being, this magic bolsters the magical capacity of a magical's core and bestows onto them other magical abilities similar to sorcerers. These boons always come with a cost depending on the being a warlock makes a pact with. Dark tales and legends speak of demons demanding souls, Ancient Dragon's riches, Fae keeping names. Usually the power combined with the magical compulsion to uphold their pact, drives a Warlock mad. Destroyed kingdoms, plagues, famine, and war usually follow a Warlock's steps into the the depths of depravity.
Historically the worst Dark Lords of all time were all three; wizard, sorcerer, and warlock. Many Dark Lords only fell to darkness after making their pact.
After living his life striving to live up to the ideals and expectations that came with having heroes for parents, James was disgusted to find that they were not the paragon's of the Light he thought they were. He even had gotten into fights with fellow Griffindors who had mocked his mother's background, born a cold blooded Black who seduced his father, spurning countless other Light witches. Yet little did they all know, his father was never a Light wizard. It seems Lord Charlus Potter had hidden his darkness, even from his son.
James began to march out of the room, betrayal for his parents' lies and father's dark ritual burning painfully in his gut. But as he reached for the doorknob his mother continued to speak.
"You are a miracle child. A gift your father and I have cherished since your first breath. After so long hoping and praying for the chance at even having a child of our own", James paused at the doorway, "Why are you running from us James?".
"Father's evil", Charlus' shoulders stiffened as he disassembled the rifle, his hand moving mechanically as he bore the weight of his son's disappointment. Dorea's eyes hardened in steely anger.
"What makes you say that?", she replied evenly.
"He's a Warlock! Borrowing strength from that abomination in the crypt! It was blood magic! He killed himself in that ritual, h-he DIED!", James exclaimed, voice breaking as anger turned to pain as he remembered his father slitting his own throat.
Lady Potter sighed and cautiously stepped towards her son, as if any sudden movement would scare him away. James stood fighting back tears and trying to calm the maelstrom of emotion in his chest. Eventually Dorea embraced the wrathful boy.
"I'm sorry we failed to teach you", his mother nearly warbled as James stood stiffly in her arms, "My brave boy, charging ahead without a fear in the world. Fighting for your beliefs, you make your father and I so proud. Why do you say rituals, blood magic, and pacts are evil?". James pushed out of his mothers arms slightly so he could look her in the eye.
"Because blood magics and rituals are dangerous and illegal! The formation of a pact gives power, true, but that thing in the crypts will use father for her own ends as much as he uses her! Father has damned his soul and magic by forging such a pact, the world, our bloodline, and our family, will suffer for it!", James said with heated conviction. Dorea shook her head sadly and placed a hand on James' cheek.
"Who lied to you? Who's words are you speaking? Who lied to my son?", the heat behind his mother's words startled James out of his own rising anger. Dorea clicked her tongue at his befuddled look and hugged her son once again.
"Oh my sweet child. All magic is unnatural. By your reasoning magicals around the globe should have been burned at the stake long ago. Blood magics and rituals have been declared Dark and illegal by the ministry due to the cost of their casting. Overuse and misuse of both, have caused more strife and death than any other branches of magic. I would know, the Blacks have plenty of examples of Lords and Ladies of the Dark", the Lady Potter lectured calmly. She began to lead her uncertain son back to the couch. Charlus continued the examination of his arms. Inspecting the runic engravings on the wood of his rifle.
"You're angry because your father isn't what our culture defines as 'Light'", his mother stated. "Yes… No- I… You're supposed to be heroes… not… this", James croaked as he tried to master his roiling emotions.
"Tell me what is a 'Light' wizard then?", Dorea asked. James opened his mouth to answer, but his eyebrows wrinkled in confusion as he tried to form a response to his mother's seemingly random question. His mother waited patiently for him to respond.
"A-a 'Light' wizard does not use Dark Magic…", James began to respond only to find his own words severely lacking anything of substance. He could practically hear Lily and Remus scolding him while Sirius and Peter would be chuckling at 'Perfect Potter's' less than perfect answer. The Lord and Lady Potter exchanged a glance with each other. It seems they had not been fulfilling their own obligations in training the next heir Potter.
"In my experience, the classification of 'Light' and 'Dark' is political", Charlus broke the silence. James glanced at him, face blank of expression. Dorea gave her husband an encouraging nod.
"Son, magic is magic. It all has a cost. Whether you cast a cleaning charm or a fiend fire, your magical core or gathered offerings for the spell ignition is where the power comes from. Much of what the ministry has declared as 'Dark' are spells and rituals that they deem the cost or effect immoral for its casting, with too great of side effects for the caster, or much too powerful to be controlled after casting. Fiendfire is an example of the latter, an elemental conjuring that resulted in the great fire of London in 1666", Charlus began lecturing his son.
"Politically, the Potters are considered a 'Light' house because of our stance on muggle rights, muggle-born rights, magical creature rights, and the number of tyrannical 'Dark' Lords we have overthrown or killed throughout our history", the Lord Potter explained as he disassembled the Lee-Enfield rifle and examined it's mechanisms.
"Us Potters have risen to the occasion and fought for King and Country every time we are called. We are patriots, and many of the 'Dark' faction hate us for it", the Lord Potter finished his inspection and turned to his son, giving James his full attention. James nodded slowly as he weighed his father's words.
"Yet the 'Light' is also very weary of us Potters. We are quite distanced from other houses, and it is not all due to a choice of our own", Charlus said seriously.
"I thought that we kept our distance from other houses because of Mother?", James asked hesitantly, remembering some of the fights he had started at Hogwarts. Dorea rolled her eyes and sat back on the couch muttering angrily about jealous harlots and sore losers while his father chuckled softly.
"Partially. Your mother and I's marriage was not a popular decision for many of the magical nobility. The 'Dark' wanted the last true Lady of Black for one of their own, and the 'Light' wanted me!", Charlus said with a fond smile at his wife's antics.
"No, we are distrusted by the 'Light' because we are dangerous. The Potters have never adhered to the ministry's views on illegal magics, and we have never feared fighting tyrants with all our magical capabilities," the Lord Potter said.
"The Potters have been fighting in wars since our House first began, using everything in our arsenal to kill our adversaries. This paired with the distance we keep with the rest of the Wizarding community makes many weary of us. Well aside from the Longbottoms, they love us for it!", Lord Potter said with a snort. Even James' lip quirked thinking of his friend Frank Longbottom. A memory drifted to the forefront of his mind.
"Frank! He told me something along those lines my first year at Hogwarts. He stumbled into Sirius and I getting into a spat with that prat Malphoy and his cronies. He grabbed us by the ears and pulled us away before magic was cast… I asked him how he always knew when we were getting into fights. He said: 'Just remember James, where a Potter goes a Longbottom follows. Mostly cause that's where the best fights will be!'", James told the story with some mirth. His mother rolled her eyes fondly at yet another escapade of her son.
"It's true," his father said with a grin, "Algie and Richard fought at my side during the War. Harfang had to practically be restrained from following us to the continent! Longbottoms love a good scrap, especially if there's honor in winning the fight. The house of Longbottom usually ends up following a Potter into battle, they trust us to know if the cause is just, and know that we fight to win".
"We fight to win?", James asked. He could see how that would make many weary of his family.
"Yes son. We fight to win", the Lord Potter gestured to his weapons, "All humans fear what can harm them, and our legacy is one built in blood. If a man casts the killing curse at you, son, you do not reply with a stunner. That's a good way to end up dead. Only the most arrogant of men dare to walk through life believing they cannot be killed and giving mercy to their enemies".
"But headmaster Dum—", James began but was quickly interrupted by his mother.
"Damn the Headmaster! Dumbledore is the most arrogant man to have ever walked the Isles! If his head wasn't so far up his own arse he just might be able to see how much harm his ideologies have caused the world!", Dorea sneered. James tried to jump to the headmaster's defense but was silenced by his mother's glare.
"James, if someone is trying to kill you, kill them before they have the chance to! Use whatever is necessary, magic or otherwise", Dorea ordered. James' face whitened.
"The world is not a place without consequences. It is not like school. You only have one life James. Protect it. No matter what all the other hoity toity bastards of the Wizarding world tell you, giving mercy to those who wish you harm only gives them a chance to do it again", James swallowed hard at his fathers stern tone.
"The 'Dark' will hate you if you stand up to injustice, the 'Light' will disdain you if your hands are covered in blood, both will fear you if you are powerful enough to protect yourself and your loved ones. Dark or Light doesn't matter. Stop looking for affirmation from those who only want to control you son", the Lord Potter's words shook James to his core.
Why did he care what everyone thought about him? Why did everyone seem to dislike his family? Why do they sneer at him and Sirius behind their back, even when they are kind enough to protect them from bullies? Why did Dumbledore insist that James only use non-lethal spells even when Malphoy and his ilk slung deadly curses at them? Why were they never punished?
"Now, that being said, I agree that Dark Magic should be avoided. If you are going to kill something, don't draw it out. The blood freezing curse, the signature spell of your Aunt Cassiopeia, is what I would call a Dark Magic spell. A variation of the blood cooling charm used by healers globally to keep feverous patients from dying. The Blood freezing curse is deadly. Ice crystals rapidly form in the blood causing tears in the capillaries, hypothermia, and aneurysms. Tricky to spot, let alone shield against, and insidious in the 5-10 minute long immensely painful death sentence. Your mother is the only healer to have ever successfully saved a victim from her clutches. Yet the curse is so malignant, that the spell damage to internal tissues cannot be magically mended", James paled at the mention of his Aunt Cassiopeia, the right hand of Grindlewald and thought through his parents speech.
"James", his father took a knee in front of his son, looking him in the eyes, "If I was cornered in a fight and you or your mother were in danger, I would not hesitate to use that spell to gain the upper hand".
James tried to hold his father's stare, but found the love and surety in his eyes too heavy and dropped his head.
It made sense in a morbid way. Though it hurt to find his father so willing to kill others, if it was in defense of family, he could understand. James tried to place himself in his father's shoes. If it was between casting a Dark spell and saving Sirius or Lily he would do so in a heartbeat.
James thought of the ministry, the 'Light' and 'Dark', of fights at school, of so dearly wishing to be accepted by his peers. Though he was popular, James only had four he considered friends. He thought of fighting, of right and wrong. He thought of death.
His father stood up and began packing away his weapons in the leather satchel while his mother called Mipsy, asking what all tasks had been completed. After a few minutes of digesting all that had been said, James had a question.
"Who is the Badb?", James asked quietly. His parents stilled at the words, and even Mipsy froze mid-sentence. "That crow. That thing in the crypt you made a pact with. What are they?", the room seemed to dim in shadow at his mere asking.
The Lord Potter finished packing his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"She is known by many names, son. That crow was one of her… personalities one might say, the Badb. She is the Morrígna, the Queen of phantoms, a Arch Fae Queen of Old", as Charlus turned to his son, shivers went down James' spine, and he couldn't tell if he was in the waking world or still in a nightmare.
Over his father's shoulder a dark spector embraced the Lord Potter from behind as a mother or lover would.
"These days most call her Death".
Hello hello again. Someone needed to get Potter's head out of his arse before he gets himself killed for his lip. His parents try there best, but all young men think themselves immortal so who knows what will come of it.
Happy early Halloween Ladies and Gents