Harry Potter, the Grand Ruler Chapter 1
Hello everybody! It is I, Iskander Mandoraekon!
I do not own Harry Potter, Fate/Grand Order or High School DxD. If I did, do you think I'd be here writing fanfiction instead of rolling in a shit-ton of money or when I could be spending all my time and energy drawing and writing the next chapter of the manga? No, those belong solely to the geniuses J.K. Rowling (who is awesome and no one crying about gender rights can change my mind), Ichiei Ishibumi and Kinoko Nasu.
-The Underworld, Headquarters of the Grigori; 1733-
Sacred Gears.
God's Artifacts, creations bestowed upon humans by the Biblical God himself, in order to bring forth more miracles on the planet. They could possess a great variety of effects and abilities, and they were numerous in general. Some were highly common, many of them could exist at a single time, and some were less so, but others were so rare that only one copy of the Sacred Gear could exist at any given time.
Yet, some Sacred Gears were never meant to exist.
"The ability to take the soul of a great warrior of the past, and create a physical body for them with all of their equipment, skills, and memories… at the cost of the body being fueled by the energy of the summoner." A tall, kimono-wearing man said, twelve black feathered wings hanging from his back. He seemed visibly frustrated as he held his hand out and placed it against the book. "I studied the Fuyuki Grail extensively. So why can't I seem to get this to work. I summon thee Saber! Archer!"
There was a great glow after each title was called, but nothing happened, even as the jeweled bracer he wore on his wrist glowed. The man fell to his knees, panting from the Sacred Gear rejecting his energy in a strong backlash.
"Another failure…?" He asked as he looked down at the Artificial Sacred Gear. No. It was a success. He'd felt the Gear latch onto his energy and the artifact was as functional as one of Jehovah's original Sacred Gears. Perhaps it was he himself that was lacking the needed component…?
"What do you think I am missing, Shemhazai?" Azazel asked as he regained his breath and stood back up to look over at a white-haired young man with a similar number of black wings to him.
With a sigh of exasperation, Shemhazai looked up from the floating book held before him with a curious glance.
"Seriously Azazel?" At Azazel's nod, the fallen angel made his way over from the desk he'd been working at to look down at the bracer. "Your Sacred Gear project…? I thought you'd trashed it after you couldn't make heads or tails of the Heroic Spirit Summon Ritual that you stole from the Magus Association."
"I did." Azazel nodded in agreement. The ritual he'd obtained from the Association a couple years ago had been extremely difficult to decipher and he'd actually given up a year ago. "But then I was hit with inspiration and managed to figure it out. Unlike the original ritual which is enacted by Gaea herself to summon "humanity's strongest seven Heroic Spirits," or Grand Servants, to fight against "a single powerful enemy," such as Apocalyptic Beasts. Whoever the user of this little device turns out to be, will have the ability to summon a hero of the past into a select container. Once they have summoned somebody for a class, that person will be their only spirit for that class. Say I summoned… Little David when I had called out the title Archer, whenever I said Archer I would summon Goliath's slayer and only him."
Azazel directed a look of displeasure down at his Sacred Gear, he'd thought he'd managed to figure out what the problem was, but ended up with a new one. It worked. But it wouldn't summon anything for him.
Which was really annoying. Because while he'd met many of Humanity's heroes in the past, he hadn't met them all. He was ancient. But he couldn't be everywhere at once. Not even his late father could do that despite the claims of the Church and Angels. And this Gear was supposed to be his key to talking with all of those heroes and spirits he hadn't had a chance to meet, in order to study their knowledge in greater detail.
That was the whole reason he stole the Heroic Spirit Summoning Ritual held in the depths of Albion's catacombs.
"Perhaps you've made it too much like Father's Sacred Gears…" A tall black-haired man said offhandedly as he strode to the desk Shemhazai had been at prior from the door, having heard the tail end of Azazel's explanation. "Father made the Sacred Gears specifically for Humanity. To protect themselves from the Devils and other Pantheons that would take advantage of them."
"Baraqiel…?" Azazel muttered, staring at the newcomer for a moment in shocked stupor before he struck himself upside the head. "How is it that the idiot of our little group was able to see the problem, but I couldn't?!"
To his credit, Baraqiel didn't look insulted by Azazel's words. The divine lightning user knew where he stood intelligence-wise compared to his friends.
"As a purely supernatural being, my energy isn't suited for it…!" Azazel exclaimed just before he struck his forehead again. "I need a Human to test this out… but…"
"But…?" Shemhazai asked with a cocked eyebrow.
"I can't exactly trust this to just any human." The Governor-General of the Grigori sighed as he ran his hand through his mismatched hair. "I may be a Fallen Angel, but that doesn't mean I want some psychopath rampaging around the world unleashing Humanity's heroes on the unsuspecting masses. Not to mention that the other Pantheons might retaliate against us if I do so."
"Why not seek out one of your descendants?" Baraqiel offered as he started working on a report, his purple eyes looking from the parchment to his old friend. "I'm sure there are plenty of your Nephilim kids and their descendants running about, surely there is one with good character amongst them."
Azazel grinned at his friend's recommendation. Baraqiel was on a roll today.
Shemhazai came to the same conclusion and was starting to stare at the lightning user with a suspicious gaze. Once was a coincidence, but Bara was usually not this smart…
"Azaz-" Shemhazai began as he turned back around, only for him to take note that Azazel was no longer standing behind him and he blinked when he noticed a note fluttering down towards the ground.
I'm headed to the Human world for a little bit. Be back soon!
-Somewhere in the Atlantic, Aboard The Emerald Star; 1733-
Flann Ó hÉigceartaigh liked to think of himself as a simple man. A merchant sailor that had worked his way up from a simple cabin boy born and raised on the streets of Dublin to commanding his own ship in the East India Trading Company. He lived a simple life of ferrying goods from one side of the ocean to the other, bringing much needed supplies to the Colonies and their payoff back to England, while sometimes engaging in a bit of piracy on the way to or from whenever the need kicked in.
It's not like he was pirating his own nation's ships. He wouldn't be tried in England if a few Spanish and French ships disappeared on the ocean.
Besides… it doesn't really count as piracy too much when most of those fights were started by the other side…
To say nothing of the haul he sometimes took from pirates that were bold enough to attack his vessel.
Of course, Flann had a completely different secret that was hidden from everybody world round with the exception of his pops, and whatever runts he might have with his future bride.
"Flann Ó hÉigceartaigh, my descendant."
It was the fact that he was the great-grandson of the Fallen Angel Azazel.
Definitely couldn't let that secret out given how much influence the Catholic Church had over Europe.
Uptight twats…
"Honorable Ancestor!" Flann jumped from his seat behind the desk of his cabin and quickly knelt before his ancestor and the hÉigceartaigh family's link to the supernatural. "How might I be of service?"
"Now, now. None of that kiddo." Azazel smirked as he waved for the redhead to stand up, before his blue eyes swept around the ship's cabin. "You've done well for yourself given England's not so stellar opinion on Irishmen."
"Aye…" Flann nodded in agreement as he stood. "The road has been long and hard, but the East India Trading Company has given me many opportunities. Might I ask why you're here, honorable ancestor?"
"Ah yes!" Azazel snapped his fingers, acting like he was remembering the purpose of his visit, though Flann wasn't fooled given the interactions he's had with many a shady governor or merchant that had tried to fleece him out of his fair pay. The fallen angel snapped his fingers and a bracer made of a greenish metal appeared in the man's hand in a flash of light. Ten gems adorned its surface, each of varying colors, but all oval in shape. "This is a recent creation of mine, Orsedd Arwyr."
Flann frowned. Hero's something. His Welsh was rather rusty given he didn't trade with that part of England all that much, he'd have to ask his Quartermaster Mr. Maddocks later.
"I thought I'd give it a little Welsh spin given I got the idea from a ritual I pilfered from Albion's tomb." Azazel admitted after noting the confusion on the Irishman's face. "It means Heroes Throne and it is capable of summoning the spirits of ancient heroes, either in recent history or ancient history, to aid the summoner. It is the first of its kind. An Artificial Sacred Gear!"
Flann blinked in utter surprise. While connected to the supernatural world through his ancestor, the captain hadn't had too much dealings with that side of the world. But even he knew of the Sacred Gears wielded by Humanity as gifts from the Christian God. He kind of had to after an unfortunate encounter with the most recent Red Dragon host saw his previous commander blown out of the sea when he was still a mere bosun's mate. "A Sacred Gear…? Like the Red and White Dragons? When you say artificial…?"
"Aye." The Angel beamed proudly as he looked at the Sacred Gear like a proud father. "I have finally cracked the formula for how my Father crafted his masterpieces! Unfortunately…" His smile turned into a frown that moment and Flann cocked an eyebrow.
"Unfortunately…?"
"Haha…" Azazel scratched the back of his head and looked over at his descendant. "I may have managed to craft a Sacred Gear that is completely all my own, but I used too much of my Father's system and it is unusable by anyone that does not possess Human lineage. I, of course, tried, but it ended up causing a backlash. That brings me to the purpose of my visit, Flanny boy."
"You want me to try on your Sacred Gear…?" Flann's eyes widened. This was an honor.
"Aye. I cannot trust a simple Human I've never met to not rampage with this gear and cause retaliation against the Grigori by the Pantheons or the Devils and Angels." Azazel said as he looked down at his masterpiece. "But then, I thought to myself that I do have several descendants still living. And among them, despite your acts of occasional piracy, you are among the most honorable."
"What of my Arabian cousin, Ikram?" Flann asked with a cocked eyebrow, if anybody he knew amongst Azazel's descendants was honorable. It was him. "I know him to be a good sort."
"Ikram was a possibility." Azazel nodded in agreement, his descendant from that Arabian princess he'd bedded over a century ago was a very honorable man, a white sheep amongst his fellow countrymen. "However, Ikram is currently the holder of the Dimension Lost Longinus and as such cannot take another Sacred Gear."
"Ah."
"Now. If you would kindly take this." Azazel said as he held out the artificial sacred gear to the man. "Don't worry about any problems. Despite not being able to summon any heroes myself, I made sure there weren't any bugs or other problems."
Taking faith in the black-winged man's words, Flann took the bracer from his ancestor and with a moment's hesitation after shucking off his captain's coat and rolling up his sleeve, the Irishman bound the sacred gear to his right wrist. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the bracer, Flann looked up at Azazel. "Is it supposed to do something?"
"Ah!" Azazel jumped slightly, clearly having forgotten something. He pulled out a sheaf of parchment and handed it to the man. "Say these lines. I shortened it from the original ritual I took inspiration from. Then choose one of the Classes I wrote down beneath it."
Flann pilfered his reading glasses from his coat pocket and held up the sheaf of parchment, thinking through the list before nodding to himself. He could always do with a new helmsman. Mr. Connington had been embellishing from their paydays a bit too much in the past year. "Heed my call. My will crafts your body. And your sword creates my destiny. If you heed Orsedd Arwyr's call, then obey my will and reason, then answer my summoning! I summon thee Rider!"
There was a flash of searing light before the two men, causing them to cover their eyes. When the spots vanished from behind their eyelids, ancestor and descendant opened their eyes once again, it was to find a huge, bulky man with iron coloured hair and ice blue eyes standing before them, and if Flann were to be honest, at least two heads over his own. The newcomer was adorned in pelts of gray and black furs that looked to have come from bears and his legs were covered in pants that seemed to be made of sheep's wool. Every inch of his exposed body, and Flann imagined beneath his clothes, was covered in rock-hard muscles that stood out starkly beneath the man's pale flesh. Strapped to his hips were a pair of large dane axes.
Azazel whistled at the sight of the newcomer. "Well I'll be damned again… That's Ragnar Lodbrok."
'The Viking!?'
"...The language of the Saxons…?" Ragnar/Rider commented as his icy blue gaze swept between Azazel and Flann. "But different. It has a new taste compared to the tongue I'm used to." He blinked again as information filled his head, this time in astonishment and excitement. "A thousand years!? It's been a thousand years!? I see then," He looked over at Flann with new eyes. "My designation is Rider. You must be the Master who summoned me, right?"
The bracer vanished in particles of light that were absorbed into Flann's flesh. "It's gone!" The man called out in surprise.
"No kiddo," Azazel said with a pleased smile as he witnessed his great work doing as it was designed. "It's not gone, it has just bound itself to your soul now, and it will stay with you until you choose to pass it on."
The Irishman nodded, before he held his arm up, and the bracer appeared again. "... Not to sound rude, because I'm sure you're a strong Servant." Flann said as he looked between Ragnar and Azazel. "But can I summon another Rider?"
He didn't want to sound rude or anything, but having the man that caused the great century-and-a-half of Viking invasion of England, Ireland and France as his Servant made him a mite uncomfortable.
"It doesn't work like that…" Azazel said as he patted his descendant on the shoulder. He understood the man's dilemma because of the damage the Vikings caused to England in their rampages a thousand years ago, Odin still got a good laugh every now and then by rubbing it in the faces of the Church that his followers had thrown down the Church's supposed superior armies all across Northern Europe. "The Sacred Gear matches the Servant that best fits you, and binds the two of you together. You can summon Servants from a different class, but the only Rider Servant you will ever summon is him."
"Don't worry about it, Master." Rider raised a hand in understanding as he too caught on to what was making his Master uncomfortable, he'd technically been the enemy of his Master's ancestors, even if he'd never actually been to the Emerald Isle. "I won't be doing any fancy rampages or leading Viking hordes anytime soon. I'm just rather curious about this new time that I've found myself in. Just don't expect me to convert to the Church or anything, my gods are the Aesir and that shall not change."
"Amazing. Simply amazing." Azazel clapped his hands giddily as he witnessed his Sacred Gear working, for the next hour, he filled his descendant in on the particulars of Servants and what he needed to know about them. While they talked Ragnar transformed into blue energy that Azazel explained as Spirit form to Flann and faded away like he was never there to explore the ship until they reached port and Flann could come up with a good reason for why the muscle-bound Viking was aboard when he hadn't departed London with them.
Thankfully they were only about a week or so from their destination.
-London, hÉigceartaigh home; 1758-
"Oh, my sweet child…" Flann croaked out as he lay on his sickbed in London two decades later, the now old man of sixty-three beckoning for his granddaughter to approach his bed. "Come here little one… I've got a gift for you… One that was given to me many years ago by a wise and powerful man."
His granddaughter was a small girl with the burning red hair of the Irish. She was the youngest of his grandchildren and often a spoiled brat that was a total sucker for her beloved grandfather. She was one of the few members of his family who had the potential energy to command Orsedd Arwyr, and one that he was sure wouldn't abuse it like he feared his eldest son would, and now that Flann was dying, he was finally able to pass on his Sacred Gear.
It had served Flann well over the years, and it was time to pass it onto the next generation.
His granddaughter, Aislinn Nic hÉigceartaigh.
"Grandfather?" Aislinn warbled in turn, her green eyes flooded with tears as she stood by her favorite grandparent's bedside.
Flann coughed into his hand and summoned the Sacred Gear that Azazel had given him a quarter of a century prior, and the bracer appeared on his wrist as if it had not aged a day. The gems symbolizing Rider, Archer and Assassin were lit up while the others remained dark. Flann had never been able to summon more than three Servants, he just didn't have the magical energy to do so.
Ragnar Lothbrok, his first Servant and mighty First Mate. William Tell, the famous Swiss bowman that once shot an apple off his son's head. And finally, the infamous bandit of China, Yan Qing.
All invaluable members of his crew, and men Flann could say had become his greatest friends and allies in his life.
Flann gently and slowly pulled the bracer from his wrist, watching as the gems darkened once again, smiling as he heard the farewells of his longtime companions that hadn't been able to materialize for some time as the bonds broke, and he shakingly placed it in Aislinn's hands knowing that removing the Gear from his body would quickly see his condition deteriorate. That alone wasn't enough to transfer it though, he smiled down at the girl, no longer able to speak. With his hand, he shakily tapped an aged sheaf of parchment on the bedside table.
The girl picked up the parchment and read through it before looking over at her expectant grandfather in surprise, the man all but willing himself to resist his final moments as dark spots appeared in his vision so he could see his little girl's first Servant. Sniffing, she spoke. "Heed my call. My will crafts your body. And your sword creates my destiny. If you heed Orsedd Arwyr's call, then obey my will and reason, then answer my summoning! I summon thee… Archer!"
Flann smiled as the bright light of a Servant summoning filled the room, and he saw a tan-skinned man appear adorned in a crimson mantle and an almost Greek-style armor, his white hair swept backwards and his gray eyes seemed almost confused as they took in their new surroundings. Almost like he expected to be summoned, but this wasn't where or who he expected to be summoned by. Flann didn't recognize the man from any tales he'd looked into since getting the Sacred Gear, but he could tell he was powerful, even if not on the level of raw strength Ragnar possessed.
The newcomer seemed to get his bearings after a couple minutes and smiled at the girl, "I ask of thee, art thou my Master?"
"Who are you?" Aislinn asked as she stared with wide eyes at her first Servant. The eleven-year-old awestruck at what her grandfather had given her.
"I suppose there is no harm in telling you since I don't detect the energies of the usual Grail War…" The man said as he scratched his head and looked over at the dying old man, somehow coming to the knowledge that this man was behind his summoning. "My name is Shirou Emiya. Though you can address me as simply Archer."
Flann smiled at his granddaughter as she began bombarding Archer with questions. 'Shirou Emiya… I don't recognize the name… sounds similar to the Orient… but I am happy… he will be a fine Servant for Aislinn…'
With his last sight being the beaming smile of his granddaughter, Flann Ó hÉigceartaigh passed away peacefully, his Sacred Gear successfully inherited and his legacy secured under the protection of heroes.
-Undisclosed location; Two-Hundred and Twenty-two Years Later-
"Lily! Get Harry out of here!" James screamed as the redhead bolted from the room while her husband moved to try to stall the Dark Lord breaking through the wards. She knew it was futile, James didn't have his wand.
How did this happen!? How had Voldemort found them!? The Fidelius she'd cast only a few weeks ago was supposed to protect them, to keep them hidden from the Death Eaters!
Peter must have been captured and tortured for information! And knowing the cowardly man's disposition, he wouldn't have lasted long under the Cruciatus curse.
As she moved to grab her baby boy from his crib, Lily saw the flash of green in the corner of her vision through the door and tears fell down her face as she heard the telltale thud of a body hitting the floor. James was dead.
Lily looked down at the curious face of her baby, her little Harry and felt despair well up inside her. They weren't going to be able to escape. Suddenly, a flash of inspiration filled her as she looked at her right wrist, remembering what dwelled just beneath the surface of her flesh. "I will only have seconds…"
Making up her mind as she heard the stairs creak under a person's weight, Lily willed for the Sacred Gear that had been part of her family for the past two and a half centuries to appear, the bracer appearing on her wrist with the gems for Lancer, Rider, Caster, Berserker and Assassin glowing.
Her Servants were too far away, helping fight Dumbledore's war to be able to reach her in time. She could almost hear their cries of despair across their mental links as she began removing the bracer from her arm, her little Jack's the loudest, immediately feeling her body weaken as the first successful work of Azazel detached itself from her soul for the first time in ten years since her grandmother, Violet O'Reilly gave the Sacred Gear to her.
Her tears increased as she felt the bonds between her and her Servants snap as the Gear left her body.
Poor little Jack, so eager to be a big sister for little Harry…
She didn't want to die, especially so young… but her desire to not let her baby boy die was so much stronger.
"I'm sorry I won't be around to see you grow up, Harry." Lily said as her breath became pants from the strain of removing the Sacred Gear and she pressed the large bracer against Harry's much smaller left arm, watching as it sank into his body. "My sweet baby boy. You should have grown up in a world without the shadow of Voldemort hanging over you, but I know you will grow strong. I may die here today, but know that you will have a grand family with you always in whatever hero you summon…"
The door exploded open behind her and Lily stood shakily, turning to put herself between her son and the madman that would see the magical and mundane world's burn for his ego. Baleful green eyes glared into red as she refused to stand aside so the bastard could murder her baby.
A second flash of light filled the house and Lily's body dropped to the floor like a puppet's strings had been cut.
The last thing Dark Lord Voldemort would see before his body was obliterated was turning his wand onto the last Potter and a flash of golden light as the Sacred Gear Lily just implanted in her son rejected the Killing Curse that tried to disrupt its bonding process to the latest of its hosts, leaving only a lightning bolt-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.
Hey everyone! The next chapter I post will be 'Is it wrong to find Heroes in the Dungeon?'. I am just putting the finishing touches on it, so expect it in the next two to three days.
I got this idea from Mad Raptor Fanfiction's 'Naruto the Master of Summons' fanfiction story which is a mix between Naruto, High School DxD and Fate. While this story will also have elements of the latter two series in this story, it will not be a copy. This is a story showing a What-If? where Harry is raised by Heroic Spirits and what would happen to a world if a sorcerer of his caliber were introduced to it.
I don't want to spoil too much, so I'll stop talking here.
Thank you for your time, and I hope that you enjoyed the chapter.
Iskander Mandoraekon signing off, Ja Ne.