Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Dark Gods In The Blood	By : Hayseed Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 3951 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
A/N: None for this
chapter

Summary: A waing ing
student comes home, a broken man pays his penance, and a gruesome murder is both
more and less than it seems. Some paths
to self-discovery have more twists and turns than others.

Rating: R, for
intermittent dark themes, violence, and language

Disclaimer: Nothing
you read here (save the plot and bits of the text itself) belongs to me. Harry Potter and his cronies are the
property of JK Rng ang and Warner Bros. (and someone else, probably, but not
me). All chapter headings are properly
credited to their sources.

< sty style='mso-tab-count:1'>

Dark Gods in the Blood

by: Hayseed (hayseed_42@hotmail.com)

Chapter One

And
at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank

low, and from glowing white changed to a dull
red without

rays and
without heat, as if about to go out suddenly ...

-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

The day that Harry
Potter was put into the ground was hatefully sunny and warm. Rays of sunlight sparkled through the
stained-glass windows of the Muggle church Harry�s Aunt Petunia had secured for
his final rites.

A casket glistened at the front of the church, blissfully
closed. No one really wanted to see
Harry�s face frozen in a death mask, no matter how peaceful. Surrounded with flowers, the coffin sat
carefully unwatched as the mourners kept their gazes firmly fixed on the Muggle
minister, speaking from the pulpit on �a life too short.� Only baby Alice Potter, completely oblivious
to the day�s events, showed any visible interest in the casket, straining in
hecle cle Ron�s arms tach ach out and touch the pretty flowers.

Alice was mostly quieted, however, by the stern look on her
mother�s face and the openly hostile one on her brother�s. Young Nicholas Potter had not spoken a word since
his father�s death and had only contemptuous looks for the rest of the
world. If everyone else hadn�t been so
listless with grief themselves, they might have worried.

Instead, he was simply permitted to burrow deeper into his
mother�s side. Fran�oise Potter** sat
stiffly in her pew, Nicholas on her left and Albus Dumbledore on her
right. Small and wan, she had been
nearly as taciturn as her son throughout the entire tragedy. Tears swam in her eyes throughout the
funeral service, but she did not allow herself to cry. Only later, when she knew that no one could
watch her and pity her grief, was Fran�oise planning to once more mourn the
loss of her beloved.

Ron Weasley, watching his friend�s widow closely, was
probably the only person in the church who noticed that she was leaning into
Albus Dumbledore�s side just as her son was leaning into hers. Dumbledore, steel and stoic, had been a
pillar to lean on for everyone affected by Harry Potter�s death. He had been the first to openly grieve,
allowing Harry�s family to see his tears.
It had been in Dumbledore�s gentle embrace that Fran�oise had begun to
cry on that first horrible night; the shared pain a comfort even through its
own dark haze.

And further down the pew sat a pale and oddly fragile
Petunia Dursley, clutching onto a lace-edged handkerchief as if it were her
sole lifeline. She was entirely focused
on the minister, a family friend who was probably surprised to hear of the
existence of her nephew, and Ron noticed that she was mouthing the same words
he was speaking.

Every now and again, her eyes flickered over the heavyset
man on her right and she gave him a nearly murderous stare. Each time, the man simply coughed
uncomfortably and tightened his already strangling necktie, his neck
threatening to roll over the sides of his collar in protest. Ron guessed this might be her son, the
infamous Dudley Dursley. While Harry
and his aunt had come to a fairly familial understanding through the years
(particularly once his Uncle Vernon had left his wife for a younger woman),
Harry and his cousin had remained firmly at odds throughout their lives. Dudley was probably only attending his
cousin�s funeral at his mother�s vehement insistence.

Alice snuffled in Ron�s arms and shifted again, trying to
get down. Absently, Ron pulled his
attention from the other mourners and concentrated on his adopted niece, making
soothing, clucking noises and smoothing down her light curls.

Harry Potter�s sun had practically risen and set on this one
little girl. He had loved both of his
children, certainly, but he and Alice had a particularly special bond. His little Looking-Glass girl, he�d called
her.

�What sort of adventures have you had today, little Alice?�
he would ask the toddler as he came home from work every day. �What wonderland have you visited?� Sweeping her up in his arms, he would join
in her laughter and listen to her babyish chatter with what Ron thought was cheerful
relish.

Ron made a mental note to track down that copy of Alice
In Wonderland that Harry had planned to give Alice when she was old enough
to read. He would add, of course, a
copy of Through the Looking Glass to the gift.

That�s what Harry would have wanted.

It was unfair, Ron thought sourly, suddenly. Harry should be the one to tease his
beloved daughter about her quixotic namesake.
Harry should have to struggle to braid her hair in just the way
she wanted it for her first day at Hogwarts.
Harry should be the one to loom menacingly over her first brave
beau.

But Harry was about to be placed into a very large hole in
the ground.

Tears prickled at Ron�s eyes. Little Alice, sensing his distress, finally stopped twisting in
his arms and settled into his embrace, patting his shoulder with her chubby
hand.

This, of course, proved to be his undoing, and he wept in
earnest. Quietly, unobtrusively, Ron
grieved for his dead friend and his children.
He caught Dumbledore�s eye and accepted the man�s complacent nod,
tightening his arms around Alice.

He also caught Nicholas� unabashed scowl and frowned through
his tears. Harry�s death had turned his
son into a withdrawn ghost of the bright child he used to be. Unfortunately, Nicholas, who permitted the
diminutive �Nick� only from his deceased father, was, at the age of seven,
certainly old enough to know what had happened. To be affected by the severity of it all. Ron hoped fervently that Nicholas hadn�t
managed to catch a glimpse of his father�s body in the chaotic aftermath of his
death.

Fran�oise had been at the market with the children and, upon
returning home, she�d found Harry. In
the ensuing panic of baffled Aurors unable to detect a hint of Dark magic, of a
calmly furious Albus Dumbledore whisking the remaining Potters to Hogwarts,
even of Ron himself, standing disconsolately over his best friend and wondering
what he could do, it was entirely possible that Nicholas� eyes hadn�t
been completely shielded.

And how could Ron go about asking the child that
question? Ron, who still couldn�t sleep
at night for those horrible images flashing through his mind�s eye, ask a
little boy if he had the same problem?

Maybe, if Nicholas had indeed witnessed the undisguised
horror of the scene, the memories would dull with time. Maybe the boy might even be ato bto bring
himself to speak again. To smile. Anything but that cold look of hatred on his
face.

Ron told himself this fervently, hoping it would prove true
for himself as well. Hoping that,
indeed, the seething trauma of Harry�s death might recede to a dull ache. It would never fade completely, of course,
but it might become bearable.

He was startled from his musings as the organ struck up some
Muggle hymn that he did not recognize.
Apparently, the service was over.

Handing Alice over to Dumbledore, Ron rose and approached
Harry�s coffin for the first time that day, joined by a solemn Neville
Longbottom, now far thinner than his chubby youth would have ever predicted, an
earnestly tearful Remus Lupin, hair now completely white, despite his mere
fifty years, and a recalcitrant Dudley Dursley, propelled to the coffin by his
mother�s harsh glare.

Ron shook hands with the other three men, struggling to
recall what he�d been told of this bizarre Muggle ritual. They were, according to tradition, supposed
to carry Harry to his grave. What were
they called? Pall-something.

Oh, yes. He had it
now.

Pallbearers.

Death�s escorts.

Shuddering, Ron picked up one of the coffin�s handles,
wincing as a fumbling Dudley Dursley managed to drop his. It landed against the wood with a dull thud
that caused most of the mourners to jump.
Alice let out a quiet, startled cry and Dumbledore pulled her closer.

Slowly, Ron and Neville and Lupin and Dursley bore Harry�s
body out of the church, feet shuffling and eyes lowered. Once at the entrance, Ron pulled a small,
empty tin can out of his pocket and sat it on the ground.

�On the count of three,� he told the men, helping them sit
the coffin on the ground near the can.
�I�ll Apparate after you lot with the ... with Harry.�

�On the count of three what?� Dursley asked irritably.

Ron glared at the man.
�Touch the can. It�s a ... never
mind.� There was no point in explaining
the magic to Dursley. �One ... two ...
three!�

Watching dispassionately as the men Portkeyed to the
cemetery, Ron placed a hand on the lid of Harry�s coffin a few seconds later
and Disapparated, taking his best friend with him.

-- --
-- -- --

�Harry Potter was, of course, many things,� Albus Dumbledore
said quietly. �He was above all things,
a loving husband and father,� with a gentle nod toward Fran�oise, who was now
cradling Alice in her arms, �a loyal friend,� to Ron, who had not been able to
bring himself to remove his hand from Harry�s coffin since he�d Apparated, �and
a good man.�

A rustle ran through the small group of mourners, but
everyone remained silent and rapt with attention.

�I would feel disloyal toward Harry�s name if I dwelt on his
childhood achievements,� Dumbledore continued, �but I would feel equally
disloyal if I let them pass without mention.
I was present at Harry Potter�s birth -- I helped to bring him into this
world. I knew him as a young man, full
of life and what has been termed on more than one occasion as �stupidly
brave.�� He allowed himself a wry smile
and even Ron�s lips twisted at that -- a comment that could have only come from
the waspish Professor Snape at some point during their school years.

�Harry Potter had been saddled, nearly from birth, with a
task that no one should have asked of him.
And yet, through everything, he persevered,� he said evenly. �Indeed, every person here today owes their
lives to this quiet, gentle boy. But
when anyone tried to bring this up, Harry would, of course, just smile and
shake his head, wanting to speak of happier times.� Again, Dumbledore smiled faintly. �I am sorry,� he said heavily, �I am sorry that we can now only
know Harry Potter through memory, that his children will grow up only being
told of how wonderful he was, but I can never be sorry that Harry Potter
touched our lives and I know that Harry, if he could, would prefer us to
consider that. We should not consider
Harry Potter �a life too short;� rather, a life that we are grateful was lived,
even in small measure.�

Abruptly, then, Dumbledore was silent, head bowed over
Harry�s headstone.

Harry
James Potter

July 31 1980 -- July 29 2012

The
brightest flame in the darkness

Silent tears coursed down the cheeks of nearly everyone
present. Even angry Nicholas wept
fiercely, scrubbing at his cheeks and making quiet whimpering noises.

�Love you, mate,� Ron whispered to Harry, cold in his
coffin, giving the casket one last parting slap before backing away to stand
next to Fran�oise. A warm breeze kissed
their cheeks as baby Alice struggled to get out of her mother�s arms to explore
the grass around her father�s grave.
Fran�oise simply clutched the protesting toddler closer, tears wetting
her fine curls.

A few mourners approached the casket hesitantly, flowers or
other tokens in their hands. Petunia
Dursley bore a single white lily, bursting into loud, braying sobs at the sight
of it resting on her nephew�s coffin.
Dudley made a single abortive attempt to turn his mother away, but she
rounded on him fiercely.

�Don�t you touch me!� she shouted. �One of my beautiful boys is dead and the other one is glad!�

Dursley recoiled, trembling hand hanging forlornly in the
air. �Mum,� he whispered, an agony that
even Ron could sense contorting his pudgy features. �Mum, I�m not ...�

�Don�t be a hypocrite, Dudley,� Petunia said, more tired now
than angry. She swiped at a few of her
tears with that same delicate handkerchief she�d been holding all
afternoon. �You remind me of your father.� But she finally allowed him to silently lead
her away from the coffin, toward a car parked a few yards away.

Ron let out an unconscious sigh of relief as Harry�s Muggle
relatives drove away. Petunia would be by
Fran�oise�s house within a few days, certainly, but through the years, Ron had
realized that Petunia was much more bearable outside the company of her
abrasive son.

And now, the wizarding community bid its final goodbye to
Harry Potter, once the Boy Who Lived.

From somewhere within his uncharacteristically black robes,
Dumbledore pulled out a wand that Ron immediately recognized as Harry�s. With a single unhesitant gesture, he snapped
it over his right knee and Fran�oise let out a keening cry. Apologetically, Dumbledore laid Harry�s wand
on the casket, speaking a few words that Ron did not catch.

Finally, Fran�oise allowed Alice to escape the prison of her
arms and the toddler immediately made a beeline for the coffin, patting the
wood, finish sparkling in the sunlight, with a little hand. �Pretty,� Alice said. �Shiny, pretty.�

That was all it took for Fran�oise to lose her composure
entirely, despite her earlier resolve, sagging against Ron and sobbing into his
chest. He wrapped his arms around her
and allowed a few tears to escape his own eyes, sliding unnoticed into her
hair.

Only a few moments passed, however, before Ron felt a warm
hand on his shoulder. Lng ung up from
Fran�oise�s head, he met Dumbledore�s sad, old eyes.

�Come, Fran�oise,� Dumbledore said softly. �You need to tell Harry goodbye.� Leading a still sniffling Fran�oise over to
Harry�s coffin, currently unsurrounded by mourners, Ron swore he saw the stolid
Dumbledore�s step falter once or twice as they neared their goal.

Not knowing what exactly to do with his hands, Ron shoved
them in his pockets and contented himself by keeping an eye on the Potter
children. Nicholas was currently in the
middle of a circle of adults,eraterating their sympathies with his
now-characteristic silence and the usual scowl mercifully not present. Alice was still beside her father�s casket,
pulling petals off of a daisy that had fallen to the ground and chattering to
herself happily.

Ron wondered idly who would have sent daisies to the funeral
of Harry Potter.

�Weasley,� a quiet, aristocratic voice said from somewhere
behind him.

Spinning around, Ron�s face immediately settled into the
same sort of scowl he�d been seeing Nicholas Potter sporting lately. �Malfoy?� he asked, half incredulous and
half furious, �what the hell are you doing here? This is a private affair!�

Draco Malfoy looked relatively unconcerned with Ron�s
statement and met his eye evenly. �I
came to pay my respects, Weasley.�

�Respects,� Ron scoffed.

�Yes, Weasley, respects,� Malfoy echoed, taking a
step closer. �Believe it or not, I had
-- have -- respect for Harry Potter.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Dark Gods In The Blood