Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Blood From Whence He Came	By : Ladygreychaton Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 17519 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter, characters, rights to, any books, movies, songs, poems or references made. Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling, this is just for fun, with no intentions of profit.

Chapter List
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[[Do not own Harry Potter, characters, rights to, any books, movies, songs, poems or references made. Several hints to Harry Potter books, but again belong to J.K. Rowling. Any further things belong to their original owners, aside from original characters. Used with no intention of profit!
Quotes from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Pottermore, Wikia, hints at other books/movies, or other things I may have forgotten, none of them belong to me! ]]
(( My apologies for the delay on this chapter. I haven't forgotten this, nor lost the flow. Actually, I had a death in the family, a parent with a stroke, and a visit to the hospital for myself. I'm very very sick. So no, even though I now have two stories up, I am not intentionally behind. I'll get to posting when I can, sorry guys!))

Growing up with parents was a strange experience this time around, Harry decided. Rather, Hardwin, he ought to remember to call himself that. But two parents, both of which were exceedingly fond of him, well... that alone was a novel experience for him. There had been Mrs. Weasley of course, or Remus, and even Sirius as adult figures. From time to time, he'd had Dumbledore to guide him, and he had a feeling the old Headmaster had been quite soft on him. Even Snape had watched out for him, in his own bitter and cold way. He'd certainly made enough attempts to protect his life, despite hating his father. But two loving parents of his own, ones that he didn't have to share, ones that knew him from birth and clung to his every breath, watching his every step? Now that was a new experience. Shocked and awed, it was touching in a way the old soul that lived inside the child could not explain.
And wasn't that another thing. Not only did he have two parents, but this time around, he was living in a purely magical household. Both of his parents were purebloods, and wouldn't be surprised at early magic, nor punish him for it. They seemed to embrace it, and revel that their infant showed such promise, celebrating even when things were broken in a fit of emotional accidental magic. They also had two house elves in their employ, though young Hardwin had yet to see them treated poorly. Rather, it was more like they were regarded dismissively, as though they were objects that did a task poorly or pleasingly. It wasn't what Hermione would have liked, he knew, but it was hardly cruel. The house elves seemed to take it in stride, considering their motto was often, 'never seen, never heard, that is the way of the house elf'.
Charlus Potter was an eccentric man, he loved pureblood society and magic in itself. He had made great strides in Potion-making and was featured in Drafts, Draughts & Potions Journal, which was highly thought of by most of the Potion Guild and Upper Class Society. He also dabbled in creating his own Defensive spells, especially crafted from Transfiguration and Runes, and had been known to be quite the Duelist back in his earlier years. Yes, he was well-thought of, and did exceedingly well for his family. He made a great deal of money off his endeavors, adding to the personal vault and amassing their wealth, tripling it.
Dorea Potter née Black was an elegant woman, and often invited to many parties of the year. As she was a Potter and a Black, it mattered little which affiliated soiree she went to. She seemed to carry very little of the Black inherent madness, but all of their beauty. Dorea was also known to be the top of her class for Charms and preform the most complex spell with barely a flick of her wrist, where it was vanishing objects or animate them, which required a bit of high level of Transfiguration knowledge as well. Everyone knew not to mess with a Black as well, for no matter how tame or beautiful they appeared, they were still deadly and still a Black. Their curses, hexes, jinxes and spells were considered something to be very wary of. Even if you were family.
But to Hardwin (formerly Harry), they were his family. His mother would sing quietly, her lovely face smiling gently at him. It wasn't a large, ear-splitting grin. It was soft, small. Just for him, and him alone. She'd hold him close, rocking him in her lap, and sing a lullaby about magic and wonder, until his eyes slid closed, petting his soft black curls. A house elf would usually place him in his bed, where he'd sleep soundly, aware that he was loved.
His father was amusing. He had long hair similar to how Lucius Malfoy had worn his, and Hardwin had learned it was something of a tradition. Sirius had worn his hair long, Hardwin remembered. Would his... Would James have grown his hair out, he often wondered? But his father, Charlus, looked nothing like Lucius. He'd often sit at the kitchen table, a few loose strands of hair escaping his carefully plaited locks, a ribbon securing it in the back. His mother would gripe at him, teasingly calling him a hooligan while he read Potion's Journals and books at the table, leaning over his breakfast and trying not to spill expensive black tea on his elegant robes. Mother often used a quick spell to 'straighten him out' when they had company, adding a stinging hex to his behind in reprisal. Charlus took it all in stride, and it was fairly routine in the Potter household.
Hardwin noted they were a bit less open with the public, closed off as it were. His mother especially. She had a gentle face, but it was shuttered with a polite veneer, a gloss they couldn't reach beyond. She was a princess in a high tower, and no matter how high they reached, they'd never find her. But that suited him just fine, because at home, she was as sweet as can be with Father and himself. Perhaps others just didn't understand women like his mother, he thought to himself. In a way, she reminded him a bit of Andromeda, Teddy's grandmother, or even Narcissa, Draco's mother. He supposed that made sense, since both women were Blacks, like his own mother was now. Thankfully, his mother didn't seem as stiff as Narcissa had been when he'd first met her, Hardwin recalled.
Wasn't it strange, growing up with memories not your own that truly were your own, Hardwin decided. It was like being you, but another you. Sometimes he almost felt like there were two of himself. A small child playing at home, and an old man, watching wistfully and waiting for him to grow old enough to accept him. It was a strang experience. His parents were often awed when he knew things or caught on quickly. Speaking early, and rather elegantly. The adult-him seemed to chalk it up to being well-read, but the child-him was often frustrated with the praise. It often meant he had to work harder, and they expected more from him.
In high class society, you were often taught how to stand, how to walk. How to dress, and how to dance. Harry was also tutored in Latin and French, and though he did rather well in Latin, he was barely passable in French. His tutors were surprised he could make casual informal conversation, but seemed stumped at going further. Adult-him was reminded of his sister-in-law, the French Veela who often taught him small sentences now and then, along with her children. The child-him was angry that he couldn't get past what appeared to be another block.
Hardwin did fairly well in certain dances, accordingly. He was actually fairly good form in the waltz, minuet, and even the fox trot. The tango he was passable at, but that could be attritibuted to his age or size, and it was considered to be quite the risky dance for one so young. Best to teach them early, though, one considered. Hardwin's teachers attempted to show him the proper form of the passepied, but he felt quite silly doing the prancing sort of dance. But the Blacks had many ties to French Court and Ministry, so Hardwin learned.
The young boy was often dragged along to a Summer Soiree, and had even snuck from the children's room to watch his parents dance together. While he was aware they loved each other dearly, it was quite another to see it. They rarely showed affection in public, but one such night Hardwin witnessed his parents shining on the dance floor. Charlus had called out gaily for the orchestra to, "Play la volta!" amidst gasps and giggling from the crowd. Women had hid their smiles behind fans, and husbands had leered at their wives. Dorea had dipped her head, bowing to her husband with a coy smile that lit her eyes in a way that reserved for her beloved family alone. Charlus looked dashing as a curl escaped his ribbon once more, bowing before his wife and kissed his knuckles, blowing her a kiss. The two began to dance, kicking toes in the air like ballet dancers. Expensive robes and skirts swirling, as they circled nearer to each other to the marching beat of the music. Finally they reached each other and his father took his mother in his arms, spinning her. His hands at her waist, raising her up high. Again and again, she tipped her head back as though she were flying. Hardwin decided they were beautiful together, and he would very much like a love like that. This world was certainly worth protecting. Purebloods may not show love openly, but they loved deeply.
Hardwin poured himself into his studies, trying to be the perfect heir. He wanted to please his family dearly. His father and mother had never had room to complain, but when he had no family in his former life, he often felt lonely. Hardwin wanted desperately to please them, and felt a bit like an overachiever to that end. He often visited his family on both sides, though he found that the Blacks were sometimes as mad as they were in the future, some were rather fascinating.
He'd been there when young Sirius had been born, actually. Hardwin was four when Sirius Black had followed sweetly into the world, and became a Black. Walpurga Black was a hard woman, but Hardwin intended to soften her up a bit, and Orion Black was a father with an heir, but a father in love with his boy. He didn't seem intent on disliking anything about him, but he also didn't seem the type on overruling his wife.
Black get-togethers were interesting. Extended families meant that Hardwin met Narcissa Black, who was born the same year as he. She seemed rather reserved, but gradually warmed to him. His elder cousin, Bellatrix was not as insane as she had been in the future. She was four when he was born, and seemed incredibly fond of him. Perhaps it was because he looked like a Black, or did his best to uphold the family motto and bring them all together, but she was a bit of a mother hen around him. Really, Hardwin found it strange that Bella was so kind to him. She had a fiery personality, but was protective to her family. Blacks first. The youngest of the siblings was Andromeda, and she was a bit more timid, something that suited Hardwin fine. They would often read in the Black library together, offered treats or biscuits by Kreacher the house elf.
Hardwin learned the Pagan holidays, and spent them with numerous relatives. They still exchanged gifts and in fact he found he had more holidays and it had more meaning than before. The Potters joined the Blacks for Yule especially, and Hardwin learned to listen to magic of the earth. He learned about Beltane, Mabon, Midsummer, Samhain and various other celebrations that were honoured during the passing of the seasons or moon. It was humbling, something he would have liked to share with a woman with bushy hair and sharp wit, but her face and voice often faded in out. Hardwin liked to think she would have enjoyed them, just the same.
Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had been a doting Aunt and Uncle for some time, but Hardwin could see the pain in their eyes when they looked at him. Occasionally, the young boy would pat his Aunt's hand and tell her, "It'll be your turn soon, don't worry." She'd laugh, thinking he was just a young child, saying sweet words, and hug him tightly. It was another nice change, to have an Aunt and Uncle that were kind to him. She was getting older, and doubted they could have children. But one day the news came that she was expecting, as Hardwin knew it would. He smiled widely, and gently touched her belly, telling her softly, "He'll make a fine heir, your son. Just don't spoil him too much, okay? Love, guidance, but not a big head. You'll call him James."
It soon passed in the family, between the Blacks and the Potters that the young Hardwin Potter had a bit of Seer in him. When James Potter was born March 27, 1960, a healthy strong boy, just as predicted, they began to look into things. How had Hardwin known Latin or French? How had he passed so easily into certain dances? When questioned on the topic, the five year old had loftily shrugged and replied that, "Sometimes I simply know things. Can you please pass the pumpkin juice?" And so it became known, though the Blacks and Potters tried to squash the news, convinced that someone would try and use his gift for their personal gain.
Seers were not common in the family lines, but magical gifts were always cherished and considered a boon. A sign that someone was talented, and came from good magical stock. When Harry later predicted that Walpurga was having another boy, shortly after James was born, and dubbed this one 'Regulus', the Blacks waited with baited breath. They wanted proof, they wanted to see if they really had a seer in their family. So when Walpurga gave birth quietly to another son, Orion nodded, and announced that here was 'Regulus Arcturus Black just as expected'. The Blacks had their proof.
Hardwin was doing something Death had wanted him to, in a way. He was getting close to his family. He was ensuring the Black and Potter loyalty. As a seer, whether a true seer or not, if he told them something was going to happen now, they would be more likely to listen. This was important for the future, adult-him knew. It would allow child-him to grow in blissful peace for just a little longer, to soak up time in this era, and wait for a time when he was needed. For now, he only had vague feelings and memories. Intrusions of things that swept upon his consciousness, leaving him feeling aware in a way that he couldn't possibly be. As he often thought, it was as though another him were watching, an older him, reclining and watching his life in the distance. Waiting. Only making memories and thoughts known when necessary. Hardwin often wondered if he would catch sight of the other-him if he turned fast enough, perhaps out of the corner of his eye. But no matter how fast he moved, he never caught 'him'.
Being the eldest of his cousins also held an advantage when it came to playdates, Hardwin found. James adored him, the toddler trailing after him. Sirius and James were inseparable much earlier this time around, as the Potters and Blacks were interlocked very closely much earlier, and so Sirius too would trail after the elder boy. Both showed signs of magic, to which their families were overjoyed, as it meant more magical blood to continue the lines. Regulus was young, and seemed to catch his mother's attention a bit more than Sirius did. Hardwin did his best to remind his cousin (called Aunt for propriety's sake) that her heir needed love as well as minding, reminding her that his own mother had been a Black and look how well he was turning out. The stern woman seemed intent to think on it, and often softened a bit around Sirius, which was a start. Hardwin hoped there would be little favortism in that house. He had a strange feeling that there had been at one time, a stifling feeling that had lead to Sirius running away. When he mentioned it to Uncle Orion, he had turned pale and vowed in all seriousness to look after both boys.
Everything seemed calm, and Hardwin was content. He had a family, and life was good. It was difficult to adjust to the countless hours of etiquette lessons, dancing and speech tutoring. Never before had he realized there were so many ways to greet someone, or a certain way to walk! But he wouldn't trade his new life in, no. He mingled with Longbottoms, Prewetts, Malfoys, with Rosiers, Blacks and Potters. His schedule was full, but most of all he was happy. That was why it came as such as surprise when the seven year old was asleep in his bed, in the west wing of his manor, only to woken by the sound of rasping.
'You seem quite happy, Champion Mine,' grated the Voice, like glass over gravel.
Hardwin's eyes widened and instantly a flood of recollection flooded his veins like ice. He was aware in a way he hadn't been, and instincts had him reaching for a wand that did not lay beside him.
Death chuckled, and a weight moved to sit on the end of his bed, and he felt it give. The depression of the mattress made the hairs on the back of his neck rise, aware that somehow this entity had crossed over and was here in his room. He wanted to look, but the child in him firmly refused.
'If you feel safer,' Death remarked casually, as though Hardwin's heart were not beating out of his chest. 'You can call for My wand. It will come to you, you know. All of My items will. They are yours, claimed by your Victory, My Champion. So if you feel the need to arm yourself, I will not feel offended.'
Hardwin swallowed, tasting something acidic and bitter in his mouth. Somehow it was different this time around, facing Death. He had a family, people he wanted to be around. He didn't want to leave them alone. He wasn't worried about dying, no, he was worried about what they would do without him.
Carefully, he wet his dry lips and sucked in a breath, aware of how loud it sounded in the still room. "Do... How do I summon the Elder Wand?" Hardwin asked quietly, a glimpse of a memory flashing before his eyes. Eyes that had once been green that were now a dark gray, spiraled with jade with each flash of impression. A wand, long with gnarls like beads of power every few inches. A wand of power that killed the owners. Something that lay buried with an old man, long forgotten in a tomb, broken for good, he had hoped.
The sound of teeth scraping over bone, perhaps it passed as a laugh, for it ended in choking. 'Think of how it felt in your hands, My Conqueror. Feel for it. See it, and want it. It is yours, and nothing can keep it from you, no spell known to man or beast can separate you two unless I wish it. All of My items are yours, should you need of them. The Cloak, The Stone, and The Wand...'
Hardwin closed his eyes and recalled the way the Elder wand had felt in his hand. The way it had whispered, sang to him. It was a heady feeling, one he could easily imagine being swept under. He had used it just once, to repair his old Pheonix Feather wand. He remembered it's curiosity, the way it thrummed as though in thought when he preformed the spell. Childishly, intelligently it was almost questioning him. Why heal a broken wand when he had the most powerful wand in his hand? Why did he want his old wand when he had the all powerful Death Stick? He recalled the song it sang to him, how it tormented him to return, to take it back. How he had denied it, convinced that it was just a dream and that it couldn't be real. The Elder wand's power was broken, the Ressurection stone was trampled in the forest, and the Cloak of Invisiblity was passed on as a normal cloak, without any extraordinary abilities.
His hands felt heavy, the left suddenly curled around a hard stone. It felt warm to the touch, strangely. His right hand was wrapped about a long knobbed wand, and knew instantly that the Elder had answered his thoughts. Strangely, he felt his back weighed down beneath the covers and a flash of insight made him aware that the cloak had likely followed as well. Hardwin's small seven year old body didn't seem to fit the cloak anymore, and he sighed, listening to the laugher from the foot of the bed.
"Why have they come? Why have you come?" Hardwin whispered cautiously, once more feeling old. The child had retreated, unable to handle this oppressive feeling that was dwelling in the room.
'Why, he asks,' Death scoffed, sounding vaguely offended.
Hardwin glanced at his wall, noting the shadow of two figures, himself and the tall silhouette of a cloaked figure. It's outline was vague, dark and scraggly, swaying and undefined. Now and then it looked as though it wanted to crawl away. Hardwin glanced away from the shadows and looked back at the bed, noting that some things were better unseen.
'Harry Potter... no, Hardwin Potter, you are not here on vacation. This is not a simple reincarnation, if you recall?' There was a snide undertone there, and though the Voice was unlike anything he had ever heard, Hardwin could hear the mocking insinuation. He nodded, not daring to move, waiting for Death to continue.
'Then you should be aware that We have things to do here, My Chosen. While you grow, while you play and learn with your families... Tom Riddle grows stronger. Have you forgotten that in this era he was gaining a following? Grindelwald was defeated ten years before you were born, and young Tom graduated Hogwarts at the height of his power. He's had seven additional years to grow strong, understandable... considering,' Death seemed to be annoyed at the way human life grew, showing open disdain at how slowly Harry was progressing. Hardwin. It was hard to keep himself straight when Death was here arguing with him, the memories surging through his body. A hundred and twenty-four years of memories easily over-powered seven years of memories as Hardwin, he found.
"I'm not... just being idle," Hardwin tried hesitantly, rolling the Elder wand between his fingers. It felt pleasant, but he doubted he could do anything to protect himself from an immortal being, Master of Death or no. Nevertheless, it soothed his nerves, as a war veteran. "I'm working to influence the Blacks and the Potters. I'm making circles in the pureblood families. Slowly, I'm making a name for myself, and making the families closer... they're harder to pick from. I know that the Blacks won't side with Tom this time. Not while I'm here..."
The temperature seemed to drop in the room, and Death hissed a quiet, 'That is all well and good, My Harry, but I'm talking about the world. The world, sweet Champion. The last self-appointed Dark Lord saw fit to help in that World War and devastated thousands of lives, muggle and magical alike. The balance is crying, it is starting...'
Hardwin's brows furrowed, and awkwardly his mouth opened without his permission to voice a question that had been plaguing him for some time. "Why are you so worried about the balance? You're Death. Shouldn't you be rejoicing if someone dies before their time? Or if the world dies, and falls to pieces? Isn't... isn't that what you want?" As soon as he said it, his mouth snapped shut with a click of his teeth, and he winced.
Death rattled and stood, making the bed creak. Hardwin's eyes widened, and he wanted to look, but didn't dare. Finally, Death broke the silence. 'Death I am, and Death is my job. I am also the Balance, however, what you mortals don't understand. I only take someone when they are meant to die. When you began destroying things before they should die... you forced My hand.' The being gestured with an elongated skeletal limb, the fingers blackened like Harry remembered. 'But the world is a place that is not supposed to die. It does not have a death date for Millennia. When you force your deaths upon the planet, spilling blood and magic... eventually, you will all die. If you all die, who will I have left to Take?'
That sounded reasonable to Hardwin, but he was still a bit confused. "So... you want to keep the magicals alive, because we keep the Balance alive... so the planet doesn't die and kill us all. Because... that would leave you without a job?" When phrased like that, it sounded awfully self-serving or vain, but he could hardly rephrase it now. Then again, who else would the immortal worry about? It...self, he supposed.
'You amuse Me, Harry-Mine,' the Voice seemed to hum like static on a raido out of tune. 'The items can be tucked away inside you, should you will it. The Elder in one arm, Stone in your palm. The Cloak at your back. Think of them joining you, and they will. Think of them returning, and so it shall be. It is not terribly complicated, Master.'
The last word was mocking, so Hardwin closed his eyes. In the back of his mind he imagined a redhead with the loveliest brown eyes, laughing at him, telling him that only he would end up with an immortal entity taunting him in the next life. It brought a tug of a smile to his lips, though her name was escaping him currently.
With his thoughts gathered, he focused on the wand. The shape of it, the size. How it felt in his hand, and it's connection. It throbbed playfully, and suddenly went stiff. His hand and arm did as well, making his eyes fly open as the wand slid, handle first into his wrist. Just melting in, all the way to the base. The seven year old Hardwin was acutely aware that he now had a wand in his arm, and tried to shake the feeling, tugging his nightclothes back and pulling at the sleeve to see the flesh. Sure enough there was a long line along the smooth flesh, a hint at where it was. Hardwin sighed, realizing it was the symbol of the wand. He was being marked.
He glanced at the stone lying innocently on his pillow where he had dropped it in his frantic grabbing for his arm, watching the dim light play off it. It wasn't cracked anymore, the smooth, dark surface perfectly beguiling. But there was no time like the present, since he doubted Death would wait long. With that thought in mind, Hardwin held the stone in his left hand and felt each corner, concentrating on the way it felt. The weight of it. How it had felt when he had summoned his parents, Sirius and Remus. And just like before, his hand was spreading, and the stone was sinking into the center of his palm, absorbing into his body. The shimmer on his left hand, pale and barely there, was round. The Ressurection stone.
Hardwin glanced overy his shoulder at the Cloak, noting it was the last. He thought of all the times his father had played tricks under it. Of how he had used it to find the Mirror, how it had saved him from Filch, and how he had used it in the final battle. It was warm, welcoming, like the embrace of family. It was the first he had ever felt was his, and the only one he had ever not regretted keeping. Like a wave of water, it flowed over it, washing up from his ankles, up his body. It moved slowly up to his hips, his back before settling around his neck and sinking into him. He had the strange impression that it was in the shape of a triangle.
All three marks were half-a-shade lighter than his skin, and shimmered slightly if they caught the light just so. But it wasn't exceptionally noticeable, at least they weren't in black. Of that he could be glad, he decided. Rolling onto his side, Hardwin glanced at Death, feeling like a man that was one hundred and thirty-one, not a child of seven. Perhaps his soul was finally melding his mind and memories, as it was supposed to. Had it already started and he hadn't noticed?
"Why are you here? What am I supposed to do? I doubt a seven year old will be much use, even as Your Champion," Hardwin snarked, feeling a bit put out. His fate was not his own, and it likely never would be. Forever a puppet dancing on strings to the amusement to some cosmic force, whether it be for prophecy, Death or Balance. In the end it all felt the same.
'Look at Me, Beloved Child,' the Voice coaxed, sounding rattlers from snakes mixed with sand.
No matter how he wanted to rebel, to shout at the being that he didn't want to look upon Death, he found himself obeying. Turning slowly, eyes drawing over the shadow first and then to the figure that stood near the foot of his bed. It was just as he remembered, like a dream, or a memory from a long time ago. A cloaked figure, tall and hooded, black and shadowed. Very similar to a dementor, but somehow... more. So much more, that a simple dementor would pale in appearance next to the real and true Death.
'I have found a way for you to do as required, and We won't have to wait. For One with all of Time, the world has not. Now come, My Champion,' Death beckoned extending a hand to the child. The appendage looked clawed, or hooked with how abnormally large it was, so much bigger than possible.
Hardwin glanced at the hand, his own already creeping forward against his will. His voice was choked as he whispered, "If you take me, I won't be able to finish. I thought... where are we going? I don't understand..."
A croon came from the hood, sounding oddly owl like, or maybe it was the sigh of a dying woman. Hardwin shivered, though he knew Death had meant to comfort him--- at least he thought it had intended that.
'Oh, sweet Champion, you worry so!' the Voice tsked, rustling and rattling in sympathy, reaching for him. 'You would be of little use to Me dead once again. Worry not, no, I do not intend to Take you...' There was a leer in the end, sounding strangely possessive. The child shuddered, but nodded. 'Come with Me, My Chosen Master, and We will begin to correct this Balance, Together. As We were always meant to be...'
Hardwin regarded the clasping hand, the fingers motioning desperately as though they truly were eager for his hand to hold. The blackened bones didn't look promising, and he hardly felt like Gryffindor material this time around. Tiredly, he cast a glance around his room, wondering if he couldn't perhaps just go back to sleep, though he doubted it. Slowly, he put his hand in Death's, and desperately wished he would be home in time to hear mother summon him for breakfast. A nice hot bath, warm glazed cinnamon rolls hot from the brick oven, his mother's quiet humming as she drank her morning tea. Yes, he would look forward to the dawn, if only it would come. But for now, he had the icy cold of Death's grip, and the yank in his navel as he disappeared into the night, leaving his sheets to fall on an empty bed.

starr : Harry has to help yes. And during Tom's lifetime, yes. He's only about thirty years younger than Tom, I believe. My apologies for being slow... it was highly unexpected. Hopefully you enjoy!
Pops : Again, sorry for the delay, hopefully you enjoy this chapter! Paradoxes will be interesting to dodge. Some things, however, are simply impossible. Ahh, we'll have to wait and see! I'm glad you're liking it so far!
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Blood From Whence He Came