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
- 4
- 5
- 6
[[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! ]]
(( Alright, so I've decided to give a big hint in case anyone's confused. For the sake of sanity and overload, Hardwin and Harry are virtually seperate 'personalities' but the same person. Yes, sometimes Hardwin remembers things as Harry, or vice versa. Most the time that is not so. It's more that having over a hundred years of memories would cause him to turn into a vegetable, in my opinion. Hardwin is a young, innocent version of himself, so he doesn't see him as 'Harry'. Harry is the jaded version, the one who had a hard life and fought Voldemort, naturally he would want to keep himself and his memories separate from his childhood. For once in his life, he's having a normal life, a good one. He doesn't want to focus on the bad, so he essentially feels 'split' from himself. That's not actually the case, but it's just a sense of 'self' and memories, if it helps? My way of viewing it. He doesn't actually have a split personality, or anything of the sort. Just... senses of self, innocence, etc. I try to refer to him by the name applicable when necessary. Hope this helps! ))

The sound of screaming, blood curdling and terror filled woke the house the next day. Dorea Potter didn't bother with a house-elf, though it was already popping in to check on the young master. She ran in her nightgown, throwing open the door to her son's room, decorum gone. Heart in her throat, she found her son and heir, her baby thrashing in his sleep, covered in sweat. Sobbing, the boy fought off invisible intruders, jerking and twisting his body in painful ways.
The mother in her found it painful to watch and she moved to his side, sitting on his bed, peeling back his sheets to pull his struggling form into her arms. Whispering loving reassurances, her fingers combed through his soaked curls, brushing them back from his pinched face. Rocking her child, she clutched him to her chest, seeking to comfort him. Slowly, she began to hum, aching to ease whatever ailed him.
Charlus Potter watched from the doorway, helpless and torn. His son rarely had nightmares, and never like this. This was more a night terror. What in the world could have happened to his sweet boy? What troubled him so that made his voice screech as if he was being tortured, his body writhing against physical pains, winding himself around his mother desperately. The man did not know, nor did he like the feeling of absolute powerlessness.
Watching his wife tend to Hardwin, Charlus summoned one of the house-elves, the large eyed creature twisting its hands nervously to his side. Briskly, he ordered it to set about making tea, a calming drought for Hardwin as well. He also gave various orders that the kitchen staff have breakfast ready for many, and that one of them ought to pop over to the Black properties and the Potters. Something didn't feel... right about this. A united front was needed. Perhaps he was overreacting, but really, he'd rather be safe than sorry.
With his orders given, Charlus went to dress for the day, wearily glancing back at his wife. He loathed to leave the two, but the best he could offer was to be strong and to take this in shifts.
A few freshening charms and dressed for the day, the Head of House and Potion's Master was back in his son's room, quietly shifting Hardwin from his wife's arms and into his own. His wife looked like she wanted to protest, but he cut her off, motioning that she dress for company first. Dorea's eyes were glued to the small figure in her husband's arms, reluctant to do so, but she left the room and did as she was asked.
With another flick of his wand, Charlus cleared the air around the bed, and freshened his son's sheets from the sweat. Somehow, it appeared that Hardwin had been sick in the night as well, the spell making the putrid smell vanish without a trace. His brow furrowed, worry causing a crease to pucker there. What had caused this? This was no ordinary thing, no ordinary nightmare, no. Was Hardwin ill? Had something happened?
Carefully, he lay the small child back on his bed, moving to lay beside him so he wouldn't stir. He didn't want the small wonder to wake in the shift, feeling like his father was abandoning him and panic.
Charlus noted his son's flushed forehead and too cool feet as he tucked them back beneath the sheets, his broad arm wrapping over the boy and laying like a comforting weight on his chest. He wanted to ask him, he wanted to tell him, he wanted to be there. What could he do? Chastely, he brushed dry lips to the child's damp cheek, feeling ill.
Dorea had returned, wandering into the room like a pale ghost. Her hair was up, but she wore no make-up and no adornments. The beautiful woman seemed distraught, her sharp eyes fixed on the small figure in the bed, moving to sit on the edge, laying a delicate hand on his chest to feel it rise and fall.
"What happened?" She whispered hopelessly.
Gray eyes cracked open, and both parents seemed on edge, noting that since the first time that Hardwin had cried out, he had not spoken.
"Sweetie, are you alright?" His mother tried again, gently.
"It's different," Hardwin croaked, his voice a hoarse rasp from screaming.
"...What's different?" Charlus asked gently, his hand gently rubbing Hardwin's own much smaller hand, coaxingly.
"Everything," the boy sighed. "Something happened last night. It was terrible... there was... he was a bad man. He needed to die, I understand that. There will be more magic now, the... but it's so different. The future's changing... it hurts."
Charlus glanced with wide eyes at his wife, feeling like he could swallow his own tongue. How could one respond to that? His wife however, always handled things so much better than he. She was the smooth talker, the kind flower that he could never be.
"...You saw something last night? Something that wasn't supposed to happen? And... and there'll be more... magic? Because of this... this difference, it's hurting you, my darling? Is that right?" Dorea asked carefully, brushing her fingertips over Hardwin's cheek.
There was a sound at the door, the other Heads of House had arrived. Cygnus Black, Orion, and Fleamont were all staring in shock, silent as they could be.
Slowly, Hardwin nodded. "...It was horrible, mother. His death... I didn't like it. But I could understand it. He... if he had lived, there would be five less magicals..." He coughed, rasping a little, and his nose began to bleed a little. "A wrinkle... it wasn't supposed to... but it's better... I didn't... like it..."
The gray eyes closed, the red blood dribbling down over his lip as he whispered, trailing off. Alarmed, Dorea and Charlus began to bustle about, trying to clean up the blood and pour pepper-up into their unresponsive child's throat, coaxing him to swallow by massaging his throat muscles. Nervously they began to argue what would help, what sort of potion or healer could fix the damage caused by a Seer that had viewed something beyond the veil. In the end, they didn't know. Walpurga firecalled St. Mungoes, demanding help and answers, but even that didn't seem likely. Seer's were rare, true Seer's rarer so. Damage done by the Sight was something that they weren't capable of fixing.
In the end a fairly basic healing draught was prescribed in small doses with headache potions until the child was well enough it was decided. Charlus had turned down the brand St. Mungoes had offered, preferring his own brews and declaring them 'superior'. It also allowed him to regulate them, and gave him something to do. He very much felt like he needed something to do at the moment.
The children were playing quietly in the nursery or playrooms of the manor, and the adults had gathered in the sitting room. They were drinking tea, eating a light breakfast provided by the house-elves, having ensured that the littlest were fed as well. The elder children were eating quietly in the rooms as they played, and they trusted them to behave well.
Now, the Potters and Blacks all sat silently, glancing up now and again with the sort of tension that one did not usually expect between them.
"I had no idea his gift could hurt him," Dorea finally admitted quietly, setting the fine china cup back on it's saucer, her eyes averted.
"None of us did," Charlus said, sounding hollow. He was stirring his tea with a gilded and rather intricate spoon, his expression absent.
Orion looked around the group of gathered adults, his expression hardening. "It's not as though the boy's dead, Charlus. He'll have a hard road ahead of him, so be it. He's a powerful boy. We're his family, we'll stand with him. He's... he's been there for us. He's warned us, he's given us plenty to look forward to. Hardwin," The stern man paused, glancing at Walpurga, who looked suspiciously misty-eyed. "Hardwin is like a light, the light that shines between the Blacks and the Potters, guiding all of us. He's a good boy, a strong boy. I say we help him, as much as we can. We look into the matter, but we always watch out for him. Blacks always look after their own... Family first." He nodded with a fierce expression.
Cygnus nodded as well, and quickly agreed. "Our motto may be Toujours Pur but Family is the most important part of being a Black. And I'll be damned if that boy hasn't proven he's a Black, time and time again."
Fleamont smiled, and his look was kind as he squeezed his wife's hand. "He's always been a Potter. His heart is pure, that one. Oh, he can manipulate the best of them, just like a Black. But he loves his family, and he'll do his best to make them smile, to comfort you. He'll stand firm with you, and if he had his way, he'd battle for you."
Euphemia gave a watery chuckle, but seemed to approve. "A Potter to the end," She whispered.
They all nodded. The family was tighter than ever, determined to look after the small boy and help search for ways to help someone with the Sight. If it could hurt him, they wanted to know. The Blacks vowed to search their libraries, to ask around and to go about their way to do anything they could to find information about Seers. The Potters said they would look with the lighter families, being careful as they did not to attract attention. They wanted to find a way to help, not end up giving away Hardwin's abilities.
Everyone felt better with their decision, feeling like there was something they could do for him.
Later that afternoon Hardwin woke and they all took turns visiting him. Sirius and James tried to put on a puppet show for him, but were interrupted by the new crup puppy James had gotten, making poor Hardwin laugh himself silly as the two young children fought against the fork-tailed dog.
Bellatrix played a fantastic game of wizarding chess with him. She didn't mind when her pieces were taken, finding the violence to be fascinating either way. The ten year old was an amusing girl, and Hardwin was rather evenly matched against her, to which she admitted was nice. Bella, mother hen that she was, didn't often go easy on anyone. She had a rather shrewd mind, and was highly analytical when it came to strategy. A memory tickled at Harry's consciousness, but it didn't seem like it wanted to make itself known, especially with as tired as he was, so he let it be.
Narcissa and Andromeda came in together after Bella left, much as the boys had. Narcissa, the elegant blond born the same year as Hardwin, sat quietly by his bedside and looked out over the garden. She worked on watercolors, informing him gently that she would make him a masterpiece to cheer him up. It was a touching sentiment from the girl, and he had smiled.
Andromeda, born a year and some short months after Cissa, was seated on the bed beside Hardwin. The brunette and youngest Black daughter who often joined Hardwin in the library was reading aloud from a book of fables, hoping to soothe his frazzled mind. Together, the trio seemed rather comfortable, finding the atmosphere enjoyable. They fit together smoothly, and the sole male found himself lulled with the sound of the younger girl's voice.
Occasionally she would stumble over a word she didn't findentirely recognize and either Narcissa or Hardwin would gently correct her before she would continue. It was one of those situations where you read a word often, but had rarely heard it pronounced, the girl claimed, refuting Narcissa's claim of her youth. But overall it was pleasant in a way that seemed to connect them effortlessly.
"Each night the Prince was forced to transform, to bear the secret of his tran... transgr..."
"Transgressions," Narcissa helpfully supplied, not looking up from her painting.
"Transgressions. He could confide in no one what he had done, nor what he would do. His bloodline was full of power, full of wealth. Everyone loved and adored in him, but the Prince was full of woe.
His heart ached for who could he speak to on this his most dangerous secret? The greatest, and most handsome Prince, the future King... was also a Beast.
At night he roamed the village hills, searching for the wicked, and he would find them by their scent. Should they cross his path, he would devour their hearts. Each morning, the Prince woke in his bed, covered in blood and filled with sorrow.
The villages were rallying to put down the beast that was murdering their families, though they also longed to find a good wife for their Prince. In the end they found a suitable woman, a sorceress who happened to also to be a mer... merck... merc..."
Hardwin gently plucked the book from Andromeda's fingers and looked curiously at the word before nodding. "Mercenary," he announced, handing it back.
"Mercenary. The sorceress vowed to follow the beast, track it, and find out not only what it was, but why it was killing the villagers.
Not for the first time, the Prince was afraid. He knew that if the sorceress was as good as she claimed, she would find his secret. Not only that, she would find out who he was, and slay him. The villagers would be safe, but his family would be broken hearted. His mother and father, the King and Queen were old. They were likely unable to bear another heir. He would be a disappointment, and the end to his line.
Tears filled his eyes that night, for he worried after his father's health. The young prince worried he would die a broken man, having learned his son was a monster, someone unfit to bear his name or blood."
Harry's eyes teared up, and silently a tear rolled down his cheek, unnoticed.
"When the sorceress came upon the beast, a creature of horror that was about to take the life of a villager, she stood frozen. For there, in the dark of the night, the creature was about to take the life of a man. But he stood over a small child, barely older than infancy. It was crying uproar...uproari..." Andromeda made an annoyed sound.
Narcissa smiled and glanced at the book, her blond hair falling like a curtain over her face. "Uproariously, Andy," she said.
"Crying uproariously, but the beast stood over it. The man was swinging, drunkenly attacking both beast and child. The sorceress realized that perhaps there was more to the beast and the killing than met the eye. The drunken man fell at last, and didn't move.
The sorceress didn't announce her presence, but she noted the kind blue eyes of the beast, the creature huddling over the child. Protecting it from the cold, the way it used it's teeth so carefully to move the folded blankets and carry it back into the house. This was not an animal without intelligence, no, this was a truly em... emp..."
"Empathic," Hardwin croaked, his voice rasping again.
Andromeda flicked a glance worriedly at him, then continued. "Empathic creature.
Each night, she followed him. Each night, she learned more about him. But no matter how she tried, she could never follow him home. The Prince's secret was safe for now.
The King and Queen questioned the sorceress, demanding to know why more of their people had died, but each time she would respond, 'More research is required. I have learned about the beast, but not what it is, or how it came to be.'
Finally, one night the sorceress got up the nerve to approach the beast as it left a guilty victim. It's eyes were as bright and as intelligent as she remembered. The beast did not run, nor did it charge. Instead, it watched her warily, full of sorrow.
'Why do you murder the guilty?' The sorceress asked in desperation, hoping it would answer her.
'It is my duty, I have no choice,' rumbled the Beast."
Hardwin sighed, and then choked on the sound, beginning to hack and cough. His mother, who had been lingering in the doorway began to interrupt the children.
"I think you'll have to visit tomorrow to finish the story, Andy, Cissa. Hardwin looks tired," Dorea instructed softly, moving in to help her son take a small drink of water and sit up properly.
Andromeda looked disappointed, but nodded. After a moment, Narcissa showed them the beginnings of her painting, which was a rather striking resemblance of the side garden. It had lovely blossoms of color, high hedges with flowers and lovely flora all around. The whimsical look of the watercolors only added to the appearance.
"It'll get better as I add to it, when it dries of course," the blond insisted, smiling softly.
Both girls gave him soft hugs and promised to return, leaving Hardwin to rest. The day had been long, full of both good and bad for everyone.
Dorea bid goodday to the children, moving to fluff Hardwin's pillows and lay him comfortably in his bed. Carefully, she gave him a cloth bath, then waved her wand to vanish the extra dampness, not wanting to allow a chill to set in. A quick vanishing and replacement charm allowed a new set of night clothes for the boy, not wanting him to lay in less-than-fresh comfort.
Kissing his forehead, his mother spoke quietly, promising to check on him at dinner. She instructed a house-elf to listen closely to the young master, then dimmed the lights and set him to rest.
Hardwin's eyes closed softly, wondering why he felt so happy and yet heavy-hearted...

************

Albus Dumbledore knew enough about war to say that he was strongly against it. In his youth, in his folly... but he had seen enough blood, enough pain to make him regret enough one life. Every life was precious to him. As long as they could be saved, he would fight for them.
So it was with a heavy heart that he worked with the International Confederation of Wizards. As Supreme Mugwump, his duty was to often keep the peace when extreme measures were taken. Some things were important to ensure the safety of the general people, thus cooperation was provided between the magical nations and he oversaw it all.
The case that had been announced several hours ago had brought several members of the Confederation to the loo, or required vanishing spells to get rid of the mess or smell when they had emptied their stomachs. The Aurors from Germany had given reports of such extreme torture that it was a wonder that even with one casualty had not turned into several. Surely a man or woman with a blood thirst like this would not rest until he had acquired more victims?!
The single survivor had been warded into a closet, and though he had not seen the torture, his memories of the sounds provided ample testiment of the night. The strange markings on the victim and the opposing ward on the door had been inspected by Unspeakables who promised to get back to them on the topic, but at this time had no leads.
Albus Dumbledore was rather tired this night. He had already fought against a madman he had once cared for. His loss was still fresh in his mind, and he would carry his guilt for the rest of his life. Why was there always more rising to take another's place?
That boy, the boy from Wool's Orphanage was now a legal wizard and had a following for himself. Albus had denied him the right to teach Defense as Headmaster, as was only right. But somehow this didn't feel like Tom's work. Somehow, it didn't point to him.
But if it wasn't him, than who was it?
Worse still, was the worrying words that the man in the closet had overheard. The calm response to the dying man, the way he had agreed to being a monster. How he had informed him that he would be the so called shepherd... killing wolves and protecting sheep. The man or beast in the survivor's memories had looked like someone who heavily practiced the Dark Arts, and the spell proved this. Dumbledore was uncertain exactly if he had creature blood in him, or what rituals he had underwent, but he knew something had changed him.
The auburn-haired man popped a lemon drop in his mouth, savoring the sweet tang as it settled on his tongue. There was gray in his beard, and he knew he was beginning to show his age. Even wizards, who aged slowly, would eventually pass beyond youth's grasp.
Somehow, it felt like he was forgetting something. Some story, or rhyme. It bothered the man as he turned on the spot and popped away, returning to his home in Scotland to think more on the mystery that was the Angel of Death.

starr : I'm glad you understand. I try not go overboard, but this was sadly necessary. And at the top, hopefully I answered your question? I figured if you had a question, others might.
BAFan : Really? I did not know that, honestly. I thought it was a possession thing. Owning the hands. I'll correct as many as I see shortly. Thank you. ...It's a bit smoother, thank you, it takes time. Ahh, I'll look for that! I have a search function I use to edit if it's pointed out to me. It highlights the word for me and I can immediately figure out the placement in the paragraph and just edit it from the paragraph from there... much easier. Mm, yes. I imagine Remus and he will feel a bit of kinship on the topic, despite the small age gap. Hopefully you like this update!
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Blood From Whence He Came