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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
[[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! ]]

Death came the following night, and didn't seem surprised to find Harry waiting. In the dark of the room, the figure seemed pleased, noting that the other had already gone through the painful transformation and summoning of it's Items. Standing, clothed in a dark burgundy robe, the tool of Balance regarded the immortal.
'You are accepting it, that is good,' Death rasped lowly, his voice like metal dragging over a rockbed of gravel, quaking. 'It will be easier when I have to leave you, with only the Balance to guide you.'
A flicker of uncertainty entered Harry's two-toned eyes, where before they had been dull and blank, resolved.
"Leave me? What do you mean? I thought you would always..." Harry trailed off, not wanting to sound needy.
Death laughed. 'Oh, sweet Beloved, how I wish that were so! No, I cannot always accompany you on your journeys...' The figure seemed to 'tsk' at him, steepling its abnormally long hands, the joints of the blackened limbs continuing on for what seemed forever before ending in thin stake-like points. 'I will always look after you, and never be far. We are tied, you and I. That is unchangeable, My Champion... But the task I have given you is for you and you alone. For Me to interfer is... difficult. I can only overlook your duties until you are accustomed. Then, you must go it alone, sweet Harry.'
Harry swallowed, feeling his throat ache. Alone. He was to be alone in this, without even this entity to guide him, as soon as he was deemed 'ready'. His eyes roved to the shrouded figure, wondering when it would deem him so. Soon? How could he do this by himself? He didn't even know what he was capable of. Where to go, how to find...
His head was spinning with questions, and his stomach clenched so hard the muscles bunched painfully. He would cope, but he'd have to figure it out quickly. It wasn't like he had a choice. In reality, he wasn't a child, though he did appreciate the reprieve now and again. Limits needed to be tested, his strengths, his way of tracking. How was he going to do this on a time limit?
'I will teach you how to part the Viel,' Death went on, either answering him or continuing as though the silence hadn't stretched--- Harry wasn't sure which. 'It's faster than any passage of travel, and can go farther distances. Moving matter, leaves no trace... and it can also move through Time and Space.'
The last bit caused Harry to jerk, snapping his head up so hard he nearly gave himself whiplash. There was a dull ringing in the back of his head, but he ignored it, blinking away spots as he stared at the lethifold-like figure. Was... could Death be serious? That was impossible!
"Time and space? That's not... I mean, I'm a wizard, we can't... we have time turners, that is... and portkeys, but that's as far as... floo maybe..." At this point he was babbling, trying to consider how one could even theorize how to travel at the rate Death was speaking of. Hermione would have understood, he thought bitterly. Or Luna... she was good at that sort of thing.
'It is... for you, it will be limited, Beloved,' Death carefully hissed, seeming unsure of how to explain this to him. His claw-like skeletal hands extended, as though wanting to touch him. 'You are not meant to travel the Voids of the Veils, to pass through Time and Space like an Immortal or Primordial being... but like you are, in this Form? It is possible.'
Suddenly, Death seemed to become... sharper, taller and looming. It filled the whole room, oppressive and choking. 'Do not think to attempt it without this Form, Child. My Items protect you... without them, you shall die!' It warned, then seemed to fall back in on itself. Harry was once again reminded that Death seemed to have this strange... obsessive nature towards him. Possessive and yearning, and would become angry if he didn't take care.
Harry choked back the frozen breath that was collapsing and stabbing his lungs like needles, feeling like he wanted to vomit. Numbly, he nodded. "...You'll," He licked his lips, wetting them. "You'll teach me how to use it, though?"
Death seemed to smile, and the blackened limbs were offered to him silently again. Without thinking this time, the Angel of Death stepped forward, embracing it's Master. After all, the only way to learn from Death was to follow in it's shadow, and at the moment he was in it's arms. If Death would teach him, mold him, show him, then he would follow until he was left alone.

******

Harry needn't have feared Death leaving him, it turned out. The being had stayed with him for two and half more years, a blessing and a curse. But unlike the first night, where he had been lead to simply deal out punishment... there had been other nights. Hard nights where Death had worked with him, worked to harness his abilities.
He'd learned to loathe those nights, for it meant he was not only especially tired come morning... it meant that he learned just how inhuman his second form was. When Death had said that there was very little that could kill him, he hadn't been lying. Harry imagined that there were a few things that likely could kill him in that form, but it would be difficult, very difficult. Death also liked to remind him that his near-invulnerability didn't extend to his 'human' form. Hardwin was quite capable of injury, quite capable of dying.
Hardwin was the softer side of him. Through hours of mental control each night, Harry took to Occlumency and built his mental defenses. Hardwin was the childish wonder, the boy allowed to grow up on his own with a family to support him an help him. Oh yes, he was still Harry, and many memories still lingered on the surface. There was even a trigger should danger lurk, allowing the sweet boy to fade into the background. The second wall was memories of Harry's life, things he buried when he became the Angel of Death. He found during... missions, that the Angel was quite bloodthirsty, and had a knack for 'playing' if someone was truly vile.
Harry kept every memory, every scream, every gasp and every death carefully memorized in the mindset of the Angel. But he didn't want to always be the Angel. So away it went, into it's own carefully composed storage container. He'd done this in his past life too. To separate Tom Riddle's memories from his own, to separate his time as an Auror, and to separate the 'Boy-who-lived' from 'Just Harry'. A secret small stack had been his time as 'Freak', and he used different emotions to power different spells, donning the persona needed. It was when he had achieved his Mastery of Ligilimency and Occlumency with Snape's portrait that he had perfected this.
It had been important to categorize it now, more so than it had been then. He didn't want to slip up during tea time with Mother and start cackling about whether she was guilty or innocent. To slip into madness about how much blood was on his hands, and how many had been saved, how many had been lost. No, he couldn't afford that. They were always scared when he woke up in a fit from Timeline changes with nosebleeds as it was. Most times, he simply tried to hide it now, using the Elder Wand to clean the sheets and preform a few healing spells before any were awake. After a few sips of some of the potions that had been left out for him, Harry had scratched ever-refilling runes on the bottom. No one would notice whether he had or had not taken them, now. Just the way it should be.
He was older still now, and Death had left him. Soon he'd be getting his Hogwarts Acceptance letter, after all, certainly too old for Death to be playing Nanny. It was a strange life, to be Hardwin at home, mastering pureblood politics and trying to work as a Seer and Potter. He was well-liked by the community, and positively loved by the Blacks. But outside of that? He was the Angel, feared in newspapers as much as the whispers of Voldemort. Some called him a Saint, some a Villain. Whatever he was, he was widely known from Europe to Asia. They couldn't seem to pin him down, where he was from, or where he would strike. His victims seemed to hate him, or those in the memories did. But those found innocent praised him, vowing that they would forever be indebted to him, their Angel.
After Harry had mastered opening the Veil and walking the Voids, it had been easier to do his duty to the Balance. He could leave home and return at relatively the same time, travelling across Europe. Leaving home in the middle of the night, being gone for hours at a time, only to return moments after he'd left was a great boon. But he was lonesome. Forever caught in this dismal display of heroics, doomed to be the martyr.
The Stone burned hotly in his left hand as he thought this, and he moved curiously to rub it, thumb circling the black orb that was sunken into his flesh. He was just off from one of his missions, and his mind was unwinding from it all. As he skin circled the smooth black surface of the Resurrection Stone, a wispy shape began to rise out of it, spreading between his fingers to gather before him. Collecting together until it had amassed into the form of a tall and gangly male, who looked around rather curiously for a moment before settling blue eyes on Harry.
"Harry? Is that you? ...Hm, well, it's a right mess you're in this time. Long time no see, mate," said the figure of the deceased, smiling widely.
Harry stared in shock, taking in the other's features. He couldn't make out the color of his hair, but if he wasn't mistaken... it could be red. Freckles covered his face, and an infectious carefree smile on a tall and gangly man who looked like he'd never quite grow into his limbs no matter what age he was. His hands were shaking, and he reached for the other. Was it possible that he had summoned him? The stone was a magical item of calling, akin to the most powerful necromancy. An item of Death, fully powered with Harry being who he was. Was it really him, though?
"Ron...I... how?" Harry blurted out, but as soon as he touched the ghost of his best mate, his very first friend from Hogwarts (not counting Hedwig or the loveable giant), the apparation began to shift and change.
Harry cried out in denial, afraid that Ron was leaving him already. Pulling hard on his abilities, he tried to anchor the soul of his brother-in-all-but-blood to this world for just a bit longer, not wanting to be so alone anymore. Even if it was only for today, he wanted to talk to him, to interact with his friend. Grasping fingers sought to keep the other here, hoping he'd understand.
As he did so, the wispy figure began to change, the outline shifting and swirling. Ron's ghost was hunching over, and if Harry didn't know any better, he would have thought he was becoming an animagus. But ghosts can't do that, can they? Sure enough, Ron was becoming very much like his patronus, the startled look in his blue eyes saying that he had not purposefully caused it either. Ron's patronus was originally a Jack Russell Terrier, and at first that is what it appeared he was becoming. Small in stature, with a short tail and stubby legs, and generaly floppy ears unless perked. Stocky, but as overly long as some dogs, just a smaller breed.
Only, as soon as the highly intelligent dog had been formed it began to shift again. Hunching over, stretching out. Blue eyes shone brighter, and bones shifted until the dog stood much taller, it's jaws wider. Larger and larger the dog grew, a muscular frame to match, bones twisting and popping. Stretching out the form until it had contorted itself into some sort of... Harry wasn't sure what to make of it, but he looked rather like a one-headed version of Fluffy. Rather large, as he was at least shoulder-height to a ten year old, or rather Hardwin. To the Angel's height, who was overly large, he came at least to ribcage level. Finally, it settled, with a shift of color to a dark black with ginger-red combed through. The trailing wispiness only added to the demonic looking dog, and Harry shuddered.
"R-Ron... is that you?" He repeated uncertainly.
The hellhound like beast made a chuffing sound for a moment, stretching and trying out it's longer limbs. After a moment it seemed to regard him with chastising blue eyes. "That was... highly unusual, and uncomfortable, mate," Ron complained, or what seemed to be him as he was now this creature.
Ron moved over to nudge at his thigh, and strangely he felt warm. Almost solid, or at least solid enough. The great dog sat down beside him and sighed, leaning back on its haunches. It was strange to hear it 'talking', but Harry understood, despite the fact that it's mouth never moved. Maybe the patroni-ghost was speaking in his mind, didn't matter it was nice to hear Ron again.
"So Harry," Ron began, staring at him curiously. "Are you going to tell me what you've gotten into now? And why the bloody hell I'm a dog? Or are we gonna just sit here like a bunch of berks?"
Harry's lips tugged into a lopsided smile despite himself, which must have looked interesting in his current form. But, he found he didn't particularly care. He was happy, he had some normalcy in this mixed up set-up. Ron was supposed to ask him ''what the bloody hell", after all.
His fingers sank into the soft, warm and spectral fur, of the shadowed form of his friend-turned-dog. "Well, it all started when I died..." Harry began.
And so he told him. He poured his heart out, telling him every moment that had happened, from beginning till now. How he had felt, the denial, the pain. The loneliness. How much he hated what he had to do. The nightmares, the visions. How much he was changing, for worse and for the better. He told Ron about how he was a Potter and a Black now, how he grew up a Pureblood and was trying to make his family happy. He was Sirius and James' cousin this time, he confided, and he was even trying to help the Black sisters, whom he was rather fond of. Bella was rather sane, if a bit competitive, and he hoped to save her from Voldemort. Sirius was having a happy childhood, his father wasn't growing up with a swollen head and would hopefully not be too focused on pranks.
Ron listened, and didn't judge, though he did interject with questions every now and then. What many people didn't understand was that, with age, Ron had settled. He'd matured, and he was a highly intelligent man. Very supportive, with a big heart. Harry was his family, and he had always been there for him. Ron was no longer the hot-headed child that he had been in his Hogwarts years. He had died old, a few years after Harry had, and though his soul now appeared young, he was far from it.
In his years as an Auror, Ron had been praised for his clear-headed strategy, never rushing into battle. He wasn't the type to jump to conclusions, and he always listened to anyone's story, both sides, before booking them. He was a fair and legal member of the Ministry, well-liked and with a good head on his shoulders. The War had changed everyone, and Ron had grown up to become a good man. He had a good, strong and independent wife. His best friend was like a brother to him, always backing him up, especially when it was important, but even when it wasn't. Harry had been there even when he wanted to discuss the most boring of things, the trivial matters. They were a close-knit family, and the community had blossomed since the War because of it.
When Harry finished his out-pouring, feeling very much like the child Hardwin was, he looked to his friend. He'd tried to avoid looking directly at the blue eyes, afraid of the judgement he might find there. It was silly, but he was insecure just the same. Perhaps it was the boy in the cupboard, making the man in him cringe.
"Oh Harry," Ron sighed, leaning his muzzle on Harry's shoulder. "You really don't get off easy, even when you're dead... do you?"
Harry bubbled a bit of hysterical laughter, trying not to cry, and nodded. Ron nuzzled his cold nose against his cheek, trying to comfort him, just the same. In return, Harry moved to rub behind an ear, recalling that in animagus forms, dogs liked that. He knew he had liked to have his own ears rubbed as a wolf...
"But seriously, mate, that... it sounds like you've got it hard. I don't imagine anyone can help you, can they?" The former redhead-turned-hound appeared to be thinking, leaning his chin on Harry's shoulder. His blue eyes were as sharp as ever, and they gave Harry hope. "Do you suppose you can call up spirits of the dead and have us help? I mean, as long as we're not inteferring with the timeline, right? I'd imagine Sirius would be out, anyone from now... But I'm not born yet... and why else would I have become this ghastly beast?"
Harry wanted to kiss Ron and hugged tightly to the ghostly hellhound. "Merlin, I've missed you!" He half-sobbed dryly into the other's neck, muffling his words. "I don't know what I'd do without you... any of you guys. I... I suppose you're right, I ought to try and find out. Can I summon you guys? How many... and... for how long... I could use a bit of help." He ran a hand through his hair, a habit he'd never quite lost. It was typical of him, and made the canine-Ron give a smile, tongue lolling out.
"I don't suppose I'd have made it anywhere without you guys then, so why can't I have you now? I just... I guess I never thought to try... you were happy, why burden you with my problems, y'know?" Harry asked self-depreciatingly. His eyes held shards of glass, sharp and painful, memories of his supposed worth stabbing inwards. Wounds that couldn't or wouldn't heal.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd have you committed to St. Mungoes, tell them you're off-your-trolley and completely gormless. Because what you just said was complete bullocks, Harry Potter," Ron snorted, frowning and nosing at him in disapproval.
"I imagine you'd get far without us... yeah, we helped, but you were always able to stand on your own. Hermione was always afraid you'd leave without us, she was. Said we'd have to tack you down or else you'd run yourself ragged. Brilliant witch she was, can't argue with her. But you were never a burden or whatever tosh you're sprouting and feeding in that head of yours--- we were always happy to help. We felt better knowing we'd done good by you, that you weren't off bleeding out. You were our best mate, our family. You still are. Things like that don't change, Harry."
They talked at length once more, quieting fears and catching up. Some topics were difficult, understandably so. It wasn't easy to discuss someone's death, or what had happened without them. The world had gone on without Harry, though it seemed it had hardly been pleasant at times. Knowing this only added to Harry's determination, and he told the other so.
"But do you really think I'm meant to summon you guys? That it'd be allowed? I imagine... yeah, it'd be a great boon, bloody brilliant to have the dead join me in battle. Especially if things ever got serious," the former Savior murmured, his strangely white-and-black split hair falling like a curtain across his face as he tilted his head forward. "Do you... do you think they'd mind? The others, I mean. Being summoned, the task... doing what I have to do. And what happens when it comes time for you all to be born? You'll disappear..."
The soul of his friend seemed to think for a moment, then yawned, stretching great jaws wide to expose sharp and wicked looking teeth. It made a high-pitched sound as he did so, a canine-whine that Harry was familiar with. Ron seemed to shake his head, making his ears flop atop his head.
"Look, I don't know how many of us can be summoned, but I'd imagine... yeah, it's something that can be done. If you weren't supposed to, why would I be here? Like this? Fate likely tried to camouflage me so when I am born I won't... y'know, look like me. Imagine me mum looking at me now, she wouldn't recognize me!" The dog gave a laughing bark, then seemed to tilt his head to one side. "My mum's pretty young now, come to think of it... I wonder if she's met Dad, or had Bill yet..."
Snapping out of the reverie, the knowledge that Ron was in the past, the canine beast sighed through his nose. "I can't speak for the others, you know that, but I know Hermione'll kick our bums if we don't at least try to get her involved. Even if it's a bloodbath, even if it's another war... she'll be turning on the other side, furious with us. I'd rather not go back and get my ear chewed off."
The fanged grin he gave Harry made him laugh, imagining Ron's wife taking him aside to argue about being left out of the loop. Her infamous rants were well-known, and Harry could practically see her, hands on hips and preparing to scold the ginger. In his first life it had happened so often that George had taken bets on how often Ron would be in the doghouse, how often his wife would make him sleep on the couch. It was a running joke between the Potter-Weasley-and-Lupin combined families.
"Look, mate," Ron continued, blue eyes staring out of the canine face. It was familiar, to have those eyes steadily holding his own, despite the change in appearance. "I reckon it'll be up to us if we join you. Maybe some of us are better at certain tasks--- but you'll never know till we try. Yeah, we'll probably fade when it comes time for us to enter this timestream of yours, but that's a ways off, y'know? So why worry about it? Let's focus on right now, Harry. Let's focus on making a better future. You're saving magic... muggleborn, pureblood, halfblood, that's never mattered to you and it still doesn't. You are rescuing the bloody planet this time, you bleeding martyr. So give it a try. Focus on someone... ask them how they feel. After that, we'll take it one day at a time, mate."
Occasionally, Harry found that Ron made more sense than he liked to admit. He had a point. Magic was important to the very safety of the future, something that when on the decline, could cause the shift in climates and the total deterioration of culture and entire societies, species, and sub-species. Magic would die, and with it, the world would fail. That was why he had come back, after all. To put an end to the chaos that was surrounding the future.
"I... bloody hate it when you're right," Harry muttered quietly, reaching slowly for his left hand and the stone embedded there. Mock-glaring at the hound that housed his friend, he seemed to give him an accusing look, as though questioning why all this was happening...

(( Don't get in a fuss, there's another chapter coming! ))
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Blood From Whence He Came