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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
- 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! ]]
(( Alright, this is the last chapter for now. You'll have to let me know what you think, hm? I do have plans for the next chapter, I know exactly where they're going. Buuuut, I need to catch up on other things too. Hope you like it! ))

"Ah, it's rare, but I do have my moments," The ginger-turned-man's-best-friend (or a creature something like it) taunted playfully in return. Being right was only made worse when the redhead wasn't smug about it.
With a half smile, Harry thought of bushy hair and tight embraces as he circled the Resurrection Stone. He thought of cleverness and steadfast friendship. Someone who had always been there for him, always been able to figure things out for him. A girl who had always stuck up for the underdog, someone who had never let race, blood, or a thing like curses get in her way. She'd stoutly fought for equal rights till the end, her small shoulders being something he could count on to lead on, just as much as her summer-tanned hand.
The stone burned like an ember, beginning to pulse and beat like a heartbeat. This time, Harry was prepared for the smoky trails, the wisps to build together into a figure as they pulled away from his hand. Slowly, gradually, the adult form of Hermione Granger appeared before him. In the prime of her life, much like her husband, the witch glanced around curiously at the black countryside for a moment before settling on the two.
"What in the world---? Oh of all the... Harry? Really, what have you gotten into now? Who is that with you?" The ghost waved a hand dismissively a moment later. "Nevermind, don't tell me. I already know, who else would it be? Hello, Ronald, I was wondering where you had gone off to."
Harry found himself laughing again, unable to resist as the hound beside him managed to look sheepish before his wife. Hermione seemed to soften, the hands she had posed on her hips going limp as her face moved into a fond smile. The trio was together again, and somehow the bond between them felt warm and familial.
"Sorry, 'Mione," Harry whispered softly, feeling a bit choked up. "Shall I tell you everything like I did with Ron?"
The look the brightest witch of her age gave him said 'you'd better', and she seemed to follow it up with 'from the beginning'. How the woman managed to sucessfully convey those emotions and meanings in a simple look, Harry would never know. He'd hardly been able to pass on 'don't you dare' and 'dear Merlin, no' as a parent. But then, he'd never taken the time to study his own 'looks' in the mirror, so maybe he was better at it than he thought?
So once again, Harry told Hermione his tale from the beginning. Only this time, it was to a much less quiet audience, for his bookish friend was always interjecting with questions. She had theories on everything already, and Harry had to remind her to save them for the end, to let him finish it first. Questions were alright, but please, let him finish the story. She had sulked a bit, but tried her hardest to settle after that. Though it was obvious by the antsy way she paced, hands gesticulating or tugging at one another when she did mumble out something, it was a very hard thing to do.
Eventually, Harry came to the end, telling her about summoning Ron and the strange way he'd seem to go through a transformation. Ron added in bits here, and agreed that it had seemed to be something that happened the moment Harry touched him. Hermione had many questions about this, why it had happened, had he caused it, had he wanted anything, felt anything? Harry had struggled to recall, only to come up with the tugging sensation of pulling on the thread that 'felt' like it was binding Ron--- and now Hermione --- here to the living world.
"Fascinating," the deceased witch breathed, looking tempted to reach out for Harry's hand, as though to tempt some theory buzzing in her mind. "Do you think it'll happen to me, too? If Ron's right, we can't interrupt the timestream by appearing as ourselves this time... people go mad with timeturners, I'd imagine it's worse when you haven't been born. Whatever forces that brought you here won't allow someone to affect us being seen as we will be, so naturally, they'd use you to force us into something else? Likely something useful to you until we had to move on. That's actually a fairly logical train of thought, I'm surprised Ron managed to come up with it. Hm... I must've rubbed off on him after over a hundred and twelve years."
Ron huffed, the dog letting out a startled sound while the soul cried out an offended, "Oi!"
Harry nodded, feeling warm and touched deeply in ways he hadn't felt in... well, he wasn't sure. In some ways, he was content in his current life. But he always felt like something was missing. The fear looming over him, perhaps that was a factor. Or perhaps it was the friendships and family he had made before, those that he had left behind. Even now, the ones he had were changing and didn't 'feel' the same. It created a strange ache in his chest, a bittersweet harmony that resonated poorly with his memories. Good or bad, it was... hollow.
"I imagine... yeah, if I touch you, you'll probably become something like your patronus... then maybe change. I don't rightly think an otter would be particularly 'Death-like', as that's what we're probably going for. Kind of a theme, yeah?" Harry chuckled awkwardly, glancing at the two of them. "When it comes time for you to be born, you probably just... won't be summoned, I guess."
Harry lifted his shoulders in a shrug, frowning. His brow was furrowed heavily, the shadows cast in the hollows looking deep. "I don't rightly understand any of this, to be honest. I mean... how would you guys help? Some of you... sure. Ron's a warrior, yeah. I don't think he'll mind some parts of what I have to do. But what if I summon Luna and she agrees? She was terrifying in the war... but she didn't really... it wasn't for her, y'know?" He shuddered, curling his hands up and pressing his nails into his palms. "I don't want to force people into things they can't..."
Hermione frowned, shaking her head so that her tangled curls tossed about her transparent face. "Well, really that's silly. You can't decide what we're comfortable with, or what we're not. If Luna says she's capable of something, let her be. If she's not, she'll tell you. You haven't even spoken to her, why are you worried about this, Harry James Potter? Or is it Hardwin Libras Potter now?"
The other shrugged, appearing at a loss to express himself. "I just... I thought I'd left the war behind me. 'Mione, I... I have to kill in a manner they deserve. If you're involved, what if the Balance starts to dictate your actions, too? What if it controls the Spirits of the Dead? Would you like to be told how you're going to rip someone's throat out? Or that you should start at their calves first, because they are a pedophile and it should last?"
The witch looked a tad green, but her eyes were lit with the same steady fire that they remembered from the past. "Stop it. Just... stop it. I know what monsters are like, I remember. We read their minds, we used their confessions against them. We did away with Dementors as we thought that they were too inhumane for killers. I know full well what sort of... creatures exist out there. I processed them. I fought for them to get a fair trial, so that no one would end up like Sirius. But... but if the Balance says they deserve something... and you're feeling the proof of lives, possibly dozens of women and children especially.. alive because of you? Creatures, even. You mentioned sanctuaries open... populations soaring because of you. I'm inclined to believe in the Cause. Even if... even if it means doing something deplorable."
Harry glanced at Ron, finding blue eyes steady as the hound nodded as well. He was with his wife on this. But he had to be certain, he had to be sure. So he plunged harder, pressed deeper.
"Could you kill, 'Mione? Not to save your life? Not because it was a Death Eater, or someone you knew was bad, but just because you were supposed to? Not even a quick kill, but a session in which you had to question them on their reasons, their mindset. Finding out when and why, the who of the victim. After all that, after you've come to understand them, hopefully... you have to give out the exact amount of pain required for each victim... each life taken, each life injured or interrupted. Could you do it?"
It hurt to ask. Harry didn't think he could do it sometimes. He wasn't a murderer, he wanted to say. He wasn't a sadistic psychopath, he wasn't a god. He didn't like to do these things. Why him? Why did he have to do it? Why? So how could anyone else join him without losing their own sanity?
"Yes," Hermione whispered softly, but her voice was steady. "For you, I could. For the future, for my family... I could."
Harry was startled, and glanced at Ron, only to find the hellhound nudging his nose against his shoulder. "For you, for her... for my family, I will."
The man tasked with the title of Angel of Death didn't know what to feel at that moment. It seemed he was a torrent of emotions, or perhaps he was a small person riding the emotions. An ocean of emotions, with only a buoy to cling to or else he'd drown and be pulled under.
Harry shuttered them away, carefully overlaying his mindself under thick woolen blankets of numb. Slowly, he smiled. "Well then, we'd find out what sort of animal your Otter will become, hadn't we?"

******
It turned out that Hermione's otter was some sort of demented badger. Or at least, that's what Ron and himself had dubbed it. It was large, almost the size of a bear, and the claws were enormous, almost as long as human fingers! With great fangs, the badger-otter was a ferocious foe, good for digging or... other things. Hermione had gone on about everything she knew about badgers, their symbolism from Hogwarts (of course) and how fascinating it was to be one.
Curiously, they had wondered why it had came to be that she had transformed into this creature. Upon further discussion, her muzzle was noted to resemble more of a honey badger, which made them all laugh as it was more anatomically similar to the 'weasel' family than badgers usually were. Hermione had bopped Ron on the head with her paw, not wanting to be teased by him any further. After all, he'd always chase after her.
Hermione had also come up with the idea of training. She wanted to see what these forms could do, and learn how to work together. If they were going to be a team again, it was only fair. How else would they be efficient if they didn't practice? A fair enough question, and neither boy could find themselves arguing with her. At least, not long anyway. Occasionally, Harry did have to remind her that he would have to return after only a few hours to his home in Wiltshire. The Void offered various hours back, and he could sleep off the grovelling work that the witch-turned-Badger put him through, but only so much. He couldn't afford to look tired, or be late if they did check on him.
But during his time with the other part of his team, Harry learned. For example, when Hermione had suggested they set-up a Dummy attack system, they learned that though he could rarely be hit, the two could not be hit but for two spells, strangely enough. Originally, Harry had theorized that like Inferi they would be susceptible to fire casting, such as 'Incendio'. While they both admitted that it was a fairly uncomfortable spell, and not something to be enjoyed, it wasn't particularly painful, nor a bother. In fact, they couldn't really be harmed by much of anthing... except for the afore mentioned two spells.
Said two spells had come as a surprise, actually. Only two spells could touch the deceased animal summons... whatever they were. What spells were they? Strangely enough... one was the very spell he had thought they were transforming from. 'Expecto Patronum'. 'I await a protector.'
It had started out with a Boggart simulation, which had become a Dementor. Harry, adept as he was with casting, had used his Patronus without thought. Only to find that after battling the Boggart it had turned... and charged Ron and Hermione, his companions-turned-guardian-spirits.
Fearful, he'd quickly cast two quick 'Finites' in quick succession, wanting cancel it in time. Nearly, too. Prongs' horns were lowering, pricking Ron's side as he shielded his wife, just before the blue manifestation of happy memories, Harry's father, winked out. The bright creature had seared his deceased best mate, and they'd realized that although physical attacks could not harm them and most magical constructs passed through them... there were some that were dangerous. Painful, even. Harry had apologized profusely, but Ron had shrugged it off, repeating that Harry hadn't known.
That was the first spell. The second was worse. Harry had attempted to fix the blister-like burn marring the hellhound's shoulder or wither area. The stiff muscles bunched near the shoulder blade were a mess, the hair completely shorn off, the skin peeled back and glossy white, ghostly flesh and sinew peeking through nearly to the bone. It wasn't a pretty sight, but at least the burn meant it wasn't bleeding. Hermione had fretted, listing off spells to help repair some of the damage.
But it was when he tried a healing spell that they hit a snag once more. What was supposed to be a soft white glow, the knitting of flesh back together, cell regeneration and the soothing of pain as the receptors generally turned off... turned quickly to horror. Ron began to scream as his shoulder was covered in blue fire, the crackling flames penetrating deeply. At one point Hermione swore that she heard the fire shatter straight through to the bone of Ron's scapula, peeling away flesh rather than repair it as the spell was intended to do. Why in the world was this happening?!
After backtracking and cancelling the spell, Harry had hurriedly sent them back. Hopefully they'd be able to heal on the other side. He wasn't sure what had happened, but he hadn't meant it to do that. Never, never do that.
Ron's screams had given him nightmares for weeks, and Hardwin had suffered terribly. The child had dark circles surrounding his eyes and would stare helplessly at his mother. When questioned why, all he could tell her was that, 'He couldn't bear to sleep, not when all he could hear was the screams'. Dorea had not questioned him further, disturbed.
Sure enough, when summoned days later, Ron was healed. His right shoulder bore a new scar and the fur was burnt a deep auburn color. But the hellhound didn't favor the limb, and didn't hold it against Harry. In fact, he joked that it was better his best mate found out their weakness than an enemy. This way, he said, they could be on the look out. They would be stronger, they could train harder on what to avoid. Perhaps they could even learn to dodge certain spells, since most couldn't touch them. Send 'Avada Kedavra' at them? Sure, that didn't even tickle. But the other two were worse than Unforgiveables to the Summoned Creatures, his Summoned Friends.
Harry wondered how his friends could be so blasé about this. He was stronger for working with them, but terribly afraid of losing them. What would happen to them if they were killed in battle? Would they return to the other side? Would he be able to summon them again? Or would they cease to exist? Maybe those he knew be gone, making only the Hermione and Ron of the future timeline exist... It hurt to think about. So many possibilities. Too many chances.
Hermione seemed proud of his mental mindscape, at least, though she warned him against shutting down emotionally. She also coached him on mannerisms. The best way not to get caught, she said. Should someone ever tie the Potter boy and the Angel together it would be dangerous. He'd already proven that Hardwin was very, very vulnerable. Just a wizard boy with glimpses that Harry saw, with Harry's soul. He was Harry, after all. Though he felt more like a watered down, safer and coddled Harry. Ron had wrinkled his nose at the idea, mentioning that he was trying to place his childhood in a protective bubble. Very counter-productive, he'd said.
Hermione had instructed him to work hard to act more like 'Harry' as the Angel, and less like Hardwin. When Harry had questioned her on what she meant, the fierce honey-badger had given him a look out of sharp brown eyes.

"You're a war veteran, Harry. Use that. Don't hunch and hide behind the boy in the cupboard. Be the General, be the Auror. Be the Leader who faced off against Voldemort and stared him down, unafraid, taunting him. Be the stubborn arse we all know and love. Roll your shoulders back, walk tall. Hardwin doesn't have that confidence. Hardwin hasn't earned it... Hardwin... can't figure out how to move like you can, Harry. Use yourself as a shield."
Hermione was right, like she usually was. Harry had trained his body to move, and the Angel could do that, could imitate that. When someone trained to kill walked, someone confident in battle... it showed. The way they shifted their weight, from the balls of their feet, the pads evenly distributing it before rolling barely to the heel and on. Combative training, that sort of thing showed. A trained eye could spot it a mile a way and even in a suit, they'd glance at the person and know. They'd know and think, 'That person can hold their own. Best not pick fights.'
Harry knew better than to lock his knees during fights. He knew to evenly shift his weight, adjusting his stance hips breadth apart. He was fast, and he didn't mind that he wasn't very bulky. What muscle he had was lean and strong. The Angel could pull off similar moves, if he tried. Dodging, rolling, and jumping. Skidding out of the way, shifting his weight and learning how to throw himself, how to fall without getting hurt again. An important part of Auror training had been the physical, learning that you couldn't depend on your wand alone. Where to hit, from the solar plexus, the kidneys, to the shins. Sensitive areas of the body designed to cause a reaction, to buy you time. Time was of the essence during battle, after all.
Hermione had often been underestimated because of these same tactics. She knew just where to hit a captor in a moment of stillness to make them stumble. The witch could go from complacent to a hissing cat in seconds, fighting her way to freedom and breaking more than a few bones in the process. She had earned the fear of quite a few black market patrons from Knockturn Alley. Never let it be said that the bookish girl was unable to hold her own after years as a Ministry worker, or that she was all spells and no fire. No, they quickly learned their lesson and gave her a wide berth.
Ron had joked that they were training for a war again--- in a way, Harry supposed he was right. They were going to assemble a team able to take on whatever was required of them. The Balance seemed to sense this, as it had been quiet for the month-long excursion of their training each night. His muscles ached, and his mind awoke, shifting more and more memories into his young child-self. Harry tried to cautiously hold the dam back, letting only small trickles through, not wanting to flood Hardwin with awareness. Hardwin was him, and yet-- somehow, he felt so pure. He wanted to keep that for as long as he could.
Finally, when Harry had settled into a routine that he was comfortable with--- being Hardwin by day, waiting excitedly for his letter, teasing his many cousins and relatives. Reading with family and attending lessons as usual, only pausing to fall into bed with a smile on his face--- the very same night bending time and space to shift into Harry, the Angel. Training with his Summoned friends, working for as many hours as they could afford until they were a well-honed machine. Alert an aware, they tracked, planned, attacked and even learned how to watch out for each other. Everything had finally fit together. It was at this precise moment when Harry felt the jangles deep in his bones, a pull that meant he had a job to do. The Balance was calling. The Angel would be silent no more.
Turning to the others, Harry gave a sardonic smile. "Looks like we've business, what say you?"
The hellhound gave a fanged grin with his tongue lolling out eagerly, and the honey-badger leaned back to study him with sharp eyes, her muzzle bobbing in a nod.
"Then we're off...."

(( Alright, this is it for now... lots of love till next chapter!))
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Blood From Whence He Came