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The Son of Storms 13
🕑 Added 2023-06-16 08:01:05 +0000 UTC“How has he been?” Hestia asked as she felt Chiron come to a stop beside her, her eye focused on the figure of her nephew—and the boy she had come to view as her son—sitting upon the top of the rocky cliffs in the forest, wind and lightning whipping around him in a small tornado, “He hasn’t come to visit me even once in the last week.”
“Silent,” the Caretaker of the demigods replied, sighing heavily as he looked up at the Goddess of Hearth from his wheelchair. “And completely different from the time he was unconscious after the Hydra bit him. He has barely said a word to anyone and just keeps on training his powers in solitude. He has decided to depart for Britain this evening without delay, and even Abigail has been unable to get to him.”
“I should have come here sooner,” Hestia grimaced, closing her eyes before she looked at the demigod she thought of as her child, “But I had to be there for the Inter-Pantheon meet, and Zeus had given me the task of keeping Dionysus in check lest he speaks too much in front of the Norse and the Hindu Pantheons.”
“Where was the meet held this time?” Chiron asked, surprised at the news. The Inter-Pantheon meet was a big thing, and the last time it had happened…well, Dionysus had decided to rampage through the world in search of women and wine and glory, without a care for the boundaries agreed upon by the different powers. “I hope that things went smoothly this time…I remember how furious they both were last time.”
“Understandable,” she sighed, her own mind flashing back to the cataclysmic, world-ending war that had broken out due to her nephew’s and Zeus’ foolishness all those centuries ago, “But right now, it was due to them wanting to warn us about the rising energies and activities in the Pit that they were able to feel, due to the shared dimensional boundaries. A chimera had spawned in some Indian Village a few days ago, and luckily, their wards were enough to smite it out of existence before it could do anything…but the matter is troubling. Around the same time, a couple of Dracanaes appeared in Norway and Ireland, and that made the Norse call for the meet alongside the Hindus.”
Hestia paused for a moment, and Chiron looked up at her as a worried frown made its way on her features, “But that is now concluded…and I am going with Harry to Britain. I already have permission from Lord Dagda, and the Celtics have granted me leave to stay in their domain till September 1. Get the spirits to pack all the stuff Harry will be taking or needing there…we will be departing shortly.”
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“How’s the egg?”
“Aunt Hestia,” Harry blinked, coming out of his trance, feeling the electricity running over his body and the wind blowing around him disappear as he stopped exerting his energy, turning his focus towards the Goddess that appeared by his side. She looked as beautiful as ever, her brown hair cascading down gently in waves as her amber eyes glowed with the warmth that was just so…pure and Hestia. He instantly jumped to his feet as he saw the smile full of love she gave him, every fiber of his being seeming to come alive with a smile as he hugged the first and the only person he considered his mother, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, my child,” she replied, her hand coming to rest on his head as he snuggled into her familiar, inviting warmth. She sighed with happiness as his arms wrapped around her, feeling the love Harry held for her, her eyes growing a little moist as she realized that she had almost lost this. Lost him. Blinking away the water in her eyes, she closed them and just enjoyed the moment of peace and love between them, running her fingers through his unruly hair as she laid her head on the top of his head, checking over his body with her senses once again to make sure he was hundred percent fine, “You didn’t come to my Hearth even once after you woke up…I was beginning to feel you had forgotten your dear old aunt.”
“Shut up,” he mumbled with a laugh, pulling back to look up at her, and Hestia marveled at how tall he had become compared to the first time he had hugged her, “I am going to Britain today. There are only two weeks left before school starts, and I want to learn a little about the courses, as well as the world I am walking into.”
“A smart decision,” she nodded approvingly, tapping his cheek before she nodded in the direction of the camp, “Now, shall we get to packing your luggage? You also have to say goodbye to Apollo’s daughter, Abigail, right?”
“Uh yeahhhh,” Harry trailed off uncomfortably as he met her eyes with a wince, rubbing the back of his head, “Could you be like…be there when I tell her this? I don’t think it will go over well with Abigail…please?”
“Is Darth Potter scared of his girlfriend?” Hestia teased, laughing at the disgruntled look that appeared on the young demigod’s face, his infamous nickname still a thing of whispers and gossip amidst the campers—Especially with Athena and Apollo's campers weaving a story around the Son of Zeus’ accomplishments every night at the bonfire. Giggling at the put-out look on his face, Hestia internally frowned at how he had briefly tensed in her grip. Deciding to talk to him about it later, once they were away from the ears of the spirits and dryads that roamed the camp, she continued, “Now, you didn’t answer my original question, dear nephew, how is the egg you brought back from the cliffs?”
Harry sobered up instantly at the question, all the mirth and warmth gone from his face as he turned his head to the side. His arms dropped from around her waist, and Hestia frowned visibly as she felt the tumultuous storm of emotions begin to rage inside his heart. Doubt and shame were the most prevalent, along with a healthy dose of confusion and anger. She hadn’t meant to peek in on the little child’s mind…but the sheer intensity of the emotions, along with how active her own domains were when it came to her pseudo-son, had made her see all that automatically.
And now that she knew it, Hestia could also hazard a guess as to why Harry was feeling so. This was the third time he had fallen unconscious due to a monster, the third time someone had to carry him to safety…the third time he had been lucky. Demigods weren’t lucky…they weren’t supposed to be alive after so many brushes with Thanatos’ fingers. But yet, each time Harry had come close to dying, something or the other brought him to safety. First, it had been her brother; the second time, it had been the campers themselves…and now it had been her.
She knew Harry better than he knew himself. And after years of knowing and loving him, Hestia knew what his heart and mind were made of and, most importantly, what his flaws were. And right now, he was suffering just because he couldn’t accept his own weakness, his own inability to live up to the standards he had set for himself or the ones he thought Zeus expected from him. But she also knew that he wasn’t going to talk about them, and neither was he going to like being talked to…at least not now.
So the only thing she could do now was distract him, and the best way to do so now was to get to the World of Wizards.
To Harry’s new life.
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21 August 1989
“Well, back here again.”
These were the first words Harry spoke as he stepped down from the airplane, feeling the chilly winds whip across his face. The weather here was a complete one-eighty from the States, the cold of the fall permeating the whole sky, a far cry from the summer sun he had been in just a few hours ago. However, the temperature didn’t really affect him that much beyond an initial chill, and he just willed his magic to warm his body a little, remembering the days when he used to do so in this very city’s dark belly.
It had been three years since he had last been in London, and that Satyr’s initial words still echoed in his ears as he remembered that night. Moving down the airstair, he sighed and looked up at the sky, feeling his power and his control over the heavens above reduce more and more with each passing moment. A part of the Inter-Pantheon laws, Chiron had explained to him when the Hogwarts letter had arrived, stated that the powers and domain control of the demigods were weakened greatly when they went out of the limits of their pantheon’s territory.
With the United Kingdom and Ireland, along with some surrounding areas coming under the purview of the Celtic Pantheon, the dominion over the sky and its aspects was held by Taranis. Similarly, he could feel his geokinesis and hydrokinesis also weaken greatly, the Celtic Pantheon’s gods' influence over the world here dampening Poseidon’s authority over the earth and water.
“Don’t fret, my dear,” Hestia’s calm voice washed over him, and Harry sighed as he felt her hand come to rest on his shoulder, her aura washing over him more strongly. Honestly, it had been only her presence that had stopped him from freaking out the moment they had crossed over the Atlantic, and he had begun to feel the effects of leaving the Greek territory, “You will get used to the sensation quickly, and while you are here…avoid using your powers and the mist entirely. The Celtics have agreed to host you here only because your mother was one of their subjects, and you are a magical born in their lands—but they have made it clear that should you exhibit any needless tendency to harm their subjects or do anything suspicious…actions will be taken based on your activities.”
“Summarized quite well, Lady Hestia,” a regal, powerful voice spoke up from behind them, the British accent reminding Harry of the days when he used to watch James Bond and other movies from the windows on the streets. He turned around, his hand twitching for a moment as he barely fought the urge to summon his Xiphos, and his eyes landed on an old aged man, his bushy but well-maintained beard and stormy grey eyes looking down on them from the top of the cockpit. He was a little slouched, his hands behind his back as the black and blue robes he was clad in swayed in the gentle breeze, his frame thin and his face wrinkled with age, “Be welcomed in the land of Celts, Hestia, Daughter of Rhea, and Harry, Son of Lily. King Dagda sends his greetings, and he has tasked me with assisting you for a couple of days as well as getting you acquainted with the magical world and its basic knowledge.”
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“Thank you for your welcome, Lord Taranis,” Hestia lowered her head in respect to the older god, feeling his power thrumming across the whole sky as he looked at them both. While his appearance may suggest otherwise, the Goddess of Hearth knew that Taranis was a literal monster. Amongst the most ruthless gods of the Celtic Pantheon, he was amongst their strongest too, and for him to come here personally…she knew the Celts weren’t taking any chances with Harry.
Understandable, considering what happened the last time.
“So this is the latest spawn of your King,” he commented after a moment, his eyes moving to the demigod beside her and taking in the child before him, “Hmm…I think I remember you, boy. Did you happen to be living on the streets of London a few years ago?”
“Yes…Lord Taranis,” he answered, bowing at his waist to show his respect and deference to the Elder god, remembering the lessons that Hestia and Chiron both had given to him, “I lived here in London for two years before I was taken to the States.”
“Hmm,” the god hummed, and Hestia waited for him to elaborate upon the matter more. Still, it seemed like the God of Thunder wasn’t going to do so, as with a swirl of his robes, Taranis disappeared from his spot before appearing right in front of them, “Since it’s late right now, I think it would be best if you made your way to one of the lodgings in the magical district. Also, a fair warning to you, Son of Lily, while you use the veil, or the ‘mist’ as you call it, freely in your land…here, even the slightest use of it can cause a lot of problems, young demigod. So take heed of the warning Lady Hestia has given you, and don’t commit mistakes that would lead to unpleasant… repercussions.”
“Yes, Milord,” he murmured back, feeling the authority in the power that echoed around him, and even the cloak of Hestia's warmth was unable to shield his senses from the utterly wrathful aura that the ancient-looking god gave off for a moment, dark clouds seeming to gather in his eyes, while the smell of ozone permeated the air around them as a golden spear appeared in his hands. His eyes glowed golden, and his whole body changed into a muscular one as he straightened up. Thunder cracked across the sky above them, and Harry shivered as he unconsciously took a step back, feeling the power of the entity before him.
An eyeblink later, it was all gone, and back was the old, unassuming man Taranis had been a moment ago. Hestia frowned mentally, but she could do nothing to support her child—a condition of the Celtics had been to introduce themselves to the newest son of the Big Three in any harmless way they saw fit, and unfortunately, that vow prevented her from interfering now.
His show of power done, Taranis turned around and began walking away from the private jet, his gait slow and weak as he waved a hand over his shoulder. “Come one now, don’t tarry and take up more of my time than what I want to give you brat. The sooner we are done with this, the better we both are going to feel.”
Hestia shook her head slightly in disapproval at the Celtic god, and a part of her couldn’t help but wonder whether being an egotistical abrasive being was a part of taking the mantle of a Skyfather. Because her meetings with Taranis, Susano’o, Indra and even Thor had certainly led her to believe that—and of course, how could she forget her own brother’s name in that list? She also noticed how Tanaris had only referred to Harry as the son of Lily, disregarding his connection to godly heritage.Putting those thoughts behind her, she laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder and began to steer him alongside her, following Taranis as they moved away from the runway.
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“We are about to reach our destination,” Taranis said suddenly, breaking him out of his thoughts as the old god turned left, his hands still behind his back as he looked back at them, “Before we enter the Wizarding World, you should know a few things, Son of Lily. Listen closely, and listen well child, for even we gods don’t tread lightly into the realm of the sorcerers, such is the danger and power your kind possesses. And some time ago, one man sought to reach even new pinnacles of strength, and wage war on all humanity in a bid to establish his rule and name.”
“Lord Voldemort was his chosen name,” he continued, his voice taking a sombre, serious edge that it hadn’t possessed before as he looked up at the sky, and a gust of cold wind flew through the area, reflecting the god’s emotions. “He was charismatic, charming and cunning, with a hunger for knowledge seldom seen in this world. But most of all, he was powerful. Over the years, his power only grew, until he decided to be the only powerful one in this world. He waged war on Wizarding Britain, convincing hundreds of wizards and witches to follow him for one reason or the other. People fell before his might like flies, and with each victory, he won more power, more fear…but one man stood in his way, thwarting his conquest at every possible turn.”
“Albus Dumbledore,” Harry murmured, remembering the words Chiron had spoken about the man, “I guess he killed off this Lord Voldemort, if he is still alive and teaching at Hogwarts.”
"No he didn't," Taranis shook his head, disapproval in his voice as he continued with the tale, "He fought him to a standstill each and every time, forcing him into retreat every time but even then, Voldemort was winning just by the attrition being in his favor. Power is everything in this reality, Son of Lily, and it is more so in the world of Wizards. When the populace saw that this Dark Lord was able to raise the dead with a flick of his wand, change the whole landscape with a blast of his magic…and fight the strongest wizard in the world to a stop each and everytime…they were soon unwilling to even come out of their homes."
"But he must have been defeated," Harry tilted his head, imagining a dark cloaked, powerful wizard weilding unimaginable power, and making others bow just with his presence alone. Harry wasn't sure why he liked that image so much, but he focused back of the god of thunder as he continued, "Otherwise I doubt that Albus Dumbledore would still be alive and calling children into a potential warzone."
"Aye, he was defeated, 'Tis true," came the response, and a flash of lightning lit the sky above them, illuminating the heavy clouds and the water glistening on the asphalt, "A prophecy was given after your birth, and in accordance with that, Voldemort was defeated by a boy. However on the same night, a couple of followers of Voldemort invaded your home, and killed your parents. You were whisked away by the magic of your mother as she took her final breath, thus saving you from certain death."
"My mother was killed?!" He whispered, shocked beyond belief at that piece of information. The Dursleys had always told him that his mother and adoptive father had died in an accident, and Chiron had never possessed any information on his origins to say otherwise.
But to hear that they were murdered?!
And his mom saved him with the last bit of her strength instead of running away herself…Harry wasn't sure what he was feeling in his chest at that moment, but he sure as hell felt a storm of anger claw it's way through his mind. Whoever it was, they better be already dead, because of they were still alive, he was goi-
“Now, don’t say your name to anyone, Son of Lily,” Taranis' voice cut through his murderous thoughts as they neared a barely lit alley, a board hanging over one of the doors at the edge and the sound of dripping water coming from every little spot around. “I don’t want wizards and witches crowding us every step of the way just because you decided to be polite to some old, wart-nosed skeleton.”
“You sure are a cheery guy to be around huh?” Harry muttered to himself, reading the barely visible letters on the weathered, half-rotten wood swaying above their heads, “The Leaky Cauldron?...that isn’t very subtle, is it?”
“Not everyone is aware of things that don’t adhere to the laws of men Harry,” Hestia said softly, tilting her head as she looked at the board, her mind flashing back to the last time she had been here a couple of centuries ago.“For the Muggleborns and their parents, it is a simple enough sign, and I believe there is a story that goes behind the name of this establishment.”
“Aye, that is true,” their guide of the evening responded, walking over to the door and opening it with a push of his fingers, looking back at them with his grey eyes twinkling in amusement. “And quite a tale it is, but first, let's get you both introduced to Wizarding Britain, shall we?”
He pushed the door open and walked into the room beyond, his spear flashing into his hand before it shrunk down into a thin, golden wand. A barrage of sounds assaulted his ears, people laughing and cheering for something as if there very lives depended on it. He took a step inside what was clearly a bar, the dingy atmosphere and the barely glowing dirty yellow lights shining throughout the hall. A mug of alcohol was slammed into his hands, and Harry barely gripped it as a drunk man almost fell over him.
He looked at Hestia, bemused out of his mind as he struggled to comprehend what the fuck was happening here.
"Welcome back to the Wizarding world, brat" Taranis smiled sharply as he turned around, a mug raised in his right hand as his eyes shone for a moment, "Gu ma beannachd leat, a Mhic Lili."
