Harry Potter and the Daoine Sìth
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
12,313
Reviews:
73
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
12,313
Reviews:
73
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Prologue
This is the final beta'd chaptered. The beta for this story, whom I cannot possibly thank enough is smirking_muse.
Notes:
~The Fairy Challenge~ challenge suggested by lazycrazykitten
Pairing: Harry/(your choice of male character, but must be in Harry Potter books)
Type: Creature fic, multi-chapter
Summary from the original challenge: That night during first year when Harry, Hermione, and Draco were served detention for the dragon incident, Firenze never showed up. After Draco ran off, Harry was left alone with the cloaked figure. Having dropped his wand in a struggle with the cloaked figure, Harry saw no other option but to run. Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong direction and ran further and further away from his school. After running for hours, he finally stops in a clearing filled with brightly glowing, pint-sized figures, fairies. In an effort to help Harry, one of the tiny figures uses its magic and transforms Harry into one of them. The trees become his as he lives amongst the fairies with no worries. Years later, when he is 16 or 17, he is finally found by the wizards who attempt to restore his human form. His size changes, but he maintains his wings and fairy-like beauty. What will the wizards think of him now?
Author Notes:
My pairing for this fiction will be Harry/Draco.
I am making a few modifications to the original challenge. First, Harry never reaches for his wand so he never drops it. Second, in Ireland and Scotland, at least from what I’ve read, faeries have the ability to change size at will, so Harry will not need a wizard to change him. He will be irrevocably changed. Finally, I am changing the timeline a bit to coincide with Beltane. Harry will be discovered just shy of his 16th birthday on May 1, 1995.
This fiction assumes that the reader has read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone and begins with the night of Harry, Hermione, Neville and Draco’s detention with Hagrid in the forbidden forest. Everything is AU from after that night, CS, GF, OOTP, HBP and DH never happened.
The Gaelic used in this fiction is, hopefully, Scottish Gaelic. As I am only familiar with Irish Gaelic if anything is not quite appropriate, I do apologize. I did the Best I could with the translations.
Daoine Sìth is pronounced deena shee and means people of peace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry Potter and the Daoine Sìth
Prologue:
“Away with us he’s going,
The solemn eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping
Than he can understand.”
~~~~~~
Tuesday, 26 May, 1992: some time after eleven o'clock p.m.…
At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Malfoy, Neville and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him as a joke. Neville had panicked and sent up the sparks.
“We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changing groups – Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry you go with Fang an' this idiot. I'm sorry,” Hagrid added in a whisper to Harry, “but he'll have a harder time frightenin' you, an' we've gotta get this done.”
So Harry set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy and Fang. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of ancient oak.
“Look—“ he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.
Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.
It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.
Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered… Then out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.
“AAAAAAAAAAARGH!”
Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted – so did Fang. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry – unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward Harry – he couldn't move for fear.
Then a pain like he'd never felt before pierced his head; it was as though his scar were on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward.*1 He felt the knotty bark of a large tree press against his back, and his hands scrabbled at his forehead.
“Harry Potter…” a cold, coarse voice whispered.
Harry opened his eyes, and through his tears of pain, he watched the black-clad figure slowly remove its hood. Harry thought he knew whom he would see. He knew who was under the hood. Professor Snape had to–
He was corrected as the hood revealed Professor Quirrell.
“You!” gasped Harry.
Quirrell smiled evilly as the silver unicorn blood dripped in shiny rivulets down his chin, staining the black robes with ominously glowing spatters. However, that was not the most horrifying thing about Professor Quirrell's appearance. No, it was the sight of the hoodless, turbanless Professor Quirrell that showed the protruding face on the back of the man's head. The most terrifying face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.*2
“Harry Potter…” the cold voice croaked again.
“Voldemort…” Harry whimpered helplessly. He tried to move backward away from the ghastly figure, but he was held still by the large oak behind him. He could not move.
“See what I have become?” the face said. “Mere shadow and vapour… I have form now that I share this body, but soon I shall have my own body. Unicorn blood can sustain me, but once I have the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own.”*3
The face sneered at Harry. “It is sad that you, Harry Potter, shall not live past this night to see me rise again.” The eyes glowed as if lit by a sudden flame. “You may have survived my wrath once, boy,” the face rasped, “but you will not survive it twice. Kill him!” Voldemort commanded with authority.
Quirrell was on top of Harry before the boy could think. Fingers wrapped around his neck, and pain seared through his forehead. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone.
“Master, I cannot hold him,” Quirrell shouted. “My hands, Master…”
Harry opened his eyes and saw Professor Quirrell holding up his hands. They were burnt red-raw and blistered.
“Seize him, you fool!” Voldermort hissed.
Once again, Quirrell reached for Harry, and once again, the blinding pain threatened to split Harry's head in two. Through the haze, Harry could hear Quirrell's screams of pain even as the man's fingers squeezed tightly around his neck. He could hear Voldemort's own hisses and shouts of “KILL HIM!” Harry could feel the fingers tighten as his chest heaved and struggled to take in air. He was going to die. Killed by Voldemort, like his parents. Strength surged through Harry as his mind recounted Hagrid's tale of his parent's murders. A deep strength bellowed from his very soul.
Bile rose in his throat, and he fought back.
Reaching up, Harry grabbed both sides of Professor Quirrell's head. He grabbed and clung to the man. Quirrell's hands grasped at Harry's wrists as the man thrashed to get away. Harry only clung more tightly. He wrapped himself around Quirrell as they both fell down upon the forest floor. Harry could feel the skin melting beneath his hands, like liquid wax. He was aware of only one thing… the necessity to hold on and to not let go. The pain in his scar lashed and flamed, searing through Harry's entire body.
Even so, he did not let go.
His hands, relying purely on instinct, stayed planted firmly against Quirrell's head like a vice. Harry could hear both Quirrell and Voldemort screaming in torturous pain through the fog of his own suffering. Silence fell and the body beneath him stilled. All went blessedly black.
~~~~~
Harry woke slowly to an aching head and an awful stench. Piece by piece, the memories came back to him… Malfoy – the unicorn – Quirrell – Voldemort. Suddenly aware, Harry lurched backward, tumbling onto his backside and away from the burnt husk lying underneath him.
Panting, taking in great lungfuls of air, Harry rose to his knees and peered at the still figure beside him. The face of Professor Quirrell was unrecognizable as human, despite the lifeless eyes that stared blankly from the burnt and blistered lump of flesh. Carefully, Harry reached out and pushed at the head, turning it, so he could look at the back of the dead man's skull.
Harry gasped as he saw the shrivelled, scorched second face. Voldemort's eyes were no longer red but black and empty. Like shiny, reflective pools they gaped at him accusingly. The boy stared a long moment, taking in the slit-like nose closed and unmoving and the mouth hanging open in a silenced scream of torture and pain. Harry had done that. He had killed.
Suddenly, that one thought blazed like a curse through Harry. He had killed. The bile rose again and this time he could not fight it. He emptied his stomach violently beside the dead body as tears streamed down his face. Great heart-rending sobs of anguish and fear soon replaced his retching.
He had killed.
Guilt and shame bled from his soul as he stared at the dead man. He was a murderer. Trembling, he rose to his feet. What was he going to do? He was a killer. What would happen to him? He hadn't meant to do it. Would he be believed? Would he be forgiven? Voices began to haunt him. The voices of his aunt and uncle rose from his subconscious and wrapped around him. “Good-for-nothing – horrible boy – freak – worthless – liar – FREAK – FREAK – FREAK!”
He had to get away before anyone found him. Surely, Malfoy and Fang would have caught up with Hagrid and the others by now. He had to get away before they came for him. He would be punished. He had committed murder, even if he had not meant to – it wouldn't matter. He had done it. He had killed. The Dursleys voices continued to ring clearly in his ears. They had never believed him. No one had. He was alone. No one believed in worthless freaks.
Face pale with fright and shame, Harry turned and ran. He ran in the opposite direction Malfoy and Fang had, and he did not look back.
~~~
Harry ran as fast as he could for as long as his legs would let him. He stumbled over the craggy roots of the ancient trees and pushed through the spiny brambles. He ran deeper and deeper into the black, black forest. He could hear the creatures surrounding him, dangerous and unseen, and he ran faster. He did not know how far he had gone nor how long he had been moving. Time stilled until it stopped existing altogether. Fear caused his feet to keep moving, never stopping lest he be found or eaten by the things that surrounded him in the dark. He was exhausted, cold, and frightened, but he was determined to put as much distance between him and the dead man on the forest floor as he could.
Hours and hours later, weary and drained of strength, Harry stumbled out of the darkness and into a clearing. Robes torn and tattered, skin scraped and bleeding, Harry fell upon the soft, green grass beside a large tree. He rolled over onto his back. His glasses lost long ago, he stared up blearily into the canopy of the old Hawthorn tree. The sky was washed a silvery-gray colour, as though the sun were rising in the sky. Was it rising or finally setting? Having been in the darkness of the forest for so long, Harry could not be sure. His eyes were heavy and his lungs burned. His arms and legs felt like dead things. Slowly, achingly slowly, Harry felt his body giving into exhaustion.
~~~~~
When he awoke, it was to tinkling laughter and the softest grass he had ever felt. Through the malaise that enraptured his mind, Harry felt wispy wings brush against him.
“Sleep, little human child,” a delicate feminine voice whispered in his ear. Harry tried to open his eyes, but he could not. He was too tired. Bone weary. “Sleep…” the voice gently commanded. The sound was so lovely and kind. Harry could feel it guiding him back to slumber. He felt no panic, even as he felt soft hands tugging at his clothes, removing them. Fingers were ghosting over his bruised and battered skin, healing him, cleansing him. Sweet smelling water was poured over him, and kisses whispered against his flesh as the tinkling giggles reverberated in the background. Harry felt no malice in the touches and voices, just care and kindness, calmness and love.
“Sleep, Beathan*4. All will be well,” the female spoke again.
Harry used every ounce of strength he had left to open his eyes to the most beautiful woman. Her skin was as pale and luminous as the full moon in a clear, starlit night. Her long, dark hair framed her face with wavy curls. Her eyes were the colour of the wild heather on the hillside streaked with the morning sun. Behind her, gossamer wings of enchanting greens and browns and oranges stretched out and flitted in the breeze, like the most perfect butterfly wings.
Harry couldn't help but smile. She smiled sweetly back at him as she leant down and kissed his forehead. “When you wake, Beathan, you shall be my dalta*5, yes?” the lovely woman asked.
Harry sighed as he closed his eyes; a feeling of overwhelming love penetrated his very core. “Yes, máthair*6,” he mumbled before blackness overtook him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
*1 Text is taken directly from the book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by JK Rowling, chapter 15, ‘The Forbidden Forest’, pages 186-187.
*2 Text is taken directly from the book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by JK Rowling, chapter 17 ‘The Man with Two Faces’, page 212.
*3 Text is modified from Voldemort’s original speech in the book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by JK Rowling, chapter 17, ‘The Man with Two Faces’, page 213.
*4 Beathan is pronounced Beh-un and means child of light.
*5 Dalta is pronounced Dahl-Tah and means foster son.
*6 Máthair is pronounced Maw-hir and means mother.
Notes:
~The Fairy Challenge~ challenge suggested by lazycrazykitten
Pairing: Harry/(your choice of male character, but must be in Harry Potter books)
Type: Creature fic, multi-chapter
Summary from the original challenge: That night during first year when Harry, Hermione, and Draco were served detention for the dragon incident, Firenze never showed up. After Draco ran off, Harry was left alone with the cloaked figure. Having dropped his wand in a struggle with the cloaked figure, Harry saw no other option but to run. Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong direction and ran further and further away from his school. After running for hours, he finally stops in a clearing filled with brightly glowing, pint-sized figures, fairies. In an effort to help Harry, one of the tiny figures uses its magic and transforms Harry into one of them. The trees become his as he lives amongst the fairies with no worries. Years later, when he is 16 or 17, he is finally found by the wizards who attempt to restore his human form. His size changes, but he maintains his wings and fairy-like beauty. What will the wizards think of him now?
Author Notes:
My pairing for this fiction will be Harry/Draco.
I am making a few modifications to the original challenge. First, Harry never reaches for his wand so he never drops it. Second, in Ireland and Scotland, at least from what I’ve read, faeries have the ability to change size at will, so Harry will not need a wizard to change him. He will be irrevocably changed. Finally, I am changing the timeline a bit to coincide with Beltane. Harry will be discovered just shy of his 16th birthday on May 1, 1995.
This fiction assumes that the reader has read Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone and begins with the night of Harry, Hermione, Neville and Draco’s detention with Hagrid in the forbidden forest. Everything is AU from after that night, CS, GF, OOTP, HBP and DH never happened.
The Gaelic used in this fiction is, hopefully, Scottish Gaelic. As I am only familiar with Irish Gaelic if anything is not quite appropriate, I do apologize. I did the Best I could with the translations.
Daoine Sìth is pronounced deena shee and means people of peace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry Potter and the Daoine Sìth
Prologue:
“Away with us he’s going,
The solemn eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping
Than he can understand.”
- Excerpt from ‘The Stolen Child’ by William Butler Yeats
~~~~~~
Tuesday, 26 May, 1992: some time after eleven o'clock p.m.…
At last, a great crunching noise announced Hagrid's return. Malfoy, Neville and Fang were with him. Hagrid was fuming. Malfoy, it seemed, had sneaked up behind Neville and grabbed him as a joke. Neville had panicked and sent up the sparks.
“We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin'. Right, we're changing groups – Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, Harry you go with Fang an' this idiot. I'm sorry,” Hagrid added in a whisper to Harry, “but he'll have a harder time frightenin' you, an' we've gotta get this done.”
So Harry set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy and Fang. They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of ancient oak.
“Look—“ he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.
Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.
It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.
Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered… Then out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.
“AAAAAAAAAAARGH!”
Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted – so did Fang. The hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry – unicorn blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly toward Harry – he couldn't move for fear.
Then a pain like he'd never felt before pierced his head; it was as though his scar were on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward.*1 He felt the knotty bark of a large tree press against his back, and his hands scrabbled at his forehead.
“Harry Potter…” a cold, coarse voice whispered.
Harry opened his eyes, and through his tears of pain, he watched the black-clad figure slowly remove its hood. Harry thought he knew whom he would see. He knew who was under the hood. Professor Snape had to–
He was corrected as the hood revealed Professor Quirrell.
“You!” gasped Harry.
Quirrell smiled evilly as the silver unicorn blood dripped in shiny rivulets down his chin, staining the black robes with ominously glowing spatters. However, that was not the most horrifying thing about Professor Quirrell's appearance. No, it was the sight of the hoodless, turbanless Professor Quirrell that showed the protruding face on the back of the man's head. The most terrifying face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.*2
“Harry Potter…” the cold voice croaked again.
“Voldemort…” Harry whimpered helplessly. He tried to move backward away from the ghastly figure, but he was held still by the large oak behind him. He could not move.
“See what I have become?” the face said. “Mere shadow and vapour… I have form now that I share this body, but soon I shall have my own body. Unicorn blood can sustain me, but once I have the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own.”*3
The face sneered at Harry. “It is sad that you, Harry Potter, shall not live past this night to see me rise again.” The eyes glowed as if lit by a sudden flame. “You may have survived my wrath once, boy,” the face rasped, “but you will not survive it twice. Kill him!” Voldemort commanded with authority.
Quirrell was on top of Harry before the boy could think. Fingers wrapped around his neck, and pain seared through his forehead. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone.
“Master, I cannot hold him,” Quirrell shouted. “My hands, Master…”
Harry opened his eyes and saw Professor Quirrell holding up his hands. They were burnt red-raw and blistered.
“Seize him, you fool!” Voldermort hissed.
Once again, Quirrell reached for Harry, and once again, the blinding pain threatened to split Harry's head in two. Through the haze, Harry could hear Quirrell's screams of pain even as the man's fingers squeezed tightly around his neck. He could hear Voldemort's own hisses and shouts of “KILL HIM!” Harry could feel the fingers tighten as his chest heaved and struggled to take in air. He was going to die. Killed by Voldemort, like his parents. Strength surged through Harry as his mind recounted Hagrid's tale of his parent's murders. A deep strength bellowed from his very soul.
Bile rose in his throat, and he fought back.
Reaching up, Harry grabbed both sides of Professor Quirrell's head. He grabbed and clung to the man. Quirrell's hands grasped at Harry's wrists as the man thrashed to get away. Harry only clung more tightly. He wrapped himself around Quirrell as they both fell down upon the forest floor. Harry could feel the skin melting beneath his hands, like liquid wax. He was aware of only one thing… the necessity to hold on and to not let go. The pain in his scar lashed and flamed, searing through Harry's entire body.
Even so, he did not let go.
His hands, relying purely on instinct, stayed planted firmly against Quirrell's head like a vice. Harry could hear both Quirrell and Voldemort screaming in torturous pain through the fog of his own suffering. Silence fell and the body beneath him stilled. All went blessedly black.
~~~~~
Harry woke slowly to an aching head and an awful stench. Piece by piece, the memories came back to him… Malfoy – the unicorn – Quirrell – Voldemort. Suddenly aware, Harry lurched backward, tumbling onto his backside and away from the burnt husk lying underneath him.
Panting, taking in great lungfuls of air, Harry rose to his knees and peered at the still figure beside him. The face of Professor Quirrell was unrecognizable as human, despite the lifeless eyes that stared blankly from the burnt and blistered lump of flesh. Carefully, Harry reached out and pushed at the head, turning it, so he could look at the back of the dead man's skull.
Harry gasped as he saw the shrivelled, scorched second face. Voldemort's eyes were no longer red but black and empty. Like shiny, reflective pools they gaped at him accusingly. The boy stared a long moment, taking in the slit-like nose closed and unmoving and the mouth hanging open in a silenced scream of torture and pain. Harry had done that. He had killed.
Suddenly, that one thought blazed like a curse through Harry. He had killed. The bile rose again and this time he could not fight it. He emptied his stomach violently beside the dead body as tears streamed down his face. Great heart-rending sobs of anguish and fear soon replaced his retching.
He had killed.
Guilt and shame bled from his soul as he stared at the dead man. He was a murderer. Trembling, he rose to his feet. What was he going to do? He was a killer. What would happen to him? He hadn't meant to do it. Would he be believed? Would he be forgiven? Voices began to haunt him. The voices of his aunt and uncle rose from his subconscious and wrapped around him. “Good-for-nothing – horrible boy – freak – worthless – liar – FREAK – FREAK – FREAK!”
He had to get away before anyone found him. Surely, Malfoy and Fang would have caught up with Hagrid and the others by now. He had to get away before they came for him. He would be punished. He had committed murder, even if he had not meant to – it wouldn't matter. He had done it. He had killed. The Dursleys voices continued to ring clearly in his ears. They had never believed him. No one had. He was alone. No one believed in worthless freaks.
Face pale with fright and shame, Harry turned and ran. He ran in the opposite direction Malfoy and Fang had, and he did not look back.
~~~
Harry ran as fast as he could for as long as his legs would let him. He stumbled over the craggy roots of the ancient trees and pushed through the spiny brambles. He ran deeper and deeper into the black, black forest. He could hear the creatures surrounding him, dangerous and unseen, and he ran faster. He did not know how far he had gone nor how long he had been moving. Time stilled until it stopped existing altogether. Fear caused his feet to keep moving, never stopping lest he be found or eaten by the things that surrounded him in the dark. He was exhausted, cold, and frightened, but he was determined to put as much distance between him and the dead man on the forest floor as he could.
Hours and hours later, weary and drained of strength, Harry stumbled out of the darkness and into a clearing. Robes torn and tattered, skin scraped and bleeding, Harry fell upon the soft, green grass beside a large tree. He rolled over onto his back. His glasses lost long ago, he stared up blearily into the canopy of the old Hawthorn tree. The sky was washed a silvery-gray colour, as though the sun were rising in the sky. Was it rising or finally setting? Having been in the darkness of the forest for so long, Harry could not be sure. His eyes were heavy and his lungs burned. His arms and legs felt like dead things. Slowly, achingly slowly, Harry felt his body giving into exhaustion.
~~~~~
When he awoke, it was to tinkling laughter and the softest grass he had ever felt. Through the malaise that enraptured his mind, Harry felt wispy wings brush against him.
“Sleep, little human child,” a delicate feminine voice whispered in his ear. Harry tried to open his eyes, but he could not. He was too tired. Bone weary. “Sleep…” the voice gently commanded. The sound was so lovely and kind. Harry could feel it guiding him back to slumber. He felt no panic, even as he felt soft hands tugging at his clothes, removing them. Fingers were ghosting over his bruised and battered skin, healing him, cleansing him. Sweet smelling water was poured over him, and kisses whispered against his flesh as the tinkling giggles reverberated in the background. Harry felt no malice in the touches and voices, just care and kindness, calmness and love.
“Sleep, Beathan*4. All will be well,” the female spoke again.
Harry used every ounce of strength he had left to open his eyes to the most beautiful woman. Her skin was as pale and luminous as the full moon in a clear, starlit night. Her long, dark hair framed her face with wavy curls. Her eyes were the colour of the wild heather on the hillside streaked with the morning sun. Behind her, gossamer wings of enchanting greens and browns and oranges stretched out and flitted in the breeze, like the most perfect butterfly wings.
Harry couldn't help but smile. She smiled sweetly back at him as she leant down and kissed his forehead. “When you wake, Beathan, you shall be my dalta*5, yes?” the lovely woman asked.
Harry sighed as he closed his eyes; a feeling of overwhelming love penetrated his very core. “Yes, máthair*6,” he mumbled before blackness overtook him.
*1 Text is taken directly from the book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by JK Rowling, chapter 15, ‘The Forbidden Forest’, pages 186-187.
*2 Text is taken directly from the book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by JK Rowling, chapter 17 ‘The Man with Two Faces’, page 212.
*3 Text is modified from Voldemort’s original speech in the book, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by JK Rowling, chapter 17, ‘The Man with Two Faces’, page 213.
*4 Beathan is pronounced Beh-un and means child of light.
*5 Dalta is pronounced Dahl-Tah and means foster son.
*6 Máthair is pronounced Maw-hir and means mother.