A/N: This is the current winner of the Poll:
Harry is the Son of Ares, but was never Claimed, and becomes the Master of Death.
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Warnings: Lots of cursing, some OOCness, AU, BAMF!Harry, BAMF!Lily, Ron&Percy!Bashing (Mild), Slytherin!Harry, Possessive!Harry/Ares, Adorable!Baby!Teddy
Lily didn't know what to do. There was a war going on in England, and James was running around like a bloody idiot on the front lines with his friends, while she'd been shuffled off and told to stay behind the scenes because her bloody husband didn't want to lose her.
Well, good for him, but did he really think she wanted to lose him?!
Her frustration and ire was just why she was here, drinking her annoyance at that ridiculous man away in this little Muggle bar and vindictively flirting with the gorgeous man sitting down the bar from her, dressed in the military fatigues of the American Armed Forces. She doubted it would come to anything, but it was fun, and soothed the hurt of being left behind when all she wanted to do was stand next to her husband and help fight the scum who threatened their way of life with their ridiculously uninformed ideals.
She drank another shot of… She didn't really remember what, and blinked as, the next moment, she found the gorgeous American man sitting next to her and paying for her next drink. He wasn't the same handsome as James, he was larger, rougher and roguish, with scars on his broad face and muscles budging, black hair in a crew cut and eyes hidden behind wrap-around, red-tinted glasses. The smirk he gave her had her thighs clenching and her heart picking up. This wasn't the kind of man who would buy her flowers and hold her hand. This man's very presence promised rough sex and no phone number left on the pillow when you woke up the next day to an empty bed.
"Hello, good looking," he purred, and Lily licked her lips unconsciously as he leaned forward, breath smelling faintly of cigarettes and something coppery. "The name's Ares."
She was taking this man home tonight, and she'd deal with her regrets tomorrow.
Staring down at her baby, Lily was torn. Harry James Potter was beautiful. He had black hair, darker than his father's dark brown, and eyes the same shape as hers which were currently newborn-blue. He had her nose and ears, but…
That mouth was all Ares, already promising a smirk before a smile, and a sneer ready in the background.
She remembered that mouth very well, and it had her casting a guilty look towards the door.
The day after her drunken, satisfying night with Ares had found her blasting her way through a battle with Death Eaters in order to slap her stupid husband across his stunned face, before kissing him harshly and telling him he was an idiot. They'd spent the rest of the battle side-by-side, fighting for their lives, and she hadn't felt so damn exhilarated in her life, except when she'd bedded that foreigner just the night before.
And now, exactly nine months later (Though, to James, it was only eight months, the baby seeming early and Poppy having sworn an oath not to give him the baby's actual age), she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, whose face was as much Ares as hers, and she hoped that people would wave off the dissimilarity to James as just her own genetics acting up.
Sighing, Lily smiled down at her baby boy.
"You're going to be so much trouble when you're older," she murmured to him affectionately, kissing his tiny mouth just to watch him scowl up at her and blink his blue eyes.
She'd never get to see that day, however.
Harry gritted his teeth as his stupid, fat cousin mocked him, his blazing green eyes narrowed as he gardened.
"Freak!" Dudley sneered at him, waddling closer, and Harry cast a careful glance at the house to see if anyone was watching.
…Fuck it, the nine-year-old thought. They'll just blame me for it, anyways. Might as well actually do something to get blamed for. Smirking, Harry stood up, dusting dirt off his hands from where he'd been helping the flowers war against the weeds. Turning, he smirked at his disgusting cousin, his eyes gleaming like fire in the summer sunlight.
"Hey, Diddykins," he mocked, smirk nasty as he began to stalk towards his cousin. "You hungry? I've got a sandwich you can have." Dudley blinked, confused, then smirked right back without knowing the pain Harry's slow, predatory movements promised.
"Give it over, Freak," he ordered, holding out one chubby hand imperiously. "And I might not tell Dad that you're snitching food." Harry grinned, fierce and cruel, and clenched his hand.
"Okay, Dudley," he agreed; Dudley grinned.
Harry's fist broke two of his teeth and his nose.
Hogwarts was okay, Harry supposed. He'd learned a shit-ton of spells he wasn't supposed to know, but, hey, the library was open for everyone, and there were dozens of countless unused classrooms he could practice in. Potions was okay, he and Snape had fun snarking at one another, though Harry tended to blow up any cauldron near him if his vicious Head of House hit too close with his insults, but they'd figured out putting Harry next to the Gryffindors made it more funny than annoying, and Snape got to take points so, hey, win-win, right?
Harry had beaten the shit out of Malfoy the first night, however. Piece of shit he was, mocking Harry's mother, who Harry actually liked out of the two of his parents (After all, anyone Aunt Petunia loathed was the best thing in the world, as far as Harry was concerned). Of course, Harry had beat the shit out of several people, upper years included, and it had quickly gotten him a reputation that he far from minded. (His Housemates were just irritated that they actually had to work to earn back the many points he'd lost them but, hey, the Hat said he'd be kick-ass in Slytherin and that he'd face a lot of opposition and make enemies, so, you know, he kinda had to go there!)
Now it was Halloween, and Harry found himself stalking towards the Girls Bathroom to save that ridiculous brainy chick that had helped him out with a spell once in class, because some idiot had made her cry and she didn't know about the Troll.
Rounding the corner, Harry paused as he stared up at the Troll as it struggled to get into the girls bathroom. The thing was huge and carrying a club…
Harry grinned and cracked his knuckles.
Oh, this would be fun.
Harry stared at the face on the back of Quirrels head, frowning. Hermione was outside, trying to keep Zabini's brain from leaking out his ears or something after the intelligent Slytherin (Harry's sometimes-sparring partner and maybe-friend) had sacrificed himself to beat that stupid as fuck chess game, and this fucker was monologuing and Harry's stupid reflection had slipped something into his pocket.
Harry cracked his knuckles and pulled his wand out.
He wanted to practice some of the Sixth Year spells on a live target, anyways.
Harry punched Lockhart in the face.
He had no regrets.
The fact that the man had tried to drag him on stage with him. So, Harry had punched him. In front of a crowd. And shouted about ho he needed an adult.
He had no regrets.
And seeing Weasley's dad get into a fistfight with Malfoy's was just a fucking bonus, if he was honest.
All in all, a good day of shopping.
"The fuck do you mean I wasn't speaking English?" Harry demanded, staring at Hermione and Blaise (as he'd demanded Harry call him once they'd both woken up in the Hospital Wing after the Quirrelmort incident) after that farce of a Dueling Club (Malfoy had summoned a snake. Big fucking deal. Harry had told it to shut the fuck up with its complaining and set it on fire, before stalking over and kicking Malfoy in the nuts hard enough for him to pass out like a pansy. Here's to hoping he'd just saved the futures gene pool a bit of stupid.).
"You're a Parselmouth!" Hermione declared, looking thrilled, while Blaise had that sharply considering look on his face that had Harry arching a brow at him curiously.
"…People will start to say you're the next Dark Lord," the dark-skinned Italian told him; Harry continued to stare, waiting, and Blaise sighed. "That means, you Barbarian, that people will try to attack you in the halls… Again." Slowly, Harry grinned.
The Basilisk was huge, but didn't actually put up all that much of a fight. Harry had climbed up onto the Slytherin statue with the magic Gryffindor sword what the fuck and had waited until the blinded snake had lunged at him, so that he could jump onto its head and slam the sword into its puny brain, holding on tightly as it thrashed in its death throes.
"You killed my Basilisk!" Riddle screeched as Harry leaped down from the snakes head, sneering at the ghost-boy.
"Yep," he agreed easily. "You gonna cry, dipshit?" He mocked; Riddle hissed at him, furious, and Harry rolled his eyes, bent down, and picked up his book, making Riddle freeze, eyes widening. Harry barely cast a glance at the unconscious Weasley girl.
"You know I only got involved because your worm put someone I cared about in the hospital, right?" He asked, arching a brow. "Otherwise, I'd have just let you come back. The fight would have been kick ass, you know? But, now? No chance, dipshit." Turning, Harry opened the diary to the middle (And what the fuck kind of guy claimed a diary?), and, in a vindictive sense of poetic justice, slammed the open book down on one of the many fangs in the dead basilisks mouth. Riddle screamed, and began to disintegrate. Harry scoffed.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry roared, lashing out at the swarm of Dementors attacking his past-self and Sirius across the lake. A massive silver boar tore from the tip of his wand as it attacked the Dementors, sending them fleeing with horrible hissing wails.
Fucking nobody hurt what was his.
"Harry Potter!" Dumbledore called, looking grim from his place in front of the Goblet of Fire, and Harry stared blankly, before his eyes narrowed.
Fuck that bullshit. Nobody tried to make him fight when he didn't fucking feel like it! Raising his wand in the air, Harry spoke clearly through the stunned silence of the Great Hall.
"I, Harry James Potter, swear of my magic, that I didn't willingly put or have another put my name into the Goblet of Fire, and that I had no knowledge and gave no consent to having it put there in any way, shape, or form, this is my will, So Mote It Be." There was a flash of light, and Harry quickly summoned an apple from the Gryffindor table to prove he hadn't lied. Taking a large bite from it, Harry glared darkly at Dumbledore as he stalked towards the waiting back room, enjoying the wide-eyed, stunned silence his actions had caused.
Take that, you fucking sheep.
"You know, you monologue a lot," Harry told Voldemort, struggling to think past his fucking skull splitting open as he stared into the disgustingly reptilian face of the Resurrected Dark Lord. Voldemort narrowed his eyes furiously, and threw Harry his wand back.
Harry bared bloody teeth in a pleased snarl, and started the duel while Voldemort was still talking.
The mans scream of rage when, thanks to the golden net thing and his parents ghosts, Harry managed to grab the cup (he did feel a little bad for stunning Diggory at the finish line, but, hey, just because he hadn't wanted to be in the Tournament, didn't mean he was going to lose, fuck that shit), and disappear back to Hogwarts.
He was a fucking Horcrux.
He had a fucking piece of that monologuing idiot's soulin his mother-fucking head.
Harry stood tall and proud before the Forbidden Forest, his Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, his Wand (The Elder Wand, his mind breathed softly) in his hand, the Ring on his hand (Resurrection Stone, murmured his mind). Voldemort had given an ultimatum, and Harry had chosen to sacrifice himself for the children of the school. So many were already dead, after all. (Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Fred, Lavender, Pansy, too many, too many, not acceptable.)
Staring into the trees, he barely noticed the ghostly figures standing around him.
"You'll be their, waiting for me?" He asked softly, staring at those gnarled, threatening, beckoning tress.
"Always, sweetheart," Lily whispered; Harry smirked, plucking the ring from his hand and tossing it into the bushes, the spirits fading away.
"Good enough for me."
Harry faced his death with a smirk and open arms.
His mother was waiting for him when he died, sitting on a bar stool and tossing back shots of golden light that refilled as soon as the cup was set back down. Harry sat next to her, and a second glass appeared, just as ready.
"Hello, sweetie," she greeted him softly, smiling warm as the sun as Harry tossed back his own glass, feeling like he'd just swallowed liquid treacle tart. Weird.
"Hey, Mum," Harry greeted back, and smiled at her as she leaned over and pulled him into a soft, warm hug, and she was so fucking real in that moment his throat grew tight.
"Oh, honey," she sighed, leaning back and cupping his face with her hand, stroking a thumb down his scarred cheek (a gift from Bellatrix in his Fifth Year, when he'd gone to the Ministry of Magic and blew the Hall of Prophesy up before even trying to go in. Future wasn't supposed to be recorded, anyways, so he didn't feel bad about it at all.). "You know, before you were born, your Father and I got into several rows, about who should be on the front lines and who shouldn't." Harry blinked, nodding along as he drank another glass of golden light. "Well, James thought I should be hidden away and out of sight, safe, while he and his brothers-in-arms fought." She snorted, and Harry grinned as she tossed back another shot, before she sat sideways on her stool to look him in the eye directly.
"Now, I love James, always will, and I married him out of that love, but, sometimes, he's such a complete and utter idiot that he deserves a good kick in the bollocks. One night, while he was out fighting, I snuck off to Muggle London, to a small pub so I could drink away the annoyance I had for James after yet another fight over me fighting in the War. That's where I met your Sire." Harry blinked, startled, and frowned at her. "James is still your Father, honey, but you were made with another's Seed, and that has affected you in ways I could never foresee," she admitted, sighing and taking another shot, grimacing slightly. "I don't regret a damn thing, honey, and I love you and am damn proud of whom you've grown to be, but, well, I know that you'd have been different if James was your Father…" She shook her head. "That's for Him to tell you, though, and, before you get your knickers in a twist," she sharply started as Harry opened his mouth to demand answers, mind in a whirl, "don't ask. I cannot answer, Harry. The Divine hold my Tongue on this, and nothing you do can affect it. The most I can tell you is that the answers you want are in America, no more than that." She shook her head, and Harry, glowering darkly, took another drink with a huff.
"Now, you've got two choices to make, sweetheart," Lily told him, and nodded off behind him; Harry turned on his stool, and stared in morbid fascination at the mutilated, mutated snake-toddler pinned to the dart board, whimpering and moaning in pain. Bile crawled up his throat, but he forced it back down with a shudder.
"The fuck is that thing?" He growled, glaring at it; Lily lifted one shoulder, eying the creature with hate.
"A fragment of soul Voldemort left in your scar," she told him simply; Harry hissed and spat on the floor at it, disgusted by the vile thing. "It's dead, now, and will be on its way to the Depths of the Field of Punishment, to suffer for Eternity, along with the rest of Voldemort's soul."
"Good fucking riddance," Harry stated tersely; Lily saluted him with her shot glass, smiling coldly.
"Exactly, sweetie, exactly," she agreed. "Anyways, you have two choices now. You can move on," she offered, gesturing at the Exit sign over a door, which had seemingly just appeared. "Join your Father and I in the Afterlife, get your just reward, a Hero's Welcome as it were… Or," she pointed towards the other side of the room, where another door appeared, and, beside it appeared a coat rack and a small table, and on each were three familiar items. "You can go back, but, know that, if you do, you won't be able to ever join us again," she murmured softly, sadly, and Harry stiffened in his seat, turning to stare at her, eyes wide.
Harry loved a good fight, loved to spill his enemies blood and the satisfying feeling of his fist meeting some idiots flesh in a primal display of temper and dominance and power. Loved the feel of kicking ass, the challenge, the rush, but… He loved his Mother, his Family (And no, the Dursley's didn't fucking count). The idea that he would never see them when he died, that he'd go somewhere else and never get the answers he'd so longed for as a child…
It was, honestly, terrifying.
The whimpering of Voldemort's Horcrux caught his attention, and he turned to stare at it silently for a second.
Voldemort's main piece was still running around. So was Nagini, and all his Corpse Munchers. Hermione. Blaise. The Weasleys (Though, if he was honest, he couldn't fucking stand Percy or Ron, and the feeling was mutual, but he liked the oldest brothers and the Twins, and Ginny was… Tolerable. She had one hell of a temper, and he could admire that, at least). Teddy. People he cared about, real breathing people he had known far longer and far more personally than he knew the Dead…
Fuck it. He was never one to go the easy route, anyways.
Tossing back one last shot of golden light, Harry stood, and kissed his Mother on the cheek as she smiled up at him, proud even as silver tears of light slid down her cheeks.
"I love you, Baby," she whispered as he stalked towards the door that would lock him away from his Family. Pausing on the threshold, hand on the knob, he looked back at her, and smirked confidently.
"I'll kick his ass extra hard for you, Mum," he told her, and stepped through the door and back to his body, her last words whispered across his mind as his dead body breathed in a slow, quiet breath.
"That's my boy…"
Voldemort was dead. Dead and gone, and Harry was left a few months later, holding his Godson and staring across the Hogwarts grounds towards the large memorial statue, a massive stone boar in his honor, with the names of the fallen carved into its base as it glared out towards the forest, ready to fight in the name of the living and dead alike.
"You're leaving, aren't you?" Hermione asked him softly, stepping up beside him; Harry hummed in agreement, shifting Teddy (Fucking silly name, cute, but silly) as the baby cooed at him.
"Where will you go?" Blaise asked, stepped up as well and curling an arm around his fiancé's waist. Harry hummed softly.
"I've been thinking about going to America," he mused; Hermione nodded while Blaise smirked.
"Have fun," He ordered; Harry smirked, mind drifting towards the Ring on his hand, the Wand in his pocket, and the Cloak visibly wrapped around his shoulders.
Of the telling tattoo over his heart, that marked him Immortal, the Master of Death.
"Oh, no worries about that," he told his friends easily, grinning fiercely.
"I plan to."
The moment he was on American soil, Teddy sleeping peacefully in his arms, his new ink all but compelled him to visit the Empire State Building. Arching an eyebrow, he shrugged, tightened his hold on his Godson, and obeyed. Hey, what the hell did he have to lose?
The little shit at the front desk actually tried to tell him that the place he needed to go didn't exist, but he shut up real quick when Harry flared his Aura, a black-edged red that promised Death and Bloodshed, before meekly handing over a gold keycard and pointed him towards an elevator everyone else was ignoring. Smirking at him, Harry shifted the still-sleeping Teddy to a more comfortable position and moved towards it.
Stepping inside, Harry swiped his card, and watched as the elevator started upward, towards the supposedly non-existent 600th floor. Smirking as it dinged, Harry stepped out of the doors, and looked around, blazing green eyes sharp as he eyed the decidedly Grecian throne room, and then he let his eyes focus far above normal height, to meet the electric blue eyes of the massive being sitting upon the golden throne at the center of the others (Twelve in all, all holding equally massive beings, male and female, and-Whoa, that one was hot… No distractions; focus.).
"…" They continued to stare, the air growing heavy to the point that Teddy shifted and whimpered unhappily in Harry's arms, making the Master of Death narrow his eyes in displeasure, smirk sharpening.
"Sup," he said, and smirked as the Being's face shifted into a glower, while another (this one holding a caduceus and wearing winged-sandals… He totally wanted a pair, and weren't those some random ass mythological dudes signature? Hermione would know…) snickered on his copper throne.
"Watch your tone, child," the Big Man growled, the rumble of thunder waking Teddy, who began to wail, making Harry scowl darkly up at the Being (God? Who the fuck cared) as he quickly adjusted the scared almost-two-year-old neatly.
"Good job, asshole," he complained, scowling. "Who the fuck scares babies, I mean, really," he complained, ignoring the furious growl of thunder that shook the ground under his feet, focusing fully and purposefully on his Godson. "Hush now, little mane," he ordered gently, bouncing Teddy as he wailed and dug his sharp little nails into Harry's skin, hair flashing rapid different colors in distress.
"Oh, the poor little dear," a woman's voice cooed, and Harry stiffened and curled his body in instinctive protection as he noticed one of the females had, suddenly, become normal human height and was next to him, grass growing out from her feet as she cooed. Harry blinked, and she smiled at him with such a gentle, affectionate face that he barely understood why he felt no ire towards her as she reached over his protectively curled arm to stroke Teddy's hair, quickly soothing him down from wails to sniffles.
"You'll have to forgive my little brother," she told Harry kindly, smiling maternally down at Teddy as the boy peered up at her, hair shifting to match her own golden wheat blond, his eyes matching her freshly-turned dirt brown perfectly. "Oh, you are just too precious," she cooed at Teddy, who sniffled and gave her a watery smile, showing off his little front teeth, and making the woman coo again, before she turned a smile on Harry. "I am Demeter, child. And you are?" Harry blinked, and straightened again, standing taller than her now.
"Harry Potter, Master of Death," he replied; immediately, a bell tolled, the heavy bong of mourning bells in steeples, the murmur of sorrows and soft sound of weeping ghosting through the air, before the distant roar of battle rose and fell away again, leaving behind only the silence of the grave.
Everyone was silent, staring at him, and Teddy sucked on his thumb, eyes wide. One of the Beings, sitting on a blood-red throne, groaned and buried his face in his hands, black hair in an oiled crew cut.
"You have one one-night stand in England," he muttered, and, with a flare of red light, much like the red in Harry's own Aura, the Being disappeared, and a tall man stood next to Demeter, scowling out of a scarred face, and Harry eyed him with narrowed eyes, straightening to his full height of six-foot-four, broad, muscled shoulders tightening as he spotted familiar features on a strangers face.
"…Fuck a duck," he muttered; the man snorted, pulling red-tinted wrap-around glasses from his face, showing off fire-filled eyes that were strangely comforting to Harry. The man eyed Harry, barely glancing at Teddy, before dragging one large, scarred hand over his head with a huff of annoyance.
"Name's Ares," the man offered, holding out his hand; Harry shifted Teddy and obligingly wrapped his own scarred hand around this mans, his fathers hand (the words I Must Not Attack Teachers stood out palely against his tanned skin, but he'd never regret punching that cunt in the stomach for calling him a liar to his fucking face.).
"Harry," the eighteen-year-old responded, before nodding towards Teddy, who was wide-eyed as he shifted his hair and eyes to match the gods (weird). "This is Teddy. Don't ask me, didn't fucking name him." Ares eyed him again, and smirked.
"Well, kid," he said, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulder, one large hand landing to rest protectively on Teddy's currently crew-cut head. "Welcome to Olympus," he announced, gesturing towards the Grecian Throne Room, and everything beyond. Harry eyed everything for a contemplative moment, before smirking, a mirror image of Ares, the green in his eyes flaring up to an intense glow, like emerald flames.
A/N: Ta-Da! Now, feel free to steal this idea and write it your own way, or make a multi-chapter, this idea is up for grabs if you'd like. Just give me credit. I MAY come back and do a drabble or three of Harry running around America/Camp Half-Blood and such, being his potty-mouthed, bad-ass self, but, yeah. Just an idea I had.
Thanks for voting on my poll, you must now reach THIRTY for the next prompt/idea to get worked on, so, yeah (Shrugs) Have fun!