(*I've restored this story because more then a few people have asked for it to be returned to proper place, it had always been my intention to keep both this - the original - and the second version "Scorched Sand" where they could be read; AdultFanfiction apparently deleted it while I was unaware, so here it is again thanks must go to lil_sis4556 who kept her own copy of the original "Shades of Panic" and in doing so restored chapter one and chapter twenty-five. If you are looking for "Scorched Sand" it is it's own story now - at story ID 6255041)
Shades of Panic
Disclaimer: Ducklings, if you think I'm J. K. Rowling, author of seven Harry Potter novels and a few fandom booklets - or that humble little me would work among those who produced the books, or movies, or even helped in the production and/or writing of the Mummy or the Mummy Returns, you're a bit more off the rock then the average swan - but that's okay, you're just a different breed of duck.
Summary: Harry went and died when he really wasn't supposed to. Is it his fault he's mortal? Landing in Ancient Egypt after killing a Dark Lord isn't death; but it might as well be something close to it. Now this modern wizard must juggle Egyptian Gods, Pharaohs, and High Priests that want up his…erk, loincloth?
So things get better, or worse. Especially when, after picking up a rock that absorbs into his skin, he can read and speak the ancient languages. Thankfully the daughter of the Pharaoh has taken a liking to him- unfortunately so has the power-mad Priest who wants to make Harry his bitch. Or worship him to death with sex. Luckily said Priest dies- unluckily Harry is put under a soul-link with him that acts as a primitive form of cryogenic freezing (without the cold) to ensure he stays that way, immortality with nothing to do? It sucks. 3000 years later, things get… interesting. Just a little bit.
Inspiration comes from some of the oddest forms, for this, I can point out the idea of a 'Harry Potter and The Mummy!' crossover has been done before, and will go on around a while after, this story.
A particular favorite of mine in this crossover is 'Desert Warrior' by Shade Dancer; whom some time ago I did speak with and informed of the fact that I was writing a Mummy/Harry story after watching a USA marathon of The Mummy, The Mummy Returns, and The Scorpion King, and remembering her story, something like this was conceived from my mind. Felt a bit like Athena hatching from Zeus's head, really, I still remember the damnable headache.
By the way, if you encounter a little cat-scorpion muse scurrying around this story, or a baby-bunny companion running amuck, do approach with caution. They aren't called Hanic (i.e. Panic, my Egypt muse, that freaky looking cat-scorpion thingy…) and Havoc (demon plot-bunny, evil, possibly reproducing itself and new and intriguing ways everywhere)…Now you might be nervous of a such a "precious baby bunny" being taken care of by a cat-scorpion muse, have no fear, do remember the lion and the lamb- 'sides I think its adorable.
Havoc can so kick ass, too. Cause that "baby bunny" look? It's like a fishing hook, and you're the one swallowing the line.
One Dark Lord Down, One Manic Priest To Go
Two wands, with identical cores-fighting each other, will do more then spit out past spells the second time they lock. They destroy each other-and their wielders. At least, that is how it's supposed to go. If it doesn't, well-Fate has something else up her sleeve for you.
Harry Potter didn't know that, he just knew that it would, hopefully-end Voldemort's reign of horror. When it came down to it, the boy hero would much rather sacrifice his life then let Voldemort live yet another year. It was supposed to be a last-resort-only option...it wasn't, at the age of eighteen, Harry Potter killed the Dark Lord Voldemort in this manner.
A burning wave of heat arched along his otherwise deadened body, his vision – unseeing, then turned milky-white, an explosion of pain resounded through the whole of his body. If Harry were to compare it to anything it would be or, really-alike to being ripped to tiny pieces, then, almost as an after thought fit back together again.
A warped Humpty Dumpty of him self; his vision was still milky-white. Everything around him, which he could see, was, from the tips of his hair to his hands a...ghostly, soft, and hazed. Harry, from what he could remember (and he remembered quite a bit) had never seen anything like it. A figure appeared in his line of sight, appearing out of no-where he was alarmingly...clear to his vision-inhumanly so.
"Who are you?" Harry's voice, he was surprised to hear, echoed in this off-white place. Until the man had appeared, Harry thought he had been without his glasses, but he had realized that where ever he was – it was naturally this way. Creamy colored, hazy almost to the point of blurring himself. There was, literally, nothing wrong with Harry's eyes – at least as far as seeing the man was concerned.
It was as if...as if Harry, when he had been "fit back together again" had indeed been re-shaped to another's liking. In this case – his eyesight was perfect, Harry wondered though – what else had this 'being' seen fit to do to him?
"I have gone by many names; used many faces. You, Harry James Potter, are to know me as I am – Death." The man's voice was cool, calm, Harry knew with a certainty that went bone deep and crossed every instinct he had, that this man – Death, he wasn't joking about who and – essentially, what he was.
Harry's insides chilled at this realization, his heart caught in his throat-he couldn't speak. Couldn't even think, when he did, his first thought shocked him. Death, Harry thought, was beautiful.
This, Harry realized when he thought about it-and had taken the proper amount of time to look at Death, was true.
Death, much like Harry, had dark hair. Midnight black hair fell like waves down his back, brushing mid-waist; his eyes were like the night sky-entirely black, with the secrets of ages older then the stars inside – seeming to shine out.
Death, as Harry had thought, was pale – yet was not shallow, it was (if Harry were to be 'romantic' about it) creamy. His lips were full, red, and Harry wondered what a kiss from Death would be like.
At his reflection, Harry thought he saw amusement arch across those night-sky eyes.
"You are Harry Potter." Death insisted, Harry jerked – nodding, then freezing, he hadn't known he was supposed to respond when Death had introduced himself. If he was, what was he to say to Death? 'Killed anyone interesting, lately?' That would certainly result in an Ice Age.
Death's dark eyes were suddenly focused, alert, as if Harry had done something of dire interest – it was very intimidating to be stared at like that. All of it focused, staring him in the face.
No, Harry realized suddenly, Death's eyes weren't staring him in the face. They were staring through him, into him. Harry decided to say something after all, so Death wouldn't find something...wrong, with him. Harry didn't really grasp why, but quite suddenly, it was important to him that Death not think anything was 'wrong' with him.
"Y-yes, I am." Harry answered-for it seemed the only thing he could do, besides just stand there. It was the truth after all, he was Harry Potter. Death's attention drifted off, and Harry was at once both relieved and struck with jealousy over whatever now held Death's attention.
"You were not supposed to die," Death told him, quite sternly, as if Harry was supposed to be able to go back and change time, "under the laws of Justice, my sister rules that you have two choices..." Death smiled, Harry paid it notice, but his mind was caught on what Hermione would think if she heard Justice and Death were siblings. It was, to Harry somewhat of a great puddle of irony.
"If you so chose, you may relive the event of your death; until it plays out correctly..." Not bloody likely! Harry thought, his expression of mixed disbelief, and desperation, caused Death to chuckle.
"Or..." There is a 'or' thank you, Justice! If Justice had appeared, and Death had pointed her out – Harry could have kissed her. "You are to go where, and when, you are needed."...Or kick her. It just figured Justice would be a bitch.
Harry bit his lip; it was obvious between the two of them which Harry would choose. Finally, Harry opened his mouth-and Death seemed to gather himself from his horde of lost souls, and long thoughts.
"I will go where, and when, I am needed." Harry told him truthfully, why would he lie to Death after all? Death was only the most stunning being Harry had ever set eyes on, and he wanted Death to think well of him.
Death seemed not to sense his inner turmoil, or if he did, and paid attention to it – Death did not let on to Harry that he had. Regardless, Death nodded, and took three steps closer, mere centimeters separating them. "Then...I will wait for you, Beloved." Harry felt himself freeze. Death loved him? Harry's eyes went wide. As Death, his eyes sad somehow, smiled, leaned down, and kissed Harry boldly on the lips. In a dizzyingly blissful moment Harry disappeared, and Death was left alone.
When Harry came to awareness, he found himself surrounded by sand, standing on it. With nothing within sight but miles of hot sand, it was, to say the least – a bit disturbing. The sand was pearly white in the moonlight; it spilled over the sand, calming, cooling, and somehow...reassuring. Harry remembered the look in Death's eyes – and his kiss. He shivered pleasantly, wonderingly, and then it occurred to him, crashing into his blissful moment of memory. If he was meant to go "where he was needed" why would he be needed in a desert?
If, this made no sense, then, perhaps Death was nothing but a dream. The backfiring of the wand cores could have sent him to a desert. So, that left Harry; wandless, delusional, but alive. If this was true, Harry hoped Voldemort was not so lucky. Harry sighed in disappointment, his 'delusion' shattered. He swallowed down the bile gathering in his dry throat; Harry then started to walk, aimlessly, yet hoping for the right direction.
Walking on sand was something new he had to get used to-for Harry had never done it before. He had to move carefully with his weight, one displacement of balance-and he started to sink into the sand. He had to move quickly, or else the sand would creep up on him. In other words, he had to move with purpose-even if there wasn't one to be seen. He scanned the area around him; each step led him closer to a rise-a mountain of sand, Harry hoped it would give him perspective of the nearby area. Hoping he'd see something else other then sand. Hell, he'd settle for Death-Eaters. Finally, he made it up the sand hill; he bent at the waist, leaning his weight on his knees as he gripped them, just pausing long enough to gain his balance. And, Harry would admit only to himself – to catch his breath.
As he looked up – he caught sight of a stone, glittering in the light of the moon, the little pebble-sized black stone lay in the pearl-white sand, seemingly abandoned by time, it brought prangs of memory raining down onto his heart. Harry picked it up, looking it over closely; seeing it, Harry realized it's likeness to Death's eyes was undeniable; Harry knew, somehow, that it was meant to be his. He clenched it in his fist, and rose from his half-kneeling state, and looked out over the landscape that surrounded him. There was sand, of course; but something else in the distance.
Nestled between the shadows of two great dunes, was a great palace. Even from so far away, Harry saw the sand give way to fertile earth; trees – the like of which he had never seen, yet trees nonetheless, grew in even spaces beside the palace. It was a long way off-but Harry thought he could walk it before sunrise. If not, he knew to wait till dusk rather then die of wandering in the wrong direction. Harry set out then, with a real destination set firmly in his mind. As Harry walked along the rise of the sand hill, he wondered what he would say to them.
If, indeed, he could explain his presence; they would be suspicious, and have every right to be. Harry had never been out of his homeland before, and therefore, he did not know what to expect. Would these people-who had his fate in their hands, even know what a wizard was? Would they expect him to prove it, even without his wand? Harry stumbled on the sand, the stone in his grip shuddered, and Harry opened his fingers to look down at it. At first, he could not believe what he saw. The stone shuddered again, warm to the touch, and slowly melted-then disappeared into his skin. Harry shook his head-was it possible that this desert, even in the night, was giving him delusions? Not wanting to wonder about things he had no control over, Harry decided this was so-and continued on.
As he walked, Harry saw the palace coming into sight; it was huge-and he expected he would have to walk quite a while more to reach it, yet even from this distance he could see the giant stone columns of marble that linked the high ceilings to the palace floor. A long staircase met the sand, a staircase Harry now walked upon, even as it continued to the palace. Along the way to the palace, on this staircase, Harry saw many statues of Gods and Goddesses he did not understand-having never studied myths. Most were half man, or woman, and half animal; some entirely animal-and all had writing on them, all of which blurred and stretched in his sight. Harry wondered then if these people had some form of spell on them; to ensure that he, or others who saw this place, would not see the true names of their Gods and Goddesses.
Finally, Harry came to the place were staircase met palace, and stopped, feeling too much like an intruder. He called out, and his voice echoed among the great pillars and statues. Harry felt suddenly light headed and dizzy, Harry felt something rush though him-and leave; he thought it felt like a spell of intent, Harry found himself falling to the polished floor. He blinked back the familiar blurry-white sight. As he was shaking it off, Harry was relieved to hear voices coming toward him; footsteps, and the glare of torchlight running through the shadows. Perhaps it was bad timing, but Harry's body then gave out on him, and he fell unconscious-just as the place dwellers came into sight. Behind his back, the sun rose.
Harry awoke in a shadowed room; even though he knew, somehow, that it was day. A woman sat beside him – she was dressed in fine, if odd, clothes. When Harry asked her name, she shook her head, a light frown pressing down her lips. It was obvious she did not understand what he said. She called out; a man-a clear leader, and a set of six guards, entered the room. He looked down on Harry, judged him-as a man would a subject, and then spoke, it was Harry's turn to be confused. The language was alike to nothing he had ever heard before; but it was lovely to hear. The man frowned, and then looked to his guards-called out a name, Imhotep–then looked down at Harry again.
The woman touched his shoulder, pointed to her self and spoke her name, slowly, so Harry could understand it. Nefertiti. Harry looked to the man, he looked amused-as if he didn't think Harry would understand her. As if Harry were savage, because he was different then them, far different; they had rich golden skin, they were lean, attractive and very exotic-lovely to behold, like art. Harry was suddenly bitter– somewhat resentful, for next to them he was a pale shadow; and what could Death possibly see in him, next to people like these, to call him 'beloved'?
Harry felt a strong urge to prove he could speak, could learn; that he could prove himself, somehow, next to them. Harry mimicked her-and spoke his name, Harry. Harii was what their ears heard. The man looked startled, saw him again; looked at him with newly measuring dark eyes.
Almost in mockery, he pointed to himself, and spoke his name Seti. Harry swallowed, the bitter and resentful feelings washing away in a chilling thought. He knew of only one 'leader' in all the history of the world who'd called himself Seti. Harry had learned of him when Ron, got back from his vacation in Egypt-had shown off to Hermione that he had, in fact, bothered to learn something. Harry had never forgotten it – for it had proved to be amusing. Seti, Harry knew, was an Ancient Egyptian King of more then three-thousand years ago...Death, it seemed, had a lot to answer for.