Children of the Gods

By Taure

Prologue

Egypt, 1928

They had found something big. The desert site was in chaos, swarms of workers dressed in little more than rags running between the makeshift tents, all of them heading towards the third dig.

"Professor! Professor!"

A car sped into the camp in a cloud of dust and an English gentlemen in khaki disembarked. He was, Albert knew, the leader of the dig.

"Professor!" a man was calling, running over to the car in excitement. "You have to see! It's amazing!"

The professor and his assistant hurried off into the pits, moving rapidly down the ramshackle path of wooden planks that wove between the different digs.

"Shall we?" Albert said to his partner. He put a white hat on his head. Dressed as they were in loose-fitting robes of beige, they fit in well enough with the locals.

"Let's see what they've found," replied Henry.

Moving unnoticed by the Muggles, they followed the professor, watching as he was led to a large sunburst of stone slabs.

"Those aren't hieroglyphs," said Henry as the professor knelt down to examine the find. Each stone was marked with a single symbol.

"Nor any other language I recognise," said Albert. "Curious indeed."

The professor stood up again. "Finished so soon?" muttered Henry. "Surely it deserves more attention than that."

Albert looked around at the milling Arabs. "There's something else," he said, frowning. "Something bigger."

The professor was led down more wooden walkways, these ones rising out of the second dig and leading to the third. The unspeakables followed at a distance, hurrying when they heard a great cheer.

And then, turning a corner, they saw it: a giant ring of dark grey stone, a hundred ropes attached, was standing vertically in the centre of the dig. It was big enough to fit an erumpent through the middle.

"My god," said Albert, staring at the thing in awe. The inner ring was divided into segments, and each segment had been carved with a strange symbol… symbols like those on the sunburst stones. Even with his limited ability to sense magical traces, Albert could feel the power of the artifact.

"Contact the Ministry immediately," Henry said. He pulled out his wand. "I'll handle the obliviation."

Chapter One

London, January 2010

The interrogation room was white. Really white.

The floor, walls and ceiling were all made of the same white ceramic tiles. The table in front of him and the chair he sat on were both made of a white wood. Even the lighting charms above him had been modified to give off an unnatural white light. And just on the edge of Harry's hearing, almost inaudible, was a high-pitched piercing whine. A casual observer wouldn't even notice it. Someone suck in the room for hours would find it maddening.

There were no windows, nor any door. It was a room designed to give the impression of total isolation. To weaken the mind before questioning.

But not for nothing had Harry spent six years working as an auror. He knew the tricks of the trade well - he'd even invented a few of them. So he sat entirely still, blank faced and relaxed, and employed the methods of occlumency to maintain his calm.

Those who had known him as a teenager might have been surprised by his restraint, but it had been many years since Harry could call himself a teen. Though he hadn't grasped the true nature of occlumency until the end of the war, Harry had always found experience to be the best teacher. He was now the master of his own thoughts. No annoying sound would make him lose his cool.

Snape had said that detachment was the key to occlumency. Harry found stubbornness to be far more effective.

A white door drew itself into existence on the wall opposite Harry, through which a man stepped a moment later. He was wearing the uniform of an auror - black robes cut in a naval style - and three golden pips were pinned to his high collar.

"Hello, Ron," Harry said as the red-headed man took the seat opposite him. The years had treated him well. As tall as ever, he had now filled out with muscle, and, like Harry, he bore a golden tan that spoke of exotic travels. "Made detective, I see. Congratulations."

Ron snorted. "Six years, and that's all you have to say?" He paused to conjure up Harry's file, bulging with papers and parchments.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Should I be saying something else?" he said.

"The word 'sorry' would be a good start," replied Ron, his voice still light and friendly. Too friendly, given how they had parted - and how they had reunited.

Harry gave Ron an equally fake smile. "Well, I was all up for a heartfelt reunion… there would've been hugs and kisses all round. But then you arrested me."

"There is that," Ron said, tilting his head to one side as if weighing it up as an excuse. He frowned. "What's with the hat?"

Harry resisted the urge to adjust his white fedora. "Comes with the job," he said. "All that sun, you know?"

"Uh-huh," Ron said doubtfully, glancing down at Harry's clothes. He was wearing a beige blazer and waistcoat, with chinos to match. "You look like a bit of a twat."

A short burst of laughter escaped Harry. "You haven't changed a bit," he said with a shake of his head.

"You'd be surprised," said Ron, "but seriously, why the hell are you wearing that?"

"It's what everyone wears, out there," Harry said with a shrug, looking down at his clothes. "Besides, it goes well with the whole desert look."

"Ah yes," Ron said, flipping Harry's folder open. "That's right… the desert." His eyes glinted. "You do love copying Bill, don't you?"

Harry tapped his fingers on the table, not letting his irritation show. "That was six years ago," he said, "are you still living in the past?"

Ron ignored his comment. "So, you're a cursebreaker," he continued, still looking at the front page of Harry's file. An old photo of Harry was in the top corner, the rest of the page holding his basic information. "How's that working out for you?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Harry replied, gesturing at the file. "It looks like you've been keeping an unnaturally close eye on me… some might even say it's a form of harassment. What would the papers say?"

Ron's smile dropped in less than a second, all friendly cheer forgotten. "Let's cut the crap, Harry," he said. "I'm going to ask you once: where's the artifact?"

"You're going to have to be more specific," said Harry, leaning back in his seat. Ron had broken first. "As a cursebreaker, I deal with many artifacts."

Ron glowered, took a photo from the folder and slid it across the table. Harry looked at it, an expression of innocent curiosity on his face. It clearly showed Harry walking out of an underground passage in the desert, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a delicate piece of golden jewellery on his hand. A large ruby lay at its centre, over his palm, away from which the gold curled to secure it to his fingers and wrist.

"Oh, that artifact," said Harry, pushing the photo back to Ron. "It's not for sale, if the Ministry is looking to buy. Sentimental value, you know?"

"It's not for sale," Ron growled, "because it's not yours. The decree for the preservation of important historical artifacts-"

"-is British law," interrupted Harry with a finger raised. "The artifact is Egyptian. I recovered it in Egypt. I live in Egypt. The Ministry has no business with it… or me."

"The interests of the Ministry are not for you to dictate," said Ron. "The moment you brought the artifact to Britain it became our business. Do you even know what it is you've found?"

Harry smirked. "Oh, yes," he said. The artifact was incredibly powerful - he should have known the Ministry would try to take it. "Do you?"

Ron sighed. "I'm serious, Harry," he said. "It's more dangerous than you know. It needs to be protected by the Ministry, surely you understand that? You were one of us, once."

Harry allowed a silence to stretch out, giving the impression that he was seriously considering Ron's offer. At last he sighed and shook his head. "I think I was wrong," he said, and Ron's eyes lit up, thinking Harry had capitulated, "you have changed. Have you forgotten so soon? I am, in fact, quite familiar with the Ministry trying to relieve me of my property."

The silence returned.

"You're determined to remain uncooperative, then?" said Ron, glaring.

Harry gave him a tight smile. "Uncooperative," he said, "I like that. Well, if the auror office now considers a wizard's rights an inconvenience, then yes, that's what I am. The gauntlet is mine, and I will be holding on to it."

Ron's fists clenched, but he didn't say another word. He closed Harry's folder with great deliberation, stood up and walked out the door, which sealed itself behind him.

Harry snorted. "That went well," he muttered, drumming his fingers on the table. Ron's ability to hold a grudge had apparently only increased over the years.

Perhaps, Harry thought, he should have been more cooperative… of course, there was no way he was going to give them the gauntlet, but he could have been less combative. Not that it would have done much good… in the end, the Ministry wouldn't be happy until the gauntlet was theirs. The Elder Wand fiasco had taught him that much.

No, he'd done the right thing. A show of strength was necessary if he wanted to avoid a protracted legal battle… the Wizengamot would get involved the moment the Ministry thought they had a chance. Harry needed to dissuade them of that possibility.

The door appeared again, but this time it wasn't Ron who stepped through. It was Hermione.