The Summer King, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. :(

THE SUMMER KING

SilverSkies

The Old Rites have long been acknowledged as powerful, dangerous, seductive. The pounding of the drums in time with your heartbeat, driving you faster and faster towards an ecstasy so potent you lose yourself. The heady wine, spiked with an arcane mix of herbs – powerful enough to bring visions. The chants urge you on - climaxing in an orgiastic frenzy of magic.

This was why Harry had recognised it as the best way to defeat Voldemort – if he used the Old Rites he could put himself on something more than an equal footing against the Dark Lord, he could gain power beyond that expressed by wizards since the times of the Founders.

He himself was well positioned to use the Old Rites. He was marked by his parents' sacrifice, it left an echo on his soul, and sacrifice was a potent and ancient practice. He was also born at the end of midsummer – an auspicious time, tying in with death once more and also with the holyday of old – Lughnasadh. His last tie was his father's animagus form, Prongs – that his father should be a stag only clinched it for him. The rite had seemed almost written with him in mind with all the ties he had.

Cernunnos. Horned God. The human bodied god with the antlers of a stag. It helped that he was often shown in the company of snakes.

Midsummer. The Summer King. A human who would become as a God, as the Horned God of Summer, who would die amongst the flames of the Midsummer fire.

He himself, Summer born, marked by Death, marked by Sacrifice, marked by Prophecy. Child of the Stag, Child of the Flower. A Leader among his peers. His very appearance helped – green eyes and dark wild hair, untamed and reminiscent of the God Himself.

The Rite was soon to begin. He'd gotten only those who went to the Ministry with him involved. Hermione had looked it over and pronounced his theory sound, despite her initial reluctance. In spite of this, he couldn't quite quell the nervous anticipation that lingered in the pit of his stomach. It was dangerous, insanely so. No one had used the Old Rites in centuries. Both the power and the stress of obtaining that power were often too much for a fragile human being.

Observing his friends, he could almost draw an uncanny resemblance to a Death Eater's meeting. They gathered before him, wearing simple robes, offering blessings, food and wine. He himself was seated upon a makeshift wooden throne that they would be hoisting onto the bonfire before long. He threw aside such thoughts. This was the only way – their world was falling apart, descending into madness and this, this would be the cure – a panacea for all their wounds.

Hermione led the Rite. Announcing in a strong clear voice that he was the Chosen, he was to be their Summer King in mortal guise. Luna and Ginny followed suit. It was fitting that they had three witches amongst them, a powerful number – made more so by their differences – Hermione, brown haired and intellectual; Luna, blonde and with the ability to see beyond what was there; Ginny, red haired and possessing of a warrior spirit, like the priestesses of times long past. Together they represented a multi-faceted Goddess, to whom Harry would pledge his services as friend and Consort.

Ron and Neville bore witness, and it was they who with steady wands levitated the throne with himself seated atop, onto the burning pyre.

As if from far away he could hear drums, pounding. Could hear the chants of the priestesses, could feel the serenity of so many who had come before him. There was no pain, yet he felt himself fade away, he was open, and more and so achingly full and complete and he was more and he was…

To the eyes of his friends, Harry burned, flames licking at his robes and flesh, all the while he sat serenely. Then the fire had flared in to an astonishing climax and when they'd finally died down Harry was gone leaving but smouldering ashes behind.

The news was out: Harry Potter had disappeared and those last to see him were refusing to say what had happened. It was this that led to Voldemort marching on Hogwarts, the last true bastion of Light, with an army of Death Eaters, werewolves, giants, Dementors and a myriad of other Dark Creatures.

It was a shock to the defenders, when a figure appeared – the Apparition wards still held, but this figure didn't appear human. Antlers of a deer, twisted upwards from a dark mass of long wild hair. The defenders simply stared in shock, but it was the Five, as they'd taken to calling the friends of the Boy-Who-Disappeared, who recognised who he was. They ran out to stand at his back. Cries of 'My Lord, you returned.' resounded and they danced - joy in their movements. The three witches each pressed a kiss to a cheek, and emerald eyes sparkled.

"Hear me, False Lord of Darkness. Surrender yourself and your army and I will ensure a place is kept for you in this world. Persist in trying to put yourself against me and you will know my wrath." His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried to all who awaited the battle.

"If you think your sudden appearance is enough to frighten me, Potter, you had best think again!" was the Dark Lord's only reply as the battle commenced. Or rather it would have.

For Harry was now the living incarnation of a God, he possessed powers that a wizard could never hope to match. The Dementors cries of agony were soul-freezing as they were torn apart from within, each coming apart in a burst of light. The werewolves lost their partial forms, twisting painfully into wolves, true wolves now without a single remnant of the human minds and ran off to make the Forbidden Forest their new home. The Giants, being rather simple creatures, yet recognising Harry for what he was – gentled and made the request to go home, which was promptly granted.

The remains of Voldemort's army stared in shock, before the more cowardly elements among them attempted to Apparate away, only to find that it wasn't possible. Harry began to speak again.

"I am the Summer King, I am Cernunnos, the Horned God, and I have a hundred other names by which I am known. I once was known as Harry Potter, Chosen One and Boy Who Lived. I am here to bring balance back to this land. You have all forgotten what it means to be of magic. You are here to teach and to honour the land. Your magic was a gift, and gifts can be taken away. You allowed the balance to shift, shunning all that was Dark, causing the creation of several 'Dark Lords' - I am here to tell you that all magic was our Gift to you, our Chosen, that you might better the lives of all your people – those non-Gifted also. I charge those of you present to witness my words, and my acts, and to carry out our Commands. So be it." Harry, Cernunnos' last words held a ringing note of finality and with them a change seemed to come over Voldemort, the majority of his Death Eaters and even some of those who stood to defend Hogwarts.

A look of rage was present on the face of Voldemort and as he raised his wand and uttered that fatal curse "Avada Kedavra!" his body crumbled to dust - the green light of the killing curse striking the young God for all to see.

The young God stood before them – so still. He turned then to his friends and whatever it was he spoke could not be heard, even by those mere metres away. The look of rapture and delight on their faces told more than words could say however, and taking their hands, the young God and his companions disappeared.

A hundred years hence, the story was still recounted, how it had heralded the beginning of the merging of the two worlds – Magical and Muggle, Gifted and Non-Gifted. How those changed at the battle, had lost their Gift, for not honouring it appropriately. How the merging of old traditions with new had begun, how the Earth's destruction by pollution had been averted, how a vital balance had been struck – between Light and Dark, Magic and Technology, Old and New.

How at the midsummer celebrations that year and years to come, a youth with flashing green eyes and tangled dark hair would come to celebrate, with two flame-haired companions a man and a woman, a wispy blonde whom people swore was part fae, a sturdy young man draped in plant life and finally a youthful brunette who could become an owl at whim. They came and they danced and they gave thanks among the people for love, for life, for death and all that they held dear.

FIN

AN: Written as a whole – random inspiration…Not really my usual style either... Played a bit fast and loose with the traditions and mythology of the whole thing. A bit of a fable really. You like?