"Long ago, the Celtic god Dagda drew a veil between humans and the Fey Folk. In our time, the Goddess has charged me to help bring the Fey magic back through that veil so that we humans can be renewed by the starry-eyed mysticism of the Little People, by the passion and wisdom of the poet in love with the Goddess, and by the wild integrity of the dark and dangerous Faerie Folk."
—Be a Goddess! A Guide to Celtic Spells and Wisdom for Self-Healing, Prosperity and Great Sex, Francesa di Grandis
It started, as most disasters at Hogwarts did, with boredom.
“Merlin, I’m going to die,” Sirius Black muttered, slumped so far down in his chair he was practically folded in half. “Not by curse, not by dragon, but by sheer academic suffering.”
“You’ve said that every lesson this week,” Remus Lupin replied mildly, though even he looked close to drifting off. His quill hovered over parchment, unmoving, like it too had given up.
James Potter was spinning his wand between his fingers, balancing it on his thumb. “If I fake fainting, do you think we’ll get sent to the hospital wing?”
“No,” Lily Evans said without looking up. “I think you’ll get detention. Again.”
Peter Pettigrew leaned forward, whispering, “I could faint. I think I’d be convincing.”
“Peter,” Mary Macdonald said, elbowing him lightly, “you faint walking up stairs.”
Behind them, Marlene McKinnon had her boots kicked up on the desk, chair tilted dangerously back. “If this man says ‘incantation’ one more time, I’m going to incinerate myself out of spite.”
Alice Fortescue snorted. “That would at least be interesting.”
Frank Longbottom, dutiful as ever, was actually taking notes. Fabian and Gideon Prewett were passing a scrap of parchment back and forth, barely stifling laughter.
Across the room, the Slytherins were no better.
Barty Crouch Jr. was sprawled sideways across his chair, whispering loudly, “If I die here, I’m haunting this classroom specifically.”
“You’re already haunting it,” Evan Rosier said dryly.
Pandora Rosier was staring at the ceiling like she was trying to astral project out of her own body. “I think if I focus hard enough, I can leave. Physically.”
Dorcas Meadowes hummed, picking at her nails. “Take me with you.”
And Regulus Black—
Regulus was sitting perfectly upright, quill poised, notes immaculate.
Except his eyes were distant.
Not bored.
Just… elsewhere.
The professor droned on, voice blending into the low hum of restlessness. “—and so, if one channels the magical current correctly, the result is a controlled expansion—”
Sirius groaned audibly. “Controlled expansion of my will to live, right out the window.”
“Black!” the professor snapped.
Sirius sat up straight instantly. “Yes, sir, absolutely, sir, so controlled, sir.”
The professor narrowed his eyes, then turned back to the board. “As I was saying. A demonstration may help.”
That got attention.
Heads lifted.
Even Regulus blinked.
The professor raised his wand. “Observe carefully. This is a delicate spell—”
James leaned forward. “Finally.”
“—requiring precision—”
“Please let it explode,” Marlene whispered.
“—and restraint—”
“Explode,” Sirius mouthed.
“—Expansio—”
The wand sparked.
There was a beat.
Then—
The spell detonated.
A deafening crack split the room, light bursting outward like a star collapsing in on itself. Desks rattled, windows shook, and every single student screamed.
“SHIT—”
“DUCK—”
“MERLIN—”
Everyone dropped.
Chairs screeched, bodies hit the floor, arms thrown over heads—
And then—
Silence.
Slowly, cautiously, heads lifted.
Smoke curled through the air.
“…did it work?” Peter whispered.
“I don’t know what it was meant to do,” Remus said carefully, “so I’m not sure.”
“Is everyone—” Lily started—
“—fine—?”
Her voice cut off.
Because Regulus Black was standing.
At the centre of it.
He had stumbled back into the desk behind him, hands gripping the edge.
His face was—
Blank.
Completely, utterly blank.
His eyes stared forward, unfocused, unseeing.
“Regulus?” Sirius said immediately, pushing to his feet.
No response.
“Reg,” Evan said sharply, already moving closer.
Nothing.
Pandora’s expression shifted, unease creeping in. “That’s… not normal.”
“Mate?” Barty waved a hand in front of his face. “Hello? Earth to Black, come in—”
Regulus didn’t blink.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
A flicker of real panic broke across the room.
“Professor,” Remus said quickly, “something’s wrong—”
“I—this wasn’t—he shouldn’t—”
“Regulus,” Sirius said again, louder now, stepping forward—
Regulus moved.
His head snapped to the side.
Then the other.
Then—
He shook.
Violently.
Like a dog shaking water from its fur, hair whipping, shoulders jerking—
“What the fuck—” James breathed.
Regulus gasped.
Then stilled.
And slowly—
Slowly—
A smirk spread across his face.
Not Regulus’s.
Something older.
Something wrong.
He looked down at his hands.
Flexed his fingers.
Turned his wrist.
“…well now,” he murmured.
His voice was deeper.
Richer.
Layered with something ancient.
A thrill of unease rippled through the room.
“Oh, this is nice.”
“Regulus?” Dorcas said carefully.
He ignored her.
Instead, he rolled his shoulders, stretching like he’d just woken up in a new skin.
“Very nice,” he added, inspecting his arm. “Lean. Strong. Oh, and these—”
He pressed a hand to his stomach, then laughed.
“—these are excellent.”
“What is happening,” Sirius said flatly.
Remus stepped forward slowly, eyes narrowed. “That’s not him.”
“No shit,” Marlene muttered.
Regulus—no, not Regulus—tilted his head, finally looking up at them.
Golden light flickered in his eyes.
“Oh, you’re all still here.”
A grin.
Sharp.
Amused.
“Good.”
A pause.
Then—
“Haha, okay, okay. I see what’s happening, yeah.”
Everyone froze.
“You’re face to face with greatness and it’s strange. You don’t even know how you feel.”
“Greatness?” Barty echoed, incredulous.
“It’s adorable,” he continued, waving a hand lazily. “Well, it’s nice to see that humans never change.”
“Humans?” Lily repeated.
“Open your eyes, let’s begin. Yes, it’s really me, it’s The Dagda, breathe it in.”
The name hit like a shockwave.
Remus went still.
“…The Dagda,” he said quietly.
Pandora’s eyes lit up. “Celtic—”
“God of magic,” Remus finished, voice tight.
“Correct,” the thing in Regulus’s body said brightly. “I know it’s a lot, the hair, the bod—”
He paused.
Looked down again.
Grinned.
“—when you’re starin’ at a god.”
“Oh my god,” Peter whispered.
“What can I say except, ‘You’re welcome’?” he went on, spreading his arms. “For the tides, the sun, the sky?”
“WHY ARE YOU TALKING LIKE THAT—” Sirius snapped.
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re welcome. I’m just an ordinary guy.”
“Ordinary—” James choked. “You just said you’re a god—”
“Hey!” He pointed at himself, delighted. “What has two thumbs and pulled up the sky when you were waddling yay-high? This guy!”
Barty stared. “I hate him.”
“When the nights got cold, who stole you fire from down below?” he continued, pacing now, energy building. “You’re lookin’ at him, yo!”
“Professor, do something!” Alice called.
“I—this is beyond—”
“Oh, also, I lassoed the sun,” he added casually. “You’re welcome.”
Pandora clutched Dorcas’s arm. “This is incredible.”
“To stretch your days and bring you fun. Also, I harnessed the breeze—”
“Regulus, if you can hear me—” Sirius tried—
“You’re welcome!” he cut across, laughing. “To fill your sails and shake your trees!”
“Okay, no, this is not happening,” Marlene said, standing up. “We are not being serenaded by a possessed Slytherin.”
“So what can I say except, ‘You’re welcome’?” he continued, completely ignoring them. “For the islands I pulled from the sea?”
“There’s no need to pray, it’s okay, you’re welcome—ha!” He clapped his hands once. “I guess it’s just my way of being me.”
“MAKE IT STOP,” Gideon yelled.
“‘You’re welcome, you’re welcome’—well, come to think of it—” He tapped his chin.
Then he lit up.
“Kid, honestly, I could go on and on. I could explain every natural phenomenon.”
“No, please don’t—” Frank started.
“The tide, the grass, the ground—oh, that was Dagda just messin’ around.”
Remus dragged a hand down his face. “We’re going to die.”
“I killed an eel, I buried its guts, sprouted a tree, now you got coconuts.”
“COCONUTS?” Fabian shrieked.
“What’s the lesson? What is the takeaway?” He leaned forward, grin widening. “Don’t mess with Dagda when he’s on a breakaway.”
Sirius stepped forward again, furious now. “Get out of him.”
The Dagda blinked.
Then smiled.
“Bold.”
“And the tapestry here on my skin—” He reached for the hem of Regulus’s robes.
“Don’t—” Evan warned.
Too late.
He yanked them off.
The classroom erupted.
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
“REGULUS—”
“PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON—”
But he didn’t.
Because as the fabric fell away—
Marks ignited.
Lines of gold and white flared across Regulus’s skin, spiralling over his chest, his arms, his sides—intricate, ancient symbols burning like constellations carved into flesh.
Gasps filled the room.
Pandora whispered, awed, “That’s—”
“A map of the victories I win,” the Dagda finished smugly.
Evan stared.
Then choked. “Of course he’d have tattoos.”
“Look where I’ve been, I make everything happen,” he went on, turning slightly, flexing, admiring. “Look at that mean Mini-Dagda just tickety-tappin’.”
“I’m going to be sick,” Peter said faintly.
“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, hey—” he laughed, utterly delighted with himself.
“WELL, ANYWAY,” Marlene shouted over him, “CAN SOMEONE FIX HIM—”
“Well, anyway, let me say you’re welcome,” he said smoothly, as if she hadn’t spoken.
“For the wonderful world you know.”
Lily stepped forward, jaw set. “That’s enough.”
“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re welcome,” he said, pointing at her.
Her eye twitched.
“Well, come to think of it, I gotta go.”
“YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE,” Sirius snapped.
“Hey, it’s your day to say, ‘You’re welcome’—” he continued cheerfully.
“Absolutely not,” Remus said.
“‘Cause I’m gonna need that boat.”
“Boat?” James echoed.
“I’m sailing away, away, you’re welcome—”
“No—”
“‘Cause Dagda can do everything but float.”
Silence.
“…what,” Dorcas said.
“You’re welcome.”
“NO—”
“You’re welcome.”
“GET OUT OF HIM—”
“And thank you!”
The room exploded into noise.
“PROFESSOR—”
“DO SOMETHING—”
“REGULUS—”
“WHAT DO WE DO—”
Sirius was already moving.
“I don’t care what you are,” he snarled, grabbing Regulus by the collar, “you get out of my brother—”
The Dagda looked down at him.
Still smiling.
Still amused.
But his eyes—
Ancient.
Bottomless.
“Oh,” he said softly.
Sirius froze.
And for the first time—
The god’s voice dropped the theatrics.
“Now that,” he murmured, tilting his head, “is interesting.”
Remus inhaled sharply.
Because for one, brief, terrifying second—
Regulus’s eyes flickered.
Like he was still in there.
Watching.
Waiting.
And then—
The Dagda smiled wider.
And the room held its breath.
Sirius didn’t get the chance to say anything else.
The Dagda barely glanced at him.
Then—casually, almost lazily—he lifted a hand and shoved.
Not hard.
Not with effort.
Just—
Dismissively.
Sirius went flying.
“SHIT—” James yelped as Sirius crashed into a desk, the wood screeching across the floor before tipping, sending him sprawling with it.
“—OW—bloody hell—” Sirius wheezed from the ground, stunned more than hurt.
Lines of ancient Celtic script burned across his skin, curling and knotting into symbols that seemed to move when you looked at them too long. They wrapped around his arms, coiled over his ribs, traced the sharp cut of his waist and the defined lines of his abdomen.
Alive.
Not ink.
Not scars.
Power.
The Dagda turned slightly, admiring the way they shifted with him.
“And the adornments,” he added, pleased. “A nice touch.”
“That’s not a ‘touch,’” Remus said, stepping forward, voice tight but controlled. “That’s you.”
The Dagda’s head tilted.
“Oh?”
Remus swallowed, then continued, louder now so everyone could hear—
“So that everyone understands—The Dagda is a figure in Celtic mythology. One of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”
Pandora gasped. “I knew it—”
“He’s not just a god of magic,” Remus went on. “He’s a god of—everything, really. Magic, fertility, life, death, time, weather—creation itself. He’s—”
“Important,” the Dagda supplied, pleased.
“Dangerous,” Remus corrected.
The Dagda smiled wider.
“Also correct.”
“He has other names,” Remus continued, eyes never leaving him. “The Good God. The Great Father. Eochaid Ollathair.”
The Dagda hummed approvingly. “Ah. I do like that one.”
“He fought in wars,” Remus said. “Battles that shaped entire mythologies. The Second Battle of Mag Tuired, for one—”
“Oh, that was a good one,” the Dagda said, almost fondly. “Bit messy, but effective.”
“—and he carries a weapon,” Remus added, voice tightening slightly. “A club. Massive. Said to kill with one end and restore life with the other.”
That—
That got his attention.
The Dagda went still.
Then—
Slowly—
His grin sharpened.
“…my club.”
“Oh no,” James said immediately.
“Oh, yes,” the Dagda murmured.
He straightened, something new sparking behind his eyes.
“I’d forgotten that.”
“Forgotten—” Gideon choked. “HOW DO YOU FORGET A WEAPON LIKE THAT—”
“Left it,” the Dagda said dismissively, waving a hand. “Somewhere remote. Island, I think.”
“OF COURSE IT’S AN ISLAND—” Fabian yelled.
“I should retrieve it,” the Dagda added thoughtfully.
“No,” Lily said flatly. “You should not.”
He ignored her.
“I quite liked that club.”
“WE are not letting you go anywhere,” Sirius snapped, dragging himself back up, hair a mess, eyes blazing.
The Dagda looked at him.
Then—
He smiled.
And turned away.
“I think I will.”
And he started walking.
“OH NO YOU DON’T—”
Chaos exploded.
Chairs scraped, people scrambled—
“GET HIM—”
“STOP HIM—”
“REGULUS—”
They poured out of the classroom after him.
The Dagda didn’t hurry.
Didn’t even glance back.
He just walked.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Completely shirtless.
Through the halls of Hogwarts.
Students turned.
Stopped.
Stared.
Because Regulus Black—quiet, composed, perfectly put-together Regulus Black—
Was walking down the corridor half-dressed, glowing like a star, covered in shifting golden markings, smirking like he owned the world.
And—Merlin—
He looked—
“Is that—Black?” someone whispered.
“WHAT—”
“Since when does he—”
“Oh my GOD—”
“Look at him—”
“His waist—”
“His—are those abs—”
“He’s so—”
“Why is he so—”
“SHUT UP—” Sirius roared, shoving past them.
The Dagda heard every word.
And he loved it.
His smirk deepened.
“Ah,” he murmured, flexing his hand again. “Recognition.”
“That’s not recognition, that’s people losing their minds—” Remus said breathlessly, keeping pace.
“Close enough.”
Someone tried a spell.
“Stupefy—!”
It hit.
Or—
It didn’t.
The light struck him and—
Vanished.
Like it had never existed.
The Dagda didn’t even flinch.
“Ah,” he said lightly. “Magic.”
He rolled his shoulder.
“Cute.”
“WHY ISN’T IT WORKING—” Mary shrieked.
“Because he is magic,” Remus snapped.
“Oh, that’s brilliant, love that for us—” Marlene said.
The attention built.
More students gathering.
More staring.
More whispering.
The Dagda’s grin turned feral.
“Mm,” he hummed, clearly enjoying himself now.
He stretched again.
Flexed.
Deliberately.
Slowly.
Muscles shifting under skin, markings flaring brighter—
“Stop—showing off—” Evan hissed.
“Why?” the Dagda asked, genuinely curious.
And then—
Something changed.
A ripple.
A shift.
The air itself seemed to tighten—
And from beneath Regulus’s arms—
Another set—
Unfolded.
Gasps echoed down the corridor.
“What the FUCK—”
“ARE THOSE—”
“ARMS—”
A second pair pushed out along his ribs, fully formed, just as toned, just as strong—
And then—
A third.
Lower.
Along his waist.
Six arms in total.
All flexing.
All moving.
All very, very real.
Pandora made a strangled sound. “That is—oh my god—”
“WHY DOES HE HAVE MORE—” Peter shrieked.
The Dagda flexed them experimentally.
One set crossed over his chest.
Another braced at his sides.
The lowest rested casually at his hips.
“Ah,” he said, delighted. “That’s better.”
“BETTER?” Sirius echoed hysterically.
“This body is smaller than I’m used to,” the Dagda explained, as if that made anything normal. “Had to redistribute.”
“Redistribute WHAT—” James demanded.
“Mass,” he said simply.
“OF COURSE—”
He rolled all six shoulders at once.
The effect was—
Obscene.
Terrifying.
Impressive.
And he knew it.
“Oh, this is excellent,” the Dagda added, watching the way people stared.
“Stop looking at him!” Sirius snapped at a group of younger students.
They did not stop looking.
No one stopped looking.
Because he—
He looked like something out of a myth.
Out of a story.
Out of something that shouldn’t be real.
And he was enjoying every second of it.
“Right,” he said finally, turning slightly toward the doors leading out of the castle. “Island.”
“No,” Lily said again, firmer now. “Absolutely not.”
The Dagda smiled.
Six arms shifting.
Gold blazing.
Eyes ancient.
And walked on anyway.
Behind him—
The entire school followed.
The castle had never seen anything like this.
A god—shirtless, glowing, six-armed, and entirely too pleased with himself—strolling through the corridors like he owned not just Hogwarts, but the concept of existence itself.
And behind him—
An entire year group.
Plus several others who had joined along the way.
Plus a professor who looked like he was reconsidering every career choice that had ever led him here.
The Dagda walked at the centre of it all, utterly unbothered.
And now—
He was talking to himself.
“Right,” he murmured, one hand idly tracing the glowing lines along his ribs while another flexed at his side. “Club first. Then the cauldron.”
“CAULDRON?” Fabian echoed loudly.
Remus, still keeping pace beside Sirius, inhaled sharply. “His cauldron.”
“What about it?” James demanded.
“It’s—” Remus scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s not just a cauldron. It’s the cauldron. The Cauldron of Plenty. It never runs empty. It feeds everyone. It’s—”
“Indispensable,” the Dagda said smoothly.
“Yes,” Remus snapped.
“Sounds useful,” Barty muttered.
“Sounds like something we should not let him have,” Lily shot back.
The Dagda ignored them all.
“Club, cauldron,” he continued, ticking them off on different hands. “Then—back.”
His expression shifted.
Not smug.
Not entirely.
Something deeper.
Older.
“Back to Ireland.”
Remus went still.
“Back to rule,” the Dagda added, voice quieter now, but no less powerful. “To sovereign my land again. To protect my people.”
The corridor seemed to still around him.
Even the students who had been whispering fell silent for a moment.
“Good,” he murmured. “It’s been too long.”
A pause.
Then—
His grin came back.
Sharp.
Eager.
“And my children.”
“Oh no,” Dorcas muttered.
“I’ll see them again,” he went on, almost fondly now. “Aengus Óg, Brigid, Bodb Dearg, Cermait, Midir, Aed, Ainge and Echtgi—”
“STOP LISTING THEM—” Gideon said.
“I wonder how they’re doing,” the Dagda added, completely ignoring him. “I’ve been gone quite some time.”
“And my ladies,” he continued, voice dropping slightly.
Pandora leaned in, fascinated. “Oh?”
“The Morrígan, Boann, Echtgi, Englec… Danu.”
“Who are—” Peter started.
“They’re—” Remus began automatically—
“Lovers,” the Dagda said, grinning. “Consorts.”
Silence.
Then—
Collective screaming.
“OH MY GOD—”
“NO—”
“WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT—”
He kept going.
“Strong women,” he added approvingly. “All of them. Powerful. Fruitful.”
“STOP—”
“They’ve given me many children,” he went on, entirely too pleased. “And we mate to ensure prosperity—”
“STOP TALKING—” Sirius yelled, face red.
“—I do wonder if they’ll like this form,” the Dagda mused, glancing down at Regulus’s body again, turning slightly as if checking angles. “Different. Smaller. But not without its merits.”
Evan made a choked noise. “I’m going to kill him.”
“I can’t wait to get back,” the Dagda added, almost dreamy now. “To mate again.”
The screaming doubled.
“NO—”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT—”
“REGULUS—”
“It’s been far too long,” he finished, sighing. “I’ve been rather pent up.”
“OH MY GOD—” Mary shrieked.
“I am begging you to stop talking,” Lily said through gritted teeth.
“Why?” the Dagda asked, genuinely confused. “It’s a perfectly reasonable—”
“NO IT ISN’T—” Marlene shouted.
Remus stepped in quickly, voice raised. “The Morrígan is a war goddess. Boann is the goddess of the River Boyne. Danu is—well—Danu. The mother goddess. They’re not just—”
“Wives?” the Dagda supplied.
“—that,” Remus snapped.
“Also that,” the Dagda said, unbothered.
“And the others?” Alice asked, slightly hysterical.
“Children of the Tuatha Dé Danann,” Remus said quickly. “Figures of power, magic, sovereignty—Aengus Óg is associated with love and youth, Brigid with poetry, healing, smithcraft—”
“Ah, Brigid,” the Dagda said fondly. “She always was clever.”
“—Midir, lord of the Otherworld, Bodb Dearg, Cermait—”
“How do you know all this?” Fabian demanded suddenly, staring at him.
Remus blinked.
“…I’m Irish.”
A beat.
“I’m from Ireland,” he added, frowning. “I thought—did you all not—”
“No,” Sirius said flatly.
“No one knew that,” James added.
“Why would we know that?” Barty said.
Remus looked offended. “I’ve mentioned it—”
“When?” Dorcas asked.
“…once,” Remus admitted.
“That does not count—”
The Dagda stopped walking.
Everyone nearly crashed into him.
He turned.
Slowly.
All six arms shifting.
Eyes locking—
On Remus.
Something in his expression changed.
Recognition.
Interest.
“…Ireland,” he repeated.
Remus froze.
“Oh,” the Dagda said, a grin spreading again. “Well, that changes things.”
“Oh no,” Sirius said immediately.
“Mine,” the Dagda added simply.
“What?” Remus blinked.
“You’re one of my people,” the Dagda said, as if that explained everything.
“I—what—no—”
A hand—one of six—reached out.
And before Remus could react—
It hooked around his shoulders.
Pulled him in.
“Good,” the Dagda said, beaming.
Remus made a strangled noise as he was yanked against him, trapped under the weight of divine enthusiasm and approximately three too many arms.
“LET GO OF HIM—” Sirius snapped.
“Relax,” the Dagda said, waving him off with another hand. “I protect my own.”
“I don’t—need—” Remus tried—
“Nonsense,” the Dagda said cheerfully.
He gave Remus a firm, approving shake.
“You’ll come with me.”
“I will not—”
“Back to Ireland,” the Dagda continued, already deciding it. “You’ll like it. Fresh air. Good land. Proper magic.”
“I already live there—” Remus protested.
“Even better!” the Dagda said, delighted.
“I am not going anywhere with you—”
“We’ll fix that,” the Dagda said easily.
“NO WE WILL NOT—”
He laughed.
Big.
Booming.
Genuinely amused.
“Ah, I like you,” he added, clapping Remus on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “Good spirit.”
Remus wheezed. “I’m being kidnapped.”
“Yes,” Sirius said grimly, already moving forward again. “You are.”
“Brilliant.”
The Dagda just kept walking.
Arm still slung around Remus like he’d claimed him.
Still smiling.
Still glowing.
Still entirely, utterly unstoppable.
And behind him—
The chaos only grew louder.
The procession did not slow.
If anything, it picked up momentum—more students peeling out of side corridors, drawn by noise, by light, by the impossible sight of Regulus Black glowing like a living constellation with six arms and the confidence of something that had never once been told no.
At the centre of it all—
The Dagda walked on.
Remus was still trapped at his side, one of those arms draped firmly around his shoulders like they were old friends on a casual stroll rather than a hostage situation.
“I am not going with you,” Remus said, for what had to be the fifth time.
“Yes, yes,” the Dagda replied easily, clearly not listening. “Now—where was I—ah.”
He shifted slightly, another arm gesturing ahead like he was mapping out a route only he could see.
“Once we’re out of this place,” he continued, nodding toward the distant doors, “we’ll take a little detour.”
“We?” Remus echoed weakly.
“Yes,” the Dagda said brightly. “You and I.”
“No—”
“To the island,” he went on, undeterred. “Remote. Hidden. I left things there.”
“Your club,” Remus muttered.
“And my cauldron,” the Dagda added, pleased. “Can’t forget that.”
“WE can absolutely forget that,” Sirius snapped from behind them.
The Dagda didn’t even look back.
“Retrieve those,” he continued, tapping one finger thoughtfully against his chin, “and then—home.”
“Ireland,” Remus said quietly.
The Dagda’s grin softened—just a fraction.
“Yes.”
For a brief moment, something almost reverent slipped into his voice.
“My land.”
“Your land?” Lily repeated sharply.
“My people,” he corrected.
Then, just as quickly, the smugness returned.
“And my responsibilities.”
“Your responsibilities include NOT possessing students,” she said.
He waved a hand. “Temporary inconvenience.”
“REGULUS WOULD DISAGREE—” Evan snapped.
“He’ll be fine,” the Dagda said easily. “I’m taking excellent care of his body.”
Evan looked like he might actually throw something at him.
“Anyway,” the Dagda went on, completely unbothered, “once we’ve retrieved what’s mine, we head straight to Ireland. Establish control, reassert sovereignty—”
“You can’t just walk in and take over a country,” James said.
The Dagda finally glanced at him.
“…watch me.”
James choked.
Remus dragged a hand down his face. “This is insane.”
“It’s efficient,” the Dagda corrected.
“And then what?” Dorcas demanded.
“Then?” the Dagda echoed, as if the answer was obvious. “I resume my role.”
“As a—” Peter gestured vaguely, “—god?”
“Yes.”
“NO—”
“Yes,” the Dagda repeated, smiling.
“And you’re just… telling us all of this?” Pandora asked, fascinated.
“Why not?” he said lightly. “It’s not like you can stop me.”
“…fair,” Barty muttered.
They were getting closer to the entrance now.
The massive doors loomed ahead, sunlight spilling in through the open archway beyond.
The Dagda slowed slightly.
Not stopping.
Just—
Considering.
Then he clicked his tongue.
“Bit of a nuisance, though.”
“What is?” Remus asked warily.
“This place,” the Dagda said, gesturing vaguely around them. “Restrictive.”
“That would be the school’s protective enchantments,” Remus said.
“Yes,” the Dagda said. “Annoying things.”
“Good things,” Lily corrected.
The Dagda snorted.
“I could do far more if I weren’t contained,” he added, almost idly. “But no matter.”
“Contained?” Sirius echoed. “You’re currently kidnapping my brother—”
“Borrowing,” the Dagda corrected.
“—and sprouting extra limbs in the hallway—”
“Improvising.”
“—and ignoring every spell thrown at you—”
“That one’s not my fault,” the Dagda said.
Everyone paused.
“…what?” Remus said.
The Dagda shrugged.
“Well,” he said, almost casually, “magic doesn’t work properly here for me.”
“That’s—literally not true—” Remus started.
“It is,” the Dagda cut in, smiling faintly. “Because this place is under protection.”
“Yes,” Remus said, exasperated, “that’s how wards—”
“Not just any wards,” the Dagda said.
He tilted his head.
Eyes gleaming.
“My cousin’s.”
The words landed heavy.
“…your cousin,” Lily repeated slowly.
“Yes,” the Dagda said.
A beat.
Then—
“Hecate.”
Silence.
Remus’s stomach dropped.
“…Hecate,” he repeated.
“Goddess of magic,” Pandora whispered.
“Among other things,” the Dagda said.
“That’s—” Remus shook his head. “That’s not possible—”
“Clearly it is,” the Dagda replied lightly.
He flexed one hand, watching the way the glow of his markings dimmed—just slightly.
“I can’t access everything I’d like to in here,” he admitted. “Her influence is… thorough.”
“Good,” Sirius said immediately.
“Temporary,” the Dagda corrected.
His grin returned.
Sharper.
More certain.
“Once we’re outside,” he continued, glancing toward the open grounds beyond the doors, “that changes.”
Remus’s chest tightened.
“No,” he said, more firmly now. “No, it doesn’t.”
The Dagda looked down at him.
Amused.
“Ah,” he said softly. “Optimism.”
“That’s not optimism, that’s—”
“Denial,” Barty supplied.
“Helpful,” Remus snapped.
The Dagda chuckled.
Then tightened his arm slightly around Remus’s shoulders—not painfully, but enough to remind him exactly who was in control.
“Don’t worry,” he said, almost reassuring. “You’ll see.”
“I don’t want to see,” Remus said.
“You will.”
“I won’t—”
“You will,” the Dagda repeated.
And then—
He stepped forward again.
Closer to the threshold.
Closer to the open air.
Closer—
To leaving.
Behind them, the entire group surged, panic rising again, voices overlapping—
“STOP HIM—”
“DON’T LET HIM OUT—”
“REGULUS—”
“REMUS—”
But the Dagda only laughed.
Soft.
Certain.
And kept walking.
The doors burst open.
Cold air hit them all at once.
Grass. Sky. Wind.
Freedom.
The instant The Dagda stepped past the boundary—
Everything changed.
It wasn’t subtle.
It wasn’t gradual.
It was—
Violent.
Power surged.
Not like a spell.
Not like magic.
Like a dam breaking.
The ground itself seemed to hum as something ancient and vast slammed back into place where it belonged.
Regulus’s body arched—
Light exploded outward—
“GET BACK—” Lily shouted—
Too late.
The glow along his skin flared blindingly bright, the Celtic markings igniting like living fire as they crawled, spread, deepened—
And then—
He grew.
Bones shifting.
Muscles stretching.
Height rising—
“WHAT THE FUCK—” James yelled as the figure in front of them straightened—
Taller.
Broader.
Not enormous.
But no longer small.
No longer contained.
A bit over six foot now, towering over most of them, shoulders wider, presence heavier—
More right.
The extra arms remained.
All six.
All powerful.
All very, very real.
The Dagda inhaled.
Deep.
Satisfied.
“Oh,” he said, voice richer now, fuller, echoing slightly in the open air. “There it is.”
He rolled his neck.
Cracked it.
Flexed—
Every single arm at once.
The sound of it—
Sharp.
Final.
“Much better.”
“SHIT—” Sirius breathed.
The Dagda looked down at himself.
Turned slightly.
Admired.
“Still not my full form,” he mused. “But closer.”
The markings burned brighter now, gold threaded with something darker, older—like the earth itself had been carved into his skin.
“Stop—moving—” Evan said hoarsely.
The Dagda smiled.
“I don’t think I will.”
He tightened his hold on Remus.
Pulled him in properly now, arm locked around his shoulders, another braced lightly against his back like he belonged there.
“Come on,” he said cheerfully. “Island first.”
“I am not—” Remus started—
The Dagda laughed.
Loud.
Bright.
Completely delighted.
“We’re leaving,” he said, like it was already decided.
Behind them—
The entire group surged forward.
“NO YOU ARE NOT—” Sirius shouted.
“If you’re taking him, we’re coming too—” James added immediately.
“AND REGULUS—” Evan snapped.
“You are not taking his body anywhere alone—” Dorcas said.
“Absolutely not—” Lily agreed.
“Yeah, no, that’s not happening—” Marlene folded her arms.
“We’re coming,” Alice said.
“Every single one of us,” Frank added.
Fabian pointed aggressively. “You are not ditching us after all that—”
Gideon nodded. “Not a chance.”
Pandora tilted her head, smiling slightly. “This is far too interesting to miss.”
Barty grinned. “Yeah, I want to see the island.”
Peter squeaked, “I don’t, but I’m not staying behind—”
The Dagda blinked.
Looked at all of them.
Then—
He shrugged.
“Fine.”
Silence.
“…what?” Sirius said.
“If you insist,” the Dagda said, utterly unbothered.
“That’s it?” James blinked. “No argument?”
“Why would I argue?” the Dagda said lightly. “You can’t stop me.”
“…fair,” Barty said again.
“And if you come,” the Dagda continued, glancing over them with mild amusement, “you’ll simply witness what happens next.”
“That’s the point,” Lily said.
“Good,” the Dagda replied.
He adjusted his grip on Remus slightly, pulling him a fraction closer, as if bracing him for what came next.
Remus looked like he was reconsidering every decision he had ever made.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea—”
“No,” Sirius said grimly, stepping forward to stand on the other side of him. “It’s a terrible idea.”
“Then why are we doing it?” Peter whimpered.
“Because we’re not letting him go alone,” James said simply.
Evan nodded once, jaw tight. “Not without Reg.”
Dorcas crossed her arms. “Obviously.”
Pandora smiled faintly. “Field trip.”
“Not helping,” Remus muttered.
The Dagda chuckled.
“Right then,” he said, rolling his shoulders again, energy crackling faintly in the air around him now, no longer suppressed.
I decided that my take on the #irishmythtober prompts on Insta would be dark and human-centered and mostly based on late medieval and early modern literary tradition (which is, in my opinion, terribly overlooked in favour of 19th century folk tradition and early 20th c. literary reconstructions based on the idea of 'proper' European pre-Christian pantheons... but I digress). Mícheál Ó Cléirigh tells the story (in his version of the Book of Conquests) of Eochaid Daghdha eventurally succumbing to a years-old wound from a poison dart that hit him in the battle of Mag Tuired, and nominating his son Bodb Dearg as his successor as the high king of the Tuatha Dé Danann (which did not go all that smoothly because of Bodb's half-brother Midir, but I digress again).
So here is Eochaid Daghdha on his deathbed, and Bodb receiving his judgement (one he'd likely been expecting for a little too long). I wanted to capture how Eochaid is still full of power, wrath, and spite - despite his body failing him and the poison crawling up his veins already. King Arthur from 'The Green Knight' that I've rewatched for the gods know which time now might have or might have not been the inspiration for this rendition as well.
In Ireland, the Winter Solstice is often associated with the Newgrange passage tomb in County Meath. Each year, as the sun rises on the Solstice, it aligns perfectly with tomb to illuminate the passage within.
Lots of historical, scientific and even crazy (I’m looking at you Ancient Aliens) theories exist as to why this occurs, but there is also some stories within our mythology associated with the event, including the Dagda’s affair with the Goddess Boann.
The Dagda was thought to be an Irish god of fertility and strength. A wife of one of his aides, Boann, a goddess of the River Boyne, was particularly entranced, and the couple soon began a clandestine affair. Affairs don’t stay secret when a god of fertility is involved, and Boann quickly fell pregnant around springtime.
Boann resided at Newgrange, and when her husband left for a hunting trip, the Dagda cast a spell to make the sun standstill for nine months and pause time. Boann carried her baby to term and eventually gave birth to Aengus, a god of youth and love. Despite it now being Winter, on Elcmar’s return he felt as if only a day had passed and the affair went unnoticed. That is until one day, when an adult Aengus would eventually arrive to duel Elcmar for Newgrange, which he deemed his birthright.
Important Facts about Samhain from an Irish Celtic Reconstructionist
Pronunciation
SOW-in or SOW-een ~NOT~ Sam-han, Sam-win etc.
Dates
Most reconstructionists celebrate Samhain on Oct 31-Nov 1, however some may choose to celebrate on Gregorian Nov 13-14 as this would match the Julian dates of Oct 31-Nov 1. Some also believe that it was a three day festival spanning Oct 31- Nov 2 on which Nov 2 is specifically devoted to ancestral veneration, but there is no specific evidence of this, only possible extrapolation from more modern practices.
Following the Celtic method of days beginning at sunset, regardless of the specific dates you choose to celebrate on your festivities should begin at sunset and end at sunset.
Importance in the Mythos
Ná Morrighan has a strong connection to this time of year thanks to the story of Cath Dédenach Maige Tuired (The Last Battle of Mag Tuired) in which she is found depicted as the ‘Washing Woman’ (sometimes washing herself in the river and other times washing the bloodied armor of the soldiers that would die that day), on the eve of the battle which is also Samhain. The Dagda approaches her and couples with her (creating the ‘Bed of the Couples’ along the bank of river and granting Dagda her blessing in the battle to come). This encounter seems to over emphasize the liminality of the encounter by taking place during the changing of the year and with the couple each standing with ‘one foot on either bank’ of the river.
She and her sisters (Badb and Macha) then use various forms of magic to rain destruction on their enemies (in the form of fire and blood). After the day is won Morrighan speaks a prophecy that describes what is taken by some to be the end of days and others to be the events which will later lead to the Ulster Cycle.
Beneath the peaceful heavens lies the land.
It rests beneath the bowl of the bright sky.
The land lies, itself a dish, a cup of honeyed strength, there, for the taking, offering strength to each
There it lies, the splendour of the land.
The land is like a mead worth the brewing, worth the drinking.
It stores for us the gifts of summer even in winter.
It protects and armours us, a spear upon a shield
Here we can make for ourselves strong places, the fist holding the shield
Here we can build safe places, our spear-bristling enclosures.
This is where we will turn the earth. This is where we will stay.
And here will our children live to the third of three generations
Here there will be a forest point of field fences
The horn counting of many cows
And the encircling of many fields
There will be sheltering trees
So fodderful of beech mast that the trees themselves will be weary with the weight.
In this land will come abundance bringing:
Wealth for our children
Every boy a warrior,
Every watch dog, warrior-fierce
The wood of every tree, spear-worthy
The fire from every stone a molten spear-stream
Every stone a firm foundation
Every field full of cows
Every cow calf-fertile
Our land shall be rich with banks in birdsong
Grey deer before Spring
And fruitful Autumns
The plain shall be thronged from the hills to the shore.
Full and fertile.
And as time runs its sharp and shadowy journey, this shall be true.
This shall be the story of the land and its people
We shall have peace beneath the heavens.
Forever
(based on the translation by Isolde Carmody)
It is also mentioned in Echtra Cormaic that on this festival every seven years the high king would host a feast, it was at this time new laws could be enacted. (but it seems that individual Tuathas or possibly kings of the individual providence may have done this for their territories at Lughnasadh).
It seems to be a time considered especially susceptible to (or of) great change as it is the time which the Tuatha de Danann win victory over the Formorians and take control of Ireland, the invasion of Ulster takes place at this time in Táin bo Cúailnge, in Aislinge Óengusa Óengus and his bride-to-be are changed from bird to human and eventually he claims kingship of Brú na Bóinne at this time of year.
Celebration Traditions
Samhain is the beginning of the “dark half” of the year and is widely regarded as the Insular Celtic equivalent of the New Year. The “dark half” of the year was a time for story telling, in fact in this half of the year after dark is considered the only acceptable time to tell stories from the mythological and Ulster cycle (the Fenian cycle being assumed to be no older than the 12th century based on linguistic dating). Traditionally anything that had not been harvested or gathered by the time of this festival was to be left, as it now belonged to the Fae (in some areas specifically the Púca).
This was also an important time for warding off ill luck in the coming year. Large bonfires would be built and as the cattle were driven back into the community from the pastures they would be walked between these bonfires as a method of purification (the reverse custom of Bealtaine where the livestock were walked between the fires on their way out to the summer pastures). Assumed ritualistic slaughter of some of the herd would follow (though this perhaps had the more practical purpose of thinning the herd before the winter and creating enough food for the feasting). In some areas the ashes from these fires would be worn, thrown or spread as a further way to ward off evil.
Homes would be ritualistically protected from the Aos Sí (Fae or ‘Spirits’) through methods such as offerings of food (generally leaving some of the feasting outside for them), carving turnips with scary faces to warn them off (we now tend to do this with gourds), and smoke cleansing the home (in Scottish saining) traditionally with juniper, but perhaps rowan or birch might be an acceptable alternative. It is likely these would be part of the components used in Samhain bonfires as well, for the same reason.
Lastly based on later traditions as well as links in the mythology this is a time where divination practices or those with the ‘second sight’ were regarded to be especially potent.
The Dagda, chief of the Tuatha Dé Dannan. Before everything, only two existed, Danu and Donn. The two lovers came together, birthing the first of the Tuatha Dé Dannan. However, the two loved each other so much that they dared not separate their embrace, trapping their children between them. Wishing to free his siblings, the lovers’ son, the Dagda, spoke to his parents to devise a plan. As Danu and Donn could not bear to consciously separate, the Dagda would strike his father allowing enough time for the other gods to escape from their embrace. But when the time came to enact the plan, the Dagda underestimated his own strength and struck his father dead. Danu, overwhelmed with grief, began to sob. Her devastated tears formed a massive wave that washed away the Tuatha Dé Dannan. Donn’s corpse created the land and sky, with Danu’s tears forming the seas. Sprouting from Donn’s corpse arose a mighty tree, with which the god’s used the fruit or bark produced from the tree to fashion the first humans.
Yet, from the sea emerged the demonic Fomorians, who used their powers over the blights of the earth to subjugate both humanity and the Tuatha Dé Dannan. The Dagda was outraged by the horrid actions the Fomorians committed against his kin and humanity. Therefore, the Dagda consulted his wife, the goddess of war and death, the Morrigan. On Samhain the two consummated their love in a river. Afterwards the Morrigan joined the Tuatha Dé Dannan’s rebellion, offering her prophetic abilities and martial tactics. Uniting the Tuatha Dé Dannan and the soldiers of humanity, the Dagda rebelled against the forces of the Fomorians. Later in the war, the united forces could tell that the final battle was near. So in order to stall for time, the Morrigan advised the Dagda to the travel to the Fomorian camp. Once there the Dagda offered them a peace treaty with the Tuatha Dé Dannan, but as expected they refused. Instead the Fomorians forced the Dagda to eat a ridiculous amount of porridge from his magic cauldron, wishing to humiliate him. The Dagda, unashamed and embracing the lunacy, picked up a massive spoon and began to devour the porridge, not leaving a single drop left. With a swollen belly, the Dagda laid down and fell asleep, all the while the Fomorians laughed at him. When awake, he left the camp, encumbered by his full belly. On his way back to the Tuatha Dé Dannan, he was stopped by a beautiful Fomorian woman, announcing herself as the daughter of the Fomorian king Indech. She quickly began to batter him, wishing to make him her personal slave to travel on top of. Encumbered by his full belly, the Dagda couldn’t fight back against her assault. Irritated, the Dagda proceeded to empty his bowels, returning him to his original form. Apparently attracted to this act, Indech’s daughter swiftly fell in love with the Dagda, sleeping with him on the spot. Afterwards the Fomorian promised to aid the Tuatha Dé Dannan in their fight against her kind, the Dagda now gaining both an ally and a lover. In the final battle the Dagda laid waste to his opposition, wielding his magic club that could both bring great destruction yet was also capable of bringing life back to those who were slain. The battle ended as the last blow was struck against the Fomorian leader Balor by the young deity Lugh. After their victory the Dagda gathered Lugh and Ogma to take back his magic harp Uaithne from the retreating Fomorians.
After the war concludes, the Dagda with the rest of the Tuatha Dé Dannan withdraw into the Otherworld through the Sidhe delegated by Manannan. In another myth, the Dagda and the river goddess Boann fall in love. However the goddess was married to the god of the hunt Nuada. When Nuada leaves for an errand, the Dagda sleeps with Boann, impregnating her. To hide this the Dagda uses his powers to make the sun stand still, warping time around Nuada to make the nine months of pregnancy only one day for him. Boann ultimately gives birth to the Dagda’s son Aengus, who once he discovers the truth of his birth, asks the Dagda to help him take over Nuada’s land of Brú na Bóinne. The Dagda has many other children as well, such as Brigit, Aed, Cermait, Bodb Derg, Midir, Ainge, Dian Cécht, and possibly the members of the Morrigna: Badb, Macha, and Nemain.
—————
The Dagda, like the rest of the Celtic gods, was ripped of his divinity by the arrival of Christianity. However, unlike most of the mainland celts, many of the Gaelic myths were preserved in a way in written literature. These writings were euhemeristic in nature, meaning that they adapted these stories to fit into a historical narrative. Not only to fit in with this narrative, but also to adapt the mythology into a Christian framework, the Tuatha Dé Dannan and the rest of the gods were stripped of their divinity. There were differing explanations given to the origins of these figures, some said that they were merely humans with mighty magical powers, others said that they were fallen angels instead, very few though admitted that these figures were in fact worshipped by the ancient celts as gods, such as the Dagda. In this narrative, the Tuatha Dé Dannan were one of a multitude of different “settlers” of ancient Ireland, among which included the Firbolg and the Fomorians. But after the Tuatha Dé Dannan repelled the Fomorians, the final race of settlers, the Milesians, push back the Tuatha Dé Dannan and force them into the Otherworld. Modern scholarship holds the consensus that the Milesians and their victory against the Tuatha Dé Dannan to be a later invention by Christian writers.
Before the influence of Christianity, the Dagda was one of the most important gods in the Gaelic pantheon. The Dagda was most likely considered to be the chief god of the Tuatha Dé Dannan. He was a god of many things, such as fertility, fatherhood, manliness, life, death, the seasons, time and possibly the sky. He represented greatness in its many forms. His title of the Dagda accentuates this, as it translates to “the good god” or “the great god”, playing upon his greatness in all things. The Dagda has many more names he has gone by as well, such as Eochaid Ollathair “great father”, Dáire “the fertile/violent one”, Eochu “horseman”, Aed “the fiery one”, Ruad Rofhessa “lord of great knowledge”, Fer Benn “man of the peak”, Eogabal, Cerrce and many more.
Due to their tumultuous history, there is no surviving Gaelic creation myth, as such the one I gave above is my own interpretation of the reconstructions given by Iain MacAnTsaoir and Peter Berresford Ellis. These reconstructions are based on both post-christianization sources as well as Proto-Indo-European archetypes. Every attempt at reconstructing the creation myth given above cannot be relied upon (especially mine), as there simply is no evidence of what the creation myth could’ve been. I do not consider my rendition to be any more accurate than the others, since like them mine is similarly based upon debatable and absent evidence.
In post-christianization literature, the Dagda’s father is named Elatha, strangely making the Dagda the half brother of the god Lugh. Yet despite this, Nuada who is described as the Dagda’s brother in multiple sources, isn’t considered a son of Elatha. This confusion is compounded by the fact that Nuada is described as the brother to the Dagda’s son Dian Cécht. These contradictory genealogies could imply that they were a later addition made by writers to further push the euhemeristic narrative. In some Irish literature, the Dagda was said to have died in the final battle with the Fomorians, succumbing to his wounds after the battle. Nevertheless this is contradicted by other writings that depict the Dagda as surviving the conflict, as seen in him recovering his harp, and in other writings where he is credited with an 80 year reign over the Tuatha Dé Dannan after the war, meaning that his death was likely another addition made by later Christian authors.
The Dagda’s brothers, Nuada and Ogma, form a popular trinity in Gaelic myth, possibly representing a triplicate deity in which they were aspects or manifestations of the Dagda, similar to the Morrigna who form the triplicate of the Morrigan.
The god of death Donn mentioned in the reconstructed creation myth has theological ties to the Dagda, with some researchers believing that they were one and the same as not only was the Dagda associated with death, but he was also occasionally referred to as Dagda Donn. The Romans referred to a “Celtic Dis Pater” a death god who the celts claimed ancestry. Donn is the most common god to be claimed as the “Celtic Dis Pater” but if he was a form of the Dagda then that would mean the Dagda would be connected to the Roman god as well. Another Roman god possibly connected to the Dagda is Jupiter, as in the same text mentioning the “Celtic Dis Pater” the author also mentions a “Celtic Jupiter” which many scholars have likened to the Dagda. The Dagda also holds connections with the Germanic mythos as well, as he has been likened to the god Odin, sharing many of his traits. The Dagda has been likened to other Celtic gods as well, such as the Gaulish Sucellus and the Irish Crom Dubh and Crom Cruach who fought against the Christian Saint Patrick.
In a story revolving around the culture hero Cu Chulainn having one of his young cows being taken by the Morrigan, when the arrogant hero confronts the Morrigan she’s seen herding her livestock with someone described as a “giant red man” though never given a name, it’s generally believed that this man is the Dagda.
