Harry Potter and the Eagle - 19lams5 - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Departing the Nest

Chapter Text

Harry sighed in boredom as he watched the other children of the orphanage play. Observation was much of what he did these days, for he found it fascinating how their cliques would jostle for power and influence, raw and clumsy, undoubtedly, but still fascinating. Perched on the branch of a tree, he sighed contentedly as a breeze blew past. He allowed his mind to drift as he watched Josh and Abram stare each other down by the swing sets as others gathered around to watch, cheering for one boy or the other. Harry watched dispassionately as Josh threw the first punch, leading to a flurry of fists thrown before several of the matrons rushed out, angrily yelling at the crowd and draggin the two boys by the ear inside.

His interest lost, Harry picked up his book, a scrappy and torn one entitled ‘The Prince’. While the other children, when forced to read, most often focused on fantasies and fairy tales, Harry couldn’t help but gravitate to those on sociology and politics. He had little patience for the lies of morality and virtue espoused by stories; the cold, methodical logic of these non-fiction books proved far more worthy in his eyes.

Hearing the bell signalling lunch, Harry sighed, dropping down gracefully from the tree and walking inside to the orphanage. Around him, the children whispered, pointing at him and muttering obscenities under their breath. Strangely, he could hear voices without words being spoken, from idle musings on what slop would be on today to depraved entertainment on what it would be like to beat him to a pulp. Rubbing his head as he felt a slight headache began to build up, he took several calming breaths, willing his mind to clear itself. It was a difficult process, trying to push away the voices, but he managed to contain them into a dull throb.

Handing his tray to the matron, he received a helping of sickly green looking mashed potatoes and a pittance of gravy dripped on top, along with several fruits. The latter was not out of kindness, but rather because the matrons had long given up on forcing the others to take fruit, and what wasn’t given to him would have been thrown away anyways. Nodding in thanks, for there was little reason not to show gratitude when such a gesture cost him little, he took his food to a corner, setting his tray gently on the table. Picking up a banana, he peeled it carefully, taking time to enjoy each bite as he observed the other children, who were chatting amongst their cliques happily, some playing with their foods, others wolving it down in an attempt to finish and leave.

As Harry finished his banana, he set the peel inside his tray and began to scoop a mouthful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. It was lukewarm and bland, the gravy somehow lacking any flavour, though Harry nevertheless took the time to appreciate the food as he turned the page of his book, continuing to read.

“Potter,” a voice called out, causing Harry to look up and see one of the matrons walking towards him brusquely.

“Yes, madam Frelia?” he queried politely. The woman simply curled a finger, gesturing for him to follow. With a sigh at the realisation he would not be able to finish his food, he pocketed the two apples on the tray, handing the tray back in and following the matron already walking ahead. Scampering to catch up with his smaller legs, he made it a step behind her just as they reached the door to her office, causing Harry’s eyebrows to shoot up.

“Get inside,” she instructed curtly, opening the door and pressing a hand to his back. Resisting the urge to react, he heeded the gesture, walking inside and blinking owlishly at the sight of a crooked nose man with sallow skin. The man turned impatiently, penetrating black eyes turning to gaze at him.

Harry frowned as he felt a slight headache, and tried to hide his discomfort as he willed his mind to calm itself. After several moments, the buzzing subsided, causing him to let out a low sigh of relief. He did not miss the slight widening of the stranger’s eyes, and resisted the urge to confront the man. Impulsiveness was rarely the optimal choice, and he would observe for now.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I’m afraid I don’t know you mister…”

“Snape. Severus Snape,” the man replied coolly, before turning to the matron. “Leave us.”

“I don’t th-” the woman’s eyes glazed over as she stiffly turned and closed the door. Harry’s eyebrow raised, and he turned to the man, far more intrigued than before.

“Tell me, mister Potter, have you noticed…unusual things around you?” Snape drawled as Harry took a seat across. “Things that could not be explained…things that seemed…unnatural?”

“Perhaps,” Harry shrugged. “I’m rather persuasive and have gotten myself out of situations that should not be possible. I’ve survived injuries that I shouldn’t have, according to the matrons, I was stabbed with a knife as an infant and tossed behind a dumpster. That I survived…well, it wouldn’t be too difficult to think that I’m different from others.”

“I see…” Snape pursed his lips, veneer of cool indifference breaking for a second and betraying perturbation. Had the man’s demeanour not been so controlled before, he might have believed it a trick of the light. Harry frowned inwardly, wondering if he had spoken too much, but as the saying went, in for a penny, in for a pound. He decided against talking about the voices, a quiet urge within his mind suggesting that wouldn’t be welcome. “Tell me, mister Potter, have you heard of the terms occlumency and legilimency?”

Harry blinked owlishly, eyes narrowing as he failed to recall any knowledge of such. Refocusing on the man, he frowned as he realised the man across was studying him intently. Quickly composing himself, he shook his head. “Apologies, my mind seems to have drifted. I can’t say I have, sir.”

“Hmm,” the man frowned, lips pursing. It was Harry’s turn to study the man closely, for he was the first individual who did not project voices. The silence was almost eerie compared to the usual chaos Harry had to contend with. While he had scarcely any facial tics, the absence of reactions was itself a tell, a greater truth within a lie. “Most…peculiar, but irrelevant for now. What you have experienced, mister Potter, is magic, a power that binds all of us together. With sufficient training, one can achieve feats that defy imagination.”

“And I presume you are here to offer training?”

“How…astute of you,” Snape drawled. “Indeed, I am the potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You have been offered acceptance into the school, where you’ll be trained in various magical disciplines when you arrive.”

“And are there any other options I should be considering?” Harry queried, mentally noting down how Snape’s eyebrows raised imperceptibly. “Surely there would be other schools…smaller academies and whatnot?”

“Hogwarts is perhaps the most renowned magical school on the planet,” Snape sneered. “It is a privilege and honour to be accepted.”

“Is that so…” Harry mused. “Surely if I’ve met the conditions for Hogwarts, amongst the most prestigious schools, per yourself, then I would be of interest to these other institutions, no? One might think you’re trying to hide something, sir.”

“I cannot speak for the recruitment practises of lesser schools, mister Potter,” the man’s nostrils flared slightly. “You can do research on this in your own time.”

“As you say, sir” Harry dipped his head, knowing he would not get further with this line of questioning. “And what of tuition? I doubt I have the resources to afford such an education.”

“You will find, mister Potter, that your parents were quite well off and have no doubt left you a small inheritance, sufficient for funding your place at Hogwart,” Snape assured, pulling out a small key and placing it on the desk. “Now, if you have no more questions, your letter, mister Potter.”

The man pulled out an envelope and handed it to him. Glancing down, Harry cracked open the wax seal, quickly skimming through. He saw Snape look at him expectantly. “And where would I acquire the necessary items, sir?”

“Look for the Leaky Cauldron in Charing Cross Road. Tom the barkeep will be able to assist you. Go to Gringotts, the white marble building that serves as a bank. Your key will grant you access to your vault. I trust you will be able to handle yourself,” Snape drawled, standing up.

“Perhaps a demonstration?” Harry inquired. The man gave a stiff nod, withdrawing a wooden stick and slicing an arc in the air, sending a jet of red towards the chair, cutting off its legs. With another swish of his wand, the chair knit itself back together. Harry’s eyes widened at the display, his mind racing. Was this the power he could unlock? “Thank you, sir.”

“Until September First, then, mister Potter,” the man nodded stiffly, before striding out of the room. As the sound of footsteps retreated, Harry reached out, pocketing the vault key and standing up. He had much to contemplate.

--Break--

Wandering through the streets, Harry gave a faint smile at the sight of a dingy pub with faded golden lettering declaring the existence of ‘The Leaky Cauldon’. Entering the establishment, he resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at the pungent smell of alcohol and sweat. Walking to the bar, he waited patiently for the portly man to turn around.

“Ah k-by Merlin! Harry Potter?” he exclaimed, holding a hand on his chest. Harry blinked, taken aback by the man’s reaction. How the hell did he know his name just from a look? Reaching over the counter, the barkeep enthusiastically shook his hand. “A pleasure to meet you at last, sonny! I’ve been waiting a full decade for this!”

The few patrons in the bar began whispering excitedly, looking and pointing at him. The voices grew louder than before, feelings of excitement and awe at the sight of him. Harry frowned, realising that not all magicals were immune to projecting voices.

“Sir, how do you know my name?”

“W-what do you mean? You’re the boy-who-lived, of course every-”

“Sir, please calm down,” Harry cut through dryly, disliking being rude but growing increasingly uneasy at the growing crescendo of voices. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re all alive and well, no?”

“B-b…do you truly not know?” the man questioned incredulously. Harry gave a light shrug. “You survived you-know-who’s killing curse! Your scar…”

“Well it must not have been a very good curse then,” Harry frowned, mentally making a note that his scar was somehow connected to this. “And I don’t know who.”

“I…I shouldn’t be the one to explain this to you, sonny. Why don’t we get you into the alley before we get more attention?” Harry breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. At last, the man showed an ounce of intelligence. Following the barkeep as he waddled through the backroom, he observed the man pull out his wand and tap several stones in successive order. “Remember, from the rubbish bin, three up and two across.”

Harry blinked as the stone bricks parted into two, revealing a large alleyway bustling with activity. Looking around, he saw all manner of shops and stalls set around. “Thank you, you have a good day.”

Without waiting for the barkeep’s response, he strode forward, spotting the glistening white marble of what was presumably the bank immediately. Two shiny figures, too short to be humans, stood guard outside with long spears, causing him to frown. So magical creatures did exist…he would have to study them. Walking past a stall, he pinched a cap, placing it over his head to cover the lightning bolt scar.

Continuing down the alley, he took in the magic all around, using all of his control to keep himself from bursting with excitement or panic. Despite knowing he was different from regular humans, it was still truly awe inspiring to know there was another world out there. Ascending the marble steps, he paused at the sight of a set of silver doors, upon which read the inscription:

Inside we protect your gems and gold
With honour and strength yet untold
For those who seek that not theirs
The follow a path to despair
For our walls have withstood time’s rolling waves
And we’ll endure beyond your dying days
Fury of a dragon, heart of a golem
Fides Sursum Totem

Harry resisted the urge to snort. Such a boast, while not likely unsubstantiated, was nevertheless far too blunt and obtuse for his tastes. Nevertheless, he entered the bank proper, having passed the third set of doors to reach the bank’s interior. Dozens of teller counters circumferenced the room, short queues in a few of them but others left completely empty. Walking up to a teller, he placed his key on the desk.

The goblin looked up, frowning at him as it picked up the key, inspecting and letting out a low grunt. “Mister Potter?”

“Indeed,” Harry nodded. “I wish for statements on my account and to visit my vault.”

“As you wish,” the goblin nodded stiffly, giving a low bark. Several moments later, another goblin appeared behind the desk. “Would you like to purchase a securitised pouch?”

“What are its benefits?”

“Anti-theft charms, expanded space for more coins, auto-counter,” the goblin answered easily. “Five galleons, I can have it deducted from your vaults.”

“And how much do I have?”

“More than sufficient amounts, I assure you,” the creature answered.

“Are there any ongoing fees, any peculiarities with the pouch?” Harry questioned. The goblin gave an irritable sigh, stowing the blue pouch he had within his hand and retrieving a black one instead.

“No, the amount you put in is the amount that will be stored. Do you want it or not?” Harry gave a stiff nod, drawing a pleased smile as the goblin handed him a pouch. He gasped at the sensation, running a finger over the soft silky material. He could feel the magic interwoven within. Despite knowing he was likely being charged exorbitantly, his ignorance meant such a burden was unavoidable. “Eglot will take you to your vaults. I will have the statements prepared before you depart.”

“My gratitude,” Harry dipped his head, following the smaller goblin to a minecart. Raising his eyebrow, he gripped the sides as the cart hurried along, seemingly knowing which way to go as it navigated several forks without slowing or any visible input from the goblin in front. After several minutes speeding through, the cart lurched to a stop, and the goblin hopped out impatiently.

“Vault one eleven,” the creature grunted. “Place your hand on it.”

“What does it do?” Harry queried warily. The creature sighed irritably.

“Blood detection. Now hurry, every second is a sickle.” Ignoring the urge to snap at the creature, he placed his hand on the circular disk on the vault. A light prickling sensation travelled through his nerves, before the vault gave a slight lurch, the sound of several clicking mechanisms unlocking. The goblin seemed almost disappointed. “Pull the lever when you’re done and a cart will pick you up.”

Without another word, it hobbled away, entering the cart and speeding off. Giving a light shake of the head, he stepped through the now open vault door, gasping at the sight of a small mountain of galleons in front of him. With some mental calculations, he deduced he had at least thirty thousand gold coins, and that wasn’t even considering the silver and bronze ones.

Scooping up a hundred of the silver and bronze along with five hundred gold coins, hoping that the value scale was equivalent to the muggle valuations. Satisfied, he walked out, sealing the vault behind him and yanking down the lever. Several moments later, an empty minecart showed up, hurtling to a stop in front of him.

The journey up seemed far quicker, and he stepped off, walking back towards the counter where the goblin was waiting expectantly. Handing him a stack of papers, the creature quickly returned to dealing with their client, leaving Harry to quickly inspect his vaults. Walking to the waiting area at the side and taking a seat, he quickly leafed through to find that his estimations were slightly off. The vault had forty thousand galleons. Reading through the expenses, it seemed that large sums had been drawn up to roughly a year after his birth, depleting the once larger sums from the hundreds of thousands into tens of thousands.

Ignoring this for the moment, he headed through the alley, wandering around and familiarising himself with the layout before stopping at a shop that read ‘Ollivander’s’. Feeling a faint voice calling out for him, he entered the shop curious, frowning as he felt a presence suddenly appear behind him. Turning around, he saw an old man with frizzy white hair look at him in surprise.

“Mister Potter, long have I awaited this day,” the man smiled eerily. Harry fingered the pocket knife slipped in his right sleeve, ready to strike. “But where are my manners. Garrick Ollivanders, at your service.”

“A pleasure,” Harry dipped his head, refusing to betray just how creepy he found the man. Looking around as the man reached behind the counter, pulling out a box and withdrawing a wand, beckoning him with an encouraging wave. Reaching out, he frowned at the slight hum the wand gave, as though acknowledging but ambivalent to his presence.

“No, no, not this one,” Ollivander muttered, stowing it back in the box and shelving it before pulling another. “Try this.”

He took hold of the wand, which gave a low, angry hiss, a slight burning sensation on his palm. Ollivander quickly stowed the wand. Before he could reach for another, Harry interjected, “The wand I seek is behind.”

“Oh ho,” the man’s smile widened. “A wand calling for you…marvellous, simply marvellous. I haven’t had that happen since…well never you mind. Go, young wizard, reach out and feel for it.”

Heeding the wandmaker’s advice, Harry closed his eyes in concentration, trying to block out the faint chatter of voices projected all around, taking several deep breaths as they faded into the background, allowing the faint yet strong siren’s song to entrance him. Slowly, he walked through the various rows of wand stored, ignoring their faint voices as he honed in on the one he knew belonged to him.

Reaching the penultimate row, he parted the shelves and wandered deep in, reaching past several boxes and retrieving one delicately. Releasing the black clasp and revealing the wand, he touched it, feeling his magic sing out, momentarily silencing all the voices around.

As the euphoria died down, he looked to see Ollivander staring at him in disbelief.

“This is it,” Harry smiled. “How much for the wand?”

“Seven galleons,” he breathed, muttering lowly to himself. Harry collected seven golden coins from his pouch and handed them to the man.

“Are there any other things I should get with it?”

“A wand maintenance kit is essential. Some are also interested in a holster,” Ollivander answered after shaking himself out of his stupor. “Fifteen galleons for both.”

“I’ll take them,” Harry quickly agreed, handing over the amount. “What is my wand made of?”

“Blue walnut and moonbeam. A most odd combination, a tricky wand indeed. I had thought another would be destined for you, but the wand chooses the wizard,” the man gave a light shrug. “It has been an honour, mister Potter.”

Sensing the dismissal, Harry placed his holster on his wrist and holstered his wand. Placing the wand maintenance kit in his backpack, he continued down the alley. Heading to Flourish and Blotts, he navigated through the various shelves, picking out the books he needed along with those he found interesting. Several books on duelling, on history and others were all placed in the basket, along with a selection from the ‘Harry Potter’ section, something he certainly never approved of. Leafing through a few, he found fantastical, whimsical stories on his supposed childhood adventures.

Walking to the counter with a stack of roughly thirty books, he placed his basket on the table, drawing the attention of the young witch. With a bubbly smile, she asked, “First Year?”

“That obvious?” Harry queried with a roguish smile. The girl gave a light giggle.

“We’ve all been there,” she assured lightly, ringing up the purchases. “Excited?”

“The disbelief is still setting in. Still hard to believe that…you know, magic is real and all,” Harry mused. “So little time and so much to learn.”

“You’ll be fine,” the girl smiled warmly. “It takes some getting used to, I admit, but it’s wonderful once you get settled in. And there we go, that’ll be thirty seven galleons and six sickles. Do you want a book on jinxes with that? It’ll be useful to know a few.”

Giving a light wink as she gestured to a lilac coloured book entitled ‘Basic Jinxes and Hexes’. Seeing the price was just four sickles, he gave a wry smile. “How could I say no to that smile?”

“My my, such a charmer,” the girl giggled, ringing up the purchase. “Hopefully I’ll see you in Ravenclaw.”

“Ravenclaw?” Harry queried unsurely. She snapped her fingers, swatting herself on the head.

“Right, sorry, I take all this for granted sometimes. Hogwarts students are sorted into four houses, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and Slytherin. Long things short, nerds, softies, jocks and dicks.”

“Leanne! You’re head girl, you shouldn’t say that!” a voice reprimanded, causing the two to turn, seeing another girl look at them with exasperation. The cashier, presumably Leanne, gave a mischievous smile.

“Come on, Audrey, it’s not like I’m wrong.” Turning back to Harry, she gave an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I do need to get back to work. It was nice meeting you!”

“Wait, can you shrink these?” Harry inquired. Leanne tapped the books with her wand, causing them to shrink to the size of buttons. “Thanks.”

Walking out to the alley, he explored several other shops, purchasing robes, potion ingredients, a trunk, some trinkets and other miscellaneous items. After having explored Diagon Alley to satisfaction, he headed towards the outskirts, ignoring the increasingly oppressive aura.

Several scrawny hags looked at him hungrily, though his confident stride dissuaded them from approaching. Looking around, he wandered through several stores that contained various artefacts and trinkets, finding little of immediate interest. As he neared the end of the alley, he spotted a bookstore and headed inside. The bell gave a light chime, and he heard the approach of footsteps.

“Ah, a customer, what are you looking for?”

“Books. Occlumency and legilimency,” Harry answered. The man’s eyes widened, before narrowing in suspicion. Harry felt suspicion radiate from the man’s voices as they began to dull.

“That’s highly…illegal, young master,” the shopkeep frowned.

“I can pay well,” Harry responded crisply. “If not, I’m sure I can take my business elsewhere.”

“Ha!” the man snorted, “there ain’t another shop in this side of Europe like mine. All the old families go through me, that’s nothing more than a bluff.”

“Then what do you have on offer?”

“Many things…guimores of families long extinct, artefacts whose secrets are yet to be discovered…for the right price, everything can be had,” the man grinned toothily. Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Surely you would be interested in duelling, politics, perhaps some first edition tomes? Anything, I assure, can be found.”

“Hmm, not everything, seeing you cannot provide me what I seek. Good day,” he turned, prepared to leave. He felt the man’s voice yell in agitation, before he called out for him to halt. Hiding a triumphant smile, he turned to face the shopkeep. “Yes?”

“Ten thousand galleons,” he said simply. Harry narrowed his eyes, listening to the man’s voice of inward hopefulness. He sensed anxiety and fear of getting caught with the artefact, and resisted the urge to smile.

“Five thousand,” Harry retorted. “Don’t take me for a fool, you’re a dead man if the aurors catch you with this. No one else would even consider buying this.”

“Seven thousand, and only because I like you,” the man countered. It was still an exorbitant sum, yet undoubtedly the artefact was going to be useful. Harry considered the offer, trying to get a read on the man. Seeing the seller seemed firm on the price, he reluctantly agreed. With a toothy grin, the man pulled out a teller’s cheque, handing it for him to sign.

“And I want an oath for my identity not to be revealed,” Harry added. The man scowled, and Harry realised the seller had intended to sell the book then call the aurors and collect a bounty on him. “And for that, six thousand.”

“Fine,” the man snapped angrily, pulling out a new teller’s cheque. “I do solemnly swear on my magic not to reveal the identity of the buyer of ‘Notes on the Mind Arts’. So mote it be.”

A light aura formed around the man, signalling the oath had been accepted. Harry nodded satisfied, signing the cheque with a blood quill and ignoring the slight stinging sensation on his hand. Shoving the book into Harry’s hands, he barked, “Get out!”

Without a word, Harry left the store, content with everything.

--Break--

The mind arts are perhaps one of the most dangerous branches of magic. The art is poorly understood, for those who possess some of its secrets guard them jealously. While some perceive there to be a binary of occlumency and legilimency, in reality, it is more akin to a spectrum. There are aspects focused on self-modification, external observation and finally control.

First, it is worth breaking down into categories:

Imperacy, to take control of another. Legilimency, to access another’s thoughts. Occlumency, to shield one’s mind from intrusions. Augmency, to enhance one’s mind. Mutarecy, to change one’s mind.

Note that these are only my personal interpretations, and there is, to my knowledge, no convention on how to make these distinctions. Some would generalise it as either occlumency or legilimency, some would create even more divisions.

Most individuals would be hard pressed to master any branch, let alone multiple. Some of the most feared individuals in history are renowned for their prowess in the mind arts. Merlin was a renowned Occlumens, while Morgana was infamous for her imperacy. Many Dark Lords and Ladies have demonstrated aptitude in these fields, achieving renown for becoming beyond-human. In recent memory, the Dark Lady Cosmyre was infamous for her ability to take over the minds of hundreds at a time, turning entire armies against each other and sowing chaos. Had her ambition not pushed her beyond the breaking point, causing a chasm and obliterating her, Cosmyre may well have taken over the continent. Warlock Georg Remeball was famous for his ability to empower those around him to fight beyond their normal capabilities, according to one muggle “as though touched by the hand of god.”

Should you have unlocked the true contents of this book, then you must possess at least some talent or skill in the mental arts. Those unworthy will find nothing more than nonsense meant to satiate the ego instead. Within, you will find the beginnings, however limited, into pursuing the mind arts.

I myself am a master of none, having devoted my time to the techniques of each in hopes of creating a repository that may guide future generations. For three centuries I have lived, studying under the masters of the time. I am Lord Anguis, and this is my legacy.

--Break--

Sitting in the room he had rented in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry idly flicked his wand, feeling it thrum with happiness as he cast a lumos charm. The spell itself was not difficult, and the simple nature of casting was not his intention. Rather, it was control, as he modulated his magic, dimming and brightening the glow with significant difficulty.

Reading through his textbooks had proved enlightening, highlighting how he had very little knowledge on the affairs of this world. Charms, potions, transfiguration…all had somehow jumped out the pages of fantasy and into his reality.

What had caught his attention most, however, had been the Harry Potter books, selling for almost extortionate prices, of which he was certain he hadn’t seen a single knut from. Looking at the time, he slipped off the bed, quickly changing into a set of robes and applying some makeup on his scar before heading into the alley, down into Starstride alley and into a modest building entitled ‘Tonks and Co.’

Walking in, the secretary looked up boredly, a fake smile plastered on his face. “Are you lost, son?”

“I’m here for an appointment with Mr.Tonks,” Harry answered dryly. The man’s eyes narrowed annoyedly.

“Surely you-”

“Just do your job,” Harry barked, causing the man to reel. With a scowl, he wrote a note, tapping it with his wand and sending it flying like a paper aeroplane down the corridor. Several moments later, another paper aeroplane returned. Reading it, the man quickly paled.

“Mister Tonks will-” ignoring the man, he strode down the corridor, entering the room. The man stood up, a warm smile on his face.

“Mister Potter, a pleasure to meet you at last. Your letter was most intriguing. I’ve rarely had clients ask to sign a non-disclosure agreement before even meeting.”

“Mister Tonks, likewise. With my presence, you can never be too careful,” Harry smiled apologetically, false it may have been. The other man chuckled lightly.

“Call me Ted.”

“Then it’s Harry.”

“I must admit, Harry, I am curious why you would choose me. With resources and fame as yours, I’m sure many more prestigious firms would be willing to take your case,” the man pondered. Harry was inwardly impressed at the man’s daring. Most would have kept their mouth shut and accepted this; it only proved his choice more than before.

“I like my people hungry,” Harry answered simply. At the man’s pensive look, he chuckled. “I don’t think you’re naive enough to believe this a bolt of luck, and you’re far too pragmatic to believe this a random act of altruism. “As your most high profile client, all eyes will be on how you perform. Whereas a pureblood firm with connections and legacy may survive a scandal, you will not survive a mistake. Given you’ve survived this long in our prejudiced world, you must have some degree of competency, and I’m confident you’ll be giving it your all every time, because in a way, it really is life or death for you.”

“That’s…a rather unexpected answer,” Tonks mused, a wry smile on his lips. “Very few eleven year olds would…think in such a manner, no offence.”

“There are three people you do not lie to: your accountant, your doctor and your lawyer.”

“Very true,” Tonks laughed, his posture relaxing slightly. Harry could feel the nervousness begin to fade away from the voice in Ted’s head. “I’ve read over the details, and you have quite a solid case. There’s two ways you can go about this: misappropriation of the right of publicity or libel. The former would be easier to prove, but the latter would be more rewarding.”

“What are the odds of succeeding?”

“With the former, nearly guaranteed. With the latter…it’s going to be difficult, but I’d say sixty-forty in our favour. If you win though, you could have them naked on the streets. Even with the former, considering the scale of Harry Potter merchandise and whatnot out there…you’d still cripple them.”

“Hmm,” Harry pursed his lips. “You’re thinking like a lawyer, not a businessman. I don’t want to ruin them, I want to take back the profit rightfully mine, and secure a future stream of income.”

“What do you want to do then?” Tonks frowned. Harry smiled faintly.

“Take down one of the smaller firms for libel. They will not have the resources, connections or expertise to resist. Take absolutely as much as you can. Then approach the others and demand profits lest they face similar wrath. Most will fall in line. Destroy those who do not,” Harry answered simply.

“How much do you want?”

“Twenty percent on revenue and fifty percent on profit. Everything else you can squeeze out, we split between us seventy-thirty.” The man blinked, no doubt surprised by the demand. Reading into the man’s thoughts, he seemed eager for the opportunity, which pleased Harry greatly.

“That will be difficult…but not undoable, I suppose,” Tonks mused, unable to hide his excitement at the prospect. He quickly scribbled down several notes on a document before handing it to Harry. “Have a read over, hopefully everything should be agreeable?”

Looking down at the document, he spent several minutes reading through the clauses. A retainer fee of roughly a hundred galleons, not unreasonable, and a year of charges in advance of a thousand galleons. With the fiduciary clause and several other protections for both sides, he was confident the deal would be solid. There were also clauses explicitly stating the benefits of being the firm’s premier client. Signing, he felt the slight prick of blood on his hand and the contract’s magic taking binding effect on him.

Handing over a cheque for the required amount, he shook the man’s hand before leaving the building. The Potter finances would be recovering soon, if the amount of merchandise sold was any indication.

--Break--

Wandering the alley as a reward for finishing his day’s worth of reading early, he entered a pet shop, idly browsing the various pets. A variety of owls perched above the store in cages, while below, large selections of toads, snakes, rats and other creatures were available. Several children were admiring the baby crups, who barked happily at the attention.

At the sound of wind rushing, Harry turned, eyes widening when a snowy white owl perched on his shoulder, nipping his ear gently. Cracking a smile, he reached out, stroking its features and causing it to lean into his touch, giving a happy hoot.

“Why hello there,” he cooed. “How did you get here?”

‘Hoot!’ the owl responded, almost sounding mischievous. Its head co*cked to the roof and Harry followed its gaze, seeing a cage with its door unlocked.

“My, my, such an intelligent owl. Do you want to come with me?”

‘Hoot!’ she responded enthusiastically, gently butting her head against his side and causing him to chuckle, rubbing her feathers affectionately.

“Alright, with me you go, then.” Oddly, he felt little strangeness in talking with the owl. He could hear faint voices from its mind, and it seemed to understand him well enough. Walking to the cashier, he pressed the bell, waiting patiently.

“Ah, young lad! Looking for-by merlin! Stay still, sonny! That owl’s a right nasty one,” the man warned cautiously, whipping his wand out. The owl on his shoulder let out an angry squawk.

“I like her, she’s a fighter,” Harry defended slightly. “How much for her?”

Blinking incredulously, the man shook his head, muttering on the silliness of youth these days.

“Ten galleons, celestial owls would normally be more, but ain’t nobody’s gotten close to her without losing blood. Don’t bring her back, I ain’t taking her,” the man grumbled.

“What about food?”

“We have owl treats,” the man offered, holding out a small packet of brown crackers. Harry snorted derisively at that.

“I will absolutely not be feeding my owl this trash. Give me some rabbits,” he ordered, looking to his owl to see if she approved. Sensing the question, she bobbed her head up and down. Several moments later, the man returned with a cage with six petrified rabbits. Paying the three galleons, he quickly left the store, not desiring to spend any more time there.

As they walked out, he turned to her. “You need a name, any ideas?”

‘Hoot!’

“Calista? You are a beautiful owl, after all.” She considered for several moments before shaking her head.

“Hmm, how about Gillian?” A shake of the head.

“Leyla?” A contemplative hoot before another shake of the head.

“Thalia?” A shake of the head.

“Athena?” she nipped him on the ear, as though reprimanding him for such a proposition. Harry chuckled amusedly, ruffling her feathers. “You’re a picky one, aren’t you?”

He considered several moments, before offering, “Hedwig?”

The owl, newly christened Hedwig, gave an excited hoot, bobbing her head up and down.

“Hedwig it is then,” Harry smiled. “Such an intelligent owl, you and I are going to get along just fine.”

--Break--

Despite the many doctrines around how to study the mind arts, there seems to be two consistent prerequisites for any progress: the first, for some degree of natural aptitude; the second for significant amounts of time on self-centering.

Briefly on the former point, while it is not theoretically impossible for one completely lacking the aptitude to learn the mind arts, anecdotally, I have never seen a single case. The abstractness means that it is hard to conceptualise with any meaningful clarity. In fact, most practitioners of the mind arts will remain novice, unconsciously exhibiting the traits but not consciously aware. This could be in the form of better awareness of the emotions of others, or an unusually capable mind. For those who progress, the foundation of their natural insight into the field often proves vital.

On the latter point, a commonality in all training regimes is the need for self-centering. While some practitioners endorse martial routines and others meditation, the goal remains to achieve greater self-awareness and control. I have found that, anecdotally, meditation seems to be the most effective means, being the favoured tool of the greatest practitioners currently alive.

However, it is also the most risky. While other practises can guarantee some level of result, meditation is completely dependent on the practitioner’s will and discipline. One can meditate for a lifetime and achieve nothing should they fail to reconcile themselves and achieve harmony and control. One must find a way to understand and embrace the unique gift they have received; only then can genuine progress on the arts be made.

--Break--

Wandering through King’s Cross, he winced at the sheer amount of voices swirling around him. Thousands of muggles were all projecting their thoughts at once, flooding his mind with overload. Grimacing, he tried to dull the sensations, enjoying some success as he could think once again.

‘Hoot!’ Hedwig gave him a concerned look, causing him to smile at the owl affectionately.

“I’m fine, Hedwig, just not used to large crowds,” he reassured, rubbing the owl’s feathers. Seeing the poorly disguised ministry official looking far too stiff as they stood vigil next to a concrete barrier, Harry wandered over with his trunk, handing over the ticket and proceeding to walk through.

Looking around, he frowned at the sight of the Hogwarts Express, a scarlet covered locomotive huffing steam. Harry found himself distinctly unimpressed, wondering why the school would spend so much time and resources constructing such a thing when more efficient methods such as portkeys and floo travel were available. Looking around, there were a few families conversing with their children, bidding tearful farewells. He steeled the pang in his heart, boarding the train and finding an empty compartment.

Tapping the trunk and levitating it onto the racks, he took a seat, a book on duelling in his hands and began to read as Hedwig perched on his shoulder, beginning to doze off, snoring lightly. The sound of other children boarding the train and playing the games was annoying, yet he had grown used to ignoring such disturbances, submersing himself within the book.

He frowned as the train gavea a slow lurch, looking out the window to realise that the locomotive had begun moving. “Seems like we’re moving. Do you want to fly?”

‘Hoot.’

“I’ll be fine, it’s only a few hours. I’ve spent longer alone.”

‘Hoot!’ Hedwig barked reproachfully. Harry gave a light chuckle.

“Don’t worry about me, you need to spread out your wings. You’ve gotten fat,” he teased, sliding out of the way as she attempted to nip his ear. “So defensive.”

‘Hoot!’ she snapped, turning her back to him. Harry’s snickers probably didn’t help the owl’s mood.

“I’m sorry, you’re beautiful as always, Hedwig,” he assuaged, rubbing her feathers soothingly. After several moments, she leaned into his touch. “But I know you’ve been missing flying, confined indoors for so long. Have some fun, I’ll see you at Hogwarts.”

‘Hoot,’ Hedwig conceded, hopping onto his shoulder and butting her head gently against his side before flying off. He couldn’t help but smile, watching her slowly disappear over the horizon before returning to his book.

He managed several pages, just flipping a page when two boys barged into the compartment, laughing loudly to each other.

“Oh, it’s occupied, Fred. Do you mind?” Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and the two ginger head boys squirmed at the silence. “Well, nevermind, we’ll just find another…yeah.”

Harry snorted lightly as the two hastily exfiltrated from the compartment, the door swinging shut behind them. Harry flicked his wand, casting a sticking charm on the edge. All the locking spells he knew were far too basic, and he had little desire to deal with more annoyances. Several moments later, he felt a tug on the door, but didn’t bother to look up. Several more tugs and angry shouts later, he heard retreating footsteps, and breathed out lightly.

Several minutes passed before there was a light knock on the door. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow at the sight of a young girl with black hair tied in a bun and amethyst eyes. Blinking, he reluctantly dispelled the sticky charm on the door, deciding to be polite given the girl had offered the courtesy of knocking.

“Can I help you?”

“May I sit in this compartment? The others are filled with rowdy students, and I would like to maintain some of my sanity,” she sighed tiredly. Feeling some kinship already, he moved aside, allowing her in. She shot him a grateful smile, dragging her trunk inside. Before he could offer to help, she tapped her wand on the trunk, levitating it with practised ease.

“Impressive,” Harry mused as the two sat down. Strangely, there was nearly no voice from the girl, a far cry from the loud projections of the other students. He made a mental note to investigate, for it seemed she was at least a novice occlumens.

“Thanks,” she smiled faintly. “What locking charm did you use? I couldn’t detect it.”

“A sticking charm on the door,” Harry chuckled, causing her eyes to widen. “I reckoned most wouldn’t think of that.”

“Impressive,” she echoed. “But where are my manners, Amelie Rosier.”

“Harry Potter, a pleasure,” he returned, taking her hand and placing a light kiss on it. Despite her face’s impassiveness, the voices in her head stirred, and he knew the motion had an effect on the girl. She stared at him for several moments hesitantly, and lapsed into silence until he raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t…do you not know?”

“Of your family’s legacy?” Harry bluffed, having genuinely little idea. The girl nodded stiffly. “And why should I care?”

Rosier blinked owlishly, as though in disbelief. Harry merely co*cked his head, fighting down the amused smirk. The girl’s occlumency crumpled slightly, allowing some of her hesitation and doubts to leak out. Oddly amongst that was a pang of hopefulness, something that Harry instinctively knew pointed to an opportunity.

“We don’t choose our family,” Harry shrugged. “I’m not going to judge you for the actions of those you had no control over.”

“I’m…thankful,” she finally managed. “I must admit my surprise…I expected…”

“I suppose with the stupidity and bigotry of those around, it can be hard to believe there are still those with some level of sanity,” Harry mused dryly, drawing a laugh from Rosier. Her eyes widened, and he sensed her occlumency clamp down, the voices snapping into silence as she tried to regain her composure. He decided not to call her out on it, since she hadn’t once attempted to look at his scar. “You alright?”

“Golden,” she smiled weakly, though Harry knew it to be genuine. Looking at his book, she sat up. “Oh, you’re interested in duelling?”

“Not so much duelling as fighting, I suppose,” Harry shrugged, smirking as he sensed her excitement grow at the statement. “That we all wield wands, tools of incalculable destructive potential…well, it’d be good to know how to defend oneself.”

“Too true,” she agreed. “I’m sure you must know a trick or two.”

“And how do you figure that?” Harry queried. Rosier’s eyes widened, her mind reeling, though Harry could not make out any specific thought, only splashes of surprise and disbelief.

“Did you not get…you know, training?”

“Ah, the books,” Harry chuckled dryly. “Nothing but fanciful lies, I’m afraid. I didn’t even know about magic until I received my letter, it was rather shocking, though admittedly not surprising.”

“I see,” she mused, before smiling hesitantly. “It seems I’ve assumed once again, my apologies.”

“It is only natural, I suppose,” Harry chuckled, attempting to assuage her worries.

“Perhaps, but it’s not fair on you,” she shrugged. “You have my apologies.”

“You could make it up to me by telling more about yourself,” Harry mused cheekily. She rolled her eyes, huffing, though her eyes twinkled with amusem*nt.

“Where to start…my grand aunt was the favoured lieutenant of the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Several uncles served the Dark Lord, some willingly, others allegedly less so,” she mused. “My family name is in the tatters, what branches remain are trying to lay low and recoup, but it’s not easy. Not even healing the schism between the French and domestic branches have helped.”

“I asked about you, not your family,” Harry interjected softly. Amelie blinked, taking several moments to process that.

“Well…what do you want to know?” she flustered.

“What do you do for fun?”

“I suppose…I’ve never really had much time for that,” she shrugged. At his confused look, Amelie explained, “As the heiress of my sub-branch of the family, I’m expected to excel in every respect. Between being tutored in various subjects and attending networking events, there isn’t much time to rest, let alone ‘have fun’. If I had to choose…I suppose I do enjoy duelling quite a lot. It’s a…breath of fresh air; there’s something genuine about pitting ability against ability, skill against skill, strength against strength.”

“Perhaps you can teach me,” Harry mused. To his surprise, she seemed contemplative, not dismissing the idea outright.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. For all we know, we might not even be in the same house.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You…well, it’s not really common for people to interact outside their house,” she shrugged. “Besides, with the scheduling, it’s not like you have much opportunity to interact.”

“I see,” Harry hummed, deep in thought. “So how do the heirs and heiresses network?”

“Usually in festive events. Yuletide and Midsummer, mainly. Samhain and Beltane are reserved for more intimate family gatherings, which is convenient given school is in session then. Besides, most in their faction usually end up in the same houses, making it easier to interact.”

“What a waste,” Harry shook his head, drawing a surprised look. “Only a fool would try and limit those they know. If the houses are grouped by personality, then it’s even worse. Everything is about harmony and balance; you cannot achieve that with just a skewed selection.”

“It’s…tradition, I suppose,” Amelie shrugged. “What house do you think you’re going to be in?”

“I really don’t care. There are opportunities and challenges in each. I’m inclined to say Ravenclaw, but Hufflepuff wouldn’t be so bad. Gryffindor and Slytherin, I’d rather avoid, if nothing else for the sake of avoiding scrutiny.”

“That’s fair,” she sighed wistfully. “My family’s always been in Slytherin, I suppose I have to end up there.”

“Do you always just do what your family wants?” Harry challenged. Amelie’s eyes widened before narrowing, causing him to smirk inwardly. The spark he had seen was now ignited, something he could nurture into his own.

“They’re my family. Family is all I have.”

“You didn’t choose your family. Would you live a slave to them? What better are you than a house elf then?”

“How would you understand?” she snapped before recoiling as she realised what she had said. “Harry I’m so-”

“You’re right of course,” Harry shrugged uncaringly. “I never got to understand parental love. People always recall James and Lily Potter as heroes, but were they? They could not defend themselves, could not protect their own child…in the end, perhaps it is better that I don’t know them. Saves me from the disappointment.”

“You…resent them?” she asked disbelievingly. Harry shrugged.

“They chose to bring me into this world despite their dangerous and reckless lifestyle. I wonder, did they ever think of the consequences of dying? Or were they too busy with their inflated egos and chasing the thrills of battle to care? Regardless, they were weak enough to be killed.”

“That’s…” Amelie flinched, stuttering hesitantly, “I…they’re family?”

“And so what? Does sharing blood physically limit betrayal? Does it inhibit competition? A parent protects their child not out of love, but a biological imperative to preserve their legacy. So why should a child have any obligation towards the parent?”

“Blood is thicker than water,” she proffered unsurely. Harry rolled his eyes.

“The tragic thing about betrayal is that it can only be committed by those you trust.”

The two lulled into a silence, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. He could sense her mind thrumming with activities, thoughts racing at incredible speeds. Hesitation warred with daring, and he knew she was trying to muster up the courage.

“I won’t bite, not unless you ask really nicely,” he teased, drawing a faint blush from her.

“What about you?” she queried. He gestured encouragingly for her to elaborate. “What do you do for fun?”

“I read. Magic just fascinates me…so much raw potential yet untapped. It’s almost unthinkable that most wizards and witches are content knowing the bare minimum, if that, when we live in a world of titans like Voldemort, Grindelwald and Dumbledore,” Harry sighed wistfully. As he regained coignance, he noticed her staring at him entranced, causing him to blink. “You…okay?”

“Sorry,” she shook herself out of her stupor, blush returning in full force as she avoided his gaze. “It’s just the way you speak…it’s so captivating!”

“I’m glad,” he smiled, standing up and moving to her side. Despite his ambivalence to physical contact, tactile sensations were some of the most powerful imprinting tools. Gently placing a finger under her chin, he lifted her head until their eyes met, emerald on amethyst. He tried to project out warmth, acceptance and reassurance, which must have worked as he felt some of the tension leave her body. “Never be embarrassed, not between friends.”

“Right, friends,” she agreed quickly, unable to keep giddiness from colouring her tone. Saving her from embarrassment, he wrapped his hands around her, gently pulling her into a hug. For a moment, she stiffened, and he worried if he had overstepped, yet her content mewl, along with the way she relaxed into his embrace allayed such fears.

A knock on the door caused them to spring apart in shock, matching shy smiles on their faces until there was a more insistent knock, causing both to scowl as they turned to the door. A bushy haired girl stood outside, tapping her foot impatiently.

Removing the sticky charm, he opened the door. “Ye-”

“Have you seen a toad? Neville has lost his,” she questioned.

“No, perhaps you should go find a prefect,” Harry returned coldly. “Is there anything else?”

“You don’t have to be so rude, you know,” the girl snapped. Harry barely suppressed an angry retort. “Oh, your compartment is empty, I’ll join y-”

“Goodbye,” Amelie sniffed derisively, flicking her wand out and casting a charm that sent the intruder flying outwards and slamming against the wall. Harry quickly shut the door, casting the sticky charm again.

“Nicely done,” he praised, turning around to see Amelie had stowed her wand. She blushed, ducking her head.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she shook her head. “Ugh, only a day in and already losing control. Father would be displeased.”

“Then he is a fool,” Harry shrugged, ignoring her gaping. “Power is the freedom to choose one’s actions, knowing they are able to bear whatever consequences. It matters not if you are the most magically gifted individual on the planet if you are a slave to someone else, be it morality, family or obligation.”

He could feel her contemplating his words, and allowed their compartment to once again lull into silence. That was what he appreciated thus far about her: she was willing to consider his point rather than irrationally dismiss it outright.

“Then what does one do when they have all the power?”

“When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain he wept,” Harry answered sagely. “Forging one’s own path, creating one’s own meaning…build your own beliefs and values, rather than relying on others. In that, you create a true legacy, something that can outlive you. Creoyl, Sasarix, Hurwitz, Koller…they never died, they simply became art.”

“That’s a surprisingly…romantic view from one as cynical as you,” she mused. Harry hummed thoughtfully, shrugging. The statement was rather fair. Before she could answer, there was a knock on the door again, causing him to sigh annoyedly. She gave him a commiserating smile.

Unlocking the door, he frowned at the sight of a blonde haired boy flanked by two burly students. Before he could open his mouth, the blonde began speaking, “Have you seen Harry Potter? I’m looking for him.”

“I haven’t seen him, try looking for a compartment filled with more fans, perhaps?” Harry shrugged. The blonde walked off without another word, followed by his two guards. With an amused snort, Harry returned inside the carriage, sealing the door once again.

“An interesting choice of words,” she smirked conspiratorially. Harry gave a disarming shrug, lop-sided grin on his face.

“I haven’t looked in a mirror recently,” Harry mused. “A part of me wonders if all other children are this stupid.”

“Not all, I suppose. That was Draco Malfoy, a prick if you’ve ever met one, all he ever does is talk about his family and his father,” Amelie scowled. “I don’t think he likes me very much, not after I banished him in one of the family galas. Father threw a fit, but boy was it worth it.”

“Why does he have two meatloafs next to him?”

“Oh those? Crabbe and Goyle, the product of inbreeding. Their parents are renown for being able to take multiple spells without going down, though their actual casting abilities leave much to be desired,” Amelie snorted derisively. “But enough about them, why don’t we talk about you?”

“Me?” His lips curled up. “What’s so interesting about me?”

“So much. You survived the killing curse, after all,” she mused. “For a decade, no one has the faintest clue where you are, while the mythos around you grows. People expect you to be the quintessential Gryffindors like your parents, and yet here you are…far more reserved and calculating. Some dark families allege that you’ve delved into the darkest of arts to survive Voldemort…and yet I cannot feel the slightest bit of taint.”

“Very astute,” Harry smiled genially. “As I said, I only learnt about magic recently, I’m hardly different from a muggleborn right now.”

“I-by merlin are the stars conspiring against us,” she sighed exasperatedly as there was another knock on the compartment door. His lips twitched in amusem*nt as he stood up to unlock the compartment, seeing a tall girl with a head girl pin on her chest.

“Leanne, good to see you again!” he greeted cheerfully, causing the girl to blink before cracking a grin.

“Hello again! So you made it, how are you finding it so far?”

“Decently well. I find riding a train for hours rather pointless, but I can’t complain about the company,” he shrugged, inclining his head towards Amelie. Leanne’s smile visibly dimmed as she gave the other girl a curt nod.

“Can I borrow you for a second?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, turning to Amelie. “I’ll be back in a bit, perhaps get changed into your robes.”

“Good idea,” she nodded, smiling weakly. Walking out with the head girl, he raised an eyebrow.

“Look…actually, I never did get your name.”

“Harry,” he supplied.

“Harry,” she nodded. “Look, I won’t tell you who to make friends with, but she’s a Rosier, and they’re feared for good reason. Even most dark families keep their distance, members of their family have served as lieutenants for both dark lords in recent memory. Her cousin Gershwin Rosier was perhaps one of the most vile students to go through Hogwarts. Just…be careful, alright.”

“I appreciate it,” Harry smiled, pulling the older girl into a hug. She froze in surprise, but quickly returned the embrace, ruffling his hair.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer, but if you have any problems, just let me know, okay?”

“Thanks,” Harry smiled, waving her farewell before re-entering the compartment. Amelie gave him a wary glance.

“What did she want?”

“Just warning me about your family,” Harry answered bluntly, drawing a scowl from the girl. “She means well, and you have little to fear. I stand by what I say.”

The two made idle chatter for the rest of the journey, Amelie briefly leaving to allow him to change into his robes. Side by side, the two walked down the path, following the other first years as a large man in a dark brown robe beckoned them.

“First years! Over here! Don’t be shy!” his booming voice called out. “No more than four to a boat!”

Raising an unimpressed eyebrow, Harry offered his hand to Amelie, helping her on before boarding himself. Several moments later, the rude brown haired girl stepped onto the boat, followed by a pudgy boy.

“Longbottom,” Amelie greeted stiffly.

“Oh…Rosier,” the boy returned nervously. The girl scowled at them.

“It’s you rude people again,” she sniffed. Harry and Amelie shared a bemused glance, deciding to ignore the girl. Suddenly, the boat lurched forward, slowly drifting across the lake. Above in the skies, floating carriages carried the older year students to the castle. Sitting in comfortable silence, the chilly night breeze blew past.

“Everybody duck down, nice and low!” All around, the students bent down, hunching over, save for Harry, who rolled his eyes. They passed over a tall overhang from one of the bridges, one they couldn’t have hoped to touch even if standing on their tip toes.

“If that man can fit through, you realise that we probably all can, right?” Harry chuckled. Amelie gave a light sigh, while Longbottom shifted uncomfortably. The girl huffed, as though angered she hadn’t thought of such herself. Suddenly, Longbottom gasped, causing Harry to turn and look forward, catching his first glimpse of Hogwarts castle.

He couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the sight. There was little that could be said for the castle’s gothic appearance that took from the Dark Ages. Unlike those fortresses, which at least had some beauty in symmetry, the castle’s design was boggling, a mish-mash of towers and battlements winding around each other like overgrown vines. Possessing neither the grandeur of palaces or the homeliness of smaller structures, he could only describe it as bland, cold and drab.

The other children, however, didn’t share his distaste, staring with wide eyed awe at the sight. Amelie shot him a curious look at his reaction, but he shrugged, mouthing ‘later’. As they docked at the boathouse, he disembarked, offering his hand to Amelie. She accepted it gracefully, a smile playing on her lips as neither felt the need to let their hands apart, walking through to the large wooden doors. Knocking with his large fist, a severe looking woman with a pointed witch’s hat opened it several moments later.

“The first years, professor.”

“Thank you Hagrid,” she nodded curtly, frowning at the sight of a ginger head, whose robes were rather crumpled. “We’ll be ready for you in a few moments. I suggest you straighten up your robes and freshen yourselves.”

“I hear we have to fight a troll!” the boy proclaimed. Worried whispers spread quickly, though Harry and Amelie eyed each other with thinly contained amusem*nt.

“A real Ravenclaw right there, no?” she chuckled. Harry shrugged.

“The idea has merit,” he mused seriously, causing her eyes to widen at him. “The Gryffindors charge in, the Hufflepuffs befriend it, the Ravenclaws run away and the Slytherins get someone else to fight it.”

“You…” she laughed, “you…”

“Yes?” he smirked challengingly, drawing a faint blush as she looked away.

“Never you mind, prat.”

“Says the dolt,” he retorted, nudging her on the ribs. Before she could retaliate, the door once again opened and the witch strode towards them. “Welcome to Hogwarts. I’m your deputy headmistress and transfiguration professor Minevra McGonagall. In a few moments, you will be sorted into your houses, either Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff or Slytherin. Here at Hogwarts, your house will be your family. Your triumphs and misdeeds will gain or lose house points. No matter where you end up, I hope that you will be a credit to this hallowed institution. Now follow me, we’re ready for you.”

Striding forward confidently, she re-entered the Great Hall, followed by the more hesitant first years. Sat at four long tables, the older students watched their entry closely as they whispered amongst themselves. Above, thousands of wax candles illuminated the entire hall with their bright flames, though Harry was far more impressed with the ceiling, showing a visualisation of the night sky, stars and all.

“The ceiling’s not real, just charmswork. Honestly, have you read Hogwarts: A History?” he heard the bushy haired girl say. She received several nasty glares, and Harry couldn’t help but think the girl’s time at Hogwarts would not be an enjoyable one.

“Oh I may seem plain and old,
But not all that glitters is gold,
You’ll find not hat better than me,
For there’s nothing in your mind I can’t see.”

Turning in surprise, Harry stared at the hat at the front of the hall, perched atop a stool.

“For ten hundred years I’ve sorted,
And not once has by judgement been thwarted,
Noble heirs, common folk and all,
Equals under the sorting hat.

Perhaps Gryffindor is the place for you?
Where courage and chivalry strike true,
And fear is but another to be conquered
Godric’s bravery honoured.

Or is Ravenclaw where you belong?
A nest of wisdom, wit and ideas to be born,
And questions are never considered wrong,
Rowena’s knowledge grown.

Better yet may be Hufflepuff’s den,
Where loyalty and love last till the end
And bonds stronger than steel are forged,
Helga’s compassion spread.

Perhaps it’s in Slytherin where you will thrive
A den where cunning will help you survive,
A forge from which one becomes truly alive,
Salazar’s will reborn.

Whichever house to which you may go
Honour your magic and hone your gift,
Become the person you can truly be
And your legend will a thousand years be told.”

Harry applauded warmly, impressed by the song of the hat. From the reactions of the older students and the staff, he deduced this was rather unusual. It took a moment for McGonagall to recover, calling up the first student.

“Abbott, Hannah!” A pink faced girl with blonde ponytails nervously moved to the stool, sitting down as the deputy headmistress placed the hat on her head. Harry quickly lost interest, turning to observe the staff.

On the leftmost section, was Hagrid, the large gameskeeper, facing the Gryffindor table. Next to him was a witch with olive robes and a pointed hat with various astrological signs, leading Harry to conclude she was the astronomy teacher.

He could not deduce the role of the blonde haired witch the next seat across, or the brunette woman next, though the next individual was a short individual perched atop a stool, whom Harry knew as professor Flitwick, legendary duellist and charms master. Beside him, there was an empty seat, presumably for McGonagall.

From the other side, there was a sallow skinned man wearing a purple turban. As their eyes met, Harry felt a slight buzz in his mind, and quickly averted his gaze. Next to him was a frazzled haired woman wearing a shawl and possessing large glasses that caused her eyes to look comically wide. Next was a wizard who seemed to be missing more body parts than remaining, no doubt the Care for Magical Creatures professor. Next to him was a rather young witch with a stern expression. Beside her, sat a man with greasy hair and a crooked nose, a scowl on his face. Beside him, a squat little witch with flyaway hair, a smile on her face. Sat at the centre of it all was the headmaster Albus Dumbledore, a benevolent smile on his face as his blue eyes twinkled merrily.

“Potter, Harry,” McGonagall called out. Whispers quickly spread, and Harry took a breath, walking forward with confident gait as he sait on the chair, feeling the soft cloth of the hat levelled on top of him.

‘Hello hat,’ he greeted awkwardly. For several moments, there was no response, and he wondered if this was perhaps some sort of elaborate prank.

‘No prank, I assure you, mister Potter,’ a voice called out, amusem*nt colouring its tone. ‘You’ve a rather interesting mind, if I do say so myself. Such a cynical outlook on life…and yet still so full of love and hope.’

‘Really?’ Harry snorted. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Despite your beliefs, you crave to find an equal, someone who truly understands and accepts you. It’s an odd double-think…but I suppose humans are nothing but contradictions.’

‘And how would you know that?’

‘I know in the same way I know you desire to reshape the world, the same way I know of your resentment for your parents’ weakness, your curiosity towards the dark lord,’ the hat responded, causing Harry to blink. ‘Gryffindor is out, while you have the requisite courage, you lack the boldness that defines the house. Do you have a preference from the remaining three?’

‘Hufflepuff would be nice,’ Harry mused. The hat gave a chortle.

‘You don’t trust easily and you’re hardly forgiving. Try again.’

‘Ravenclaw?’

‘Must you make this difficult, Harry?’ the hat questioned amusedly. ‘No, you know where your destiny lies, in the house of Salazar SLYTHERIN!”

Chapter 2: A Slytherin Welcome

Chapter Text

As the hat was lifted off his head, Harry observed the room, seeing a stunned silence. Many of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs shot him betrayed looks, while the Ravenclaws gave him scrutinous glances, as though trying to solve a particularly complex puzzle.

It was the reactions of the Slytherins, however, that proved most interesting. Most seemed stunned by the revelation, though a sizable minority scowled and grimaced in anger, no doubt displeased by his presence.

Glancing back, most of the staff seemed in shock. Dumbledore’s half moon spectacles had fallen slightly, now perilously dangling off his nose. McGonagall’s jaw had dropped. Only the professor in the turban reacted with relative calm, a contemplative look on his face. He was the first to clap, and reluctant applause soon followed as Harry walked to the Slytherin table. Several of the other first years shifted away as he approached, causing him to divert and take a seat at the end alone.

The sorting continued, though Harry paid little attention until it was Amelie’s turn. Giving her an encouraging smile, one she shakily responded, the witch stepped up to the stool, sitting down and allowing the hat to be lowered onto her head.

For several moments, there was silence. He could feel the unease of the girl, but was helpless to do much but watch. The whispers around grew, until he finally heard the hat shout, “SLYTHERIN!”

With a wide smile, he waved at her as she gracefully walked over, taking a seat across him. “Thank Merlin, the hat wanted to put me in Hufflepuff of all places. Said it was apparently good for me to make friends.”

Harry gave an amused snort. “You’d be surprised, I asked for Hufflepuff, but the hat rejected it. Said I was basically to evil for them.”

“I can see that,” Amelie laughed, a sound Harry found he rather liked. “I’m glad we’re in the same house.”

“As am I,” Harry agreed warmly. The two sat in comfortable silence, until Blaise Zabini was sorted into Slytherin. The headmaster stood up, walking towards the podium.

“Welcome back to another year of Hogwarts! To our first years, a warm welcome to these hallowed halls. Hogwarts as an institution has always been about community, on developing friendships that will last long after you depart these halls. The greatest strength, you will find, is in unity and cooperation, something you would do well to remember even in the face of such competitions as the house cup and quidditch cup.

Before I continue, allow me to introduce our head boy and head girl this year. Leanne Antiva of Ravenclaw and Morvin Mentivix of Gryffindor. The two stepped up, dutifully standing to the side of the headmaster as the students applauded. As Harry’s gaze met Leanne’s, he waved, a smile on his face, though she quickly turned away without responding to the gesture. Fighting the pang of anger and grief that threatened to rise, he kept an impassive face, waiting as the headmaster raised a hand for silence.

“Yes. Should you have any issues during your time at Hogwarts, please do not hesitate to contact your house’s prefects, who will be introduced to you in due course. Your head of house will sort out any issues that require a higher authority. They are to be respected as their position demands, something that our new students, and some older students, would do well to remember. You will have the weekend to explore the castle before classes start on Monday. Now, unless I am mistaken, that is everything that must be covered for now. Let the feast begin.”

With a wave of his hands, food appeared on the tables, causing Harry to turn and look in awe. Large plates of mashed potatoes and roast meats doused in gravy dotted the tables, with smaller plates of vegetables on the side. Harry quickly helped himself to a slice of roast beef and a serving of potatoes, while Amelie had decided to take a cut of lamb.

The food proved delicious, and Harry enjoyed tasting the various dishes. He frowned as the blonde haired boy from the train earlier stalked up to him. “You didn’t tell me you are Harry Potter!”

“Nor did I say I wasn’t,” Harry responded dryly. “You asked whether I had seen him, and I haven’t looked in a mirror for a while.”

“W-that’s not the point! But it’s fine, I’ll forgive this. You’ll learn that there are some families better than others. People like Rosier here are worse than mudbloods. I can help you in that regard,” the blonde assured silkily, striking his hand out. Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You lack the manners to even introduce yourself, and you expect me to believe you are capable of navigating politics?” Harry challenged. The blonde’s cheeks darkened and his lips curled into a sneer.

“Do you not know who my father is? Lucius Malfoy! Advisor to the Minister of Magic!”

“So he’s not even the minister?” Harry snorted. Draco gaped for a moment before his jaw snapped shut.

“My father will hear about this,” he snarled, storming off. Harry gave a bemused snort.

“You probably shouldn’t have done that,” Amelie proffered uneasily. Harry turned to her, a curious raised eyebrow. “Malfoy, bastard that he is, is not without influence. He can make your life in Hogwarts difficult.”

“And tell me, how is his father going to stop me if I push him off a staircase?” Harry challenged, causing Amelie to blink. “Perhaps if I decide to enter the political arena Malfoy may enjoy success against me, but there are many avenues of attack to any individual. Fight where you are strong and where they are weak, not the opposite.”

“Still…he’s…oh that’s not good,” she muttered, scowling at the sight of Malfoy talking with some fourth and fifth years. As he realised he was being watched, Malfoy turned, a smirk on his face as he ran a finger across his neck.

“Don’t worry too much. They won’t kill us…and what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” Harry shrugged. “Besides, I’m not without my tricks.”

“I hope you’re right,” she muttered. As the feast wrapped up, they were dismissed to their common rooms, following their fifth year prefects.

Harry heard the voices, eagerly anticipating attacking him. As soon as they stepped in, Harry tackled Amelie to the ground as several spells were fired in their direction.

Whipping out his wand, Harry closed his eyes and cast an overpowered lumos, causing several pained screams. Grabbing Amelie, he tried to make it back outside, nut was unable to deflect several curses, which tore through his weak shield and hurled him against the wall, causing a crack to echo in the dungeons.

As he staggered uneasily, trying to maintain consciousness, Harry was roughly shoved to the floor by the female prefect, ropes quickly binding him. Several boots kicked him, causing him to wince, though he refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain. He heard the rest of the house being ushered away.

“Leave him alone!” Amelie shouted, and the sounds of several spells being fired caused his heart to skip a beat.

“Bitch!” a female voice spoke out, and he grimaced at the whimpers Amelie gave as she was cursed and beaten for several moments. Suddenly, a rough hand hauled him by the hair, hoisting him up as several older students surrounded him. “You don’t belong here, Potter! Filth, just like Rosier.”

“Says the troll that can’t even face their enemy honourably,” Harry spat in the boy’s face. Scowling as he wiped the spit off his face, the boy punched Harry in the stomach thrice before walking back.

“Do not speak to your betters like that…or you won’t like the consequences,” he sneered. “But let’s see what you can do, boy.”

Dispelling the ropes, he fired several curses. Harry threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding them. The boy, in his shock, did not move for several moments, allowing Harry to leap forward and yank out a dagger, leaping into the air and knocking both of them to the floor. The boy instinctively struggled with Harry's hand, and several spells were fired by the others. However, both were hit, and the friendly fire discouraged the rest. As the two stilled for a moment, Harry being pinned down and the blade slowly being pressed down to his temple, he threw his weight, rolling them over. At the same moment, the boy let out a cry, being struck by a jet of light on the arm.As they struggled in the new position, Harry saw a cutting curse had struck the boy's right arm, making his grip weaker than normal and allowing Harry to slowly push the blade towards his eyes.

With wide, trembling eyes, the boy struggled in vain as Harry slowly pushed the blade into his eye, millimeter by millimeter penetrating through with a slow squelch. Relishing in the boy’s scream of pain, he yanked out the blade and prepared to attack again.

“Potter that’s enough!” a voice shouted, and he turned, bloodlust in his eyes as he turned to see roughly a dozen wands pointed at him. Quickly, he positioned his knife on the boy’s neck.

“Wands down…or he dies!” Harry yelled. The Slytherins eyed each other uneasily, and Harry pressed the blade slightly, drawing blood.

“What,” an angry voice hissed, “is going on?”

Harry slowly turned, to see a furious professor Snape stalking inside, cape billowing behind him, wand in his hand. He pressed the blade firmly against his hostage’s neck, not ruling out another attack. “Potter, release Jugson at once!”

“Not until they are disarmed,” Harry refused curtly, causing the professor’s eyes to widen briefly before they narrowed. Turning to the other Slytherins, he gave the instruction, and reluctantly, they set their wands on the floor. Slowly, Harry relinquished his grip on his assailant, who by now was unconscious.

“Now, Potter, explain what in Merlin’s name happened.”

“Pro-” Snape glared at the female Slytherin who spoke up, instantly silencing her. Turning back to Harry, he gave a nod to continue.

“The moment I arrived in the common room, I was cursed from behind and bound in ropes. The Slytherins you see here assaulted me, and when Amelie tried to defend me, they assaulted her as well. I was merely defending myself and Amelie.”

“I see…” he scowled, turning to the Slytherins, who held mutinous glances. “Three month’s detention each for attempting to assault another student with such…cowardly means. Now get out of my sight.”

The Slytherins quickly filed out of the room, muttering angrily to each other. After the final one had left, Snape turned to Harry. “The hazing is a normal ritual, one that should have been endured with silence. You’ve painted a target on your back.”

“On the contrary, professor. Now the rest of the house will know that I’m not a weak target to be trifled with.”

“And the fact that several of the most talented individuals in the house will be out for blood?”

“They hate me either way. But now they will be wary.”

“You made a grave mistake, mister Potter, even if you’re too much of a dunderhead to see it.”

“You’re right,” Harry spoke simply, causing the professor to blink in surprise. “I did make a mistake, I should have gone straight for the neck rather than the eyes. That would have been a more lasting impression.”

"You believe you could survive several older students, let alone kill them?" Snape's nostrils flared. "Are you insane?”

“A light push on the stairs, a bit of poison in their food…accidents happen, professor,” Harry shrugged. “They lack the will to kill.”

“And you don’t?” Snape derided, before stilling at Harry’s impassive face.

“We'll see, won't we?” Harry shrugged. “Now perhaps the hospital wing? I believe Amelie suffered some nasty kicks, and I’m not in great shape myself.”

--Break--

Blinking as he opened his eyes, Harry couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Amelie seated on a chair by his bedside, having no doubt dozed off. Reaching out, he brushed a few strands of hair from her eyes, the motion causing her to snap to attention.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, a worried frown on her face. “How are you feeling?”

“Decently well,” he shrugged. “There’s barely any bruising, so I’m rather thankful for that. Yourself?”

“Decently well,” she shrugged in turn. “I didn’t get hurt as bad as you. What happened? I saw Jugson’s…”

“As I told you,” Harry chuckled darkly, “a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“That was…wow,” she breathed. He felt a slight amount of trepidation from her, though it was vastly overshadowed by awe. He felt a tingle at the amazement she stared at him with, though he couldn’t quite put a finger on what emotion it was. It was not an unpleasant feeling.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, you know?” Harry mused. “I-

“Are you insane? I wasn’t about to leave you alone! Especially when you’re unconscious and they’re out for blood,” she spat angrily, before taking several breaths. “Harry…you were injured quite badly, internal bleeding in your lungs. It…”

“Wait…” Harry narrowed his eyes, “what time is it?”

“Sunday night,” she winced, allowing him several moments to take in that information.

“I appreciate it,” he smiled after a while, causing her to give a hum of confusion. “For…everything. For staying with me…for trying to step in.”

“Little good that did,” she muttered, drawing a frown from him.

“You were outnumbered and outclassed, don’t be too hard on yourself. I saw you get a few good curses on them,” Harry consoled. “Besides, if we can do so much already…imagine us in a few years.”

“Is that a proposal I hear?” she teased, frowning at his serious look. “You’re…you’re actually-”

“I felt the click with you since we first began to talk…but after you didn’t run away…I want to be by your side, as an ally, as a friend and if fate permits, perhaps something more,” Harry admitted. He couldn’t pretend that the hesitation in her countenance didn’t hurt, but swallowed it, knowing this was likely not easy for Amelie either.

“It’s…not that simple,” she sighed. “My family…they’re probably not going to be happy with what I’m doing. I’m supposed to court the dark faction, my father is doing so behind the scenes. Associating with you…don’t get me wrong, I’d love nothing more than to do so…but it won’t be easy.”

“Nothing that’s worth it ever is,” Harry mused, taking her hand and squeezing gently. She smiled unconsciously at the gesture, even as her eyes were clouded in thought. A few moments later, Amelie shook herself out of her stupor, blushing at the realisation he was staring at her with amusem*nt. “Want to get out of here?”

“Sure,” she agreed quickly. Hand in hand, they quickly departed the hospital wing, heading back towards the dungeons. They passed by several groups of students, who eyed the duo warily, pointing, staring and whispering. Both ignored these easily, making their way down to the dungeons and entering the common room.

Silence greeted them, as several glared murderously while others watched with wanderconcealed fear. Malfoy, in particular, was far less smug than before. Ignoring this, Harry briefly parted ways with Amelie, heading up to the boys’ dormitories, where he found his trunk battered and bruised, though the lock was thankfully intact. Scowling at the realisation his housemates had tried to break into his things, Harry began plotting his revenge even as he quickly entered the showers, cleaning himself and changing into a fresh set of robes.

As soon as he was done, he quickly returned to the common room, meeting the gaze of those around him challengingly as he waited for Amelie. She appeared after a few minutes, looking much better for wear. Boldly, he offered his hand, which she accepted gracefully, following him as the two departed the common room.

“Do you have anywhere you want to go?” she queried. Harry considered for a moment before nodding.

“I should visit Hedwig in the owlery,” he mused. “Unless you have anywhere to be?”

“Not really,” Amelie shook her head, and the two wandered along the hallways, trying to figure out where they were going. They passed by various classrooms, and Harry made a mental note of their locations. Ascending a flight of stairs, they finally arrived at the owlery, where hundreds of owls were all hooting. A white blur shot down from a perch, landing on his shoulder and hooting happily.

“Hedwig,” Harry greeted happily, ruffling the owl’s feathers as she leaned into his touch. “How have you been?”

‘Hoot!’

“I’m glad,” Harry laughed. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit any earlier, I was injured, but I’m alright now.”

‘Hoot?’ Hedwig asked concernedly, flying around and giving him a once-over before landing on his shoulder once again. ‘Hoot!’

“Yes, I’m really fine, Hedwig,” Harry assured. Turning to Amelie, he frowned at her gobsmacked look. “What? Is something wrong?”

“You…you can understand your owl?” she blurted out incredulously. Harry co*cked his head, a motion unknowingly mirrored by Hedwig.

“Don’t you?” Harry frowned.

“Of course not!” Amelie gave an exasperated sigh. “I swear nothing about you is ever normal.”

Hedwig gave a light bark, drawing back Harry’s attention. “Oh right, Hedwig, meet my friend Amelie. Amelie, this is Hedwig.”

Hedwig stared scrutinously at Amelie, who squirmed slightly, even as she tried to hide it. Were Harry not so worried that Hedwig might genuinely attack her, he might have found the situation hilarious. As it were, he alternated between the two, giving a sigh of relief as Hedwig gave a pleased hoot, hopping off his shoulder and perching onto hers.

“She likes you,” Harry commented amusedly as the owl nibbled on the girl’s ear, drawing a giggle.

“I’m glad,” Amelie chuckled, stroking Hedwig’s feathers lightly as she cooed to the owl, “You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?”

Hedwig preened under the attention, which Harry couldn’t help but laugh at. Sitting by the edge of the window, the trio admired the night sky, wondering of the future possibilities.

--Break--

“Welcome to Defence against the Dark Arts,” Quirrell spoke crisply. “As first years, your primary objective will be to understand the basics, from which you will be able to advance in future years. Hopefully you have all read the first chapter of your textbooks. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut lest you appear a fool in front of everyone else. I will not be slowing down for any miscreants amongst you that decide not to do the work. Before we begin, any questions?”

Harry raised his hand, drawing the attention of the professor. “Yes mister Potter?”

“What are the dark arts?” Harry queried. Amelie looked at him in disbelief, while several Gryffindors and Slytherins snickered. Quirrell, however, had a gleam in his eyes.

“Explain,” he encouraged.

“Well, by the ministry definition, the dark arts are anything that fall under the official list of forbidden magics. Others would define it as magic dependent on negative emotions. Others still would offer different definitions. So which one are we working with?”

“An excellent question,” Quirrell nodded approvingly, a faint smile on his lips. “The Dark Arts, as defined in your curriculum, is any magic that is used to cause harm. You disagree with that, mister Potter?”

“Everything can be lethal in the right circ*mstances. A levitation charm, if overpowered, could smash an individual into the ceiling,” Harry proffered, drawing strange looks from the Slytherins and horrified whispers from the Gryffindors.

“Silence you miscreants! If you can’t contribute like mister Potter, at least keep your mouths shut!” Quirrell snapped, before turning back to Harry. “The Dark Arts are a constantly evolving field, with its practitioners pushing the boundaries. While many claim to know it, the truth is that many magics we consider mundane today would have been considered dark in a different era. People instinctively fear what they cannot understand or control…that along with the fact that those pushing the boundaries of magic usually have limited moral qualms as well…it creates the perfect narrative.”

Most of the class was hanging on to the professor’s every word, even the Gryffindors who disliked the dark arts on principle. “Defending against such a threat is not easy. One must continually prove themselves capable and resilient. The nature of the dark arts is to consume and drive to madness. Bellatrix Lestrange is perhaps the most poignant example; her behaviour is often irrational and insane, precisely because she has fallen prey to the lust for the dark arts. But we’re going a bit too fast. Who can tell me the difference between a jinx, a hex and a curse?”

Several Slytherins raised their hands, along with Granger. Quirrell pointed at the Gryffindor.

“A jinx is a low level spell meant to cause minor, temporary damage. Hexes are an escalation, usually either longer lasting or more powerful in nature. Curses are the highest level, capable of casting major, long lasting damage,” she said in one breath. Quirrell gave a stiff nod.

“An adequate answer, one perfectly taken from the textbook, in fact. Five points to Gryffindor. As Miss Granger has recited, the trifecta of classifications is generally based on the damage they can cause, though this, of course, is arbitrary. Unfortunately, the ministry curriculum would have you memorise how they classify these spells, something you will do in your own time given I lack the patience when we have more important topics to cover,” Quirrell snorted. “Today, I will teach you the Levi shield, a basic shield spell. It’s useless against all but the most rudimentary of jinxes, but will prove a good test for your control.”

With a flourish of his wand, he incanted, “Aver Levi!”

A pale blue shield shimmered around him, which he held for several moments before dismissing. Turning to the blackboard, he drew the wand incantation.

“The wand movement is a spiral followed by a thrust. Do try not to poke your eyes out,” he drawled. Harry sighed, for this spell was rather basic. Following the motion, he flicked his wand forward, casting the shield successfully. Beside him, Amelie achieved similar results, though to his mild shock, none of the Slytherins or Gryffindors managed a decent shield.

“Impressive, mister Potter and miss Rosier,” Quirrell complimented, flicking his wand towards them and sending two spells. One bounced off his shield, though the other pierced through Amelie’s, striking her on the cheek and leaving a red mark. “Come to the front of the class, we will need more space for what comes next.”

As the two dutifully followed the professor to the front, the man waved his hand. Harry frowned as he felt a surge of magic swell up around them, looking at the professor curiously.

“A silencing spell, to keep the others from disturbing us. Now, tell me, are you capable with the stunning spell?”

Amelie nodded, while Harry shook his head. Quirrell raised an eyebrow in interest. “Forgive me, mister Potter, but how long have you been practising magic?”

“Just the summer before term. I didn’t even know about it before my birthday,” Harry admitted. The professor’s eyes widened, before humming in understanding.

“That’s all the more impressive then. Miss Rosier, you clearly know the technique, but your casting is not potent enough. This is the problem with teaching children too early, you grow acclimated to casting based on your less developed magical cores, meaning your spells are too weak. Cast the shield again.”

“Aver Levi,” she incanted, determination on her face as her shield shimmered, noticeably brighter this time. Quirrell, it seemed, did not share Harry’s admiration, instead flinging a spell, which once again tore through her shield.

“I see little need in teaching you more techniques and spells, miss Rosier. Modulating your control is something you must do yourself,” Quirrell shrugged, causing Harry to frown inwardly. The professor seemed extremely eager to help him, and he doubted it was only because of his fame as the boy-who-lived. “Try casting and holding the shield. Leave us.”

Giving a curt nod to the professor and an encouraging smile to Harry, Amelie left, leaving the two. “Now…I wish to see what you can do, mister Potter. Are you familiar with the motions of the knockback jinx?”

“I am, though I can’t seem to cast it properly,” Harry admitted.

“Show me,” Quirrell instructed, conjuring a dummy. Concentrating, Harry flicked his wand forward, sending out a red spell, which managed to weakly shake the dummy. Looking to the professor, he waited as Quirrell contemplated for several moments in silence. “What are you thinking when you try to cast the spell, mister Potter?”

“I’m trying to visualise how the dummy would move back,” Harry answered. “Am I not supposed to do that?”

“In certain branches of magic, such as transfiguration, that is indeed the case. However, in DADA, that is rarely so. Think about it this way, you can spend an hour cooking a decent meal or a day preparing a feast. There is no doubt of the latter’s superiority, yet the proportional value you get is much less. Whereas fields such as transfiguration may value the intricacies and details, in DADA, we operate on the concept of minimum viability. Expend the minimum effort for the maximum result.”

“So I…should focus more on the idea of knocking back, rather than visualising the effect I want?” Harry frowned. Quirrell nodded.

“Yes, it takes less effort, meaning you cast faster and expend less energy. Try it,” the professor encouraged. Harry took several moments, forcing himself not to visualise as much, but channelling raw intent. Releasing the spell, he gasped in shock as the dummy was hurled against the wall, smashing into several pieces. “Good…there is potential within you after all. Keep studying, and remember my door is always open.”

“Thank you professor,” Harry inclined his head.

“Now return to your classmates. It wouldn’t do for me to show too much favouritism,” Quirrel smiled, dispelling the ward. Harry quickly returned to his seat, noting that several others had managed to cast shields.

“What did Quirrell want?” Amelie whispered as he sat down. Harry chuckled at the girl’s protective tone, no doubt influenced by their hazing.

“He just gave me some advice on casting spells, nothing too much. How’s your shield going?”

“I just…don’t understand. It’s…the habit, I suppose. They’re hard to break,” she admitted sourly. Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I might have a solution, remind me tonight.”

“Okay,” she agreed uncertainly. Minutes later, Quirrell dismissed the class, from which they needed to head to transfiguration. While the others were seemingly lost, Harry and Amelie split up from the cluster of students, heading briskly towards the transfiguration classroom. To their surprise, the classroom was empty, with only a cat perched on the table.

“Where’s the professor?” Harry frowned, to which Amelie only smiled knowingly.

“She’s right here, Harry,” Amelie teased, causing Harry to narrow his eyes as he scanned the classroom, looking for any sign of a disillusionment charm, or perhaps the magic of a transfiguration. Seeing his frustration, she gave a light giggle. “Seems like you aren’t all knowing after all, Harry.”

“Bite me,” Harry retorted, drawing a snort of amusem*nt from her.

“In your dreams.”

“You are in my dreams,” he teased, drawing a blush from the witch. “Though I wonder, do I feature in yours.”

“You…ugh,” she rolled her eyes exasperatedly, even as she couldn’t help the grin tugging her lips, dragging him to a seat at the back. Dragging their chairs together, she leaned her head on his shoulder, their hands still clasped together. The cat observed them curiously, and Harry frowned as he wondered…

Yet his musings were broken by the crowd of students entering the room. A few tried to reach out and pet the cat, though its glare sent them all away. Malfoy, walking past them, sneered, “A blood traitor and a half-blood. I didn’t think your family could fall any lower, Rosier.”

Harry could feel Amelie tense up, and squeezed her hand in encouragement, a retort on his lips when the cat leaped off its desk, transforming into professor McGonagall, whose lips were so pursed they formed a thin white line.

“Ten points from Slytherin and a week’s detention for such language, mister Malfoy. Now take a seat.” Malfoy’s cheeks flushed, but he quickly did so, muttering curses under his breath.

“Now that we are all settled, let u-” the door slammed open, revealing Longbottom and Weasley barging in, huffing and puffing. “Five points from Gryffindor for tardiness. Take a seat.”

Under the scowls of the other Gryffindors, they quickly found seats, while McGonagall flicked her wand towards the blackboard, revealing a series of notes. “Today, we’re going to be exploring the fundamentals of transfiguration. Can anyone tell me the three main branches? Miss Granger?”

“Transfiguration, transmutation and alchemy,” she answered eagerly. “Transfiguration focuses on the temporary alteration of an object, transmutation focuses on more long lasting changes and alchemy focuses on changing the underline composite.”

“A textbook answer,” McGonagall acknowledged, a slight smile on her face. “Two points to Gryffindor. Throughout the first three years of your time in this classroom, you will be focusing exclusively on transfiguration. In general, these spells are more forgiving than those in the other two branches, though this by no means makes them easy. Transfiguration demands perhaps the most attention to detail of any subject, easily on par with runes in its capacity for catastrophic accidents. Now, copy down these notes.”

--Break--

“So…tell me, what were you thinking earlier?” Amelie queried as they sat in a disused classroom.

“The problem seems to be your instinctual control level for magical output, so we need to remedy that psychologically. Let’s start with a basic activity, cast a lumos for me.” At her questioning look, he added, “Trust me.”

He took some measure of happiness that she did so, casting the charm and causing a dim light to glow on the tip of her wand.

“Good, now try and make it brighter,” he encouraged. As her arm shook slightly, Harry instinctively closed his eyes as the light flared up, engulfing the entire room. Amelie let out a startled yelp, the light violently snuffed out. Opening his eyes warily, he helped Amelie to her feet.

“So-”

“Don’t apologise, that’s pretty much what I expected,” Harry chuckled. At her askance look, he shrugged. “I made a similar mistake the first time I cast it, but we’ve overcome a major hurdle. Now that you know you can tap into more of your magic. Describe to me what you felt.”

“It was…like a dam suddenly burst and I lost all control of it.”

“Good,” Harry nodded thoughtfully. “Now instead of releasing it all at once, try and control it like a trickle. Start with your normal lumos.”

Wearily, she did so again, the spell already noticeably brighter than the first time she cast it. Harry hid his amusem*nt at her reaction. “Good, now make it slightly brighter…more…more…okay stop and hold it!”

Eyebrows furrowed and sweat dripping from her forehead, she held the lumos at the brightness for several minutes. Harry nodded approvingly, “Now increase the brightness…more…more…and hold it!”

Amelie managed a full minute before collapsing to the floor, heaving on all fours. Sympathetically, Harry retrieved his canteen of water, offering it to her. Greedily gulping down several mouthfuls, she let out a content sigh, lying like a starfish on the floor.

“How…how can a simple lumos be so tiring?”

“It’s the difference between a plank and a pushup, it’s far easier to complete a powerful motion than to stretch out a weaker one,” Harry shrugged. At her befuddled look, he gave an exasperated sigh, remembering his friend was a pureblood. “It’s easier to let it out in one burst compared to if you try to release it slowly.”

“I’m just…I’m just gonna take a few minutes,” she wheezed out. Harry rolled his eyes, retrieving a towel and wiping the sweat off her head. As he finished up, his eyes widened at the light snores emanating from her mouth, and couldn’t help a chuckle at the realisation she had fallen asleep.

Chapter 3: New to Magic

Chapter Text

“What are you waiting for? An invitation? Inside, now!” Snape snapped at the class of Gryffindors and Slytherins as they waited outside the dungeons. Obediently, the class filed in, Harry and Amelie partnering up instinctively, situating themselves at the back of the classroom. “Today, we will be brewing the cure for boils, the instructions are on the board. Begin!”

Harry blinked in surprise, though Rosier gave a light snort, nudging him on the side. “Snape’s a right bastard, don’t worry, just follow my lead.”

Nodding, for Harry had little expertise in potions beyond reading the theory of the textbook, he carried the ingredients Amelie selected from the cupboard, setting them up. His eyes widened as she pulled out a leather sleeve, unfurling it to reveal roughly a dozen different pieces of equipment, each made of a different material. Selecting a coppery scalpel and a silver mallet, she handed him a set of snake fangs with the mallet.

“Smash these,” she instructed. Harry frowned, about to point out that the instructions ordered them to crush them when she gave him a look. “Trust me?”

“Alright,” he agreed, drawing a smile from her. Heeding her instructions, he hit the fangs repeatedly, causing small fragments to flake off the core. Surprised, he handed the fangs to her when they were done, to see that Amelie had already heated up a cauldron and skinned four horned slugs. Throwing them in, she cast several detection charms on the fire, which Harry observed closely.

As the solution reached a simmer, she turned to him with a smile. “There, it’s going to be done in roughly half the time.”

“Ho-”

“Tonight,” she promised. He nodded in reluctant acceptance, just as Snape stalked by their potion, sneering slightly at the concoction before walking away. Strangely enough, Harry could hear no voices from the man, as though there was a slight bubble around him. Filing this information for later, Harry quietly observed the other groups, many of whom were still trying to crush the snake fangs in a pestle and mortar.

In roughly fifteen minutes, a faint pink mist began to emerge from the potions, at which point, Amelie gently lowered the four slugs into the cauldron, ending the fire and allowing the solution to cool slightly, before adding the pair of porcupine quills. After a few moments, the potion settled with a thick, viscous pink consistency, causing Amelie to smile in triumph, bottling up a sample and placing it at the front. Snape did not acknowledge her, staring impassively at the class, though she was hardly disheartened.

“Good job,” he whispered to her, causing Amelie to beam. The two noticed the furious glances that Granger sent them, though neither paid much attention. Sensing the panic from a voice from a nearby student, he quickly stood on top of his stool, hissing for Amelie to do the same as he cast a shield around them.

Not a moment later, there was panic in the classroom as a cauldron exploded, sending jets of neon green solution around the class. Almost half the Gryffindors and several Slytherins were struck, boils appearing violently on the skin contacted as Snape rushed forward.

“Idiot boy, you didn’t take the cauldron off the fire before adding the Porcupine Quills, did you?” he hissed as Longbottom whimpered in pain. Pointing to Finnegan, he hissed, “You, take him to the infirmary, and that’ll be a zero for the class. Everyone else, back to work!”

Several of the Gryffindors looked mutinous, though none dared to outright object to Snape’s instructions. He noticed Snape waving his wand at the several impacted Slytherins, eliminating the boils, though made no such effort for the Gryffindors.

“Thanks,” Amelie whispered as the two sat down once again. Harry merely smiled.

--Break--

In regards to legilimency, once an individual has acclimated to hearing a large number of voices constantly, often the most dangerous stage given how many practitioners fall into insanity, it comes time to learn the art of active interference.

Broadly, such actions can be divided as either blunt or subtle and retrieval or damage. The former is self-explanatory, so let us focus on the latter. Information retrieval is the attempt to extract information from a target, ranging from their emotive state to particular scraps of information. The most common technique is thought guiding, where a slight injection of thought encourages a stream of consciousness to develop. The minimal amount of active interference means detection is far less likely; yet these attacks are usually effective only up to novice occlumens, for an advanced practitioner will easily recognise such an attempt. Damage is the more interesting and less explored aspects of legilimency, understandable given the retinue of alternatives magic provides. Yet where many legilimencers deride ‘damage intent’ legilimency as crude, such attacks, if executed correctly, can be extremely useful.

Concentrating inwardly, Harry slowly amplified the voices in his head, around the Great Hall, listening in to the various mental conversations. He felt the excitement of the Gryffindors about the upcoming Quidditch match, the grumblings about Slytherin likely going to commit fouls, and other idle topics. The Hufflepuffs had a disproportionate of homesick individuals, while Ravenclaws were already beginning to strain competing with each other over academics. Looking up to the staff table, he observed closely, feeling similar bubbles from Dumbledore, Snape and Quirrell. Flitwick’s thoughts were dampened though not completely absent, while the rest of the professors seemed to lack any defences at all. Looking at Flitwick, he took a chance, pressing slightly against his mind. The professor gave no visible reaction, and Harry began the second phase, gently imparting thoughts about the first year charm class. He grinned as the professor’s thoughts drifted in that exact direction, details of lesson plans, when suddenly he felt the professor’s mind clamp down.

Quickly withdrawing and looking away before he was caught, Harry took several deep breaths, frowning as the cool metal surface of a spoon flicked against his nose.

“Boop,” Amelie grinned at him, drawing a scowl. “Don’t look at me like that, this is what you get for not paying attention.”

“I’m sorry,” he said with fake solemnity, “you’re just really annoying to listen to, you know?”

Laughing boisterous as she gaped at him, his scowl returned as she kicked him under the table. “Prat!”

“Dolt!” he returned immediately, drawing a raised eyebrow from her. “What were you saying anyways?”

“I was saying that we have flying classes later. Unfortunately, they seem to be mandatory, so I suggest we go early so we get the functioning brooms,” she answered amusedly. Giving a sigh, he nodded his acquiescence, setting down his cutlery. The two departed from the Great Hall, heading towards the grounds, where Madam Hooch was bringing out several dozen brooms. Turning, she greeted them with a smile.

“Ah, eager, are we? Pick your brooms, we’ll begin in about half an hour,” she advised. Harry scanned the ground, picking out a broom whose bristles were only slightly tasselled. He saw Amelie doing the same. Looking at the broom, he observed the faded golden lettering of ‘Nimbus 1000’.

As the minutes passed, more students arrived at the pitch, picking up brooms as they waited for the session to start. Finally, Hooch blew her whistle, summoning them all around her. “Right, you will follow my instructions at all times unless you want to receive a flying ban. Now everyone, summon your broom to your hands. Say ‘up’ with confidence.”

Harry did as instructed, raising an eyebrow as the broom shot up to his hand. Beside him, Amelie scowled as her broom rolled slightly on the ground. Looking around, he saw that a few students had managed to summon their brooms on their first try, though most hadn’t. Weasley’s had yanked up, smacking him in the face before falling back to the ground.

“How’d you do it?” Amelie queried. Harry contemplated for several moments before figuring out how to explain it.

“You need to assert your dominance over it. Much like an animal to be tamed, you must instruct with calm collectedness. Don’t allow hesitation to colour your actions. Now try again,” he encouraged. Amelie thrust her hand towards the broom, intoning ‘up’, and the broom shot up halfway before falling back to the ground. “That’s good, you’re making progress. Try again!”

As she tried for a third time, the broom snapped into her palm with a satisfying slap, causing her to grin. Looking around, it was roughly an even split between those who succeeded and failed. After several more minutes, Hooch just instructed those who failed to pick up their brooms, and began demonstrating how to mount the broom. Harry replicated Hooch’s movements, frowning as he realised that it made him sit slightly awkwardly. Scooting slightly backwards, he gave a sigh of relief at the much better positioning.

Several minutes later, most of the class had flown into the air, hovering several metres above the ground. Harry and Amelie stayed close together at the edge, watching as their classmates began experimenting around. Neither felt much affinity or need to play with their broom.

“Gaaaaah!” Harry raised an eyebrow as Longbottom shot up into the air.

“Come down! Back down, Longbottom!” Hooch yelled. Harry rolled his eyes, for it was obvious the boy had lost control. Several moments later, the broom bucked, and Longbottom was dropped onto the ground, causing a sickening crunch. Hooch flew down, tutting. “Cracked legs, time for you to go to the infirmary. Everyone else, keep practising.”

As she levitated away the sniffling boy, Malfoy and some of others began snickering. Harry saw the blonde boy pick up a strange glowing ball, and Weasley step forward, confronting Malfoy. The two raced into the air, until Weasley rammed into Malfoy, causing both to fall off their brooms and land on the ground with sickening crunches.

“Imbeciles,” Amelie shook her head. “How is Malfoy in Slytherin?”

“He’s more traitorous than Morded, more stupid than a troll and cowers behind his father’s name at every opportunity. Where else would he go?”

“Fair point,” she conceded wryly. “Crabbe and Goyle are probably here for the same reason…oh how our house has fallen. Worse than even the special needs house.”

“That’s rather mean,” Harry chuckled. “The world needs more Hufflepuffs. We can’t all be leaders after all.”

“Fair,” she shrugged. “Want to get out of here?”

“Sure, we might as well get some duelling practice. You promised to teach me a few tricks.” The two quickly landed on the ground. As they walked off, Granger flew over them.

“Where are you two going? Class isn’t over yet?”

“Considering the instructor decided to leave us unsupervised and within minutes two individuals were heavily injured…yeah, I’m good,” Harry snorted, ignoring her gape as he led Amelie away.

“Ugh, bucktooth is so annoying,” she sighed. Harry hummed in agreement as the two made it to their classroom. “Now, it’s time for your tor-training to begin.”

Harry narrowed his eyes as she smiled innocently.

“The first rule of duelling is to never get hit,” she advised sternly. “No matter what magic your opponent is employing, if they can’t land a hit, it doesn’t mean much. Most wizards and witches have very limited stamina, anything beyond twenty spells will cause them to be exhausted. A trained duellist could employ roughly a hundred spells in quick succession before tiring. If you can outlast them, then you’ll have won without firing a single spell.”

Harry sensed her voices grow in excitement, and stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding a stinging spell. Amelie’s eyes narrowed. “That was good…too good, in fact. Let’s see if it’s just beginner’s luck.”

Harry threw himself to the side as he felt Amelie’s intention to cast several spells. Despite his movements being slower than her trained ones, the voices from her head gave him a decisive advantage. He dodged roughly thirty spells, Amelie casting with increasing speed and ruthlessness, before she managed to land a hit.

Braving the sensation, he continued moving. Unfortunately, the spell had struck his thigh, and made his movements more sluggish, leaving him unable to dodge a spell. Collapsing to the ground as several struck him on various parts of the body, he felt his sweat drip onto the cool stone floor.

“Not bad, good, in fact,” Amelie mused as she walked over to him, a grin on her face.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he accused tiredly, to which she shrugged, grin still etched unrepentantly on her face.

“I’m a Rosier,” she threw her hair back dramatically, “we were born to duel.”

“Ugh,” Harry heaved himself up shakily. “What now?”

“Now, you learn some useful spell. Let’s start with a cutting curse, vicero. Just a slash for the wand movement,” she instructed, slashing her wand at the wall and sending out a bolt of purple energy, smashing against the wall and leaving several light gashes. “It won’t do much against even a decent protego, but it’s a good beginner’s spell.”

“Okay,” Harry took a deep breath, performing the motion, and incanting, “Vicero!”

Several sparks of purple came out from his wand, causing him to frown. Repeating the motion again, he slashed, with much the same effect.

“What are you thinking about?” Amelie queried. Harry raised an eyebrow, causing her to frown. “You mean to tell me…nevermind, you can’t just think about the spell. You need some emotion behind it.”

Harry took several moments, focusing on what he wanted the spell to do. Imagining the children at the orphanage, he slashed his wand, lashing out. His eyes widened as a huge arc of purple energy shot out, slamming against the wall and clawing out chunks of rock.

“W-w-what was that?” she choked out, staring at him with wide eyes. Harry blinked, unable to answer.

“I…don’t know. I just…”

“That was amazing,” she grinned. “Whatever thought you used just now, make sure to use it. If you can make your spells so powerful, not even seventh years will phase you. Now come on, let’s keep practising. I’m not letting you stop until you get this down perfectly.”

--Break--

Harry sat comfortably on a couch, Amelie perched on his lap as the two read through the second year charms textbook. Harry could sense her mind had drifted off slightly, her voices thinking about the upcoming Christmas break. Strangely, he could feel annoyance and doubt.

“Boop,” he grinned, poking her nose. She rolled her eyes, leaning back onto him. “You’re dozing off again.”

“Was not,” she huffed petulantly, shaking her head and smacking him in the face with her hair. He caught a whiff of the faint peach smell, a scent he rather liked. “Besides, it’s not like you were paying much attention either.”

“What can I say? You’re very distracting,” he whispered into her ear, allowing his breath to tickle her skin. He felt her pulse increase slightly. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?”

“It’s…nothing,” she sighed, wincing at his frown. Harry gently pressed into her mind, loosening the restraints on her voice. “I…it’s just…”

“You can trust me, you know that, right?” he encouraged, gently soothing the spikes of doubt in her mind. He watched her face closely, seeing the reluctance slowly wash away.

“It’s just…father’s not going to be happy with me. I was supposed to befriend the children of the dark faction…and now I’m with you…and…the other Slytherins have no doubt talked to their parents…” she rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I…I don’t look forward to that.”

“Is th-”

“No,” she interjected sharply, before deflating. “Sorry, but there’s…there’s nothing you can do. J-just don’t make this worse than it has to be. Just let it drop.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed reluctantly. “But you know I’m here for you, right?”

She raised an eyebrow, to which he chuckled, knowing her question. “Even my utilitarianism has its limits.”

--Break--

“Welcome to Charms,” Professor Flitwick squeaked as he finished calling attendance. “This year, we’re going to be focusing on getting you familiarised with magic. While I appreciate that some of you may have prior training, rest assured, there will be things you have not learnt, or worse learnt incorrectly. I expect your full attention at all times. Is that understood?”

“Yes professor,” the class answered in unison, causing the half-goblin to smile.

“Good. Today, I’m going to introduce the levitation charm. The incantation is ‘wingardium leviosa’ while the wand movement is a swish and flick. Make sure to keep your movements nice and crisp, and the pronunciation needs to be on point,” Flitwick instructed. Retrieving a box, he opened it, waving his wand and sending feathers flying out, twirling in the air before each landed gracefully in front of a student. “Now, repeat the movement and incantation a few times, then practice on the feather when you’re ready.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully, staring deeply at the feather as he willed the feather to rise. It shook slightly, but did not budge, causing Harry to frown. Concentrating on his intent to see the feather rise, he felt the strain on his magic coalescing around it. Still, it refused to budge more than slightly, and he felt himself beginning to strain.

Reigning in his magic, which had begun to charge the air around, Harry took several deep breaths, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Turning, he saw that Amelie was lazily swishing her wand, directing her feather to flutter around in small acrobatic motions.

Turning back to his wand, he narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the feather, willing his magic to grow denser around the feather, channelling his power into greater concentration. To Harry’s delight, the feather began to rise slowly. Sweat formed on his forehead, yet the relish of such an accomplishment was far too intoxicating for him to stop. Only when he felt his body trembling, did Harry finally cease his magic, causing the feather to lazily drift back to the ground.

“You okay?” Amelie whispered to him, eyes filled with concern. Harry found himself moved, and smiled back.

“Perfectly fine, just…haven’t been sleeping well.” It was not a lie, for he had spent much of the night, meditating as he tried to reach his inner mindscape with little success.

“Is there anything…”

“Mostly worried for you actually.” This definitely stretched the truth a bit, yet at her wince, he knew he had succeeded in dissading her from pushing further. He took no pleasure in the guilt written on her face, yet he did not enter her mind to allay such feelings either. “I…you’re my friend, Amelie, and I just feel so…useless.”

“You being here is more than enough,” she whispered softly, taking his hand and squeezing lightly. The two smiled at each other, though the moment was ruined by Flitwick coughing lightly in front of them.

“Mister Potter, miss Rosier, is there a reason you’re not practising?”

“We’ve already familiarised ourselves with the spell,” Harry answered smoothly. Flitwick rose an eyebrow, gesturing for them to demonstrate. Harry swished his wand, and Flitwick had a reprimand on his lips, when the feather began to rise into the air. Turning with a smile, he frowned at the incredulous look the professor shot him.

“Silent casting…by Merlin that isn’t taught till NEWTS,” the professor muttered to himself. “Even more talented than your mother.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry forced a smile at this, though he could tell that Amelie wasn’t the least bit fooled like the professor. The professor nodded kindly, before turning to Amelie.

“Miss Rosier?” Amelie waved her wand, muttering the incantation and causing the feather to levitate in the air. The professor nodded approvingly. “Well, just keep practising, try and control the path the feather flies in, the spell is a great way to train control.”

As the professor walked away, Amelie turned to him. “How can you cast wordlessly?”

“I never really understood the point of incantations. More than anything, they seem to be a tool of focus rather than one of any inherent properties. If you are able to visualise the effects and concentrate your magic sufficiently…the words lose their purpose.”

“So…the incantations are useless?”

“Not useless per say, but a crutch. When we are young, we count with our fingers, yet as we progress, we can overcome such a need,” Harry reasoned. “Think about it, as children we manage incredible feats of supposedly accidental magic, when we do not know the supposed limits and conventions. How is it that gaining additional knowledge and our cores increasing in potency somehow inhibits our casting?”

“I…suppose I never thought about it that way,” Amelie shrugged ruefully. “It’s just so…expected.”

“And that’s why sometimes, I think muggleborns are rather good for society. They are willing to challenge, to offer a new perspective, however much wrong at times,” Harry mused. “I am not dismissing how abrasive many are to magical culture and heritage, but neither am I willing to ignore how complacent and stagnant magical kind has become.”

“That’s fair I suppose, but what does this have to do with…” Harry merely smiled as the gears turned in her head. She glared accusingly at him, “You’re trying to manipulate me, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t we all? You put on makeup to appear more attractive, to lower the guard of your male counterparts. We agree or disagree with others not based on the merits of argument, but rather on whether we wish to elevate them and cultivate a relationship. Males preen with outlandish shows of courtship while females act coy and disinterested. As children, you compete in obedience and competence for the approval of your parents’ attention and approval. We’re all trying to manipulate the world to our own liking.”

“You have an answer to everything, it seems,” Amelie shook her head in exasperation. “Can you at least pretend to be ignorant for once.”

“And insult your intelligence in the process? I think not?” Harry shook his head with mock outrage. She rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged on her lips.

--Break--

Occlumency is the art of protecting one’s mind. There are many different approaches to such a defence. Some favour a solid defence, others subterfuge or defence in depth approaches. To my knowledge, no single approach is completely superior, each with its advantages and disadvantages. Most will simply pick based on their strengths, for the mastery of one type of defence can take a lifetime, let alone trying to gain proficiency in multiple.

The organisation of the mind is key. All successful occlumens have mastered awareness of their inner mindscape, morphing it to their needs. An enemy legilimencer will seek out any weakness to exploit, meaning that any defence is only as strong as its weakened link. Exploring every bit of a defence and strengthening it is vital for progress. Equally, a well organised mind provides a good foundation for enhancement and augmentation in the future.

Paradoxically, organising one’s mind, despite being a crucial step, often leaves one more vulnerable, for the structuredness of one’s mindscape allows legilimencers to rife through and acquire targets with greater ease.

Harry meditated quietly, delving deep into his inner consciousness. He could feel tendrils of memories swirling around him, from the moment when Lily had been killed by Voldemort’s Avada Kedavra to the beatings of the orphanage children. Reaching out, he frowned as the memories swirled away from his grasp, and redoubled his efforts, to little success.

‘This is my mind,’ he asserted, concentrating and willing the memories towards him. Moments later, he smirked in triumph as the mist began to solidify, forming small, glowing orbs. Considering for a moment, he imagined a small shelf forming, causing several wooden cabinets to spring into existence. Closing his eyes, he willed the memories to sort themselves, smiling as he felt their energies swirl around him, whizzing by in motion. A slight migraine began to develop, his control beginning to crack as more and more memories swirled around him in a vortex.

Harry began to feel nervous, trying to release his hold, yet his mindscape had seemingly grown a mind of its own, memories flying by and new shelves rising from the void even as the boundaries of reality began to shatter, cracks forming as the headache grew more intense.

“Harry!” Taking deep breaths, he looked around in confusion, wincing at the throbbing pain in his head. “Harry! Are you alright?”

“A-Am-Amelie?” he choked out at the sight of his friend’s familiar face. “Ugh…that hurt.”

“What in Merlin happened to you?” she demanded, the loud voice causing Harry to wince. “Do you need to see Pomfrey?”

“No,” he choked out, before forcing himself up. Unfortunately, his mind began to swirl, the world spinning in strange ways, and he soon found himself on the ground, reaching out, he frowned as his hand was met with soft flesh. Squeezing, he felt a jolt of embarrassment and pleasure coarse through his mind, and repeated the motion again dazedly.

“Harry! S-s-” Blinking, he stilled at the realisation he had inadvertently grasped the breast of his friend, who had fallen on top of him. A moment later, he deduced that the pleasure he felt must have been what she had been feeling.

“Merlin, Amelie I’m so so-”

“It’s fine,” she squeaked, their faces matching shades of red. “I…can you get off me?”

“Aren’t you on top?” Harry frowned, drawing a concerned look.

“Harry…how hard did you hit your head?” Blinking, Harry shook himself, ignoring the throbbing pain as he did so, looking around to see that indeed, he was in fact the one on top. Quickly getting up, he hoisted Amelie as well.

“Sorry…I…that was odd,” Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I’ll be fine.”

She rolled her eyes, dragging him with her. “You will be after you get some sleep. Come on.”

--Break--

“Welcome to the first Quidditch game of the season! Today, we have the noble Gryffindors facing off against the cheating Slytherin-”

“JORDAN!” McGonagall yelled.

“Sorry professor,” Jordan spoke, not sounding the least bit genuine, “as I was saying, our Gryffs are going to face down the Snakes. The snitch is released, and they’re off! Johnson has the quaffle, dodges Montague, passes to Spinnet, back to Johnson…and she scores! Ten-nil to Gryffindor!”

Johnson blew a kiss to the Gryffindor stands, who roared in celebration while the Slytherins hissed. Amelie elbowed him on the ribs, an annoyed look on her face. “Remind me how you made me come here again?”

“You’ve got to experience it at least once. Besides, it’s useful to know who’s on the team, given their importance in the student hierarchy,” Harry shrugged, a smile tugging on her lips.

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath, though not quiet enough for him to fail to hear.

“What was that?” he asked cheerfully, causing Amelie to roll her eyes.

“Nothing,” she smiled sweetly. “Just thinking about our duelling drills for tonight.”

“And Johnson scores again, forty-ten to Gryffindor!” Jordan called. Harry rolled his eyes as the Slytherins in the stand hissed and jeered. “Oh, and it looks like the snitch has been spotted! Both seekers are going after it…Travers…by Merlin, Higgs pulls up…ouch, that’s a nasty Worsky Feint…and Travers is out of it. This is going to be a race to see if our chasers can garner a 160 point lead. Come on girls!”

Harry raised his eyebrow in mild interest as Pomfrey levitated an unconscious Travers from the pitch, his body contorted in unnatural angles. Turning back to the game, it seemed that Higgs was now fully concentrated on finding the snitch, while the Gryffindor chasers were relentless in their assault.

Harry’s eyes widened as he saw Flint ram into Bell, knocking her precariously off her broom and leaving her dangling. The other two chasers quickly abandoned their attack run to save their teammate.

“Far too sentimental,” Amelie snorted. Harry shook his head.

“No, it’s tactical. There’s no way they can score points effectively two on three. Abandoning a point makes perfect sense. Their beaters, on the other hand, should honestly focus on Higgs. If they can knock him out, it’s a surefire win for Gryffindor; even delaying them would be sufficient in my mind.”

“Huh,” she looked at him contemplatively, “I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Fair,” Harry chuckled, “I find that it’s useful to know a bit of everything. It ensures you are not caught out in conversation, and forms a useful foundation for building both relationships and further knowledge as needed. What seems useless now may prove vital tomorrow, after all.”

“Hmmm,” Amelie hummed thoughtfully as Gryffindor scored their awarded penalty. “Who do you think will win?”

“Slytherin most likely. The Gryffindors lack the skill advantage to deal with outright attacks," Harry reasoned, frowning as Flint rammed into Bell again, who narrowly avoided careening into a stand. "They're targeting Bell, she's obviously the weakest of tbe trio. It's a good move."

"I rather think Gryffindor will win," Amelie chuckled. "Our brutes have no skill in their attacks, look, in the time they
'be been tagging Bell they've scores thrice."

"Foul!" Jordan called as Boyle finally gave up any pretence and swung at Spinnet with a beater's bat, knocking her off her broom and causing her to fall to the ground. Hooch blew her whistle, signalling three penalties, but it was too late. Higgs pulled into a dive, hand outstretched, before raising a ball of glinting gold, causing wild cheers to erupt from the Slytherin stand. Harry thought the victory as rather hollow, though clapped along for the sake of appearances.

"Let's go quickly before a fight breaks out," Amelie whispered, to which Harry nodded his agreement. Already, the Gryffindors streaming down their stands seemed in a riotous mood, heading towards the Slytherin stands rather than the path back to the castle.

As the first Slytherins emerged from the stands, shouting was quickly followed by spellfire.

"Let's get out of here," Harry urged, grabbing her hand and rushing the opposite direction. A red spell whizzed overhead as Slytherins around them surged forward to join the brawl. Making it to the Ravenclaw stands, the duo ignored the wary glances, huddling amongst the crowd as they watched the professors try to end the all out fight.

"What are you two doing here?" Leanne stepped forward, wand pointed at them. Harry couldn't help the resentment bubbling at her accusation.

"Avoiding the fighting like a sane person," he answered coolly. Several of the Ravenclaws muttered amongst themselves.

"Fine, but don't try anything," she warned, lowering but not sheathing her wand. Harry and Amelie followed the Ravenclaw students inside to the castle, at which point the duo quickly left, heading off to their classroom.

--Break--

“Psst,” Amelie whispered, drawing Harry’s attention. He turned to her a curious look at the grin splitting her face. “Don’t drink the pumpkin juice.”

“I never drink the juice,” Harry frowned. “What have you done?”

“Me? Absolutely nothing,” she chuckled as the bulk of the Slytherins arrived at the Great Hall, sitting down for lunch. As the feast progressed, Harry frowned as he felt them have increasing voices of discomfort. Hearing a few mutters about stomachs and bowels, he deduced what she had done quickly enough.”

“How?” he demanded. Amelie merely grinned smugly.

“Can the wise one not figure out my humble trick?” she teased, yelping as he kicked her under the table. “You’re no fun.”

“Crap!” one of the students nearby yelled, almost instantly starting a chain reaction. Loud, gaseous exhausts filled the room, swelling the air with a nauseous measma as students rushed out towards the toilets, trails of brown dripping behind them. The staff were not immune, with Sinastra and Babbling gripping their rears as they hurried out the side door. The remaining staff, presumably not having drunken the juice, waved their wands in an attempt to clear the air, though most were coughing. Even Dumbledore’s eyes had clouded over slightly, and he quickly cast a bubble over his head. Harry and Amelie quickly departed the hall, with Amelie leading him by the hand.

“I’ll show you if you ask nicely,” she teased. Harry gave a harrumph, jabbing her on the ribs.

“Show me please?” he smiled sweetly as she rubbed her side.

“Dolt,” she shook her head, a pout on her lips. “See if I warn you next time.”

They stopped in front of a large portrait of a fruit bowl. Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow as she reached out, tickling the pear. To his mild surprise, the green fruit giggled, before the painting swung open to reveal a short corridor. Following her with some reluctance, they emerged into a large kitchen area with multiple stoves and hundreds of house elves scampering around. Harry blinked, gaping at the sight for several moments. He regained his composure as Amelie broke out into giggles at his expression, scowling.

“Missus and mister! How can we be helping?” one of the elves squeaked, and soon they were surrounded by a retinue of house elves. Harry blinked in surprise as two grabbed onto his legs. He turned to Amelie with a pleading expression, contorting into a betrayed one as she was too busy laughing at the sight.

“Um…can you help clean a room?”

“A room not be clean?” one of the elves gasped. Several others broke down into tears, causing Harry to wince.

“Um…yeah, in the dungeons. Past the Slytherin common rooms, two lefts and a right, third door from the back. If you could set that up, that would be good,” Harry muttered. The elves immediately bobbed their heads up and down, floppy ears flapping in the process. “And if I need some help in the future, how can I call you.”

“You can be calling Blinky!” one of the elves enthusiastically promised.

“Um, thanks.” The elf looked like he would die of bliss, something Harry found rather concerning. “Can I get a picnic basket as well?”

Moments later, a basket was shoved into his hand as the elves stared at him with wide eyes, as though pleading for more to do. “That’s…all for now, thanks all.”

The elves looked disappointed, but soon dispersed. Amelie had finally finished laughing her ass off, and reappeared by her side, an amused grin on her face. “Well?”

“I think one of them was humping my leg,” Harry shuddered, shaking his head in exasperation. “If it weren’t for the chills in my spine, I’d kick your ass.”

“In your dreams, Potter,” Amelie laughed merrily, tossing her hair back. “You’ve yet to best me in a duel even after everything!”

Chapter 4: A Unique Mind

Chapter Text

“Right, I have marked your papers, and I am rather disappointed by the performance,” McGonagall said with pursed lips to the class. “Only two students managed to get an Outstanding, and nearly half of you failed. Miss Rosier and Mister Potter, well done.”

Hermione looked devastated at the news. Harry may have felt more sympathetic had the girl not tried to assert herself in every class. With a swish of her wand, the papers were sent back to the student, to which Harry looked through his answers. He had gotten all the multiple choice questions correct, though lost a few points on the explanation on the composition of the transfiguration alphabet, which was more than fair.

Looking over at Amelie’s paper, he saw that she had somehow gotten the inverse, scoring perfectly on the long questions but circling the wrong answer in a question on a historic claim of breaking Gamp’s Law on elemental transfiguration, fair enough given it was more trivia than anything else.

“Yes Miss Granger?” McGonagall queried crisply as she stalked over to the girl, who had her hand up.

“Professor? How come you deducted marks for my answer when it’s not wrong?” Granger questioned, indignation clearly colouring her voice. McGonagall ignored this, though her eyes did get colder.

“Miss Granger, if you copied the entire textbook for every answer you would technically have provided the valid answer somewhere. To demonstrate true mastery requires you to synthesise your answers succinctly, precisely and appropriately,” the professor rebuked. As Granger opened her mouth, McGonagall held up her hand. “I’m not going to change my mind on this, while your other professors may tolerate it, I won’t. It is a bad habit, one you need to change as soon as possible. Is that understood?”

Granger nodded stiffly, and the professor circled around the class, clarifying some points with various students before returning to the front. “Right, today we’re doing your practical assessments. You’ll all be transfiguring your matchsticks into needles today. If you want anything past an Acceptable this year, you should have already made substantial progress, given we will be moving onto animate-to-inanimate transfigurations next term. If you think this is hard, wait until you get to inanimate-to-animate transfigurations next year or animate-to-animate transfigurations the year after. Now, begin.”

Harry took out matchstick, beginning to transfigure it back and forth with increasing speed. Amelie shrugged, doing the same, and the two became engrossed with trying to outpace the other.

“Ahem!” a loud cough caused the two to look up, seeing an amused McGonagall staring down at them. Both blushed slightly at being caught out like that. “Rapid transfiguration…rather impressive, especially for a first year. I have a challenge, if you two are interested?”

She chuckled slightly at their eager looks, pulling out several rocks from her pockets. “Try and change the colour of these stones. Any colour that’s not on the spectrum from white to black. If you succeed, I’ll give you an Outstanding for this year…these upcoming two years, in fact.”

Harry and Amelie’s eyebrows raised up, for that was a rather generous offer. Several others perked up, which caused McGonagall’s grin to widen. The offer is open to all of you: if you manage this independently, and I must stress, if I catch a whiff of you asking older students to help you, there will be severe consequences, I will exempt you from all transfiguration tests and exams for this and next year.”

“Can we work together?” Harry queried. McGonagall considered for a moment, before nodding.

“I suppose it wouldn’t make much of a difference, yes. The offer, however, is only open to the first five to complete this. I’ll also add that using a colour changing charm is not acceptable, it has to be a transfiguration. I’ll be impressed, but it wouldn’t be a sufficient demonstration.”

Harry and Amelie gave each other determined nods as the professor returned to the front.

--Break--

“So what are we practising today?” Harry queried. Amelie rubbed her chin, thinking for a moment.

“Is there anything you want to do in particular?” Amelie queried. “You’ve been improving quickly, honestly there isn’t much more I can effectively teach you beyond duelling to train up your reflexes and muscle memory.”

“So I’ve learnt everything I can from you?” Harry teased. Amelie rolled her eyes, even as Harry frowned inwardly at the spike of worry and hurt from within.

“The wise master doesn’t teach their apprentice everything they know.”

“The wise apprentice doesn’t seek knowledge only from one master,” Harry countered, before smirking. “Perhaps I’ll take you as my apprentice afterwards.”

“In your dreams, Potter,” she snarked, even as he felt the relief within her at the implicit assertion that he didn’t intend to desert her.

“You are in my dreams, darling,” he responded, lips curling at the blush that crept up on her neck.

“Pervert,” she muttered, though there was little heat in her voice. “We’re wasting time, let’s do some target practice.”

Harry was equal parts disappointed and relieved by her diversion on the topic. As the only companion of each other, it was natural for the two to gravitate to a near dependency on the other. This made it no less frightening or thrilling. Assuming a casting posture, he began casting blasting hexes at the plates Amelie threw. Fragments would occasionally chip against his skin, though Harry cared little, the adrenaline from his casting coursing through his veins.

When she had ran out of plates, roughly thirty in all, Harry breathed deeply, feeling his body grow stiff as the adrenaline slowed and lactic acid began to collect on its oxygen debt. Taking deep breaths, he began doing light stretches while Amelie called several elves to clean up the mess. One appeared with a light pop by his side, offering him a glass of water.

“Thanks,” he smiled at the creature, accepting the drink and greedily gulping down the chilled liquid. Returning the glass, he felt himself refreshed enough, while the room had been cleared by the other elves. “Duel?”

“If you’re up for another beating,” she teased, tossing her hair back with dramatic flair. Harry rolled his eyes at the motion. Harry flung a stinging hex at her, drawing a yelp as she sidestepped it, narrowing her eyes at him. “Now you’re asking for it, time for me to dole out a good spanking.”

“I do the spanking in any relationship, babe,” Harry blew a kiss, flinging several spells. Amelie laughed melodiously as she pranced past the spell, slashing her wand and sending several multi-coloured spells back in retaliation.

Swishing his wand upwards, a shield formed around his body, absorbing the spells as they splashed against the surface. Recognising her next incantation as one of a shield breaker, he dispelled the barrier.

Harry ducked underneath another spell, idly admiring how she changed from a shield breaker to a punching jinx mid-cast, and lunged forward as he flicked his wand, sending a trio of red piercing hexes at her. Amelie twirled out of the way effortlessly, slashing her wand and sending an arc of purple magic hurtling towards him.

Harry rolled to the side as he felt her intent, retaliating by flinging a banisher at her. Narrowing her eyes, Amelie raised a translucent yellow shield, causing the spell to splash against its surface and fizzle out.

“Not bad,” she grinned, and Harry wondered if she was being sarcastic. “I might actually break a sweat if you keep this up.”

He rolled his eyes, but nevertheless felt some indignation swell up. Concentrating his magic, he yelled out, “Reducto!”

To his surprise, rather than a normal fizzle of magic, a geyser of red shot out, unstable and crackling through the air as it screeched towards Amelie. With a yelp, she raised a shield, which the spell thundered against, pushing harder and harder as her barrier began to buckle. With a yelp, her shield broke, and Amelie was hurtled towards the wall.

“NO!” Harry yelled, thrusting his hand out. Incredulously, Amelie rocked to a stop, hovering in the air as she stared at him with wide eyes. He felt her shock and amazement, along with a healthy dose of fear. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was her face turning contemplative.

--Break--

Blinking blearily, Harry frowned as he saw Amelie sat on the bed, reading a book as she hummed, a strand of hair between her lips. He found himself staring at the sight for several moments, until she turned and found him awake.

“Harry! You’re awake! How are you feeling?” she asked hurriedly, immediately dropping the book.

“My entire body is stiff, but otherwise I’m fine,” Harry assured, sitting up and wincing as his joints cracked. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “You caught me very off guard. Wandless magic, Harry? What other surprises do you have?”

Despite the playful tone, he heard suspicion within Amelie’s head, and winced inwardly, knowing it was something that had to be addressed. Still, he needed time to figure out how best to navigate the situation. “How long was I out?”

“Just the night, it’s roughly noon now,” Amelie answered softly, even as he felt her suspicion and hurt at his non-answer.

“I’ll be honest, I have no idea how I did that,” Harry shrugged lightly. Disbelief, followed by disappointment, even if she maintained a visage of pensiveness. He longed to allay the feelings, yet even revealing his knowledge of such would shatter any trust between them. “That spell…have you seen anything like it?”

“No,” Amelie frowned, nibbling on her lower lip. Harry forced himself not to focus on how attractive that looked, instead waiting patiently for an answer. “Outside of transfigurations…in particular conjurations, I really don’t know spells that arc like that. I’m not saying there aren’t, my experience is not exactly comprehensive, but off the top of my head, I haven’t seen anything like that.”

“I guess it’s just another thing to look into,” Harry mused, causing her to let out a groan. “What?”

“You already constantly drag me to the library,” she bemoaned, swatting at his chest playfully. “If I were vain, I might be worried you prefer the books over me!”

“You? Vain? Perish the thought!” he chuckled dryly. She glared nastily at him, to which he smiled lazily.

“Hmph,” she turned away, squeaking as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into his lap. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Harry chuckled as he wrapped her tightly in an embrace, inhaling the peachy scent of her hair. She relaxed into his touch, her head on his chest as the two sat there comfortably for several minutes in companionable silence.

“Want to practice some more duelling?” she queried lightly. Harry looked at her incredulously, before laughing. “What?”

“It’s just such an…us thing,” Harry shook his head in mirth. “Can you imagine any other firsties, or students for the matter, like us?”

Amelie rolled her eyes, but grinned nonetheless. “True, we’re quite the pair, aren’t we? Now get off your bum! We were supposed to practice transfiguration this morning, but someone decided to sleep in!”

“See if I try and save that pretty face of yours next time, hmph,” Harry huffed, causing her to laugh again.

“You love me too much to do that, darling,” she teased, tugging his hand and leading him over to one of the desks. Blowing off the dust, she retrieved several stones and placed them on the table. “Any insights come to you from Morpheus? Getting to skip the exam would be a huge boon.”

“You do realise this is a fourth year charm, right?” Harry chuckled dryly. “I sincerely doubt she means for any of us to succeed.”

“But is there anything fundamentally stopping us?” she challenged, echoing his words. He frowned, contemplating. “Come on, try, for me?”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, staring down at the stones, whose dull grey surface called to him mockingly. Envisioning the surface of the stone as blue, he tapped the wand, pushing his magic out only to feel resistance. Pushing more and more, he closed his eyes in concentration, ignoring his hand’s trembling at channelling so much magic. Suddenly, there was a loud bang, throwing him backwards as he landed on his back.

“Oww…” he heard a groan not his own. Harry winced, feeling pain that was not his own, but pushed through and forced himself up. Seeing the normally immaculate Amelie coughing, soot all over her face. “Potter you bastard. When did you become Finnegan?”

“Sorry,” he chuckled sheepishly, helping her up. “I was trying to concentrate my transfiguration to the surface and prevent it from spreading inward. It seems to have sent a cascade through the rock, destabilising it.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to transfigure the whole rock?” Amelie frowned.

“It could work,” Harry admitted. “For example, if you transfigured it into a different type of rock then.”

“Isn’t that cheating though?” Amelie frowned. Harry shrugged.

“Rocks are just a composition of minerals. If you transfigure parts of the minerals, you are changing the properties of the rock, but not the fact that it is a rock,” he shrugged. “Technically, you would have succeeded in the task.”

“Then why haven’t you done that?” Amelie questioned, visibly annoyed that he hadn’t shared the insight prior.

“I thought it a rather…inadequate solution,” Harry shrugged. “By changing the stone’s composition, you’re changing many of its properties, from its density to its strength. I suppose this comes down to Theseus’ paradox.”

At her unsure look, he explained, “A muggle philosopher proffered this: imagine you had a boat. Over the years, due to wear and tear, various parts of the ship are replaced, until after decades, not a single piece of the original ship remains. What if its crew have died, retired or left, replaced by new members? What if it has been rechristened to a different name? Is it still the same ship?”

“I…suppose that’s fair,” Amelie shrugged. “But I just want to avoid the exams, not much more. If there’s a simple solution…”

“I understand,” Harry chuckled. “You should practice with a few different rocks, they’ll have slightly different compositions, and you can learn to amplify those differences.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Amelie nodded determinedly, pulling out several stones from her pocket and feeling them in her hand. Harry smiled as he returned to considering his own problem.

--Break--

“Right everybody, most of you have successfully cast the levitation charm,” professor Flitwick sweaked. “For those of you that haven't, make sure to read up over Christmas, we’ll have a week of revision in the first week back, but no more. Enjoy the holidays!”

Harry left the class hand in hand with Amelie, heading to the great hall. Several trees had been set up, tinsels floating around as the smell of burning fir trees, creating a heavenly, woody scent that had most of the castle in high spirits. The two sidestepped some mistletoe, which caused Harry equal parts disappointment and relief, with Amelie seeming to feel the same, if the unsure looks they shot each other were any indication.

“All packed?” Harry asked softly as the two sat at the Great Hall, carving up a piece of turkey and placing it on her plate before pouring some gravy. Amelie, who had lifted a plate of potatoes and served him a generous helping before taking some for herself, nodded.

“Yep, just a few knick knacks though. Clothes and whatnot…there’s little point in taking it back only to bring it again,” Amelie shrugged. There were several moments of silence as the two took bites of their food. The luxurious gravy flowed greedily down Harry’s throat, drawing an involuntary smile.

“Must suck not being able to do magic, though,” Harry mused. She looked at him like he was a particularly dim rock. “What?”

“You do realise that’s a complete joke, right?” she snorted lightly. “Behind the wards and in most magical areas…well there’s no way to tell one magical signature from another. Detectors are pretty much all in muggle areas.”

“Oh…” Amelie giggled, drawing strange looks from others nearby.

“It’s amazing how you can know so much about some things and so little about other things,” she chuckled. He joined her, seeing the humour in the situation. “I’m surprised you haven’t handed in your stone to McGonagall.”

“I plan to work on it over Yule, if I still don't get it, I’ll hand it in,” he assured. She nodded, clearly unconvinced, but letting the issue drop. “You know I enjoy a challenge.”

“Far too well,” Amelie chuckled. Seeing the older students begin to depart, she sighed. “Looks like it’s time for me to go.”

“I’ll walk you,” He offered immediately. She looked to decline the offer, then thought better of it, offering him a shy smile as their interlocked hands, leaning their heads against each other.

“Thanks.” The two followed the crowd of students walking towards the carriages at a leisurely pace, until at last they arrived at a carriage. The two stood by one of the last carriages, neither able to find the words.

“I’ll miss you,” Amelie smiled weakly, finally punctuating the awkward silence.

“I’ll miss you more,” he tried to joke, though the usual competitive banter did not land the same way it usually did. She laughed anyway, even if it sounded forced. “Are you sure you don’t want any let-”

“Please, Harry. I can’t…I can’t say more, but just…for me?” she pleaded. He met her gaze challengingly for several moments before slumping, nodded defeated.

“Fine, but I don’t have to like it,” he sighed rather petulantly. She winced slightly, which alongside the guilt festering caused him to feel a pang of regret at the situation. “I’m sorry…I’m rather new to…”

“Yeah…I am too,” she agreed, perhaps a tad too quickly, but Harry would not push the issue. Not now. “Harry…I-”

Something changed within him. Seeing her under the gentle moonlight, a faint blush in her cheeks as her hair framed her head perfectly, he lifted his hand under her chin, slowly stepping forward. Amelie’s eyes widened, hesitation in her posture, though Harry braved on, pressing closer.

Finally, as he was about to meet her, she surged forward, throwing both hands on his face and pulling him in. As their lips met, Harry felt a surge of triumph and elation. He could feel the euphoria from her, which only served to amplify his own as he held her tightly, trying to cling on and memorise every sensation.

When they finally moved apart, foreheads pressed against each other, both had astonished wide eyes and flushed cheeks, as well as silly grins plastered on their faces. “That was…”

“Yeah…”

Both chuckled at their loss of words.

“I…I should go.”

“I know…I guess this is goodbye,” he sighed. She frowned, before shaking her head.

“Don’t think of it as a goodbye…just think of it as a wait until our next hello,” she mused. Despite the sappiness, Harry couldn’t help but smile at the sentiment, helping her up the steps of the carriage.

“Have a safe journey, Amelie,” he wished.

“Thank you,” she whispered, blowing him a kiss as the compartment door shut and the carriage streaked off into the night sky. Harry stood there, watching until the carriage had disappeared, not even a silhouette through the slight wall of mist. With a wistful sigh, he traced a finger on his lips, unable to help a grin as he slowly made his way back to the castle.

--Break--

Taking a breath, he began to contemplate: what was he trying to do? Change the colour of the stone. How was he trying to achieve that? Pump magic through a transfiguration to the surface to change its colours. How come he could change the match into a needle, altering its colour? Because he was also changing other properties. So how could he change only the colour?

Harry stared at the small pile of stones on the desk, who seemed to taunt him with their varying shades of grey. Picking up the beginner’s book on runes, he began to leaf through the pages, looking for any sort of inspiration. He read, feeling the frustration slowly ebb away as he was drawn into the tenants of the subject.

Maximilian’s method refers to a principle of isolating different factors. In practice, given this is not fully possible, experiments focus on altering the other factors as little as possible.

Frowning as he stumbled over this line, he quickly leafed through the rest of the book, not finding a single other reference. Feeling a sense of determination swell up, he made his way towards the office of professor Babbling.

As he arrived, the witch in question opened her office door, a cup of mead in her hand as she was beginning to exit. “Oh, mister Potter? Are you lost?”

“I was hoping to ask you a question on runes, if you are free.” The profesor blinked, before giving a light shrug.

“Sure, not much to do over the holidays besides marking, it’d be a good change of pace.”

“I was wondering if you could explain a bit about Maximillian’s Method. I was reading one of the textbooks, but found it only mentioned briefly.”

“That’s because not even NEWT students are expected to know it, mister Potter,” the professor frowned. “Experimentation is well into mastery territory, I’m surprised you are aware of it at all. But go on, ask and I’ll answer as best as I can.”

“How does it actually work in practice? When you change the length of the runic carve, you necessarily change its shape, either in the amount of space it takes, the number of contours or the like. How can you actually…well only change one thing?”

“That’s exactly the point. It’s realistically possible, and why the field of runes is so dynamic. We’re always trying to improve and optimise, to reduce the margins of these small errors and make efficiency gains,” Babbling chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. “What we have to do is identify the factors that go into determining each characteristic. Usually, we do this through a causal link map, where we explore the constituents to each factor, and map them onto each other. By examining the links, we can minimise the overall change in exogenous variables to focus on the impact of the endogenous. It’s by no means a perfect science, but the best we have. For insta…”

But Harry had lost focus on the professor’s words already, his mind whirring as he felt a flash of epiphany. He couldn’t possibly change the colour without understanding what exactly caused it.

“Thank you, professor, this has been extremely helpful!” Harry exclaimed, hurrying off to the library and leaving behind the amused professor.

--Break--

Tapping the stone, he pumped a minute amount of magic, slowly feeding into the partial transfiguration as he increased the energy levels of the stone. Slowly, it turned from its shade of grey into purple, then blue, then green, then yellow. With a triumphant smile, he picked up the stone, running his hand over it to feel the texture. It was still the same, smooth feeling, and the weight was almost identical.

Waiting several minutes to see if it was stable, he felt his excitement creep up quicker and quicker, until Harry realised he was bouncing at his feet while staring at a stone. Blushing despite the fact no one was around, he quickly grabbed the stone, running out of the classroom and heading straight to McGonagall’s office.

Arriving, he knocked on the door with urgency, hearing a crisp order to enter. Opening the door and walking in, he saw McGonagall’s face soften.

“Ah Mister Potter. I admit I expected you here before or at least with miss Rosier,” the professor mused upon seeing the stone in his hand, taking it and raising it to her eye, inspecting it. After a thoughtful hum, she cast a detection spell, frowning as the stone didn’t respond. McGonagall’s jaw dropped as she cast more and more detection spells. “But…how?”

“What do you mean?” Harry questioned, blinking at the professor’s reaction. The task was difficult, yes, but surely not unthinkable.

“This…this…explain how you did this, please.”

“While attempting to change solely the colour of the surface, I realised that it wasn’t possible without charmswork because we’re altering the object itself. Objects have inherent colours, and while I could have tried to transfigure into a different rock material, it seemed like a cop out. Thus, I did a bit of reading to determine what actually determines an object’s colour and that’s when I figured it out. It’s about the resonance of the object that determines the energy it emits, reflects and absorbs. I came to the realisation that transfiguration isn’t so much two states, but rather a spectrum. Once you infuse magic, for instance a match into a needle, it’s not truly a needle, close but not truly, given if it were, it would be in a stable state and not untransfigure back after a sufficient lack of magic. It also followed that the greater the difference, the greater the rate of change. Thus, I looked into material composition, and realised that if I could manipulate the energy levels, I could make a minor adjustment that changes the colour of the stone without majorly changing any other characteristic, fundamentally making it still the same stone save the colour change.”

“I…” tapping the stone with her wand, McGonagall split the stone into two, observing its yellow interior. “Simply…simply remarkable. Very well done, Mister Potter, you’ve just disproved one of the minor laws of transfiguration.”

“...what?” Harry blinked confusedly. McGonagall chuckled at his shock, gesturing for him to take a seat.

“Mister Potter, for centuries scholars have tried to perform the task you have just done. Perhaps the most famous partial solution to the problem was done by Alvia Estorivix, who transfigured the stone on a molecular level. Because stones are fundamentally minerals, what she did was change the composition of minerals, resulting in a different coloration but also fundamentally a different stone. You’ve…you’ll make the papers, for this, have no doubt. However did you even think to try this?”

“It was actually professor Babbling,” he answered, still in a state of mild shock. “We were talking about experimental techniques and controlling exogenous variables…and I figured out that I should better understand what causes colour. From there, it was a simple matter of acquiring some muggle textbooks and applying that knowledge into it.”

“That’s…simply remarkable,” McGonagall shook her head. “Very well done, mister Potter. A hundred points to Slytherin.”

Despite his smile, Harry couldn’t help but feel his victory wasn’t complete without Amelie by his side.

--Break--

Harry sighed as he flicked his wand, trying yet again to cast a protego. After the thrill of solving McGonagall’s challenge had ended, Harry had found himself insanely bored. The few assignments given over the holidays (nearly half from Snape) were dull and simple to complete.

Having already read ahead in most of his subjects, Harry had taken the time to master various spells, quickly going through the list until he was now stuck on the shield charm.

“Protego,” Harry incanted, a surge of frustration as a faint barrier flickered. It would have been useless in an actual fight.

‘Hoot!’ Hedwig landed on his shoulder, nuzzling his ear. Harry smiled at the owl, ruffling her feathers and drawing a happy bark, welcoming the distraction.

“How’ve you been, girl?”

‘Hoot!’ the owl crooned, flapping her wings slightly. Harry chuckled.

“The male owls are trying to impress you? Should I be worried?”

‘Hoot,’ Hedwig sniffed derisively. Harry chuckled again.

“Of course not, dear, I’m sure your prince will come.”

‘Hoot?’

“I’m just trying to cast a proper shield charm. Amelie’s spells have been growing viscous during our duels, I can still feel the sting on my backside,” he shuddered. Hedwig gave an annoyed bark, causing him to chuckle. “No, she’s a friend. We have a…strange relationship.”

‘Hoot!’

“You’ll always be my number one girl,” Harry chuckled, ticking the owl’s beak. Hedwig preened at that, booping her head on his side.

‘Hoot?’

“I’m struggling with a spell,” Harry admitted with a tired sigh. “It’s…it’s stupid. I'm easily able to master other spells, but not this. It’s…ugh, but nevermind, you don’t need to hear my problems.”

‘Hoot,’ Hedwig scolded reproachfully. Harry chuckled.

“You’re right, I probably should take a break,” Harry mused, sighing. “Well come on, might as well get some fresh air.”

As he walked down the corridor, he frowned at the sound of a door opening and closing. The only door was that of the classroom he and Amelie had appropriated…yet no one had passed him. Turning, he frowned at the sight of the door, completely unmoved. Shaking his head, he sighed, “I must be more tired than I thought.”

--Break--

“Protego!” Harry cast angrily, yelping as a blast of magic radiated outwards, slamming into the walls and scarring the walls. His attention, however, was on the purple shield that sprang up from his side, and he turned, a curse on his lips before he saw it was Quirrel. “Professor, I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“Hardly, I would never discourage a student from trying to get ahead,” the professor chuckled. Harry could feel the man’s amusem*nt, though he was unsure why. “Unless you’re trying deceptive casting, I very much don’t think your shielding is going well, no?”

“It’s…difficult, I admit,” Harry shrugged. “I’ve been able to get a knack for most offensive spells, but shielding, I find much more difficult.”

“Hmmm,” Quirrell hummed thoughtfully, flicking his wand and conjuring a wall of stone. “Show me your most powerful offensive spell.”

Harry thrust his wand towards the target, hurling a red reducto curse, one he had mastered but a few days ago. The wall exploded into small fragments, and Quirrell narrowly managed to raise a shield around himself.

“Most impressive, mister Potter,” the man nodded admiringly. “Very few of your peers could withstand such a powerful attack. So what seems to be the issue?”

“I’m used to concentrating my magic into highly potent areas, casting a dispersed spell is far more difficult for me,” Harry admitted. The professor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“That is something you should rectify immediately, mister Potter, lest you find yourself defenceless.”

“I can dodge or deflect spells, can’t I?” Harry frowned. The professor chuckled amusedly, raising his wand, conjuring a huge torrent of flames. Dispelling them, he swished his wand, conjuring several spears and hurling them towards the wall and impaling them deep into the rock. Harry winced at the display.

“Ignoring area-of-effect spells, defending against battle transfiguration often requires you to shield yourself completely and thoroughly without fail.” Harry blinked, never having expected transfiguration to be useful in such a way. The professor must have guessed his thoughts, for the man laughed. “Surely you didn’t think that transfiguration was restricted to turning a tortoise to a teapot, no?”

“I didn’t know,” Harry blushed.

“It is not necessarily your fault, I suppose. We are all blind to some degree…limited by our perspective. You are foremost limited by your inexperience. Magical combat can go far beyond hurling simple spells at each other. Dumbledore is renowned for his use of battle transfiguration, being the master of the art. Grindelwald was infamous for his use of elemental magic. Magic’s boundaries are truly limitless if one possesses the will.”

“What of Voldemort?” Harry questioned. Quirrell blinked, clearly taken off guard.

“The dark lord…he is an enigma, rarely showing himself in battle. The man has always preferred subterfuge and unpredictability. I would say his speciality is the dark arts, but given the broadness of the subject I may as well have said nothing. From necromacy to the mind arts, the dark lord seems to be proficient in many esoteric magics.”

“The mind arts?” Harry prodded, hoping to learn more.

“Indeed…it was a…troubling time, the last war. The dark lord was famous for his use of the imperius curse, one of the three unforgivable spells that gave a practitioner a degree of control over the victim. Euphoria…the victim would find themselves under a trance, susceptible to the will of the caster. For most cases, the victim would show obvious signs of compromise, glazed eyes, stiff movements, unusual speech and the likes. It also required constant reinforcement, lasting at most hours after the castor had last pumped their magic. Voldemort though…his curses left little if any trace, and lasted years. No one could trust anyone else…it was not uncommon for a person to kill their own families under the imperius. Most committed suicide when they realised what they’d done.”

“How did he not win?” Harry frowned, causing Quirrell to become pensive. “Surely with such asymmetrical warfare, he would have taken over long ago. The war lasted decades, and it never seemed he made much progress.”

“That is a…difficult matter, even to speculate on. The dark lord’s motives are known only to himself, though the popular narrative is that he feared Dumbledore,” Quirrell mused. Harry frowned, sensing there was a deeper underlying answer…but whether to capitalise on that was the question. He did not hear from Quirrell the same voices that offered insight into others’ thoughts. “Whatever his machinations may have been, the dark lord has been ended by you, mister Potter, through forces unknown.”

“That seems like hogwash,” Harry shrugged, causing the professor to blink. At the man’s gesture to explain, Harry mused, “All throughout the war, Voldemort’s taken care not to reveal himself, always employing subterfuge and attacks through proxies. Why he attacked my family personally, given they were rather unremarkable in the grand scheme of things, is the first flaw in such a narrative. Second is the assumption he had no contingency. I refuse to believe that perhaps the greatest magical user in the century did not have safeguards for himself. That’s just…impossible to believe.”

Harry thought he saw a triumphant gleam in Quirrell’s eyes, though it was gone in a second, and he was forced to wonder if it were perhaps a trick of the light. “Some of the greats in history have fallen to hubris.”

“True…but it just seems so out of character. For a man to conceal his identity, to rarely reveal himself in public, to not flaunt his knowledge or power…it just doesn’t add up,” Harry shrugged. “Professor…could you tell me more about his ideology?”

“His…ideology?” Quirrell blinked. Harry shrugged. “The books rarely mention anything beyond his belief in pureblood supremacy…and yet that must be folly. No pureblood with such beliefs would mask their identity, for they are too proud of their heritage. Besides, the war has resulted in the death of an incalculable number of pureblood families…his actions…it doesn’t fit.”

“That’s an astute observation. No one truly knows the identity of the dark lord. I suppose in a sense, you could say he believed in the greatness of magic: the supremacy of magicals over muggles, the value of maintaining old traditions, and the importance of cultivating knowledge and strength,” Quirrell explained. Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“And what are your thoughts?” he questioned. At Quirrell’s confused look, Harry added, “You were the muggle studies professor before you took your sabbatical. I’d imagine you would have an interesting perspective on the magical versus muggle debate.”

Quirrell appeared pensive, flicking his wand and conjuring a gun. Harry blinked, staring at the weapon warily. “It seems you are familiar with this?”

“It’s a pistol,” Harry nodded.

“Indeed. Muggles are quite ingenious in terms of invention, I must admit. A simple protego would shield against it…yet most wizards and witches are incapable of casting one…and for even those who can, their reactions are likely far too slow for the bullet’s travel,” Quirrell chuckled. “In my mind…muggles are to be feared, emulated and respected. Where magical kind has gone stagnant, muggles are evolving…becoming smarter, stronger and more dangerous. But what are your thoughts?”

“A muggle will always be inferior to a witch or wizard,” Harry mused, causing Quirrell’s eyes to widen in clear surprise. “To me, it’s elementary. Everything a muggle can do, a magical can do, while a muggle cannot wield magic. That a muggle is forced to utilise more of their talents more efficiently means they are more potent…using more of their potential, but not that they have more raw power and potential.”

“That is a very…interesting perspective…certainly one I didn’t expect from you, mister Potter. This has been most enlightening, but let us return to your issue, for we have digressed significantly,” Quirrell laughed. “In short, there are ways, to an extent, to defend with magically concentrated attacks. Fire your reducto at me.”

Trusting in the professor’s abilities, Harry fired the spell, blinking when the professor batted the spell, redirecting it to the side, where it slammed into the wall and carved out a sizable hole. Harry barely noticed as the professor repaired the room with several swishes of his wand.

“Spell deflection…the art of using a pulse of magic to redirect a spell. Magic, funnily enough, is like electric current, taking the easiest path available. Thus, with sufficient timing and precision, it is possible to deflect a spell…redirect it to the opponent, even.”

“Can you teach me this?” Harry queried excitedly. The professor eyed him shrewdly.

“You are but a first year, mister Potter. A very talented first year, but a first year nonetheless. Most of my NEWT students cannot master such a technique…why should I spend time teaching it to you?”

“Because I will succeed where others fail,” Harry answered simply. “I can also offer you compensation…celebrity endorsem*nts, galleons…I am not without means. Training the boy-who-lived would be a huge boost to your prestige.”

The professor chuckled, though Harry noticed the man’s eyes were unblinkingly scrutinous. “Truly a Slytherin…but you have little that I want…for now, at least.”

“Oh,” Harry couldn’t help but feel dejected.

“I will teach you, but there will be conditions. First, you will not speak of these sessions to anyone. Not even miss Rosier. Second, when in training, you will do exactly as I say without question. Third, you will always put in your best effort. I care not for excuses, only results. Are the terms agreeable?”

“What do you get from this?” Harry challenged. Quirrell chuckled.

“That’s for me to know and you to figure it out. Any more questions? My patience is not infinite.”

“Can I get a pass to the restricted section?”

“Whatever would you need that for?” the professor frowned. Harry wondered if he had overplayed his hand, but in for a knut, in for a galleon.

“You won’t be available all the time. The time we have will be limited, so if I can progress through other means, I’ll save the time with you and allow you to focus on the matters you wish to train me in,” Harry reasoned. “It costs you little, and will likely make your training of me more expedient.”

“A good point,” the professor conceded, frowning at Harry’s elation. “Make no mistake, I know you’re manipulating me. The only reason you succeed is because I allow it.”

“I carenth for reasons, only results,” Harry parroted. Quirrell frowned for a moment, before a grin emerged on his face.

“Tomorrow morning, mister Potter. Eight o’clock, my office.”

Chapter 5: Gambles and Bargains

Chapter Text

“Pugnus,” the professor incanted, sending a bolt of red sizzling towards Harry. His feet tugged against the sticking charm, instinctually wanting to move him out of the way. With narrowed eyes, Harry slashed his wand, slicing through the spell as he channelled a burst of magic. The spell fizzled, weakening as it struck his arm, drawing a light cut.

“What am I doing wrong?” Harry asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. Quirrell shrugged lightly.

“Control. You are not putting enough density into the magic. My attacks are warping slightly, but not sufficient to be deflected,” Quirrell answered. “It’s not a surprise, I suppose. You’ve not even reached your second maturity…to be fair, your casting is extremely potent…at unthinkable levels for your age, in fact.”

“You can sense this?” Harry frowned. Quirrell nodded.

“To a degree. It is far from a precise art, but if you’ve experienced enough magic, you can begin to make such connections.”

“Can this be learnt?”

“Only through rituals, I’m afraid,” Quirrell chuckled, though for the first time, Harry sensed faint emotion from the man, and knew the professor was lying. “Admirable though your advancements are, there are things that cannot be achieved without sacrifice.”

“Why lie to me?” he challenged, causing the professor to blink, before cracking a smile.

“How…fascinating. To drop a knut only to find a galleon…tell me, how are you aware of the mind arts, mister Potter?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he knew he overplayed. Panic began to seep in as he began wondering what he coul-Quirrell brandished his wand, firing off a jet of white light that paralysed him. Suddenly, he felt his panic subside whilst his breathing returned to normal levels.

“Relax, mister Potter. If I wished to, I could have easily used a far more lethal spell. I have no intention of revealing your secrets, far from it.”

“What did you curse me with?” Harry demanded.

“That was a calming charm,” Quirrell assured. “If I wished you harm, there is very little you could do to stop me, mister Potter. Now, let us discuss how exactly you came across the mind arts, especially at such a young age.”

Harry knew it was an order, and quickly began to wonder what he should reveal. Taking a breath, he answered, “I’ve always heard voices from others when I was young. In the orphanage…I could hear words not fully spoken…feel words and emotions. I’ve learnt to cope with the loudness, filtering out the voices, but when there are too many people…”

“A natural legilimens,” Quirrell muttered to himself, shaking his head in amazement. “Tell me, what am I thinking about right now?”
Harry concentrated on reading the professor. On the surface were thoughts about lunch, though as he dug deeper, he could sense academic curiosity on whether legilimency and occlumency were interlinked.

“The linkage between occlumency and legilimency,” Harry answered, causing the professor’s eyebrows to shoot up.

“Truly impressive…well such talent cannot go to waste. I shall train you with what I know in the mind arts,” Quirrell announced, locking gazes with him. Harry frowned, feeling a light buzz in his head. “So you do feel it. Try expelling my probe.”

Harry closed his eyes, concentrating deeply within his mind as he struggled to locate the probe. The headache slowly got worse, but he located the general area where the intrusion was. Concentrating his willpower, he engaged in a massive, blunt strike, causing searing pain to throb from his head, but also for Quirrell to stagger back, clutching his head slightly.

“Most…most impressive,” the man shook himself, quickly regaining composure. “While crude, it’s effective, even if less so than your legilimency.”

“I’ve always felt more at ease with legilimency compared to occlumency,” Harry admitted. “Is that normal?”

“Yes and no,” Quirrell shrugged. “There are aspects of the mind arts which overlap, such as the requirement of willpower and discipline. Yet legilimency and occlumency quickly diverge. It is not unusual for a prodigy in one to be barely passable in the other.”

“Are there…other branches?” Harry queried, causing Quirrell’s eyes to narrow.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Well most magic is a spectrum, isn’t it?”

“A…crude but passable philosophy,” Quirrell admitted. “Tell me, are you familiar with the light arts?”

Harry frowned, shaking his head.

“I would have been surprised if you had,” Quirrell admitted with a smile. “The light arts…one that few are aware of, and fewer practice. It is the diametric opposite to the dark arts: where the latter encourages the embracing of one’s emotions, the former encourages the destruction of such.”

“To live without emotions…how is that possible?”

“It is insanity…yet is being enslaved by the dark arts any different?” Quirrell chuckled. “How odd, no? That to embrace either the dark arts or light arts fully is to sacrifice one’s humanity?”

“It is a greater truth within a lie, I suppose,” Harry proffered, causing the professor to perk up in interest. “The muggles have god, science or ideology, we have magic. All are constructs designed to imprison us…until we break free.”

“A fascinating philosophy,” Quirrell mused. “And a discussion I wish to continue, albeit another time. Returning to the issue, you are correct. There are sub-branches of the mind arts, though how many and of what nature depends on who you ask. There is no defined curriculum or method to the subject. Personally, I see little need for further subdivision. Occlumency, by my definition, is the manipulation of one’s mind. Whether in defence against a probe or to augment one’s abilities makes little difference. Legilimency, in contrast, is the manipulation of others’ minds. From nudges to outright control, it is all the same. But that is not particularly relevant for our current discussion. How we proceed, is in fact up to you.”

“Can you help me develop my occlumency?” Harry inquired. Quirrell nodded thoughtfully.

“Given your aptitude, I deduce you’ve already somewhat organised your mind. While you lack shields, you also have decent awareness and control. Certainly nothing compared to your prowess with legilimency, but that is understandable. There are several options for how we can proceed. You can meditate and try to construct shields. You can attempt some potions and rituals. Or you can take the most expedient method, suffering repeated legilimency attacks.”

“Building immunity?” Harry frowned. “Did your teacher use that method?”

“I’m a natural occlumens, mister Potter, much like you are a natural legilimens. I instinctually managed to organise my mind and develop defences. Unfortunately, I did not have a mentor or peer to rely on, and thus my progress was painstakingly slow.”

“Would you have accepted teaching if you were to start over again?” Harry asked. Quirrell frowned, humming in contemplation.

“No. Through my experimentation, I developed a deep and intimate understanding of myself. I have no regrets about the process, difficult though it may have been. Though I’m curious why you would ask such a question.”

“In this case, I need to understand the reasoning for your decision to adjust it based on our divergent circ*mstances,” Harry admitted. Quirrell nodded approvingly at the reasoning.

“I see...and your choice?”

“I don’t have the time to idle like you did. Dumbledore, Voldemort…even lessers like Snape are capable of legilimency. I need to form some sort of defence as soon as possible,” Harry reasoned. Quirrell chuckled, amusem*nt that could only be an inside joke, though Harry couldn’t deduce from what.

“Just that you remind me of my youth,” the man explained. Somehow, despite not hearing any voice, Harry knew Quirrell was lying. “Prepare yourself. Legilimens!”

In an instant, the buzzing returned, and Harry concentrated on trying to locate the probe. It was as though navigating through aether, a faint gel irritating his movements and clouding the location of the probe.

As he neared the source of the light, Harry concentrated, preparing to muster his ejection, when the light faded, dispersing in several directions. He blinked, completely unprepared on how to deal with such. Suddenly, he could feel memories beginning to be drawn out.

“So the freak decides to show up,” Andrew snarled. Harry frowned as several other boys and girls formed a circle. Feeling their anger, Harry prepared himself. Andrew charged forward, though Harry knew the boy’s movements, and moved to the side, avoiding the punch, retaliating with one to the back of the boy’s head. He collapsed to the ground, letting out a sob.

“Andy!” one of the girls cried out, before turning to him with an angry snarl. “You’ll get it now!”

Despite predicting their movements, being ganged up on eight on one was not a situation Harry could turn into his favour. Seeing the matron looking out from a window turn away, he suppressed the anger at such injustice. He felt the first punch, then the second, dropping to the floor. Kicks soon followed. He resisted the urge to cry out, refusing to give them the satisfaction. Yet when one of them kicked him in the jaw, causing an audible snap, Harry couldn’t help but let out a desperate snarl. Several more kicks dazed him, and he felt desperation begin to swell up.

No! Harry concentrated, trying to eject the probe from his mind. Yet the playback of the memory had consumed the surface of his mind, masking the presence of the probe.

Their thoughts swelled in his mind, the desire to finish him off. Harry felt a surge of desperation, and his magic answered, welling up. His mind ached, but as Harry looked up, he saw the other children had all collapsed to the ground, glazed looks in their eyes.

After several hours, men and women in white uniforms carted off the children, who still had their glazed eyes, completely unresponsive to any stimuli. The other children shot him frightened glances, whispers swirling among them. All the while, Harry had a faint smile on his lips, basking in their fear.

As the probe withdrew, Harry breathed heavily, his mind reeling, taking deep breaths. “W-w-what was that?”

“A highly skilled, moderately powered legilimency attack,” Quirrell answered. “It’s not surprising you weren’t able to isolate my probe, let alone defeat it. This gives you a sense of what is possible by proficient practitioners. Masters…that is a different story for another time.”

“Ugh,” Harry grunted as he lay on the ground, heaving heavily. Bile rose up to his throat, and his head ached, throbbing as though trying to puncture his skull. “That was…”

“Rough. It doesn’t get easier, but you get used to it,” the professor assured, placing a vial to his lips and pouring, before massaging Harry’s neck and forcing him to swallow. The pain slowly ebbed away, now a dull throb.

“Get to bed soon, you have roughly an hour before the pain returns,” the professor instructed, waving his wand and removing the vomit on the floor. “We’ll continue tomorrow. And speak of this to no one.”

Harry nodded weakly.

--Break--

The field of augmency is one of the most exciting for its capabilities are truly limitless. The degree to which different practitioners are able to fulfil this potential varies significantly, both in magnitude and manifestation. Some are able to think at beyond superhuman speeds, others achieve incredible sensory awareness, and others still are able to complete multiple thought streams simultaneously. And to think these are the abilities I am aware of and able to document…it is not illogical to assume many individuals would have hidden their abilities, which go beyond what I have described.

Having witnessed many dissections of brains, I can safely assume there is at least some physical component to these enhancements. The neural activities of known practitioners is far more significant, and their brain structures have developed in ways that baffle me. Yet I would be remiss not to acknowledge the inherent risks of this: the mind is a fragile linkage between the physical and the spiritual. More than one rising student has been rendered a vegetable because they tried to push their mind too far too fast.

Usually, augmency helps enhance progress in other fields of the mind arts. By enhancing the strength of the mind in all facets, there is more to draw upon when pursuing the other fields. No master of any other branch is not at least well versed in the fundamentals of augmency. There are rituals, potions and other items which can offer temporary or permanent gains.

To explain briefly the benefits and drawbacks of each:

Rituals are the most common avenue of exploration, yet its risks are not inconsiderable. Beyond the obvious fact that rituals demand sacrifices, tampering with the natural state of one’s trinity (that being of body, mind and soul) can unsettle magic. Rituals should be planned all in advance, for the magic of one ritual can easily impact that of another. To use an analogy, it would be like painting on a canvas. While to an extent its effects can be mitigated, painting over in the case of our analogy, its effects are never truly gone. In extreme examples, individuals have been known to turn into abominations…victims of their own sin. Tiny mistakes can cascade into catastrophic disaster, and absolute perfection is demanded. Most practitioners can only dream of completing a set of three rituals, yet masters, it is whispered, have gone far beyond this. The effects, in any case, are most profound and permanent with rituals.

Potions, aside from being expensive and difficult to brew, must also have their recipes figured out. While certainly not as demanding of perfection as rituals, they are nonetheless capable of great damage if not brewed correctly. While the cost of ingredients is likely far less compared to rituals, the effects granted are usually temporary. A key advantage they place over rituals is that in the short term, the boosts they offer can be far more significant, though this of course depends on which potion and ritual is used for a benchmark. At the same level of complexity and cost, a potion generally offers far more gains, though the most advanced of rituals remain unmatched by any potions. The body also usually takes far more time to acclimate to a ritual compared to potions because potions permeate through the body faster.

The third category, which I will mention only briefly, includes esoteric methods of augmency. There are certain artefacts, most famously (allegedly) Ravenclaw’s diadem that could offer enhancements to the mind, though this of course is highly speculative. Such artefacts are guarded with zealous jealousy, and details on them are scarce and speculative.

The reason one must understand these three avenues is because it is physically impossible for one to progress beyond a certain point without enhancement. Magicals already enjoy a far more capable brain owing to the ambient enhanced growth that magic within the body creates. A magical’s mind is capable of resisting far more stress than a muggle’s. A muggle cannot develop occlumency shields, while even the most ignorant of magical users enjoy a limited degree of protection from intrusion based on their magical ambience. Extrapolating this logic, without intervention, even magicals will reach a threshold in the progression of their mind arts.

Harry laid in bed, a blanket wrapped around him as he read through a sixth year textbook on the aguamenti spell. The book seemed to go round in circles, yet Harry had gleaned the principle: the spell was one of the simpler conjurations for the simple reason the transmutation of air into water was a relatively low skew process. Unlike lead to gold, which demanded huge amounts of magic, given that the air already contained ample amounts of water, with properties of adhesion and cohesion conducive to the formation of more water, the aguamenti spell was a relatively simple spell, though by no means unuseful.

Several other textbooks were strewn around his bed, piles of notes stacked around. Apart from the slight benefits his rudimentary augmency offered thus far, the simple fact was that when one ignored the fluff, ranging from trivia to history of the spells, there was very little substance required to grasp the basics of most spells. But Harry wasn’t content with that.

A small ring of water orbited around the tip of his wand, not only an exercise of control, but an advancement of split stream consciousness. While he could manage only two at the moment, and not under duress, Harry was not displeased with the progress. He would have to look into rituals, though the few books within even the Forbidden section lacked anything beyond warnings on the dangers and illegality of such magic. He contemplated asking Quirrell, but decided to save it as a last resort. No matter the man’s claimed intentions, it was dangerous to rely so much on one individual.

--Break--

Lazing in his room, Harry frowned at the door opening. All the other boys in his year had gone home for the vacations. With his wand aimed towards the entrance, he undrew the curtains, relaxing slightly at the sight of Snape.

“Sir?”

“The headmaster requests your presence in his office,” Snape drawled. Harry nodded, setting down his books and following the man, memorising the path towards the office. As they arrived towards two gargoyles, his head of house looked as though he had swallowed a sour lemon. “Kit kat.”

Harry blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. The gargoyles parted ways, revealing a spiral staircase. Snape left stiffly, without another word, leaving Harry to ascend the steps. Reaching the door, he was about to knock when the headmaster’s voice called out. “Come in, mister Potter.”

Frowning slightly at the implicit assertion of power, he nevertheless opened the door, idly observing the various trinkets around the room. Quickly, Harry composed himself, walking up towards the desk, where the headmaster, despite his relaxed posture, was closely observing him.

“Take a seat, mister Potter. A lemon drop?” he inquired. Harry nodded in acceptance, taking one of the yellow candies and placing it in his mouth. The taste was rather sweet, though Harry had little benchmark to compare it against. Dumbledore seemed delighted at his acceptance, taking one himself and popping it in his mouth. "How are you finding Hogwarts, mister Potter?”

“It’s…an experience,” Harry admitted. “There are classes that are excellent, and classes that are below expectations. History of magic, for instance, Binns simply droned on regardless of what happens in the class.”

“I have received many similar complaints,” Dumbledore admitted. “Alas, finding a replacement is not so easy.”

“How so?” Harry frowned. “Surely there are qualified candidates out there.”

“Oh, many. Hogwarts is a rather prestigious institution, and most would jump at a chance to teach in her halls. What is less simple is the matter of choosing a candidate,” Dumbledore explained. “The board is filled with those predisposed to a certain…historical perspective. Being that I hold a different view, we have reached an impasse, in which a new candidate could not be agreed upon. And what of your other classes?”

“They’re mostly…boring, though the professors manage to offer additions to the classes. Transfiguration for instance. Professor McGonagall offered us the chance to experiment and flourish, which I appreciate. I must admit, the curriculum is far too simple for my tastes, and I was wondering if there was a way to skip ahead. Certain classes such as arithmancy and runes…I would love to take them, while others such as astronomy…I genuinely question their usefulness and the necessity of every student taking it.”

“I do believe congratulations are in order. Minerva was most astonished at your work on the Minor law of composites,” Dumbledore beamed. “Many of my colleagues are understandably ecstatic at such a breakthrough, and I have no doubt you will be the recipient of many congratulations…perhaps even prospective offers of apprenticeships.”

“Thank you sir,” Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Forgive me, but apprenticeships?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “You see, the magical world’s relatively smaller size means that…what was the word? Universities, yes, the magical world is unable to sustain universities like the muggles. Thus, we have what are called guilds, being collectives of academics who will take on a select number of prospects. The relationship is far more close, and an apprentice reflects heavily on the master. There are various guilds scattered across the world, along with independent masters. I daresay you would be quite the catch, and many would hope to secure your pupilage once you reach your majority.”

“I see,” Harry nodded thoughtfully. Truthfully, he would be far more interested in a mastery of defence or the mind arts, but to have options was always good. “Forgive me, sir, but I doubt you asked me here to pander to my ego.”

“Very true,” the headmaster chuckled. “I must admit, you’re refreshingly honest, an admirable quality. But yes, I admit to being curious about how you’re finding Hogwarts. Very few students would consider alternatives before even stepping foot in the castle.”

“I wished to consider all my options,” Harry shrugged. “And you’ll forgive me, but a professor of your institution is hardly an impartial party.”

“That is fair,” Dumbledore nodded. “So how are you settling in? Your sorting caused quite the stir.”

“It’s been good,” Harry smiled. “Amelie’s been a good friend, I’m fortunate to be her friend.”

“And the rest of your house?” Dumbledore queried lightly. Harry shrugged.

“They mostly leave me alone,” Harry shrugged. Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, though Harry knew the man was torn on whether to press the issue. The headmaster seemingly decided against it.

“And back to your classes. How are they? Charms, perhaps? Fillus speaks most highly of you.”

“Charms is…a decent class. The curriculum is rather…droll, but professor Flitwick’s enthusiasm makes it an enjoyable, albeit uninformative class.”

“And potions?”

“Snape, whatever his merits, is an incompotent instructor who doesn’t seem to care for the basic safety of his students,” Harry shrugged. “Students hate him, and for good reason.”

“Hmm,” Dumbledore frowned, clasping his hands together. “That too is not an uncommon complaint.”

“Then why not get rid of him?” Harry questioned. “Unless the board is to be blamed again?”

“Indeed, Severus has made friends in powerful places,” Dumbledore chuckled. Harry couldn’t help but feel he was missing an inside joke, but kept his mouth shut. “And what of Quirinus?”

Despite the casualness with which this statement was given, Harry knew Dumbledore had been biding his time, trying to lower his guard for this final question.

“Professor Quirrell, and to a lesser extent professor McGonagall, are one of the two reasons I haven’t transferred out of Hogwarts yet,” Harry shrugged, inwardly pondering how much to reveal. Quirrell had been adamant their closeness be kept secret, though he had no doubt the headmaster would grow suspicious if he did not feed at least a partial truth. “He is well versed in the subject, and makes the lessons engaging and interesting. I have only praise for his work, despite my scepticism at him originally being the muggle studies teacher.”

“That is…most interesting,” Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. “Thank you, mister Potter, this has been enlightening. And before I forget, your father left this in my possession. I thought it was fitting to return to you.”

Holding out a delicately wrapped package with stars and moons shining on it, the headmaster smiled. “I suggest you unwrap it alone, and I trust you won’t be getting up to too much mischief with it. I do hope you will join us for the feast sometime. As convenient as the kitchens must be, I do believe it’s rather good to talk to others once in a while.”

“Of course headmaster,” Harry dipped his head. “If there’s nothing else?”

“No,” Dumbledore chuckled. “Do enjoy yourself. As admirable as your study habits are, it doesn’t do to forget the importance of relationships.”

Harry nodded, hearing the dismissal and leaving the office. As he closed the door, his face twisted into a scowl. He would have to watch himself closely, for the headmaster seemed aware of his occlumency.

--Break--

‘Hoot,’ an owl with rough brown feathers landed in front of him, extending its leg with a letter. Harry knew the owl to be from Tonks, and gingerly untied it, idly petting the owl as he offered it a biscuit.

Harry,

I have good news and bad news. The bad news first, several small firms have decided to fight. Even if you win, it is likely they will be bankrupt and unable to pay up. If you lose, then many of the other firms will likely renege on the agreements we have struck. From my analysis, it’s a lose-lose situation.

Onto the good news. Most of the firms, including all the major ones, have capitulated. While only a few have signed binding agreements thus far (likely waiting to see how the challengers aforementioned will fare). Still, initial payments have been flowing in, and you are indeed a very wealthy individual. Already, payments amounting to eighty thousand galleons have been deposited in your vault, with upwards of ten million on the way if agreements hold up. The back payment of royalties will take a few years to complete, but you’ll be a very wealthy wizard indeed. This is not considering any future profits, of course.

I await your instruction on how to proceed. In case I don’t send another message, Happy Yule.

Yours respectfully,

Ted Tonks

Harry frowned, humming thoughtfully as Hedwig was perched on his shoulder. “What do you think, Hedwig?”

‘Hoot!’ the owl shrugged. How she was able to do this without shoulders, Harry did not know. He felt a surge of annoyance at these firms’ arrogance. Did they not think that he would go after them out of some sense of altruism? If so, they were about to get a rude awakening.

Ted,

Thank you for your letter. While disappointing, I am unsurprised by such developments. For those who resist, sue them to the ground. Not just the companies, I want every employee and owner on the streets. Their merchandise has been disappointing in quality, which reflects poorly on me. Find me a PR agency to get dirt on them, I want them utterly obliterated. To the other firms, demand binding contracts immediately. If they refuse to comply, increase the rates we charge them. I am not in the business of charity. Send me an update as soon as possible.

Harry

Satisfied, he tied the letter to the owl’s foot, watching it fly off. Hedwig gave an annoyed bark, to which he merely chuckled. “Don’t be jealous, Hed. I just like you by my side. If you were always off delivering letters, how could I spend time with you.”

Hedwig blinked, ruffling her feathers as she hooted uncertainly. Harry chuckled, tickling the owl’s beak. ‘Hoot?’

“You’re changing the subject, but I’m going to make them burn,” Harry scowled. “I won’t entertain those vultures one moment. But let’s not think too much about that. We’ve gotten quite a tidy sum of money, no?”

‘Hoot!’ Harry chuckled, ruffling Hedwig’s belly.

“Aren’t you supposed to hunt for food?” Hedwig gave an annoyed bark, turning her head away from him and sniffing. “I’m only kidding, Hed. You can have all the rats you want.”

‘Hoot!’ Hedwig bobbed her head in satisfaction, nuzzling the side of his head before hopping off his shoulder and gliding over to her perch. She began nipping at her feathers, while Harry pulled out a mail-order catalogue, leafing through the pages.

Various gaudy items dotted the pages, from fake gemstones to large bouquets of flowers. Harry rolled his eyes at such useless items, designed as platitudes rather than gifts of genuine meaning. He paused, considering whether to get her a book instead, though given her heritage as part of the Rosier family, Harry doubted there were any books he could acquire for Amelie that she wouldn’t already have.

Shaking his head, Harry decided to take a walk, wandering along the empty hallways. Slowly ending up higher and higher, he frowned at the completely barren corridor at the top of the castle. With stairs reaching this level from two sides, it made little sense for the corridor to exist, so he wandered around, looking for hints of anything. Knowing that secret passages did exist, along with hideout rooms useful to know, he thoroughly investigated, frowning as a door suddenly appeared.

Whipping his wand out, he cautiously opened the door, walking inside to find mountains of artefacts and trinkets. Harry couldn’t help but gape, for there were surely millions of galleons, no, tens of millions of galleons worth of items from what he could see thus far; the room seemed to extend on and on.

Wandering through, he gasped at the sight of ancient looking tomes, no doubt valuable for the simple fact they were so old. There were less pleasant things such as clothes emitting foul odours, though Harry happily braced this as he continued exploring the depths of the room.

He saw several ornate boxes, some radiating ominous dark auras, others barely more than a flicker magically. Flicking several open, their contents ranged from tomes to jewellery to wands to artefacts he could not identify.

Picking several of the more significant appearing items, chief amongst them a huge sapphire gemstone that hummed with energy, he left the room, returning to the dungeons and storing his items before taking his trunk and heading up the stairs.

Returning to the spot, Harry froze at the realisation the door had disappeared. Frowning, he paced around the spot where it had been, yet it did not open. Frowning, he whipped out his wand, intend on blasting out the room if necessary, when the door appeared. Stepping inside, Harry cursed at the lack of items that had been there prior, instead faced with several strange contraptions holding wands.

“Hmm,” he frowned, moving inside and casting a reductor at one of them. It exploded into fragments, but slowly knit itself back together. “Perhaps…”

Walking back out of the room, he closed his eyes, concentrating on the desire to find treasures. As the door disappeared and reappeared, he opened it, entering to see that the piles of treasure were far smaller than prior. Exotic tomes and glistening artefacts were arrayed, as though in a display case for him to peruse through. Greedily, he placed them one by one in his trunk, thankful for the vast expansion charms he had ordered. Several books in particular looked fascinating, and he couldn’t wait to begin reading them. Others weren’t even books, simply stacks of notes with faded lettering, though he trusted his intent had permeated through the room’s screening.

There were a few gemstones and other similar artefacts, which he lowered into his trunk with a levitation charm, not wishing to touch them. He was just about finished when he spotted a pale wooden box with a silver clasp and the emblem of Ravenclaw on it. Feeling a void around the box, not even the castle’s ambient magic able to penetrate the strange bubble, he opened the box, gasping at the sight of Ravenclaw’s lost diadem. Gingerly picking it up, he placed it on his head, gasping as he felt his head charge with energy, the world spinning around for several nauseous moments before he felt his mind stabilise, far more clarity than before.

Blinking, he carefully took off the diadem, wincing as his brain contracted, as though trying to implode. He barely managed to avoid dropping the artefact, quickly placing it back in its box and lowering it into his trunk.

Having plundered the room’s most valuable items, Harry quickly left, his trunk levitating behind him as he hurried back to the dungeons, the feeling of a bandit coursing through his veins. As he made it back in and shut the door, Harry couldn’t help but laugh out loud, collapsing onto his bed as Hedwig gave a concerned bark.

Today was a good day.

--Break--

Rocking on his feet impatiently, he watched for the carriages as they flew one by one from the train station towards the castle. One by one, the horseless carriages allowed their passengers to disembark, and he scanned the crowd, searching for the familiar face of Amelie.

Carriage after carriage passed, and Harry felt himself growing more and more impatient, fiddling with the small wrapped package in his pocket. As the stream of carriages were ending, Harry felt his heart drop; had Amelie not returned?

Whispering his prayers to every deity he could imagine, Harry felt euphoric relief at the sight of her hair, once again tied in a bun. A huge grin splitting his face, he surged forward towards her, placing his hands on her cheeks and pulling her in a kiss. The surge of joy at this was quickly tempered as she did not relax into his touch, merely holding still. With a frown, he took a step back, his hands dropping to her side as he eyed her concernedly.

“Amelie, what’s wrong?”

“Not here,” she whispered softly, her eyes far colder than he had grown accustomed to. With hesitance, he withdrew his touch, resisting the slight pang as she disentangled her hand from his own. The two walked in silence towards the dorms, though unlike normal, it was not companionable, but awkward and cold.

The feast passed by in a blur, his appetite lost at her cold demeanour. They did not share the usual banter, nor the exchange of food. Amelie determinedly refused to meet his gaze, and he felt his despair slowly bubble into anger.

Harry paid little attention to the headmaster’s words, springing up the moment they were dismissed. Grabbing her hand, he dragged them away from the rest of the students towards one of the broom closets, all but pushing her in and entering himself before shutting the door behind him.

Turning around, he saw she’d pointed her wand at him, the tip glowing an eerie red. “Don’t push me, Potter.”

“Are you going to curse me?” Harry challenged softly. “Or are we going to talk like adults?”

“Fine,” she agreed, lowering her wand, though keeping it at her side. “You want to talk? Talk.”

“What’s happened to you?” Harry asked, his voice softening to an almost pleading tone. “Amelie, I’m your friend. Please, talk to me.”

Amelie shifted uneasily, sighing as she took a seat on the bench. Harry took this as progress, sitting across from her.

“Father was most…displeased with my association with you. For both our sakes, I think it’s better…” she swallowed thickly, “perhaps it’s better if we’re not seen together.”

“That’s it?” Harry hissed, anger swelling up. A part of him was guilty at the wide eyed fear that was betrayed on her face, though a far greater part was relishing in the feeling, to put her through just a bit of the pain and worry he had felt. “After everything, you just want to give it all up?”

“What would you have me do? Turn against my family?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes.”

“I suppose it’s easy for you to say when you have no family,” she derided, before her eyes widened in shock and regret. Harry, however, felt little emotion at the statement beside hurt at her desire to cause him pain.

“I see,” he nodded simply, standing up and reaching for the door. “I suppose this is g-”

Feeling magic come from behind him, Harry whipped around, a cutting curse destroying the ropes sent to bind him. Harry had a curse on his lips, when Amelie quickly raised her hands in surrender.

“Please, Harry, I just want to talk.”

“And you do that by cursing my back?” Harry sniffed. Amelie flustered for several moments. “Well, talk. I have places to be.”

“I…it’s not easy, okay?” Amelie sighed, eyes downcast. Harry resisted the urge to wrap the girl in a hug and try to offer what comfort he could. “I...I really care for you, Harry, but my family will not rest so easily.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I…I want what we had, Harry. I really do, b-”

“Will you fight for us then?” Harry asked simply. “Are you willing to try?”

“I…yes, Harry. I’m…I can't lose you! I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have…I-”

“Shh,” Harry comforted, pulling Amelie into a hug. He quashed the euphoria at the way she clung onto him, inhaling a whiff of her scent and feeling his body relax at the familiarity. Tentatively, she looked up at him. “Are we…”

“No,” Harry shook his head, meeting her wide eyes. “But I hope we will be.”

Chapter 6: A Loose End

Chapter Text

“Congratulations, by the way,” Amelie mused as the two sat intertwined on a sofa in the common room. It was a defiant show, and several of the older Slytherins scowled, muttering amongst each other, though none had acted yet. Harry raised his eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. “You made the papers, transfiguration prodigy. Should have known you were cooking up something.”

“How did you know?” Harry asked amusedly. At her deadpan look, he shrugged. “It’s not in any of the mainstream papers.”

“Perhaps not, but word spreads fast among certain circles. You’ve drawn a lot of attention from certain parties…there will be opportunities, but be careful,” Amelie advised. Harry nodded solemnly, lightly twirling a strand of her hair in his fingers. “Father wasn’t exactly pleased that I didn’t tell him in advance…he wants a monthly report on you.”

Harry chuckled at her uncertain look. “And what did you tell him about me?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Annoyingly prodigious at everything, genius but lacking awareness of certain customs and traditions…you know, the basics,” she shrugged, a teasing smirk on her lips. With a roll of his eyes, he pecked her, which quickly deepened into a longer kiss as she leaned into him.

Harry would have happily continued, but sensing an approaching individual, reluctantly pulled back, discreetly summoning his wand into his hand. He noticed Amelie do similar, as the two turned to see a group of sixth year boys stalking towards them. The entire common room fell silent as Gotye Exeter, leading the pack, had his wand drawn, pointed towards them.

“How far you’ve fallen, Rosier,” the man spat. “Wonder what your father will say when he realises you’re consorting with Potter once again.”

“And who is going to tell him?” Harry drawled, standing up. Exeter stared at him condescendingly.

“Careful, Potter. You can’-” With a roll of his eyes, Harry jabbed his wand onto the boy’s shirt. In the blink of an eye, there was a sickening crunch as Exeter’s body was slammed into the ceiling, before falling back down several moments later. Pieces of bone jabbed out of ruined muscle tissue, blood leaking out like he was some sickened, decrepit human sponge. The other boys had their wands shakily pointed at him, slowly backing away. Harry sneered, striding towards them.

“Dead men tell no tales,” Harry whispered. In the silence of the room, he may well have shouted. “One way or another, all of you will be silenced.”

“You can’t threaten us,” one of the Slytherins shouted. Harry shrugged.

“Who’s going to believe you? I’m just a first year after all, and accidents do happen,” Harry smiled grimly, relishing in the shudders from those watching him. “A slight push or a slipping charm to fall off a window…a tripping jinx that causes you to suffocate inside a trickstep…a bit of grime on your cauldrons to cause an explosion…so many ways, all with plausible deniability.”

“Y-you don’t have the guts!”

“Oh, I think Exeter and Jugson would beg to differ,” Harry grinned. “But by all means, try me. I’ll be happy to…have some fun.”

Turning to one of the prefects, he pointed at her. “You, clean up this mess.”

“W-what? Why m-” At his pointed look, she swallowed her protest, levitating the mess that was Exeter’s body and leaving the common room. Rolling his eyes, Harry returned to the sofa, pulling Amelie into his lap.

“What was that?”

“A levitation charm.”

“Seriously.”

“I’m deadly serious.”

“That’s…impossible,” she frowned. “The levitation charm doesn’t work on magicals.”

“Correct.”

“Then…how?” she gave an exasperated sigh. Harry found it rather adorable, and his amusem*nt must have bled through, for Amelie scowled at him.

“Not here.” He raised an eyebrow as she stood up, tugging at his hand. “Now?”

“I’m not waiting another moment,” she huffed, though he could see the corners of her lips curl up. With feigned reluctance, he allowed her to drag him out of the common room, making the short journey towards their classroom. As they entered and the door closed behind, he turned on her, pinning her arms above her head, claiming her lips in a heated kiss. She responded eagerly, nibbling on his lip, though he pulled back quickly, causing her to hum at him in confusion.

“Consider this payback for being a dead fish yesterday,” he smirked, drawing a petulant huff. Her downcast eyes, however, caused him to soften, releasing his pin on her as he placed his hands on her hips. “Hey, it’s okay, I’ve forgiven you for that already. I know it’s not easy.”

“I know,” she sighed, resting her head on his chest. “I just…nevermind, it’s for me to deal with.”

“You ca-” she silenced him with a gentle kiss.

“I know,” Amelie smiled, “but this is my burden.”

The two collapsed onto the couch, thoughtfully provided by one of the house elves. Leaning on his chest, he ran his fingers through her hair while she listened to his heartbeat. “So, what have you been doing over the holidays, aside from conducting cutting edge research?”

“A bit of reading ahead, a bit of duelling practice…you know, the likes,” Harry shrugged. “You?”

“Oh, you know. A bit of mingling at those stupid high society galas, a bit of holiday assignments, a bit of learning from tutors, a lot of father’s lectures, the likes,” she shrugged. Harry eyed her pensively, realising that the voices from her head were far quieter than before.

“Anything you care to share?” Harry probed. Amelie eyed him speculatively for several moments before nodding.

“Care for a duel?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed. The two moved to the centre of the room, wands pointed at each other. Harry frowned as she didn’t take the offensive, and cautiously send a bludgeoner spell towards her. As it screeched closer and closer, his curiosity morphed into horror as she neither dodged nor shielded, her wand still lazily to her side. “Am-”

A second before his spell collided with her body, she whipped her wand in an arc, as though striking a bludger with a beater’s bat, and causing the spell to simply fizzle out of existence. Harry blinked in shock. “That was amazing!”

“Thanks,” she grinned proudly. “Took me forever to get right.”

“Spell absorption?” He queried. Amelie blinked owlishly, before shaking her head in exasperation.

“I’m not even surprised, I swear,” she grumbled, glaring half-heartedly at him. “How do you know this? It’s not a common technique, I swear.”

“I was trying to get to grasp with spell deflection,” he shrugged. “Didn’t succeed, but learnt quite about it and its sister techniques.”

“Something you aren’t able to do at last. Should I tell the Daily Prophet?” Amelie teased. Harry rolled his eyes, thrusting his hand forward and casting a stinging spell with vastly greater speed. Amelie whipped her wand, but was too slow, and the spell struck true on her chest. “Ass.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” Harry cooed, relishing in the slight blush creeping up her neck, even as he had no doubt he was sporting a similar shade of red.

“How did you make the spell go so fast?”

“Maybe you’ve just gotten slow,” Harry chuckled, side-stepping as she flung a retching curse at him. “Touchy touchy, your time of the month?”

“Potter!” she snarled, before sending a flurry of curses at him. With amusem*nt, he dodged many and shielded against the rest, until after a few minutes, her casting had slowed dramatically and she was breathing heavily, visibly shaking from exertion. He himself felt the sweat from his forehead, dripping, yet his wandwork had not slowed.

“Tired?” he quipped as she finally stopped casting, hunched over. Her tired glare felt defanged, and he approached with a skip to his step. “Don’t look so sour, you did great!”

“How are you still standing?” she growled, though nevertheless relaxed into his touch as he pulled her into a kiss. His eyes widened as she swiped the air beneath his feet, causing him to land on the ground. Before Harry could protest, she had straddled him, pinning his hands above his head and continuing their kiss until they finally stopped, with her resting on top of him, their chests rising and falling in sync with each other, silly grins on their faces.

“Quite the position you are in,” she teased. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I’d enjoy this quite a bit more if we were a few years older.”

“Perv,” she accused, before leaning down and kissing him once again. Taking advantage of her slackened grip, Harry thrust up, basking in her squeak as he rolled them over, pinning her down.

“Quite the position, no?” he parroted, breathing on her lips. Amelie shivered, staring intently at him. Her legs wrapped around him, and she leaned up, kissing him on the lips. The two continued tussling playfully, before ending up on the couch, thoroughly exhausted but still basking in the other’s touch.

“I’ve missed this,” Amelie mused wistfully. “Can’t believe I was…yeah.”

Harry hummed noncommittally.

--Break--

Entering the transfiguration classroom, Harry and Amelie took their customary seats at the back. McGonagall was jotting down notes on the side of some papers as the remaining students slowly trickled in. As the clock arm struck its zenith, McGonagall looked up, her lips pursed.

“Welcome back. I trust your holidays were relaxing, but undoubtedly, many of you have forgotten much of what has been studied last term,” McGonagall said with pursed lips. Several of the students laughed, causing the professor to sigh. “Today, I will be going over the transfiguration alphabet again, so please do pay attention. Open your textbooks to page eight.”

Harry turned to Amelie with an incredulous look, causing her to raise a questioning eyebrow. “Is she joking?”

“What do you mean?” Amelie whispered back as McGonagall wrote out the letters and their matching pairs.

“This is the fourth time she’s going over this, surely she must realise this is a complete waste of time.”

“You…do realise there isn’t that much in the first year syllabus, right?” Amelie chuckled dryly. “What else is she going to teach?”

“I…don’t know?” Harry shrugged. “Couldn’t she give us more interesting projects like the last one?”

“Harry,” Amelie gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m probably the second, at worst third in our year’s transfiguration, and even I wouldn’t have managed any significant result without your help. Most probably had a few daydreams then gave up. Besides, where would she even come up with so many challenges?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “This class is just so…dull. Why can’t more professors be like Quirrell?”

“You and Quirrell,” Amelie chuckled. “I swear, if I were the jealous type, I’d be concerned how much you seem to adore the man.”

“He’s the best professor in the castle,” Harry shrugged unrepentantly, before a mischievous grin wormed its way to his face. “But I don’t kiss him like I do you now, do I?”

“You better not,” Amelie huffed amusedly, leaning her head on his shoulder. The two looked up, to see that the professor had finally finished explaining the theory behind the organisation of the hierarchy and begun to move onto each specific pair. “So, what’s next, genius?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “I guess just studying ahead. How far have you gone in Smyth’s textbook?”

“Sixth chapter, the intricacies of untransfiguration, why?”

“Demonstrate for me,” he requested, taking out a pebble and transfiguring it into a piece of copper. Narrowing her eyes, she pulled her wand out, tapping the metal. It fizzed slightly from where her wand tip touched the material, but it didn’t otherwise react. Harry observed patiently as she frowned, performing the wand movement and incantation as she tapped it again. This time, the metal melted slightly, but didn’t otherwise change back. Amelie sighed with exasperation.

“I swear I did it better in practice,” she groused. “What am I doing wrong?”

“If I had to guess…you’re not challenging your magic with sufficient clarity,” Harry proffered. At her confused look, he smiled. “The magic you channel has a large amount of different characteristics. There is the flow, or how much power you’re channelling a second, the clarity, or how well the magic is channelled, the concentration, or how much the magic is concentrated or diffused…and many other measurable metrics.”

“How…I’ve never heard anything like that,” Amelie frowned. “Seriously, how do you know all this stuff?”

Harry resisted the urge to say Quirrell, instead shrugging lightly. “A few books here and there. And you’re changing the subject, focus.”

Narrowing her eyes in concentration, Amelie bit her lip unconsciously, tapping the wand once again. Harry flicked his wand underneath the table, unravelling some of the transfiguration with his own magic. Amelie had a delighted gasp as the copper began to untransfigure back into the original pebble.

“Well done,” Harry smiled fondly, tapping the pebble and transfiguring it again. “Do it again, let’s lock this in.”

“Right,” Amelie agreed determinedly. Tapping her wand on the copper, this time, Harry didn’t need to intervene as she managed to untransfiguration with some difficulty. Inwardly, he pondered the fact that it was belief more than anything which enabled her to complete the piece of magic. She beamed up at him, and he found it not dissimilar to how a puppy would look to its owner for praise. In his opinion rather unnecessarily, she grinned, “I did it!”

“That you did,” Harry chuckled amusedly. Turning back to the front, Harry sighed as McGonagall was still lecturing on the thirteenth quart. “By Merlin this class seems to stretch forever.”

“Why? Excited for potions with the bat?” Amelie snickered. Harry’s nose scrunched up.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. It’s not like he actually teaches you anything. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been replaced,” Harry sighed. Amelie looked at him strangely, causing him to raise a questioning eyebrow.

“He’s Dumbledore’s man. Spied on Voldemort in the last war, or so the headmaster claims,” Amelie shrugged. Harry frowned contemplatively as Amelie observed him for several moments before flicking him on the nose.

“It makes no sense,” Harry frowned. Amelie encouraged him to continue with a hum of curiosity. “Spies, especially outed ones, are useless. If anything, Snape would be a liability after the war. Why save him?”

“I…what do you mean?” Amelie blinked.

“I’m just saying, it makes sense to cut off loose ends,” Harry shrugged. “Just think about it.”

“I…suppose so,” she frowned uncertainly. Harry could see the thoughts processing through her mind. As McGonagall dismissed the class, the duo quickly departed the classroom, heading down the stairs towards the dungeons. Several older students shot them dirty looks, though neither were particularly intimidated.

The door was already open, and the two took their usual place at the back. In several minutes, the others, rubbing their eyes blearily, shuffled into the class, unpacking and preparing for the lesson. A minute after the class was due to start, the door from the professor’s office slammed open and Snape entered, cape billowing behind.

“Welcome back to potions,” Snape drawled silkily. “While most of you dunderheads will have rotted over the holidays, I will not be wasting my time catching you up. Today, we will be brewing a simple strength potion. The instructions are on the board, begin.”

Harry and Amelie quietly shared an amused snort. Harry moved over to the cabinets, picking out flower heads, snake fangs and slimed ice, returning to see that Amelie had already finished cleaning the cauldron and begun to set up the cutting station.

Setting out the ingredients, Harry began to crush the snake fangs with the flat side of his knife while Amelie had taken the flower heads and began the arduous process of unsealing the petals’ surfaces. As he finished the fangs, he turned to see Amelie has discreetly withdrawn her wand, flicking it slightly.

“Um…professor? Something’s wrong with my potion,” Malfoy called out uncertainly, causing Snape to look up, his sour look immediately turning concerned as he stalked over to the strangely vibrating cauldron. While some of the Gryffindors snickered, Amelie and Harry quickly cast shields over their workstation, which a few of the other Slytherins had the sense to do.

Most did not, and as Snape just to make it halfway, the cauldron erupted in a large fireball, spraying sickly brown fluids all across the room. Harry raised his eyebrow at the fact Snape was able to hastily conjure a shield, protecting himself, though most of the room was not so lucky. Chunks of orange globs were strewn about the room, while many of their classmates were clutching their faces in horror. Harry rolled his eyes, for in rubbing their bodies they were simply spreading and further agitating their bodies.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered to Amelie, who nodded in amusem*nt. Casting a stasis charm on their potions, the two grabbed their packs and slipped out while Snape was busy taking stock of the situation. Once they had made it clear, the two turned to each other with silly grins, high fiving as they hightailed it to their retreat.

“So…what did you do?” Harry demanded as they closed the door.

“What makes you think I did anything?” she sing-songed innocently, waiting for him to sit on the couch before claiming a spot on his lap. “I’m the model student, I would never be caught in such a horrific act!”

“Ah, so your wand being waved moments before Malfoy starts to panic is somehow a coincidence?” Harry challenged amusedly, laughing at her pout. “You’re discreet, but not that discreet.”

“Can’t get one over you, can I?” she sighed dramatically, scowling as he pinched her cheek. “Don’t test me, Potter. You’re playing with fire.”

“What if I want to get a bit burned?” Harry whispered huskily, leaning down as though about to kiss her, their breaths tickling each other. Lightly grazing over, he pulled back, drawing an annoyed scowl from her. With a roll of her eyes, she grabbed him by the cheeks, pulling him in and prodding his teeth with her tongue.

Opening up, his eyes widened as their tongues began intermingling, massaging each other and forcing involuntary moans from both as their bodies pressed tighter and tighter together, needing more of the other’s touch. When the need for air finally overcame them, their lips parted, panting heavily, though their foreheads remained together.

“That was…”

“Yeah…”

The two chuckled. Amelie wiggled slightly before nestling into a more comfortable position on him. Harry observed her as she smiled coyly. “Tell me, did you ruin Malfoy’s potion just to get some kissing time?”

“Are you complaining?” she grinned challengingly. Harry shook his head. “Then what does it matter?”

--Break--

As Harry entered the room, he frowned at the fact Quirrell did not seem to be present yet. With a shrug, he closed the door, only to frown as he felt a slight ebb in his mind. Closing his eyes, he concentrated his energies before lashing out in a burst of legilimenic shock, trying to block out the strain this placed on his mind. Knowing the professor was in the room but not yet able to locate the man, he

“Ellow,” professor Quirrell slashed his wand, sending a bolt of yellow lightning towards him. Harry dodged to the side, though as the bolt struck the ground, electricity lashed out in tendrils, catching him and sending shocks through his body.

“Argh,” Harry exclaimed, his muscles spasming and causing him to trip over. Quirrell, taskmaster he was, didn’t let up, firing a low powered reductor at him. Harry hurled himself to the side, narrowly avoiding being heavily bruised, though fragments of torn rock peppered his face, lightly drawing cuts. Thrusting his wand forward, he sent a spray of fire at Quirrell, though the man dispelled the flames with laughable ease.

Getting up, Harry frowned as the wind picked up around him, swirling fragments of rock menacingly at him. Wincing as the smaller fragments began racing around him, making light incisions on the exposed flesh on his face and limbs, Harry tried blasting them the best he could. As though mocking him, the rubbles suddenly began to hurl themselves at him all at once. Instinctually, Harry closed his eyes, preparing for the pain about to be unleashed…yet it never came.

Opening his eyes, he gasped at the sight of a translucent green dome having formed around him, holding back the fragments at bay. Even as the rubble fell to the ground and Quirrell stepped forward, Harry couldn’t help the grin on his face.

“Very well done, mister Potter,” the professor smiled. “It seemed all you needed was a little push, no?”

“I suppose,” Harry conceded with some reluctance. Despite evident success, the professor’s methods were unkind. “How did you shield yourself from my legilimency burst?”

“That, mister Potter, is a technique I term as occlumic infusion, though it is far beyond even your prodigious abilities for the moment. I must admit, I am impressed by your dedication. Tell me, do you enjoy your time here at Hogwarts?”

“Why do you ask that?” Harry frowned. “I thought Hogwarts was your alma mater?”

“I am far from the sentimental type,” Quirrell snorted. “Had I been able to access other opportunities, I would have done so in a heartbeat.”

“Where else would I go? Beauxbatons is far too soft and delicate from what I’ve heard. Ilvermorny, Castelobruxo, Darius and the Asian schools are far from here, and Koldovstoretz and Durmstrang are so secretive that it’s basically impossible to know much about them. Besides, I have little reason to complain. You are an excellent tutor, and I’ve found companionship in Amelie. I’m content with what I have.”

“Hmm,” the professor hummed thoughtfully. Harry thought there might have been a slight frown on the man’s face, though it was gone in a blink, and he couldn’t be sure if it were a trick of the light. “You are aware that I shall not be a professor at Hogwarts next year, and pardon my arrogance, but I doubt my successor will match me in capability or favouritism towards you.”

“Why wouldn’t you stay?” Harry frowned. “Surely the headmaster wouldn’t want to replace y-”

“There are…rumours, of a curse placed decades ago on the position of professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. A vengeful rejected candidate, so the rumours whisper,” Quirrell mused. “Perhaps it is true, perhaps it isn’t, but I have no wish to incur the wrath of such magic. My predecessor, Rapick, was nearly crushed to death by a piece of rubble that fell from the ceiling over the summer as he was preparing for his second year.”

“Such magic is possible?” Harry frowned, before his expression turned thoughtful. “How would such magic work? Is it attached to the position? The idea of the role? The name? Would changing the title to something like ‘magical defence’ work?”

“That is an interesting point of speculation,” Quirrell chuckled. “As to the specifics, only the caster knows, and they have never chosen to reveal such details. I have no wish to risk going against such magics.”

“I…see,” Harry sighed disappointedly.

“But surely you have other reasons to stay. In my youth, I found…solace within these castle walls. A home, if you will.”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose I have Amelie, and the library is an invaluable resource, but it’s not like there’s much else. None of my other classes are particularly rewarding. I wouldn’t be opposed to transferring, per say, just that I have little reason to at the moment.”

“I see,” Quirrell hummed thoughtfully.

--Break--

Finishing dinner, Harry and Amelie walked towards their room, though Harry frowned as he felt a slight ripple from behind them. Turning around, he frowned, scanning the area but seeing no person or shadow.

“What?” Amelie asked concernedly, drawing her wand and taking a protective stance. Inwardly pleased with her reaction, Harry nevertheless did not allow himself to be distracted, casting several detection charms and frowning as nothing came up.

“I could have sworn,” Harry muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

With a bemused nod of agreement, the two turned around, continuing to walk when suddenly felt a burst of magic from behind. Throwing himself at Amelie, the two were knocked to the side, narrowly avoiding several sets of rope soaring past where they had stood but a moment ago.

Whipping out his wand, Harry sent a burst of water, causing several outlines to become visible as screams of pain were heard. In a split second, Amelie fired off a lightning spell, causing the screams to redouble.

“That’s enough,” Harry urged after realising what she had done. At her lack of cessation, Harry slapped her wand to the side, shaking her on the shoulder and sighing in relief as her clouded eyes cleared. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out heavily, cringing at the charred bodies. “I don’t know…I don’t know what came over me.”

“It was a good spell,” Harry chuckled, pulling her into his chest. She purred contentedly at the motion. “Feel like figuring out why they came after us?”

“Let me try,” Amelie grinned predatorily, binding them all in robes before casting a rennevate on one of the students. Blinking groggily, the girl scowled at the sight of the two.

“You’ll let me go if you-” Amelie flicked her wand, sending a cutting spell that split her ear in two. The girl let out a howl of pain. With a roll of his eyes, Harry weaved a silencing spell around them, lest they get interrupted.

“Why did you attack us?” she demanded. The girl stared back defiantly, spitting in Amelie’s face. Amelie retaliated with another cutting curse to the other ear, causing the girl to howl in pain again, whimpering.

“You won’t get away with this,” she warned weakly. As Amelie raised her wand, the girl hastily added, “You weren’t supposed to be in the picture. We were after him!”

Turning, the girl glared at Harry, giving him the perfect opportunity to enter the girl’s mind. Beneath the layers of fear, he could see the envy towards him. Apparently McGonagall had been telling the sixth years about his work in transfiguration. Delving deeper, he found that Jugson had subtly stoked their resentment, working from behind the scenes to get this attack on him executed.

Withdrawing from her mind, Harry cursed inwardly at the scrutinous look Amelie was giving him.

“Legilimency?” she asked testily. “How long?”

“A…a while,” Harry admitted reluctantly. “Not commonly, I swear. Just when we were-”

“-don’t,” Amelie interrupted harshly, before her expression softened slightly. “Look…I just…I understand why you did it. Merlin knows I would have in the same circ*mstance. I certainly haven’t been the best at communicating. Just don’t…just don’t do it anymore, okay?”

“I promise,” Harry agreed quickly. “I’ll help you train your occlumency too, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Amelie smiled softly, before scowling at the bodies around them. “What about them?”

“Seems like a great opportunity for your first legilimency lesson, no?” Harry grinned. “Do you know how to enter their minds?”

Amelie nodded, and Harry pointed to one of the unconscious boys. “Enter his mind, be prepared for a bit of strain. No doubt his pea brain will struggle to sustain multiple probes.”

As he saw Amelie enter the boy’s mind, Harry took in a deep breath, preparing to enter the boy’s mind when suddenly Quirrell appeared, wand in hand. Before he could react, the professor had tapped his wand on Amelie’s head, causing her eyes to glaze over.

“What are you doing?” Harry exclaimed. The professor did not respond for a moment, until he cast a stunning spell, causing Amelie to fall to the ground. Turning to face him, Quirrell didn’t seem the least bit phased.

“What you should have done,” he answered unsympathetically. “I’ll take care of this, you just go somewhere crowded. You’ll want some witnesses, preferably another professor.”

Gulping, Harry spared one last glance to the unconscious Amelie before leaving.

Chapter 7: Tests and Tribulations

Chapter Text

Sitting by Amelie’s side in the hospital wing, he ignored Pomfrey’s sympathetic look, holding her hand in his own as he tried to swallow his own guilt. Around, the other older students were in various states of pain, burn marks all across their skin. Hearing a soft groan, his attention immediately redoubled at Amelie, who was blinking blearily.

“Hey, hey, are you alright?” Harry asked softly. He tried not to relish too much in the way she relaxed into his touch. “It’s me, don’t worry, you’re safe.”

“What happened?” she rasped out confusedly. Ignoring her question for the moment, Harry took the glass of water on her bedside and tilted it to her lips, allowing her to drink the liquid greedily.

“Tell me the last thing you remember,” he encouraged. Amelie frowned, thinking for a moment before answering.

“We knocked them out. I renevated one of them and they headbutted me or something. That’s…that’s all I remember,” Amelie shrugged. Harry swallowed his guilt, nodding.

“Pretty much all that’s important then,” Harry mused, smiling and squeezing her hand reassuringly. He only narrowly managed to avoid cringing as she leaned in, basking in his touch. “How are you feeling?”

“Slightly stiff, but mainly it’s my pride that’s wounded,” she chuckled with self-deprecation. There was an almost hungry glint in her eye. “I guess this means we need to train more. You’ve been holding back on me, haven’t you?”

“Just-”

“That’s a yes then,” Amelie rolled her eyes. “Harry, I thought we'd talked about this. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

“One can never be completely prepared,” Harry assuaged. “I don’t think any amount of our normal training could have prevented that. Situational awareness is something that has to be learnt through experience.”

“Then how do you have such awareness?” she challenged. Harry frowned, causing her to roll her eyes once again. “Don’t play the fool, I’ve been watching you. When you enter a room, you’re scanning the exit, looking for vantage points. Potions, on our first day, you picked the back corner seat instinctually.”

“As I said, experience,” Harry shrugged. “My childhood wasn’t the best.”

He could sense her frustration, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of pressing him on the matter. After several moments, it seemed her caution won out, causing him to feel a mix of relief and guilt at this manipulation.

“Then you’ll just have to teach me,” she pressed. Harry nodded in agreement; he’d give her this win.

--Break--

“Your first year exams are coming up,” professor Sinistra said with a severe look. “We’ve covered everything expected of you for the time being, so the next few weeks will be spent on purely solidifying your understanding or catching up in aspects where you find yourself lacking.”

Her gaze lingered Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnegan, who were quietly whispering to each other. The professor took in a sharp breath, but seemingly decided better of confronting them.

“Given the rather forgiving nature of these exams, no one should be getting below an Acceptable, and most of you should be aiming for an Exceeds Expectations, if not an Outstanding. Mastering either theory or practicals will ensure the former, while a mastery of both is required for the latter,” she explained. At the confused looks from most of the students, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Seeing as the other professors haven’t seen fit to explain the grading system beyond the tiers, allow me to explain.”

With a flourish of her wand, the six grades of ‘troll’, ‘dreadful’, ‘poor’, ‘acceptable’, ‘exceeds expectations’ and ‘outstanding’ appeared on the board. “You should know by now there are three passing grades and three failing ones. ‘Troll’ is usually reserved for those who miss the exams or suffer abhorrent performance due to unforeseen circ*mstances. Dreadful is for a general fail, and ‘poor’ is a narrow fail. ‘Acceptable’ is a baseline understanding of the content. Exceeds Expectations is where a student demonstrates either above adequate but not remarkable ability in both practical and theoretical applications, or is at outstanding level for one but not the other. ”

She paused, looking around the room to see if there were any questions. Harry raised his hand, causing her to point to him.

“Are we graded on a curve or benchmark?” he queried.

“The ministry regularly adjusts the benchmarks, and so long as you meet the requirements, you are given the grade. We do not grade on curves or set quotas, so I encourage you all to support each other in revision and practice,” she answered, to which Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Any oth-miss Granger?”

“Can you give us some statistics?” the girl asked eagerly. Several other students peered at her, though she seemed oblivious.

“Three in ten of you will excel enough in either theory or practical applications to justify an ‘Exceeds Expectations’, while roughly one in ten will demonstrate enough for an ‘Outstanding’. There have been years without outstandings at all, and years where nearly a third of students will achieve the grade. That should be sufficient for our purposes, let’s get practising. Take out your maps of Jupiter’s moons and make amendments.”

As the class scattered to do their work, Harry pulled out a blanket and unshrunk it, wrapping it around himself and Amelie as the two huddled next to the lens of the telescope. While he began positioning it and adjusting the focus, she pulled out the chart and assembled the drawing equipment.

“We’ve fudged up the Himalia group, but everything else is fine, I think,” Amelie proffered as the two took turns making micro-adjustments in an attempt to find the correct area to document.

“Have you finished Snape’s essay?” she asked as Harry began scribbling down some amendments to their lunar chart.

“Yep. I still can’t believe we were forced to do an essay on Fanged Geranium because Weasley somehow made his strengthening potion sentient,” Harry groused. Amelie chuckled under her breath, snuggling closer to his side. “You?”

“I finished it two days ago. Still stuck on Flitwick’s essay on making a pineapple dance across a desk. What in merlin does that have to do with anything useful?”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry chuckled, flicking her nose with mirth in his eyes. She huffed petulantly, elbowing him lightly. “Want me to reveal the answer?”

“Fine,” she conceded after a moment’s hesitation, causing him to laugh inwardly at her stubbornness. “What is it, o wise one?”

“It’s meant to ease the transition between charmswork and transfiguration. In some practical applications, there can be a combination of the two. Battle-transfiguration, for instance, often actually incorporates charms. If you can do the same thing with a charm, it’s usually better to do so because-”

“-it takes less magic,” she finished knowingly. “Never quite thought about it that way…what I wouldn’t give to pick your brain apart.”

“Should I be worried?” Harry chuckled, causing her to grin up at him, cheshire smile on her lips.

“Very.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to be careful.” Amelie snuggled up tighter to his side, nuzzling into his neck. “But I’ve been never to shy away from fire.”

“Too true,” she agreed with a laugh. “What are your plans over the summer? You haven’t talked much about it.”

“Travel around the world a bit, find tutors to train me up, just assimilate more into magical culture, I guess,” Harry shrugged. “You?”

“I’m probably going to be tutored over the summer as well. I’ll also be participating in the duelling circuit in Paris. Perhaps you can come to watch?” she proffered lightly, a hint of nervousness that wasn’t fully hidden.

“I’ll be sure to stop by,” Harry assured with a smile, pretending not to notice the way she relaxed slightly at his promise.

“You should consider joining, you know?” she mused. “I’m sure you’d trouce everyone in the U12 and U15s, maybe even the U18s.”

“To what avail?” Harry shrugged, eliciting a confused hum. “What would becoming a renown duellist help me achieve?”

“Um…fame? Recognition? Practise?” Amelie shrugged. “It’s a lucrative career path, more so than even Quidditch at the highest ranks. Less so in Europe, I suppose, but in Asia and America, duelling is a huge deal.”

“I’d rather keep my talents less well known for now,” Harry admitted. “I’m already famous enough as the boy-who-lived, and my inevitable growth in the academic world. I have a target on my back, enemies who would want to see me hurt, and any surprise I can keep from them is an edge to have. Take the fifth years who assaulted us. Do you think they would have been so sloppy had they known our prowess?”

“Well I…” Amelie shifted uncomfortably.

“Your family’s prowess is built on duelling, thus it's understandable, expected even that you would be powerful in this respect. For anyone who doesn’t believe the fictional nonsense, they’ll find scant evidence of my prowess in combat,” Harry shrugged. “I would prefer to keep it this way as long as possible.”

“What ab-”

“If you are referring to the so-called witnesses, they won’t speak for fear of humiliation. A simple water conjuring and lightning spell? Mere basic fourth year charms. Besides, even if they talked, who would take the word of children seriously?”

“You’re quite strange,” she mused, staring up at the stars, a slight gleam to her eyes. “I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

He had a retort on his lips, but considered and realised she was quite right. Instead, he merely smiled.

--Break--

Quirrell sent a flurry of cutting spells towards him, forcing Harry to raise a shield charm to protect himself. The multi-coloured bolts splashed harmlessly, almost lazily against the barrier, in stark contrast to the fatigue evidenced by trembling hands and beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Good, your shield has strengthened,” Quirrell appraised, slashing his wand and sending an arc of purple magic towards him. Harry winced, rolling to the side as the spell seared past him, gouging the wall behind with vengeance. He retaliated with a warhammer curse, the strain of which caused him to fall to one knee.

“Impressive.” Harry couldn’t tell if the professor was being sarcastic or not. His eyes widened in incredulity as the man raised a shield Harry couldn’t recognise. His spell collided with the translucent yellow surface, kicking up a whirlwind of dust as the shield actually caved slightly inward as though pressing a finger on a ball of dough. As the spell lost its power, the professor dismissed his shield, a faint smirk on his face. “I’m surprised, that is not a spell I have taught you, nor one you’ll find in the library.”

“Only the foolish apprentice seeks knowledge from one master,” Harry shrugged, climbing to his feet. Quirrell nodded thoughtfully, before flicking his wand towards him.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry instinctually rolled to the side, his occlumency clamping down on his shock. Anger began to rise, and he raised his wand, ready to make his final stand, before he took several breaths, rational mind tak…eyes narrowed, Harry demanded “How are you doing this?”

“Fascinating,” Quirrell peered at him scrutinously. “Very few would be conscious of an auratic presence.”

“You’re projecting your aura?” Harry frowned, redoubling his occlumency yet feeling little resistance towards the calming effect being projected. “Why can’t I stop it?”

“Interesting,” Quirrell mused thoughtfully, before chuckling. “Thank you for indulging in my experiment. It seems you have used a crutch in your occlumency.”

“What do you mean?” Harry frowned. As far as he knew, he hadn’t taken any shortcuts. If the foundations of his knowledge were wrong…he dreaded the thought of not only having to start over again, but unlearn everything he had accomplished thus far.

“It is not necessarily a flaw persay,” Quirrell assured, no doubt suspecting his thoughts. “There is a spectrum towards the mind arts between hard and soft. You have employed a significant amount of soft occlumency, meaning your mind, whether unconsciously or consciously, reacts to external stimuli.”

“What do you mean?”

“For those without occlumency, my aura would have conjured up a feeling of dread and worry, albeit mildly. It was in amounts that your conscious mind wouldn’t notice your stimuli, but that your unconscious mind would react to, albeit overcompensating out of instinct,” Quirrell smiled, before chuckling at Harry’s gobsmacked expression. “You are prodigious, but you have yet to reach my level.”

“I’ll do so one day,” Harry resolved firmly. Quirrell shook his head, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt at the seeming rejection of his admired mentor.

“You’ll surpass me, far beyond, even, that I am sure,” the professor chuckled. At Harry’s incredulous look, the man sighed. “You do not realise the talent you possess, for which I blame Hogwarts. In Dumbledore’s pursuit of equity, he neglects the descent of greatness into mediocrity. It is quite a strange thing…in the East, they often preach of unity, and yet greatness is fostered with little pretence of equality; here in the West where we preach individuality and freedom, we deny those with potential the right to self-exploration.”

“Why do you dislike Hogwarts so much?” Harry challenged.

“It is not that I dislike Hogwarts so much as I dislike the thought of you staying here. For many, it will be the optimal learning environment. Yet for those brimming with potential, there are far better places for it to be cultivated,” the professor explained.

“And where would I even begin to get information on other schools? I’ve checked the ministry, mailed the ICW and everything else, and yet I’m basically told to stick to Hogwarts or go to Beauxbatons.”

“Yes, I would be surprised if you weren’t resisted,” Quirrell grimaced. “Dumbledore has worked hard to keep the exodus of students from Britain to a minimum. To be fair, most other magical schools do the same. Mail a man named Igor Karkaroff, he is the highmaster of Durmstrang. He will be most eager to poach you as a student, and the environment there will be best suited for you.”

“Why not another school, Koldovstoretz for instance?” Harry queried. Quirrell’s face was briefly marred by a frown, but it was gone before Harry could deduce the cause.

“Each school has its own characteristics. Koldovstoretz, as you proffered, is known for its brutality and hostility to outsiders. They have produced many outstanding duellists, yes, but their students are hopelessly outmatched in other respects, save maybe potions. Transfiguration, for instance, has long been a weakness, leaving their students vulnerable to battle transfiguration. They would not take you in regardless, they cater nearly exclusively to the exiled Whites.”

“And the others?” Harry prodded.

“Uagadou and Mahoutokoro are the only two other schools that have any emphasis on combative magic. The former incorporates a significant amount of time into tribal magic. Again, not being a local student would render you persona non grata. Mahoutokoro guards its secrets with similar jealousy, notwithstanding their, at least in my opinion, overemphasis on tradition and heritage. No, at Durmstrang, the only thing that matters is power, and it is where I know you’ll thrive the most.”

“How do you know so much?” Harry queried in amazement. Quirrell chuckled with a shake of his head.

“Travelling the world. I encourage you to do so, perhaps even over this summer. Your family should have left you with a comfortable fortune, more than enough to accommodate this. You will find the experiences far outweigh what any textbook can show you. And before I forget, here.” Quirrell passed a piece of parchment with several names on it. “A list of some old acquaintances who will make good tutors for you. But for now, this will be our final session.”

“Thank you, professor,” Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement. “For everything.”

“No, thank you, mister Potter. It is rare for me to find such an interesting opportunity. It makes life all the more interesting.”

--Break--

Harry finished penning the final letter, handing it off to Hedwig, who nipped him on the ear and hooted affectionately, sticking her foot out. Tying it to her, he ruffled her feathers playfully, to which the owl crooned before flying out of the window.

“Whatcha doing?” Amelie queried, making herself known as she set down a plate of snacks in front of him.

“You and your sweet tooth,” he chuckled with a sigh, causing her to grin unabashedly. “I’m just sending off letters to potential tutors over the summer. Hopefully at least one will agree.”

“Who do you have in mind?” she prodded, nabbing the list off his table. Her eyebrows raised delicately at the names. “Interesting picks…a lot of dark individuals, not that I’m one to judge. Feiner is probably the best on the list, but she’s notoriously selective on which students she takes. Mucenieks is a ruthless task master, but some of the best in the world have learnt from him. Whoever gave you this list knows their stuff.”

“What makes you think that I didn’t headhunt them myself?” Harry challenged. Amelie gave a light snort.

“Prodigy at magic you may be, you’re still hopeless at politics. These aren’t your Dumak and Parrinos, most duellists probably wouldn’t know a single name on your list. And unless you’ve been holding out on me, I really doubt you’d possess the connections needed for such a list of names. I daresay there are maybe a hundred individuals on the planet who could compile such a list, if that many.”

“You’re right of course,” Harry chuckled. “I used a favour from a fan.”

“Some fan you must have,” Amelie mused, before shaking her head. “One final duel before the exams start?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed easily, walking with her to their makeshift duelling pit. The two bowed to each other, before she began circling him. Harry didn’t bother to turn to met her, his wand still lazily to his side, though his senses could not be more alert.

He felt the shift in the air as she drew back her wand, and felt the gathering of magic. Still he did not move, waiting patiently as a spell formed, a banisher if he deduced correctly. Waiting until the last moment, he whipped around, slashing his wand and dissolving the spell on the tip of his wand. Amelie rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging on her lips. “Showoff.”

Slashing her wand, she send several arcs of magic towards him, to which he whirled his own instrument, moulding the magic’s density into spheres and having them orbit him for several moments before sending them hurtling back towards her. Amelie laughed at the display, easily raising a shield that absorbed the magic. Harry didn’t let up, thrusting his wand forward and conjuring several flaming arrows towards her.

With an arched eyebrow, Amelie sent a blasting hex, blowing up the projectiles. Harry rolled his eyes, chastising, “You should get your transfiguration up to scratch. It will be a hindrance for you not to do so.”

“Easier said than done, prodigy,” she retorted, conjuring a spear and banishing it towards him. He appreciated the effort, even if the edges of the conjuration were blurred from a lack of precision. Swishing his wand, he unravelled her magic, turning it into several birds that careened towards her. Amelie rolled to the side, firing of a torrent of flames and incinerating them.

Harry, however, had not been idle, conjuring a stream of water and sending it straight towards her flames. The hissing sound of water boiling was followed by the misting over of the room. Tapping his wand on his forehead, the cool sensation of an egg being cracked indicated his successful disillusionment, to which he began prowling around for her.

Rather than dispel the mist, she sought to mimic him, having disappeared from where she last stood. With amusem*nt, Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration, resisting his instincts reaching out to detect her magical presence. Only when he sensed her magic gathering in a spell did Harry flurry into action, using a freezing charm in the area where he gathered she was.

Within moments, he heard a frustrated growl as she was slowly encased within ice. His eyes widened as a red glow quickly began to expand, and narrowly avoided severe burns with a hastily raised shield.

The flames engulfed the entire pit, before coiling up into the shape of a giant thesteral. Harry could only watch in awe, doubting even he could come up with such a spell. As the flames closed in, he reinforced his shield, only to blink in shock as they passed through without being hindered.

Occlumency clamping down, half a second became three as he swished his wand, conjuring a solid wall of ice around him. Cocooned, he resisted the chilly shake of his body, nervously observe the outer layers quickly melting away even as he reinforced the cooling charms.

Then, at once, the flames seemed to vanish, revealing Amelie hunched over, sweat visibly dripping, but a smug look on her face, which quickly gave way to shock.

“Impressive,” Harry conceded with a genuine smile, “family magic?”

“Indeed,” she nodded. “It wouldn’t have killed you, but definitely hurt. How did you...”

“Transfiguration,” Harry answered wryly, chuckling at her scowl. “I’m telling you, pay a little more attention to the subject.”

“There’s nothing that charms can’t match or surpass,” she countered. Harry rolled his eyes, summoning over several desks and transfiguring them into golems two meters high. As she began firing off blasting and gouging curses, Harry layered on charms and transfigurations, repairing the damage she inflicted. As they neared, fists raised, Amelie rolled out of the way, only to find Harry had moved, and had his wand at her forehead, glowing an ominous red.

“Seems like I’ve proven otherwise,” Harry chuckled. “Concede?”

Amelie proved there was still fight in her, slapping his wrist and causing his stunner to miss. Ducking under his extended hand, she slammed an elbow into his stomach, causing Harry to stagger back, though he barely clenched onto his wand. Seeing little way out, he braced himself, thrusting his wand downward and firing a banisher.

The effect was instantaneous, throwing the two apart like ragdolls. Amelie bore the brunt of it, having been unprepared and being the lighter of the two, though Harry did not escape unscathed, wincing at the inevitable bruising that would happen. Quickly recovering to his feet, he fired off a disarming spell, which hit Amelie square in the chest, stealing her breath away as her wand flew into his hand.

“Nice try,” Harry mused, to which Amelie shrugged sheepishly.

“It was worth an attempt.” She winced, rolling her shoulder slightly. “Ugh, that’s going to hurt like a hag. Did you have to use such a powerful banisher?”

“You didn’t have to refuse to concede either,” Harry retorted amusedly, pulling her into a hug and pecking her on the lips. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“I’m covered in sweat, my hair is a mess, I smell like a troll and-mph-” Harry silenced her with a kiss. She half-heartedly resisted his embrace before melting into it.

--Break--

“Right, everyone is here,” the ICW official in charge of the examinations, a stern, grey haired man, nodded, settling down his clipboard. “Seeing as this is the first year Hogwarts has introduced International exams, allow me to explain how the general process works. These exams are separate from your internal exams, and are made to ensure international standards are comparable. You will be given a diverse set of questions, ranging from basic to outside the scope of what you have been taught. Simply attempt this to the best of your ability to be sufficient. You will be graded on a percentile, compared to the world benchmark as well as your peers at Hogwarts.”

For potions, you have a theoretical paper with ten short questions and three long questions. You also have the ingredients to brew a strengthening solution. The total time you’ll have to complete both tasks is three hours. Begin.”

Harry mentally calculated the time needed to get through everything. Using the tricks Amelie had taught him, He was confident he could finish the potion in roughly two hours. With the textbook recipe, it would take nearly the full amount of time. Thus, he could not hide his incredulity at the fact many of his yearmates had decided to tackle the papers first, dooming them to an incomplete potion.

Shaking his head, Harry quickly conjured some water and lit the wood underneath his cauldron, observing to make sure it was beginning to heat to a boil before beginning to powder his gryphon claw. Of the roughly fifty individuals in this particular hall, only three, himself included, were working on the potion. He wondered if the situation was similar in the other halls.

Seeing that his water was bubbling, Harry tossed in the black powder, stirring constantly as he observed the solution turn a pale grey. Turning to the distiller, Harry placed in the vial of salamander blood, ignoring the candle and casting a heating charm on the glass instead.

With the initial prep-work done, Harry looked up at the clock to see roughly thirty minutes had passed. Turning to his papers, he pulled out a quill and began to read through the question.

‘What are the two defining characteristics of flobberworm mucus? Name two potions it is used in.’

Harry rolled his eyes, for the answer was its green colour and slimy consistency. One of the first potions ever taught, the cure for boils, used this. A second was the herbicide potion.

The other short questions were similar tests of recollection, which he breezed through within fifteen minutes. Reaching the first of two long answer questions, Harry arched an eyebrow.

‘Discuss the relative effectiveness of a bezoar compared to a standard common antidote. Make reference to the inclusion of a bezoar as an ingredient in the antidote.’

This was a challenging question, given bezoars were only fully discussed in the third year curriculum. He doubted most of his classmates could answer this question, but had little problem given Amelie had drilled into him the properties of many potion materials.

A bezoar was much like a sponge, absorbing most common toxins around it. As one destroyed it, such as through dicing it to chunks and dissolving it into the potion, it lost its effectiveness. Yet, a bezoar by nature could only be shoved as far as the throat, which meant poisons that had already invaded the bloodstream, lymphatic or nervous system would not be effectively cured unless the bezoar, even at reduced effectiveness, entered the body system. Thus, determining the extent of the poison’s spread was key to deciding between them.

Writing as much, Harry looked up, hiding a sigh at the growing panic palpable in the room. It seemed many of his yearmates had finally reached the long questions, and were struggling to answer. If they were smart, they’d list what they knew about the antidote for partial marks and quickly move on.

Reading the second question, his eyes bulged.

‘Evaluate any two of the three theories on Felix Felicius with each other.’

Now Harry was certain that this was beyond the limits of any reasonable student. He only knew this out of idle curiosity, having been looking for potions that could prove useful in combat situations.

The Budge theory, from the man who invented the concoction himself, suggested that the potion enhanced the potency of one’s magic, which would in turn increase the abilities of the person temporarily. Due to the lack of evidence, most discounted this theory.

The Holbrick theory, from the famous philosopher and alchemist, suggested that it was a mental unblock of an individual, increasing the confidence and thus the manifestation of magical will to alter the nature of one’s surroundings to their desires. It was a similar, though not identical postulation to Budge’s.

The Maximillian theory, newest of the three, suggested that it was a mere psychological trick, a placebo effect in which the belief in the potion’s effectiveness created confidence, which based on the risk-adverse nature of individuals meant that the individual acted closer to the statistical optimum.

Harry began penning his answer, deciding to focus on the Budge and Maximillian theories, the former given its symbolic significance and the latter based on the relative substantiation of what limited evidence existed. That the common side effects included overconfidence and associated risks seemed to support this.

Looking at the final question, he shook his head, knowing he had little hope in answering it. ‘Evaluate the stability matrix of veritaserum in comparison to a compulsion potion of your choice and how the difficulty of modification is associated with them.’

Making sure to check on his potion regularly, he read over his other answers to make sure he was satisfied, before turning to watch his distiller, which had just begun producing the first droplets of near perfectly pure salamander blood. Looking around, he noticed many of his classmates had seemingly given up on the theoretical paper, now working frantically to brew their potions as they realised they had but an hour and a half left.

As he got the blood, Harry added it to his brew drop by drop, waiting for it to fully meld with the solution before continuing. After that, he cut the heat, casting a cooling charm and causing a slight hiss as the solution was rapidly chilled. This would ensure the intermolecular bindings were more secure, producing a better potion.

Taking a vial, he inspected it, cast an impervious charm before scooping up some of the solution. Taking it to his nose, he gave it a light whiff, satisfied at the shimmery turquoise colour.

Satisfied, he raised his hand, signalling he was done and ready to leave. The ICW official was mildly surprised, but collected his vial, attaching a sticker with his candidate number on it and his papers before indicating he could leave.

Walking out of the hall, Harry breathed a sigh of relief, for that had been more challenging than expected. Arriving at the courtyard, he had a fond smile at Amelie lazing by a tree. “Finished so fast?”

“Yep,” she perked up at the sight of him, waltzing over and claiming his lips in a kiss. “Finally got to show off a bit, the long questions were rather tough.”

“I skipped the third one in its entirety,” Harry shrugged. “No idea on that.”

“It’s definitely out of reach, boggled my mind when I learnt it, so I’m not surprised. I only knew the basics, and that was under a world class private tutor,” Amelie roused. “I’m more surprised at how many of our yearmates saw fit not to start the potion immediately.”

“Yep, that was definitely a strange one,” Harry agreed. “I wonder if Snape will throw a tantrum.”

Amelie laughed at the thought, and Harry quickly joined in.

--Break--

“Today’s section will be on combative magic,” the ICW official announced. “I have been made aware that Hogwarts does not teach the Dark Arts, and thus some of the questions you will not be able to attempt meaningfully. Simply fill it in the best way you can. Once you are finished, signal to an invigilator, and they will collect your papers. Afterwards, you will be led on to a practical session. Questions?”

Seeing none, he tapped his watch. “You have two hours, you may begin.”

Looking down at the paper, he smiled, noting the first few questions were extremely easy. ‘Name one shield spell (along with incantation and wand movement) and identify its main weakness.’

Harry wrote down the forbis shield, noting how it shielded against magic but not physical objects.

‘Explain the difference between a blasting curse and a blasting hex.’

In essence, the former was more powerful than the latter because more emotion and magic was channelled in a curse compared to a hex.

The next few questions were simple ones, though he paused at the eighth.

‘What are the three fundamental branches of the dark arts? How is it different from the three main vehicles of the dark arts’ Harry blinked, taken off guard by the question. Hogwarts did not teach the subject, and he only had the barest of insights through Quirrell.

Physical, mental and soul magic formed the unholy trifecta of branches, each focused on a different aspect of attack. The vehicles to achieve this, in contrast, could be divided into direct magic (i.e. transfiguration and charms), indirect extrinsic magic (i.e. potions and alchemy) or indirect intrinsic magic (i.e. rituals).

‘Evaluate three ways a patronus charm could be used in a combat situation.’

This returned to more comfortable ground for Harry, who smiled as he wrote his answers: distraction, communication and as a light source. While simple in theory, many overlooked this in favour of simply combatting dementors, lethifolds and other such creatures.

Breezing through the next few questions on more complicated charms, duelling protocol and situational awareness, he paused at the twentieth question.

‘Suggest a battle-ritual that would be useful when outnumbered and the challenges of utilising such.’ Harry blinked, having no idea what a battle ritual even was. Assumedly it would be a ritual that could be scrappily made under combat conditions, though he had always thought that rituals required extreme precision.

Skipping over, he answered the next few, before finding himself completely baffled by a dozen questions on the dark arts, which he knew he had no hope of answering. Scrolling to the end, he realised that he could add little more, and raised his hand for the invigilator.

As he was guided to the next room, a stern looking witch gestured for him to approach. “Right, cast a protego for me, please.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, for a shield charm was not managed by some adults, let alone for a first year. Still, he heeded, casting the shield and watching himself cocooned by a translucent barrier.

“Hold it as best as you can,” she instructed, before casting a reductor hex. It splattered against his shield, yielding little. Betraying mild admiration, she continued casting various spells, before moving through various shield-piercing curses. His shield bent and warped, but never broke until finally, a strange purple spell with the incantation ‘acus’ caused it to shatter. Eyes wide, he made a note to research the spell. “Not bad, not bad at all.”

Making a few notes on her pad, she conjured several clay pots. “Shoot them as best as you can using cutting curses.”

With little warning, she threw one in the air and sent a banisher, causing it to hurtle sideways. Harry slashed his wand quickly, sending a cutting curse that carved cleanly through the ceramic. This time, the invigilator gaped before quickly composing herself, firing off several more in rapid succession. Harry hit each one without fail.

“Good, now what is the darkest spell you know?”

“The imperius,” Harry answered simply, causing the witch’s eyebrow to raise.

“An…interesting choice. Explain.”

“The killing curse, ultimately, grants its victim a relatively quick death. The cruciatus, at its fullest potential, can do innumerable damage to all of the trifecta of being, yet it is merely pain. The imperius strips away your free will, the ability to make coignant choices. And isn’t that what separates us from animals?” Harry shrugged. The witch nodded thoughtfully, scribbling on her clipboard.

“Can you cast the spell?” she inquired.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I’ve never had a chance to practice.”

“Ah yes,” she glanced down, “You are a first year, not to mention here in Hogwarts; I doubt you would have gotten a dispensation. Nevermind, do you know the dirupo curse?”

Harry nodded. She conjured a dummy, gesturing for him to fire the spell. Performing it, Harry watched the purple jet of light slam into it, leaving a mild gash. The invigilator seemed disappointed, muttering under her breath.

“That will be all, thank you. You may go.” Thanking the witch, he quickly departed, intent on finding Amelie. She had been in an earlier session, and had promised to wait for him in their room. Eagerly heading to their hideout, he entered, frowning at the lack of her presence. At closer inspection, he realised many of her personal artefacts were missing.

--Break--

‘Hoot!’ At dinner, a grey owl interrupted his meal, extending its leg, which had a formal envelope tied to it. His heart dropped slightly at the sight of a formal Rosier seal. Feeding the creature a slice of bacon and watching it fly off, Harry shakily cracked the seal, opening the letter and looking inside.

Harry Potter,

My father has decided to transfer me out of Hogwarts. He has stated his desire for me not to associate with you anymore, which I am intent on respecting. Do not attempt to contact or come after me, for both our sakes.

Yours respectfully,

Amelie Rosier

He felt his heart break, and swallowed down the tears, pocketing the letter as he left the table, having lost his appetite.

Chapter 8: Summer Starts Busily

Chapter Text

“Today we are hearing the case of Harry James Potter versus Merlin Magical Manuscripts. Mister Potter, the floor is yours,” the lead judge nodded towards him. Harry took a breath, standing up and straightening his robes.

“Thank you, your honour. Today, I am here regrettably because the individuals running Merlin Magical Manuscripts have sought to exploit my name, in the process tarnishing my reputation, without offering any recompense or seeking permission. I have offered them, as with all other companies in a similar position, an opportunity to make things right. Yet they have refused such a chance to make amends, where so many other companies have, and thus we stand here today. They believe they can exploit my name and story to sate their own avarice; is this a precedent we want to set? By the precedent of 1513, our laws are principled on the enshrinement of rights and responsibilities. Without a vehement defence of such, there will be nothing to stop our descent into savagery.”

Taking a seat, Ted gave a subtle nod of approval as the opposition counsel stood up. “Your honour, it is clear that this case against my client is a farce. His actions constitute nothing short of blackmail, and I call on the court to dismiss this case and ensure justice is served.”

“That concludes the opening statements,” the judge acknowledged. “The first witness today, mister Binnedale, owner of Merlin Magical Manuscripts. Mister Potter, the floor is yours.”

“Thank you, your honour,” Harry nodded, turning to the smug, portly man sitting on the witness’ chair. “Mister Binnedale, how much revenue have you made from items branded in my name?”

“I would estimate…roughly five hundred thousand galleons,” the man replied with an oily voice. “We’re not a particularly big organisation, but we do decently well.”

“And how much did you have in expenses in that same period?”

“Perhaps…maybe a fifty thousand galleons?”

“And this is your only source of income?”

“Mainly, yes. I have a few odd jobs here and there, but mainly this.”

“So how much does your household spend a year, roughly?”

“I’d say…thirty thousand galleons, maybe,” the man said with some hesitation. “There’ve been better years and worse years.”

“I see,” Harry paused, thinking. “So how much do you reinvest into the business?”

The man frowned. “What do you mean?”

“So you have not reinvested any of the profits back into the business?”

“There’s never been a need,” the man defended with heat in his voice, before calming down at the warning look his counsel shot him.

“Any investments outside?”

“Your honour, I object to this unrelated line of questioning,” the opposition counsel rose up. The judge looked searchingly towards Harry, gesturing for an explanation.

“I wish to establish the use of funds to create a clear profile on his financial situation,” he answered. The judges deliberated for a moment before reaching a consensus.

“Overruled, answer the question.”

“Nothing. You can check my Gringotts ledgers if you don’t believe that.”

“And how many employees do you have?”

“Four.”

“Any relationship to yourself?”

“My two sons and a family friend,” he answered, clearly off kilter from the change in direction. Harry smiled inwardly, ready to pounce.

“So you made four hundred and fifty galleons in profit. At your spending rate, you should have roughly a hundred fifty thousand galleons left in your vault, given you’re not investing back into the business. In spite of this, you have rejected the offer for a retroactive licensing of product for a hundred thousand galleons. Why?”

“Boy, I’m generating huge value for the economy, you didn’t do anything for the money,” the man replied snidely. Harry took the opportunity as their eyes met to gently probe the man’s mindscape, quickly withdrawing as he realised there were basic defences. Knowing he had to quickly distract, he changed tact.

“Huge value for the economy?” Harry mused, his lips curling upwards. “Yet you’ve only hired family and those close to you, hoarding the wealth amongst yourself and living life at large. You’ve not reinvested back into the economy in any shape or form. So please explain what you meant by generating value for the economy.”

“I-I-why-” the man blustered, cheeks flushing. He took the plunge, legilimencing the man and figuring out quickly he had amassed a huge gambling debt with the goblins. Harry noticed out of the corner of his eyes that the opposition counsel was starting to twitch nervously. “Surely you can’t be serious!”

“Let it be known to the court that the witness has proven themselves uncredible,” Harry shrugged. “No further questions, your honour.”

The man scampered back to his counsel, and the two talked furiously amongst each other. Moments later, the lawyer walked up to the judge, whispering in his ear. “We will take a ten minute recess on request of the defendant.”

The opposition counsel walked towards them, causing Harry to turn towards the man. “Mister Potter, my client has decided to accept your offer on the condition you drop the lawsuit.”

“No,” Harry responded simply, causing the man to blink owlishly.

“What do y-”

“He had a chance and squandered it. I now hold the cards, I have little reason to negotiate.”

“Surely we can be re-”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand galleons, a public apology and fifty percent of all future revenue,” Harry responded simply. The lawyer frowned, excusing himself and returning back to the nervously waiting Binnedale. Ted turned to him, a curious look on his face.

“Do you think he’ll accept the offer?”

“He can’t afford to,” Harry shook his head, a twitch on his lips. “The goblins let slip that he owed them a…sizable amount of galleons. Do you know how to boil a frog, Ted?”

“Um…in boiling water?” the lawyer blinked, confused. Harry chuckled, shaking his head.

“If you did that, the frog would jump out. No, the trick is to slowly raise the temperature of the water, such that the frog always believes it’s not worth the effort of jumping until it is far too late,” Harry mused. “By extending a lifeline, albeit one he doesn’t expect, the man won’t fight as hard as he should, another safeguard to build on the advantage we have thus far.”

Ted seemed torn between horrified and impressed at such logic. Harry couldn’t fault the man. For the rest of the trial, Harry deferred to Ted, watching the trial with amusem*nt as the opposition dug themselves deeper and deeper in the grave. The Binnedale children and family friend had all blustered their way through examinations, with the valiant effort of the opposite counsellor unable to stem the increasingly deep hole the dug to. By the end, the trial’s conclusion was certain.

“The court finds Merlin Magical Manuscripts in violation of the heritage protection act of 1812, and thus awards mister Potter the sum of three hundred thousand galleons to be paid within a month. The company is to immediately cease operations,” the lead judge announced.

“That’s too much, I don’t have the money!” Binnedale protested.

“So you admit to misleading the court on your financial situation?” Ted challenged. The man paled, turning to his lawyer pleadingly, but the man just shrugged, clearly knowing there was no way out.

“Mister Potter, surely we can come to an-”

“The courts have spoken, I will not insult their time by reneging on their rendered judgement,” Harry spoke simply, causing the wizard to collapse to the ground. No doubt the other companies would quickly fall into line after this.

--Break--

“Welcome to the division of po-oh my, mister Potter, truly a pleasure!” the ministry woman grabbed his hand, shaking it. Despite his annoyance, Harry forced a polite smile. With a chirpy voice, the witch queried, “How may I be of service today?”

“I’ve booked a portkey to Paris, I was hoping to collect it?”

“Of course, of course,” she bobbed her head up and down so quickly her hair bounced erratically. Scanning through her notes, she snapped her fingers. “Bay three, your portkey leaves whenever you’re ready. Pleasant travels, mister Potter!”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled, dipping his head and causing the witch to swoon slightly. Hiding how disturbed he was at that, Harry quickly proceeded to the indicated bay, where he spotted a silver baton at the centre of the room. Taking a breath, he grabbed the portkey, holding on tightly as he was dragged through a dimension fold and straight into another bay, no doubt in the French ministry.

Walking out of the bay, he followed the directions towards to immigration centre, where the official boredly waved him through without checking anything. Stepping into the streets of Aveli Boulevard, Harry couldn’t help but be impressed at the sight.

Fairies danced above, soft glows illuminating the surroundings as small carriages whizzed past, heads of passengers sticking out to admire the surroundings. There was a strong carnival-like atmosphere, with at least a hundred stalls within his line of sight, selling everything from street snacks to jewellery.

Wandering aimlessly through, he admired the bustling nature, simply pleased that he had relative anonymity, with only a few pointed fingers and whispers. After a while, he bought a crepe from one of the stalls, eating the confection as he began looking for the arena venue.

Following the crowds of individuals slowly flocking in that direction proved advantageous, and he joined one of the queues at a large stadium, waiting patiently as the line shuffled forward at a snail’s pace. Having paid for accommodation at the arena, he would only have to endure this once throughout the process.

As he made it to the security checks, the ICW official scanned him and inspected his wand before waving him through hurriedly, no doubt a result of the huge lines. Harry couldn’t help but be impressed with the duelling arena’s grandeur, with elaborate fountains and marble statues dotting the ground floor, while he could see the grand staircase leading up to at least seven more levels, if not more.

Thankfully, there were English signs, and Harry followed them to room six hundred fifteen. Entering the room with his key, he quickly dropped off his trunk before departing the room once again, heading towards one of the large viewing rooms, where a projection mirror showed off the initiation ceremony.

Harry tuned out the boring speeches, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the pairings to be announced. A giant contraption was rolled out, from which several hundred balls were released inside. As the balls collided, they would fuse, merging into clumps of different colour. Harry wasn’t certain what the meaning behind the madness was, yet within minutes, the pairings were announced one by one. Interestingly, Draco Malfoy of all idiots seemed to have joined the tournament. As all the pairings were called out, Harry found himself disappointed that Amelie’s wasn’t called, but reasoned that she wouldn’t have joined the U12. Hopefully tomorrow would bring better luck with the U15s.

Idly, he noted that Malfoy’s duel was in arena seventy, on his floor, and decided to head there to sate his idle curiosity. As he entered the room, he saw the Malfoy patriarch and matriarch in the family box, watching their son descend the steps into the pit.

“Today’s match up, in the bout of five hundred and twelve, debut Draco Malfoy of Britain, who will be facing off against debut Jenna Vintrob from Canada. Adjudicator will be Master Obu Badru of Nigeria. And the two duellists bow to each other, heading to their corners…and the duel begins!”

Malfoy immediately moved to the offensive, flicking his wand down and launching a stunner. Vintrob, in contrast, raised a shield, which handily absorbed the spell. However, this action cost her the initiative, to which Malfoy pounced, throwing a shield breaker followed by a stunner. It was a basic tactic, and the blonde had not done it with finesse or calculation that remotely masked as an experienced dueller might do.

But Harry’s analysis was far beyond the skill level of the talented, though not prodigious, levels that Vintrob was at for their age group. She lowered her shield, avoiding the recoil of a shield being shattered, but lacked the instinct to dodge, the shield piercer harmlessly rippling on her chest before the stunner managed to knock her unconscious.

There was polite applause from the audience as Malfoy preened, bowing with faux humility before leaving the stage, where he was fawned over by his mother. Mildly impressed by the boy’s performance, he departed, intent on catching an early night’s sleep in preparation for tomorrow.

--Break--

Harry could barely contain his nervous excitement, having woken up in the morning to hear the pairings. As Amelie’s name was called out for arena twelve in an hour, he quickly began heading to the pit in question, descending down the marble staircase with a skip in his step till he reached the atrium and walking along several long hallways until he reached the stands for the duel, largely empty given it was early in the morning.

Taking a seat near the front, he waited impatiently while more and more people trickled in. There were definitely more people than with Malfoy’s duel despite the early hour, no doubt because of the Rosier family’s prestige for talented duellists. Among the crowd, in fact, were several journalists, causing Harry’s interest to pique.

Then, the moment finally came, with Amelie emerging from the locker room, looking graceful as ever. A confident, nonchalant visage on her face, she ascended the steps down to the duelling pit. Harry felt a pang at the clear employ of occlumency, for her eyes were devoid of the usual sparkle he had grown to love.

Her opponent, a witch from Japan, was a full head taller, though somehow even more composed as she glided down the steps. The two bowed, before returning to their corners. As the duel began, both duellists leapt forward into action. Amelie fired off a cutting curse, while her opponent cast a blasting hex. The two spells collided mid-air, creating a bright flash.

Yet neither duellist had stopped, Amelie slashing her wand and sending a small stunner arc, which her opponent riposted against with a torrent of flames that forced Amelie to raise a shield. The flames coiled around her shield, and Amelie was visibly struggling to keep it up. The Japanese witch was equally sweating profusely at the effort, and buckled first, ending the flames and hunching over slightly in exertion.

Amelie, despite visible fatigue, didn’t waste a chance to go on the offensive, conjuring a flame whip and lashing out with it. Harry thought it was a clumsy attempt, no doubt from her relative inexperience wielding the spell, but her opponent was too shocked at the seventh year spell, losing a precious second that might have saved her. Instead, the length of flaming rope slammed onto the side of her neck, drawing a startled cry as she retreated hastily, blindly sending a blasting curse.

Unfortunately for Amelie, she was in the direct path, and had to duck to the side, the loss of concentration causing the flame whip to disappear. Vengeance in her eyes, her opponent lashed out with a flurry of spells, no doubt a final hurrah in an attempt to overwhelm a younger Amelie.

With grace, Amelie ducked and dodged several of the spells, shielding against others with precision. Harry found himself slightly disappointed she did not attempt to deflect the spells, but surmised that the girl likely hadn’t developed the skill sufficient to be confident in her consistency.

One side had to yield, and it turned out to be Amelie’s opponent. Collapsing to her knees in exertion, she sent up red sparks, signalling a yield, just as Amelie was about to fire a spell in retaliation.

The crowd erupted in applause, and Amelie curtsied before returning to the locker room. Taking this opportunity, Harry slipped downward, casting a discreet notice-me-not charm on himself and vaulting over the barrier. With a slight push of legilimency, the guard in the area wandered off, leaving him free to enter the locker room. Taking a breath, he opened the door, slipping inside and quickly sealing the lock behind him.

“Fath-” Harry’s heart dropped as Amelie visibly clamped down on her occlumency. “Potter.”

“Ame-”

“Did you not understand my instructions for you to stay away? Or did you just not care for my stance at all?” she hissed venomously.

“You didn’t expect me to just accept that after every-”

“After what?” she snarled. “You thought what we had was special? Spare me the sentimentalities.”

“You can stop pretending, you know?” Harry smiled, causing her to frown in confusion. “Your anger, it’s too forced. So why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

Amelie held his gaze challengingly for several moments before deflating slightly, turning away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me to,” Harry pleaded, allowing his occlumency to subside and his emotions to take over. Amelie shook her head.

“Go. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Not until you tell me why!”

“You want to know why? How about the fact that you didn’t tell me about Quirrell obliviating me? Or the fact that you used legilimency on me?” she snarled, a vicious smirk on her lips as Harry’s face turned ashen. “Oh, you thought I would never find out, did you? It might have worked too, if I had trusted you and turned on my family.”

“Everything I did, I tried to protect you,” Harry pleaded. “Quirrell forced my hand, I wo-”

“Don’t try,” she shot down angrily, the hatred in her expression taking him aback. “Your lies worked on me once, they won’t again.”

“If…” Harry took a breath, knowing this was not a battle he could win. “If you ever find yourself lost, come find me.”

Fighting to keep the tears from falling, Harry turned, stalking out of the locker room.

--Break--

Harry watched the matches with curiosity, trying to keep his mood from souring once again. Currently, Badru Okarie of Ethiopia was facing down Inase Takamora of Japan in a quarterfinal, a fairly even matchup between two martially oriented competitors. Only the U18s and opens were type 2B duelling events, meaning that neither was allowed to leverage their prowess in physical combat, instead trading blows with spells.

Okarie currently had the initiative, hurling spell chains with the wand in his left hand, while his right would make strange hand signs, occasionally thrusting out to send a blast of telekinetic energy. Even from his distance, Harry knew the powers of the blast were weak compared to what a spell could do, yet he found himself enthralled by the possibilities.

After the African wizard overextended, Takamora lashed out, conjuring a flame whip and lashing out with methodical strikes, forcing Okarie on the defensive. To his credit, he did not shield once, relying on a combination of incredibly athletic jumps to avoid the lashes, occasionally firing spells at her whip in an attempt to stall the Japanese witch’s momentum. However, her fluid movements prevented this, and slowly forced him into a corner. In desperation, he reached out, grabbing the end of the whip.

A grunt of pain as his skin quickly hissed red, he yanked, causing her wand to fly out of her hand. Firing off a stunner, her shock meant she reacted too late to dodge, and collapsed to the ground. Harry applauded with the rest of the crowd as Badru slammed a fist to his chest in salute before departing.

After the arena had been cleared by several officials, the next pairing was announced, revealing Amelie from one side and French witch Fleur Delacour on the other. Forcing the pang down in his heart as their gazes met briefly, he frowned at the realisation that Amelie’s father was not in the stands.

“Mister Potter,” a dark voice whispered in his ear. Harry frowned, not having sensed the man's approach.

“Lord Rosier,” he acknowledged without turning. If the man was surprised, he gave no indication, taking a seat beside Harry. “My congratulations to your daughter’s victory yesterday. She seems on track to replicate that today.”

“She will not win this particular duel,” the man responded coolly. “Good though her technique is, she lacks the experience or endurance necessary to triumph against Delacour.”

“Such little faith in your daughter?”

“Merely awareness of her limitations. But that is not why I’m here, mister Potter. I must admit, you have some nerve, using legilimency on my daughter. If I so wished, I could see you prosecuted.”

“And concede that your daughter’s occlumency was beaten by an upstart half-blood?” Harry challenged, his lip curling into a faint smile as the duel began. There was a lingering silence for several moments, with Amelie launching into a furious offensive, hurling questionable spells and forcing Fleur to duck, weave, parry and shield without any respite. “She’s overextending.”

“Indeed,” the man groused. “She has always been…passionate, much like her grand aunt.”

“You speak as though that is a bad thing,” Harry mused, observing as Amelie’s stunner missed by enough of a margin that Fleur didn’t have to dodge, using the opportunity to send a torrent of flames towards Amelie and forcing her to shield. “Was it not her passion that gifted that impressive repertoire?”

“Perhaps,” Rosier conceded. “You have helped Amelie significantly, so I will tell you that there are larger forces at play, forces you should not challenge yet, prodigy or not. If not for your sake, then for hers.”

The two remained silent as Amelie rolled to the side, flinging a banisher and surprising Delacour, forcing her to drop her fire and deflect the spell. Amelie launched into another barrage, but Harry could tell she was quickly tiring.

The average first year could fire maybe ten spells before tiring. A talented second year might manage twenty. That Amelie had cast some forty thus far was already an incredible feat. Still, her speed had decreased, and Delacour was beginning to take more of the initiative, slowly pushing forward even as she deflected and dodged spells.

Shielding against a nasty withering curse with her wand, Delacour hurled a fireball with her other hand, causing Harry’s eyes to widen at the non-verbal magic. Amelie threw herself to the side, but was half a second too late, her side getting impacted by the flames. She was out of the fight, and the duel was called to Delacour’s favour.

“Goodbye, mister Potter. May we not meet again.”

--Break--

Harry watched as Fleur Delacour ascended the stage gracefully, matched up against Katerina Zakharov of Ukraine. There seemed to be many fans for Delacour and few for Zakharov. While the former’s parents were watching from their family box, though Zakharov’s side lacked any. Not having a chance to watch the Ukrainian witch’s duel, he waited with anticipation as the two bowed to each other as the crowds grew deathly silent.

As the count reached zero, both launched into a flurry of attacks, casting with speed and precision. Multi-coloured lights flew from both’s wandtips at an astonishing rate, which Harry would have found difficult to keep up with were it not for his occlumency.

To his incredulity, while Delacour’s face was strained, clearly struggling to maintain her speed, Zakharov actually seemed bored, emotionless save for the slight upcurl of her lips. As though a switch had been flipped, she stopped casting offensively altogether, beginning to simply parry and deflect the spells Delacour sent.

Delacour switched to her most affinitive element, sending a huge jet of flames towards Zakharov. Harry’s eyes widened as Zakharov lowered her wand, standing impassively as the flames rapidly closed in on him. As the flames were a hair’s breath away, they somehow warped, wrapping around her like a cocoon and leaving her unharmed. Delacour grimaced, hurling several shield breaking spells to little avail.

And then, the flames turned on their caster, coiling around Delacour and choking her until her face had turned puce. Desperately, she threw up red sparks, to which Zakharov released her callously, causing her to fall to the ground heaving.

Harry applauded the effort, but he was one of the few. Curious, Zakharov turned up, their eyes meeting briefly. Dipping his head in congratulations, she returned the gesture as Delacour was carried off the stage. Yet, Harry found himself even more surprised as she remained on the stage, introduced once again by the announcer as a finalist in the U18s.

Her opponent turned out to be Ira Ivarin, a name Harry idly recognised as that of a Grindelwaldian supporter. Even from his distance, her posture exuded an aura of confidence and power as she stalked up to the stage. The tension was palpable as the countdown reached zero. Neither female moved, eyeing the other.

Then all at once, it was a blur of action. The air around Zakharov distorted, bursts of air rippling against the glowing duelling wards as several nexi formed. At the same time, she began levitating, by merlin floating up in the air!

Ivarin hadn’t been idle either, conjuring an ungodly amount of water. Yet instead of geysering off and splashing everywhere, they formed several hundred orbs, orbiting her protectively. Flicking her wand forward, tendrils of air condensed enough to have their outline visible, penetrating with an ominous whistle towards Ivarin, who merely raised an eyebrow, twirling her wand and causing several of the water orbs to coalesce, forming a disc.

As the tendrils struck the aquashield, Harry couldn’t help but gape as they were stopped in their tracks. Zakharov sent tendril after tendril, burst after burst, and yet it was all in vain. Ivarin sent more orbs of water to join in, the disc of water growing larger and larger.

Then, the disc hurtled forward, unbreakable in the face of Zakharov’s desperate attempts to break it. Forming a bubble around her, the younger duellist desperately tried to banish the water away, yet for any temporary shift she made, the water would return a moment after, entrapping her. The flame she tried to conjure sputtered out after several moments, until Zakharov finally fell unconscious.

Harry couldn’t help but realise how much he had to learn.

--Break--

“Master Mucenieks, thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Harry smiled, offering his hand. The aged man, at least going onto his seventies, eyed him speculatively before taking the offered handshake.

“Mister Potter,” the man dipped his head in acknowledgement before taking a seat across. A server arrived, offering each a cup of tea before quickly leaving. “Let me be frank, I’m here as a favour to an old friend, I wouldn’t have agreed to even meet you otherwise.”

“I’m grateful, sir. Professor Quirrell has been an excellent mentor, and he encouraged me to seek you out to further my training.”

“Hmph,” the old master grunted, taking a sip of his tea. “He spoke to me at length about you, said you were your generation’s titan. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have believed it, but Quirinus has quite the eye for talent. So tell me, why do you want to learn to duel?”

“I don’t,” Harry answered simply, causing the man to arch an eyebrow. “I want to learn to fight. I need to know the dirtiest tricks and the most despicable methods to win. You’ve fought in the Great War, the Chinese Civil War, the African Rebellions, the American Troubles and countless others. There’s no better person to learn from than you.”

“And why does a kid like you need to fight in a time of peace?”

“Peace?” Harry chuckled bitterly. “This is not peace, merely a lull in a grander war. Grindelwald, Voldemort…they’re merely the symptoms of underlying problems within our world, master Mucenicks. It does not matter if it is Voldemort, or Grindelwald, or a new tyrant, there will be those that seek death and destruction.”

“You could always hide, stay neutral, as it were.”

“Neutral? Surely you jest, master Mucenicks. In war, he who is not with me is necessarily against me. I have a target on my back, as it were. My wealth and influence is not negligible, nor do I wish to rely on the apathy of potential enemies.”

“True. But onto the important question,” the Latvian wizard stared at Harry intently. He merely smiled in response.

“I could offer you galleons, artefacts, endorsem*nts and whatnot, but you have enough of that,” Harry mused, drawing an amused grunt. “But how many opportunities will you get to shape the next titan?”

At the man’s arched eyebrow, Harry laughed. “I am not ignorant to my own potential, nor the difficulty that will come to realise it fully. Shatterpoints, I would call them. Individuals and events that fundamentally change the course of our world. To be able to have even a minor influence, let alone the opportunity I represent…can you truly resist, master Mucenieks? In a millenia, your name, your wealth, your prestige, your power, all will be washed into the sands of time. But the imprints you leave on your students, by extension their students? That is true legacy…perhaps even true immortality.”

The wizard across the table rubbed his chin thoughtfully before beginning to chuckle, setting down his cup of tea. “You’ve got some nerve, kid. Let’s see if you can back up your talk. Just say ‘Voronagrad’.”

Harry laid down several galleons, accepting the portkey. Speaking the word, he was tugged by the portkey, reappearing in a duelling pit. Sensing the magic gathering in front and knowing the momentum of the portkey would prevent him from dodging, Harry flicked his wand downward, casting a banisher on himself and sending his body flying to the side, narrowly missing a nasty purple curse.

Swishing his wand in an arc, Harry fired off a pulse of lightning, which to his incredulation, Mucenieks vaulted over, contorting his body to impossible angles mid-air, all the while firing off a trio of blasting curses at him. Harry swung his wand like a bat, sending the spells hurling back towards the man, who merely laughed as he tapped his wand on himself, causing a translucent sheen to cocoon him. Harry gaped as the spells slammed into him with no effect.

“Good, good,” the man appraised. “But you’ll have to do better than that!”

Summoning several statues around the room, he transfigured them into a trio of golems, which lumbered forward towards him. Harry attempted an untransfiguration, but unlike with Amelie’s, Muceniek’s imprint was too strong for him to unbind in a decent amount of time. Instead, Harry waved his wand, melting the sand and causing several geysers to rise up, binding the golems as they tried to struggle out before encasing them, crushing the rock into pieces.

Without a moment’s respite, Harry was forced on the defensive as the master duellist launched into a huge barrage of curses. Ducking underneath a sizzling yellow curse, Harry parried away a ball of black, knowing he was slowly being backed into a corner.

Sweat dripped on his entire body, causing Harry’s grip on his wand to become slippery, though actually reducing the pain of the callouses. Knowing he had little option left, Harry thrust as hard as he could into the wizard’s mind, causing him to reel.

Even though the man’s occlumency was formidable and barely buckled, it still managed to interrupt his momentum, allowing Harry to quickly go on the offensive, throwing everything he possibly could at the man.

Using arcs and pulses of magic, which were less easy to defend against, he slowly backed the duelling master in a corner. Despite the advantage this provided, Harry knew better than to lower his guard, for a cornered beast was the most dangerous one.

Suddenly, the man disappeared in a flash. Only Harry’s instinct to whirl around and slap helped him avoid the stunner to the back he would have taken. Before he could process what was happening, Muceniek reappeared.

The problem? There were eleven copies of him surrounding Harry. Scanning them, Harry saw no distinction, and sent out a pulse of legilimency. However, the effort it took to do so meant that he was ill-prepared when all eleven somehow lashed out at once, flame whips covering all angles that made it nigh impossible to escape.

After that, a stunner from behind him knocked Harry unconscious.

--Break--

Taking a deep breath, Harry narrowed his eyes in concentration, resisting his urge to send out a burst of legilimency. The principle was similar to radar and stealth in the muggle world; a constant game of cat and mouse, risk and reward. Muceniek, despite claiming not to be particularly gifted in the mind arts, had the uncanny ability to cloak his presence, no doubt a necessity during the various wars he survived.

Hearing a slight rustling of leaves in the tree behind him, he whirled around, wand tip glowing a hissing red, ready to fire off a spell. Only instincts caused him to leap up, narrowly avoiding a direct hit from a reductor curse. Even still, shrapnel peppers his body. Angling his body to leverage momentum, he spun around mid-air, hurling several cutting curses at the spell’s origin direction.

They struck black, merely cleaving several trees.

With a burst of inspiration, Harry began transfiguring them, causing arms and legs to sprout out as the wooden giants began lumbering around in search of his opponent. Harry further conjured several dozen birds, sending them all around.

Taking a breath, Harry barely had time for his eyes to widen as he felt a concealment spell drop and was struck point blank with a stunner.

--Break--

“Focus,” master Muceniek urged as Harry’s finger trembled slightly, causing his body to rock uneasily until he mustered back sufficient control. Currently suspended in a one finger handstand, Harry sucked in a breath, refocusing his magic to his left arm and numbing some of the pain.

Feeling the gathering of magic, Harry winced anticipatorily as a stinging spell struck his back, forcing him to clamp down on his occlumency. A moment later, he winced at the brutal legilimenic attack by the duelling master. Where Quirrell used surgical, targeted strikes, Mucenieks made up for his lack of precision and tact with sheer brute force with a ruthlessness that Quirrell had never exhibited in their training. It wasn’t a matter of simply successfully resisting the burst, but rather doing so without compromising on the concentration needed to keep him in the impossible position.

“Imperio,” the man whispered, and suddenly, Harry felt the euphoric, nectary whisper calling for him to let go, to fall to the ground. Biting his teeth, he ignored the voice, resisting the urge to expel it. He did neither the mental capacity nor the desire to see what the duelling master would move onto next. Alas, Mucenieks would not waste time with such an attack, and cast his next spell. “Crucio.”

Pure agony. That was what he felt. The claws of the curse raking over his very soul. Without the protections of his mind, he would have likely gone insane in seconds. Even now, his entire body threatened to spasm uncontrollably, with only sheer will of occlumency forcing his muscles to stay in place. Even as he felt the spell lift, the effects were far from over, his mindscape bending to the breaking point trying to keep him steady.

Barely, he managed to keep his composure, which seemed to surprise Muceniek for a brief moment before the man’s impassive face returned.

“That’s enough, your body can’t handle any more strain,” the man instructed. Relieved, Harry slowly lowered himself to the floor, reeling back his occlumenic clamp and allowing the pain to begin spreading through his body. While normal pain could be blocked for the most part, matters of soul damage had far more resonic complications, and demanded natural releases lest a significant build up occurred.

“That was good…very good,” the man commended. “You have done well, mister Potter. I believe it will be sufficient for now.”

Harry looked up blearily, blinking with confusion. The duelling master sighed, explaining. “I’ve pushed your body about as far as it can go without triggering a cascade. Some things require time to grow. Like a plant, I can only add so much dragon dung before it does more harm than good.”

“I can take-”

“The folly of youth,” the duelling master chuckled, a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. “I will teach you no more this year. Besides, even I can only teach you so much. There are things to be experienced, to be enjoyed in the world.”

Tossing an envelope in front of Harry, the man instructed. “I’ll see you next year. Until then, safe travels.”

Chapter 9: Hearing the Echoes

Chapter Text

Wandering through the bustling streets of The Great Field, Harry re-cast a cooling charm on himself whilst admiring the towering statues of pharaohs carved into the rockface. Lodged in the Valley of Kings, magical kind had managed to conceal a bustling city right under the noses of the muggles. Turning a corner, he noticed a bustling marketplace, and couldn’t help but found himself drawn by the thousands of weak auras emitted by various trinkets.

He walked past several jewellery stands, and even his limited senses could tell that the enchantments were sloppily done, their resonance feeling off. Paying several sickles for a skewer of Ghast meat, Harry found himself growing relaxed as he indulged in the snack, just wandering around without a worry. With some muggle makeup and a few glamour charms, no one recognised him, allowing him the rare luxury of anonymity.

Stopping at a stall with several gemstones displayed, he couldn’t help but notice the artefacts had genuine enchantments layered on them, evident from the resonance he felt. Walking towards it, he hid his interest as the store keeper noticed him, pretending not to notice as he moved towards rows of ancient looking manuscripts. Harry perused through several pages, surprised to see that they seemed to be in English. Looking through some more scrolls, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he realised they were available in various languages.

“Ah, English?” a jovial voice called out, causing him to look up. “How can Dakari be of service today?”

“Just arrived here,” Harry shrugged. “Any suggestions on the sights?”

“Welcome to Egypt then, my friend!” the boisterous man grinned, beckoning him closer as he reached down below him. Harry discreetly slipped his wand into his hand, but he had little need, seeing as the man fished up a box with a simple amulet inlaid, sliding it over the counter to Harry. Reaching out with his senses, Harry could feel no magic, yet a quiet voice warned him of something wrong. Feeling a slight pang of guilt, he legilimenced the man.

Any sympathy dissipated as he realised it was a portkey that would lead him to a kill trap, where two of his accomplices would rob him blind. With a casual flick of his wand, he banished the amulet into the man, causing him to disappear with a pop.

Amused, Harry decided to help himself to the stall, hopping over the counter and looking around to see if there was anything useful. Scanning the area, he quickly looted the gemstones for future inspection. He ignored several fake pocket wardstones, for they were too maimed to be of much future use, but pocketed a pair of ritual daggers that to his eye seemed authentic.

Quickly departing the stall with his trove, Harry rejoined the crowd, watching with a hidden smile as several Egyptian wizards hurriedly rushed in before cursing loudly. Continuing to wander along the markets, he noted the country’s seeming fascination for jewellery, for every other store seemed to be selling them. Nearly all those here were fake or poor quality, though Harry knew that certain pieces could be made extremely useful in the right hands.

Spotting a tourist booth, he cautiously approached, legilimencing the witch before satisfied that she was merely here to do a job. Approaching, he noted her bored appearance, desperately trying to cool herself with a fan.

“Yes?” she grunted as he approached.

“What are the sights here?” he inquired. She grabbed a pamphlet and passed it to him. “Thank you.”

Taking the parchment, he idly noted that a museum in a nearby pyramid was open to visit, and quickly approached one of the local floo terminals, paying the two sickles and calling out ‘Asharat Kharit’.

As he landed into the floo terminal, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the sight of the pyramid, which towered a hundred metres high, with scarcely any decay to its structure as muggles may have seen. Gold long thought looted remained embossed on the skin of the structure, large hieroglyphs that served as the runic basis for much of the structure’s power. Reaching out with his senses, Harry could feel the magic energy ionising the air, charging it with a strange mystical energy gently caressing his body. Walking towards the entrance, he idly admired the two tall statues of humanoids with wolf-like heads. Rubies formed their eyes, glowing ominously under the glint of the sunlight.

As he entered the temple’s wide door, cooling charms immediately held against the desert heat. Harry’s attention, however, was on the large atrium with various exhibits. A few ritual daggers, some preserved organs, a half-shattered sarcophagus and large amounts of jewellery.

Giving due appreciation, Harry wandered through the catacombs’ corridors, admiring the engraved hieroglyphs and artwork that decorated the walls. Chamber by chamber, he passed by most exhibits.

Suddenly, the air was punctuated with loud, frequent clicks, crescendoing in a heart stopping escalation. Warily following the direction of the sound like many others, he blinked as he entered an overview of a large pit, where several humans were tied to poles in the middle of a pit.

“Welcome, honoured guests,” one of the museum officials standing atop a central column greeted, waving his sceptre. He waited for the polite applause to die down before continuing. “Today marks the Opening of the ear festival. A symbol of rebirth and new beginnings. There are many aspects to this celebration, but key amongst all is an honouring of the ancients. We do this…through ritual sacrifice.”

Harry observed curiously as many around him displayed increased excitement and trepidation. The man slammed his sceptre down on the pillar, causing a great rumbling as several small columns rose up. While many looked confused at the increased prominence of the clicking sound, Harry noticed the slits within and instantly connected the dots. Most of the prisoners struggled frantically, though a few were still, seemingly resigned to their fate.

“The Scarab beetle, sacred for producing the elixir of plenty. To muggles, they are largely harmless trinkets, for these creatures slumber in the absence of one key thing: magic.” The man paused for dramatic effect as gasps rose from many in the crowd. Harry felt himself grow almost…queasy, but clamped down on his occlumency. “That is right! They feed on magic itself like a sweet nectar. Without it, they enter hibernation, before eventually decaying. And thus, we must feed them!”

Slamming his sceptre down, the slits opened, allowing hundreds of the creatures to flood out of the slits. The prisoners struggled violently now as the creatures latched onto all parts of their body, slowly sucking. The very air itself radiated with hunger and pain.

“A fate worse than death! These creatures will not grant the mercy of a quick death!” The screams of the prisoners punctuated the air, with the crowd split in half between horror and eagerness at the display. It took several minutes before the creatures returned through their slits as the official slammed his sceptre down in a rhythmic drum.

What remained of the prisoners’ bodies was straight out of grotesque horror. A glowing blue and red frame formed of the various vessels from the body, yet the remainder of the flesh and tissue had all been consumed.

“As you can see, the sacrifice was accepted and the reward given! Concentrate magic itself within the structure you now see. Used in many rituals and potions. Production is, of course, highly regulated, but you will find small quantities available in the museum gift shop. Thank you, and have a magical day!”

Harry applauded politely, even as he found himself in shock at the callousness with which the event had been made into a spectacle. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he departed the chamber, continuing along.

Walking into a side-path in one of the catacombs, Harry emerged in a spherical chamber, walking on a sheet of glass that cut through the structure. Gemstones dotted the walls, projecting soft light into the room like starlets.

There was only one display in this room at the centre, consisting of a two-level circular display case. Within were various skulls emitting fumes, though Harry’s senses reared up in alert as he felt a soft lure emitting from the central skull, as though begging to be touched. Frowning, he forced himself to stop staring, clamping down on his occlumency and looking down at the placard which explained the exhibit.

‘These are the preserved skulls of several legendary Egyptian rulers of old, having been soaked in the sacrifices of those who were forced to participate in an ancient ritual lost to time upon the leader’s entombment within a pyramid, they have formed nexi of incredibly potent magic. According to some, the skulls seem to exhibit a degree of sentience, proving temperamental in their own ways. Yet these whispers are largely seen as just that, with no academic research able to uncover anything remarkable about these skulls aside from their magical concentration, having strengthened the bone to near unbreakableness.’

Peering into the white fumes of the central skull, Harry gasped as he saw himself staring back. Yet it was a bastardised version of himself, with a scar cutting through his left eye, his canine teeth unusually long and glistening. Behind him, a mushroom cloud slowly rose into the skies as the pain and screams of the dying radiated out. A figure slowly clawed at his legs, revealed to be a disfigured, maimed and demonic Amelie, whose eyes were missing and body contorted like a midget, fingers replaced with claw-

“Sir! Sir! Si-” Harry blinked, to see a concerned official bent down over him. Looking around, he found himself sprawled on the ground, cold sweat all over his body.

“I’m…I’m fine. What happened?” he asked. The man seemed to hesitate, to which Harry legilimenced him, gasping as he realised he had seemingly collapsed over, his eyes beginning to turn milky white as though corrupted. Without knowing it, the guard had saved his life.

“I’m…not sure, sir. This is a private exhibit, I have no idea how you managed to get here. When I found you, you were sprawled on the floor. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I came from…” Harry blinked as the corridor which he knew he had walked from into the room was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a solid wall. Swallowing his guilt at what he was about to do, Harry shrugged.

“I don’t know, I was just staring at the central skull there.” As expected the man turned to the artefact, and Harry instantly knew it was doing its work, for he had tensed unexpectedly, breathing in and out with increased raspiness. His eyes had slowly clouded over, brown turning an unnatural milky white. The man’s head craned up, staring straight to the roof, strange clacks that weren’t meant to emerge from a human throat being produced. Suddenly, he collapsed to the ground, spasming with his mouth foaming over.

Then, it all stopped at once, before the man turned to him with a hungry look, growling. Clamping down on his occlumency, he fired off a beheading curse at the wizard turned creature, but it proved agile, leaping to the side before hurling itself towards Harry, clearly intent on mauling.

“Reducto!” Harry cast, this time managing to get the beast as it was mid-air in a leap, causing its guts to splatter all over. Harry cast a shield over him, a fortunate choice as black residue covered much of the room, hissing angrily as it ate away at the walls.

Quickly spotting the exit, Harry ran for it, knowing that someone would be investigating soon, trouble to which he wanted no part. Running along corridor after corridor, he barely noticed the rumble behind as a stone block fell, blocking the path. As he rounded a corner, he found himself back in the main atrium, drawing strange looks at his heavy breathing and sweat covered body.

Shaking his head, Harry calmly walked towards the exit, just as he noticed two officials looking rather out of place with their black overcoats and fedora hats emerging from the top of the staircase, eyes scanning the area. As he reached the floo terminal, he threw in the powder and called out for the marketplace.

Quickly wandering through to the actual shops, he forced himself to appear calm, sighing in relief as he noticed a travel shop. Entering, he went up to the counter, ringing the bell. A jovial wizard appeared from the back. “Ah, a customer. What would you like today?”

“Portkey to somewhere on the continent. Discreet, if possible.”

“Of course, of course,” the man smiled knowingly, flipping a switch that caused the shutters on the storefront to close. “I can offer a portkey to Nigeria in three days, or South Africa in four.”

“I need it by the end of today,” Harry pressed urgently. The man frowned, humming thoughtfully.

“The only place where security won’t catch you immediately is the centre of the continent, but no-”

“I’ll take it,” Harry quickly interjected. The man stared at him before shrugging.

“Good luck, kid,” the shopkeep chuckled, fishing out an old sock and handing it to him. Handing him a slip of paper with the password. “That’ll be five galleons.”

Handing the man the money, Harry returned to his hostel, shoving the few things he had out inside his trunk. Whispering the password, he felt the tug of the portkey.

--Break--

Wandering through the outskirts of Vikambat, Harry ignored the distrustful leers of various locals, sighing in relief as he found the metal door with a half-crescent moon. The building was a dilapidated concrete bunker that would not look out of place in World War 2. Parts were crumbling, revealing small bits of rusting steel framing.

Walking up, he knocked on the door with the beginning beats of Star Wars’ Imperial March, amazed that his pureblood instructor was seemingly aware and a fan of the muggle franchise. A slit opened, through which Harry inserted the letter Mucenieks had given him. Holding his breath, his wand in hand ready to defend against an attack, he allowed himself to relax as the door opened.

Walking inside, he scanned the room, surprised to see that it was in pristine condition. Walls were lined with various pieces of hunting equipment brimming with magical enchantments, a whole rack dedicated to potions, and another with the heads of various magical creatures on decorated plaques.

“Welcome,” a smooth voice greeted, with a thick Russian accent. “So you are Potter…hmph, bit young, but Mucy wouldn’t send a weakling.”

“Setako,” Harry dipped his head in respect. “It is an honour to meet you.”

“Is it?” the man snorted, causing Harry to blink. “Honour is for dead men. I have lied, cheated, murdered, and done the most despicable things. What honour is there in me?”

“You are alive. That must count for something,” Harry shrugged. The man blinked, seemingly caught off guard by the response, before letting out a laugh, chugging down a half-empty bottle of vodka.

“Spoken like a true Russian. Sit,” he gestured to a chair. Harry obliged. “So tell me, how does a kid like you end up with old Mucy? He usually likes older ones, last I heard.”

“Friend of a friend,” Harry chuckled. “He has the skills to prepare me for war.”

“Hmm,” the Russian hummed thoughtfully. “And why do you want to fight?”

“Because I don’t want to die.”

The Russian stared at him strangely, taking a sip of his drink before letting out a sigh. “You are certainly a strange child. I can sense you have questions, ask away.”

“How did you become the man you are now?”

“Now that’s an interesting question,” the wizard groused. “Alright, keep your mouth shut and listen.

--Memory--

Sergi Takanivo wandered along with several of his friends towards the town square, where streams of magicals were seemingly pouring towards. Turning to one, he asked, “Brovi, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, I guess we’ll find out,” the older boy shrugged. Sergi nudged his way to near the front of the crowd, allowed given he was relatively short. Roughly a thousand magicals, nearly everyone of the region, had gathered, a circle of space in the middle as a strange wizard whose aura simply brimmed with electrifying power waited calmly, flanked by several acolytes. A hush descended as the wizard raised his hands for silence.

"People of Animenz, I greet you. I can feel from you all: so much power…so much potential…so much…hatred. You all sense it, don’t you? The bitterness…the shame…the anger. How the ICW would have you stand down against the muggles…allow them to exile you from your rightful homes…all in the name of protecting the lessers.”

The grumblings had begun in the crowd, and Sergi felt a burning hatred well up in his heart. From as just a child, they had been told by their parents of how they had been displaced by the cruel muggles, of how the ICW had stabbed them in the back, restraining them from taking revenge. They had spoken of the Great Return, a day when they would return to their homeland.

“Yes…can you feel it, my friends? Destiny is calling, and the time is ripe. Around the world, people are rising up against the corrupt oligarchy of power that is the ICW, people who will no longer be oppressed.” Grindelwald’s voice was scarcely louder than a whisper, yet it was as though war drums had been pounded. Sergi felt the bubbling excitement in the crowd, a deep contrast to the melancholic bitterness that usually occupied the streets.

“We stand at a crossroad, one path to salvation, the other to destruction. Now you all have a choice, will you take up wands?”

“To war!” Sergi shouted, pumping his fist in the air and firing red sparks. For a moment, he feared having overstepped for no one else had acted. Yet this was for naught, for a floodgate had been released, and the chant for war rose into a thunderous crescendo. Grindelwald stalked towards him, a curious gleam in his eyes as the crowd quietened. Bending down until they were eye to eye, he asked a trembling Sergi.

“What is your name, childe?”

“S-Sergi, milord,” he answered, cursing himself for the stutter. Grindelwald seemed to sense this, for he smiled reassuringly, placing his hand on Sergi’s shoulder and squeezing reassuringly.

“Sergi, a strong name for a strong fighter. I look forward to seeing what you will accomplish.”

--Memory--

“Cast!” instructor Barebuck barked. Flicking his wand in the appropriate motion, he incanted ‘reducto’, causing a red spell to hurl from his wand tip, knocking into the target and leaving a large dent on the metal plate.

Looking at the others, he couldn’t help but feel a bit smug at the fact that his spell was clearly the most effective. Several of his fellow eleven year olds had missed entirely, while others had barely made a scratch on their targets. Barebuck merely growled at the performance, shaking his head. “This is impossible-”

“On the contrary,” a smooth voice interjected, causing everyone to shoot to attention. Grindelwald entered the room, followed by his protege and lieutenant Vinda Rosier. “Mara, surely you recognise the potential here. I daresay at eleven years old I couldn’t cast a stunner, much less a reductor.”

“My lord, we are honoured by your visit,” Barebuck breathed reverently. Grindelwald seemed at best disinterested in the witch, staring at the targets one by one, stopping at the one Sergi had fired at. Sergi couldn’t help but gulp as the titan turned to him, a curious gleam in his eye.

“Sergi, we meet again,” Grindelwald smiled genially. “That is quite the impressive spell. Keep working hard, and you will become a great wizard one day.”

--Memory--

“Are the wards in place?” Sergi asked as Cici, the wardmaster of the operation, returned to their staging ground. Receiving a curt nod, he gestured for the teams to encroach the enemy camp silently. From the treeline, they crept up towards a small mound for cover, observing the enemy camp of roughly fifty, with hearty fires and the sound of laughter.

As he watched the squads along the treeline arrive one by one, he turned to those around him. “Remember your training, and we’ll make it out alive. Glory to our homeland.”

“Glory to our homeland,” the others echoed.

“Attack!” Sergi yelled, leaping from cover and firing off a huge burst of flames. Beside him, his squad of eight joined him, firing off their own flame spells and engulfing the enemy camp in a blaze. As enemy combatants fled from their tents with screams, Sergi made sure to pick them off one by one, his killing curses causing those capable of ignoring the flame to freeze in panic, before falling over dead. “Push forward!”

Casting a flame repellent charm on himself, sergi wiped the sweat of his head, casting a banishing charm on a fallen pile of debris before stepping through the hole. What he saw was pandemonium, as other squads slowly converged on what looked to be the centre of the camp.

Firing off a cutting curse at a witch trying to disapparate, he looked away as a sickening crack was followed by her body separating at the hip. Seeing one of his enemies had fired a reductor, he rolled to the left, relying on his training and thrusting his wand forward, firing off a killing curse and causing the wizard to topple over, a look of shock on his face.

“We surrender!” The group of twenty remaining survivors threw down their wands, kneeling on the floor, most disoriented after bouncing off the anti-apparition wards. The Grindelwaldians around him looked to Sergi for leadership.

“No survivors,” he responded simply. The surrendered witches and wizards had dawning looks of horror as Sergi raised his wand, launching a torrent of flames. Others quickly followed, many unable to stomach the screams. Sergi, however, forced himself to watch, for he had condemned them to fate. As the screams finally died down and the only sounds left were the crackling flames slowly consuming the entire camp, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

--Memory--

“Hold the line!” Sergi ordered his compatriots as he fired off another blasting curse, hitting a Soviet wizard squarely in the stomach. The boy could have been no more than thirteen, but Sergi had little time for guilt, forced to roll to the side at the face of a killing curse.

“We’re going to be flanked!” Evan protested even as he conjured several spears and hurled them at the enemy.

“Then we buy the rest of the army time,” Sergi responded crisply. “Moscow will fall!”

“Hurrah!” the squad rallied around the chant, a second wind blown into them. Leaping over a concrete barricade, Sergi deflected several cutting curses, flinging a trio of blasting curses that obliterated two squads of enemies.

“Advance!” Sergi ordered, running through the snow as he fired a killing curse at an enemy wizard that popped out from behind some rubble. Firing a banisher at the barbed wire to clear a path, he ignored the pain from shrapnel digging into his skin as he thrust his wand at an enemy witch, firing a blasting curse at point blank range and sending her internals hurtling towards several of her comrades.

Taking advantage of their momentary shock, he fired off a wide area cleaving curse, cutting straight through their chests with sickening squelches and causing their split bodies to collapse to the ground. “Sergi beh-”

He whipped around, eyes widening as Elian leapt in front of him, taking a killing curse to the chest. Barely having time to process what was happening, Sergi fired off a killing curse towards the black masked figure, who rolled forward underneath the curse, hurling two blades towards him.

Slashing his wand, Sergi knocked them to either side of him, the blades lodging uselessly into the dirt. Yet his senses tingled, and he barely had time to widen his eyes before the blades exploded, launching him into the air.

Even in this weakened state, he desperately shielded against a blasting curse from the mysterious figure, who by Merlin began floating off the ground, pursuing him. Landing into a roll, he ignored the sharp pain in his left shoulder, firing off several killing curses at the now levitating enemy.

To his astonishment, the figure did not dodge, but stayed still. A small flicker of hope that he might fall to the curse emerged, though Sergi knew better, tapping his wand to his shoulder and mending it as best as he could in preparation for the fight ahead.

Yet rather than ducking or dodging, the figure twirled his wand, and his killing curses somehow arced to his left and right, missing harmlessly. Sergi cursed, looking around for his team to find they were all dead, blades stuck through their necks with inhuman consistency. It was an insult for magicals to fall to these muggle constructs, but Sergi would not die laying down.

“Raven,” a smooth voice barked out, and Sergi allowed himself to feel a surge of relief as Grindelwald marched up, aura flaring wildly. Flanking him was Vinda Rosier and another witch he couldn’t name.

His black robed and black masked enemy immediately disregarded him, stalking towards Grindelwald, wand lazily to his side. Sergi dragged himself behind some rubble, watching as Grindelwald and his two lieutenants launched into a huge offensive, throwing all manner of spells, some arcs, some beams, some spheres. Grindelwald began levitating, the very air around swirling around several unseen nexi, forming an unstable maelstrom that began to drag up various pieces of debris.

‘Raven’ however, seemed unconcerned, continuing to lazily deflect and dodge the spells with inhuman precision. Knowing he could do little to help in his weakened state, Sergi merely took the time to observe the duel, watching with awe as the enemy wizard gracefully flowed in movements, somehow managing to avoid every attack of Grindelwald and his two lieutenants.

Suddenly, Raven tapped his throat. For some reason, Grindelwald and his two lieutenants hastily overlaid their shields on each other, and not a moment to soon, for Raven let out an inhuman shirek that seemed to rip apart the ambient magic itself, creating a sense of wrongness as though a rift had been torn into the fabric of reality.

Despite the attack not being directed at him, Sergi collapsed to the ground clutching his bleeding ears. Woozily getting up, he blinked in shock at the sight that greeted him. Grindelwald had been knocked back, and was kneeling on one knee on the floor breathing heavily. Vinda was clutching her left ear, visibly bleeding, while the other lieutenant’s body had been shredded, chunks of flesh scattered around.

“Avada Kedavra,” Sergi cast out, desperately hoping to catch Raven off guard. However, the figure turned swiftly, waving his wand and causing his killing curse to fizzle out midair. Thankfully, before he could retaliate, Grindelwald leapt back into the fray with renewed fury, taking up the attention of Raven and allowing Sergi to collapse back to the ground, rasping for breath.

Grindelwald’s hand movements were a blur, too fast for Sergi to keep up with. The master of charms and aeromancy relentlessly attacked, Vinda filling in the few gaps with tact and smoothness that could only come from years of fighting side by side. This time, Raven seemed more aggressive, riposting against every attack with two of his own.

From transfigured blades twice the size of normal ones, to spikes of ice rising from the ground, to a pair of golems transfigured from the rubble around, he was somehow actually pushing Grindelwald and Rosier back. One of Raven’s daggers lodged themselves into Rosier’s left arm, hissing violently and causing the witch to scream in pain as she yanked the blade out. While shielding her, Grindelwald himself was clipped by a cutting curse, causing his left ear to fall off.

Knowing any direct attack wouldn’t work, Sergi looked around desperately for any tool that might help. Spying a rifle from a dead muggle, he quickly grabbed it, pointing it towards Raven’s chest in hopes that his poor aim would be within the generous tolerances of a torso and squeezed the trigger.

The recoil slammed onto his shoulder, causing him to drop the weapon, but the damage was done. Despite turning rapidly and avoiding the bullet with impossible speed, the bullet nevertheless struck the wizard’s arm, drawing blood.

Seizing on this opportunity, Grindelwald and Rosier gained second wind, launching a flurry of attacks. Grindelwald leant into his charms, leveraging ice and air spells with deadly grace, while Vinda utilised transfiguration, transfiguring a series of golems and constructs to attack Raven.

The enemy lacked the grace he possessed earlier, brute forcing through the attacks with blasts of fire and blasting curses. While the former was impressive given the freezing temperatures of Moscow’s winter, it was no doubt taking its toll on the wizard’s reserves. Taking the opportunity, Sergi grabbed the rifle, raising it and preparing to fire.

Just before he tapped the trigger, Raven seemed to sense the danger, rolling to the side and firing a reaper curse towards Sergi. Falling flat to the floor, he squeezed the trigger, feeling the dark curse soar above his head and narrowly avoid his hair. Breathing a sigh of relief, he cursed to see Raven had managed to intercept his bullet with some rubble. Firing again, Raven conjured a wall of concrete between them as a barrier, before turning to focus on Grindelwald and Rosier.

Concentrating the last of his magical reserves, he sent a burst of legilimency towards his lord, praying it would work. As he concentrated every last bit of his magic into a blasting curse towards the concrete barrier, Grindelwald fired of a torrent of ice spears while Vinda fired off a killing curse.

Time seemed to slow, as Raven vaulted into the air, only for Grindelwald to slice his finger, whispering some words and causing the pooled blood to glow a sickening black before a huge lightning bolt soared from the sky, striking Raven back into the path of the trio of attacks.

And then, there was a deathly silence, Sergi, Rosier and Grindelwald all wounded and breathing heavily. Sergi raised his wand, ready to fire another blasting curse, but Grindelwald raised his hand, forestalling him. “He’s dead.”

“W-who was that?” Sergi breathed out weakly.

“Raven, the reaper of White,” Grindelwald answered simply. Sergi thought to ask for more, but the blood loss finally got to him, and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

--Memories--

“By the time I recovered from that battle, the tides had turned against Grindelwald, and the Soviets had pushed into Poland. By then, I packed my things and left, knowing there was no future in Grindelwald’s movement,” Setako mused. “I gave what intelligence I had to the ICW in exchange for a pardon and left into exile, hoping to discover the powers with which Raven was able to nearly decimate the dark lord with.”

“And what did you find?” Harry queried.

“Patience, childe,” Setako tutted. “The soviet magical system is limited by its resources and many enemies. One of the few places they had consistent allies in the magical realm is Africa. The ideology of independence struck a chord with many natives within the region. And thus, I looked in the region. And I found the beginnings. Despite what the students of Uagadou may wish to believe, they are best bastards of the ancient magical lineages here. Here…the natives possess far more potent magic than the rest of the world.”

“Combat?”

“Not in the conventional sense,” Setako chuckled. “Most of their warriors could not transfigure or use charms. They specialise in the more raw magic, elementals. Do not underestimate them.”

“How do I find them?” Harry asked, a determined gleam in his eye. Setako merely chuckled.

Chapter 10: A Native Visit

Chapter Text

Wandering through the thick jungle of the Congo, Harry wiped away the sweat off his head, recasting a mosquito repelling charm around him as he felt a slight itch on his arm. Finding a small clearing, he decided to take a break, pointing his wand to his mouth and conjuring some water. His body sang in relief as the cool liquid flowed down his throat, the dryness on his lips receding. Taking a look around, Harry couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the scenery.

The soft sound of water splashing down a waterfall into the pond, sparkle of light glinting from sunlight, the splattering of avians and reptiles drinking merrily…it was as though this was some untouched paradise.

Taking a deep breath, Harry couldn’t help but smile at the sense of childish wonder at the sights. Britain had its mediaeval style, France its Renaissance architecture, Germany its brutalist Bauhaus, yet none could compare to the beauty of magical nature itself. Reaching down, he could almost feel a hum from the water, ionising the air with a faint but radiant magical presence.

Reaching down, he placed a hand into the water. The small cuts and bites he had acquired trekking through the forest stung slightly, yet to his amazement, he watched the wounds close together at an accelerated rate.

Considering for a moment, Harry took off his clothes, stepping into the water and feeling the aches and injuries slowly bleed away. The water seemed to swirl around him, causing him to breathe out in amazement at the effects. Despite having been making the back breaking journey for twelve hours straight, Harry felt his fatigue drain away, rejuvenated as though just waking up from a long rest and a hearty meal.

Conjuring a flask, he filled it half full with the water, lifting it from the pool and corking it before observing whether it would maintain its magical properties. He felt slight disappointment as the water slowly lost its lustre, and uncorking it proved as much. Yet as he poured the water back into the pond, watching it regain its energy. Humming in thought, Harry cast a bubble-head charm on his head, diving underneath the water and looking for any source of magic.

Seeing stones at the bottom that glowed a faint hue of ultramarine, Harry picked one up, repeating the process he did with the water with similar results. He frowned, pondering what could be the magical source.

Surfacing from the water, Harry frowned, his senses tingling as he felt someone watching him. Casually, he waded towards his clothes, all the while scanning the area for a presence. With the large amount of ambient magic, it proved difficult, and he began to robe himself while inwardly frowning.

Deciding on a new tactic, he gently reached out with legilimency, trying to probe a source. He hid a triumphant smirk as he detected a distortion, faint but present. He was no doubt dealing with someone skilled in the art; most basic occlumens would attempt to shield everything, creating a void around themselves and exposing themselves.

Despite his temptation to go on the offensive, Harry restrained himself. Being in unfamiliar territory far from any refuge or aid, it was best to be cautious. He also did not sense malintent, merely curiosity.

“Hello?” Harry greeted hesitantly, feeling slightly silly as the man likely didn’t speak a lick of English. The boy’s mild confusion seemed genuine enough to substantiate this belief. He felt a slight pressure on his mind, though it neither made an attempt to disguise its presence nor intrude. Allowing it to latch onto his mind, Harry felt a request to enter, and decided to humour the boy, no older than eighteen. If he tried anything, Harry was confident he would win in a fight regardless.

The probe was cautious, allowing Harry to guide him through memories. Harry put some meaningless ones such as those from Hogwarts just studying. After several minutes, the probe withdrew willingly.

“Harry Potter?” the boy asked with some difficulty. Harry reeled back in shock, before forcibly calming himself, nodding.

“Yes, you speak English?”

“No, I imprinted it off your memories,” the boy answered with some difficulty.

“That’s…incredible,” Harry breathed out. At the boy’s confused look, he amended, “amazing.”

“Ah,” the boy smiled nervously, “that is good to hear. Many others are afraid of my powers.”

“Oh?” Harry prompted curiously. Harry hadn’t so much as heard or considered that this memory mimicry was possible, let alone feasible.

“My tribe…they believe it unnatural to enter another’s mind,” the boy answered with a light shrug. Harry supposed this was fair, his mind quickly considering how he could leverage this information to his advantage. He felt sympathy for the boy, no doubt, yet there was such huge potential that he would be foolish not to take advantage. “Is it the same outside?”

“Very much so, though there are individuals like me who practice the art regardless. I have seen many forms of the art, and yet I have rarely come across the technique you displayed. Perhaps you could enlighten me?” Harry probed, trying not to reveal his hunger for the knowledge. The boy eyed him suspiciously, his mindscape shifting. Harry fought hard to contain his surprise as he felt a chasm, not unlike two metal grates grinding on each other. Tentatively entering the boy’s mind, he blinked as he realised it was like a black hole, a void and chasm fragmented like a fractal. “Even in the outside world, the practitioners of the mind arts are few, and they guard their secrets with jealousy. I seek to learn, and I’m willing to offer you all that I know in exchange, of course.”

“Swear it on your honour,” the boy insisted. Harry blinked, before nodding slowly.

“On my honour, then,” he agreed. “What is your name?”

“Baraka,” he answered, slightly morose. At Harry’s confused look, the boy gave a sardonic chuckle. “My people do not accept me, when I reach maturity, I shall be exiled. It is only a matter of honour they do not do so now. Thus I have no clan, no people.”

“Blood is meaningless,” Harry shrugged, causing Baraka to glare at him.

“How could you understand?”

“My parents died when I was young. I have no family left…none that would treat me as such anyways,” Harry explained, to which the native boy turned apologetic. “I would not have it any other way.”

“How so?” Baraka probed, clearly more willing to listen now.

“With family, you are influenced by precedent, by custom, by expectation. You leave yourself exposed and vulnerable to these individuals’ mistakes and treachery. Betrayal can only come from those you trust; would you trust those you have not chosen so easily?” Harry challenged. Baraka frowned contemplatively. “You have such an opportunity for freedom, are you truly sad about it?”

“You have quite the…way with words,” the boy chuckled thoughtfully. “Tell me, what is the outside world like?”

“Diverse,” Harry shrugged. “There are many with different beliefs, some able to coexist peacefully, some not so much. It is a cruel, unforgiving place, and yet there is still hope to be found often. A contradiction only matched by humanity’s own, I suppose.”

“I see,” Baraka sighed dejectedly. Harry placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing in solidarity. “I suppose I was…”

“Hoping for more,” Harry finished knowingly. At Baraka’s surprised look, Harry chuckled. “It is not uncommon for us to wish for something more…for the optimist in us to dream, perhaps delude ourselves into believing there’s something more out there. That good deeds are rewarded, morality is just and good triumphs over evil.”

“Do you not believe in these things?” Baraka frowned, not judgemental but curious.

“If enough people dedicate themselves to it, we can shape the world however we wish it to be. With the right inspiration, shatterpoints can shape the very fabric of the universe itself,” Harry roused. Baraka eyed him pensively.

“You wish for me to join this cause? You have just met me.”

“I do not need you to be loyal to me. I merely seek to open eyes such that you dare to dream…you shall do the rest in convincing yourself, for we are believing creatures and without god, we inevitably seek out another higher purpose.”

“I did not take you for a fanatic, no offence,” Baraka chuckled.

“We are all, merely to different gods. Some chase knowledge, others honour or prestige, some a moral code, others on material wealth; some seek the most in this life, others pursue a better afterlife. All are just manifestations in our attempts to fill in a hole within our belief system.”

“And what do you believe?” the boy challenged. Harry pondered for a moment before answering.

“Choice. A belief made not out of ignorance, not out of blackmail, but out of free, independent and considered thinking. That, in my mind, should be our purpose: to ascend to a higher meaning,” Harry chuckled. “Whether that manifests in magical abilities, in the arts or something else entirely, what does it matter?”

“An…interesting reversal on the manifestation of purpose. Come, let me take you to my village. I am sure you wanted to visit anyway.” Harry dipped his head in agreement, following the boy as the two trekked through the forest through a narrow path. Harry made mental notes of identifiable marks in the trees, slight chips in the trees that Bakaru followed instinctually.

As they entered another clearing, Bakaru grabbed his hand, tugging him through a strange, gel-like barrier. Blinking, Harry felt magic whirl around him as space seemed to unfold, revealing a large, bustling village with several hundred huts.

“Huh…dimension folding,” Harry mused, causing Bakaru to whistle, impressed.

“You are aware of the technique?”

“It’s existence, yes, though not the specifics,” Harry admitted. Several villagers stalked up to the two of them, pointing long spears with ivory tips glowing a sickly purple. They barked at Bakaru, jabbing the spear towards Harry in no doubt what was a demand for an explanation. Harry discreetly slipped his wand into his hand, ready to cast in an instant, even as more villagers emerged with various weapons.

Despite the threat, Harry couldn’t help but be intrigued at the obviously enchanted pieces of weaponry. Apart from spears, staves and shields, several warriors also wielded drawn bows. They were simply constructed, with gradual tapering, simple wooden staves and round cross sections. Far more primitive than composite bows from comparable North African or Eurasian users, they nevertheless were deadly in capable hands.

Most interesting, however, were several elders wielding gem topped staves. Radiating with weak yet evident power, he could see they’d cut their palms, blood trickling down the wooden constructs that radiated primordial power.

In clear leadership of this group was an entourage of thirteen, a leader in ceremonial dress radiating power and authority. Behind him were three distinct groups, the four directly behind him being all witches, the group to his left being bureaucratic figures with stone tablets in their hands and critical eyes while the group to his right consisted of four burly warriors wielding swords and shields.

As Bakaru talked, the villagers seemed to relax, some lowering their weapons, though others continued to project their hostility. Experimentally, Harry reached out with his legilimency, soothing the minds of those most outwardly antagonistic. He hid a smirk as they too began lowering their weapons, though he probed a few too hard, causing them visible discomfort as they scrunched their faces and clutched their heads. It seemed he would have to work on the technique.

In particular, he worked to influence the clear leader, gently massaging away the hostility and fanning the flames of wondrous curiosity. It seemed to work, as the man barked some orders to the villagers around, who lowered their weapons. As the villagers began to disperse, Bakaru turned to him, a smile on his face. “Our king welcomes you to our tribe and offers you safe residence. I am to serve as your guide during your stay.”

“Please thank his majesty for his gracious hospitality on my behalf then,” Harry requested, dipping his head in respect to the wizard. He couldn’t help but notice the glowing blue stone attached on a pendant on top of his robes, glowing like an ominous third eye. The man seemed briefly surprised, but returned the gesture with a faint smile as Bakaru conveyed his words, before turning away, followed by his entourage.

“Welcome to Ntima Nzo, my friend. Come, there are many things to see, to show. Is there anything you would like to see first?”

“The weapon smiths,” Harry answered eagerly, hesitating at Bakaru’s frown. “Is there something…wrong?”

“What do you mean smiths?”

“Your weaponry, they’re brimming with enchantments. In the outside world, outside a few smiths, only the goblins are capable of producing such artefacts these days. It’s fascinating that their weaponry is so…full of magic,” Harry mused. Bakaru frowned, contemplating his words.

“They are not so much forged with enchantments as...they’re taken.” At Harry’s befuddled look, the boy continued. “Through magic, the origins of which are lost even to us, the power of families is left in these artefacts. Come, I shall show you.”

The two walked to a small clearing, where Bakaru placed a finger on his lip. Understanding the need to be silent and thankful for the boy’s implicit trust in him, Harry waved his wand over himself and Bakaru, disillusioning and silencing them.

He watched one of the old villagers limping, helped along by his family towards a large stone altar. Almost reverently, a large sword was laid on a pedestal in front of the man. The family surrounded the man, talking comfortingly to him. Harry frowned, wondering what strange act the seemingly aged man would perform; no doubt powerful enchantments to imbue. He’d have expected someone more youthful to do so, yet evidently experience was necessary for such an act.

Harry waited with rapt attention as the natives began to chant in their native tongue, words thick with magical energy. His eyes bulged as a faint blue being began to rise out of the man’s body, which was hovering in the air unnaturally, as though possessed.

As the blue body fully separated from its real counterpart, the latter collapsed back to the altar like a puppet with strings cut. The blue body surged forward towards the sword, causing it to rise in the air and vibrate violently, a pleasantly ethereal thrum somehow both similar and different to the sound of metal grating. As the ghost entered the being, Harry blinked, eyes disbelieving as the being disappeared, where once projecting magical energy, now completely absent. The sword, on the other hand, hummed with energy, almost singing as it slowly descended back to its pedestal.

“By the gods,” Harry breathed out in awe, realisation dawning on him. Bakaru nodded grimly at his exclamation, the two quickly retreating from the treeline before they would be caught. Withdrawing towards a hut he presumed was the boy’s, the two entered past the curtains guarding the interior, to see rather spartan accommodations inside. The boy seemed embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head.

There were two straw beds with cloth blankets over them. On the wall, there was a spear and shield mounted, along with a small purple gemstone. On another side, a bow and quiver were laid on a workbench. Knowing how to break the awkwardness and learn more, Harry queried, “They are your weapons?”

“Yes,” Bakaru perked up. “Our tribe all know how to fight. From youth, we are made to learn the way of the warrior. The spear and shield first, then for those selected, the way of the blade. Alas, I was not talented or wealthy enough, and thus learnt to fight with a bow.”

“May I?” Harry asked, gesturing to the bow. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy nodded his assent. Harry ran his finger over the wood cautiously, feeling the slight ridges and cuts within the material. The weapon hummed with energy, though there was a distinct sense of wrongness to him wielding it. He suspected that if he were to try to wield the weapon, it would resist him. “An impressive construction. Passed down your family?”

“No,” Bakaru shook his head with a tight grimace. His next words were ground out bitterly. “That honour would go to my younger sister.”

And what a slight that was. Despite his own belief in equity, he knew the blatant rejection of tradition, giving family artefacts to both a younger sibling and a female, must have stung for Bakaru. Harry’s mind began to whir at the possibilities.

“Then it is all the more a testament to your abilities,” Harry appraised. Bakaru looked at him confusedly, to which he continued, hiding a smile under a mask of solemnity. “Your weapons are brimming with magic, no less than most of the other villagers’ weapons. Considering theirs takes generations worth of familial sacrifice to achieve…what sacrifice did you make for these?”

“W-what do you mean?” Bakaru tried to act nonchalant, though Harry knew better. How he wished he could simply legilimence the boy and get the answers…but it wouldn’t do. He had to be patient…befriend the boy and mould him into an ally.

“Come now, my friend. Power demands a sacrifice…always,” Harry smiled knowingly. “Some animals perhaps?”

“A Draxin,” he answered with barely a whisper. Harry merely blinked confusedly, never having heard of such a creature. Evidently, Bakaru sensed his confusion, gently probing Harry’s mind and imprinting a picture. Harry pictured a large avian…majestic in its beauty and brimming with power. “But it was not an honourable kill. The others would excommunicate me if they knew.”

“Then they are fools,” Harry shook his head in mock sadness, placing a comforting hand on Bakaru’s shoulder and squeezing lightly in comfort. “Can’t you see, this resentment…this hatred, it comes from the greatest of all evil: envy.”

“What do you mean?” Bakaru asked softly, almost enthralled by Harry's voice.

“Don’t you understand? The others fear you, whether consciously or subconsciously. The powers your mind possesses, your willingness to go beyond societal bounds…they make you an attractive mate, which causes the others to feel threatened. Thus they suppress you, ostracise you…crush you.”

“T-they would do that?” the boy asked, trembling. Harry could feel the doubts cloud his thoughts, as though a dam of emotions long suppressed now beginning to make itself known. Casting a containment ward around him to deter intervention, discreetly, Harry gently slipped into the boy’s mind, weakening his mental restraints and encouraging his turmoil to exacerbate. The anguished cries of Bakaru chilled him to the bone, resonating in its pain. Harry walked behind him, placing a comforting hand and allowing an unseen smile to form on his lips.

Curiously, he observed the gemstone begin to bleed, curls of red infecting the stone as it seemed to thrum. Bakaru’s emotions slowly settled down, his sobs becoming quiet sniffles as Harry projected warmth and comfort to the boy, feeling him early latch onto it like a lifeline.

“Rest,” he soothed, gently guiding the boy to one of the straw beds. Bakaru offered little resistance, and Harry lightly nudged him to sleep with a bit of legilimency, possible because of his counterpart’s emotional turmoil weakening what occlumency he wielded.

Wandering the village, he ignored the suspicious looks, simply observing those around him. Many of the women were weaving or carving things, ranging from small trinkets to pieces of armour. The children gathered around some campfires, listening to an elder teaching them with wide, wondrous eyes. A group of men were just returning from the treeline, carrying with them several animal carcasses towards one of the fire pits.

He felt an individual walking up from behind, and discreetly lowered his dagger into his palm. The witch tapped his shoulder with a finger, and Harry relaxed his guard, turning around as though he hadn’t noticed. Seeing it was the queen, he dipped his head in respect, not sure what to expect. A brief scan of the woman’s mind revealed nothing, and he quickly withdrew, not wishing to offend the lady of the realm.

She held out a bowl of berries, offering them to him expectantly. With an internal sigh, he accepted them, taking several and placing them into his mouth. As soon as he bit, acid spewed out, causing him to wince in pain as his sight turned to darkness.

--Break--

Blinking blearily, he opened his eyes to see himself surrounded by several altars with his various possessions on them. A slight breeze blowing bitterly betrayed his nakedness. Lightly squirming, he confirmed that his arms and legs were bound expertly to a pole. Looking down, he saw himself standing atop a large pyre.

Looking around as panic began to settle in, he tried to force away the throbbing pain in his head, no doubt induced to keep him docile for the sacrifice. Several warriors stood guard around, with the King and Queen in attendance. He spotted Bakaru sitting beside the royal couple, fidgeting slightly.

“Quite the conundrum we find ourselves in, no?” Harry asked loudly. Some of the natives turned to look at him, but quickly returned to their task, not having understood his meaning. Bakaru, on the other hand, was listening raptly. “As I told you, my friend, they fear what they do not know, what they do not control.”

“His and her majesty have decreed that as a trespasser, you are to be offered to the gods such that your stench may be cleansed from our lands,” Bakaru announced after the King spoke to him in their native tongue.”

“Will you continue to serve them? Those who reject you? Or will you follow me? Someone who understands! Someone willing to help you become the man you are destined to become?” Harry challenged. Bakaru averted his eyes, indecisiveness clearly written on his face. “They hold no love for you. No honour, no bonds will change that!”

“And what can you offer?” he retorted.

“Hope. Opportunity. Salvation,” Harry answered as he scanned the area. Searching for easy targets, he frowned at the realisation that all in the vicinity had at least passable mental defences. “Have I given you reason to doubt me?”

Bakaru did not respond, simply walking towards the foot of the pyre, next to the pedestal where Harry’s wand and several other artefacts were held. Making as though inspecting the items, Harry could sense the boy’s turmoil. After a moment, he answered, “I can’t fight them off alone.”

Inwardly crooning in excitement, Harry reached into the mind of the warrior who was checking on his bindings. Entering his mind, he wiped it with ruthless callousness given the limited time he had. Commanding the drone to loosen his bindings before returning to formation, Harry pushed down the throbbing pain in his head. “Throw me my wand. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Taking a breath, Harry wondered if Bakaru would actually follow through. To his incredulity, the boy did exactly that, grabbing it and hurling it towards Harry. Channelling a large burst of magic through his hand, Harry broke through the bindings leaping into the air and catching his wand mid-air.

In the two seconds it took, several of the guards already drew their bows, but Harry was quick, conjuring a bolt of lightning and sending it hurtling towards the royal couple. At the same time, his drone fired into the other guards, sowing confusion and costing them precious seconds.

The King, however, was not helpless, shooting to his feet and slamming his staff onto the ground, causing a glowing blue shield to erect itself in front of him. Landing gracefully, Harry took stock into his surroundings and threw a bolt of fire into the pyre, which ignited with a deadly green flame. Many of the guards still on the pyre screamed as they were quickly burnt to ashes, their bodies combusting violently into plumes.

Harry’s attention, however, was on the royal couple. The Queen had withdrawn a pair of scimitars, and the king was twirling his sceptre above his head, causing a whirlwind to begin forming. Bakaru was desperately avoiding several royal guards, but Harry had little time to worry about him, slashing his wand and sending a beheading curse towards the two.

The Queen ran towards the arc of magic, leaping into the air and contorting with impossible grace around the magic, her blades glowing a hissing red as they sent two balls of fire towards him. Harry rolled to the side, thrusting his wand forward and firing off several bone breakers.

Their wand motion and power requirement were low, buying him precious seconds. Occlumency turned one second to ten, and allowed him to process his situation. With the Queen positioned in between himself and the king, it meant only one could attack him at a time, saving him from worrying about multiple defence vectors.

Flicking his wrist, Harry fired several banishers, causing the witch to raise her scimitars in a cross, blades humming in preparation against a spell. Yet Harry’s objective was not her, but rather the ground around her, sending chunks of dirt and stone fragments all around her. Instinctively, she raised her arms to cover herself, a mistake that allowed Harry to capitalise, firing off a strangulation curse.

To his surprise, the witch leapt into the air, the spell just missing her feet as she hurled one of her scimitars towards him. Harry’s eyes bulged as chains manifested, hissing an angry red as he realised the weapon was a sickle blade.

Dodging was not an option, and he concentrated his magic on his left hand, casting a banishing spell with his wand. As the chain neared him, Harry grabbed it, allowing the momentum to curl around his arm. His occlumency worked overtime to dampen to sensation to a slightly painful throb, and he relished in the woman’s shocked look, delaying her response long enough such that even as she tried to twist herself out of the way, his banisher knocked her off her feet.

With a primal roar, Harry yanked the chain around his hand, ignoring the smell of burning flesh as he fired a decapitation curse, one of the fastest spells in a fighter’s arsenal. As the queen’s body collapsed in front of him and her head lobbed to a stop at the side.

The king gave an anguished, guttural scream at the sight of his dead wife, a burst of magic rippling from his body as his pain seemed to tear apart reality itself. Concentrating hard, Harry conjured a slab of earth in front of him, layering it with charms to brace against the worst of the attack.

As the magic began to subside, anger and vengeance were palpable in the air. Harry banished his wall of earth forward, recovering to his two feet and dispelling the chains around his left arm, casting several hasty numbing charms.

Harry took in a breath, feeling his reserves critically low as his body, having been dependent on magic to keep up with the fight, strained as it starved for more energy. The King glared at him, slamming his sceptre down. Harry fought down a surge of fear as dark clouds gathered, rain droplets beginning to fall.

Yet it was not natural, for the droplets seemed to hover in the air, waiting even as thunder rumbled in the distance. Harry conjured the strongest shield he knew, and not a moment later, the rain droplets began whistling towards his shield like ten thousand blades, lashing away at his defences. Under this bombardment, Harry’s shield began to flicker, and he had but a moment for his eyes to widen as a bolt of lightning slammed down, completely crippling his shield.

A thousand small cuts were embedded into his skin as droplets of water lashed out at his entire body. A storm of knives impossible to see given their speed and translucence. As he feebly tried to conjure a shield, another bolt of lightning struck his body, causing Harry’s occlumency to collapse, and a hoarse scream to escape his lips as his entire body convulsed uncontrollably. Even now, the cuts continued, droplets of formerly transparent water now coloured in red as they continued to chip away, leaving the outside of Harry more exposed than skin.

An invisible force hoisted himself in the air straight towards the King. Suspended in a crucifixion position, the man looked feral as he brought out a knife, slowly dragging the blade down his jawline. Unable to do much else, Harry gathered his mind, gently probing the man when he felt a foreign presence that was neither his nor the King’s, gently stoking the man’s anger.

Spotting Bakaru in the treeline with spear in hand, Harry quickly caught on, and began massaging the man’s anger. Gathering spit in his mouth, he spat out at the King, only further enraging the wizard, who backhanded Harry. Bakaru began to sneak up behind, the sound of thunder rumbling masking his footsteps.

The King looked towards him with a cruel gleam in his eyes, raising his hands as yellow lightning emerged between his fingertips, hissing and crackling as droplets of water intermingled with them. Harry’s eyes widened as the wizard placed his hands on Harry’s ear, and unbearable pain coursed through his head. It was as though his brain was being ripped apart atom by atom before being stitched back together

Harry felt his tattered mindscape begin to fragment, a slow whirlwind of black ooze beginning to slowly ooze in from the edge of his mindscape. The feeble resistance he tried to muster only slowed the tide’s advance as he felt his mind begin to enter a cascade of failure, systems within his body beginning to shut down from the neural overload.

He began to lose even the basic coherence needed to form thoughts, slowly lulling into a blanket of white as the pain crescendoed, his mind peeling away like the outer petals of a flower wilting.

And then, it was all over. Through hazy eyes, he saw the King looking down in shock as a spear tip protruded through the man’s chest. The invisible force holding Harry up disappeared, and he collapsed to the ground, heaving.

Despite his frazzled state, Harry shakily hoisted himself up, using what magical reserves he had left. His body was wracked with trembles as Bakura leaned against his spear, breathing heavily.

“You should leave,” the boy breathed out, raising his spear at Harry, the tip glowing a faint yellow. Now Harry began to wonder if the boy would have skewered him had he not gotten up. Harry, spotting the gemstone poking out of the dirt at the side, pretended to trip, scattering some dirt at Bakaru in the process. In one smooth motion, he scooped up the pendant, pocketing it before anyone was the wiser. The boy reached into his pocket, throwing it to Harry, who blinked in confusion. "Trust in the coin, it will lead you to a mentor. Consider us even."

Taking a breath, Harry hobbled away under the watchful eye of Bakaru and the other natives, chuckling bitterly as he realised he had been used. Wandering through the forest, he thanked the deities above that he encountered little challenge, making it out of the treeline and back towards civilization.

Several shaggy looking individuals eyed him hungrily, to which Harry conjured a fireball with his wand, sending it hurtling towards them. Spewing out curses, the individuals scattered, though not far enough for Harry not to sense their hawkish eyes waiting for an opportunity.

Harry hurled his dagger at one of the braver street urchins eyeing him with predatory eyes, causing the boy to slump over dead, the blade embedded through his eye. Limping slightly, Harry winced, coughing a bit of blood as he recovered his blade, continuing towards the safehouse. Some of the others backed away, cowed by the display, though he had no doubt the corpse would be looted and consumed within a minute of him leaving it.

The sign of the half-crescent was a relief to him, and he weakly banged his fist against the door. A moment later, the door opened, and he blacked out, finally too exhausted.

--Break--

“Well, I don’t suppose the trip worked too well, huh?” an amused voice asked. Harry could almost hear the grin, and would have been tempted to throw a knife in the direction if he could muster the strength. Groaning, he forced himself up, wincing at the tenderness of his body. Looking down, he grimaced at the sight of damp patches everywhere. His mindscape was still fragmented, though the pieces were beginning to pick themselves together once again.

“Pulsamor pues,” Setako answered his implicit question. You were suffering from shock tremors, not dissimilar to the cruciatus. What in seven hells did you get yourself into?”

Harry opened his mouth, but only a choked rasp escaped. The wizard quickly grabbed a bowl and conjured some water, pouring it into Harry’s mouth. Harry greedily gulped down the liquid, feeling the burning of his parched throat ease.

“Encountered some natives. They tried to use me as a human sacrifice,” he answered dryly. Setako shook his head bemusedly, beginning to remove the patches one by one, chuckling as Harry blinked at the ‘sap sap sap’ sound of the pads.

“They contain electrolytes, charges up or something like that. I don’t know the specifics, but you got it bad. I had to use three sets before they didn’t pop,” Setako grinned before his expression sobered. Turning around, he lifted the blue gem pendant in his hand. “Now, why don’t you explain how in Merlin's name you got this.”

“Would you believe me if I said I found it randomly?”

“This is the Pangean stone, said to have been utilised by the first magicals! How the ruddy hell did you get your hands on this, and better yet, why did you think it was a good idea?”

“I mostly wanted to spite the natives after I killed their king and queen,” Harry answered simply. Setako blinked before shaking his head with exasperation.

“The natives have gone berserk, launching raids on the outskirts. The colony’s guard is repelling them from multiple directions, and frankly it looks like there’s going to be full scale war. The bloody ICW is trying to mediate, and the whole thing is now one step away from blowing up in everyone’s faces!”

“Then this will be a good opportunity to get some real life experience fighting,” Harry shrugged. Setako blinked, before muttering curses under his breath.

“No, you pea-brained imbecile. You need to get out of here before they cordon the oversector! Hopefully we never meet again, here,” Setako shoved the pendant along with Harry’s shrunken down trunk. Tossing a sock, he spoke, “Raven.”

Before Harry could respond, he was tugged by a portkey.

--Break--

Harry smiled as he watched a herd of raxin grazing lazily on pinkly trees, eating the crunchy pink leaves before tossing away the skin. Below them, hundreds of livreeks hungered over the dropped scraps. His local guide was boredly waiting by the camels, though Harry couldn’t begrudge the man too much. He had found this wonderful perch where they could view the animals without disturbance.

Harry frowned as he spotted two faint black outlines in the distance. At first, he thought them merely shadows, yet they seemed to creep slowly. Lifting his binoculars, Harry saw the faint glow of purple eyes, and frowned in contemplation.

“A Nundu?” Harry postulated, startling his guide with a yelp. The wizard snatched his binoculars, peering through as his complexion rapidly paled.

“By Meruda, we must le-”

“We are a safe distance away, are we not?” Harry challenged. The wizard nodded reluctantly, to which Harry smiled lazily. “Then we’re staying.”

“Mister Potter, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” the man protested feebly, yet Harry had tuned the man out, watching as the two predators stalked towards the still unknowing herds of animals. Finally, just ten metres away from their prey, the two beasts broke into a sprint, leaping into the air as each latched onto the necks of one raxin, causing widespread panic as animals ran away. The two bitten raxin desperately swung their long necks in an attempt to throw off their attackers.

One of the raxin succeeded, knocking a nundu off its neck. It immediately kicked the downed beast, knocking it into a tree with such great force that its bark cracked, slowly toppling over. Satisfied, despite the droplets of blue falling down its open wound, it rejoined the fleeing herd.

The other raxin failed to do so, a faint purple measma from the nundu causing its struggle to slowly die down until it collapsed on its side, the impact sending a burst of sand everywhere. The two nundu then began to feast on the corpse, occasionally letting out gusts of purple gas from their mouths.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Harry smiled at the sight. His guide seemed to disagree, if his pale complexion was any indication. “Let us proceed, I’m certain there’s much more to be seen. You said you have connections with the natives, no?”

The two remounted on the wagon, and the guide whipped the two villnui into motion, trotting along the dirt path through the winding desert until they arrived at a small village.

Harry looked down at the coin, seeing the two arrows in its eye sockets beginning to spin wildly. With a smile, he couldn't help running his finger over the item as he wandered towards the village. As he neared, roughly a dozen warriors emerged from out of the tents, approaching him cautiously in two lines of six. The first line wielded long cloaks, which they hoisted in front of them, causing glowing blue barriers to form. The other six wielded spears, whose tips were glowing an angry red, the tips protruding just outside the shield, no doubt to allow their magic to launch unhindered.Harry raised his hands in the air, the universal sign of appeasem*nt, waiting as they approached.

“What business do you have here, stranger?” one of them demanded.

“I seek to learn,” Harry answered, holding up his coin for them to see. There were mutters among the villagers, before they lowered their weapons cautiously.

“Come with us,” they ordered, turning around and leading him into the village. Guiding him to one of the larger huts, they gestured for him to enter. With some hesitance, Harry pushed aside the beads with one hand, entering the hut to find it was filled with a red vapour. An eldery woman stared at him from across a large boiling cauldron emitting the smoke.

“Welcome, Harry of clan Potter,” the woman rasped out. Harry had to clamp down on his occlumency not to betray his shock, coolly sitting across from the witch. “At last you arrive, and my final token returns.”

She extended her hand, to which Harry offered the black token he had purchased from his guide. Peering at the coin, she hummed before dropping it in the cauldron, causing it to explode in a plume of white vapour and charging the air with magic. The witch gave a contented sigh.

“Three hundred years I have waited…and now the circle is complete,” she breathed out, a gleam in her eye. Harry blinked confusedly, but did not intrude the trance which she seemed to find herself in. Her eyes slowly regained focus. “Now, to honour my end of the bargain. You seek to learn the mind arts, no?”

“I do,” Harry nodded. “What can you teach me about them?”

“Many things, child, many things,” the witch chuckled. “But let us start with the basics. Give me a strand of your hair.”

Reluctantly, Harry complied, far too eager for the knowledge to turn back now. The woman tossed in the black strand, causing a plume of green mist to shoot up as the liquid rapidly receded, evaporating until there was a small doll at the bottom. Picking it up, she showed it to him, causing Harry to frown at the resemblance.

As she pressed down on its chest, Harry’s eyes widened in horror as he felt a burning pain in his chest. His muscles did not heed his mind’s commands, leaving him a prisoner in his own body. “Ah, now you see the power of Voodai. Complete control over the body of another…powerful ritualistic magic. Temporary, admittedly, and demanding of heavy sacrifice, yet a potent tool.”

She eyed him curiously, standing up and circling his body, tracing a bony finger along his cheek. Harry would have flinched had his body been able to move.

“The mind is powerful, yet its connection to the body is tenuous at best. One must learn to strengthen this bond before anything else,” the witch lectured, taking one of the lit wood pieces underneath the cauldron and setting the wall of the hut on fire. “Best of luck, mister Potter.”

Harry heard the sounds of beads being moved as the witch departed the tent. He felt anger and fear surge within him: was he just going to be left stuck here? Harry’s mind went into overdrive, pushing out as he attempted to move his limbs, to little avail. The fire began to spread, thick, black smoke beginning to cloud the room as Harry’s body remained paralysed.

Taking a breath, Harry willed the air around him to move, hoping to force his body to move. He pressed his magic out, trying to concentrate his aura into a more dense and potent concentration, and he felt his body wobble slightly. Pushing and pushing, he felt his reserves deplete dangerously low, and was forced to stop, having barely managed to wobble himself.

Sweat dribbled from his entire body as he felt his lungs begin to get irritated from smoke inhalation. Desperately, Harry willed for the foreign control over his body to be overcome. Feeling within his body, Harry sensed the inhibitor on his mindscape locking him out and pushed hard. A slight twitch in his finger gave him some hope, and he continued to push, feeling as though he were bashing himself against a wall, yet refusing to give up.

Bit by bit, as the flames flickered ever closer to him, Harry regained more and more control, until he was able to hurl himself out of the hut. Woozily, he stood up, frowning as he was surrounded by empty desert where the rest of the village had once been. Turning back, Harry gaped at the fact the hut he had been trapped within moments ago was nowhere to be seen. His guide also seemed to have disappeared.

Before he could ponder too much on this, his mind had finally undergone too much strain, and he collapsed unconscious.

Chapter 11: An Incomplete Heart

Chapter Text

Sirius Black escapes. Family murdered in Elgin. Fudge ousted and Bones elected.

While there have been stirrings of conflict in the Balkans causing concern within the German Ministry of Magic and the seeming perpetual rise and fall of dark wizards and witches in South America, citizens of Britain had long enjoyed the peacetime that had come with the fall of you-know-who in 1981. However, that threat is being challenged, with the infamous Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban, once thought inescapable. The escape was only discovered when then-director Bones went on a routine inspection of the prison complex and found the convict missing.

The brutal murder of the entire Kirby family in Elgin, while previously thought to be a random act of terror, is now being attributed to Black. Experts have speculated given the mutilation and absence of certain body parts, that a ritual was likely conducted by Black.

Fudge, who has long implemented a policy of peacetime demobilisation, was quickly ousted in a no-confidence vote despite retaining support from the conservative faction. The neutrals and the progressives near-unanimously voted for the removal of Fudge, with Amelia Bones elected as the head in the very same session after Albus Dumbledore once again refused the nomination.

Immediately, increased funding has been diverted from various departments to fund the DMLE through executive order. Despite the protest of prominent Wizemagot councillors such as Lord Malfoy, Lord Nott, Lord Sewlyn and Lord Rosier, such a legislative action is possible when both the minister of magic and chief warlock are in agreement, with a refutation only possible with a supermajority vote in the Wizengamot. Reserve aurors are being re-mobilised, notably with veteran master auror Alastor Moody coming out of retirement.

Increased funding will be placed on training programs for interested citizens to attempt to join the newly minted reservist corps.

For more details on Amelia Bones, see page 3

For more details on Sirius Black and Azkaban, see page 4

For more details on the murder of the Kirbys, see page 6

--Break--

Harry stared out of the train carriage’s window with a forlorn sigh. A runes textbook lay forgotten to the side as he watched the Scottish countryside pass by. He could faintly make out the reflection of his own face, wary emerald eyes shining right back at him.

A speck of white made its way from the horizon towards the train, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the familiar sight of Hedwig fluttering towards him. Lowering the train’s window and laughing slightly as his hair got ruffled by the wind, he watched lovingly as Hedwig entered the compartment, doing a twirl in the air before perching on his shoulder.

“Welcome back Hedwig, did you enjoy your vacation?” Harry cooed, ruffling her feathers as she booped her head against his nose affectionately and bobbed her head up and down in what he assumed was an affirmative. “I’m glad to hear that, you’ve grown from the last time I saw you!”

‘Hoot!’ Hedwig agreed proudly, preening as she displayed her wings. Harry inspected them, seeing that they had grown larger in size as a sign of maturity. With a slight frown, he saw they had developed a slightly silver lustre on the tips, specks of the metallic colour also dotting parts of the feather. ‘Hoot?’

Her confused noise brought him back to reality, and he smiled. “You’re growing ever more beautiful, dear. The sparkle really suits you.”

‘Hoot’, Hedwig preened happily at the praise.

“So it’s true,” a smooth voice drawled. Harry turned, a slight frown on his face as Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott and several others entered his compartment. “Talking to your owl now? Couldn’t keep Rosier around, I suppose.”

“Your point being?” Harry returned dryly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Between being friends with imbeciles like you and being alone…I’ll take the latter, thank you very much.”

Nott’s nostrils flared, while Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles in what an ordinary child may have considered intimidating. Harry merely arched an eyebrow, not deigning to respond. Malfoy’s cheeks reddened, his fists curled as his body trembled in anger.

“You’ll get yours one day, Potter, just like your parents did,” Malfoy scowled. Harry smiled faintly.

“There are fates far worse than death.”

“Like what?”

“Ask your father. He was under the imperius, was he not?” Harry asked, faux concern in his voice. “Imagine not being in control of your own body, nothing more than a puppet. Even a house elf has more will…a truly terrible fate, no?”

“Y-y-my father will hear about this!” Malfoy scowled, before storming out. Several of the Slytherins remaining followed him bemusedly, while others stayed to glare. Harry withdrew his wand, twirling it idly in his fingers and relishing in the warmth it sang into his mind.

“Off you lot go, follow the Malfoy,” he shooed with a mocking voice like one a parent would coo at an infant with. The group scowled at him, several twitching for their wands, though seemed to think better of it and shuffled away. With a swish of his wand, the door was closed and locked with a satisfying click.

‘Hoot?’ Hedwig barked confusedly. Harry shook his head morosely.

“No girl, Amelie won’t be joining us. She’s made it clear that we’re done.”

‘Hoot,’ the owl sounded somberly. Harry ruffled her feathers playfully, lightly reaching out with his legilimency and feeling Hedwig’s mind. He found himself in a far simpler mindscape, filled with more primal emotions. Loyalty, affection, the feeling of the hunt…all over bearing and raw in its nature. Harry spent several moments delicately, placing glancing touches on the mindscape.

‘Hoot? Hoot hoot hoot!’ A nip of his nose took Harry’s attention back to attention. Hedwig’s wide eyes looked concernedly at him.

“Sorry girl, just lost in my thoughts,” he dismissed her concerns, beginning to run a hand through her feathers soothingly. All the while, he couldn’t help the thoughts whirring in his mind. Was what he witnessed the core of his owl? Could he manipulate, even rewrite this core to his own wishes?

Certainly that was worth thinking about. Tentatively, Harry reached into his owl’s mind again, gently latching onto the loyalty and tugging at it, trying to amplify it. Reaching in, he tugged at the string, gently massaging it as it glowed a bright golden hue, a melodious tune. Stroking it delicately, Harry withdrew from Hedwig’s mind as he opened his eyes to see she had nuzzled into the side of his neck lovingly.

He couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph at this, and stroked her feathers gently. For the rest of the train journey, Harry continued his ministrations, much to Hedwig’s delight, eyes staring out the passing countryside, compartment all alone. Hearing the sounds of chatter and laughter in the corridors, he had to fight down the slight clench in his heart. Once again peering into Hedwig’s mind, he felt around until reaching a small, dull strand. Touching it, he could feel a yearning for freedom and flight, to be in the skies.

Blinking as he withdrew from the owl’s mind, Harry couldn’t help a triumphant smile as her affection had reduced significantly, with Hedwig hopping from feet to feet. Chuckling, he ruffled her feathers, encouraging, “Why don’t you go for a fly, girl? I’ll see you at Hogwarts.”

‘Hoot,’ she agreed quickly, and darted through the window, leaving him alone to his thoughts. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, retreating inwards to his mindscape and smiling at the familiar sight of ten thousand silvery orbs hovering around in constellations as though mapping the movements of the universe itself.

He could feel the nexi begin to swirl around him, manipulated by his will and command of this realm. Concentrating hard, Harry willed the orbs to begin splitting into two groups. It was as though he were trying to tear the fabric of his mindscape apart, with a chasm of darkness growing as Harry pulled harder and harder.

The pain grew and grew, until Harry couldn’t take it any more, and was forced to relinquish his grasp, the chasm rapidly closing as the pain slowly ebbed into a dull throb with occasional jolts and spasms. Sweat drenching his entire body, Harry looked out the window to see that night had fallen and they were nearing the station. Quickly casting some freshening charms on his robes and a perfume charm to mask his odour, Harry cast an unlocking charm on the door, walking out and heading towards the exit.

Rain was pouring down, which made Harry thankful as the station was completely covered, allowing the second years and above to wait on the platform in dryness. In comparison, the first years reluctantly waded down the mud path at the behest of Hagrid towards the boats. No doubt they would be soaked by the time they made an entrance.

He was one of the last students, which meant the wait in the platform was neither long nor overcrowded. Stepping onto one of them, he closed his eyes and listened to the therapeutic taps the rain droplets peppered upon the window. Only a soft thud of the carriage landing brought him out of his thoughts.

Stepping off the carriages, Harry waved his wand, causing a shield to materialise over his body. The rain peppered his shield, causing gentle hisses as he walked along the path towards the main entrance of the castle. Students in front of him seemingly lacked the sense to do so, simply running towards cover, with several slipping and falling over, either on their rears or flat on their faces.

Harry maintained a leisurely pace, dispelling his shield once he’d made it into the castle proper. To his slight confusion, rather than enter the great hall, students were gathered around, staring at various large notice-boards several metres high with various names on them. Jostling around and excited whispers, the crowd seemed to be fighting to find their own names. Looking up, Harry pursed his lips at the title ‘academic rankings’.

Looking to the very top of the board that said ‘First Year’, Harry was unsurprised to see his name at the top of the overall rankings, with a ‘147’ written beside it. Right below him was Amelie at ‘144’, followed by Granger in a distant third with ‘131’. It seemed only the top twenty were listed, and many of the students were grumbling at their lack of inclusion. Glancing over at the boards of the other years, he noted that the top scorers in the respective years had failed to achieve a number as high as his. The closest was Arvik Mitcholds among the Sixth Years with an average score of ‘119’.

Still, Harry had no doubt even against the third year with the top score of ‘115’ he would likely be outclassed on aggregate, though to know his relative advancedness relative to his own cohort was still a source of pride for himself. Quite a few glances were thrown his way, though attention soon turned to Malfoy and Granger. Morbidly, he shuffled closer to listen in.

“Well if you studied harder, you would have gotten a higher score, wouldn’t you?” Granger sniped primly, her bossy know-it-all tone grating to Harry’s ears.

“This is ridiculous. I will not be talked down to by a magic stealing mudblood!” Malfoy seethed. Gasps of outrage sounded from many around, while some of the Slytherins began to rally around Malfoy. Sensing an opportunity to test himself, Harry locked eyes with one of the angrier looking seventh year Gryffindors, probing into the individual's mind. Reaching out to the surface levels of anger and righteousness, Harry tugged on the strings violently, feeling that a more aggressive touch was needed. To his incredulity, they snapped, and felt a huge surge of anger boil over, causing him to stumble out of the boy’s mind just in time.

“Reducto!” Screams from those around pushing over each other to flee crescendoed as the bright red spell hurled towards Malfoy, who barely had time for his eyes to widen before the spell struck his right arm, blasting it into pieces that flew off.

Harry quickly bolted behind a pillar as the sound of spellfire, no doubt from multiple parties fighting, began in earnest. Peeking outwards, he saw that roughly thirty upper year Slytherins had gathered around Malfoy, firing away at the forty odd mix of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors fighting back. Dozens of students lay on the ground in various states of debilitation, while others were scrambling over each other in a stampede to get away, causing general pandemonium even as the prefects helplessly tried to restore order.

“Enough!” a loud, angry voice bellowed, an oppressive aura washing over the entire area. It was as though the air was charged with electricity, muscles locked tightly as all spellfire stopped in an instant, every individual present in the hallway turning towards the headmaster, whose wand was in his hand, sparks flying off as a white aura surrounded him. Gone were the usual twinkle in his eyes or the genial smile, and Harry, for the first time, appreciated why this wizard had been Grindelwald and Voldemort’s equal. “What is the meaning of this?”

Many of the students refused to meet the headmaster’s gaze as he scanned the area. Harry felt his breath hitch as Dumbledore’s eyes met him. “Mister Potter, an explanation, if you would be so kind.”

“Malfoy and Granger were having an argument. After that, one of the Gryffindors fired a reductor spell at him, and then fighting broke out,” Harry answered, pointing towards the boy whose mind he had intruded upon, body contorted on the ground with pieces of bone sticking out. Dumbledore nodded curtly, turning to the other staff staring at the scene in shock. “Are we blind? Escort the conscious students out and get the rest medical attention. Severus, get some calming droughts ready, Poppy, see to the more serious cases, Aurora floo St.Mungos and ask for help. Prefects, escort your housemates to the common rooms. Minerva, Pomora, Fillus, go around to find the students who’ve fled and round them up.”

Immediately, everyone was in motion, heeding the headmaster’s words. Harry followed along with the remaining Slytherins towards the common room, shuffling towards the common room dormitory. He hadn’t been here for most of the first year, and it felt surreal being back on one of the beds, lavishly soft four poster constructs far better than his transfigurations.

Ignoring his roommates, he made his way onto the bed with his name at the front, casting several protective wards on it before climbing in. He had work to do, but now was the time for rest.

--Break--

“Welcome back to potions,” Snape sneered at the glass. Longbottom audibly swallowed, though Weasley seemed defiant. Harry kept an impassive face while sighing inwardly. “Reviewing the results from the international assessments last year, your inadequacies have been laid bare for everyone to see. Sixty eight…sixty eight out of two hundred and twenty, compared to the global average of eighty four. For those of you too thick-headed to understand, it means we’re ranked dead last internationally.”

“If you’d actually teach us, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” Weasley muttered under his breath, though in the silence of the classroom, it may as well have been a shout. Snape’s nostrils flared dangerously as he stalked up to ginger.

“And pray tell me, how do you expect me to teach dunderheads such as yourself, who refuse to even open a textbook?” Snape belittled. Several of the Slytherins snickered, though Harry wasn’t amongst them, for Weasley, whether knowingly or not, had hit the proverbial nail on the head.

“Doing more than just pointing to the board and expecting us to brew would be a start,” Weasley snarked back. Several of the Gryffindors sucked in breaths, for even in speaking the truth, Weasley had crossed a line.

“Looking at the divergence of the scores, it is clear that there are those among you who are capable…and those who are not,” the professor hissed, flicking his wand towards the board. A bar graph of the score distribution came up, with a large proportion around forty points and a much smaller cluster around the one hundred to one hundred thirty mark, with a few outliers above that. “As you can see, Weasley, while there are those of you who are utterly hopeless at the subtle science of potions, success is every bit possible. You question my methodology? I tell you that I’m maximising the opportunities you have to brew under supervision. Background knowledge, methodology…all those can be learnt if you’d pick up a book, and I will not waste the thankfully limited time we have on that.”

On the one hand, Harry wanted to reject this chain of thought for the sheer absurdity of it and the abrasiveness of the professor. Yet it perfectly embodied the Slytherin mentality: those with the drive to succeed were given the tools to, while everyone else was left in the dust. What he could fault, however, was the professor’s vileness, for even a talented student needed assistance, and Snape did not seem the type to offer any.

Harry supposed it didn’t matter before, given Amelie had taken it upon herself to educate him on the subject, no doubt finding solace in the fact it was an area she thoroughly surpassed him in, even after all the time they had studied together.

Sitting alone at the back of the classroom was a stark reminder that he was all alone. With a sigh, Harry followed the instructions on the board for a Swivelling Solution, a rather useless concoction save for practising more complex cutting techniques without the strict tolerances of more advanced potions.

He worked idly, splitting his mindscape into two as one bit began processing the pages on runes he had leafed through earlier, processing and assimilating the knowledge for his own, even while his body moved with precision in concocting the potion required.

He could feel his mind grow increasingly tired as the lesson dragged on, though to Harry’s satisfaction, his concentration did not break even as he finished his work, handing in a flask of potion to Snape before returning to his desk, picking up a book on runes and continuing to read until the end of the lesson.

With a sigh, he followed the class as they trudged towards the defence classroom. Harry had his doubts, for Gilderoy Lockhart had made some outlandish claims in his books, ironically also the textbook material. As they entered the classroom, Harry frowned at the lack of their professor. Given this was a second period class, it was unlikely that he had not arrived. Looking around the room, Harry frowned at the slightly disturbed nature of the back corner, whose magic ambiance didn’t quite match up. Upon closer inspection, he could also feel the mindscape of an individual hiding.

Raising his wand, Harry flicked it towards the area with an aguamenti spell, unsurprised as a brilliant blue shield materialised a second before it should have struck the corner, the disillusionment charm on Lockhart fading as he stood up.

“Very good. Take five points to Slytherin,” the man appraised, dispelling the water around. Looking at the class, who were clearly stunned by the display, he shook his head in bemusem*nt. “Well, take a seat.”

As the students did so, the professor stalked to the front, opening his hands as though reaching out for a hug as he flashed a bright smile. “Welcome to Defence against the Dark Arts. I am Gilderoy Lockhart, duelling master first class of the Oceanic Division, ranked forty eight in the International Duelling Circuit. While each of your previous professors will have had their specialities, I hope to introduce you to mine. Let’s start with the basics, who can tell me what a duel is? State your name too, I hope to learn them before the term’s end. Hmm…you?”

“Greengrass, sir. A duel is a premeditated and standard form of exhibitionary competition between two witches or wizards following predefined terms and boundaries,” Greengrass answered smoothly. Lockhart nodded, a grin on his face.

“A bit clinical, but in essence yes. Two points to Slytherin, miss Greengrass. Now, who can tell me what the international standard types of duels are?” Only one person had their hands up, being Granger, who was on the edge of her seat, bouncing up and down slightly in excitement. Harry found himself quite curious, for he had little experience in duelling convention.

“There are four main types, being one, two alpha, two beta and three. The first type is for U12, with only thirty eight spells allowed between combatants, generally meant to get them used to the idea of duelling without any risk of even moderate injury. Two alpha is a step above used in U15, with a hundred and fifteen spells allowed. Two beta allows most spells that don’t do permanent damage, and allows for physical contact. Type three duels are rare nowadays, but have nothing barred save the unforgivables and formed the honour duels of old.” Harry blinked as the girl somehow managed to say this with nary a breath in between. Even Lockhart seemed flummoxed for a moment before his grin returned.

“Indeed, and your name?”

“Hermione Granger, sir,” she breathed out, blushing slightly.

“Very well, miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor for such a comprehensive answer. For those of you who didn’t pay attention, duels are split into four categories, meant to reflect the risk and injury tolerances considered acceptable,” Lockhart lectured, flicking his wand as the words ‘type 1’ duel appeared.

“As miss Granger told us, there are thirty eight spells allowed. Most are jinxes that range from moderately annoying to somewhat inhibiting. Pretty much the only ‘finishing’ spell allowed is going to be the stunning spell, though it is a difficult one for children to use, and thus most duels are until one side concedes from the irritation of the aforementioned jinxes. The duelling we will be interested in are type two alpha duels, which allow for more spells but still severely restrict the amount of damage possible to the duellists. While I expect you to read up on the remaining two ty-yes miss Greengrass?”

“Technically, honour duels, sometimes known as type four duels, are separate from type three. Unforgivables can be allowed by a ministry at their discretion within their borders, which means some countries host ‘death duels’, also creating the phenomenon of duelling tourism,” Greengrass answered. Several of the Gryffindors looked horrified at the notion, while the professor seemed merely contemplative.

“Not many know of such a thing. Five points to Slytherin, miss Greengrass,” Lockhart nodded in acknowledgement. “But that’s a bit grim, and hopefully none of you get drawn into that sort of nasty business. Let’s see, who amongst you will know about duelling? Mister Malfoy, perhaps? Congratulations on placing eighty fifth in the recent Paris tournament, by the way. Come up here, won’t you?”

“Of course, professor,” Malfoy dipped his head, a smirk on his face as he chanced a glance at Harry. No doubt expecting disbelief, Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes inwardly as the boy pranced up to the front.

“Now, perhaps a little exhibition…hmm who to put-”

“I’ll take the slimy git!” Weasley yelled out in challenge. Harry rolled his eyes, for the boy’s performance in most classes was lacklustre, to put it kindly.

“Might I suggest Potter,” Malfoy smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Harry sighed inwardly, for no doubt the boy thought what training he had over the summer would place him above Harry.

“A great idea,” Lockhart snapped his fingers, beckoning him with a curl of his fingers. Harry rose, moving to the front of the classroom as the professor ordered the students in the front few rows to move aside, flicking his wand to move chairs and desks to the side and clear out more space. With several flourishes of his wand, a weak circular shield materialised.

“Professor, what spell-”

“A duelling ward, Miss Granger,” the professor answered with an indulgent smile while Harry and Malfoy entered opposite sides. “We will be using type two alpha rules. Now duellists, bow.”

Harry inclined his head, while Malfoy gave an ostentatious bow with a flourish of his wand, a mocking gesture for those in the know. The professor, for reasons unknown to Harry, ignored this, counting down, “On my count, three, two, one, begin!”

“Stupefy,” Harry incanted for the sake of not giving away his silent casting, slashing his wand upwards. Malfoy had cast a shield, which Harry rolled his eyes at. While conventional in the duelling circuit, staying still with shields would get one killed in actual combat. Lunging forward, Harry jabbed his wand, casting a shield breaker, narrowing his eyes and concentrating on the air pocket directly in front of the spell as he thrust his wand slightly forward, sending a wisp of dense air that refracted the light to a trained eye.

WIth a loud pop, the spell careened forward with a comical burst, with Malfoy barely having a chance to widen his eyes in shock before the piercer struck his shield a moment before Harry’s stunner would have hit, knocking him off balance and leaving him to the mercy of Harry’s spell. With a thud, his unconscious body slumped to the ground, with the entire class silent at the display while Harry simply turned to the gobsmacked professor.

“Spell manipulation…impressive work, mister Potter. I see Quirinus’ praise was justified,” the professor muttered, shaking his head. Harry mentally frowned, equal parts impressed and annoyed by the man’s conclusion. Quirrell had refused to teach him spell manipulation, stating that it was too advanced for a first year, no matter how talented. What he had done was a precise, quick and silent compression spell.

“Please sir, what is spell manipulation?” Granger piped up. This seemed to knock the professor out of his stupor.

“Spell manipulation is a rudimentary form of spellcrafting. Each spell is carefully optimised through arithmetic and runic calculations. When one is familiar enough, or willing to face potentially disastrous results in experimentation, one can attempt to alter small parts of the spell. Most of the time this will just make the spell slightly weaker…perhaps malperform…but in rare cases, one can give a spell desirable characteristics, such as the one we saw mister Potter demonstrate.”

“Can this ability be learned?” Granger asked eagerly, causing the professor to chuckle ruefully with a shake of his head.

“Certainly not from me. Master Petrov of Durmstrang is one of the few who still teaches a class on it, but most guard their secrets jealously,” Lockhart shrugged, rennervating Malfoy who dazedly looked around. Harry frowned, for more and more, the allure of Durmstrang began to outshine what Hogwarts had to offer. “Now, mister Malfoy, tell us what mistake you made.”

“Underestimating my opponent,” Malfoy ducked his head, cheeks a flaming red. The professor merely chuckled, clapping him on the back.

“Not to worry, we’ve all been there. Anyone have any other observations?” Lockhart encouraged. The rest of the class remained silent, and the professor seemed above to move on when Harry raised his hand. “Mister Potter?”

“He relied on shielding instead of dodging, which puts him in a passive position,” he analysed, curious to how the professor would respond. Lockhart’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as he hummed ponderously, missing Malfoy’s annoyed glare.

“In lower level duels such as the one you’re performing in, perhaps that is true. However, in more advanced duels, your opponent will not rely simply on direct spells. Spell arcing and ricochet, transfigurations and simple risk means it's preferable to dispel an opponent’s attack rather than risk it unexpectedly being turned against you. For instance, I once beat a more powerful witch who didn’t see fit to dispel the water I had conjured. Pooled around her feet, she thought I’d simply missed a lightning spell, and didn’t think to deflect it until far too late, resulting in her electrocution and my victory,” Lockhart grinned. Many of the students muttered amongst themselves at this. “But that’s enough for now, back to your seats!”

Harry sighed inwardly as he returned to his position, not missing the looks of fear and awe conjured from his classmates. He had little interest in duelling, bound by arbitrary rules and convention; the thrill and chaos of battle was what sang to him. What worked in duelling would get one killed on the battlefield.

“Hopefully that little demonstration showed just a bit of what’s possible with a bit of hard work. Whether you have any interest in duelling or not, it’s good to keep a few tricks up your sleeve. You never know when a shady character may try something wicked, after all. But some lighter news, with headmaster Dumbledore’s and the ministry’s permission, Hogwarts will be hosting the first duelling tournament in sixty years. You’ll have from now to just before Halloween when the tryouts are held. You will all be entered into the U15 category, so you’ll have some tough fights against your seniors if you hope to secure victory. Now, before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s start with the basics on duelling etiquette. Open ‘Corville’s guide to proper duelling’ to page seven.”

Harry sighed, thankful when it was finally time for the third class. Departing the room, he eagerly headed to the transfiguration classroom, eager for a new challenge this year. Sitting down at the front of the class, he couldn’t help but grin as the professor entered the room from her office, favouring him with a smile.

Once the rest of the class had filled in, she waved her wand, revealing several blackboards full of information. Harry glanced over it, quickly noting he knew all of it.

“Today, we will be learning the basics of de-transfiguration. While untransfiguration is the proper art of reverting things to their natural state, de-transfiguration is useful for reverting accidents without a full understanding of the necessary concepts,” McGonagall lectured. Harry ignored her, instead focusing on the runes textbook he held just below the desk. He already knew what she was teaching, and found himself impatient to see what advanced training she could offer him.

When she had finally finished her lecture and passed out deformed items for the students to begin practising reparifrage on, Harry raised his hand, drawing the professor’s attention. Her eyes narrowed in clear understanding, and McGonagall walked over.

“Mister Potter, I doubt you’re struggling with the content, what is your question?”

“I was wondering if there was anything more advanced I could practice on,” Harry inquired. The professor’s lips thinned.

“Mister Potter, I appreciate that you’ve garnered a significant achievement in your work last year, but the basics still need to be learnt.”

“I can already perform untransfiguration, ma’am,” Harry assured. The professor gave a snort of disbelief, tapping her wand on the half-slipper half-rock and muttering several incantations.

“Very well, untransfigure this then, mister Potter,” she instructed. Harry nodded, observing the object closely and weaving his wand around it, slowly unravelling the magic that caused it to settle in its faux equilibrium. Soon, the half-slipper morphed back into a complete rock. Harry looked up, expecting approval, only to be surprised by a flash of annoyance in her eyes.

“I see…well, mister Potter, I’m afraid we can’t offer special treatment to any students. Feel free to revise the existing material,” McGonagall said through pursed lips before stalking off, taking five points with a vengeance from a gossiping Parkison.

Harry sighed.

--Break--

With a firm knock, waited patiently outside the door of professor Babbling. Several moments later, the door unlocked, with the professor’s expression brightening up at the sight of him. “Ah, Harry, come in, come in.”

“Thank you profes-”

“How many times have I told you to call Sheda when we’re in private?” the professor giggled as Harry entered, sitting down on one of the plush armchairs. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to get some tutoring on runes,” Harry admitted, frowning as the professor wined slightly. She took his hand, leading him through a door and to her bedchambers. Harry raised an eyebrow, drawing a slight blush from her cheeks as she closed the door, before tapping her wand on a runestone, causing it to glow purple. Harry discreetly slipped his wand into his hand, ready to defend himself.

“Now we’re truly alone,” she sighed, a pained grimace on her face.

“Prof-Sheda?” Harry frowned, not having seen the usually bubbly professor like this before. “What’s wrong?”

“What I’m about to say, you tell no one else, understood?” she demanded gravely. Harry nodded, trying to convey through his expression that he would honour her request. “I’m not allowed to offer any private guidance, apprenticeships or whatnot. None of the professors are. Dumbledore’s orders.”

“Why?”

“He expressed concern over the fact that you were growing increasingly isolated from your peers. Said that we weren’t to encourage your academic pursuits so you’d hopefully spend more time socialising. A load of hogwash, in my opinion,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes in irritation.

“Thank you for telling me, I appreciate it,” Harry nodded. The professor merely nodded, a bitter smile on her lips.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer more, but you deserved to know.”

“I won’t forget this,” Harry resolved, hesitating for a moment before wrapping his arms around the witch and pulling in. He felt her stiffen for a moment before relaxing into his touch.

--Break--

“This is for highmaster Karkaroff. Can you find him?” Harry asked Hedwig, who bobbed her head up and down, giving a hoot. Harry smiled, ruffling her feathers affectionately. “Stay safe, okay girl?”

‘Hoot’.

Chapter 12: Don't Be Disappointed

Chapter Text

Dear Mister Potter,

After reviewing your transcript, we are pleased to offer you admission to the Durmstrang Institute of Magic. Your placement in classes will be determined through additional testing during Yule. You will be expected in bay six of port Aureliax on the 29th of December at 16:00. Please find attached a list of equipment you are expected to possess. Please be aware that all future correspondence will be in German, the official language of the school. We expect you to prepare accordingly.

Yours sincerely,

Maderni Isalyi

Assistant to the Highmaster

--Break--

Sitting in the Slytherin stands, Harry was not here for Quidditch, but rather to take a new opportunity to test out his mental capacity. Seeing Slytherin once again blunder another approach as Diggory interrupted a pass, Harry legilimenced into the three chasers’ minds, easily shredding through their occlumency as he felt the strain of his mind acclamating to controlling an additional three bodies.

Flexing his control, Harry took over their bodies, having them fly in unison towards defending the goal post, using his own vantage to feed additional information. With impossible coordination, after Flint managed to catch the quaffle. Moving the three in seemingly random directions, he did not need the ‘tells’ teammates used to communicate with each other on passes, leaving the Hufflepuffs completely unable to predict the passes as they once did.

Easily scoring a goal, he moved the flyers back to a defensive posturing, having them mark their targets with impossible coordination, closing gaps that they shouldn’t have spotted in their position thanks to the viewing angle Harry possessed.

Suddenly, a faint buzz in front of him drew his attention, and with a quick snatch of his hand, Harry blinked as he realised he had caught the snitch in his hand. Quickly shoving it in his pocket and holding it tightly despite its buzzing attempt to escape, Harry smiled as he realised he now had more time to play with his legilimency. With a deep breath, he plunged into the seeker’s mind, meeting moderate resistance but brute forcing through the boy’s occlumency and taking over.

He could feel his mind’s strain over managing so many streams of sensations from five bodies and minds, but clamped down, focusing harder. In the time it had taken, Hufflepuff had scored twice and the beaters and keepers were yelling at their dazedness in confused anger.

Regaining control, he had the seeker move in as a fourth chaser, knowing the snitch would not be found given its current location. Moving them with ruthless efficiency and complete disregard for their safety, the Hufflepuffs had little hope of intercepting the passes, especially with Diggory still hunting for the snitch and leaving the chasers in a 4 on 3.

Goal after goal was scored, with the Slytherins around Harry cheering themselves hoarse at the comeback, going from 130-90 behind to 330-120 now. Clamping down at their minds’ attempts to fight back and continuing his movements, Harry pushed the score up to a 300-120 before deciding to try one last thing.

Having the seeker break off, he had him dive towards the ground, catching Diggory’s attention and causing the Hufflepuff to dive quickly too. At the last moment, Harry had the Slytherin pull up, feet inches from the ground before shooting straight for the Gryffindor stands. Diggory grazed the ground, in clear pain but continued pursuing.

Harry had the Slytherin seeker pull up at the last moment, before sending a jab of legilimency towards Diggory. In the moment of disorientation, he failed to pull up, crashing painfully into the Gryffindor section and knocking himself along with several of the lions out.

Content with the outcome of his control and wanting to finish before anyone caught on, he had the Slytherin seeker fly towards him just as he released the snitch. Moments later, the game was over to rambunctious applause.

No one noticed or cared about the chasers and seekers all clutching their heads and feeling some measure of pain as Harry departed their minds, too excited over the absolute slaughter of the score.

520-130.

From the chants of those around, it seemed this point differential hadn’t been achieved for at least thirty years.

But Harry’s smile was for a different reason completely.

--Break--

“Now, I know a lot of you are excited about the upcoming tryouts, so I’m going to be showing you one final spell in the hopes of giving you the best odds,” Lockhart brandished his wand dramatically. Harry pretended not to notice some of the girls swoon, waiting ambivalently. “The basic shield piercer!”

Harry did not know why he felt disappointment…he should have expected it.

“The shield piercing curse is specialised to doing one thing…breaking shields! Because shields attempt to dissipate the magical energy over a large surface area or will concentrate their defensive energy into the meeting point of a spell, the technique to overwhelm a majority of them is simple. Can anyone tell me? Mister Malfoy, perhaps?”

Harry snorted lightly as Granger slumped down dejected. “You can overwhelm the spell through sheer power of magic and number of spells, or you can concentrate your magic sufficiently and at a fast enough pace that it can penetrate regardless.”

“Absolutely correct! Five points to Slytherin,” Lockhart praised with a grin. Harry neglected to interject that many shields were not effective against different types of attacks. Some could not prevent physical blows, others might falter against dissipated and wide area assaults…ironically enough, the standard shield charm in protego was rather good at offering protection against nearly everything, though the drawback was in the higher magical requirement in sustaining it.

“The spell I’m going to teach you is called ‘tergo’. It’s a rather neat piece of magic that travels quickly. This means it’s able to puncture faster than most shields can reinforce themselves.” Not to mention, its requirement in magical ability was more generous, Harry thought to himself, though the professor was obviously trying to keep everyone in high spirits.

As he instructed them on the wand movements and incantation, Harry allowed his mind to drift, beginning to run through the trinity of secondary runic alphabets within his mind.

--Break--

Around him, the gathered students chattered amongst each other excitedly about the duelling tryouts. Gathered in the re-opened duelling hall in the East wing of the castle, the massive room featured six pits, rings of seating allowing several hundred audience members amongst each one. The two hundred or so students ranging from first to fourth year had gathered here.

“Welcome everybody!” Lockhart greeted with a wide smile, pearly white teeth on display. “I’m glad to see so many faces here to try out for the tournament, truly a testament to the bravery in many of you.”

Harry resisted the urge to snort as many of the Gryffindors preened at this in a Malfoy-esque fashion, though it was definitely a close call. Surprisingly, the number of Hufflepuffs actually outnumbered any other house by a significant margin, though many were clearly older students here to observe and guide their housemates.

“Before we begin, I thought that we’d have a slight treat for you. Professor Flitwick has kindly volunteered to duel against me, being formerly ranked number one in Britain and number twenty four in the world,” he introduced, causing excited whispers to spread. While there had been rumours that Flitwick was a duelling champion, for them to be substantiated was a different thing entirely. “We’ll be holding a short exhibition duel, adjudicated by professor Snape, who has quite the talent for duelling himself.”

The half-goblin entered the pit, a grin on his face as the two bowed to each other. Snape raised a duelling ward and counted down, his voice quiet but heard throughout the hall in the tense silence. On the count of zero, both duellists leapt forward, firing off a flurry of spells. Most Harry recognised as simple stunners, cutting curses and a variety of hexes, which collided with each other in the middle, exploding into violent bursts of magic with blinding intensity.

There was a short lull as the two duellists, now several steps closer than before, circled each other warily. After a moment, Lockhart launched into a new offensive, slashing his wand with speed and precision Harry hadn’t expected from the man. Most of the spells were low level jinxes and hexes that Harry hadn’t bothered to practise beyond the basic understanding, but he was beginning to reassess the importance as he watched Flitwick methodically dismantle each spell through shielding and vanishing charms.

While none were debilitating, even a single on landing could tilt the duel, be it through the slight physical impediment the spell caused, the psychological hesitance or the time it took to counter the effects. Harry frowned as he realised Lockhart was trying to push Flitwick closer to the barrier, though the half-goblin must have realised this, for he retreated to the side rather than behind to maintain the space he had between himself and the duelling ward.

Several minutes later, Lockhart’s spells were beginning to slow, the incredible pace obviously unsustainable even to a seasoned duellist as himself. Flitwick seemed none the worse for wear, leaping into an offensive of his own but relying on more heavy hitting spells such as cutting and binding curses.

Harry frowned as he realised the two’s duelling styles were both similar, being agility focused and aiming to simply overwhelm their opponents with direct charms. Admittedly, the lack of terrain and obstacles made more battle-like tactics difficult, though with magic, even basic transfigurations and conjurations should have been expected in a combat situation, at least to his mind.

He couldn’t help but feel disappointed, even as the two duellists seemed to decide on a draw after Flitwick’s latest offensive failed to land a hit on Lockhart. The crowd, on the other hand, shared none of his hesitations, clapping wildly at the performance whilst both duellists bowed. Snape looked dour for some reason; Harry could only guess he had wanted a chance to duel. Given the man’s reputation in the dark arts, Harry thought it a prudent move not to allow such a display to the students despite his own fascination.

“Now,” Lockhart clapped loudly, causing the assembled students to quickly quieten, “comes the fun part.”

With a flourish of his wand, a huge crystal ball was revealed, hundreds of glowing coloured orbs inside.

“You’ll face two opponents. A win is worth three points, a draw one, and a loss zero. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, only thirty two of you will be given a chance to face off in the elimination rounds, which will be watched by many of your peers. Those that perform well will see many opportunities present themselves, given that many recruiters ranging from the DMLE offering internships to master duellists who are looking for apprentices. The ministry is also putting up a top prize of five hundred galleons for the champion, with two hundred and fifty for runner up and a hundred for third and fourth place.” Lockhart had to pause as excited whispers rose in a crescendo. Harry, for his part, couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow: the ministry was clearly eager to promote more combat ready students if they were committing that much money to a juniors tournament. An auror’s monthly salary was probably five hundred galleons, being one of the highest paid jobs in Britain, the rate likely to only rise with the ministry’s recent agenda.

“Silence!” Snape bellowed, causing the chatter to immediately die down. There was a moment of awkward silence as Lockhart coughed.

“Ahem, thank you, professor Snape. Now, obviously this is a huge opportunity for many of you, but keep in mind that there will be plenty of opportunities in the future for you to progress. Admittedly, even two months of learning can only do so much, so I encourage you to observe and learn from your peers. But the selector is ready, so please form a line to collect your orbs!”

The Gryffindors jostled boisterously to the front of the queue, while most of the other students were content to shuffle along. Harry was near the back, and observed the first few students holding various coloured orbs wandering off excitedly. One by one, the line slowly got shorter, until Harry reached the front and was handed two orbs: one green and the other lilac. Holding it up to inspect, he saw a glowing number eight in the first and a number thirteen in the second.

“Right, now that you’ve all gotten your orbs, we’ll be splitting off into three pits. Those with red in your orbs, please remain here. Those with blue, please follow professor Flitwick, those with white, follow professor Snape. We’ll reconvene after the first duels are finished,” Lockhart instructed. At the lack of movement, he clapped his hands. “Well what are we waiting for? Chop chop!”

All at once, excited chatter broke out as students followed their respective professors. Harry eyed those who remained, a group slightly skewed in favour of first years with a scant number of third or fourth years compared to the proportion that had shown up, making this the easiest of three.

“Right,” Lockhart addressed the smaller crowd remaining with a beaming smile. “Let’s not dally around. Those with number one, please come down to the pit.”

Two first years, one Gryffindor and one Hufflepuff, skipped down, standing across from each other. Harry found the sight rather comical, for both were improperly trying to keep within the standard duelling position, with feet formed in an L shape and chest twisted to minimise the frontal profile. With the way they put their feet in a ‘t’, wobbling all the while, it was clear that neither would get far.

“Begin!” Lockhart called, drawing Harry out of his musings.

“Lumos!” the Gryffindor called out, a blinding flash of light escaping the tip of his wand as the Hufflepuff cried out, dropping his wand as he spun around disorientedly. Bemusedly, Lockhart awarded the point to the Gryffindor student, dismissing the two.

The next few pairs were called up, but Harry paid them little attention, until the sixth, with his yearmate Susan Bones facing off against his housemate Daphne Greengrass. The former was the niece of the minister, no doubt receiving some level of training, while the latter he knew was at least somewhat knowledgeable. From the excited chatter of those around, many others seemed to realise the fact as well.

“Three, two, one, begin!”

“Stupefy!” Bones called out, flicking her wand a second faster than Greengrass, who swirled her wand.

“Protego,” she called out, a faint blue shield materialising around her. Harry couldn’t help but lean forward at this revelation, for the proper general shield charm was not an easy spell even for adults. Lockhart’s jaw dropped at the display, and even Bones seemed taken off guard, her hesitance costing her momentum.

“Dupido,” Greengrass cast in retaliation, flicking her wand as a trio of spells formed a helix, orbiting around each other as all three shot towards Bones. While the spell itself was one of the most basic, that she managed such a feat with three exemplified immense knowledge and control of this basic piece of magic.

With a slash of her wand, Bones vanished the spells with a contemptuous flick of her wand, snapping off a disarming spell followed by a banishing hex. Greengrass leaned to the side, avoiding the first spell while shielding against the second one, shock visible on her face as she staggered back several steps from the impact.

“Legro,” Bones cast after a momentary lull, stepping forward to grant the rope spell some momentum. “Aguamenti!”

“Incindio!” Greengrass cast in return, the flame spell quickly consuming the ropes and beginning a struggle against Bones’ jet of water as mist formed with a hiss, spreading across the pit. Bones tapped her wand to her head, and Harry couldn’t help but gape as the girl mostly disappeared from view.

The charm was far from perfect, for blotches of her feet were still visible, while light clearly reflected off her figure, but in combination with her moving to the right in the few moments Greengrass took to vanish the mist, it gave her a clear shot, firing off a stunner at Greengrass and knocking her out.

There was a moment of utter silence in the pit, before Harry stood and applauded. This seemed to send everyone out of their stupor, with Bones’ flushing as red as her hair. She turned to his direction and flashed him a shy smile and wave before quickly scampering off, while a sour Greengrass was revived.

The next duel was a far cry from interesting, but lasted long with neither duellist able to gain an edge. He turned, raising a curious eyebrow as Greengrass took a seat beside him. Ignoring the pittance of a duel, he inclined his head in greeting.

“Greengrass.”

“Potter,” she returned.

“Should you be seen in my company?” Harry queried, a wry smile on his face. Greengrass’ expression soured, but quickly returned to composed neutrality.

“Malfoy’s influence in the house is far more limited than he likes to admit, mostly thanks to you. Besides, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt,” she fibbed easily. The slight twitch in her ear gave it away, but Harry did not comment.

“And what do you want from me?”

“What makes you think I want anything?” she challenged, faltering slightly as he snorted. “Lessons.”

“And what do I get in exchange?”

“Duel number eight,” Lockhart called out.

“I suggest you figure out an answer when I return,” Harry said simply, standing up and descending down towards the pit. To his slight disappointment, he was facing a Hufflepuff first year, who looked like she was about to pass out in fright at the sight of him. As the two entered the pit, he could see her visibly trembling.

“Duellists bow.” Harry dipped his head the requisite amount, white the girl jittered out a curtsy, no doubt in panic. Some of the other students chuckled at this, which only served to cower her even more.

“Three…two…one…begin!”

Harry lazily flung a disarming spell, which the Hufflepuff tried to dodge. He admired the spirit, yet the red spell struck true and her wand flung into the air, which he caught deftly. As he approached, the Hufflepuff actually shrunk into herself, flinching as he neared.

“Your wand, miss,” Harry fought to hide his amusem*nt, offering back the witch her instrument. With a trembling hand and a squeak he presumed an expression of gratitude, she took her wand and scampered off, while Harry did everything to resist the urge and laugh. Returning to his seat beside Greengrass, he raised an expectant eyebrow.

“That was…oddly compassionate of you,” she mused, frowning at Harry’s strange look. “Most wouldn’t have bothered.”

“And why is that?”

“Compassion is weakness,” Greengrass shrugged.

“True, but displays of it aren’t equivalent to compassion,” Harry mused, smiling slightly at her compassionate look. “With but a few seconds and a small gesture, I’ve left a positive impression on her and those around. I have made myself seem more approachable and kind, unlocking opportunities I otherwise wouldn’t have. Do I truly care? Not really. Yet it offers me opportunities…opportunities I would be foolish not to take.”

“I…see,” Greengrass nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you telling me this is compassion.”

“Hardly,” Harry snorted. “I simply think that the way Slytherins act is a liability to myself. You’re also looking for allies…well rest assured your current horizons are far too limited if you hope to escape Malfoy.”

“I see…onto payment, I assure you my family is wea-”

“Your galleons are worthless to me, Greengrass,” Harry interjected firmly, causing the girl to slump. “I want to learn a foreign language. Are there expedited methods?”

This perked her up, as she nodded quickly. “The ministry sells language packs that help open the mind to learning quicker, but they’re only for certain well connected individuals and quite expen-not that it’ll be a problem, I’ll acquire them for free, of course! Even then, they only work if you engage in the language, writing, reading and speaking.”

“I see,” Harry nodded, inwardly crooning at how desperate Greengrass obviously was. “How long does it take to learn?”

“Just a month or two,” she assured. “What language do you want to learn.”

“German.”

“Lucky I speak it, then,” Greengrass grinned. “I suppose we have a deal?”

“Two hours,” he answered, causing her to co*ck her head in confusion. “Every night, we will spend an hour on your training, and then an hour on German. We’ll continue this arrangement until Yule. I assume that is agreeable.”

“Yes,” Greengrass nodded quickly, looking as though she had more to say before her lips clamped together. “Thank you.”

Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement, noting how the girl had eyed his second orb with curiosity before walking off, her eyes narrowed and scouring those present. He wondered what she was up to, but put the thought out of his mind as another interesting duel popped up.

Two fourth year wizards, one from Slytherin and the other from Gryffindor, were likely to prove an interesting match. He knew Avery was a competent dueller simply from the posture he took, being unconventional but no less deadly. While his Gryffindor opponent, a boy named Patricks, had the standard L shape, Avery had positioned both his feet facing forward, which while limiting his movement left or right, would significantly enhance his ability to charge forward or backwards, saving split seconds when tucking into a roll or leaping up.

“Begin!”

Avery rolled forward, having correctly predicted that his opponent would fire a spell to where his chest level was. Easily avoiding the stunner and having closed the distance, he flicked his wand in snappy motions, firing off a cutting curse, followed by a binding hex and a petrifying curse. The Gryffindor hurled himself to the side, receiving a nasty gash to his ear as half of it was lobbed off, though the next two spells fired towards his initial spot missed completely.

“Refrigo!” the Gryffindor yelled, with Avery hastily casting protego on himself. Harry’s eyes widened at the use of the rupturing curse, even moreso when the spell struck the ground, causing the platform to shake as chunks of debris lashed out, peppering Avery.

The boy was smart, bracing this instead of reflecting on instinct and dropping his shield, for the Gryffindor and fired off several blasting curses, which splashed harmlessly against the brilliant blue surface of the shield.

There was a slight lull in the duel as both took deep breaths, reassessing the situation. Soon, both moved a flash of movement again. Avery conjured several arrows and hurled them towards Patricks, while the Gryffindor unleashed a torrent of flames, forcing Avery to shield.

Both held for several seconds, but in a battle of endurance the flames were going to exhaust Patricks faster than a shield would, and both knew it. The Gryffindor ceased his flames, firing a shield breaking curse. Avery, however, dropped his defences quickly, allowing the yellow spell to splash harmlessly onto his body. While sweating and breathing heavily, all could see that Avery was in far better shape than the wobbling Patricks, who looked off colour and was huffing heavily.

Looking up from the pit, Harry hid a smirk as he realised Greengrass had managed to nick a lilac globe, replacing it with her own tangerine one. As she returned next to her friend, the half-blood Davis, he turned his attention back to the duel. As Patricks fired another spell, Avery rolled under it, firing a banishing charm point blank into the Gryffindor and sending his body straight into the duelling wards with a sickening crack.

“And the match goes to Avery!” Lockhart quickly declared, descending from the referee’s platform to inspect the battered body of Patricks. Raising his wand, he shot up red sparks, with Madam Pomfrey appearing moments later, shaking her head and levitating the body away. Several of the younger students were visibly frightened, with a Hufflepuff first year openly sobbing as several of his housemates tried to comfort him.

“Ahem, now, everyone here knows that such a duel, while…more exciting than what we’d expect, was fully within the bounds of a type 2a duel. Let this be a cautionary tale to any of those looking to pursue duelling to a greater degree. Such an occurrence would be considered tame in the professional circuit. But enough of the gloominess, let’s carry on!”

The remaining duels were mostly pathetic, with the few standouts mostly being an older student toying with a younger one. When they were finally dismissed, Harry couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as they headed to their new pits.

Harry snorted as he entered Flitwick’s domain, half-disappointed half-relieved at not being in Snape’s. To his amusem*nt, Malfoy was also in this pit. Most in this bracket were older students, with only a dozen or so first years among those present. Many duellists sported some level of injury, ranging from bruises to cuts on the milder side. From the smaller number of duellists, he could only guess some were too injured to continue.

“Right,” Flitwick called out in a squeaky voice, “Let’s get started. Duel one, if you please.”

Harry frowned as one of the third years who had been in his first bracket whispered something into Malfoy’s ear, causing the blonde to scowl as he summoned several other students, heading in a group towards Greengrass. Feeling mildly concerned, he discreetly got up, casting a disillusionment charm on himself and heading close enough to intervene.

“Greengrass, consorting with Potter now?” Malfoy scowled as several of the Slytherins brandished their wands threateningly. Greengrass did not obviously react, though Davis did not possess the same control. “How far your family has fallen.”

“What I do is none of your business, Malfoy,” she replied icily.

“On the contrary. You should know that, my wife-to-be,” Malfoy snarled. “Father’s going to get that contract signed, whether you want it or not, so I suggest you get used to it.”

“Father this, father that…do you ever get tired of it?” Greengrass jibed in return.

“Watch yourself, I can make life very difficult for you,” Malfoy spat. “I forbid you from associating with Potter anymore.”

“And I should listen to you because?”

“You’ve gotten bold, haven’t you Greengrass? Potter isn’t here to-”

“Boo,” Harry drawled, dispelling the disillusionment around himself. Malfoy squeaked, stumbling back, while one of the Slytherins fell flat on his butt. Harry rolled his eyes at this, noticing even Greengrass was visibly shocked. “Make no mistake Malfoy, I might not be around to protect Greengrass, but I’m certainly around enough to make your life very…painful.”

“Y-y-but-”

“Look around, Malfoy. Is your father here to take a cutting curse for you? Would any of those your father bribed and bullied to protect you be willing to take a killing curse for you?” Harry chuckled darkly. “You think your wards would be strong enough to stop me slitting your throat at night when you sleep? That you’d notice the poison I slip into your food and drink?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” one of the Slytherins rebuffed.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Are you willing to risk it?” Harry grinned ferally. “You know what happened my first day here…I hear his eyes still itch.”

The Slytherins were visibly shivering at his announcement, the stench of urine becoming repugnant. WIth a roll of his eyes, Harry stood up, causing several yelps and a scramble to escape. “Pathetic fools, get out of my sight before I lose my patience.”

Many eyed the fleeing Slytherins confusedly, including Lockhart. Sitting down, he sighed in amusem*nt, using a ventus charm to clear the stench. “Do take care, miss Greengrass. As I said, I won’t always be around. Though I suspect you knew that.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she shrugged innocently. Harry nodded along, a faint smile on his lips.

“Then I suppose you just decided to swap your orb for the giggles, then,” Harry chuckled, causing a blush to appear on her neck as Davis eyed the two confusedly. “You’re good, but not that good, miss Greengrass. I’ll see you tonight.”

Before she had a chance to retort, or answer the gaping Davis’ questions, Harry stood up, descending down to the duelling pit, where his opponent, ironically enough, was one of the fourth year Slytherins who had followed Malfoy, a malicious glint in his eyes as he looked prepared to draw blood.

While Harry bowed, the boy barely inclined his head, drawing an irate glare from Flitwick. Counting down from three, Harry took to the offensive as soon as zero was reached, throwing a shield breaking charm followed by a blasting curse and a cutting curse angled slightly to the left of the first two spells.

To his credit, Viller identified his shield breaker and instead simply rolled to the side opposite of his cutting curse, firing off a torrent of flames in retaliation. Harry simply sent a burst of aguamenti, causing a hiss and fog to spread around. Vaulting to the side as he stopped the conjuration, Harry tapped his head, casting a disillusionment while Viller dispelled the mist, looking around carefully.

Taking a risk, Harry plunged into the boy’s mind with legilimency, amplifying his fear and anger and watching with satisfaction as his weak occlumency began to strain under the pressure. Flicking his wand, Harry cast an cutting curse arc, before quickly repositioning and firing a blasting curse.

Viller easily dodged both, casting spells where he had cast from in a demonstration of speed, but Harry had long vacated his original casting position. He smiled as Viller advanced, a mistake given that with his back to the wards Harry could only appear reasonably in 180 degrees of his field of vision. Now deciding to show off, Harry concentrated, conjuring up an illusion of himself, then another, then another, until twelve copies along with his now revealed self surrounded the boy.

Harry’s illusions were far from perfect despite his practice, but with the boy’s heightened agitation, it was clear that he couldn’t tell which was really him. WIth a smirk, he and his illusions raised his wands, with the illusions seemingly firing off jets of water randomly, hitting his shield as he looked around with manic, firing spells randomly into his illusions to little effect. Aguamenti, being one of the easiest conjurations, had the benefit of not needing to come from the caster's wandtip, for it was simply a cooling charm to condense water in the air.

By combining that fact with a wind charm, it was easy enough to send jets of water from other points of origin such as his illusions. From the gasps and whispers of the audience, he doubted any figured out the trick save perhaps Flitwick.

“Reveal yourself, you coward!” Viller yelled, conjuring a circle of blue flames around himself. Harry rolled his eyes, leaping forward over the flames a moment before they had fully formed in front of him. His illusions mimicked his movements, causing him to scream as thirteen Harry Potters seemingly penetrated his flames without difficulty. Harry raised his wand, casting a shield piercing curse followed by a blasting curse.

Viller, to his credit, quickly whirled around, deflecting the shield piercer and shielding against the blasting curse, though stumbling back unstably as the blue flames disappeared, his concentration over them broken.

Flicking his wand, Harry blasted out chunks of the duelling floor, with Viller seemingly content to watch as he healed the cuts on his face. With a swish of his wand, Harry summoned the chunks of rock, commanding them to orbit him in a protective dome.

Taking the initiative, Viller thrust his wand forward, sending a variety of spells, though whatever damage he did to the blocks of rock that haphazardly intercepted his attacks was rendered useless as they easily reformed moments later.

As Viller began to visibly tire, he wisened up, sending a torrent of flames in a hope to pierce through the gaps. Harry swirled his wand, solidifying a slab of rock in front of him to shield himself while morphing the remaining pieces of rubble into several large spears, hurling them blindly forward towards where he estimated his opponent was standing.

From the panicked screams, he no doubt succeeded in hitting his target, and a moment later, the flames stopped trying to pierce his shield. Taking slight breaths, he dispelled the rubble, looking up to see with grim satisfaction that despite two of his spears being destroyed, the other three had struck their target true, skewering him through an arm, the stomach and a leg.

“The duel is over! Winner Potter,” Flitwick called out, looking at him with some measure of wariness as he sent up red sparks. Turning around, he saw Greengrass look at him appraisingly, while Malfoy was pale white. Without waiting further, he departed the pit, knowing there was little left he would see.

Chapter 13: Sowing Some Seeds

Chapter Text

“Potter, why aren’t we in the duelling pits?” she dipped her head in greeting as Harry stood at the balcony of the astronomy tower, watching the stars. Harry flicked his wand towards her with a simple banishing spell. Her eyes widened a moment before the spell struck, and her body flew backwards in the air with a whoosh. With another flick of his wand, her body stilled, hovering in the air for a moment before loosening its grip and dropping her flat on her rear. “What the hell was that!”

“That was your first lesson, miss Greengrass. Never take safety for granted. Always be suspicious, always be alert, always be ready.”

“Well I as-”

“And that’s the problem, you assumed,” Harry cut in coldly, causing her jaw to snap audibly. “You came to me wanting to learn to fight, did you not? Then know that there are no rules to a fight, and that a fight is not over until your enemies are completely destroyed: their lives, their spirit, their legacy. You will learn to fight dirty, to do the most despicable things, things that you will hate yourself for doing. But you’ll do them because you want to survive, and while you might hate yourself, you’ll be alive.”

To her credit, Greengrass merely nodded stiffly, straightening her robes with a determined glint in her eyes.

“Let us pretend it’s a fair fight…against Malfoy it won’t be, but imagine I am him and facing you down, goons at my side. Demonstrate what you do.”

“Stupefy!” she cast the spell, which Harry lazily dodged by twisting his body slightly. Greengrass preened, waiting to be praised, though Harry only sighed in annoyance, causing her to give a confused frown.

“Well done, you fired a spell that even if it hit me, would knock me out and allow me to be revived easily by another combatant. Not to mention, those around me have had plenty of time to fire their spells at you.

“Well what would you have done?”

“A reductor at the ground in front of them could have worked, sending shrapnel at all of them and hopefully throwing them off balance. Any arced spells could have worked too. If you have to use a single spell, at least use something that has a shock factor like the killing curse.”

“B-but that’s illegal!” Greengrass protested. He shook his head in bemusem*nt.

“You think the son of a death eater gives a damn about illegality? You make sure there are no witnesses and no evidence,” Harry snorted.

“How would I even begin to know how to cast the spell?”

“I doubt you could,” Harry chuckled dryly, meeting her indignant gaze. “Do you understand what it takes to cast the spell?”

-- Flashback--

“Avada Kedavra, also known as the soul killer,” Quirrell lectured, smiling at Harry’s confused frown. Many think that the curse can be anything but heinous. Some suggest it could be used in cases of euthanasia or animal slaughter. They are fools that don’t understand how a true killing curse works.”

Quirrell took a deep breath, conjuring a dummy. “Try it, Harry.”

“It’s…illegal, sir,” Harry pointed out dryly. Quirrell chuckled.

“What the ministry doesn’t know can’t hurt. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Won’t the Hogwarts wards know?” Harry asked sceptically. Quirrell had a gleam in his eye.

“Not many are aware of the fact…you never cease to amaze me,” Quirrell chuckled. “But I have warded this room to prevent such…it is also why you won’t see any portraits here…pesky little things always ready to report to Dumbledore.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Harry concentrated his hate, all the negative feelings of abandonment, isolation, weakness and resentment, bubbling the desire to kill within him. Firing off, his wand gave a weak, raw fizzle of green light that fizzled out into nothing halfway between his wand tip and the dummy.

“Don’t be surprised…frankly I would be concerned if a twelve year old could cast the spell,” the professor chuckled. At his indignant look, Quirrell shook his head. “It is not a matter of competence, power, skill or any of the like. To truly unleash the soul killer, one must be willing to give everything to see another destroyed. They are pushing their soul against another’s using it as a weapon to pierce their opponent’s. It chips away at the soul…eventually, one loses the ability to feel emotions…to even achieve the resonance necessary to cast magic.” At Harry’s contemplative look, Quirrell waved his hand, encouraging him to ask the unspoken question.

“Then how was it so commonly cast? Even low Death Eaters were said to cast the curse commonly,” Harry pointed out. Quirrell nodded sagely.

“Another good observation. There is a reason the name soul killer is not well known. While many believe the killing curse to be binary, either effective or not, this is hardly the case. Just as a reductor curse’s power depends on the caster's abilities, so too does the killing curse,” Quirrell lectured. “A weak intent may generate nothing at all, moderate intent may be enough to kill a wizard…a true killing curse can end the lives of magical beasts such as dragons in a single spell. But even then, that is not all. There are…certain shortcuts that allow for the casting of such spells. ‘Soul breaker’, incantation ‘animafractus’. It shatters the soul, making one unstable…but unlocks significant power.”

“You’ve used the curse, haven’t you?” Harry queried warily. Quirrell merely nodded sadly.

“And not a day goes by that I don’t regret it,” he admitted freely, causing Harry to blink. Quirrell merely sighed. “The price of power is great…and one I would not have paid had I known the true cost. Even with its benefits, of which there are many.”

“Then how did the aurors in the last war cast it? Surely they wouldn’t have gone through such a process.”

“Indeed most did not…it is why few aurors did so despite it being legalised. And certainly never to its full potential. Haven’t you wondered why Voldemort’s signature curse if Avada Kedavra despite it being so commonplace.”

Harry nodded, enthralled.

“It is because of its power. While an ordinary killing curse would only tickle a dragon, Voldemort managed to kill a Vecelarix with a single one, at least allegedly. Though frankly, I cannot imagine another spell, no matter how much used, that could possibly have taken down the beast.”

“What about fiendfyre?”

“Ah, of course, hell’s flame as they call it,” Quirrell nodded sagely. “It is…somewhat similar. One is essentially making a minor sacrifice to the demonic realm. Willing for yourself to be destroyed so long as you manage to destroy your opponent. To control fiendfyre…it requires extreme levels of control, first to muster the hate needed to summon the flame, then to pull oneself from the vengeful haze.”

“And the other two curses?”

“The cruciatus. Most fools only have the capacity to cast it to cause moderate levels of physical pain. Bellatrix Lestrange is infamous for her command of the spell; analysis of her victims would see their minds fracture, the next level. However in its truest form…well, nothing is off the table…not even the soul.”

“You speak…as though you have experience with the spell,” Harry frowned, turning his wand towards Quirrell. The professor merely smiled indulgently, mockingly placing his empty hands in the air. “How do you know this?”

“Did you think that the man who became Voldemort ascended alone? No…he had his confidantes and his peers…myself being one,” Quirrell chuckled. “I always thought it a shame he succumbed to the madness of the dark arts…so much potential wasted.”

“And you don’t agree with his views?” Harry frowned. Quirrell snorted.

“He might not be pureblood, but he preached pureblood supremacy passionately.” Quirrell blinked at him strangely.

“How…do you figure?”

“If he was a genuine lord, he would not use a made up name such as Voldemort. Even his claim as ‘heir of Slytherin’ suggests he can’t claim to be a lord, which would be verified by official records. Besides, the records show Dumbledore had long tried to promote the fact that he’s a halfblood. That his supporters didn’t desert in droves suggests that they’re rallying around him because he’s willing to advance their cause, just as he’s using them,” Harry reasoned.

“Very true,” Quirrell affirmed approvingly. “I’ve found that I…have a distinct distaste for the business of leadership. I much prefer the life of an academic: constantly learning, improving and teaching.”

“And the imperius?” Harry queried. Quirrell chuckled indulgently.

“That is one of the spells I’ve never quite figured out the boundaries of,” he admitted, rolling his eyes at Harry’s visible shock. “There are things I do not know, as far as I have come. I can tell you that the victims of the imperius seem to lose themselves more depending on how powerful the caster is, but where the limits are…I could scarcely imagine. Perhaps you’ll find out one day.”

--Flashback--

Greengrass shook her head uncertainly.

“I thought not. You could learn the wand motion, know the incantation, yet if you mustered all your hate at me and tried to cast, I question whether any light would even form, much less a spell,” Harry lectured. “You don’t believe me, try it.”

“Avada Kedavra,” she frowned, flicking her wand at him. Her wand gave off a pathetic green spark, causing her to flush in embarrassment.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I couldn’t cast the spell…frankly very few can. But I am trying to get you to understand the gravity of the situation you face. As time passes, so too will be the ruthlessness of individuals like Malfoy. They will not hesitate to maim, to torture…perhaps take you against your will. Thus, you must dominate him…condition him into fear.”

“W-w-what do you mean?” she frowned.

“Have you ever been to the circus?” he inquired. Greengrass was clearly confused, but nodded. “Haven’t you ever wondered why the animals don’t simply escape?.”

“I assume there are wards to stop them,” Greengrass answered dryly. Harry snorted lightly.

“Do you have any idea how expensive they are? Moreso portable ones? Most could hardly afford one, let alone know how to operate and maintain it. No, they condition the animals from youth. Whenever they try to escape or otherwise misbehave, they are beaten. Thus even as they grow older, the fear remains…and they stay,” Harry explained. “Your aim is not to be better than Malfoy, it is to condition him to believe you are better, regardless of the fact.”

“I…see,” Greengrass agreed hesitantly. “And how do I do that?”

“Fear.”

“But he’s untouchable. His father i-”

“And that is the key, is it not?” Harry asked simply. “He is dependent on his father…idolises him. His father is the one who arranges for his heir’s protection. Undermine the relationship, and you will undermine his power.”

“That’s…not going to be easy,” Greengrass frowned.

“Nothing worthwhile ever is.”

“Show me.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed. Honestly, for all the Slytherin pride, none of them had any vision.

--Break--

Sitting in the common room, Harry raised an eyebrow as Greengrass made a show of sauntering past Malfoy before perching on the armrest of the sofa chair he was currently on. Predictably, Malfoy seethed, standing up and beckoning several others to follow. The group of roughly fifteen Slytherins, mostly upper year classmen, proceeded in front of them.

“Yes?” Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Here to get your eyes gouged out?”

“This doesn’t involve you, Potter,” Malfoy spat, before turning to Greengrass. “So you’ve decided to become Potter’s slu*t, is that what it is?”

“Better his whor* than your wife,” Greengrass snorted lightly. “Considering you can’t even talk to me without your stooges.”

“Unlike Potter, I’m not a loner,” Malfoy bit back testiny, brandishing his wand.

“I am right here, you know?” Harry chuckled dryly, withdrawing his wand. Several of the Slytherin gang took steps backwards, a few more flinching. “Didn’t daddy teach you any manners?”

“At least my parents aren’t dead,” he spat venomously. Several of the Slytherins around backed away, clearly expecting him to explode. Harry merely snorted lightly.

“My parents died protecting me. Your parents would probably trade you away for a big enough pile of gold,” Harry laughed, though his words’ innocent tone juxtaposed the malicious venom. “Aren’t you ever afraid, Malfoy? Your father has no doubt many bastards. Your academics are good but not exceptional, you have inherited no special traits, you’re arrogant and spoiled. How long until he makes you…go away and replaces you?”

“H-he wouldn’t!” Malfoy sputtered.

“Blood adoption potions exist. Even if they didn’t, an adopted heir that brings glory to the family is more valuable than a true heir who squanders it. You ranked lower than the mudblood Granger in academics, for crying out loud!”

“B-many others did too!”

“But they are not his children. You are, and you will face his wrath alone,” Harry shrugged.

“I’m a Malfoy! I’m irreplaceable!”

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” Harry responded coolly while Greengrass snorted. “Look at those around you…how many truly like you, and how many are here at the behest of your father, hmm?”

“I’ll…I’ll…”

“Yes?” Harry drawled lazily. “Maybe I’ll tell your father myself. Perhaps then his imperius addled mind will realise what a liability you are. After all, he’s arranged many ‘accidents’ before. What’s one more?”

Malfoy spun on his heel, pushing through his own entourage towards the dormitory. The rest of the entourage stood there dumbly, until Harry sighed, snapping his fingers and getting their attention.

“I need a new test subject for some new curses. If you want to volunteer, stay still. Otherwise, return to your miserable lives,” he ordered silkily. The individuals, despite their superior numbers, quickly scampered. Turning to Greengrass, he had an amused smirk. “See, easy.”

“Ich glaub’ ich spinne,” Daphne grumbled, drawing a laugh from his lips.

--Break--

Leafing through the dusty tome in the Hogwarts library, Harry grinned as he found the charter he was looking for.

Students who wish to withdraw must serve notice in the term preceding the next of three main holidays. The headmaster has the right to belay such a request for two weeks or until the beginning of the holiday period, whichever comes sooner.

Considering his options, Harry felt a grin on his face as a plan came to fruition. Returning the tome to Madam Prince, he departed the library, to see Lockhart in his gleaming duelling robes striding past.

“Professor Lockhart,” Harry called out. Lockhart turned with a bright smile, which dimmed slightly at the sight of him. Harry filed that titbit away for future reference, but did not give an indication he noticed the professor quickly compose himself.

“Ah mister Potter, how can I help?”

“I was wondering if you could offer a few tips and tricks outside of class. I admit the content isn’t particularly challenging,” Harry shrugged lightly, hoping he did not come off as boastful. The professor chuckled nervously.

“I’m afraid I can’t quite do that, mister Potter. It would reek of favouritism, you see. I offer lessons to one student, then three more want them too, and my schedule is far too packed for that,” Lockhart shook his head.

“So you’re not offering Malfoy lessons?” Harry challenged lightly. The man’s complexion paled slightly, though he quickly recovered.

“And where would you have heard such a rumour from?” Lockhart queried noncommittally.

“Malfoy was rather proud to call you his instructor,” Harry fibbed. “Besides, it’s not too difficult to see. From a passable student in his first year, to a competent duellist over the summer in an international competition…I believe you were his sponsor, weren’t you?”

“Yes…yes I was,” Lockhart eyed him warily. “You’re rather well informed, mister Potter. Very few would know where to look for such information. I’ve seen you duel, and I would simply encourage you to continue whatever you’re doing. Honestly your style reminds me of an old colleague…but never mind about that. I’m afraid I can’t help you in this regard.”

“Of course, thank you for your time, professor,” Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement.

--Break--

“I presume there’s a reason we’re in the forbidden forest?” Greengrass asked through pursed lips. Harry merely smiled sagely.

“Indeed. Let us make haste, you’re not getting younger.” Ignoring her squawk of indignation, he waved his wand, tapping himself and then Greengrass to disillusion them. Another swish of his wand reduced their noise and scent. Grabbing her hand, he began leading her deeper into the forest, before stopping at a small clearing, where two centaurs were lounging around a campfire. “Perfect. Stay here.”

Walking into the clearing, he snuck up closer and closer to the centaurs, who did not notice. Just several meters away, Harry flicked his wand, casting a sunner arc. The centaur nearer barely had time to rear before being knocked unconscious, though his counterpart managed to roll out of the way with surprising agility.

Thrusting his wand forward, Harry sent a bolt of lightning straight at the creature, who howled in agony as the smell of charred flesh began to grow nauseatingly potent. With a simple stunner after that, both were knocked unconscious. With two flicks of his wand, strong ropes coiled around the unconscious creatures.

“You can come out, Greengrass,” he barked. A moment later, the wide eyed girl nervously approached from the treeline. “Come on, the next patrol will be here in a few hours. We haven’t the time to spare.”

“W-what are you doing?”

“Visa Dementi,” Harry lectured as Greengrass listened with rapt attention. “The dementor spell, a lesser known variation of the common nightmare curse. One must channel their hate and anger for it to truly work…they must wish for their victim to suffer, to hurt and to fear. Allow me to demonstrate. Rennervate.”

Harry sighed, vanishing the vomit and waiting patiently as Greengrass took several moments to compose herself. “Y-you killed it.”

“Is it not just another creature? The turkey and beef you consume come from animals too, does it not?” Harry shrugged. “You need not enjoy killing as some do…but if you cannot even witness a death, how will you stand up to the likes of Malfoy?”

“I…I can do this,” Greengrass resolved, wiping the tears from her eyes. With a determined glint, she swirled her wand before thrusting it towards the remaining centaur. Her wand hissed as she whispered the incantation, conjuring blue sparks but not otherwise doing anything.

“You need to manifest your hate, Greengrass. Imagine Malfoy taking you against your will, imagine him enslaving your sister, killing your parents,” he whispered darkly, smiling faintly at the rage he felt within her. “Let go of your occlumency, let the hate flow.”

“Visa Dementi!” she bellowed, hurling a jet of purple at the unconscious centaur. Immediately, the creature snapped up with a frightened bellow, staring around with manic in its eyes. Greengrass took several steps back as the creature toppled over in its attempt to free itself, hooves kicking up dirt madly.

“Good,” Harry nodded in acknowledgement as Greengrass stared down at her wand with horror. “Now kill it.”

“W-what?” she looked at him with wide eyes.

“Unless you want to leave a witness, who’ll tell Dumbledore, who’ll have us expelled and our wands snapped,” Harry shrugged. “Leave your innocent little sister all alone for Malfoy to take.”

“I-I…can’t you do it?” she pleaded.

“No, Greengrass. This is a step you must take yourself,” he shook his head unsympathetically. Swallowing, Harry briefly thought she wouldn’t go through it, but suddenly, she snapped her wand, firing a blasting curse that blew open the centaur’s head like a grape. Seeing Greengrass was near the end of her mental rope, he pulled her into a hug, gently rubbing her back as he soothed her emotions using his legilimency. She grabbed onto him like a lifeline, sobbing deeply as her body trembled. “Shh, you did well. You’re one step closer to freedom.”

With a flick of his wand, a huge torrent of flames incinerated the corpses.

--Break--

“Welcome students, staff, parents, board members, ministry representatives and guests, to the first public exhibition duel Hogwarts has held in over half a century!” Dumbledore greeted warmly. The central duelling pit had been expanded, with an executive booth for the Hogwarts board members and several ministry officials. He recognised Amelia Bones amongst them, talking with a visibly nervous Susan.

“Today’s contestants have proven themselves the most able amongst their peers. While I’m sure the tournament for the older section has suitably impressed, let us not forget that those present will be the beneficiaries of an extensively revamped duelling curriculum for several years to come, with current first years being the first generation trained under the new comprehensive defence curriculum. As such, I am sure we will be watching the progression of these students with great interest. But without further ado, I introduce our defence instructor and duelling master, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart!”

The flashes of the cameras overtook the area as Gilderoy sauntered to the centre of the duelling pit, a wide grin on his face. “Welcome! Welcome! And thank you to the headmaster for such a kind introduction. Truly, it has been my privilege to teach at such a prestigious institution and leave my mark on the next generation.

While the need for learning more defence is regrettably increasingly great, it does not mean we shouldn’t take the time and energy to honour those who exhibit talent in the area. Indeed, it is my firm belief such abilities must be nurtured to their fullest potential, for the students who duel today may be the aurors and hit wizards or witches of tomorrow.

Each student selected to take part in today’s tournament represents the best Hogwarts has to offer. Each has already successfully triumphed against two opponents with exemplary skill and no small measure of luck. Let it be known, that whether they make the podium or not, they have earned a place of honour upon which they should continue building their talents.

But there will be time for words. For now, let us begin with the duels. For the first round, please welcome Amanda Carter and Logan Shafiq.”

The hall applauded enthusiastically as the two fourth years entered opposite sides of the pit, raising their wands to loud cheers. As they bowed and assumed positions, a silence descended across the stage.

“Three. Two. One. Begin!” Disappointingly, both duellists raised shields. While the traditional move, Harry had expected something better. Soon, they began trading spells, nothing remarkable happening until at the one minute mark, Shafiq seemed to tire of the exchange and conjured a tall column of water before sending it crashing towards Carter.

The girl raised a shield around herself, but Shafiq was not finished, demonstrating exemplary control by warping the water into a ball that surrounded Carter, hoisting her in the air and keeping her pinned. After several moments of hesitation, Carter lowered her shield, attempting to conjure flames.

Alas, they were snuffed out, and she shot out red sparks in surrender, not wishing to drown.

Enthusiastic applause came from many of the audience members present. Harry himself clapped mildly, for it was evident that apart from his affinity with water through rudimentary elemental magic, Shafiq was otherwise average. No doubt a lot of the applause was due to the boy’s family name.

The next few duels were far less remarkable, and Harry paid little attention until his name was called up. Descending down the steps, he could hear the whispers about his age, being the first second-year who would participate today. His opponent was Elena Sofere, a fourth year Ravenclaw he hadn’t seen before.

Bowing before waiting for the countdown, he saw her relax at the fact he hadn’t adopted a duelling pose, simply standing with feet apart and his wand lazily to his side. As the count reached zero, he waited as she raised a shield around herself before casting a stunner.

Whispers broke out as he didn’t move, waiting for the spell to reach centimetres before him before twisting his body slightly to the side, avoiding the red jet of light. Returning to his relaxed pose, Harry waited again as his opponent gaped for a moment before a determined glint sparked in her eye.

She moved her wand in quick but imprecise movements, forming the basic spell chain of Alarte Ascendare, Bifurit, Confringo. The first spell lifted a target into the air, the second disoriented them and the third blasted them backwards. Simple, yet the fact that she knew, let alone used a spell chain to moderate effectiveness was quite impressive. Despite this, Harry simply stepped to the side deftly, avoiding the spells once again. She sent several different spell chains at him, each more sloppy than the last. Harry did not raise a single shield or fire a single spell.

After minutes, she was visibly panting, while Harry literally hadn’t experienced a single drop of sweat. The audience was whispering furiously to each other at the unexpected domination by a second year, though Harry paid them little attention, his eyes still trained on Sofere.

Finally, she decided to use one of the few spells taught to students that would affect a wide area, being the fire creation charm. A huge torrent of flames hurtled towards him, and Harry finally was forced to use his magic, swishing his wand as he directed the flames away from him. Centimetres from roasting him, they instead arced around, circling back towards Sofere. She screamed in panic, ceasing her spell and casting a shield to protect herself. However, the first bits had penetrated through, and her robes were slightly singed. Harry contemplated firing off a shield breaking curse, but decided against it, patiently waiting.

As she finally recovered, Sofere looked at him with wide eyes, raising a trembling wand towards him. In a sudden burst of speed, she flung spell chain after spell chain, though Harry demonstrated his agility by making minor movements to avoid the spells that risked hitting. Her fatigue meant most missed by a margin, requiring no movement on his part.

Her second wind finished, she collapsed to the ground unconscious, having over-extended her magic.

The entire stadium was silent in shock. Looking up, Harry saw that Babbling had an exasperated smile on her lips. Strangely, Dumbledore looked faintly disturbed. Stranger still, one of the auror guards around the minister with a swirling magical eye was looking at him…hungrily? Without much concern, Harry returned to his seat, ignoring the frightened gazes of the other duellists.

The remaining pairings for the round of 32 were called up, but while there were some interesting duels, ranging from bitterly fought toss-ups to heavily skewed one-sided slaughters, the heart of the audience wasn’t really into it, with many still pointing towards and whispering about him. Harry did pay attention to Bones’ duel, with her managing to narrowly triumph against an overly confident third year Penille Pavif, resulting in the latter getting publicly chewed out by her parents.

As the round of 16 finally started, the audience seemed to get over the haze of shock, enthusiastically cheering on Logan Shafiq against his opponent Rowena Rowle. The match once again ended in Shafiq’s favour, and Harry’s attention once again drifted. Bones finally lost in a hard fought duel against Leonidas Pricip, suffering a confrigo to the chest. If the minister was concerned, she did a good job of hiding it, only showing mild disappointment.

When he was called up to face Sabin Levant, a fourth year Gryffindor, Harry bit back a sigh. Taking a moment to observe, he noticed the boy wielded his wand with his right hand. When the countdown reached zero, he immediately rolled forward, dodging a blasting curse as he fired off a shield breaker-blasting curse-shield-breaker-cutting curse-shield breaker-stunning spell chain, angling each slightly to the right of the prior.

As predicted, the Gryffindor had relied on his instinct and dodged to the right. Not having mastered proper dodging or flicker shielding, causing him to be impacted by the first, struck by the second and knocked out by the third, unconscious body slamming against the duelling wards with a sickening crack before collapsing to the ground. Giving a single nod to Lockhart, Harry returned to his seat, relishing in the fact that many of his potential opponents seemed frightened of his very presence, unconsciously leaning away.

The next few duels enjoyed much less fanfare, with him being the only non-fourth year remaining. He repeated his wipeout performances, none of his opponents lasting more than ten seconds after the duel started.

At last, the finals arrived, his opponent being a determined Roger Davies. As the two met in the middle for the bow, he resolved, “I’m not afraid.”

“Then you will lose braver than most,” Harry nodded dismissively, knowing the boy was lying. As the count reached zero, Harry leapt into action, firing off a huge burst of flames as he advanced. The black round silhouette in front revealed that his opponent had opted for a shield, a huge mistake. Ceasing his casting of flames, Harry fired a shield piercing spell, which soared through his flames and caused Davies’ shield to collapse with a sickening crunch. In the moments it took for the flames to run their course, Davies was roasted alive, screaming in agony.

The sight of a charred and unconscious Davies lying on the floor as the flames finally cleared let to more than a few gasps and tears, with Pomfrey rushing down to levitate the Ravenclaw away, shooting him a dirty look.

“Um...well there you have it, everybody. The winner of the juniors’ section is Harry Potter. Congratulations, mister Potter!” The applause was half-hearted, though he cared little, following the professor towards a podium, where he was presented with a small trophy and a bag with the prize money.

Lockhart seemed to want the affair over as quickly as possible, dismissing Harry soon after a short speech. Harry didn’t mind the least, merely smiling faintly for the flashing cameras as he was guided out of the duelling halls.

--Break--

Knocking on the door of his head of house, he resisted the urge to snort at the irate, “Enter!” barked at him. Opening the door, he was met with a single raised eyebrow from Snape. “Potter, what do you want?”

“I’m giving you official notice that I’m withdrawing from Hogwarts,” Harry answered crisply. Snape’s eyes widened, a clear indication of shock from the occlumens. “I have already made arrangements to transfer.”

“Cut your lies, mister Potter,” Snape snarled. “You haven’t asked for a transcript to be sent, and no school would reasonably accept a student without them.”

“Your views on the legitimacy of my claims are irrelevant. I have served you notice, as required by the Hogwarts by-laws,” Harry answered simply. “Goodnight professor.”

Harry quickly departed the office before he could be detained, heading to his residence with a wistful smile as he hummed a jovial tune. Entering the room, he lamented briefly over what could have been with Amelie before shaking himself out of his stupor, swishing his wand and packing most of his things into his trunk, leaving only the essentials for when he would depart tomorrow.

Just as he was about to enter his bed and sleep, a loud pop caused him to whip out his wand, a curse on his lips until he realised it was a house elf.

“Headmaster Dumbles be asking you to his office,” the creature squeaked. With a sigh, he nodded his assent, stepping out of his bed and treading along the corridors towards the man’s office. Casting a tempus, he noted the time as ten fifteen, just an hour and forty five minutes to go. Reaching the gargoyles, he raised an eyebrow as they parted without complaint, revealing a spiral staircase he ascended. As he reached the door, Dumbledore’s serene voice bade him to enter.

“Headmaster, you wished to see me?” Harry dipped his head in greeting, closing the door behind him.

“Indeed, mister Potter,” the man nodded, the smile on his lips thinning slightly. With a swish of his hand, the seat in front of him twisted slightly sideways and inched backwards. “Please, take a seat.”

“An impressive display,” Harry appraised as he took the offered seat, “wandless magic is difficult to master outside elemental spells.”

“Oho,” the headmaster’s eyes twinkled in merriment, “how interesting of you to know such an…obscure piece of information. Most would consider this a simple, harmless parlour trick.”

“To the untrained eye, a skrullstab is no different to a normal rock,” Harry shrugged.

“Too true, too true,” the headmaster smiled. Reaching out, he offered a bowl with sparkling yellow sweats. “Lemon drop.”

“Thank you,” Harry dipped his head, taking one of the sweets and popping it in his mouth. Dumbledore seemed briefly surprised, but smiled and took one for himself afterwards. Suddenly, there was a burst of flames that had Harry shoot out of his chair, wand drawn. A melodious trill caused him to calm down quickly, though his wand was still in hand before he realised he was staring at a phoenix, who had perched on the headmaster’s head and looking at him with beady eyes.

“Not to worry, mister Potter, this is just Fawkes,” Dumbledore chuckled, summoning the fallen chair and gesturing for him to sit. As Harry did so, he did not bother trying to contain his awe.

“A phoenix?” Harry breathed out.

“A truly magnificent creature indeed,” Dumbledore agreed. “And rather playful too.”

“Rather dangerous as well,” Harry added warily, causing Dumbledore to hum noncommittally, pressing his fingers together. “Tell me, mister Potter, how were you planning to stall me for an hour and…I believe thirty minutes now?”

Harry merely shook his head, chuckling. “Forgive me, headmaster, but I would have been rather surprised if you had fallen from that. I nurtured a small bit of hope Snape might not take my warning seriously, or at least serious enough to tell you at this hour.”

“For all his flaws, Professor Snape is a cautious and intelligent wizard, mister Potter,” Dumbledore chuckled. “But perhaps I should begin by asking why.”

“I’m not being challenged here,” Harry admitted. “The curriculum is far too rigid and narrow. In astronomy, it takes me a month to learn what is taught in a year. History of magic is taught by a ghost who recites the textbook word for word. Potions lacks any sort of instruction and is in a dangerous environment. We learn nothing of runes, arithmancy and whatnot until third year.”

“I see,” Dumbledore nodded sagely, eyebrows furrowed. “And may I ask why you didn’t think to approach me?”

“I could hardly expect you to make such accommodations for one student. As professor McGonagall remarked, I believe it was ‘we can’t offer special treatment to students’. But I’m sure you know that, headmaster,” Harry smiled lazily.

“Oh, and how do you figure that, mister Potter?”

“A chat with professor Lockhart was most enlightening,” Harry offered, causing the headmaster to chuckle.

“And I assume your talks with professor Babbling had nothing to do with that?” Dumbledore questioned lightly. Harry didn’t react outwardly as the two merely stared at each other for a moment. “Leaking such confidential details could certainly be troubling for her career, but I’m happy to overlook this indiscretion if we come to an agreement.”

“And why would I adjust my plans based on your threats, headmaster?” Harry returned, causing the man to frown, leaning forward.

“Surely you wouldn’t want to see Bathsheda’s career hurt over some teenage rebellion, my boy,” Dumbledore clapped his hand jovially. “I can understand your frustrations, and I assure you I’ll have a look into giving you more challenging content, but unilaterally deciding on such drastic action helps nobody.”

Harry snorted inwardly, for the speech tacitly laid the blame on him while refusing to acknowledge that of the headmaster himself.

“You would suggest that me exercising my right to choose which school to attend is something that I should consult with you on, headmaster Dumbledore?” he questioned with amusem*nt. Fawkes gave a sombre trill, gliding off Dumbledore’s head out a window.

“Mister Potter, I was close friends with your parents; Lily and James would have wanted you to stay at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore appealed.

“They are dead, headmaster. Corpses in a grave. I hardly think their opinion matters now,” Harry responded coolly, causing Dumbledore to rear back as though struck. “They placed their faith in you, leading to their only heir living in a muggle orphanage for a decade. Forgive me if I lack the same…inclination to trust you.”

“Mister Potter, I did my v-”

“I don’t care whether they died through your inability or inaction. Hogwarts under your stewardship is simply not an institution I am willing to continue my education at.”

“The ministry will not look upon your departure favourably, mister Potter,” Dumbledore advised. Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Perhaps not, but with your support, they will not resist too much,” Harry resolved. Dumbledore eyed him strangely.

“And why would you think I’d endorse your decision to leave?”

“It’s no secret in certain circles that you resent the ministry’s increased influence in Hogwarts. If you do not agree to support me…well, I’m sure the ministry and the public would love to know how it is your actions that make me displeased with Hogwarts. On the other hand, if you’re cooperative…I’m sure that I could be far more…accommodating.”

“Blackmail, mister Potter?” Dumbledore frowned, a disappointed look on his face.

“Insurance, headmaster. So I believe we have an accord?”

“Indulge an old man’s curiosity, mister Potter. Where do you plan on going to study? I doubt New World Magischola’s specialisation on potions, nor would Ilvermorny’s repute in magical creatures or herbology appeal to you. Even ignoring the language barrier, Beauxbatons focuses on politics and cultural studies, not something I could imagine you taking interest in,” Dumbledore mused. “Unless you’re joining a specialist school, which I find highly unlikely given their…resource constraints, I admit to being quite befuddled.”

“Durmstrang, headmaster,” Harry answered, causing the man’s eye to twitch slightly. “Their highmaster was most enthusiastic in recruiting me.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, Igor has always been of the belief that the Durmstrang model is superior. However, the culture there is far…less forgiving. The highmaster is also a former follower of Lord Voldemort.”

“I’m well aware of the facts,” Harry nodded nonchalantly. “Not so different from Slytherin, I suppose.”

“An…interesting conclusion, but not one I am in the position to refute,” Dumbledore sighed, leaning back and looking his full age. Harry suppressed the pleasure he felt at the sight. “Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay?”

“Unless you were going to personally teach me defensive magic and allow professors to give me advanced classes, no.”

“Those are…harsh terms, mister Potter. Surely there must be some room for compromise,” Dumbledore pleaded. Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Hogwarts is a culture of equality, in which the strong and intelligent are held back as to not fester the insecurities of the weak and stupid. Internally on a societal level, this may work, but against external threats?” Harry allowed the uncomfortable silence to linger for several moments. “Ever since I was born, I have been a target. I will not be killed because I stayed in a system that encouraged mediocrity.”

“Mister Potter, your departure would do irreparable damage to Hogwarts’ reputation.”

“And this concerns me…how?” Harry asked with a tilt of his head. Dumbledore nodded sadly.

“Hogwarts’ doors shall always be open to you, mister Potter. I hope you remember that.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page, then. Thank you for the lemon drop, headmaster,” Harry dipped his head, standing up and departing the office. As he closed the door behind him, a surge of triumph manifested in a crooked grin.

--Break--

With a disillusionment charm around himself, Harry observed with amusem*nt as Malfoy and his goons approached Greengrass, who was talking with her younger sister Davis. His wand lazily to his side ready to intervene, he waited with bated breath.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Greengrass asked coolly. Malfoy made a dramatic show of looking left and right.

“Guess Potter isn’t here to defend you now, Greengrass. You should watch your words carefully,” Malfoy growled. Greengrass rolled her eyes, even as her younger sister hid behind Davis.

“I don’t need his protection.” Making a show of eyeing all of the six in Malfoy’s entourage, she sniffed derisively. “Not a single one of you could take me.”

“You should know your betters,” Malfoy warned. Greengrass merely laughed in his face. Sensing what was about to happen, Harry discreetly raised a notice-me-not ward around them, thankful none of Malfoy’s goons seemed to feel the magic.

“I’ll let you know when I see them. Don’t test me, Malfoy. My patience is running thin.”

“Crabbe, Go-”

“Visa Dementi,” she cast a hateful look on her eyes that shone with triumph as Malfoy collapsed to the ground, screaming in absolute horror. The others all took steps back as Greengrass turned her wand towards them. “Anyone else?”

Thankfully, she seemed to sense the need to stop the spell, and dispelled the curse’s hold on Malfoy. “Take him and piss off.”

Crabbe and Goyle quickly grabbed their leader and hoisted him onto the train away from Greengrass. Both Davis and the younger Greengrass were staring at her with awe. With a swish of his wand, the weak ward was taken down, and he revealled himself.

“Very well done, miss Greengrass,” Harry praised, causing the girl’s eyes to widen at the sight of him before a blush began creeping up her neck. “Do remember to be careful, cowards like him are like roaches; they return in greater numbers. Enjoy your holidays.”

Giving one last smile and nod, he levitated his trunk behind him, intent on heading to one of the compartments near the end of the train.

"Mister Potter!" Greengrass’ voice called out. Harry turned to see her approaching him, and stopped. It took her several moments to recover her breath. There were several moments of awkward silence, before he smiled, nodding encouragingly at her.

"Leaving over the holidays?" she blurted out before blushing. He chuckled lightly.

"One could say that," he smiled wryly. "It has been a pleasure teaching you, miss Greengrass."

“A-are we not continuing our lessons afterwards?” she asked, clearly dejected. Harry sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder and causing her to look up.

“I’m afraid that I won’t be returning to Hogwarts, miss Greengrass. I have found the need to broaden my horizons and explore new opportunities.”

“Oh…I see,” she nodded awkwardly, shuffling slightly on her feet.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t keep in contact, or meet up over the summer. I admit, I’ve grown rather fond of you. Besides, I can’t have my first student reflecting bad on me, can I?” It was a poor attempt at levity, but Greengrass gave a tinkling laugh at that, clearly relieved that the earlier awkwardness had been banished.

“Thanks for everything. Truly…I…appreciate everything,” she smiled awkwardly at the end. Harry knew she had wanted to say more, but decided against pressing the issue. With a warm smile, he pulled her into a hug, resisting the urge to chuckle as she basked in the contact, melting into his arms. When they parted, it was with great reluctance on Greengrass’ part. He reached out, softly wiping the pooling moisture in her eyes.

“A wise man once wrote that friends need not be kept close. If fate is kind, then their paths may intersect for moments in a lifetime, allowing for moments that should be cherished forever. But if their paths never cross again, they should take comfort in the fact that the one they’ve come to love and respect are gracing the world with their presence, living their lives to the fullest.”

“Did you just make that up?” Greengrass sniffed. Harry couldn’t help a chuckle at that, and soon she joined in the laughter.

“Perhaps I did, miss Greengrass.”

“Daphne,” she corrected. At his confused co*ck of the head, she smiled. “Please call me Daphne, if anyone deserves it, it’s you.”

“Then call me Harry. If anyone in this school has my respect, it’s you.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “You have a bright future ahead of you, Daphne. I do so look forward to seeing what you’ll accomplish with that mind of yours.”

Chapter 14: Welcome to Durmstrang

Chapter Text

Boy-who-lived quits Hogwarts

In a shocking revelation, a tipoff to the Daily Prophet that the boy-who-lived Harry Potter has pulled out of Hogwarts. The decision has led to wild speculations on what could have caused this shock. As many readers will know, Harry Potter was the single highest scoring individual on the International Magical Exams, which means that he is the most talented student relative to his international cohort that Britain has to offer. Upon further investigation, it was also revealed that mister Potter has been made an honorary master of the ICW’s Transfiguration guild, only being restricted from becoming a card carrying member because the charter forbids anyone under the age of eighteen from receiving such a title.

More likely, readers will be aware of the second year student’s incredible victory in the juniors Duelling tournament in Hogwarts, during which audience members bore witness to a string of absolutely one-sided duels showing Potter’s prowess in combative magics. Duelling master Cantyme, who was in the audience at the time, noted that, “Such a display of magic is truly remarkable for one as young as him. It is not necessarily any individual spell or magic that he used, but the efficacy with which he managed to cast them with. His dodging would make many auror cadets green with envy.”

It is with this background that we are forced to ask what has driven a national icon away from Hogwarts, supposedly one of the best schools in the magical world. While it is not uncommon for some to decide to attend Beauxbatons or Ilvermorny, the Daily Prophet can confirm that mister Potter is slated to attend neither. The board of governors has convened an emergency meeting, with a three hour grilling of the headmaster behind closed doors that yielded little answers for the public. Lord Malfoy, the head of the board, had this to say.

“Headmaster Dumbledore has suggested to us that mister Potter felt the Hogwarts curriculum was too constraining for him to reach his potential, which I find an unacceptable assertion. The curriculum standard at Hogwarts is world renowned in design, receiving several international accolades. The only reasonable conclusion is that staff teaching at Hogwarts are inadequate in their instruction. In conversations with my son Draco, he has often bemoaned the inadequacies of certain professors, most notably Cuthbert Binns in the history of magic. Dumbledore’s refusal to acquiesce to ministry assessments of staff members and previous attempts by the board to entertain new applicants is reflective of a concerning degree of control the headmaster attempts to exercise.”

While it is still too early to draw conclusions, this certainly comes as a heavy blow to the British Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts, whose ‘New Tomorrow’ program is still in the process of being implemented. For mister Potter to have attended before withdrawing from the school suggests a grave dissatisfaction with the situation at Hogwarts. Answers are being demanded by the public, with minister Bones convening an education taskforce led by madam Marchbanks to inspect Hogwarts.

Sitting at the seaside of the large port city of Aureliax, Harry sipped a cup of tea, enjoying the salty flecks that landed onto his extended tongue as Hedwig hooted amusedly. Settling down the newspaper, he chuckled, “They’ve made quite the fuss, haven’t they?”

‘Hoot,’ Hedwig bobbed her head in amusem*nt. Several figures approached his table, and Harry discreetly drew his wand in preparation.

“Mister Potter,” a voice called out. Frowning at the fact it was in English, Harry turned to see minister Bones and a pair of aurors behind her, several more around the premises of the cafe drawing wary looks from the patrons. “May I have a seat?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, indicating to the chair across from him. The minister dipped her head in thanks, taking the offered seat and accepting a cup of tea from the waitress. “How may I help you, minister? I doubt you came all the way to Germany for tea.”

“Indeed I did not,” Bones chuckled dryly. “I imagine you’ve already read the news?”

“Yes, it’s truly a day when the fact a child transfers school is front page news,” Harry shrugged. Bones snorted lightly.

“You give yourself far too little credit, mister Potter,” the minister chuckled. “You are, of course, the boy-who-lived. But even ignoring that, you’re a prodigy who has attracted much attention in the halls of the ministry and the ICW. Your departure is going to send shockwaves throughout the magical world.”

“I’m afraid I don’t hear a question,” Harry pointed out. The minister’s lips curled up in amusem*nt.

“Why leave?” she asked simply.

“Tell me, minister, would you prefer ten aurors or one hitwizard?” Harry queried. Bones blinked in confusion. “Humour me, minister.”

“I…suppose ten aurors,” she shrugged.

“Then why have the hitwizard program? Only the most talented aurors try out, and even then, the acceptance rate is less than ten percent. Of those who fail, many retire altogether, meaning a loss of otherwise talented aurors,” Harry mused. Bones took a sip of tea, clearly deep in contemplation.

“While true, I don’t quite see how this relates to our discussion,” she conceded.

“In this situation, Hogwarts, like you, prefers the ten aurors. Durmstrang, on the other hand, would handily take the one hitwizard. Resources are concentrated on the best and brightest, while the remaining ones are left behind,” Harry answered. “In Hogwarts, talented individuals like your niece are held back to appease the slackers like Weasley or Crabbe. It is perhaps a fairer society, but at the price of the greatness that could have otherwise been achieved.”

“I…see,” Bones nodded thoughtfully. “Is there no way to convince you back?”

“That is the wrong question, minister,” Harry chided softly, causing the witch to blink in shock.

“Do you not think Dumbledore has asked me the same question? If he couldn’t convince me to stay, what makes you think you can?” Harry challenged. Bones flushed slightly, a rather amusing sight.

“I’m sure there are things the ministry can provide…a fast track in the auror program perhaps, given your interest in combative magics?” she proffered.

“While I appreciate the offer, I’m afraid I will have to decline.”

“A shame…Mad-Eye will be disappointed,” Bones mused. At Harry’s confused look, she shook her head, chuckling. “Alastor Moody is the head of our auror academy. He witnessed your performance and was most impressed. Frankly, I’m in agreement, your reflexes…”

“Just a bit of hard work,” Harry shrugged. “When you practice the same dodge a thousand times a day, it’ll quickly become instinctual.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bones nodded appreciatively. “But you mentioned I asked the wrong question, what would be the right one?”

“What should you do with Hogwarts,” Harry answered, smiling at her befuddlement. “You’re not here to get me back, because deep down, you know that won’t happen. You’re here looking for policies and advice that you can implement to appease the population.”

Bones stared at him with a stunned expression, turning to glare at one of her guards that guffawed. The wizard looked away sheepishly, and Bones slumped, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“The true problem is the factionalism between the progressives and the conservatives. Because neither side wishes to give the other an advantage, relics like Binns are not replaced because a future replacement would advantage one side or the other. When the board and the headmaster cannot agree on a course of action…let’s just say the ministry has to step in and act.”

“Dumbledore gave me the impression that you were concerned about the expansion of ministry power in Hogwarts,” Bones frowned.

“He is to an extent correct. I am wary of the effect ministry intervention will have. Ignoring the power struggles at the ministry, adding a third side to the power struggle at Hogwarts will only make things more difficult. The more players in a game, the more unpredictable the situation; I do not wish to devote energy away from my studies to play politics.”

“You don’t like the ministry very much, do you?” Bones mused. “Care to enlighten me as to why?”

“After the end of the war, the ministry saw fit to completely lower its guard, not making any significant reforms. Instead of trying to address the root causes that allowed Voldemort’s movement to rise, the ministry sat idly for a full decade, allowing one of the most infamous lieutenants to escape the supposedly inescapable Azkaban. Forgive me if I lack trust in the ministry.”

“I…suppose that is fair,” Bones conceded painfully. “But can’t you see the ministry is changing?”

“I recognise your attempts at change,” Harry acknowledged with a dip of his head. “But no leader rules alone, and the opposition to your policies will only increase. The more opposition there is, the more arguments can be stirred up, the more futile any attempts at reform are. With all due respect, I will be very surprised if you manage much progress at Hogwarts or the ministry.”

To her credit, Bones didn’t seem to take offence, glaring down at one of her guards who looked about ready to pipe up. He decided to offer a lifeline.

“For all I’ve said, you are in the right direction. Change must start with the younger generation. If I were you, I’d negotiate with Dumbledore to get him to step down as chief warlock and supreme mugwump. Work with him to devise policies the both of you can support; divide and conquer with you at the ministry and him at Hogwarts.”

“The international loss in prestige would be disastrous…not to mention the stirrings in the Wizengamot,” Bones muttered. Harry didn’t know whether he was impressed she was actually considering a twelve year old’s advice, or annoyed that she was still thinking like a politician of old.

“All victory requires sacrifice, minister. You fought in the last war, you should know this well enough.”

“I admit I was sceptical when Miss Greengrass insisted that I meet you in person,” Bones mused, causing him to arch a surprised eyebrow. “Daphne’s become a good friend of Susan, the two have become sparring partners over the holidays. She’s had quite a bit to say about you, all compliments, I assure you. I can see why she was so insistent.”

“I’ll make sure to send her a thank you card,” Harry said, causing Bones to chuckle. “I do regret never getting to know Susan better, she’s quite the capable duellist and a very nice person, from what I hear.”

“May I ask why?” Bones queried.

“Politics, I’m afraid,” Harry answered. “If you’ll indulge me, this takes a bit of time to explain.”

“Please,” the minister encouraged.

“Many people think that to go in Slytherin is an un-Slytherin move because it paints a target on you. Many also wonder why Slytherin would antagonise the other houses to the point normal relations are nearly impossible. The answer is simple: control.

Through their acts of cruelty and malice, a minority has managed to put Slytherin at war with the other houses. Now, even those who do not hold such prejudices will have to contend with suspicion, if not outright hostility when trying to interact with other houses. Thus, members of Slytherin can only find company in the dungeons, where those with heavy prejudices maintain control. And thus with the ‘us versus them’ mentality, these individuals maintain near total control of Slytherin. Snape reinforces this with his abuse of the other houses, though whether he is the mastermind or merely another pawn to further this, I am uncertain.

To try and foster links outside the house requires significant time and energy, usually beyond what the payoff could be. It would also make one a target within the house, representing an existential threat to the current power structure in the house.

But now comes the question on why Daphne broke this mould. Because by her calculus, she is now in a position where the logical choice is to branch out. She has achieved the minimal capability to defend herself against aggressors in Slytherin in the medium term, and if she does not find allies, she’ll be forced into a position where she has no hope of resisting Malfoy’s attempt to force a marriage contract. The window of opportunity where she can seek out allies and when the gates close off as her housemates grow strong enough to suppress her again means it’s a race against the clock. Her choice of your niece, who is generally quite trusting and kind, yet with the political backing of yourself and the house of Bones, made her the perfect target.”

“I have just one question…how in merlin’s ballsack did you come up with that?” she exclaimed. Even her two auror guards tried to discreetly lean in to hear the answer. Harry merely smiled indulgently.

“I merely learn to ask the right questions, minister. I find that it’s always worthwhile to take a step back and reflect every now and again. It’s far too easy to be lost in the moment, to petty emotions and meaningless trifles.” Harry smiled as the waitress nervously put a plate of biscuits in front of them before scampering away. “A final word of warning, minister. Too often, centrists are unwilling to do what is necessary to resist annihilation by the extremists of either side. The more mundane the belief, the more vulnerable it is, and the more extreme measures must be taken to defend it. Do give Daphne and Susan my best.”

Standing up, he gave a nod of acknowledgement to the two aurors, leaving several galleons to cover the meal and a generous tip at the counter before walking towards the exit.

“Mister Potter,” Bones called out, causing him to stop and turn around, raising a curious eyebrow. The witch swallowed, smiling nervously. “Thank you…for your time. And good luck at Durmstrang.”

“Thank you, minister,” Harry smiled, dipping his head in respect. “Stay strong, minister. If anyone can succeed, it’s you.”

The witch seemed to take heart at these words, straightening up with resolve. Harry mused to himself how a few words, so easy to give out, could have such a large impact.

--Break--

Walking along the market, Harry smiled wistfully as he passed by a group of children singing carols while charmed instruments played around them. Walking to one of the food stalls, he joined the short queue, buying a helping of potato pancakes and a mug of hot cocoa for eight sickles.

Walking over to an empty bench, he took a seat, taking a sip of the chocolate and delighting in the sugary buzz on his tongue. It wasn’t particularly healthy, but Harry couldn’t find the will to be bothered just this once, blowing lightly and chuckling as mist billowed out of the brown nectar’s surface, forming stars and other shapes.

‘Hoot!’ Harry smiled as he felt Hedwig perch on his shoulder, nipping his ear playfully.

“Hello girl, had a good flight?”

‘Hoot!’ Harry was unsure how the owl managed to grin without lips, but shrugged it off, holding up his mug towards her beak. ‘Hoot?’

“Give it a try,” Harry encouraged. “It’s rather nice.”

Hedwig nipped at the drink, eyes widening before dunking her full head in the cup. Harry blinked before chuckling, taking a bite of the potato dish and luxuriating in the warmth it filled his belly with. Finally, the need to breathe forced his own to look up, with beads of hot chocolate still dripping off her feathers.

“I take it you like hot cocoa?” Harry asked dryly, causing Hedwig to hoot merrily, clicking her beak before dunking her head once again. Looking around, he saw that most in the market were either families, groups of friends or young couples basking in the Yuletide spirit. Harry frowned as a familiar scent wafted to his nose, one he couldn’t immediately place yet was intimately familiar.

Following his nose, Harry turned to see a slightly glowing blue flower sparkling, as though calling out to him. Intrigued, Harry leaned down to inspect it closer, admiring the purple flecks on its petals when suddenly, a burst of pink mist exploded out of the flower as it dissolved. It was far too close for Harry to avoid, and he closed his eyes, slowing his breathing in the hopes of delaying the effect of any toxins.

Hearing footsteps near, he turned around, ready to plead for help, but words died on his lips as he saw the familiar figure of Amelie walking near, a hesitant smile and faint blush on her lips. A few steps away, the two simply stared at each other for several moments before Harry broke from his trance, breathing out in disbelief, “Amelie?”

“Harry, it’s been a while,” she admitted, biting on her lip as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Without hesitation, Harry sprung to his feet, pulling her in a tight embrace and luxuriating in her presence. Only reluctantly did he pull away as she tugged slightly, grinning with a flushed face as she blew out, creating a faint cloud of mist between them.

“H-ho-”

“Shh,” she placed a finger on his lips, a mischievous smile on her face. “Don’t worry about that when we have all the time in the world. You’ve been busy since I left, haven’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Harry chuckled. He was about to say more when she grabbed him, pulling them both into the snow before the two playfully fought to straddle the other. As the momentum from their roll faded, the two contented themselves to laying in the snow, hand in hand as they stared up at the night sky, the stars seemingly brighter than ever before. “Stay with me?”

He frowned as she didn’t respond, turning to her questioningly but blinking when he found himself alone, laying in the snow. Looking around with wide eyes, he sighed, the cold grip of reality finally making itself known. Harry reluctantly stood up, brushing the snow off himself to see Hedwig staring at him with concern.

‘Hoot?’ Hedwig’s curious bark took him out of his reverie, and he smiled wistfully, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, girl. It’s nothing.”

But even his occlumency could not fully plug the aching gap he felt in his heart as he saw a young couple in the distance laugh as they kissed.

--Break--

With a wince, Harry straightened his robes, quickly casting a shield around him at the blizzard that was blowing. He could scarcely see a few metres in front of him. Casting a revealing charm, he smiled at the sight of a yellow silhouette being illuminated.

“Mister Potter!” a gruff voice called out. Turning around, Harry smiled at the sight of a surly looking wizard marching towards him. “You’re late, come on.”

“Of course, professor,” Harry dipped his head, following the man as they trekked through the snow. After several moments, they reached a carriage, which Harry quickly boarded behind the man, patiently waiting and content with the silence. There were no views to be had given the heavy snow, but Harry wasn’t bothered, excited at the prospect of learning much more magic at Durmstrang.

As the carriage landed in a welcoming area, the professor stalked off without any acknowledgement of him, barking to a blonde haired girl, “He’s yours to deal with now.”

Bemused by this, Harry stepped down from the carriage, waiting as the girl approached him, curtsying as she introduced herself. “Delphi Rowle. A pleasure to meet you, mister Potter, and welcome to Durmstrang.”

“Harry Potter, charmed,” Harry bowed slightly in return. “I apologise for any inconvenience I’ve caused you.”

“Oh, it’s hardly an inconvenience to meet such a talented individual as yourself,” Delphi chuckled, offering him her hand. He interlinked his arm with hers. “Why don’t I give you a bit of a tour? You have the rest of the day to get settled in before your tests begin tomorrow regardless.”

“Would it be rude to ask what year you’re in, miss Rowle?”

“Please, call me Delphi,” she insisted with a wide smile. “And Durmstrang doesn’t use the year system as you are used to. Students at Durmstrang are placed into bands depending on their proficiency, ranging from inductee to master, with novice, disciple, adept being in between in that order, though each is subdivided from one to three, one being the best and three being the worst. Once you master novice level two, assuming you haven’t passed the age of sixteen, you’ll be allowed to sit the OWLs. Passing Disciple two equips you to take the NEWTs.”

“That’s…a fascinating system,” Harry mused. “And how many subjects do students here take?”

“As few or many as they like,” Delphi shrugged. “Personally, I’m taking Dark Arts, Defence against the Dark Arts, duelling and charms.”

“A duellist, I take it?” Harry queried, causing the girl to beam, nodding happily.

“Yep. Duelling master Petrov is a great instructor. He’s sponsoring me for the circuit over Ostara. He was once ranked eighth, though he’s in the low twenties, last I heard,” Delphi explained.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what level you’re at?” Harry queried. Delphi shrugged, a grin on her face.

“You only have to ask. I’m adept three in duelling and DADA, disciple one in charms and the dark arts.”

“Impressive,” Harry nodded, causing her to snort lightly.

“You don’t even have a reference point,” she accused half-heartedly.

“You look like you’re…fourteen, fifteen tops. To have surpassed NEWT level in four subjects must be an incredible feat.”

“Fourteen, actually,” Delphi shrugged, though unable to hide the satisfaction at his praise. “But I don’t have a mastery in transfiguration at the age of eleven.”

At his surprised look, she chuckled. “Professor Hurst nearly blew a gasket when she got the news. Reamed into her master level students, the last I heard.”

“Hurst…I swear I’ve heard of the name,” he frowned, trying to wrack his brain for it.

“She’s the deputy head of the ICW transfiguration guild and the mistress of battle transfiguration…her exploits in the Balkans are probably just a notch below what Dumbledore achieved in his peak,” Delphi answered amusedly. Harry could now recall Quirrell having briefly mentioned her.

“Ah,” Harry nodded, filing that information for future reference. “And may I as-”

“Why don't I learn transfiguration?” Delphi chuckled knowingly. “Hurst refuses to take any students in the art. The last one she took was supposedly a decade ago, but it lasted all of three weeks before she gave up on that student. Said she didn’t want to waste time mentoring the mediocre.”

“I’ve had an old mentor, he was much the same,” Harry chuckled. “Taught me much of what I know.”

“I had an apprenticeship too when I was young, I’d love to compare notes. What’s it like discipling under Quirrell?” she queried. Harry frowned, turning to her with a suspicious look. Delphi’s eyes widened as she realised her slip.

“I suppose you would like an explanation?”

“Please,” Harry ground out with forced politeness. The girl winced at this, rubbing the back of her head. Gently, Harry slipped into her mind, not risking a proper intrusion but simply observing her mindscape’s activity region.

“The professor is good friends with my father, and he sent word that you might be coming to Durmstrang,” she answered. He could feel the caution exercised in this statement, and frowned. “He wanted to make sure that you were able to acclimate to the culture here.”

“I see,” Harry hummed, debating whether to press the issue. Yet for all his anger, he knew that pressing the issue was foolish. Fake or not, Delphi was at least a friendly face, not to mention his guide to Durmstrang. To needlessly antagonise her would be foolish. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Whether Delphi suspected what he was thinking inwardly he could not say, but she merely beamed in response. “Anyways, we’ve made it to the Great hall, food is served here and speeches are held, the usual. Guild hourglasses and notice boards are also here. Generally, only start and end of term feasts will see the student body assembled as one; there are many specialised rooms for different purposes.”

They walked through the hall to the exit opposite, and Harry idly noted the suspicious glares the two received as they walked. A large buffet of food was on offer, and he grabbed an apple before rejoining Delphi. The two navigated through various corridors, Harry noting how dormitories seemed to be scattered around the entire school.

They entered another hall, a long glass walkway in a large spherical room. Hundreds of smaller orbs orbited the centre, most transparent, but some opaque. Delphi grinned at his awestruck look. “Amazing, isn’t it? This is the new duelling complex. Much more room and privacy for those training.”

The two continued walking through, exiting the other side, where they entered a large gym complex. Harry noted with a raised eyebrow that there seemed to be several auror grade training dummies in one corner, each worth the yearly salary of a high level ministry employee. Weights and other equipment also dotted the entire room.

“This is the gym, where people exercise. Though from your physique, I don’t think I need to tell you that,” she grinned. Harry smiled politely along with the joke as the two walked through another series of corridors before arriving at the edge of a large stadium. Harry blinked, for the room had to be at least one kilometre in diameter. The stands must have held hundreds of thousands of individuals if packed, though seating was interrupted by private boxes and storage areas. In the pit, there was a huge, thick density of forest, causing him to frown.

“I didn’t think herbology was so prized at Durmstrang,” he joked. Delphi bit her lip, clearly resisting against chuckling at the bad joke. Suddenly, a huge column of flames soared above the treeline, before a moment later, several lightning bolts struck various points into the ground, shaking the entire ground as the wards flared an angry purple. “Elemental magic…”

“Yep,” Delphi nodded, equally entranced. “As much as I wished to say they’re Durmstrang students, that would be a lie. ICW war mages train here over Yule each year. While supposedly not as nice as the newer grounds in Tianjin, their more limited capacity as they renovate their Sion complex means they need temporary grounds.”

“I can’t imagine that this should be common knowledge,” Harry frowned. Delphi merely gave an innocent smile and a light shrug.

“Of course, this is the pride of Durmstrang’s facilities, called the war room. During term time, the different clans can challenge each other to battle. The stadium can take on hundreds of types of environments, randomised each time.” Harry raised an eyebrow at this, nodding thoughtfully.

“Tell me more about the guilds.”

“Of course,” Delphi obliged quickly, eager to get back in his good graces. “Guilds are groups of students ranging from anywhere from two to twenty students who band together. Members are generally expected to watch each others’ backs and offer assistance when needed. Guilds are also the vehicle through which students gain representation in the school assembly. To explain everything would take literally weeks, but that’s the basic overview of what you need to know.”

“Like houses in Hogwarts, then,” Harry mused.

“Probably a bit closer knit and a lot more political. Guild members are free to switch guilds as they please, so there’s a fair bit of jostling. With over five hundred active guilds, it gets quite difficult to keep track of everything,” Delphi admitted with a laugh.

“And how are you aware of the Hogwarts houses?” Harry probed. Delphi gave him an exaggerated pout.

“Trying to catch me out again, that’s not very nice, you know? My guardian attended Hogwarts and told me stories about it when I was young, if you must know,” Delphi answered, flicking her hair with dramatic flair. “But that’s all the important places you need to know. You’ll get other pieces of information once your timetable is assembled.”

“How many subjects are taken by most students?” Harry asked after a moment of thought. Delphi gave a thoughtful hum.

“It really varies because of time requirements. While inductee classes are only two hour a week, adept and master classes take a whole day. More often than not, the lower level classes will be taught by an adept or master level student rather than the professor because they simply don’t have time, focusing on master students and whatnot. It’s not unrealistic for a younger student to take ten induction classes, while you literally could not take more than five master classes without a time turner.”

“And on average?”

“Well…by my best guess, an average Durmstrang student, if there is even such a thing, will have passed novice two in ten subjects and disciple two in eight,” Delphi shrugged. “This is definitely not representative though, many students take far less in hopes of making it to adept or master.”

“Adept and master must be difficult to reach, then,” Harry mused. Delphi chuckled, causing him to arch an eyebrow.

“Sorry, it’s just that…it’s so obvious for a Durmstrang student. Among over three thousand of the most talented magical students in Eurasia, a class of six master students would be considered a large cohort.”

“Wow…so basically apprenticeships, at that point,” Harry mused. Delphi nodded. “What about adept status?”

“It’s far easier than master, but still not a trifle. You have to really impress the professor to be given access to the classes. I was stuck as a third disciple in duelling and DADA for two years, still am for dark arts and charms. That’s despite my guardian arranging for tutors over the summer.”

“To be fair, achieving this at the age of fourteen is no small feat. Four NEWTS if you wanted them, I doubt many of your peers could boast of the same fact.”

“Keep flattering me, I rather like it,” Delphi giggled. “But I won’t lie, I’m proud of the fact I managed to get to adept level, even if it’s the lowest rank. We get half a day’s worth of lessons a week, which is quite helpful to progression.”

“That must make schedules quite confusing,” Harry mused. Delphi chuckled, nodding.

“It’s an open secret that professors design schedules to help the students they like. Everyone else is left scrambling to pick and choose what pieces will fit. Anyways, here’s the guest quarters. Get some rest, I’ll see you soon, Harry.” With a smile and wave, Delphi departed, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

--Break--

“Mister Potter, right on time,” Karkaroff greeted as Harry entered the highmaster’s office. “I’m so glad you decided to join us, I’m sure Durmstrang will be much more conducive to your growth. Before we proceed, what subjects do you wish to be assessed in?”

“I’d like to try out for duelling, DADA, charms, transfiguration, runes and the dark arts,” Harry answered. The highmaster frowned at this.

“So few subjects?”

“I wish to try for adept status eventually, it makes sense to concentrate on my strengths.”

“Ah, Miss Rowle has told you about the system, excellent. Very well, why don’t you head off. Amanda is outside waiting; she’s quite enthusiastic to meet you. I shall be watching your progression with great interest, mister Potter. I do hope you don’t disappoint.”

“I aim to please, highmaster,” Harry dipped his head in respect before departing the office. As Karkaroff had stated, a stern looking witch was standing outside the office, looking up from her book at the sound of him opening the office door.

“Ah, mister Potter, a pleasure to meet you at last,” she smiled, extending a hand. Through a brief swipe of legilimency, Harry saw this was a test, and clasped her hand in a traditional greeting between masters rather than attempt to kiss or simply shake it. Hurst had an incredulous look on her face, grinning. “A legilimencer as well, I didn’t even feel you enter.”

“Ah,” Harry chuckled embarrassed at being caught, quelling the surge of panic within him. Despite his prowess, if what Delphi had told him was true, she’d wipe the floor with him in a duel, much less a no-holds fight. “My apologies, a force of habit. A rather ingenious trick, I must say.”

“Why thank you,” Hurst laughed. “I’ve never had aptitude for more than the basics of occlumency, but there are still tricks I can still use against stronger opponents. But come, I’ve been eagerly awaiting this day, it’s been far too long since a new prodigy has entered the field.”

“Thank you for your kind words, but respectfully, I’m hardly proficient in transfiguration,” Harry shook his head. “One discovery doesn’t make me instantly able to beat even an OWL student in ordinary transfiguration.”

“I am well aware of that, childe,” Hurst chuckled, “But you’ve demonstrated a keen mind, academic curiosity and innovative spirit that would rival most of my adepts and master students.”

“I am also not particularly interested in normal transfiguration,” Harry admitted. Hurst frowned, before a knowing gleam reached her eyes.

“Battle transfiguration then…what do you know of the art?”

“It’s the branch of transfiguration that focuses on speed and control rather than precision,” Harry answered somewhat nervously. Hurst nodded, though Harry distinctly got the impression she was somewhat disappointed. He did not comment further, and after several moments, the professor nodded.

“At least you’re not legilimencing me anymore. Why don’t you elaborate on your answer?”

“Normal transfiguration is focused on creating the most accurate changes in objects and stabilising a state shift. Battle transfiguration is focused on three aspects: the speed to which a transfiguration or conjuration can be achieved, the degree of interwoven resistance that an opponent needs to overcome to wrest control and the effectiveness of a cast relative to exertion.”

“A sufficient understanding,” Hurst nodded appreciatively. “You are aware I haven’t taken a student in battle transfiguration for fourteen years?”

“I am aware you haven’t found a suitable student in a long time,” Harry dipped his head, inwardly crooning as he saw her lips involuntarily curl up in amusem*nt.

“Bold, Potter, bold,” she chuckled, making a sharp turn. Harry smiled inwardly as he realised she had changed course towards the duelling arena. The hallways were thankfully deserted, not drawing attention to the duo as they entered the chamber. Flicking her wand, one of the pods descended towards them, landing in front of them and opening up to allow the two to enter. Reaching into her pocket, she threw out several small pebbles, swishing her wand to unshrink them to their true size as small boulders. “So we have some material to work with. Conjurations are far less fun, in my experience.”

“I would have thought you’d make use of the war room. I hear the terrain is spectacular.”

“Promises, promises,” Hurst laughed, wagging her finger. “Don’t make a girl excited with a promise you can’t keep.”

“You'll just have to wait and see, then," Harry boasted with faux co*ckiness, stepping inside the duelling pod. As soon as the professor made to follow, Harry slashed his wand, transfiguring the stones into birds, which hurtled towards Hurst with a whistling siren.

With a grin, she waited until the first bird was centimetres from ripping into her before slashing her wand upwards, dispelling his transfiguration and causing the birds to morph into a pair of golems, lumbering forward with fists raiser.

Taking a breath, Harry summoned some of the remaining rubble, hurling it towards the feet of the golem and transfiguring it into molten lava, wrapping around the golems before solidifying, trapping them in place.

Harry had a split second to react, ducking underneath the fiery whip Hurst lashed out with. Tapping his left hand with his wand, he winced at the strangeness of his skin becoming rock, but grabbed the end of the whip with only minor discomfort and yanking.

To his incredulity, Hurst leapt forward with inhuman speed, catching her wand midair and conjuring several spears, hurling them at him. He weaved his wand, frowning and pushing more magic through as he forcibly wrested control, transfiguring them into arrows and hurling them back at Hurst.

Halfway across, she slashed her wands in an 'x', causing the arrows to multiply before turning around and shooting straight at him.

Conjuring a wall of flames, Harry blinked incredulously as the charred remains of the arrow reformed into shape past his wall of flames. As he focused on wresting control of the arrows, Hurst had seized the flames, warping them into several fireballs and directing them towards him with a callous swish of her wand.

Harry tried to dispel the fireballs, yet despite his best effort, they only flickered slightly in intensity, never losing their momentum. Hastily, Harry conjured a wall of stone, wincing as it cracked under the strain of the barrage, peppering him with shrapnel and leaving small lacerations on his exposed skin.

Banishing the remains of the wall towards Hurst, Harry summoned fragments and pebbles, transfiguring them into daggers and sending them in an arc towards Hurst.

To his amazement, the professor simply vanished all of the attacks, a testament to the potency of her magic.

"That's enough, at least for now," Hurst smiled. Harry was hunched over, panting as sweat dripped from his body, pooling on the floor. The professor, meanwhile had yet to even break a sweat.

“Quirinus taught you, didn’t he?” Hurst mused, causing Harry’s eyebrows to raise. “I can tell from your casting style. He’s always preferred to wrest control at the earliest possible moment followed by an escalation.”

"H-h-"

"While that is an approach generally reflective of charms, I am of the view that exerting the minimum amount of energy possible should be the foremost goal. When duelling exclusively with transfiguration, the Powalenth principle of control proximation means that it's very difficult to land a killing blow. Usually it's about outlasting the other side, or leveraging the environment for an advantage," Hurst lectured.

"You said…it's difficult but not impossible to land a killing blow. H..how would that…be achieved," Harry asked through heavy breaths.

"And that is the true key to battle transfiguration: intent weaving," Hurst answered, chuckling at his befuddled expression. "I'll be teaching you more about that soon."

It took several moments for his tired mind to process the statement, at which point Harry quickly bowed his head.

"Thank you ma'am, I am honoured."

"We'll see if you're so eager after we begin your training," Hurst laughed, casting a freshening charm on him. It was a subtle yet potent reminder of how powerful her magic was, to be able to puncture through his aura and impose her spell. "Enjoy your lunch, you'll want to have energy for your test with Petrov, they'll be here in about two hours."

Taking the dismissal, Harry hurried along to the great hall, picking a few meats and vegetables to his plate. Looking around, he spotted Delphi waving him over, and headed over.

"Harry! What the heck happened to you?" she asked with concern as he plopped himself down on the bench. Taking greedy gulps of water from the goblet in front, he winced at how even the small weight made his muscles burn.

"She agreed to teach me," Harry grinned tiredly, before taking a bite of meat. Merlin, even his jaw was sore, it was as though his exertion of magic had resulted in lactic acid within every muscle in his body..

"Given your achievements I have no doubt you’re joining a transfiguration class," Delphi huffed amusedly. "Stop drawing it out, you can tell me if you're ranked novice, I won’t judge."

Rolling his eyes at her teasing, he shrugged lightly. "She agreed to teach me battle transfiguration "

Delphi stared at him for several moments in disbelief. "Y…you're serious? By merlin, congratulations! That's amazing! No doubt you've been awarded a master rank then, and even if you weren't it'd still be clear you're Hurst's prime student. How did you convince her?"

"I don't think I did particularly well, in all honesty. We duelled in transfiguration, but she barely expended any effort beating me to Bhutan and back. She was literally toying with me," Harry sighed. Delphi looked at him with incredulous eyes for several long moments, before shaking her head in disbelief.

“Harry, you realise that Hurst is probably in the top ten most powerful magical individuals in the world right now?” Delphi sighed. “Maybe not to the level of Dumbledore, Grindelwald or Voldemort, but certainly a match for Kuznetsov, Li Dao or Garcies. If she didn’t wipe the floor with you, that’s a win.”

“She wasn’t trying though,” Harry pointed out.

“Indeed,” Delphi smiled knowingly, though for what reason he couldn’t quite deduce. He was tempted to use legilimency to find out, but decided he did not want to risk antagonising his best source of information, at least for now. As he finished his meal, Delphi stood up. “Come, I’ll walk you to the test.”

“Sounds good,” Harry agreed, and the duo proceeded back towards the duelling pits, where the aged duelling master was waiting. Despite his elderly appearance, Harry knew better than to underestimate the wizard, feeling the dangerous aura emitted. Delphi curtsied to the man, and Harry, following suit, took her lead and bowed.

“Ah, you’re here. Good, get in. No time to waste,” he barked. Harry blinked, turning to Delphi with an accusatory glare. She shrugged apologetically, but stepped inside the pod, moving to the other end. Taking a breath, Harry leaped in, rolling underneath a banisher with a determined glint in his eye.

Slashing his wand, Harry fired off an arc of laceration magic, before thrusting his wand and firing off a torrent of lightning. With impossible grace, Delphi leapt into the air, vaulting over the bolt of laceration magic while conjuring a small shield from her wand, just enough to cover her body from the lightning. Landing gracefully, she didn’t waste a moment, thrusting her wand forward and hurling a warhammer curse.

Grinning at the escalation, Harry cast a banishing charm behind him, propelling him up as he arced over the plate shaped spell, flicking his wand and firing off an asphyxiation curse, one of the faster spells in his repertoire. Flicking his wand, he sent a shield piercing curse a moment after, before concentrating and weaving the air in front of his first spell, slowing it just enough.

As predicted, Delphi had relied on her instinct, attempting a shield flicker defence, which resulted in her staggering as Harry’s piercer did its work and allowing his asphyxiation curse to hit her. Slashing his wand, Harry conjured some ropes and hurled them at her, ready to finish this. To his incredulity, despite turning slightly red and visibly choking, Delphi fired off a torrent of flames against the ropes, burning them to a crisp.

Not wanting to be put on the back foot, Harry conjured a slab of rock, braving the flames and banishing the entire hunk in Delphi’s direction. Rolling to the side to reposition himself, he sighed in relief as several spears impaled themselves where he had stood.

Harry took a breath, reaching out with legilimency and sensing that Delphi was to his right, no doubt disillusioned. With a smirk, he conjured a stream of water in the direction of where the arrows had come from, before concentrating on shaping the air and arcing the stream of water towards Delphi, who raised a shield to block the attack.

Harry fired off a shield piercing spell, shifting his body to avoid several curses while slowly advancing. Her disillusionment charm fell, and Harry saw she was visibly off-kilter. As he neared the edge of where water had pooled, Harry exchanged several barrages of spells, before suddenly falling to the ground, pointing his wand towards the edge of the pool of water and casting a lightning curse. Delphi barely had time to widen her eyes before she was electrocuted, spasming in place and allowing Harry to finish her off with a simple stunner. Taking several breaths, Harry winced as the adrenaline faded, looking down at his body to see that he hadn’t escaped as unscathed as he thought.

Chapter 15: Making an Impression

Chapter Text

Taking deep breaths, Harry turned towards the professor, who was rubbing his beard in deep thought. His attention, however, was on professor Hurst, who had appeared sometime between the start of his duel and now. Petrov’s indiscreet glower towards her seemed to suggest he wasn’t particularly happy about the fact, a fact he filed away for future reference.

“Professor Hurst, professor Petrov,” Harry acknowledged with a bow of his head. From the triumph shining in Hurst’s eyes, she clearly understood the tacit acknowledgement. Unfortunately, it seemed Petrov had as well, if the slight twitch in his eye was any indication.

“An impressive fight, mister Potter,” Hurst complimented. “Come, walk with me.”

“I am assessing mister Potter,” Petrov protested with a low growl. Hurst seemed completely unconcerned.

“If you think he’s interested in your little show tricks, then you’ve got another thing coming,” Hurst smiled mockingly. “He wants to learn to fight, not how to dance.”

Only through pushing his occlumency to his limits was Harry able to even see what happened next. In the moment it took Petrov to draw his wand, Hurst’s wand tip was already pointed at his wrist. A spurt of red sliced cleanly through his wrist, causing the appendage, still clutching his wand, to collapse to the ground with a thud. With another flick of her wand, Petrov was hit point blank with a banishing spell, slamming his body against the wall of the chamber, a sickening crack echoing.

Harry could not control his shock, gaping at the sight. The duelling master’s draw speed was incredible, but he had been utterly humiliated by the transfiguration mistress. Hurst turned back to him, a lazy smile on her face as she daintily wiped off the blood on her robes with a handkerchief.

“Now that the rabble is out of the way, why don’t you walk with me, mister Potter,” she invited. Harry didn’t think it wise to reject the woman, and walked to the side of the witch, following her as they departed. As they left the chamber, she turned to him, a wry smile on her lips. “I don’t need legilimency to tell you have questions. Feel free to ask, I won’t be offended.”

“Why are you so interested in me?” Harry queried. Hurst gave a soft ‘ah’ in understanding, staying silent for several moments.

“I suppose it would be…difficult for you to understand. I don’t fully understand myself,” she admitted, before chuckling. “Now I sound like one of those old coots.”

“I’ve been told I’m rather mature for my age. Perhaps if you try to explain, I can try to understand.”

Harry blinked in shock as Hurst took his hand, lifting her robes to expose her stomach and placing his hand on her skin. “First lesson, mister Potter: magical analysis. Tell me, what do you feel?”

Fighting down his embarrassment, Harry closed his eyes, amplifying his senses as he traced his fingers over the scarred flesh. He could feel the wrongness in it, a fracture that oozed something horrible. It took all his will not to flinch away from the unnatural energies emanating from it. Instead, he forced himself closer, almost intimately as he tried to feel for the intent of the magic. His eyes widened in realisation.

“Soul magic,” he breathed out in horror. Hurst blinked in shock for a moment, before shaking her head.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore,” she sighed, gently pushing his hand away and returning her robes to their ordinary cover. With a stern glare, she warned, “But I would be really curious as to how you know of this branch of magic.”

Gulping at the intensity of her gaze, Harry answered quickly, “Professor Quirrell mentioned it, how he explored it in his youth and it was one of his greatest regrets.”

“I see,” Hurst nodded, relief colouring her face. Harry eyed her with confusion and wariness. “My apologies if I frightened you, mister Potter, but the soul is something sacred. Soul magic is…best left untouched. But tell me, what did you sense?”

“A fracture, reeking of corruption…a poisoning of the womb, beyond that I can’t say,” Harry admitted.

“Frankly I’m impressed you manage to deduce that much,” Hurst admitted, a wistful smile on her lips. “When I refused to join him, Voldemort punished me with this curse. What neither he nor I knew at the time was that I’d become pregnant, and the curse, sensing the vulnerability of the foetus, latched onto it instead of me. I was spared an undoubtedly horrific half-life, but forever made barren. I lost my partner in life the very same day.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry winced sympathetically, while inwardly connecting the dots. She was looking for a child to guide and mentor, no doubt to fill the void in her life. Hurst gave a light chuckle, startling him.

“Are you really?” she challenged, an edge to the teasing tone. Harry hesitated, an answer on his lips before he swallowed it back down. “I’m sure you’ve already begun considering how best to manipulate my desire for motherhood against me, haven’t you?”

“I can’t pretend to understand the pain you’ve gone through, but I do understand the lingering feeling of wondering what could have been,” Harry admitted. “Sometimes, I think of what it would be like in a different world, where things had not turned out as they did…”

“You’re not talking about your parents,” she mused, causing him to look at her with an arched eyebrow. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, even if I think it helps. But I know that look…I’ve seen it in the mirror ten thousand times. I’ve made peace with it, I suggest you try to as well.”

“Aren’t you ever…you know, curious about the magic Voldemort used?” Harry queried lightly. Hurst shook her head vehemently.

“There are some things not meant to be understood, merely vanquished completely. Soul magic…it is the single most horrific thing in the world.”

“What about…demonic magic? Surely that would be worse?” Harry questioned hesitantly. Hurst frowned, shaking her head.

“I take it that you heard it from Quirinus? I’ve never witnessed such magic…no scrap of evidence exists of it aside from hearsay. If the most powerful and darkest titans of our time in Grindelwald and Voldemort didn’t use them openly before they were defeated, I doubt the veracity of these stories,” the professor shrugged, before a thin smile emerged on her face. “I do appreciate the attempt to redirect the conversation, but you’ll have to do better than that.”

“I’m hardly an expert in the politics of conversation,” Harry smiled bashfully, drawing a snort from Hurst. “I’m only twelve, after all.”

“Children are perhaps the most dangerous of us all,” Hurst challenged. “Adults, we are constrained by customs, by boundaries, expectations and experience. Children have far fewer pre-conceptions, notions of boundaries between the acceptable and the unacceptable. Things considered unthinkable by adults may seem instinctual to a child. While most will be tempered through the guidance of their parents and socialisation with the rest of society…I know you’re different.”

Harry’s mind whirred, wondering just how much she knew about him. Reinforcing his occlumency, Harry forced himself to remain outwardly calm. “I do have some…unorthodox perspectives, but I’m hardly that abnormal.”

“Fine, give me your analysis on why I interceded in the interview?”

“The outward reason would be to assert your claim on me. You’ve used your sway to ensure you’d be the first one to assess me, no doubt due to your status as the premier professor. Petrov and the others, despite not necessarily holding me to the same regard as I haven’t made such an impact as I have in transfiguration, would still, in your mind, covet me as a student after my tests, a fact you confirmed after watching,” Harry answered instinctually. “The inward reason…you see something in me that reminds you of yourself, and there’s a hunger to nurture a young talent as though I were your child. In this, you seek to shield me from other influences so you can have the dominant role in my education.”

“All of that without legilimency…and you wonder why I am so interested in you…why others such as Quirinus are so interested in you,” she chuckled. “While other children are thinking of crushes, quidditch, maybe jostling in their cliques for power and prestige, you’re preparing for war, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Harry queried.

“Do you know why you won against Miss Rowle?” she queried.

“Luck. She underestimated me, allowing me small victories that compounded until you managed to get the advantage,” Harry answered. The look from the professor made him feel as though he had just insulted her mother.

“The surface reason, yes. But the real reason? Because while she’s duelling, you’re fighting.”

“You came to me wanting to learn to fight, did you not? Then know that there are no rules to a fight, and that a fight is not over until your enemies are completely destroyed: their lives, their spirit, their legacy,” Harry impressed upon Daphne, who looked at him with wide eyes. “You will learn to fight dirty, to do the most despicable things, things that you will hate yourself for doing. But you’ll do them because you want to survive, and while you might hate yourself, you’ll be alive.”

He had said those words to break her out of her preconceptions, yet had he himself understood the words? In front of this war veteran, Harry gulped, unsure. Yet hadn’t he always been preparing for a fight? From his first day at Hogwarts gouging the eyes of his assailant, he had known of the target on his back, almost as wide as his fame spread.

“That brings me to the question: why?”

“Would my answer make a difference?”

“That’s for me to know.”

Harry took several moments to compose his answer.

“The magical world is still the powder keg it was before Grindelwald’s war. No one is satisfied: in Europe alone there’s the blood purists, the Revanchists, the New Dawners…fighters of all sides are quietly preparing for war. Voldemort was the symbol of the blood purity movement, even if I try to keep myself average and anonymous, they will come after me. My grandfather fought in Grindelwald’s war, my father in Voldemort’s. The sins of the father weigh heavily.”

“There are aurors, war mages and a whole host of other protections,” Hurst pointed out, a faint smile on her face. “I do not know whether it is conscious or unconscious, but you want to be the best. You envision the security that will bring, and believe that power is the key to your peace…your livelihood. Isn’t that right, mister Potter?”

Harry had a rebuttal on his lips, yet he paused, considering everything he had done in his life. From as early as he could remember in the orphanage, he had always studied hard, observing and learning everything he could. In his first day at Hogwarts, he didn’t do the smart thing and take a beating, instead painting a target on himself through his violence. He had taken McGonagall’s challenge, no doubt designed to put down the arrogance of students, and instead made a new discovery. Instead of staying at Hogwarts, he had transferred to Durmstrang. He had justified each at the moment, yet in hindsight an undeniable pattern emerged…

“And now you realise it, don’t you?” she breathed out with a triumphant smile. “Grindelwald wanted to change the world. Voldemort wanted the world for himself. You want security.”

“What do you get out of this?” Harry frowned. “You’re trying to isolate me, keep me dependent on you. Why should I allow it?”

“If I put my mind to it, do you think that I couldn’t utterly destroy you if I so desired?” she pointed out with an innocent smile that didn’t match the steel lacing her voice. “My reasons for helping you are my own.”

“That makes it difficult for me to trust you,” Harry pointed out.

“Would you give it all up?” Hurst challenged with a knowing glint in her eyes. “I am without a doubt one of the ten most combatively powerful individuals on the planet right now, knowledge and experience gathered through several wars, now offering you tutelage despite having rejected pleas and offers from thousands. You might hate me for it, you might hate yourself, but we both know you’re not going to turn away from me. Let’s not pretend otherwise. Who else are you going to learn from? The fossil Petrov?”

Despite the statement being a prideful boast, Harry did not doubt for a second the witch in front of him could back it up.

“Should I withdraw from the other classes I’m scheduled to test in?” Harry quipped half-jokingly. Hurst chuckled, rolling her eyes.

“Keep the dark arts and runes, drop the rest,” she instructed. Harry frowned.

“Three subjects is relatively light, is it not?”

“Not with the time you’ll be spending with me as a master student and catching up with the dark arts.” She raised a hand to forestall any arguments from him. “I might not like the man, but Ivarin is feared for good reason. It took six war mages to capture him, and only four among them survived. He’ll treat you harshly, no doubt. You’re a half-blood, not to mention the boy-who-lived. Along with your relationship to me, he might just try to break the oath and attack you.”

Making a mental note to research the oaths Hurst mentioned, Harry dipped his head in understanding. Antagonism from a professor was a small sacrifice in the pursuit of knowledge.

“I do expect you to quickly get up to speed. I’d be very disappointed if you don’t reach disciple one by the end of the year,” Hurst warned. Harry frowned in confusion.

“How could I test into such a high level given my limited knowledge?” Harry protested. Hurst blinked in confusion before a spark of realisation coloured his eyes.

“Classes aren’t static; every fortnight, the top performers in a class are promoted while those performing poorly are demoted. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to impress.”

“You mentioned the professor would not be supportive of me; how am I supposed to rise up the ranks?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure a way out, mister Potter. Before I forget, here,” she handed him a rectangular pin similar to military ribbons. It was a blood red, with a golden M in the centre,a small human leaping into the air and turning into a raven and flying around the M before landing and returning to human form. “This signifies your status. You’ll be expected to wear it when in parade dress, but otherwise it’s not necessary. It’ll also give you access to transfiguration master student facilities. I’m sure you’ll take advantage of the resources this grants you. Do try not to lose it.”

“Thank you, professor,” Harry bowed his head. “Was there anything else?”

“Miss Rowle should be getting up in about half a minute. I suggest you get back to her,” Hurst chuckled amusedly. Sensing the dismissal, Harry hurriedly navigated his way back to the duelling pits, rushing to Delphi’s side just as she was beginning to stir to consciousness.

“Ugh, why do I-”

“Delphi!” Harry exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

“Oh it’s you,” she grunted, relaxing slightly. Harry only noticed that her wand had been extended, ready to cast at him. Helping her up, he winced at the angry bruises and cuts throughout her body. “Take us to the infirmary.”

“I don’t know where it is,” Harry pointed out dryly, drawing a laugh from Delphi before she coughed blood.

“Ugh, f*ck, you got me good,” she groaned queasily. “Take the staircase to the left, go down three levels, then move to the end of the corridor.”

With her leaning on him for support, it took the better part of ten minutes for them to navigate the cold stone corridors and stairways of Durmstrang. Going down one step at a time, both were barely on their feet as they saw the white tiles of the infirmary. Thankfully, one of the nurses happened to step out, gasping at the sight of them.

Hurriedly summoning several others, the two were ushered in and hurried to beds. It was clear Delphi was in the worse state, and most of the attention was appropriately focused onto her. Fatigue finally catching up, Harry collapsed unconscious onto the rather fluffy pillow.

--Break--

Blinking tiredly, Harry forced himself up with a light groan, the septic scent of the infirmary present. Looking at his body, he saw that most of his cuts and bruises had been healed. Turning his head to the right, he saw that Delphi was still snoring lightly, chest rising up and down with each breath. Nimbly climbing off his bed, he reached her side, looking over her and seeing most of the wounds taken care of. Reaching out with legilimency, he could feel her defences cracked but intact. The hum of brain activity suggested that she was actively working within her mindscape.

“Mister Potter, you’re awake,” a voice called out. Harry turned to see the nurse who had initially seen them approach the infirmary yesterday.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name, madam,” Harry prompted.

“Gwent Feylin,” she answered. “I’m glad to see you’re all better now. You had quite nasty injuries yesterday.”

“I’m sure I owe you much thanks for that,” Harry chuckled. “I really appreciate it, healer Feylin.”

“Just a trainee for now,” Feylin corrected lightly, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. “You sure you’re completely fine?”

“I believe so. How’s Delphi?”

“Oh, Miss Rowle will be fine, she’s been in here with far worse,” Feylin shrugged. “She’ll probably be out by the afternoon, her body’s got quite the remarkable healing capability, though it taxes her magic quite a bit.”

“My thanks again. I feel like you’ve got a question, don’t be afraid to ask, I won’t bite unless you ask really nicely.”

Feylin blushed, stammering slightly as she held out a book and a quill. Despite not being able to decipher her desire for an autograph. Reaching out with his legilimency, he didn’t sense any malice from him that indicated she was using a cursed quill or enchanted book, and happily signed the book.

‘My gratitude to future healer Gwent and her magical hands.’

She was sporting a full on blush as she read the message. Giving a grin and winking, Harry waved goodbye before leaving the infirmary, smiling at the thought of having a fan in such a powerful position.

Wandering back up the staircases, he grabbed a quick breakfast in the halls, waiting for the runes professor to arrive. A portly man soon arrived, a large flask of alcohol from which he took a huge swig as he waddled towards him.

“Mister Potter?”

“Professor,” Harry dipped his head in deference. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Come with me, lots to do and hardly enough time,” the man smiled genially, slapping him on the shoulder in what was supposed to be a friendly gesture. Harry forced himself to smile despite inwardly cringing at the contact, following the professor and memorising the route as they weaved through sections of the castle he had yet to explore. Harry frowned as he spotted white chalk marks in the form of a circle inscribed inside of a triangle with a line bisecting them.

Arriving in what was clearly the professor’s office, if the stacks of notes piled around were any indication, Harry carefully weaved through, doing his best to avoid the stacks that seemed moments away from toppling. Remarkable, despite his rather portly appearance, the professor easily made it to his seat without touching any of the stacks.

“Sit, sit, so how much do you know about runes? Just a rough estimate so I have an idea of where to start. No shame if you don’t know anything, we all start from somewhere.”

“I’ve done some independent reading. Unfortunately, Hogwarts doesn’t let us take the subject until we’re third years, so I haven’t had any official instruction.”

“I see,” the professor nodded thoughtfully, pulling out a scrap of paper and scribbling several symbols on it with a quill. “Identify these for me.”

“Gebo, granting of gift, used as a channeler. Sowilo, sun, used as a source rune. Tiwaz, balance, used as a conduit dampener,” Harry identified. The professor had merely nodded along with the first two, but his eyes widened as Harry managed the third.

“Not bad…not bad at all. Can I presume you’re familiar with the primary runic alphabet.”

“Along with the trifecta of secondary alphabets, though I haven’t started on tertiary.”

“Understandable, perfectly understandable. Have you started exploring chains yet?”

“Only the most rudimentary three rune clusters,” Harry admitted, causing the professor to frown, snapping his fingers several times before letting out a sigh.

“You put me in quite the predicament, mister Potter. Putting you in an inductee class would be a waste of time, since it’s just focused on identifying runes and their function. A novice class, however, would prove difficult to you given they’ve spent the past three months learning about basic sequence parameters at a break-neck pace, and joining the class would put you at a severe disadvantage,” the professor groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I can catch up. Give me the material they covered, I’ll study it,” Harry resolved. The professor stared at him incredulously, shaking his head. Pulling out a huge stack of notes at least half a metre high, he let it drop on the desk with a thud.

“Did you not hear me, boy? Half of those who’ve had three months to learn the content have failed out of the class. You have ten days until term starts.” Harry briefly thought of Baraka, who had managed to copy information through legilimency. Could that ability be replicated? It was certainly worth a thought. However, that path was closed off to him for now. Pushing his mind to the limit and reducing his sleep, Harry guessed he would cover roughly eighty percent of the stack.

“Give me a chance, professor,” Harry requested at the professor’s dubious look. “You have nothing to lose and much to gain.”

“Tell me, what do I have to gain, mister Potter?”

“If I manage this, it means I am at least somewhat competent in studying the art of runes, and will prove a good student for you. Having the boy-who-lived as your student is no doubt going to bolster your reputation significantly. It would also no doubt please professor Hurst.”

“Oh?” the professor asked with mirth, though he could feel the undercurrent of tension at the mention of his transfiguration professor. “I suppose this does cost me very little. Fine, you shall have your chance, mister Potter.”

“Thank you, professor Aribage,” Harry dipped his head, taking the notes with him and leaving the office. After the afternoon’s dark arts testing, he had a lot of studying to do. As he departed the office, Delphi appeared by his side.

“So…how’d it go?” she queried with a cheerful voice, a skip in her step. Harry raised an eyebrow at her bright mood.

“Not as well as I’d hoped, not as bad as I feared,” Harry admitted with a lop-sided grin. “I’ve got before the start of the term to catch up on the content to novice level, otherwise I’m forced to wait till next year.”

“That’s…a harsh requirement,” Delphi mused with a frown.

“I proposed it, actually,” Harry admitted. “The professor wasn’t going to let me take the class initially.”

“You do realise this is impossible, right?” she pointed out.

“Yee of little faith,” Harry chastised teasingly, flicking her on the nose. “Care to make a wager of it?”

“If you fail, we duel again, from the start of term every day for two weeks,” she grinned predatorially. While no doubt fuelled by a desire for revenge, Harry realised how great an opportunity it would be to spar against a talented duellist.

“Done,” Harry agreed easily, causing her to blink in surprise. “And if I win, you tutor me in the dark arts for a month from the start of term.”

“Sure, I would have done so if you asked, you know?” she asked, lips curled up in an amused grin as she pinched his cheek. Harry scowled at the gesture, swatting her hand away.

“Then you’ll have no problem doing it when you lose, then,” Harry retorted.

“Bold, Harry, bold.” They arrived at the hall, taking a seat. Harry looked up at the hundreds of banners lining the great hall. “Those are the banners of each guild.”

“What’s your guild?”

“The Rising Eagle,” she grinned. “It’s just me and Kat though, unless you want to join.”

“I suppose if I’m sticking around you, I might as well do so,” Harry shrugged. He had considered the benefits and drawbacks; despite everything, if Quirrell had a connection with Delphini, even if he was manipulated, at least in the short term he felt some measure of safety. “Who’s?”

“I won’t spoil the surprise, you’ll meet her soon enough. The two of you will get along splendidly, I’m sure.” The conversation died down as the two focused on eating quickly, with Harry needing to head off to the dark arts interview afterwards.

“Any advice for the dark arts?”

“Ivarin knows his stuff, but is grouchy as hell. Keep your head down and just try your best,” Delphi shrugged. “This is my fourth year in his class, the first year I spent as a novice, until now I’m still a disciple. I think there’s only three dozen adepts.”

“And masters?”

“Only two. One of them is his daughter,” Delphini answered bitterly.

“And the other?” Harry queried.

“Otaba Rosier,” she answered, causing Harry’s eyes to widen. “What? You know him?”

“I knew one of his relatives,” Harry admitted, tone making clear that he wished to drop the subject. “Anything I should keep in mind?”

“Try not to get too injured.” She looked to say more, but Harry sensed the dark aura of an individual approaching behind him, no doubt that of professor Ivarin.

“Potter,” the man called out. “With me, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Harry dutifully followed the professor, nearly running to keep up with the tall man’s hurried stride. Harry thought they’d go to the duelling chambers, but it seemed the professor had other ideas, leading him deep into the bowels of the castle until they reached a large chamber.

With a swish of his wand, Ivarin summoned over several cages, containing creatures ranging from a spider to a furry creature Harry had never heard of or seen in his life. “Let’s start with the basics, then. Select a target and show me the darkest spell you can cast.”

Going towards one of the feline creatures that looked like a tiger, yet had six paws, a set of wings and three rows of extremely sharp teeth bared at him, Harry mustered his occlumency, bringing forth the surge of hate and anger within. His aura began to flare, magic coursing through his veins as the creature roared angrily, sensing the threat and struggling against the edge of the cage in anticipation of a fight.

“Visa Dementi,” Harry whispered out the words, shooting a bolt purple and relishing in the beast’s screams as it thrashed in the enclosure for several moments before curling up, whimpering as it shrunk upon itself, low whines almost forming a plea. After several moments, he forcibly reined in his emotions, clamping down with occlumency and taking several breaths as the ‘dark rush’ began to subside. The beast scampered to the corner of the cage with a whine, curling up on itself as it jitterishly watched him.

“Hmph,” the professor grunted, pointing to the furry creature. “Cast it on this Memurillus.”

Harry reached out with his senses, frowning as he felt the creature’s natural resistance. Its aura alone told him the creature, despite appearing almost cuddly, was far more lethal than the feline before. Its three blue eyes stared unblinkingly at him, a steely glint in them. Focusing and entering the creature’s mind, he could feel its almost overwhelming passivity, meant to keep the creature serene. Overwhelming this would no doubt prove a challenge.

Taking a breath and welling up his hate, amplifying it with his occlumency, Harry yelled out, “Visa Dementi,” as he fired the sickly purple curse, which struck the creature. It gave a slight grimace of discomfort, but otherwise did not react. Finding anger at this callousness towards his power, Harry forced more and more magic through his wand, all the while removing all the floodgates in his mindscape, fanning the flames of anger, fear and bitterness that he could muster. Amelie had abandoned him, Quirrell was still manipulating his life even now…the peons around either loving or hating him for being the boy-who-lived…the failure of his parents to stay alive or plan any sort of contingency…

Opening his eyes, he felt a red haze descend over as power crackled through his entire body, a continuous stream of purple connecting him with the beast. It’s eyes were now wide, body shivering, yet Harry was not content.

Pushing more and more, Harry relished in the creature’s howls of agony as it began to grow restless, shuffling around its cage violently. But it was not enough, and Harr-

--Break--

Blinking blearily, Harry looked up to see the unimpressed visage of professor Ivarin staring down at him.

“Get up, boy!”

“Sir,” Harry acknowledged, gracefully rising up and straightening his robes. Looking at the creature desperately struggling against its cage, Harry couldn’t help the smile at his victory even with the unholy amount of energy he’d need to expend to repair his mindscape.

“Mister Potter, I know for a fact that Hogwarts does not teach the dark arts. Visa Dementi is not only dark, but is directly proportional to the negative emotions one is able to muster. So tell me how you have mastered the spell.”

“Practise, sir.”

“Do not get smart with me boy,” Ivarin growled. “Inductee students are merely taught the theory behind the dark arts and to identify various ones, novice ones are taught to leverage their emotions. Only disciples start learning to practice anything beyond the most basic of curses.”

He paused, humming thoughtfully before a malevolent grin emerged on his face. “You impress me, Potter. Rummaging through his pocket, he pulled out a red pin, handing it to him. “Congratulations, you’ll be the third dark arts master student currently in Durmstrang.”

“Thank you sir,” Harry dipped his head, his mind quickly figuring out that the professor was hardly being generous. Not only would being a master student make him the target of envy from many other students, it also left him vulnerable towards three very powerful dark arts practitioners for an entire day of the week. By the professor’s own admission, he was between a disciple and adept. Yet despite everything, Harry knew that this was a huge advantage, one he was already thinking on how to maximise.

“You’re very welcome,” the professor laughed, no doubt thinking Harry foolish for not understanding his intentions. Taking the dismissal, Harry quickly departed the room, unsurprised as he felt professor Hurst appear beside him.

“How did it go?” she asked, casting several diagnostic charms on him. Harry merely showed her the red and gold master badge, with a basilisk swaying from side to side, gleaming red eyes staring unblinkingly. Hurst gave a sigh. “I hope you know what this means.”

“He wants to make me a target and keep me close,” Harry answered simply. The professor nodded, clearly displeased with the situation. “If you wish, I’ll refuse the offer.”

“No,” Hurst insisted sharply. “You have much to gain from learning under that man, however vile he may be.”

“You have your own demons, Amanda,” the smooth voice of the dark art professor interjected. Harry blinked as the man materialised out of the corner in front of them. Hurst wrapped a protective arm around him as the two professors’ auras flared. “Or have you not told him about Irene?”

“That’s neither here nor now, Isard,” Hurst responded coldly. “Unless you have anything else to add? Both mister Potter and I do not have the luxury of time, after all.”

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly at the insult before his aura suddenly coiled itself, reigned in and leaving the air, previously almost cackling in charge, now conspicuously empty. Mockingly, he stepped to the side, eyes unblinkingly following the duo as Hurst firmly guided Harry down the corridor and up the stairways.

Only when they reached her office and she had raised several wards did Hurst finally relax a little. “Apologies, mister Potter. Isard has always been quite…difficult.”

Harry could tell the professor was off centre, and mentally calculated whether it was worth it to ask about Irene, as the professor was clearly reluctantly preparing for. He quickly came to the conclusion that there was a better path, walking up to the witch as she ducked her head.

“I’m sure you’re wondering, ask away.”

“Are you alright?” Harry queried softly, causing the professor to look up sharply at him.

“What?” she blinked in disbelief. Harry slowly reached out, wrapping his arms around the witch and pulling her in. With her seated and him standing, she ended up with her head in his chest.

“It’s okay, professor. It’s going to be okay.”

“Thank you,” the witch sniffed, relaxing to his touch. Unseen over her shoulder, Harry smiled.

--Break--

Harry sighed as he flipped through yet another page on runes, this one on sub-power sequencing. Despite the advantage afforded to him by muggle mathematics and physics, it was still tedious studying so much content in such a short time. He startled as a pair of hands wrapped around his shoulders, gently massaging them before Delphi leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Still studying so hard?” she laughed. “You should get some rest.”

“I’ve already slept four hours, I’m actually slightly behind schedule in terms of revision,” Harry shrugged. A moment later, Delphi straddled his lap, covering his view of the parchment on the table. She placed a finger under his jaw, lifting it until their gazes met, brown eyes shining in visibly amusem*nt.

“Quite the position we’re in, no?”

“Do you feel something long and hard poking you?” Harry jibbed. Delphi giggled, wiggling her hips as she settled in a more comfortable position on his lap.

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m rather attractive, after all,” she tossed her hair behind her back with dramatic flair. “So how bad was Ivarin? Given you’re not in the infirmary I suspect quite well.”

“You could say that,” Harry shrugged, pulling out the red master ribbon. Delphi’s eyes widened in disbelief, then shock. He felt a flash of envy, though that was quickly suppressed.

“Morgana’s tit*, Harry, how did you manage that?”

“I didn’t,” he responded dryly, cracking a smile as she glared at him. “I’m serious, all I did was cast Visa Dementi. I should have been put in adept disciple three, two tops. Hurst thinks its to take time away from me and leave me vulnerable to more harsh training. No doubt his daughter is going to use me as a training dummy. He’s also made me enemy number one for pretty much every adept student, knowing I’ll be hard pressed to defend myself.”

“Oh,” Delphi frowned, processing the statement. “That’s…um…not good.”

“I’m really going to need that Dark Arts tutoring once term starts.”

“Fine, but only if you come to bed,” she demanded. At Harry’s incredulous look, she blushed slightly. “Normally I cuddle with Kat, but she’s not here.”

Suppressing his laughter as she swatted at his chest annoyedly, he stood up, Delphi still clung onto him. She let out a squeak, causing him to laugh as he carried them to his bed. He did suppose that he would be more productive once he got proper sleep.

Chapter 16: Friend of Foe

Chapter Text

Harry blinked, frowning as he felt a foreign source of warmth wrapped around him. As his vision cleared from sleepy haze, Harry saw Delphi's generous chest moving up and down in sync with her soft breathing.

With her arms and legs having intertwined around him like a koala hugging its tree, Harry could only tilt his head up slightly to see Delphi's face, features softer than he remembered as she unconsciously nibbled on a strand of blonde hair, the blue tip at the end sticking out. Harry felt a slight stir in his loins, and tried to wiggle out of her grip. However, the friction only served to aggravate his arousal, and Delphi’s grip on him tightened. With an amused sigh, Harry stayed still, contenting himself with simply observing her features.

Delphi had rather luscious honey blonde hair, the blue coloured tips having somehow snuck their way to tickling his cheek. Taking a whiff, he noticed that she seemed to have a faint blueberry aroma, a sweet fruitiness that was just noticeable if one paid attention. Her skin was slightly paler than his, though the lack of sun in Durmstrang could easily be to blame for this. Her mouth suddenly opened, letting out a yawn as she stretched, inadvertently pushing her chest into his face. Several moments later, her flesh thankfully receded.

“Morning Delphini,” Harry greeted warmly, causing her to blink, looking down at him before cracking a wide grin. “Sleep well?”

“The best. You’re a better cuddly bear compared to Kat,” Delphini grinned, giving him a squeeze. “Did you sleep well?”

“Far too well,” he admitted, untangling himself from her and casting a tempus with his wand. “Ah kriff.”

“You’ll catch up, I’m sure,” she encouraged. “Sorry I can’t offer help, I’ve never been great at runes.”

“It’s fine,” Harry shrugged off, quickly casting several cleaning charms on himself before sitting down at his desk, beginning to read through the notes again. He thought he heard her use the bathroom before leaving, though he couldn’t be sure.

Rune clusters, being split into three general categories of ignition, alteration and termination, are further distinguished by lateral categories of amplification, bystanding and compression. While the former three are focused on what part of the sequence a cluster is within, the latter three deal with how the magic channelled through any cluster reacts. Amplification and Compression are self-explaining, though bystanding is perhaps the most interesting and oft-overlooked category. Often, the magic leading up to a cluster needs to be concentrated or diluted, depending on the desired area of effect and potency.

Less obvious are certain categories, such as a compressive ignition cluster. At first glance, this seems impossible, but one must remember the categorisations are on a relative basis with the surrounding magic. An amplification rune draws magic from the ambience, while a compression rune pumps magic out. A good example of this is the ‘dementor cluster’, named after the creature’s kiss of death. The cluster is at the beginning of the work, and thus classified as an ignition cluster. It takes magic from the victim and releases it to the environment, and thus is classified as compressive.

Establishing the nine possible categories for a majority of runes is vital for work on runes between different languages. There are seven main schools (Anglo-Saxon, Egyptian, Americania, Indian, Chinese, African and Polynesian), each fundamentally based on different systems, sharing only the fundamental goal of manipulating ambient magic. The grid system proves vital in giving some semblance of universal categorisation, seen as the basis for bridging the gap between different runic families. The creation of very rudimentary bridges between Anglo-Saxon and Egyptian runes was largely attributed to the categorisation system, hence why its instruction is emphasised to all students.

But even within a runic family, it remains useful to bear this classification system in mind. The law of opposites means that runic sequences composed of clusters from opposing parts of the grid are generally more powerful, though this does come with a tradeoff of volatility. The Aeternitus index maps out the relative attractive strength between clusters, which can be used to calculate a rough estimate of the parameters on any rune cluster. While prior, experience and guesswork was used to estimate requirements such as carve depth, runestone material and ambient magic, the index formalises mathematically the draw depth (formally called the Aeternitus Bridge Coefficient)

While masters of runes will take all the different parameters of the Levanti equation, calculations at the level of runes this book instructs upon will usually only alter up to three variables at a time, with the rest assumed constant. The law of small errors states that for a small difference between the true and assumed value will only yield a small change, though as the error increases, the provisions of this law break down given the exponential increase in final error.

There are one hundred and sixty nine variables documented in the Levanti equation, which yields an accuracy of roughly ninety eight percent between theoretical and practical observations. This is a vast improvement on the original Aeternitus equation, which only took seven variables, being roughly eighty percent accurate. Both equations are supplied in the appendix.

Generally, students at your level will be asked to alter one of seven variables, being: magical ambience, carve depth, material cohesion, sequence length, resonance and AB coefficient.

With this insight, it should be obvious why students are instructed with clusters of thirteen, serving as an optimal point in tolerance for overall error. For instance, seven runes are more powerful, offering greater output with the same level of step-ups but also proving more volatile to imprecision, whilst three is more tolerant of carving imprecision, but requires many more-step ups, increasing complexity and scale demands.

Of course, even this optimum is a heavy overgeneralization. Current studies still struggle to establish a proper metric, but through the assumptions of the envelope theorem (among many others), a very crude model in the form of Cortana’s theorem offers a general range of optimal sequence length.

The specifics of this are beyond any NEWT student, though the general understanding that these principles exist and how they interact with each other is useful, if not strictly in most curriculum.

“You’re overworking yourself again,” Delphi chided softly, sitting in his lap and blocking his view. His annoyed scowl only caused her to smirk as she lifted a spoon of mashed potatoes, holding it up to his mouth and cooing, “Here comes the broomstick, say ah!”

With a roll of his eyes, Harry opened his mouth, taking the bite of the food. His eyes widened as his stomach rumbled happily at the food, drawing a laugh from Delphi. Her amusem*nt soon sobered as she frowned at him. “You’re working yourself too hard, Harry. It’s been eight hours, and I’ve spent the past four on your bed, revising while watching you!”

“That’s not…” Harry frowned, slowly easing on his occlumency and realising that many of his bodily functions were in dangerous levels. His stomach was growling in hunger, his throat was parched, and his bladder full. Blushing, he spooned a few mouthfuls of potatoes, took a gulp of water and hurried to the toilet, letting out a relieved sigh as his body sang in relief.

Cleaning up quickly, Harry hurried out, wincing at Delphi’s worried look. For a reason he couldn’t decipher, he felt a surge of guilt for causing the clear anxiety she was exhibiting. “De-”

“Don’t Delphi me,” she scowled, handing him the plate of foot. Pointing to the bed, she ordered, “Sit, eat and listen.”

Obediently, a rather strange sensation for him, Harry sat on the edge of the bed, eating wolfishly as Delphi took in several breaths.

“Harry…I know you’re probably wondering why I give a damn about you. I know if I were in your position I would be,” she admitted. “I was once so much like you, falling into the abyss of solitude. The quest for greater power was my companion, my reason to live on. Mistakes were made…I would not be here if it weren’t for Kat’s mercy. She took me under her wing, protected me from others as though I were a sister despite everything I did to her, despite the fact no one else could even stand me.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the story. While his passive legilimency suggested that she was telling the truth, he still found it too difficult to believe…until he began to think. Delphi, despite her prowess, was likely vulnerable to many others at Durmstrang. Given ‘Kat’ seemed to be an older student, there would come a time when Delphi would be left alone; nurturing another to her circle would resolve that problem.

As a young student, Harry knew he was out of his depth in Durmstrang against master and adept students. Despite this, his dual master rank would be a boon to whatever ‘friends’ he made given his access to certain research and the general prestige. Even ignoring all that, the fact that Quirrell had instructed her to take care of him likely meant that she was facing familial pressure to do what she was doing.

His resolve firm, Harry snapped up his wand, firing off a stunning curse. Delphi was good, her eyes widening and legs already throwing her to the side, but the distance was too close, his casting too fast. Harry deftly caught her slumping body, carrying her to his bed. With a flick of his wand, ropes formed around her body. He cast a sleeping charm on her just in case, before gently probing her mind.

Taking a breath, he gently entered her mind, observing the surface layer. It was like a thin membrane, meant to alert rather than impede. Gingerly, he slowly began to weave a hole for himself, taking care to stop and redirect his efforts in response to flares in her brain activity. As he finally bypassed that layer, Harry was met with a large concrete wall, Frowning, he navigated around the entire range of the sphere, looking for any critical points.

Each layer of occlumenic defence had its gate, where a defence’s strength originates and how layers are chained together. It also allowed the mind to interact with the outside world, for a truly solid defence would cut off one’s mind from their body. Taking a breath, Harry forced himself to open two mind streams of his mind, one controlling his physical body and the other controlling his legilimenic probe.

With his conscious body, he cast an overly weak reviving spell, not enough to truly wake Delphi, but sufficient for some level of brain activity to resume as her mind attempted to reconnect with her body. In her weakened state, the streams of consciousness sought out the path of least resistance, being the gates, and allowing Harry to quickly identify them.

Gently pushing through layer after layer, Harry sucked in bated breath as he finally emerged into her inner mindscape, a large graveyard blanketed by snow. Wandering around for a bit, he noticed that the snow did not blow in one direction, but seemingly originated from a small, dilapidated mausoleum at the centre. Wandering towards it, Harry frowned as the snow grew denser, almost as though trying to form into a solid barrier against him.

Casting another stunner, he winced at his own body’s recoil, resisting the urge to shut down. Refocusing hard, he trudged forward, the snow having subsided into nothing and leaving his path clear.

Entering the structure, Harry looked around, seeing thirteen glowing orbs with colours ranging across the spectrum of the rainbow. Yet something was off, causing Harry to reach out with his senses, trying to feel his surroundings. With an epiphany, he leaned down, channelling a slight burst of magic and causing the structure to shake as a spiral staircase emerged.

It was a truly ingenious last line of defence, where Delphi had created a dead man’s switch, which would cut off the most important memories along with her inner mind. There were problems with this approach: ignoring the difficulty of manipulating the layering of the mindscape to make this possible, it also left one vulnerable to imprinting. Memories were normally kept separate from the source to prevent the former bleeding its influence on the latter.

Reaching for one of the three glowing orbs, Harry felt the scenery around him change, and looked around curiously as he found himself standing in some sort of basem*nt, staring down a man in his fifties. With a flurry of motions, his body moved, hurling spells ranging from banishers to crucifixion curses. His opponent, however, did not even move his feet, simply shielding and deflecting every piece of magic.

With a snarl, he thrust his wand forward, conjuring a huge torrent of flames towards his opponent. However, the flames never struck true, merely coiling angrily around a shield. The exertion became too much, and he was forced to stop conjuring flames, hunched over with sweat dripping from his head, blonde hair tangled in a mess.

“Look at you, Delphi. For all your prowess, you’ve yet to make me move a single step,” the man taunted. With a yell, his body moved with the burst of a second wind, hurling a variety of spells, until exhaustion took over once more. The man gave a snort of disgust. “No control at all. I’ll let you cast one spell at me, no shielding or dodging. Come, let’s see what you’re made of.”

Mustering all the hate within, a red haze clouding over him, he yelled, “Avada Kedavra”

A faint green light shot out of her wand, but it was a far cry from anything that would do damage. The spell had cracked, losing cohesion and mostly fizzling out by the time it struck the man.

He flinched slightly, a testament to the hatred behind the spell, yet it was not enough. Without delving into soul magic, it could never truly be. He could feel anguish, self-loathing and helplessness swell within him as the man raised his wand, intoning, “Crucio!”

The red jet of light struck him, and absolute pain coursed through his mind. Only hastily raising his own occlumency defences was Harry able to avoid the pain overwhelming himself. Suddenly, the scenery swelled again, and he found himself staring out a window at the party going on outside, children mingling around. He felt a surge of longing…a wish to join them.

“Do you see that, child? Your peers, who would waste their time gallivanting around, engaging in meaningless chatter and playing wasteful games. They will never be great…not like you. Let me show you what happens to people like that.”

As though on cue, several dozen wizards appeared with a pop, dressed in black robes with white masks on them. There were screams of panic as guests trampled over each other trying to find a path to escape.

The attackers began firing curses indiscriminately, most prominent of them the green killing curse, though bursts of flames and blasting curses were also utilised, sending many of the previously jubilant guests to painful ends.

“Peons like them are worthless, just like cattle waiting to be butchered and eaten,” the man lectured. “I will not allow someone who bears my family name to succumb to such mediocrity.”

With another whirl, the world around him changed, until he was in the duelling pits, facing down an older witch, with magenta eyes staring at her with pity. “I don’t suppose I can convince you not to continue with this foolishness?”

“Your arrogance will be your undoing, Zakharov” his body yelled out, holding out his wand and pointing at the girl threateningly. Harry memorised the girl’s features, knowing that this was the ‘Kat’ Delphi was so fond of. Perhaps now, he would figure out the secrets which the girl guarded so zealously.

The duel began with her firing off a series of dark curses towards Zakharov, who merely twisted her body minorly, always just enough for the curses to slip past. No matter how accurate his body cast, how fast and crisp his movements were, the girl simply contorted without a care in the world, like a strand of grass in the breeze.

Growing more indignant and frustrated at this, more spells began to fly out in a flurry, increasingly deadly in nature, until with a frustrated yell, he threw the warhammer curse, pushing her magic to dangerously low levels as he stumbled, falling to one knee on the ground.

A feeling of relish surged through him as Zakharov’s eyes widened in surprise. Having been in the midst of a pirouette, she was in no position to avoid the curse. He felt a surge of triumph as the spell neared her opponent. A blue shield flickered to life, yet confidence continued to brim, for her ace had never failed before.

To his incredulity and growing despair, the shield rippled, forming a web of cracks yet holding. In a moment, it was over, his last hope of achieving glory by defeating Zakharov vanishing as her spell fizzled out, having expended all its magic.

Sweating heavily, blood trickling out of his nose and his muscles too tired to do anything, he waited for the inevitable humiliation. Hearing Zakharov’s footsteps grow near, he gulped, wondering if the older witch was about to get physical. After several moments, he looked up confusedly, to see the pitying eyes of the older girl stare down at him.

“They aren’t your friends. If you don’t believe me, just look behind you.” He knew they would not be there, yet turning around, still felt a pang of hurt at the realisation that all his ‘comrades’ had abandoned him, no doubt the moment they realised he couldn’t actually take on Zakharov as he’d boasted.

“And you are?” Delphi’s raspy voice retorted weakly.

“I’d like to be,” Zakharov smiled down at her. A foreign sensation of warmth, one she’d only imagined up till now, stirred within.

“Do you believe me now?” Delphi’s voice called out. Harry blinked, for it did not originate from memory Delphi, far too strong for the echo. Turning around, he saw her amused visage behind her as the memory faded back to the graveyard. Knowing the gist was up, he withdrew from her mind, blinking as he realised Delphi was awake.

Sending an imprecise burst of pain as he left, he took advantage of the brief paralysis Delphi in the real world experienced, binding her with metal chains before she recovered. Breathing heavily, he realised that the pain of the cruciatus must have distracted him enough to lose control of his second stream of consciousness in the real world.

“So now you know,” Delphi mused, almost nonchalant despite her position of weakness. Harry stripped her of her wand, placing it to the side out of her reach, his own still pointed at her. “Do we really need to go through this, Harry?”

“Now I know, I’m sure we can be friends,” Harry smiled bitterly, his wand tip glowing white as he pressed it to her forehead. Delphi’s eyes widened as she realised what was about to happen.

“You don’t need to do this, Harry. I forgive you for that!”

“But you won’t forget. Not unless I do this. For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry. But you’ll never know.”

“You would though!” she protested, bringing him pause. “Please Harry, I know deep down, you’re a good person. You don’t have to do this, we can work through it all.”

Harry hesitated, his wand shaking slightly as he felt himself waiver. Was he making a mistake by not eliminating this risk? Could he afford not to obliviate her?

And yet something about her earnestness, her kindness that went beyond what was obligated…it stirred a foreign sensation of warmth in him, one he had never felt even with Amelie.

Was it love? No. But in time? Perhaps.

Would he risk everything and throw it away? Could he? There was no Quirrell here now, just him and her. He took a breath, shook out of his reverie to see Delphini was still meeting his gaze, tears streaking down her face. It pained him, as though seeing a beautiful flower wilt, and knowing he caused this.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out.

“I understand,” she smiled tremblingly, lowering her head. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Taking a breath, Harry slashed his wand, cutting the bindings from her and causing Delphi to snap her head up, looking up at him with shock. A grin slowly forming on her face, she smiled, regaining her usual cheer. “Thank you, Harry.”

--Break--

“Good luck, Harry,” Delphi smiled at him. He could feel her surprise and delight as he pulled her into a hug, which she quickly returned, placing a kiss on his forehead. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Just trust in yourself, okay?”

“Thanks Del, I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Only you could joke about that,” she chided halfheartedly, before succumbing to her own amusem*nt. The two shared a meaningful glance, conveying what words could not. The door to the office opened, and Harry gave her a final wave before entering.

“Good morning, professor Aribage.”

“Morning, mister Potter. How are you feeling?”

“Prepared,” Harry nodded determinedly, causing the professor to nod thoughtfully.

“Very well, take a seat and let’s get started. Speedster’s principle, give me its summary and two exceptions.”

“The complexity of individual runes, the complexity of inter-cluster linkage and the length of the sequence multiplied together form Max’s constant. However, this rule does not necessarily hold in other runic languages, and the rule breaks down for works with an extremely small number of clusters,” Harry answered easily. The professor nodded approvingly.

“Alright, sketch out two clusters that are bystanding alterations and three that are compressive terminations,” the professor instructed, handing him a piece of parchment. Instinctually, Harry sketched out the runes, and while he admitted some of the symbols looked slightly off, he knew he’d gotten the overall clusters right. The professor inspected them with a critical eye, holding them up to the candle.

“Not bad for a first attempt,” he concluded. “Don’t worry too much, if you join the class in a few days, we’ll just be beginning with sketching principles.”

“And carving?”

“You’ll do that if you make it to disciple,” Aribage assured with a smile, missing the slight look of irritation that flashed across Harry’s face. He couldn’t even begin to consider using runes practically until well past next year! “But let’s focus on the present. Identify these rune clusters and their mistakes, please.”

Harry looked through the worksheet, taking time to double check on several and finding a few trick questions, though generally experienced no difficulty, handing back the piece of parchment to the professor. Glancing over at his answers, the man nodded approvingly. “Good accuracy, even better speed.”

“Speed?” Harry queried, wondering if that was important. In all his reading, speed was never mentioned beyond a matter of convenience. The professor shook his head amusedly.

“Not something someone at your level needs to worry about. My research thesis was on the implications of ambient shifts on the resonic properties of runes. Long story short, imprints of magic can cause micro-shifts in runes, meaning that ideally, one should carve simultaneously to minimise the difference between clusters and especially within a cluster. Because these ambient shifts, barring exogenous factors, are cyclical, the faster one carves, the better.” Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“So like muggle steel then,” he mused. At the professor’s questioning look, he explained, “In the nineteen forties, the muggles developed nuclear weapons, causing a significant amount of radiation to be pumped into the atmosphere and entering steel. While mostly fine, for sensitive equipment such as spacecraft and radiation measuring geiger counters, low background steel scavenged from shipwrecks from before 1940, or when the first atomic weapons were detonated, are used despite being more expensive.”

“A wonderful example,” the professor grinned, causing Harry to blink in surprise, not having expected the professor to understand, much less appreciate the comparison. Aribage chuckled at his shock. “My parents died young and left me in the care of more muggle friendly relatives. Frankly, a lot of my own research is inspired by the muggle world. But we’re getting off track again, can you write me a thirteen cluster rune sequence, the most complex you can come up with?”

Harry dutifully did so, creating a sequence that took magical energy from surrounding fauna, filtering it down, compressing it to transmit through a long distance repetition of transmission clusters, before amplifying it back to a useful resonance and providing power to a cell cluster.

The professor took his work, inspecting it critically before handing it back to him. “Propose an alternative end cluster.”

“Collier’s magic dissipater,” Harry responded easily. The professor nodded with a pleased hum, pulling out a blank piece of parchment and scribbling out several numbers. “Wait while I find the full equation, I’m sure I have it somewhere…”

Recalling the full equation easily through his occlumency and plugging in the assumptions, he scribbled out the correct answer, coughing to get the professor’s attention. “Do you need a co-what? But how?”

“My memory is rather good,” Harry answered simply.

“The notes shouldn’t have…” the professor frowned, pulling out his drawer. “Ah crap.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” the professor waved off. Curious, Harry employed a bit of legilimency, pushing past the professor’s surface level of disbelief and embarrassment to find that the professor had seemingly accidentally handed him a partially complete stack of notes for disciple students. “It was an older version, a bit more comprehensive, but certainly sufficient for your intended level. Why don’t you identify these rune clusters and sequences? Purpose, weaknesses and one possible alteration, if you please.”

Quickly, Harry scribbled down the notes for the various sections, his knowledge more than sufficient to identify the few tricks laid within the various problems. The professor took his parchment after he finished in five minutes, inspecting the sheet before nodding, pulling a piece from his drawer and handing it to him.

“What about this one?”

Harry concentrated, using occlumency to summon his memories of this particular rune cluster. He recognised Dagaz at the beginning, meaning this was an ignition rune, but the rest felt fuzzy to him. Narrowing down his search based on the grid classification system, he soon found his answer.

“A variant of the Yoshin ignition sequence, in particular taking the light and warmth from the surroundings and converting the energy into magical flow, before filtering down impurities and channelling that into a storage cluster,” Harry answered, causing the professor to blink in disbelief. “Am I mistaken?”

“...No. Very good, mister Potter. You’ll have no problem keeping up, I’m sure.” Pulling out another drawer, he grabbed a blue badge with a bronze letter N. Depicted around it was a ritual circle composed of runes flaring up. There were three stars underneath that all. “You’ll be joining the Novice One class. The pace will be brutal, it’s designed for those who’ve taken novice 2 the year prior, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate the challenge. You can always drop down if you feel it’s too much. Six subjects is nothing to scoff at.”

“Actually, I’m only taking three subjects now. Runes, Dark Arts and Transfiguration.”

“Oh?” Aribage frowned before smiling. “Then scheduling won’t be a problem.”

“I should have two days free,” Harry shrugged, causing the man’s eyes to narrow.

“I know having two classes a day might be difficult, but it’s not avoidable,” the man warned.

“You misunderstand, professor. I am a master student in both other subjects. Professor Hurst has further requested an extra day. Thus I have two days free.”

“I…I see,” the man flustered slightly before quickly composing himself. “Yes…well I’m sure something will be arranged. You’re free to go, mister Potter, and congratulations. Very few students could have accomplished what you’ve done.”

“Thank you sir,” Harry dipped his head, hearing the dismissal and quickly departing the office. As soon as he was outside, Delphi appeared by his side, anxious look on her face.

“How’d it go?” Harry merely showed her his blue pin, causing Delphi to wrap him in a hug. He couldn’t help the smile that flickered across his face, nor the tingle of warmth that spread throughout his body. “Congrats! I know you’ve worked so hard for this. Looks like you won the bet.”

“I do wonder if I need training from you. Twice I’ve caught you off guard now,” Harry teased, causing the girl to flush slightly, hands on her hips as she turned to him with a scowl. Despite this, her eyes twinkled in amusem*nt.

“You got lucky, Har. You’ve still a lot to learn in the dark arts.”

“Then let’s get started,” Harry insisted, tugging on her arms. Her lips twitched in amusem*nt.

“You don’t want to celebrate or just relax? You do only have until tomorrow until classes begin,” Delphi pointed out. Harry scoffed.

“If I wanted breaks I’d have gone to Beauxbatons.” Delphi gave a melodious cackle at this, causing him to crack his own grin. “Besides, we’ll both be so busy then, might as well spend some time together now.”

“You’re just using me for my knowledge,” Delphi accused half-heartedly.

“You’re using me for my cuddles,” Harry returned, causing the girl to sputter indignantly. As the two entered the duelling chamber, a pod arrived next to them, allowing them access. The platform floated off from the centre once both had stepped on.

“The dark arts are at their core emotive magics, which depend on you embracing emotion to cast. Muster your emotion for Visa Dementi for me, please,” she encouraged. He felt her legilimency probe enter his mind.

Taking the hatred, bitterness and anger he held within him, Harry massaged them with his occlumency, amplifying the emotions into blind fury. Suddenly, he felt a lot of the emotion subside, feeling a foreign sense of calm, and allowed the emotions to die down, his occlumency retaking shape. Turning to her, he saw Delphi was frowning in deep thought.

“That’s quite impressive, but it’s not going to work fully,” she advised. At his confused look, she explained, “Emotive magics are…difficult. I don’t fully understand it, but it knows when emotions are real and fake. From the brute force employed by amplifying your nerves and chemical pulses with your magic, you’ve managed to fake your way, for a lack of a better term. But it’s not enough; when you’re asked to cast something darker, the amount of amplification you would do would either fry your brain from overload or simply refuse to cast. The killing curse, for instance.”

Harry bit back a retort; for all he knew, Quirrell’s information could be wrong. Equally, he needed to understand what was taught in the Durmstrang curriculum rather than ‘brute forcing’ his way to success with alternative approaches that the professors might not necessarily approve of; given Ivarin’s seeming dislike of him.

“Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. But in an adept class, much less a master one? You’d be more vulnerable than a newborn Qilin,” she answered simply. “If I thought I could, I’d convince you to drop the class, though knowing you, I suppose all we can do is try to get you as prepared as possible. We’re going to try a different curse today: the imperius. You’re going to cast it on me.”

“I…I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry admitted hesitantly. Delphi smiled at this, but shook her head.

“Harry, I don’t want the first time you cast it to be in a life-or-death situation. You’re not going to be afforded any leeway. Being able to cast on me despite our care for each other will be good practice for you to be able to cast whenever necessary. Besides, I trust you.”

“Even after…everything?”

“Especially because of it,” she assured with a warm smile. Taking a breath before nodding determinedly, Harry jabbed his wand at her.

“Imperio!”

Harry channelled his desire for absolute control, feeling a faint white wisp of magic shoot out, striking Delphi on the head. For a moment, he wondered if it took hold, before Delphi merely snorted.

“Harry, it’s not as simple as saying the words. You need to really mean it, to want total control. To crush my free will and subvert it to yours,” she advised. “Now cast it.”

Harry considered what it meant to cast the curse: the killing curse led to the degradation of the soul while the cruciatus led to the wounding of one’s magic. Given the significance of trinities in the magical world…surely the imperius would be dependent on his mind.

With occlumency, his goal had always to be to internalise and reduce the outflow. Legilimency was the opposite, requiring one to reach out. While he had not advanced to the later stages of legilimency in taking over another’s mind, surely through extrapolation it wasn’t far fetched to assume it required the projection of one’s desire.

He couldn’t simply desire control, for the goal was far too vague to channel the intent of his magic on. To alter something specific, to have a tangible command was what he needed. Concentrating, Harry mustered his intent to bend, casting his spell, “Imperio. Dance.”

Her feet twitched slightly, and Harry dared to hope, but looking up to her amused face, he knew he’d failed.

What had he done wrong?

Simple, he didn’t genuinely want her to dance, meaning his intent of attack was weak. She didn’t want to dance, meaning her defensive resolve was strong. Thus, he needed to find a better choice of desire to manifest, if for nothing else than to offer a handicap from which he could begin his training.

“Imperio,” he cast, taking the girl by surprise given she’d been in the middle of advising him; his first advantage. Her eyes didn’t glaze over as a normal imperius would cause, but that hadn’t been his goal. He knew of her affection for him, and had manifested an instruction for her to embrace him. Because she was already inclined to do such, there was far less resistance from ehr mind; this was his second advantage. And through gently massaging her brain’s occlumency, he had weakened her defence; this was his third advantage.

She took several steps forward, a lop-sided grin on her face as her arms extended. Suddenly, she began struggling slightly, given away by the twitching of her face. Harry redoubled his intent, aura flaring as he projected his will onto her. Yet this only seemed to make it easier for Delphi to resist, her advance towards him stalled as she shuddered on the spot, before managing to throw off his imperius, causing his mind to reel at the backlash.

She looked at him with wide eyes, blushing slightly and forcing a smile. He stepped forward, wincing as she staggered backwards. “Del…it’s-”

“You did good,” she assured shakily. “I…just need some time to process this.”

“Ar-”

“By Merlin I’m not alright!” she yelled, before slumping at his wide eyes. “Look, Harry, I just…need some time. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Without another word, she stalked off, causing Harry to feel a pang in his heart. Before he could think too much of it, a figure appeared by his side, and a disarming spell sent his wand flying into the air.

Only the sight of profesor Hurst relaxed him.

“Careless of you, though given your emotional state, I’ll let this slide,” she lectured sternly, handing Harry his wand. “I’m honestly impressed, the imperius isn’t an easy spell to cast.”

“I used some shortcuts,” Harry admitted, spotting the attempt to fish for information but feeling little need to resist. Hurst nodded thoughtfully. “So, are you always stalking me, professor? You can admit it if you're a fangirl.”

“Bold, Potter,” she chuckled. “But unfortunately I’m not here for romance. You’re to be officially inducted to Durmstrang.”

She handed him a large box. “Get dressed.”

Nodding, Harry went to one of the changing rooms, opening the box to see a set of garnet robes. The material was thick, with golden embroidery on much of it. Quickly switching out of his robes, he checked the mirror, making sure he was appropriately clothed, before shrinking down the box and his current clothes.

Exiting the changing room, he allowed the professor to give him a once over, before following Hurst for the short journey it took to reach the great hall. Harry inwardly raised an eyebrow as highmaster Karkaroff stood on top of the podium, with Ivarin and Aribage flanking him. The duo ascended the steps, until Harry was presented to the four members of staff.

“Harry James Potter, today, you officially join the ranks of Durmstrang,” the highmaster began. “Ours is a school with a long and cherished history. Despite what we may be outside of these hallowed walls, inside, we are united as members of Durmstrang. This is a privilege and a responsibility. When I read out the oaths, you are to respond that you do so help you mother magic. Do you solemnly swear to uphold the virtues of Durmstrang?”

“I do, so help me mother magic,” Harry echoed.

“Do you solemnly swear to abide by the laws and regulations of Durmstrang for so long as you are a member of this institution?”

“I do, so help me mother magic.”

“Do you solemnly swear to keep a secret the location of these hallowed halls from all who are not or have been a member of this institution?”

“I do, so help me mother magic.”

“Excellent, your ribbons, please.” Harry dutifully retrieved the three, handing them to the respective professors. Hurst was the first one, pinning the red master’s badge on his uniform with a warm smile. The significance that the ribbon’s precedence occupied on his clothes was not lost on him.

Ivarin was next, affixing the Dark Arts magic badge next to the transfiguration one. Aribage was last, placing the blue runes one in the lowest order of precedence.

“Welcome to Durmstrang, mister Potter. We expect great things from you,” the highmaster smiled, bearing his yellow teeth. Harry took the proffered hand, shaking it firmly. None of the staff save Hurst seemed to wish to linger, departing immediately and leaving the duo.

“Well, now you’re officially one of us,” she chuckled. “Each student is supplied with three sets of dress uniforms, the other two will be sent to your room by the elves. You’ve been given two sets of duelling robes and ten sets of normal wear. You only get one set of ribbons, so do take care of them, though you’re required to wear them at all times save during a duel. You’ll be informed when you need to wear a dress uniform, such as during tomorrow’s start of term feast.”

“Thanks professor,” Harry dipped his head, causing the witch to chuckle. “When do I get my schedule?”

“You’ll receive it tomorrow. For now, get some rest. Casting an unforgivable is taxing on even the most ardent practitioners, let alone one such as yourself.”

Sensing the dismissal, Harry headed back to his room, but frowned as he neared the corridor, feeling a wrongness in the air. With his wand out, he slowly approached the source, feeling increasing worry as he realised it originated in Delphi’s room. Sensing the door was locked and warded, he faced a moment of indecision before brute forcing through it with a blast of unlocking magic, uncaring of detection.

“No…no, please,” Delphi muttered, twisting on her bed. Harry winced as he felt her pain leach into her surroundings. “Not you…Harry…”

He debated whether to leave her alone, before determination swelled within him. Stripping his robes and thankful for the undershirt and pants he wore, he snuggled up with her, pushing with his legilimency and gingerly massaging away the fear, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he rubbed her back and combed her hair. Slowly, she began to relax, causing Harry to breathe a sigh of relief as he slowly fell asleep.

--Break--

Harry simply waited patiently, observing the serene smile on Delphi’s face as she’d unconsciously grin wherever he brushed a strand of hair. He did not know how long passed until she began to flutter awake, looking around blearily and visibly shocked by his appearance.

“Morning Del, feeling better?”

“When did you come in?” she yawned. Harry felt a stirring of warmth within him at the adorable sight, and couldn’t find it within him to clamp down with occlumency.

“Yesterday night. You were quite…out of it,” Harry tried to put delicately, wincing as she scowled. “You feeling better?”

“Much,” she admitted, purring as he gently scratched her head. “Mmh, if you don’t stop we’ll never get out of bed.”

“I can imagine worse fates,” Harry chuckled, “though you’d miss welcoming back Kat.”

It took her several moments to fully comprehend what he said. He knew the moment she did as Delphi bounced out of bed, skipping to the bathroom.

“Crap, crap, crap, the welcoming feast!” Casting a hasty tempus, she cursed some more, throwing off her robes. Harry quickly turned away, flushed red despite only seeing her backside. Taking the opportunity, he quickly grabbed his robes and headed to his own room.

Entering the shower, he couldn’t help but feel his member harden at the thought of Delphi. With a groan, he did suppress this with occlumency, quickly washing himself and brushing his teeth before putting on his dress uniform. Straightening the ribbons, he departed his room, waiting for Delphi. The minutes passed and he felt himself grow concerned at how long she took. Just as he was about to enter her room and check on her, she emerged from the door, golden hair tied in a ponytail and body adored in similarly red dress robes, even though her embroidery was silver.

Harry’s throat dried up as he looked at her pins (definitely not her breasts) to see that there were four, two being green and two purple, the former with silver and the latter with bronze lettering. The duelling pin featured two wands crossed in an ‘x’ shooting off sparks, DADA featured a wand conjuring a shield against a blast of flames while charms featured a wand firing a jet of light, droplets of water descending afterwards in a representation of a rain charm. Her dark arts pin had the same design as his own, though in purple and bronze rather than red and gold.

“Is there something wrong?” Delphi asked self-consciously, drawing Harry out of his observations. He quickly shook his head.

“No, you just look…amazing,” he finished lamely. Thankfully, Delphi seemed to glow at the praise nevertheless.

“You look dashing as well,” she grinned, offering her his hand. “Care to escort me to the atrium?”

“Of course, milady,” Harry grinned, interloping his arm as his heart skipped a beat. The two quickly made the long trek to the landing area, where the first carriages had already dropped off their passenger students.

Harry received many curious and wary looks from the other students, though whether because of his association with Delphi or because of his master status, he could not be sure. The fact that Delphi had decided to rest her head on his shoulder meant he paid little attention to the rest, simply basking in her presence as one of their arms wrapped possessively around each other.

Suddenly, Delphi straightened up, drawing him out of his reverie. Tugging him, she skipped towards one of the carriages, almost bouncing up and down in excitement as it landed. As soon as the door opened, a tall, black haired witch descended, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“Del!”

“Kat!”

The two grinned at each other, embracing tightly. The older girl then turned to him with a scritinous look. “Harry, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Harry nodded, popping the p in an attempt to lighten the tension. Her eyes widened briefly as she took stock of his uniform, no doubt deducing the meaning. Harry in turn had made his own observations, noting that she was a master student in duelling and an adept in charms and DADA. “Good to finally put a name to the face. Delphi has told me much about you, all good things, I assure.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she glared pointedly at Delphi, who looked away, whistling innocently. Rolling her eyes, Katerina refocused on him. “I look forward to getting to know you, Harry.”

“You’ll find,” a smooth voice interrupted, causing the two females to tense up, “that some individuals should not be associated with.”

“Ivarin,” Delphi acknowledged frostily. Katerina merely nodded stiffly. The boy had attention for neither, simply focusing on Harry.

“I admit, if I had known you’d be attending Durmstrang, I would have personally stayed over Yule,” the boy preened. “I’m sure we’ll find a time to talk in the near future.”

Delphi looked to say more, but an older witch appeared behind him, wearing a master’s uniform. Seeing the dark arts master badge, he knew this was Ira Ivarin. “Mister Potter, I’ve heard much about you.”

“Your reputation precedes you, miss Ivarin. I look forward to working with you in the Dark Arts,” Harry responded politely, inwardly wincing as Delphi’s nail dug into his arm but wanting to avoid a confrontation.

“As do I,” she smiled faintly, putting a firm grip on her brother’s arm. “I do so look forward to getting to know you better. Please accept my apologies for not being present to offer my hospitality.”

With that, she towed her brother away, causing the tension in the air to dissipate, even as Delphi’s smile was more forced than before. Making their way into the great hall, Harry followed the two girls’ lead as they sat in one of the benches, being given a wide berth by the other students. The tables emanated from the central podium, where seats for the thirty odd main faculty members were arrayed. Many of the students around them pointed and whispered at him, many already hostile though still some merely curious, giving Harry hope that he could find more allies.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous noise as elves slammed down on war drums. The two girls shot to their feet in attention along with the rest of the hall. Harry quickly mimicked their actions, and not a moment too soon, as Highmaster Karkaroff entered the room, followed by the rest of the staff. Only when they had made it to their seats, did the students all resume their seats. Karkaroff arrived on the podium.

“Welcome back to a new term at Durmstrang,” he greeted. “I hope your holidays have been productive and rewarding, for you will be expected not just to match, but exceed the performance you have exhibited in the term past. You will be alerted to class and timetable changes after the feast. This is to accommodate our newest student: mister Harry James Potter.”

Wincing internally, Harry nevertheless stood dutifully. He could already feel the whispers at his status, for amongst the thousands of students that passed in the entrance hall where he had waited, Harry had only seen one other student hold a dual mastery in Ira Ivarin’s Dark Arts and Duelling. Karkaroff had also painted a huge target on his back, though perhaps this was an opportunity in addition to a threat.

“Mister Potter has transferred over from Hogwarts, and elected to take three classes, achieving master rank in Transfiguration and the Dark Arts, as well as novice one status in runes. I am sure you will all welcome him in these hallowed halls. Thank you, mister Potter.”

Resuming his seat, the gazes continued to linger, though he felt some of the tension ease as Delphi squeezed his hand. The gesture was not missed by Katerina, who narrowed her eyes before returning to a neutral visage.

The highmaster made several other unimportant announcements before the feast began. Contrary to over the holidays, food appeared on the table, likely to prevent massive queues. All three knew that a serious conversation would be had, but now was neither the time or place.

--Break--

Dumbledore to step down as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW

In a shocking announcement, Albus Dumbledore has announced his intention to resign after his current term expires in March. As the longest serving Supreme Mugwump in history at eight full six year terms, his departure will undoubtedly send shockwaves throughout the community, beginning in 1945. In an official press conference, Dumbledore had this to say.

“Having served faithfully in the ICW for forty eight years, I believe the time has finally come for me to stand down and a fresher mind step to the forefront. I have always seen myself as first and foremost as a teacher, and I hope to spend my final years of work with a redoubled focus at Hogwarts. While I heartily endorse my longtime friend and colleague Constantine, I am confident that whoever emerges as my successor will guide the nations of the magical world with competence, compassion and creativity.”

Known best for his defeat of the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald, many have long expressed concern over Dumbledore’s incumbency in three demanding roles: Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, Chief Warlock of the British Wizemagot and headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite this, few could have expected such a sudden move, even with the radical education reform British minister of magic Amelia Bones has announced.

Despite this, the recent uptick in disturbances across the world have led some to call for Dumbledore to remain at the helm. South America, the Baltics, East Asia and the Balkans remain key points of instability that could spiral into full war.

Constantine Anders, current deputy Supreme Mugwump, is the favoured candidate for the position, having decorated himself leading Brazil through the Scandalous Sixties, in which many other officials in the country faced significant scandals ranging from corruption to treason. The man made a name by first joining the ICW War Mages’ pacification campaign before entering politics, and is seen as a ‘white knight’ by many. His anti-Soviet stance often influenced Dumbledore to take more measures against Soviet aggression, though critics question whether he will be able to form strong, cohesive policy with the fall of the USSR.

Kim Si Tak ‘Samuel’ of Korea, who has also announced his intention to run, is seen as his chief rival, having made a name for himself organising the ascension of various post-Soviet states into the ICW and establishing comprehensive plans to demilitarise the population. Roughly forty candidates have announced their intention to stand, though the pool will be whittled down to two candidates by February, before ICW delegates elect the new leader on the 1st of March.

Chapter 17: Leaving a Mark

Chapter Text

“Harry, why don’t we have a friendly duel. Del’s been gushing about you non-stop, and I admit my curiosity has been piqued,” Katerina offered with a friendly smile. “Maybe we could exchange a few tips.”

Delphi made to interject, but Harry lightly shook his head, causing the girl to reluctantly back down. The gesture was not missed by the older witch, if her momentary scowl was any indication.

“I’d be honoured to,” Harry answered. “I’ll meet you in the chamber after I get changed.”

He knew that this was going to be a beatdown. For all his prowess, he had little hope of facing down an actual duelling prodigy beyond NEWT level. Zakharov also seemed to dislike him, though on the reasons he could only speculate. Yet he had accepted for two main reasons.

First, he simply couldn’t miss an opportunity to face down a stronger opponent. The opportunity to observe and learn from this experience wasn’t one he would sacrifice simply out of pride or fear.

Second, it would make Delphi choose a side. From his gut feelings, he felt that Delphi would side with him. Yet even if she chose Zakharov instead, it would be a victory in freeing him from an unreliable ally, giving him the impetus to seek out others such as Ivarin.

Quickly changing out of his dress robes and into the duelling attire, Harry exited his room, reaching out to sense with legilimency that Delphi and Zakharov’s room was empty. Taking a breath, he steeled himself for the confrontation ahead, walking at a leisurely pace towards the duelling chamber. The hallways, in contrast to over the holidays, seemed eternally filled, with dozens of students in any section. When he made it to the chamber, Harry blended in with the crowds, seeing that Delphi and Zakharov seemed to be in a heated discussion.

To his surprise, many of the pods were actually occupied, their dome opaque to afford the duellists within privacy. Some of the pods remained translucent, and had drawn crowds watching the duel.

Having finished his observations, Harry moved towards the two witches, inwardly smirking as both looked rather put out with each other. Without a word, as soon as she saw him, Zakharov stepped inside the pod expectantly. Delphi made to stop him, but he merely smiled reassuringly, patting her on the shoulder.

“It’ll be fine. She’s your friend after all, how bad could it be?”

“Yeah…” she forced an unconvincing smile. Pulling her into a quick hug and relishing in her needy posture, all too soon, they parted, with Harry stepping onto the pod, which began floating away from the central walkway.

“Master student in the dark arts,” she mused aloud, narrow eyes towards him. “Tell me, how does it feel giving up your soul?”

Harry blinked in confusion, causing her to laugh balefully. “Don’t act stupid, I know what the requirments to join the adept class are, let alone attain the rank of master. Delphi is too innocent for her own good, but I’m not going to let you corrupt her.”

“Kat,” he chided, drawing a hiss from the witch, “how do you think you’re going to protect her when she’s already chosen me over you?”

“You’re far too arrogant if you think your little Yuletide tryst is going to be sufficient to overcome four years of loyalty,” Zakharov sniffed. “Now prepare yourself. I want you to do everything in your power and know it wasn’t enough.”

Harry raised his wand, firing off a purple arc that would crucify its victim if it hit. Without a moment’s hesitation, he followed through with several more curses, ranging from decapitation to skin peeling. Against an opponent like Zakharov, he knew he couldn’t afford to spare any doubts.

To his incredulity, the air around him seemed to shift, and solid, translucent disks materialised in front of her, absorbing each spell with no difficulty. Harry could have cursed himself, his opinion of Zakharov rising significantly from this display.

An air elemental.

While most individuals had a small affinity for a certain type of magic, this hardly qualified them as an elemental. To be a true elemental, one needed to possess a significant affinity, undergo intensive training and likely rituals, along with innumerable hours of practice to familiarise themselves with an element. Each titan of the era had their own element: Voldemort’s was fire, Dumbledore’s water while Grindelwald’s was air. Yet for a girl not even at her majority to achieve this was simply…humbling.

Then her onslaught began, crisp motions so fast that only by pushing his occlumency to the limits could he begin to process them. Knowing he could not afford to think, Harry sunk deep into a trance, trusting his instincts to guide him and pumping his muscles with all the magic he could muster in an attempt to bridge the speed gap.

Rolling under the first few spells before banishing himself to the right to avoid a blast of flames, his conjured knives were simply suspended mid-air before they were sent darting back towards him.

Vaulting into the air with the help of a banishing charm, he only had a second to widen his eyes as the knives arced up towards him. Blasting them apart with a reductor curse, Harry lunged forward, narrowly avoiding several spikes that shot up from the ground. Taking a breath, Harry thrust his wand forward, firing off a bolt of lightning.

His elemental magic was weak, for Harry did not possess the level of inherent affinity that would put him amongst the best. Nor had he trained hard on refining this magic. Yet he still couldn’t help but feel offended by the fact that with a casual slash of her wand, his lightning was simply vanished.

Elemental magic was so revered because they were some of the most raw magic. Most magic was fundamentally an offshoot of these five bases, which made them the hardest to shape beyond their natural state. To do so was a testament of control and power. For her to subsume both the control his intent afforded as well as the natural resistance of the elemental magic…was this how others at Hogwarts felt against him?

Utter helplessness.

It was as she said: there was nothing he could do. Her lips curled up in malevolent amusem*nt as she basked in his helplessness. “What’s the matter, Potter? Aren’t you a master in the dark arts? Where is that power now?”

Taking several breaths, he conjured a stream of water, inwardly grinning as she instinctually conjured fire, covering the area with mist. Focusing, he quickly shifted his position, conjuring up illusions of himself that circled around where Zakharov had been. Suddenly, the air was cleared, with the witch floating in the air like some sort of vengeful goddess. She raised an eyebrow at the illusions, all thirteen staring with expressions of horrified awe.

Without preamble, Harry began lashing out with magic, his occlumency going to the extreme to manage both the illusion and streams of water coming out. She appeared stunned for a moment, before a shield shimmered around her protectively. Concentrating heavily, Harry warped the water around her, preventing escape, before firing off a bolt of lightning and charging the water followed by a shield breaker.

His first spell struck without issue, yet his second merely fizzled out against the invisible sheen around Zakharov’s body. Harry blinked, completely befuddled as to how that could happen. Surely it should have at least cracked or rippled the shield, yet it was as though it had struck nothing. The only reason this could be possible was that the spell hadn’t met a shield, and yet the protective bubble around her body said otherwise.

With a careless flick of her wand, she wrested control over the water, sending it geysering towards. Him. Hastily raising a shield, an invisible pressure began to clamp around him, as though he were deep in the ocean. Despite pushing more and more magic, it began to crack, and he felt himself weakening. Now he was faced with a choice: hold out to the bitter end, leaving nothing, or tactically surrender this, leaving himself vulnerable but keeping some reserves for a potential comeback.

Wincing at what he was about to do, he slowly weakened his flow of magic in a way that wouldn’t elicit suspicion, allowing the water to surround him. The shock his eyes betrayed as the liquid forcefully entered his throat, plunging down, and he winced as a bolt of yellow charged towards him, flashing for a moment before his entire world erupted into a world of pain. Electricity coursed through his entire body, the pain unbearable even with the dampening his occlumency achieved. It was simply not possible to completely shut out all sensations without forever severing the connection between the body and the mind. But through the haze of pain, he noticed the shift; her intent on her water slipping to a more moderate level as her energies were directed at strengthening the lightning.

Commanding the magic within him and constricting it as it began to vibrate at the excessive pressure, Harry let out a primal roar as his magic lashed out violently, sending the water around him everywhere. The shock of this move bought him half the time he needed. The electrification of Zakharov’s body, however brief, bought him the other half.

Even before he landed, Harry’s wand was jabbed forward. “Visa Dementi.”

The purple spell struck Zakharov, causing her eyes to widen. Harry was given several moments to recover, sprawled on the ground simply breathing heavily as his body, both outside and in, felt as though it had been burnt.

“You won’t take her from me!” Zakharov’s aura flared, and Harry winced at the oppressive pressure overwhelmed his senses, making him almost catatonic. His occlumency began to peel apart as it was pushed beyond its limits. With a simple raise of her wrist, Harry felt the air currents shift around him, constricting around his neck as he was lifted up by an invisible force.

From the glint in her eyes, Harry had no doubt now that she intended to kill him here and now. Never had he been put in such a position, and knowing he had no choice, he unleashed his mind’s legilimency, abandoning all subtlety.

Plunging into her mind, he ripped through her defences, pounding again and again at each layer until it crumbled underneath his weight. He didn’t have the focus or the time to navigate through the gates, and each layer forcefully destroyed would build up more pressure on her mind, possibly leading to a cascade. When he pierced the final layer, Harry concentrated on the various shining orbs, flooding his magic over it, washing over her.

The mind was a strange place, where one second could be stretched into a thousand, or a thousand compressed into one. Yet the mind could not escape reality, and as he pushed his final bit of magic, Harry felt the strain of suffocation finally sent him into unconsciousness.

--Break--

“Grk,” Harry groaned, blinking as he saw patches of light. His mindscape was in tatters, his body feeling as though it was being pricked everywhere and his magic flickering weak. Immediately, a hand opened his mouth, pouring several vile tasting potions down. Slowly, he found himself regaining cognizance.

Delphi was hunched over him, a concerned, teary expression on her face. “Harry, thank Merlin you’re alright, I was so worried!”

She wrapped him in a tight hug, before quickly backing away at his involuntary wince, skin still tender. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry Delphi,” Harry soothed, his voice raspy. She shook her head vehemently.

“It’s all my fault. I thought…I thought…I never imagined she would do this to you; I’m so sorry!” She sniffed, as though saying the next words pained her. “If…if you don’t want anything to do with me, I’ll leave you alone, no issue.”

There was just something so wrong about what he was seeing. Seeing the bubbliness of Delphi disappear was like watching a flower slowly wilt, beauty morphing into decay. Reinforcing his occlumency, he reached out, grabbing her hand and squeezing lightly. As Delphi turned to look at him with wide, watery, hopeful eyes, he smiled. The victory in knowing she had chosen him was sweet enough.

“How is she?” he asked, causing her to scowl.

“Says that she doesn’t know what came over her and that she wants to apologise to you,” Delphi spat venomously. “As if I’d let her anywhere near you after she damn well tried to kill you.”

“Del, if she wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you right now,” Harry reasoned, causing the blonde girl to blink in disbelief. “I’m not sure if you saw, but she was toying with me.”

“You’re not serious are you?” she blinked at him. “You’re…actually considering it?”

“I want to see her, Delphi. Please.” At her dubious look, he merely smiled disarmingly, causing her to sigh and deflate, reluctantly leaving the privacy afforded by the curtain. Several moments later, Zakharov rushed inside, followed carefully by Delphi.

“Harry I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Zakharov sniffed, grabbing his hands in her own, seemingly completely oblivious to the glowing wand Delphi was pointing at her back, ready to cast in an instant. Yet Harry’s attention was on the older witch, staring at him as though he were salvation itself. His mind was whirring at the possibilities, for such a drastic shift should not be possible. There were three possibilities he could imagine:

First, she was playing a trick on him, having calculated that Delphi would not return to her influence unless she managed to get on his side as well. From an outside perspective, this was the most logical conclusion, and yet one Harry discarded immediately. Her occlumency was far beneath what he needed to discern her true intentions, and he knew the desperate yearning she displayed for him now was genuine.

Second, she had been put under potions or some other influence to act aggressive against him. There were many who were interested in gaining influence over him, and Zakharov posed a direct threat to that. Harry discarded this theory almost as fast as the first; the witch no doubt had rivals and enemies long before his arrival and would be vigilant to such threats. The heiress ring she wore along would have detected most poisons.

Which left the third option, being that over the course of the duel, something had changed her view of him. Among the duel, only two things of significance had occurred: his use of Visa Dementi and his legilimency of her. The former had only enraged her, turning distaste to anguished hatred. Thus, it had to be the latter, which brought Harry much pause.

While advanced for his age, Harry knew he had barely scratched the surface of what his mind could do. Could this have been, inadvertent or not, simply an extension of the imperius, where he had somehow altered her mind? It certainly bore investigating when he had recovered.

“It’s alright, Kat, I forgive you,” he assured, squeezing her hand before reaching out to cup her cheek. The way she mewled and basked into his touch reminded him of a kitten seeking warmth, rather hilarious given she was taller than him and far more powerful. Delphi’s incredulous gaze slowly morphed into one of suspicion and annoyance. “You won’t hurt me like that again, will you?”

“No,” she shook her head vehemently, causing Harry to smile, pulling her close into a hug.

“I know you won’t Kat. Would you mind getting the three of us breakfast? I need to have a quick chat with Del.”

“Of course,” Katerina bobbed her head up and down quickly, flashing him one last smile before reluctantly leaving the area. As soon as the curtains closed, Delphi rounded on him, suspicion in her eyes.

“Alright, you know something’s going on. Spill.”

“Only speculations at the moment,” Harry shrugged, wincing as his bones popped from the motion. “Near the end of our duel, I engaged in legilimency on her. Because of the desperate nature of the situation, I did not restrain myself in attempting to disable her. Instead…”

“What?” Delphi prompted.

“I honestly have no idea,” he admitted, causing the girl to blink in disbelief. “Considering I was getting the life choked out of me, I was basically throwing everything I had rather than worrying too much about anything else.”

“Right…and so now you’ve turned her into a yandere,” Delphi pinched the bridge of her nose. Harry blinked confusedly, never having heard the term. “Basically an overly protective, lovestruck individual. It’s a Japane-don’t ask.”

“O…kay then,” Harry said with an arched eyebrow. “I would have imagined that you’d be happier about the fact the three of us have a hope of getting along.”

“Zakharov has been my sister in all but blood, yet I’d be the first to warn you that she’s cunning, manipulative and driven. I don’t know what game she’s playing, and I…I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Del, you said you trust me, right?”

“Of course, you don’t need to even ask!”

“Then trust me on this. Katerina is loyal to me, devoted even. How permanent this change is, I can’t be certain, though I’d be a fool not to take advantage. It’s rare I find someone who can beat me so utterly; I hope to learn much from her.”

“And I’ll be happy to teach you,” Katerina’s chirpy voice answered, cutting off Delphi’s remark. Levitating three plates of breakfast with her wand, one flew towards Delphi and the other towards him, though he couldn’t help but note how she’d actually tried to platter his breakfast, or how the food looked just a bit better than those in Delphi’s or her own plate. “I also picked up your schedule and your runes kit.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiled at the girl, causing her face to light up in a beam. Opening the envelope, he raised an eyebrow. Hurst had taken over his Thursday and Fridays, while Ivarin had elected Tuesday. Mondays contained a late morning runes class. Casting a tempus, his eyes widened. “Seems like I’ll have to get a move on.”

“Del, don’t you have duelling to go to?” The question was innocent, yet Harry couldn’t help but note that Delphi stiffened at the question. “Don’t worry about Harry, I’ll take him to runes. I don’t have classes until the afternoon.”

“Right,” Delphi agreed warily. Harry, of course, was aware of what was going on. Delphi had been seeking an escape from an exclusive relationship with Zakharov, and now the latter was also pursuing him, causing the two to naturally compete. Less certain was what he was going to do about it: handling one relationship at a time was difficult enough; dealing with two offered much more challenge, and yet potentially far greater rewards.

“I’ll see you in the afternoon. Perhaps you can give me a few pointers in the dark arts?” Harry proffered. Delphi eagerly latched on.

“Definitely,” she agreed, bobbing her head quickly and causing her blonde hair to bounce. “I…guess I’ll see you then.”

“I guess we will,” Harry chuckled, beckoning her over. She hastily moved to his side, relaxing into his offered hug before reluctantly pulling away and leaving, sending back longing glances all the while.

“Come, I need to go to runes, I doubt Aribage will be pleased if I’m late for my first class,” Harry chuckled, groaning slightly as he felt his muscles protest his movements. Katerina was immediately by his side, helping him up with concern on her face. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling up for it, I’m sure the professor would understand if you needed a break. I’ll tell him what I did to you.”

“That’s not needed,” Harry assured, squeezing her hand in an attempt to alleviate some of the guilt written on her face. “We’re both free Wednesday, we’ll have a nice, long chat then.”

“Okay,” she nodded quickly, and the two proceeded to the runes classroom in companionable silence. Many in the corridors were visibly shocked at the sight of the duo, with Katerina leading him like an older sister would a little brother. Neither felt particular concern at this, though Harry did note the Ivarin boy scowled at the sight of the two.

As they made it to the classroom, Katerina hesitated for a moment, a look of indecision before she leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead, pulling him in a hug. “Anyone gives you trouble, you just let me know, okay?”

“I will, thanks,” Harry assured with a smile. Reluctantly, she let him enter the classroom, where most of the students had already taken a seat, leaving few empty spaces. Harry moved to the back corner of the room, taking one of the empty spaces.

The class was rather large, with roughly three hundred students seated in a large semi-circular lecture hall and space for maybe another fifty. It seemed, however, he was one of the last students to arrive, and no one deigned to sit next to him. Whether this was due to his associating with Kat and Del or something else, he had yet to deduce. Quickly and efficiently, Harry laid out his writing materials.

The professor entered the room, causing all the students to shoot up from their seats, standing to attention, waiting until the man had taken his seat. “Be seated.”

As one, the students took their seats.

“Look to your left. Look to your right,” the professor commanded. “Last term, there were over two thousand novice students. This term, there are eight hundred. If you think the culling is over, think again! This term will be more intense than the last one!”

Many of the students groaned or gulped at the proclamation, though the professor paid this little heed. “Last term, our focus was on the theoretical explanation behind clusters and the identification of them. This term, we will begin on the practical aspects of carving runes. If you are promoted to disciple next term, you’ll be taught the Levanti correction, which explores more factors than what you’ve covered with the Aeternitus equation. For now, it is sufficient for you to know that every single intricacy in the rune you carve, from the angle you carve with your knife to the ambient magic in the air at the time of your incision will compound together to diverge from theoretical values you calculate. If you’re skilled and lucky, the effects will be in opposite directions and largely abate. If you’re not, then I wish you the best of luck. Now, take out your rune kits, use one of the grey stone disks and the basic, flat side knife with a grey hilt and two white dots.”

The entire class scrambled to obey as the professor flicked his wand, causing the blackboards to shift around and reveal a second layer with large amounts of diagrams. “Today, we’re going to be looking at the first of Triarch’s seven incision types: direct vertical. The premise of this is simple, you take the knife and you press down from the top. But make no mistake, there is significant technique in this."

Laying out three stone disks in front of him, the professor took his knife, pressing down on the first with only a minimal force. Yet the disk quickly cracked, before splitting into several pieces. “Incision point! Materials are all imperfect, and you need to figure out where to carve.”

Moving to the second disc, he pushed lightly in one spot, then hard again. Even from the back, Harry could see fragments splinter off the stone. “Force. Too little and you’re wasting your time. Too much and you’ll make imprecise carvings. We won’t cover it this year, but the speed with which you carve has a minor yet potentially significant impact.”

Holding up the final stone disc for all to see, he ran a finger over it. “The first step is determining the correct incision point. When you plan out your runes, you must take into account where you will place each rune. Understand the depth and width of the cut you will make and choose the appropriate carving instrument.”

The professor placed the disc on his desk and pressed the knife tip at a point before gently tapping the hilt of the blade. “As you can see, a near-perfect incision. Thankfully, because you have yet to learn how to identify what spots are suitable to carve in, the kits you have purchased have their manufacture carefully controlled. It will not be sufficient for anything beyond basic carving, but perfect for our purposes. Take your ruler and quill, draw six lines each two centimetres long without overlapping. From there, you will attempt to make an incision five millimetres deep. This should create a volume of one hundred and fifty cubic millimetres. Use the volumetric pipette in your kit and measure out the volume of water your carving takes; bring it to the front if you manage to get a volume within fifteen cubic millimetres. Remember, measure twice and carve once. Begin!”

While others quickly began hacking away with their knives, Harry frowned, observing the blade. Its tip was elongated, which while making penetration easy, meant that it was practically impossible to get the cuboid shape the professor expected of them. Taking his ruler, he measured his blade’s tip, beginning to draw out some calculations and came to a simple conclusion: the task, at least with the parameters the professor set, was impossible. With a grin, he took his notes and wrote them out more neatly, before tapping it with his wand, causing it to morph into a paper aeroplane and hurtle forward, landing on the professor’s desk. A few individuals noticed and shot him confused looks, though most were too busy focused on carving or measuring. Aribage raised an eyebrow at him before reading over the note. After several moments, he set it down, looking around the room expectantly. “Mister Locker, miss Shaw, miss Eyri, why are you not working?”

“Sorry professor,” the three who had noticed his paper aeroplane quickly moved down to carve, causing the professor to shake his head in visible disappointment. Clapping his hand, he drew the entire room’s attention.

“Has everyone begun carving?” he queried. “Raise your hand if you haven’t.”

Harry’s hand rose up along with that of another boy’s, drawing some snickers from the room. “Then there are only two intelligent students in this room! Did any of you even stop to think that the blade shape will not give you a cuboid cutout?”

Many around ducked their heads in shame, though a few snuck incredulous glances at Harry. Despite his impassive face, he wondered whether the professor was intentionally painting a target on his back.

“We have spent the entirety of last term going over theoretical calculations. I have tried to drill in your thick heads to calculate twice and carve once. Yet apart from mister Anviel, not a single one of you managed to ask the simplest of questions. You’ve lost out to a student from Hogwarts, where only third years can take runes!” the professor yelled, cheeks flushed as he slammed a fist on the table. Several of the students were quietly sobbing, while others ducked their heads in shame, unable to meet the angry man’s gaze. Aribage took several deep breaths, heaving like a dragon about to breathe out fire. The sound echoed in the room, as everyone remained silent and still, as though afraid of drawing his ire.

“Listen carefully because I will say this only once. If you think that a single knife is enough for any type of carving, I would kindly ask you give me some of the potions your inhaling.” With a flourish of his wand, a blackboard appeared at centre stage, containing diagrams of several different knives.

“There are two classification axes of knives. The first relates to its purpose, the second its shape. For the former, you have incision knives, depth knives and finishing knives. For the latter, you have sharp tip, round tip and flat tip knives. Your first carve should always be with a sharp tip incision knife. In the future, it will be because it’s the most easy to assess the quality of the material, but for now, because it’s the most difficult for you to screw up. After this, you will make further incisions until you’ve reached the minimum dimensional requirements for your depth knives, which are far more precise and specialised. When you’ve hollowed out a majority of the carve you finish off with the finishing knives. If you don’t understand any of that, read up on your own time.”

Anviel raised his hand, causing Aribage to gesture towards him. “Professor, what would be the point of a round tip or flat tip incision knife?”

“A good question,” the professor appraised. “While I can’t give a specific answer given your level of understanding, the gist of it is that each alteration of the material will make minor changes to the resonance and structure of the material, the most potent example of this being on how microcracks can become susceptible to fissures. Depending on the material, it is sometimes preferable or even necessary to work with these alternative tools.”

“Thank you sir,” Anviel dipped his head.

“Potter, move forward and sit with Anviel. Hopefully the two competent students can help each other out,” he instructed. Harry nodded, quickly grabbing his things and moving to the front under the scrutinous gazes of the other students. “Now begin working properly this time!”

“Harry Potter, a pleasure,” Harry whispered, extending a hand. The boy clasped it, giving a firm shake.

“Aren Anviel, likewise,” he nodded. Harry observed as the boy made an incision, placing the palm of his hand on the hilt before hitting it with his other. Harry frowned as he noticed the blade jut slightly from its position as it made an incision, causing it to skirt to the side of where he’d drawn the line.

Looking at his own set of equipment, Harry frowned, transfiguring several quills into a guide stand for his blade. Aligning it to his line, Harry hit down, smiling as his blade landed precisely on the black line. Switching to a flat tipped depth knife, he reused the stand, hitting it again. Another perfect positioning, though he had struck too hard, having gone through the disc.

“What are you doing?” Anviel asked, looking at his contraption with curiosity. Harry shrugged.

“One of the biggest problems is consistency. If you look at the Levanti correction, angular interjection on material layers is one of the factors. Using your hands is unreliable and hard to repeat. Surely using guide tools should be more commonplace.”

“I know professionals do use that, but it’s good to build some level of muscle memory, at least according to my parents,” Anviel shrugged.

“Curse breakers?”

“Mum is, yeah. Dad’s a warder.”

“Damn, they must compete quite a bit,” Harry mused, observing the boy’s ribbons. It seemed that he was an inductee to charms and disciple arithmancy as well.

“You have no idea,” he chuckled.

“Hoping to follow in their footsteps?”

“That obvious?” He raised an eyebrow. Harry shrugged.

“You’re only taking three subjects. Seems likely you’re aiming for adept or mastery. Besides, you’re a first year, I doubt you’d have gotten into the top novice class without some level of prior training.”

“Too true,” Anviel admitted. “May I?”

Putting his ruler to different parts of Harry’s stand and muttering calculations under his breath, he turned to him with a hesitant smile. “The stand is slightly off, about a centimetre too high for the blade you’re using.”

Quickly running over the calculations in his head, Harry concluded the boy was correct and smiled. “Impressive, you’re quite good with numbers.”

Blushing at the praise, the boy ducked his head shyly. “I like them, numbers are factual and concrete. Easy to understand.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Harry hummed in agreement, drawing a surprised look from the boy. “I’d love to compare notes sometime, if you’re agreeable.”

“Oh definitely!” he agreed eagerly, before coughing embarrassedly. “I mean, that would be great.”

“I’ll see you around, Anviel.”

“Call me Aren.”

“Harry, then.”

The two shook hands as the professor dismissed the class.

Chapter 18: So This is War

Chapter Text

As he emerged from the classroom, Harry was surprised to see that Delphi was present, looking slightly out of breath as her eyes scanned the departing students, a grin lighting up her face as she saw him.

“Harry!” she grinned, skipping towards him and wrapping him in a tight hug. There was something so oddly refreshing about the genuine bubbliness of the girl. Never having experienced this himself, Harry could honestly say he coveted the feeling.

“Delphi,” he returned, basking in her warmth, inhaling the faint scent of vanilla. “How was duelling?”

“Oh, a bit of fun. Didn’t get any actual duels, today was all on theory,” she pouted. Harry couldn’t help but want to place his lips on hers, but quickly shook the thought away. “Still, I guess it’s going to help in the long run. How was runes?”

“The professor ranted at the other students for not making calculations before carving, that’s about it,” Harry shrugged. “Admittedly, the notes the professor gave me were more advanced than what I’m supposed to know. That and having a bit of common sense…”

“Impressing the professors again?” Delphi smiled knowingly. “You know, your idea of common sense is rather rare in this world.”

“Then I suppose it makes us rather special, doesn’t it?” Harry chuckled, causing Delphi to perk up at the implicit praise. “Perhaps we should have that chat now?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Delphi agreed, leading him down a side-corridor and into a broom closet. At Harry’s amused smirk, she flushed, swatting him on the chest. “It’s not like that…well unless you want it to be.”

“Talk first, kiss later?” Harry offered. Delphi didn’t deign to respond to his statement, casting several locking and privacy charms around them. Harry made a note of the wand movements and incantations, repeating them under his breath until she turned back to him, satisfied.

“Now we’re alone, or as alone as can be,” she reassured, biting on her lip as she hesitated.

“Del, what’s going on between you and Kat? You can tell me,” Harry soothed, taking her hand in his own, resisting the urge to legilimence her. Despite their current goodwill, Harry doubted she’d take him intruding on her mind.

“She wants to use you, Harry,” Delphi sighed. “You don’t know her like I do, no matter what front she puts on, she’s a Zakharov. There’s a reason their family is so feared. Her grandfather was a turn-coat in Grindelwald’s war: wiped out several towns in Russia and the Balkans alone with his elemental magic. Her parents both are feared throughout the continent. There are rumours around them…nothing that can be substantiated, but for a family so isolated, their influence is frightening.”

“You say that as though it’s a bad thing,” Harry frowned.

“It’s not necessarily, but something worth bearing in mind,” Delphi sighed, looking at him with concern. “In case you haven’t noticed, you're talented but young, isolated and vulnerable. Hurst has her eyes set on you, not to mention Ivarin and the other professors. Without a doubt in a few years, you’re going to be a powerhouse for whichever faction you join. I just…I just don’t want you to go in blind, you know? Because you’re…my friend.”

“Delphi,” Harry smiled warmly, patting his lap. The girl quickly perched herself onto him, staring up with wide hazelnut eyes. “I appreciate you telling me this, you know? But you don’t have to worry about it. I’m well aware of the intentions of those around me, yourself included.”

“Me?” Delphi frowned. “What do you…what do you mean?”

“Del,” Harry chuckled, running his hand through her hair, “I can see you trying to escape from Kat’s shadow. You feel as though you’re stifled, as though you’ll always be a lesser version of her. Isn’t that right?”

“N-” she hesitated, staring at him with those wide, innocent, watery eyes. The denial on her lip, yet failing to form into a meaningless lie. “How did you know?”

“I suspect…that’s what happened between myself and another,” Harry admitted ruefully. “I suppose it’s hard to do your best yet always feel inferior, never to be seen for your own talents.”

“Yeah,” Delphi breathed out with a sigh. “I just…want to be my own person, you know? To be something more than a mini-Katerina.”

“Then do so,” Harry encouraged. “You don’t have to out-do her, just be different.”

“If only it were that easy,” Delphi huffed. “I’m trapped, can’t you see? To her legacy and shadow. Ever since I’ve aligned with her, no others would accept me. Bridges have been burnt through events that she has manipulated. To cultivate a dependency within me, where only in her spheres of influence am I protected.”

“This is not the right path for you,” Harry mused.

“The right path? No. The only path?” Delphi sighed. “Yes. What else will I do? I can scarcely hold my own against the likes of Malcom Ivarin, let alone juggernauts like Otaba or Ira. In the Dark Arts, I’m already being harassed and targeted; I’m sure without the looming threat of retribution from Zakharov, it would be worse!”

“And would the sacrifice not be worth it?” Harry challenged, causing Delphi to pause. “For all your fears, you still have a choice. Each moment you spend under Zakharov’s shadow is a conscious decision not to accept the tradeoff; the sacrifice necessary.”

“I…”

“And I’ll be by your side for it. But I know you need the truth, and the truth is that you’re afraid. That fear has led to resentment, to anger that you hide with your bubbliness, but fear is your greatest sin, Delphi.” She was shivering now, now leaning into his touch the same way he had, her eyes vulnerable.

“And what is yours?” she whispered. Yet the question struck him nonetheless. What was his weakness? Harry could not say, and merely gave a shrug.

“Perhaps you’ll tell me one day,” he smiled instead, feeling a twist inside him as the words left his mouth. The way she seemed to light up from his words erupted the long forgotten feeling of guilt, causing Harry pause.

Never had he cared about manipulating others. Never had he felt guilt for pursuing his own goals. And yet now, Harry couldn’t help but pause. Yet she was looking at him as though he were Merlin reincarnated, the salvation to her struggles. The next word carved deep into him as he spoke, yet he forced them out, whether for his sake or hers, Harry couldn’t say.

“And we’ll do it together,” he assured, squeezing her hand. There seemed to be a moment as a spark passed through them, seizing the breath from his lungs. Delphi’s hair seemed to glow brighter, and he noticed how the faint blush on her cheeks had spread down her neck.

His eyes flickered: her eyes dilated as though leaving the door unlocked for him and him alone to see in. Her lips, which he longed to rub his own against and feel the texture, to know intimately each small ridge.

He felt a slight jolt, jerking slightly forward before hesitating at her visible shock. Then she moved forward before hesitating. A nervous chuckle escaped from his lips as it did hers, before their hands tentatively reached out for each other’s cheek.

The two gently cupped the other’s skin, pulling each other in as though frightened the other would back out at the last second, their eyes locked onto each other’s to search for the smallest sign of reluctance. Yet while the doubt and fear in their eyes were laid bare to each other, eagerness too made itself known. Guided by an invisible hand, the two tilted their heads slightly, noses just brushing against each other before their lips finally touched.

A surge of warmth passed through Harry as his eyes fluttered shut, his nose inhaling her vanilla scent as one of his hands moved to the back of her head, threading through her silky strands of hair while his other moved down to the small of her back. Her own hands had mirrored his motions, one head running through his messy hair and the other wrapped around his waist.

Only after several heated moments did they part for air, breathing heavily as they stared at each other in wonder. Harry had never felt such a jolt of emotions, and it was as though the dam, constructed through years of isolation, had burst at once.

Perhaps he should have suppressed it with occlumency and forgotten about this. Yet seeing the ear splitting grin on Delphi’s face, he couldn’t find the heart to do more than mirror it, leaning in for another kiss.

--Break--

Walking hand in hand to lunch, their uniforms straightened and pristine at a cursory glance, the crumples from their time in the broom closet well masked. As much as they tried to hide it, both were clearly glowing, a slight skip to their step. Yet as they made it to the great hall, they were surrounded by the younger Ivarin, a gleam in his eyes as the remaining students formed a perimeter around them.

“Mister Potter, how is your day going?”

“Very well, thank you mister Ivarin,” Harry returned smoothly, gently squeezing Delphi’s hand to try and calm her tension. “You don’t need an entourage to speak with me, I don’t bite.”

“Of course, of course,” the boy smiled disarmingly. He was the only one amongst them without a wand in their hand, even if none were overtly pointed at them. From simply sensing their auras and observing their postures, he knew that they were dangerous enough. He could take two, maybe three of them at once in a fight. With Delphi, because they weren’t familiar with working together and were likely to become each others’ liabilities, the number would drop to a solid two. With the dozen students forming the circle, not to mention at least a dozen more lingering in the background, Harry knew he was screwed. If Delphi’s countenance was any indication, she realised this too, and did not bother drawing her wand. “I mean no offence, merely to once again suggest you consider carefully those you associate with.”

He gestured to the witches and witches around him. “The Thunderbirds will be doing battle with the Wasps in a few moments. I would appreciate it if you were in the audience.”

“I could hardly miss the first of Durmstrang’s fabled guild wars, could I?” Harry returned smoothly. Ivarin seemed briefly surprised before nodding with a thin smile, gesturing for those around to follow him. They did so, trooping out behind their leader. Turning to Delphi, he whispered softly, “Control yourself, we’re being watched.”

Taking a breath, Harry saw the occlumency take hold over her. Despite the wrongness of her bubbliness disappearing, Harry knew that it was necessary, and felt privileged that Delphi had shown her true self to him so early on. She allowed him to lead them to the great hall, where both loaded their plates with some food before heading towards the war room.

Many students were already gathered, with highmaster Karkaroff on the podium staring down like a Roman Emperor in the Colosseum of old. Facing off each other directly underneath were two groups of twenty students. Ira Ivarin led one side, while an unknown wizard led the other. Just from observing them, he could tell that while Ira was the strongest amongst them all, the faction opposing her was far more even in their distribution of power, meaning on average the two sides were roughly equal.

“What are the rules of a guild war?” Harry queried. “Actually, how does conflict between the guilds even work?”

“Right, where to start,” Delphi hummed. “Guilds are able to form alliances, join a clan or declare conflicts with each other. It’s an organisational thing, which means that when someone joins a conflict, they inherit the alliances and conflicts, just as they lose them if they leave.

Technically, any engagement should only take place in an officially designated format, in the form of either individual duels or a war. Less commonly, other outlets such as quidditch matches or academic contests are used, usually between guilds whose members focus on those areas. Guilds generally are focused into one of three categories: political, academic or social. Despite every guild usually focusing on one of the three, by the nature of a guild’s demand for trust and unity, its members will collaborate on all three.”

“And are there tiers amongst the guilds?” Harry queried. Delphi shrugged.

“Not officially. The votes a guild gets in the assembly equates to the number of members it has, so there isn’t much benefit to bigger or smaller guilds. Larger guilds also are more easily able to bid for preferential resource access, though those resources have to be shared amongst its members.”

“Resources?” Harry prompted meaningfully.

“Things like a guild room, booking amenities such as duelling spaces and whatnot,” Delphi shrugged. “I’ve never paid much attention to these sorts of things, they seem quite a waste of time.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Harry corrected sternly, causing Delphi to turn to him intrigued. “A common room in a different place from your dorm saves you time and energy in moving, booking a space to use denies access to rivals, the simple process of bidding, even if you don’t win, drives up the price another must pay to acquire what they want.”

“That…makes an eerie amount of sense,” Delphi shuddered, looking at him strangely. “You’re a unique person, Harry.”

“And what of the factions?”

“There are three predominant streams of belief: the pro-Grindelwald faction, which believes in blood equality, the blood supremacist faction that believes in pureblood supremacy, usually but not always with the pro-Voldemort faction, and the neutrals, who reject following either dark lord.”

“Grindelwald still holds sway over the continent,” Harry mused surprisedly. Delphi looked at him strangely.

“Of course. After the war, the populations of Europe were so decimated that no side pushed for extermination. An uneasy coexistence continued. There are a bunch of smaller factions, some supporting muggle-magical cooperation, some Revanchists looking to reconquer the former Soviet States and whatnot. But they’re all minor in comparison to the three main ones.”

“And what about the other guilds?”

“Why do you care about them?” Delphi frowned. “They just generally keep to themselves and stay out of the game.”

“I care about them because they are unknown,” Harry lectured, flicking her on the nose. “They are individuals who can be co-opted, who are the easiest to mould and bend to one’s needs. The muggles call this a blue-ocean strategy, entering a space with minimal competition relative to potential gain.”

“The muggles have a lot of…interesting concepts,” Delphi nodded thoughtfully. Harry chuckled.

“The muggles do not have the handi-cap of magic. Faced with many of the same challenges we do, they have adapted and evolved. Make no mistake, when the mask of civility falls, I have no doubt the muggles are far more ruthless and savage than a wild beast,” Harry mused. “There is much to learn from them.”

“You’re pro-muggleborn?” Delphi queried. At his askance look, she quickly added, “I won’t judge, I’m just curious.”

“On a biological level, magicals are inherently superior to muggles. Everything a muggle can do, theoretically a magical can match or exceed. However, there is also the great equalisation theory.”

“What’s that?” Delphi frowned, face scrunched up in confusion. It was so adorable, and Harry resisted the urge to simply cuddle her. It was also refreshing to teach again; despite the transactional nature of the relationship, Harry had enjoyed teaching Greengrass.

“At any one point in time, it’s likely that the overall attractiveness of individuals is similar. You’ll rarely see someone who’s hideous, stupid and arrogant, for instance. Whether from birth, acquired or learned, individuals are generally similar in overall attractiveness from a survival and mating perspective. Think about it, those who have no redeemable qualities won’t reproduce, extinguishing their lacklustre characteristics, while those with outstanding characteristics will experience greater than average success, such that their characteristics spread across the population at an above normal rate until becoming the new norm.”

“I…don’t quite follow,” Delphi admitted sheepishly, looking down as though afraid to meet his gaze. Harry shook his head, placing a kiss on her head.

“Don’t be ashamed of not understanding something, not with me. All I need is a willingness to learn.” Seeing her perk up, he explained. “Imagine you’re picking between two potential choices. Imagine everything about them is the same, save one is more handsome than the other. Who do you pick?”

“The handsome one,” Delphi answered hesitantly, no doubt fearful of it being the wrong answer. Harry nodded.

“As is logical, and the ugly man knows this. Thus, because he can’t change this, he knows he has to compete elsewhere. Perhaps he will study hard and become more intelligent. Perhaps he will show ambition and land a prestigious job. Theoretically, there is nothing stopping the handsome man from doing these same things. And yet, he is unlikely to do so until the threat from the ugly one becomes grave enough to threaten him.”

“So you’re saying magicals are like the handsome man, becoming lax in his inborn advantage?” Delphi proffered. Harry nodded with a smile.

“Exactly. A thousand years ago, the muggles used spears, swords and bows, things our magic could counter. Seven hundred years ago, muggles managed to make one shot handheld guns, inaccurate and clunky they may be. A hundred years ago, they created an automatic rifle that can spew out a dozen bullets a second. Fifty years ago, they created nuclear weapons that could forever alter the topography and climate of the planet itself. How long until magic is no longer enough?” Harry smiled faintly as Delphi’s eyes widened in horror at the thought. “Chilling, is it not? As the number of muggles grows exponentially, so too does the competition between them and the pace of innovation.”

Before they could continue the conversation, Karkaroff’s voice boomed out. “The Thunderbirds and the Wasps have failed to reconcile their differences, and thus a battle is to take place. May magic resolve what words could not.”

Slamming a staff down, yellow runes lit up across the stadium, causing Harry’s eyes to widen. Were it not for his occlumency, he’d be gaping at the sight, for there had to be hundreds of thousands, if not millions of runes in this place. The very air crackled with power as the empty arena soon turned into a sandy desert with a small oasis and several mud buildings around it.

“You could have small armies fight here,” Harry breathed out in awe. Delphi hummed in agreement.

“There used to be, when clans would go to war with each other. The practice was banned in the early nineteen thirties because of the tensions between those in favour and against Grindelwald,” Delphi shrugged. “I believe you can still get memories of those in the commissary.”

“There’s a commissary…and you didn’t think to show me?” Harry asked dryly. Delphi gave a meek ‘sorry’ that was too adorable for Harry to continue holding anger at. “We’ll visit that once this battle is finished.”

As a loud gong sounded, Harry watched as Ivarin floated upwards, air currents swirling around her as she surged forward. The rest in her guild followed almost leisurely, causing Harry’s eyes to widen as he realised the witch intended to take all her opponents on alone. As she arrived at the oasis in the middle, water rose out from the surface, forming a helix around her before melding into a huge orb above her head the size of an olympic swimming pool.

As the opposite clan neared, advancing carefully in two semi-circle lines with shields layered over each other, Harry watched as Ivarin’s aura flared, flooding the entire room with her aura. It was oppressive and suffocating, managing to flood the entire stadium. As he blinked out of the momentary haze, he noticed Ivarin was staring directly at him. As though sensing his thoughts, her lips curled up in a smile just before she slashed her wand down. Javelins of water shot down from the orb, each roughly a metre long and barely distinguishable to an untrained eye.

Ivarin’s opponents were quick to react, their shields reinforced through visible streams of magic from their wand as they huddled nearly shoulder to shoulder, maximising the overlap and minimising the overall area they needed to protect.

The first strike caused spiderweb-esque cracks to appear over their shield. The second widened those cracks, causing the defenders to visibly shake in exertion. The third strike shattered their shields, causing several of them to fall into unconsciousness as the shield’s collapse caused enough backlash to knock them out. From the hissing and charred appearance of their skin, they must have been pumping a lot of magic into their shield, a testament to Ivarin’s sheer dominance.

Harry would fully concede he was wrong: Ivarin had been keeping a tight leash on her power, and only now was he a witness to it. He couldn’t even say if it was the full extent, a fact that both humbled and frightened him. Despite being a big fish at Hogwarts, he knew he was a far cry from joining the ranks of the strongest students here, let alone being the most powerful.

The water she had remaining divided into several human sized blobs, surrounding and lifting the opponents of her still conscious. Some tried to blast their way out, others attempted flame spells and some shielded, but it was all in vain as Ivarin twirled her wand, causing the water to vibrate. Harry’s eyes widened in realisation.

“She’s going to boil them alive,” he shuddered, drawing a gasp from Delphi. The screams soon began.

“By Merlin, I had no idea…”

“Isn’t this going to stop?” Harry queried. Delphi shook her head.

“Not until one side is all incapacitated or yields,” she answered. “I can’t believe they’re not doing so, to be honest.”

Focusing closely and pumping magic into his eyes, fighting down the searing pain with occlumency, he was better able to observe Ivarin’s hold on the water, and noted that their bodies were being ruthlessly held in place. The spellfire had stopped, and there was no way they could move their wands, let alone fire off surrender sparks. With a careless swish of her wand, the bubbles slammed their captives down, crushing their bodies with audible crunches as the water turned red from their blood.

“The Thunderbirds are victorious. By the accord, the feud is over. The Wasp clan is officially disbanded.” Whispers of shock spread around the arena, causing Harry to look to Delphi for an explanation.

“It’s…pretty much the harshest punishment. Ivarin has also…never been revealed to be…this powerful. By Merlin, I couldn’t imagine…” she choked on her words. Following her sight line, Harry himself swallowed as he felt Ivarin’s penetrating gaze on him. She inclined her head slightly, indicating her desire to speak with him outside. Clamping down with his occlumency, he nodded impassively at the request.

“You can’t be thinking of meeting her after…that!” Delphi hissed, concern etched onto her face. Harry shrugged.

“Are you about to tell her no?” Harry arched an eyebrow. Indecision warred on her face for several moments. “Besides, now’s probably as good a time as any. She’s expended quite a bit of magic already.”

“Stay safe, okay?” she pleaded. Harry nodded, sensing her doubt and appreciating her not voicing them. He pulled her in for a kiss, one she eagerly relaxed into. As they parted, she looked about to say more before thinking better of it, merely smiling worriedly. Feeling a shift in the air, Harry frowned, realising that Ivarin was already behind him.

“Hello, Miss Ivarin.”

“Mister Potter,” she greeted in return, the disillusionment charm dropping. “I’m impressed, few could have detected me.”

Glancing around, he noticed that several senior students had their wands in their hands, guarding over the area. As his gaze returned to Ivarin, she merely shrugged apologetically. “Just a precaution. One can never be too careful in the halls of Durmstrang. As you said, I’ve expended quite a bit of magic already,” her lips curled up in amusem*nt. “Besides, one lucky strike doth a fatal mistake make.”

“Too true,” Harry agreed, smiling despite himself. It was refreshing to meet someone who was similarly minded. No matter where they stood, he could respect that. “Do you trust those around you with our conversation?”

“They can hear only a low hum, even their perception of our lips will be distorted,” she answered pleasantly. As Harry narrowed his eyes, he noticed a faint sheen of distortion, though it was so small that had she not told him, Harry would not have noticed.

“Impressive control. I thought you were an aquamancer, yet it seems you’re an aeromancer,” Harry mused. Her eyes widened slightly, before the smile returned.

“You are…dangerously well informed, given your…familial situation,” Ivarin chuckled. Despite her easy tone, he knew she was scanning his body for any reaction. If she hoped he’d attack her, Ivarin would be disappointed. He wasn’t suicidal, after all. Suppressing himself with occlumency, he merely stared back impassively. At her triumphant glance, he knew he had misjudged her intent. “Occlumency as well? I’m impressed.”

“Far less impressive than elemental magic, I’m sure,” Harry smiled humbly. Ivarin gave a nod at his tacit praise.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” she hummed noncommittally. “But that hardly discounts your achievements. Not to mention, you’ve quite a few years on me. I admit, I had high expectations, and yet you’ve surpassed them.”

“That puts me in a dangerous position, then,” Harry sighed amusedly. At her curious eyebrow, he elaborated, “Turkey and Ireland were both non-aligned during the Cold War, at least on the magical side. The former maintained one of the largest military forces for a country its size, the latter didn’t both at all. Why is that?”

“Because Turkey had sufficient means to create a meaningful deterrence, while Ireland didn’t,” Ivarin offered simply, frowning afterwards. “That’s not right, is it?”

“From a historical perspective, I couldn’t say without talking to the dead,” Harry shrugged. “But I hold a slightly different perspective. You’ve focused on the ability to defend, while I prefer to look at choice. Ireland is, for all intensive purposes, barren of any valuable resources or talent, thus making them an unworthy target. Turkey, given its strategic location and natural resources, is a hugely attractive target, one an enemy would be willing to expend far more resources to acquire.”

“And you compare yourself to Turkey?” Ivarin latched on.

“In time, perhaps,” Harry shrugged. “Right now, I’d say I’m like Spain before the Great War: a valuable target insufficiently deterrent against foreign aggression.”

“You are wary of me?” she queried coyly. “I don’t think I’ve done anything to hurt you, if I do, I’ll happily make amends.”

“Nothing yet,” Harry admitted, “but only a fool would not recognise the threat or value you pose, and I mean this in the most complimentary sense.”

“Much obliged,” she laughed, tossing her hair backwards and wiggling slightly, coincidentally shifting slightly closer towards him. “I hope you’re flattered, I usually don’t put on a show for anyone.”

“You’re making me blush,” Harry joked, drawing a laugh from Ivarin. “I can’t say I’m not envious of your control of the elements.”

“I could teach you,” she shrugged, causing him to arch an eyebrow. “You’re surprised?”

“No, merely considering the cost you’ll ask for this,” Harry admitted. Ivarin frowned for a moment before laughing, allaying any fears that she had taken offence.

“I admit, it’s so refreshing to have such a frank conversation. I suppose if it assuages your fears, I’m simply hoping to gauge your competency and make potential inroads to a friendship.”

“You’re willing to even consider associating with me?” Harry queried, allowing the surprise he felt to bleed into his voice.

“Ah,” she smiled after realisation hit her. “My father’s views are hardly my own. His hatred of the British and frankly Western Europe is rather silly, if you ask me. Allow me to apologise for the rather rude lack of welcome he offered.”

“Perfectly understandable. I doubt he appreciated being sent out in the snow to fetch a British transfer,” Harry shrugged. “But I thank you for your sentiments.”

“I’m afraid our time runs short, so allow me to offer my congratulations and some advice.”

“Congratulations?”

“You’ve begun dating Rowle, haven’t you?” she grinned. Harry blinked in surprise before slowly nodding. “Good, she’s an intelligent girl. I do suggest you skip breakfast and eat a light dinner tonight.”

“My thanks, Miss Ivarin. Until next time,” Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement. She smiled, returning the gesture as the distortions around them disappeared. Walking towards the exit of the stadium, Harry kept his face impassive as professor Ivarin walked towards him with a scowl, eyes blazing with fury. Slowing down to sneer at him when Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement, the man continued towards his daughter.

With a sigh, Harry headed towards his dorm, smiling as he spotted Delphi pacing around nervously. She snapped her head towards him, rushing over and checking over his body worriedly.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine, Del. We just had a chat, quite enlightening, I must say,” Harry reassured. She looked at him in surprise. “What were you expecting?”

“Honestly, a hazing. She’s a mean bitch who’d challenge you to a duel for looking at her the wrong way,” Delphi scowled. “She humiliated me after I beat her brother in a duel.”

“I see…” Harry frowned. From his impression of Ivarin, she didn’t seem like the type, though admittedly she could have put on a facade in their meeting. Given her aptitude, she’d easily avoid his passive legilimency finding anything amiss. “She seems to like you though. Said that me dating you was a good thing and called you intelligent.”

“Huh, probably didn’t want to insult me in front of you,” Delphi shrugged, hesitating slightly. “You told her about us?”

“She figured it out and brought it up. I couldn't deny it now, could I?” Harry wrapped an arm around her and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’m proud of us, and I’m not hiding the fact.”

“Thank you,” Delphi grinned with watery eyes, snuggling into his chest. Harry smiled, holding her close as he rocked them slightly.

--Break--

“Har! Are you alright?” Katerina stormed into his dorm, causing Delphi to yelp and bounce on his lap. “I came as soon as I heard what the bitch did!”

“Relax,” Harry encouraged, gently prying Delphi off his lap. As though unable to believe it, her eye scanned him critically, looking for any indication of harm. He indulged her, a warm, tingling feeling spreading from his heart as her concern, which stayed his hand from clamping down on this. “We just talked, nothing much happened.”

“Harry,” Katerina sighed, indecision on her face. “Far be it for me to tell you what to do, but there’s a reason Ivarin is feared and hated in equal measure.”

“Give me your assessment of her,” Harry encouraged.

“She’s powerful magically, aquamancer, as you know. In the same year as me, she has masteries in the dark arts and duelling. Also a first adept in charms, even though she was offered a mastery. She’s undoubtedly the deadliest student currently attending Durmstrang, loathe as I am to admit it. Strangely never been that interested in politics, generally doing the grunt work while her brother Malcom deals with that side. She used to be brash and unlikable, though she’s hidden that better over the years,” Katerina answered. Harry nodded thoughtfully, turning to Delphi.

“Anything to add?”

“Just that she’s a bitch,” Delphi shrugged dryly, causing Katerina to snort.

“You’re just annoyed that she beat you in a duel with the leviosa charm,” Katerina chuckled, causing Delphi to flush and scowl.

“Since we’re bringing up past things, what abou-”

“You promised you wouldn’t!” Katerina interjected, scandalised. Delphi merely shrugged. “Unless you want me to tell him about that incident.”

The two witches stared at each other for several moments before seemingly reaching an accord.

“I guess I’ll just pretend I’m not here then,” Harry mused dryly, causing both to blush. “Kat, how much would you say Ivarin’s improved since Paris?”

“How…how do you know about that?” Katerina frowned. “I’ve never seen you in the duelling circuit.”

“I was there to watch a former friend,” Harry answered with a forlorn smile. “You put up a most impressive fight. There is no shame in such a dignified defeat.”

“A defeat is a defeat,” Katerina shook her head. Harry’s opinion of her rose a notch. “I don’t think she’s necessarily grown in strength as much as she’s gotten more potent. The few times she reveals her power…it is like watching nature itself, unshakable and indomitable.”

“That’s quite the high compliment, coming from you,” Harry pondered, slightly lost in his thoughts. A soft cough brought him out of his reverie, and he saw Delphi looking confused while Katerina smirked.

“Looking to add her to your collection?”

“In time, perhaps,” Harry admitted with a wry grin. “In time.”

--Break--

As Harry entered the dark arts classroom, he frowned at the fact it was empty. Despite being slightly early, he doubted that professor Ivarin would not be present given the various artefacts dotting the room. His wand flew into his hand and he closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses for anything amiss. The magical ambiance of the room betrayed nothing, causing him further tension as he slowly advanced forward.

Suddenly, the stone around him began to shift, the walls collapsing in on itself as reality itself seemed to fragment. His senses were ablaze, unable to decipher what was happening beyond the blinding intensity of changes. Firing off a blasting curse, he narrowly avoided it ricocheting back at him. Conjuring a shield, it bounced around like a pinball several more times before splashing against his barrier. Harry breathed as the barriers around him crystalised, revealing cracked reflections of himself.

Looking around, he reached out to touch the surface entrapping him, only for a spike to shoot out warningly, causing Harry to wrench his hand back. Looking around carefully, Harry hid a smile as he realised that they were fractals, a reflection of each other. Reaching out with his senses, he turned, frowning at the slow shifts until he realised that the source was constantly moving.

Taking a breath, Harry began analysing the charms placed around him, limited though his knowledge may be. He could see the faint glow of runes in the cracks of the mirror surface, and took care to analyse them, deciphering bits of their purpose. One cluster constantly repeated itself.

‘Obfuscate.’

He felt a sense of anger at this: what sort of test could this be beyond a means to humiliate him? A light buzz formed in the back of his mind, but Harry clamped down on it with his occlumency, determined to figure a way out and surpass the doubts.

Weaving his wand around, he began latching onto the flow of the magic, slowly nudging them slightly off course from their runic channels. The glass around him began to creak, small cuts growing, drawing a triumphant smile from Harry.

As his crystalline container wilted away, he found himself in a short corridor, with a door at the end. Sounds of moans and kissing drew a frown, especially at the familiarity of them. Hesitantly, he stepped forward towards the door, taking a breath before yanking it open to see Delphi sat atop the lap of Malcom Ivarin. The two turned to him, with the latter smugly grinning while the former indifferent.

“Delphi?” he breathed out confusedly. “W-”

“What? Aligning with Mal is far more advantageous than with you, just good business. I’m sure you understand.” Her lop-sided grin was not so innocent now, dark malice shining in her eyes.

“Why are you surprised, Potter? You’re a nobody. An orphan that survived on a fluke,” Malcom jibed.

“Just a freak, a momentary interest,” Ira Ivarin’s voice came behind, causing him to turn sharply around. Her face twisted to faux sympathy. “Do you think anyone cares? You of all people should know better.”

“Yes, you’re just another tool, another project,” the voices of Hurst and Quirrell sounded. Harry shrunk into himself, yet his gut wrenched at the sight of a bloodied, decrepit Amelie twitching towards him.

“Y-y-you d-id this t-to me!” she growled, clawing at him. “E-everyone around you suffers…everyone.”

“We know better than most,” a haunted voice called from behind, causing him to whirl around, staring at the hollow corpses of his parents. Their eyes were missing, revealing burnt out sockets, while their skin was charred, flesh torn and missing to reveal parts of their organs. On Lily’s, he could see her blackened heart thumping wildly.

“You’re all alone,” they called out as one, causing Harry’s eyes to become watery as he shook his head.

“Don’t deny it.”

“You know it be true.”

“All those around you-”

“Are just tools to you.”

“Sacrifices to be used and abandoned.”

“You don’t love anyone.”

“You can’t love.”

“You have nobody.”

“Nobody,” they called out in unison, before all breaking out into giggles. Rage clouded his mind, and Harry fired off a bolt of lightning towards his parents, only for James to swat away his spell. Moments later, it struck him on the ribs, causing him to collapse with a wince.

“So weak,” he mocked, “twelve years and that’s all you’ve got?”

“He still has his uses,” Amelie crooned, causing him to snap towards her, firing a banisher. Moments later, he was slammed forward right into her hands, which mockingly traced his jawline. “What did I ever see in you?”

With a careless flick of her wrist, he was hurled away, the back of his head slamming against an invisible wall. Wincing at the disorientation, Harry groggily stood up, wand glowing as they all surrounded him.

“Why are you angry?” Delphi mocked. “Because we’re wrong, or because we’re right?”

“You’re all just in my head,” he wheezed out. “Just figments, chemical impulses.”

“But no less real,” Quirrell chuckled. “After all, reality is whatever you give meaning to, and you can’t let us go.”

“I can and I will!” Harry yelled out, ignoring the pang in his heart. They all tutted, looks of mocking pity on their faces. “You don’t believe me?”

“You don’t believe it, so how can we? We’re in your mind, after all,” Hurst laughed. “You’re in control, aren’t you?”

“The poor boy, a prisoner of his own mind,” Delphi crooned.

“So weak…so lost,” Katerina sighed. “In another world you could have been great.”

“But here, you’re less than nothing,” Amelie finished.

Harry swallowed, before a moment of epiphany found him, displacing the sorrow with indifference. “Perhaps I’m worthless, but there’s one thing you forget. This is my mind, and you exist by my will.”

His smile widened as the figures began backing away in horror. Raising his hand, he curled his fist inward, causing them all to reach to their necks, levitated in the air as they clawed for breath. He heard the sound of glass creaking, and smiled triumphantly as the illusion disappeared, black mist vanishing with soulful screams as shards of glass exploded outwards.

Breathing heavily, he saw Ira and Otaba looking at him with wide eyes, while professor Ivarin merely frowned thoughtfully. The wizard intoned lowly, “Legilimens.”

Harry felt crushing pain in his mind as the professor tore through gate after gate with ruthless efficiency. Clamping down on it, Harry reversed himself through the professor’s trail of destruction, making it to the man’s mindscape. Despite his urge to wreak havoc, Harry took the subtler approach, prodding around in an attempt to enter without detection.

A flash of warning caused him to throw up another mindstream, commanding his body to roll to the side and narrowly avoiding a column of rock shooting up from the ground. With a growl, he felt his mind under immense pain, yet continued to push forward, his main objective to stall on the two fronts so that he could glean information on the professor.

As Rosier and Ivarin overcame their shock, their attacks became more fierce, forcing him on the defensive. All the while, the professor continued rampaging through his mind, causing small cracks to begin to form, even as he blunted the man’s attacks with efficient traps.

Where the man’s legilimency was overwhelming, his occlumency was surprisingly underdeveloped, with a scant few traps but nothing that would prove a challenge to dismantle. Delving inside, Harry leaned into the core of his memories.

--Memory--

Ivarin stood at the flank of Grindelwald, who was surveying the defence of Paris. Hundreds of magicals around were setting up various wards and defences while Grindelwald merely observed. On the dark lord’s other flank, Vinda Rosier stood, a stoic expression on her face.

“My lord, the Germans will not commence with ‘The Field of Ruins Order’. The local garrison has been whittled down to rags, and are unable to do anything but cower,” she informed him.

“We should raze this country to the ground,” Ivarin growled. Grindelwald merely chuckled amusedly, whilst Rosier shot him a glare.

“Is your solution to everything violence, Isard?” she sniffed.

“Is yours to smile prettily and hope for the best?” he rebuffed, drawing a glare from the witch as she twitched for her wand.

“Enough,” Grindelwald interjected firmly, causing the two to quickly fall silent. “Our goal is to bleed the enemy dry. Make them lose three witches and wizards for every one of ours.”

“Strategic depth,” Ivarin hummed thoughtfully. “Are we in such dire straits?”

“Dumbledore is cunning and intelligent. Unlike the first wave, they prepared extensive amounts of resources and training for the campaign. They will take Paris.”

“You would let them win?” Ivarin questioned incredulously, causing Grindelwald to turn to him with an arched eyebrow.

“What would you have me do?”

“Take all those who are loyal and raze the place to the ground,” he answered simply. “Those who are not with us are necessarily against us.”

“For today when we are on the back foot, perhaps,” Grindelwald mused, “But not forever. Vinda, you’ve done your job splendidly, but I need you back in Stuttgart. Ensure project Valkyrie is ready.”

“It will be done, my lord,” Vinda curtsied, before disapparating with a flash. There was a sudden, thunderous crack in the air, the magical backlash causing Ivarin to collapse to one knee. Grindelwald’s hair looked slightly frazzled, though otherwise appeared unaffected.

“It seems our guests have arrived. Let us give them a warm welcome.” With that, Grindelwald leapt off the balcony, floating in the air and surging forward. Summoning a piece of rubble, Ivarin stood on top, hastily following his lord.

At the head of the invasion force was Dumbledore, surrounded by two dozen ICW war mages. Ivarin gulped, for those individuals were all formidable in their own right, let alone in such numbers. Yet looking at his lord’s calmness gave him hope that the situation would resolve in their favour.

“Albus, how long has it been?” Grindelwald queried lightly, twisting his hand and causing the rubble around to vault up in the air, morphing into large spears before hurling themselves at the army behind Dumbledore. A moment later, Grindelwald surged forward, calling a burst of air in his hands and lashing out at Dumbledore.

“Attack!” Ivarin yelled, remembering his own duties. At once, the Grindelwaldians began firing at the approaching ICW force, who raised their shields, overlapping each other in a bright blue glow. Thunder crackled, and suddenly, it began to rain. Ivarin felt a surge of triumph as he saw at least four ICW war mages get crushed by Grindelwald’s spears, along with countless grunts.

Turning to watch the fight between two titans, he found he could barely keep pace even with occlumency enhancing his perceptive speed. Bursts of air that would harden into various constructs battled against Dumbledore, who defended himself by shaping the rain droplets coalescing into shields against whatever magic Grindelwald threw, retaliating with his own attacks.

Ivarin had scarcely the time to react, throwing up a shield around himself as the rain in the air suddenly stopped, before lashing out, cutting against him with impossible sharpness. His shield minimised the damage to only superficial cuts, yet looking around his comrades, he resisted the urge to throw up at the sight of a thousand lacerations on their bodies, the puddles on the ground running red with blood.

Looking back up, he saw Grindelwald being pushed on the back foot by Dumbledore, a feat he thought impossible. Narrowing his eyes in concentration as the two slowly neared the ground, Ivarin slashed his wand, muttering a druidic incantation as columns of earth shot up, wrapping around Dumbledore and encasing him in rock. He pushed his magic deep into it, blood trickling from his nose, lips and eyes, but it was futile, for within moments, his cage had been blasted open by Dumbledore, who didn’t deign to look at him as Grindelwald launched a furious onslaught, the attacks that missed landing in the midst of the ICW army and slaughtering dozens per hit.

Still, with the obliteration of the first line of defence, they advanced, and Ivarin knew he had greater priorities. Surging forward with a roar, he raised his fist, clenching it and smiling in triumph as the entire street he was on saw spikes of earth shoot up, impaling hundreds. With another swish of his wand, the rock liquified, boiling yet more alive. He took great pleasure firing shield breaking spells at the survivors, extinguishing the light of their defensive magic one by one.

He felt a shift of magic, and rolled to the side just in time to avoid a dagger reeking of dark magic. Spinning around, he fired off a cruciatus curse followed by a killing curse, watching the figure dodge them with ease. As the two reassessed each other, Ivarin felt his wariness increase at the figure before him.

“Setako,” he inclined his head in greeting, “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Ivarin,” the masked figure returned the gesture, a wand in one hand and a shoto in the other. His entire figure was clad in black, the slits where his eyes were meant to be hollow and empty. “Likewise.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll offer me a chance to surrender?” Ivarin chuckled, slipping a razor into his left hand and cutting into his finger, drawing blood. Setako did not respond verbally, slashing his sword forward and channelling a beam of magic. Ivarin raised a wall of earth to block it, before sending the huge rock forward. Setako simply vaulted over, hurling several cursed daggers at him. Dodging them easily, he moved forward to engage the ICW assassin when the man suddenly disappeared. Only instinct saved him as the man appeared behind in place of where his daggers should have been. Reaching up to his ear, he hissed slightly at the pain. “First blood to you.”

Then, muttering an incantation whilst dodging several slashes of his opponent’s sword, Ivarin’s blood began to glow unholy red, rising up with wails as several deformed corpses formed, surging towards Setako. The assassin sliced through two, in rapid succession, though they continued reforming and charging the black clad wizard.

Taking several deep breaths as he coughed up blood, Ivarin aimed his wand towards Setako, concentrating for several moments before incanting, “Avada Kedavra!”

Bending to his will, the constructs held the assassin in place, who struggled against the binds until his curse hit the man. As the assassin fell over dead, Ivarin breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing to one knee as his body shuddered at weakness. Only instinct called for him to raise a shield as a huge explosion of magic vaporised his summonings, slamming against his shield.

As the blinding light faded, he was forced to roll to the side as the assassin slammed his glowing blade through his shield, shattering it in an instant. WIth wide eyes, he breathed out, “Impossible.”

“You’re not the only one who’s dabbled in soul magic,” Setako chuckled darkly, slashing his wand while vaulting forward, sword drawn back for a strike. Commanding the earth beneath him into a disc, he rose above the attacks, summoning the rubble around and trying to crush the ICW assassin inside.

Feeling the gathering of magic, he redoubled his efforts, his body twitching violently and his hand beginning to burn black in exertion while his wand wailed, the core slowly uncoiling. Yet seeing the blood begin to leak out, he continued pushing, basking in the sound of bones crushing. As he felt the gathered magic dissipate, Ivarin himself relaxed, removing the pieces of rubble to see the mangled body of Setako, completely deformed. “Absumo Nihilus.”

The demonic magic reached forward, black beam tearing into the assassin’s body as it began to decay from corruption. Yet to his incredulity, the assassin forced himself up jerkily, slashing his wand and firing several bolts of magic. Ducking and weaving despite his own injuries, Ivarin blanched as he fully saw the form of Setako.

His mask was cracked, revealing charred, withered flesh underneath. Blood trickled from the slits where his eyes should have been, and bones stuck out from his arms and legs. And yet he still attacked with ferocity. Corpses around him began to rise, those of his former soldiers who had more exposed flesh than skin surging forward like inferni towards him. With wide eyes. Ivarin slashed his palm, summoning the demonic flames of hellfire around him and breathing a sigh of relief at unholy screams that emitted. Black, misty explosions consumed the area, as one by one, they were consumed. Knowing he hadn’t the strength to contain this, he levitated himself with a disc of earth away, seeing that Dumbledore had somehow gained the upper hand on his lord.

Grindelwald was bleeding from his side, his left leg contorted impossibly. Dumbledore himself was not unscathed, a cut in his right eye and his left arm limp beside him. With what strength he had, Ivarin summoned several pieces of rubble, forging them into sharp instruments and infusing demonic energies within them before hurling all towards Dumbledore.

With a single slash of his wand, the titan simply vanished it all, causing Ivarin’s eyes to widen at the sheer dominance. Suddenly, the water around him shifted, and began cutting into him violently. It was as though a thousand swords were trying to leave their mark on him, causing him to flail in agony, blasting blindly in a bid to stop the onslaught.

A moment later, the attack thankfully ended, leaving Ivarin bleeding all over heavily as his vision remained muddy and his ears rang. Looking blearily, he saw that his lord had finally regained the upper hand and was forcing Dumbledore back.

With a relieved smile, he lowered himself to the ground in front of several Grindelwaldian soldiers before falling unconscious.

--Memory--

Gasping as he was violently ejected, Harry had but a moment to react before professor Ivarin cast, “Crucio!”

Pain coursed through Harry’s body as he felt his magic flailing about violently. Even his core was beginning to unravel at the sheer power behind the curse. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He was burning, body, magic, mind and soul as the cruciatus curse wretched through everything. Attempting to clamp down with his occlumency only caused what remained of his mindscape to be shattered, leaving him completely defenceless to the onslaught.

He heard the sound of arguments, though could not distinguish the words. Suddenly, the pain stopped, even as the aftershocks continued to torment him. Weakly, Harry blinked through the tears to see Ira staring down the professor. After a tense few moments, the man stormed off, Otaba behind him. With the sound of the door closing, she hurried to his side, looking at him with a wince.

“Kriff, Potter…” she pulled out several potions from her pocket. Harry’s eyes widened, but knew he had little choice as she tipped the vials into his mouth, massaging his throat to swallow. One by one, the vile liquids went into his body, though rather than more pain, he was surprised to feel it slowly alleviate. “The pain isn't going away, but this buys some time.”

“T-t-”

“Shh, don’t do anything to aggravate it,” she hissed, before her expression softened. “But I appreciate the sentiment. We’ll talk when you’re better, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He felt his body being levitated up, but was too tired to resist. Black clouded his vision, and Harry lost consciousness.

Chapter 19: A White Flashback

Chapter Text

“Del, what’s wrong? We’ve never hid anything from each other, don’t start now,” Katerina’s voice pleaded.

“How can you understand?”

“Not without you telling me. Just try, please?”

Harry blinked, slowly coming to his senses. Trying to sit up, he winced as a slight shock ran through his nerves, causing him to stagger. The motion caught the attention of both witches, who ceased their argument and rushed to his side.

“Harry, are you okay?” Delphi asked, a moment before Katerina could. “When we found you, you were…”

“Disturbed,” Katerina finished, ignoring the put out look of her younger counterpart. “You were twisting and turning in your sleep, muttering something about us.”

“I…see,” Harry nodded, internally feeling a chill through his spine. The compassion in their postures was clear, yet he couldn’t help but remember the bastardised versions that haunted him. “What time is it?”

“Six thirty,” Delphi answered, yawning slightly. From the bags under her eyes, he could tell that she had been up all night watching over him. Katerina seemed a little better, though he was sure she hadn’t slept a wink either.

“Come here,” Harry patted his lap encouragingly. Delphi brightened, carefully wiggling to find a comfortable position and planting a possessive, needy kiss on his lips. As they parted, she turned to Katerina, and Harry felt her confusion at the older witch’s wide smile.

“Congratulations, you two,” Katerina grinned with a beaming smile. “The two of you fit so well together, I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.”

“Thank you,” Harry answered in lieu of Delphi, who was still stiff in confusion. At Katerina’s co*ck of the head, Harry gave her a meaningful look that promised an explanation later. “Del, you need to get some sleep. You have dark arts in about three hours.”

“I do-” her point was interrupted by an involuntary yawn, eliciting a blush as both Katerina and Harry chuckled. “I guess.”

He positioned them such that her head was in his lap, running his hand through her hair as Delphi soon succumbed to the need for sleep, snoring lightly. “Get some rest, Kat. We’ll be busy for the rest of the day.”

“If you need anything, just yell,” she smiled, dipping her head and leaving the room. As the door closed with a soft click, Harry turned his attention back to Delphi, who had a faint smile on her lips. Inwardly, he tried to reconcile the peaceful look she wore now with the vindictive one he had envisioned.

As though sensing his turmoil, her face scrunched slightly, and Delphi began stirring. Calming himself with his occlumency, Harry watched intrigued as the girl relaxed into a comfortable sleep once more.

The temptation to legilimence her was great, yet he could not find it in himself to do it. In his still unrecovered state, Harry suspected he’d mess it up, not to mention there had been an implicit promise in her forgiveness that he wouldn’t do so again. Sighing, he looked up to see Hedwig perched on her stand, staring unblinkingly at the two.

With a smile, he extended his hand out, drawing a quiet ‘hoot’ as the owl leapt off her perch, doing a loop in the air before landing on his outstretched arm, hopping up until she was on his shoulder.

“How are you, girl?” he asked softly.

‘Hoot,’ she barked happily, before co*cking her head. ‘Hoot?’

“I’m fine,” he assured, blinking as she hooted reproachfully. “Alright, alright, I’m still in slight pain, but nothing I can’t handle.”

‘Hoot,’ Hedwig sang commiseratingly, as though seeing through his lie but knowing not to press the issue. Perhaps he was imagining it, yet Harry couldn’t help but think Hedwig was smarter than an owl had any right to be. Peering at her wings, he saw that the presence of silvery flecks had grown.

“You’ve grown so much. Your feathers are more beautiful than ever,” he praised. Hedwig preened happily, shaking her wing until a feather dropped. Grabbing it with her beak, she hopped towards his hand, dropping it before returning to perch on his shoulder. “Thank you, girl. I’ll treasure this.”

Harry spent several hours making idle chatter with Hedwig, watching her perform various acrobatic tricks. When he felt a soft buzz on his wrist, Harry gently shook Delphi awake. Watching her groan as she tried to burrow deeper into his lap was adorable, and he was half tempted to just let her sleep in. Yet given the professor was Ivarin, he did not want to risk her drawing his ire.

“Del, Del, wake up,” he called softly, placing a light kiss on her lips.

“Mmh, morning Har,” she returned with a bright smile. “You’re so warm.”

“I’m glad you’re comfortable, but you have a class to get to,” he chuckled, flicking her nose and drawing a giggle. Reluctantly, she stretched, rolling off the bed. With a wave, she headed towards her own dorm, leaving Harry to his thoughts as Hedwig hooted amusedly. Moments later, Katerina entered the room, a frown on her face.

“Kat.”

“Har,” she returned. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s…complicated,” Harry shrugged. “Ivarin put me in some sort of…contraption. It pushed my fears forward…preying on my weaknesses. I saw some…unpleasant things.”

“The bastard,” Katerina growned, fingers instinctively itching to her wand. “What did you see?”

“Perhaps I could show you?” Harry offered. “Enter my mind.”

He felt her gentle legilimency probe and guided it into his mindscape, still battered and in a state of disrepair. Leading her towards the memory orb in question, Harry took a step back, allowing herself to immerse herself in the vision. Several moments later, she disengaged, looking sick as her probe violently withdrew from his mind.

Blinking at the strange sensation, he had only a moment’s notice before Katerina collapsed to the floor, heaving as she vomited the contents of her stomach out. Wincing, Harry helped hold her hair, casting vanishing and scent freshening charms. She turned to him with teary eyes, shaking her head.

“You know…you have to know I’ll never do that to you,” she pleaded desperately, looking at him with almost fanatical devotion. Harry could sense something was wrong, but her shaky grasp on him drew his attention. “Don’t you?”

“Do I?” Harry shrugged. “Once deserted, twice shy.”

“I’m not like her!” Katerina yelled out angrily, before deflating at Harry’s unimpressed look. “I’m not going to leave you, not like Rosier.”

“And how do you know that?” Harry challenged. “Even if at this moment you truly and completely believed it, could I say the same a year from now? Ten?”

“H-w-I…how can I prove it? If only the stupid fairytales on magical oaths were true,” she bemoaned. “There’s nothing I can do, save staying by your side every day, in this world and the next.”

Harry pondered, for this level of devotion was unnatural, especially in a girl who had been hostile towards him since their introduction. He knew there was something very strange to do with their first duel.

“Kat, may I enter your mind?”

“Of course, you don’t need to ask,” she nodded. Carefully, Harry legilimenced her, slowly weaving through the lowered barriers and observing around him. She’d strengthened her defences from their duel, and while he was confident he could still breach them, it was a testament to her determination. Still, much of it fundamentally was unchanged.

Yet as he neared her core, the difference became pronounced. Entering another’s mind should be a distinctly uncomfortable experience for both given the different harmonies of two individuals. Yet here, it was almost as though his surroundings sang to him while he himself wanted to bask in the presence.

Forcing himself out of the growing haze, Harry delved even deeper, the resonance only increasing to a nearly blinding intensity. He was faintly aware that Katerina had fully embraced him, tackling him to the bed and basking in his presence just as his body instinctively did hers.

As he entered her core, he could feel imprints of himself within, though it wasn’t so much a subversion or manipulation as an imperius might do, but rather assimilated as though it were truly part of herself. Despite not fully understanding the mechanics, Harry knew he’d somehow instilled into her a loyalty that came as natural as breathing.

The Harry still in the orphanage would be proud of the achievement, glad to have someone who he knew would watch his back completely. The Harry after Amelie’s departure would have been glad to know that such a betrayal could not happen again with her. Yet Harry found himself unsure of how to feel: what was loyalty not borne out of choice?

It ultimately bore back to the debate on free will and the meaning of life. Knowing he wouldn’t find any further insights in her mind, Harry withdrew, almost feeling less because of it, goosebumps on his skin. Looking at Katerina, who stared slightly dazedly with drool from her mouth, Harry found that the guilt he expected was not there.

The fact that she was loyal to him now wasn’t something he could change even if he wished, and he had given her a purpose. To deny Katerina now would be to harm her, like cutting off a house elf’s magic because one didn’t condone slavery.

“Kat, you okay?” he asked softly, drawing the older girl out of her reverie.

“That felt amazing,” she breathed out, an excited gleam in her eye. “It’s almost like…like…”

“I know,” Harry agreed softly, gently wiping the sweat on her brow. “Now, we need to talk about Del.”

“What about her?” Kat co*cked her head confusedly. “Did something happen?”

“She resents you,” Harry answered bluntly, causing Katerina to frown before deflating slightly, brushing her hair from her face.

“Did she say why?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Harry asked softly, reaching out and cupping her cheek. Katerina mewled into the touch, shivering. “You’ve nothing to hide, not from me.”

“I…I’ve always wanted someone who can understand…who won’t judge me,” she admitted. “My family name closed my options, so when I saw a young and lonely Delphi…it’s only natural that I courted her. Is it so wrong?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “The relationship was symbiotic, perhaps she even got more out of it. But emotions are not rational, and she resents your manipulations.”

“What’s wrong with manipulation?” Katerina frowned, causing Harry to sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly.

“In my mind, nothing. Whether with our loved ones, random strangers or enemies, we all manipulate things for our own benefit, no matter what we pretend,” Harry chuckled wryly. “And yet, people do not like it.”

“Do you want me to deal with her?” Katerina queried. Harry blinked, seeing that the witch across him was deadly serious.

“No harm is to befall her. I expect you to talk to her,” Harry instructed sternly. “No matter the resentment and distrust she feels now, Delphi still needs her best friend to watch over her.”

“But…how will I do that? She can barely look at me without scowling anymore,” Katerina frowned.

“She’ll come around, because that’s what friends do,” Harry assured warmly.

“Not family?”

“We are born into a family, but we choose our friends,” Harry answered, smiling as he squeezed her hand meaningfully, causing her to beam. “And I choose the two of you.”

“I love you,” Katerina admitted, placing a finger on his lips. “Don’t say it, not when it’s not true.”

“Not yet,” Harry admitted, “but in time, I’m certain I will.”

--Break--

Whistling a tune as Katerina had her chat with Delphi, Harry stopped at the commissary, looking inside with wide eyes at the massive size of the store. The wizard at the counter nodded to greet him, before heading to a backroom. Rows of shelves contained various items, from boxes of sweets to potion kits. Walking by an aisle with various rune carving discs, he paused at the sight of several pensieves, with hundreds of bottled memories swirling around. Looking at the label, he saw that they ranged from lectures to duels in the international circuit.

“Mister Potter, you’re a hard man to find,” Ira mused, causing him to arch an eyebrow, turning around to see the sixth year witch standing beside him.

“I owe you my thanks, Miss Ivarin,” Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement. Despite both Katerina and Delphi’s warnings, Harry had yet to see any hostile intention arise from the girl, a fact he intended to utilise to its full benefit. “Looking for an item in particular?”

“Master charmcaster Flitwick delivered a lecture over Yule which I hear is worthwhile,” she shrugged. “Yourself?”

“Simply looking around. It’s useful to know what resources are accessible to me,” Harry answered. Ivarin hummed approvingly, picking a bottle off the shelf.

“What was it like, having Dumbledore as a headmaster?” Ivarin asked.

“It was…interesting. He’s a powerful individual, no doubt, though the duties of three positions meant he was never able to utilise any to its full potential,” Harry shrugged. “I only had a few interactions with him, and he seemed rather interested in me.”

“Anyone who has sense would be,” Ivarin chuckled, turning to him. “You’re rather special, after all.”

“A prodigy at twelve, a talent at fifteen, merely ordinary at twenty one, or so the Chinese saying goes,” Harry chuckled. Ivarin merely nodded pensively.

“Perhaps, but you do not seem the type in my mind. Very few could have handled the mantle of Sion as well as you did,” she appraised. At Harry’s visible confusion, she explained, “The construct he trapped you within. It’s a containment vessel that limits the spread of the dark magic he used. Devil’s breath, he calls Beelzebub’s Breath, whatever that means.”

Harry’s mind pondered it quickly. In demonology, Beelzebub was the demon of envy, which didn’t make sense given the effects of the black mist had been to conjure fear rather than inspire envy. He knew he had to do some more research, but now wasn’t the time to bring it up. Strangely enough, Ira didn’t seem to realise it was demonic magic, making the name more literal than she likely suspected.

“Perhaps a play on words?” Harry shrugged. “The muggles do love making up stories of various mythological creatures.”

“Perhaps,” Ira shrugged uncaringly, making Harry nearly certain that she had no clue what had been dealt. “How did you manage to duel us while being legilimenced?”

“I would hardly call what I did duelling, considering how outclassed I was,” Harry chuckled, stopping at Ira’s disbelieving look.

“You managed to take on a full powered legilimency assault from the professor without being completely immobilised, a feat that very, very few would imagine possible, let alone be able to achieve,” Ira pointed out dryly.

“Your father probably went easy on me,” Harry mused, idly noting that she stiffened slightly at the familial term. Perhaps Katerina’s comment on ‘collecting’ her wasn’t as far fetched as he originally imagined. “Besides, neither of you tried too hard to curse me too hard.”

“Your modesty is unbecoming,” she chided. “The fact you actually held your own against his mind assault is a feat in itself, and don’t give me the spiel about him not being at full power. Rest assured, he wouldn’t have cast the cruciatus curse on you enraged if it weren’t the case.”

“I find it hard to believe that such a temperament would make him the master of the dark arts he is today,” Harry pondered. Ira looked at him strangely before nodding slowly.

“You’ve a rather…interesting perspective.”

“That’s an ominously vague statement,” Harry jibbed, drawing a bark of laughter from Ira. Looking at the shelf, he frowned. “You’d think there’d be more actual battles purchasable as memories.”

“There’s no way that would happen,” Ira chuckled, shaking her head at his surprised look. “Those memories are extremely valuable for training and analysis, auror departments and various militant organisations pay fortunes for a good one. They’re guarded jealously by those that have them.”

“I see,” Harry frowned. “Wouldn’t there be a lot of people in any given battle though?”

“Not necessarily. I can name maybe two dozen notable engagements in the past decade involving more than ten a side. Besides, most participants couldn’t do so through the oaths they take. It’s easy enough to cross-reference with other combatants, after all,” Ira explained. Harry nodded thoughtfully.

“Is this why no one knows anything about the Berlin duel?”

“Dumbledore’s been offered everything from money to artefacts to daughters but has never even entertained the thought. The last person that tried to get it from Grindelwald’s mind had their brain liquified,” Ira chuckled. He blinked.

“Grindelwald is…alive?” Harry breathed out incredulously. Ira flinched, realising her mistake.

“Yes,” she nodded hesitantly. “It’s…a well kept secret that Dumbledore didn’t kill him, instead imprisoning him at Nurmengard. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention my slip.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed easily, not wishing to antagonise her. “Some secrets are best left untouched. Forgive me, but I doubt you’re here for idle chatter. The clerk was rather obvious.”

“Ah,” Ira blushed abashedly at that. “He has many useful traits, but discretion is not among them.”

“Your connections are impressive,” Harry complimented, taking a chance at her slight emotional flux to slip into her mind with legilimency, not actively penetrating anything but simply massaging her mind to be more active, conjuring thoughts on their own volition. “Makes me wonder if there’s anything you’re not adept at.”

“You’re far too kind,” Ira waved off, though her lips did curl up. “It is easy to see strength given we all flaunt it; weaknesses require intimate knowledge and understanding. In time, I’m sure a mind as potent as yours will figure something out. No doubt you’re already trying. Do tell what you’ve come up with so far.”

Harry considered for a moment on what his answer should be. Reaching out with his legilimency, he once again began to massage her mind, trying to get it to reveal a hint of what he was doing. Flashes of vulnerability and anticipation came to the forefront, and instead of choosing the safe answer, Harry made a gamble.

“Your resentment of your father.”

“A...a unexpected answer,” she stuttered, before visibly clamping down on her occlumency. “That trick of yours is rather ingenious.”

Harry’s eyes widened, causing Ira to chuckle. “The first time, I thought it was a coincidence, yet the second time…my mind is rarely unfocused.”

“Twice is happenstance,” Harry deflected smoothly, hiding his panic at getting caught even as his respect for her abilities in the mind arts rose dramatically. He’d underestimated her guard; now he would pay for it.

“Better to burn an uninfected village than let a single case of dragonpox spread,” she countered. Despite the danger of his situation, Harry couldn’t help but smile at the banter.

“What satisfaction is there in a world of ash and death?” he riposted, causing her to arch an eyebrow, amused gleam in her eye.

“Ash that is mine is worth more than a kingdom in another’s,” Ira rebutted. “But let us not debate semantics in philosophy when there are much more interesting things we can do.”

“Such as?” Harry queried.

“Duelling perhaps. I can offer you a few pointers, if you’d like.”

“I’d be a fool to turn down the offer, though a question, if I may?”

“Cast away.”

“How much have you improved since Paris?” There was a flicker of surprise before confusion coloured her face. “Your victory over Kat was rather impressive, and she’s no slouch. Just how strong are you?”

“You’ll find out in due course,” she teased with a charming grin. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You do realise that I’m dating Delphi, right?” Ira shrugged uncaringly.

“Relationships are ever so fragile. An item today, out of love tomorrow. When the haze of lust settles, how many have remained faithful? How many even possess the ability?” she derided, causing Harry to raise an eyebrow.

“I didn’t take you for a cynic,” he admitted.

“I never imagined you’d be a romantic,” she echoed, causing the two to smile knowingly at each other. Their conversation paused as the two stepped into a duelling pod, ignoring the whispers from those around. “What do you wish to learn?”

“I defer to your judgement,” Harry offered, causing Ira to hum thoughtfully.

“Then let’s start with basic duelling. Considering the hissy fit Petrov threw at not getting you as a student, you must have impressed him somewhat,” Ivarin mused. Nodding, Harry whipped his wand out, conjuring a whip of lightning and swinging it. Ivarin ducked underneath, surging forward before leaping with a twirl mid-air to avoid his second swing. Thrusting forward, the whip’s tail surged forwards on its own, curling to meet its end and form a ring orbiting Ira.

With a slash of his wand followed by a jab, the ring began randomly lashing out with bolts of lightning. Ira, however, remained perfectly relaxed, simply vanishing the bolts as they shot towards her in a show of strength. Kneeling to the ground, Harry pointed into the air, muttering, “Etesia.”

A swirl of dark clouds gathered over her, beginning to rain before several lightning bolts hurtled down towards Ivarin, who shielded against them with an advanced barrier whilst deflecting the bolts still fired by his ring. Narrowing his eyes, Harry conjured several arrows, transfiguring them from steel to silver, then to gold, before swishing them towards Ira. Swishing her wand to vanish them again, Harry’s eyes lit up in triumph as she was forced to roll to the side hastily.

“Not bad, picking up such a tell,” Ira mused, thrusting her wand towards him and conjuring an ungodly amount of water. Thinking quickly, Harry used a wind charm, blowing the water back slightly, before firing a lightning spell into it, causing Ira to cease the flow of water, twirling her wand and shaping the liquid into a circular disc. Harry watched her through the translucent sheen, taking a breath at the sight of her: slightly frazzled hair, eyes glinting with determination as a faint aura surrounded her.

Shaking his head out of teenage observation, Harry fired several spells, ranging from traditional beams to pulses and arcs, yet the water would always concentrate in front of his magic, gathering enough density to absorb the magic with little effort. Her control over the water was immaculate, and led him to think about what he should do. Conjuring several spears and hurling them to fill the time, he was unsurprised as they clattered uselessly to the ground, failing to pass through a single millimetre deep.

He began conjuring flames, yet Ira, perhaps sensing the possible threat, jabbed her wand forward, snuffing out the flames and encasing him in a bubble of water. The pressure was uncomfortable despite his natural aura flaring to protect him, though Harry knew she could crush him with little effort. Concentrating inward, Harry tried to come up with a solution, before a vague idea hit his head.

The control one could exhibit over a foreign object was dependant on many variables, but Harry had a moment of epiphany. Pointing his wand at his left palm, he cast a cutting curse, allowing his blood to flow out into the water.

Almost immediately, he felt his ability to manipulate the molecules increase, and used this to alleviate the pressure around himself while mixing until his blood was present in most of the liquid, turning it a faint pink. Commanding it to meld around his body and head like a set of armour, he slowly lowered himself to the ground in front of a wide-eyed Ira, ignoring the twitch in his left hand at the continual blood loss.

Extending a hand to reach out to the edge of his water, the molecules began to vibrate violently, and yet she failed to wrest control. Deciding to experiment, he blasted a pulse of water towards her, which sent her hurtling back. With a slash of her wand, she managed to slow it, before wresting control from him.

“So distance does affect control,” Harry mused aloud. Her anger quickly dissipated into amusem*nt as she vanished the water around herself. Harry did the same, sensing that their duel was over, and cast a healing charm on his palm, closing the wound. “It seems like I’ve found a weakness to your aquamancy.”

“In a very limited capacity,” she retorted. Harry shrugged.

“It’s a start, considering it was a spur of the moment thing.”

“Blood magic as a ‘spur of the moment thing’?” she frowned incredulously. Harry shrugged, drawing a laugh from her. “I’m going to keep you around, if only for the inevitable amusem*nt you’ll bring me.”

“Khrushchev was a comedian, you know?” Harry chuckled, causing her to raise an eyebrow. “Many speculated that Stalin kept him around for his own amusem*nt.”

“You really know how to kill the mood, don’t you,” Ira jibbed humorously. Harry shrugged once again.

“Shows me how intent you are on keeping the conversation going,” he admitted freely, causing her eyes to widen in realisation. “It is as you told me; I may not outduel you, but there are other ways to even the odds.”

“You’re oddly open, for one so analytical.”

“If you wanted me hurt or dead, I doubt much could stop you,” Harry smiled pleasantly, causing Ira to throw her head back and laugh, wiping a tear of amusem*nt.

“You really are something else,” she mused. While Harry was uncertain if it was a compliment, he knew she said so without malice. “But onto the duel, I’ve got to ask: conjuring rain, what were you thinking considering you’re well aware of my aquamancy?”

“It distracts you and causes you to underestimate me,” Harry shrugged, causing her to raise an eyebrow. “It’s only an educated guess on my part, but the more affinity you have with something, the more of a draw opportunities represent. When it rains, the droplets are small enough that it’s not worth blocking out the numerous pulls, but on aggregate they’ll take their toll, either on your concentration or your occlumency, both of which are favourable outcomes for myself. Given that regardless of what branch of combative magic I choose you’re far ahead of my abilities, using water has the aforementioned advantages and puts into doubt your perception of me, given a normal, competent individual would not do as I just did.”

He gave a lopsided grin, “As I said, fear the comedian.”

The meaning was not lost on Ira as she nodded appreciatively.

“Your use of advanced magic was foolish,” she lectured, holding up a hand. “I suspect you did that because you knew I’d be trying to analyse it and it’d divert my focus, but in a real duel, let alone a real fight, that’s unlikely to work. You’ve not reached the level of awe-inspiring magic that might actually bring pause in an opponent. Advanced magic also offers more opportunities for mistakes and failures. Against a stronger opponent, always resort to the basics, playing to your strengths and their weaknesses, waiting for an opportunity to present itself.”

“What would you have done in my position?” Harry queried, causing Ira to hum thoughtfully.

“Ideally, avoid the fight,” she teased, causing Harry to laugh. “But assuming we were in a proper duel, rely on your reflexes and play defensively. Verbal taunts would be good in attempting to unsettle me. Use your elemental magic, which is less taxing and more powerful for a given amount of effort. Perhaps some use of legilimency would even the odds, disrupting my battle flow.”

“I don’t have elemental magic. And battle flow?” Harry frowned.

“A term used in duelling. It’s almost like dancing to music, where you fall into a state between consciousness and reflex. It’s the ideal state, where you minimise the mental energy it takes while keeping you ready for unexpected situations. For experienced fighters, fatigue of the mind is far more dangerous than fatigue of the body, and thus much training is employed to achieve this state,” she explained, causing Harry to nod, absorbing the information. “Would I be correct in assuming that your element is lightning?”

“Lightning is not an element,” Harry frowned.

“You’re oddly aware of elemental magic for one who doesn’t possess it,” she pointed out. Harry smiled at her attempt to catch him out, shaking his head exasperatedly.

“I don’t possess the affinity for any element like you do. I felt that the compensatory time that mastering an element would require could be better spent on alternative forms of magic. Nevertheless, knowing the nature of elementals, given they could be future allies or adversaries, seemed prudent.”

“I can respect that,” Ivarin chuckled. “But back to your form, while it’s good you’ve managed to achieve silent casting, your wand movements remain far too big.”

“I’ve not gone through enough maturities for my magic to compensate for the loss in runic potency,” Harry shrugged, causing Ira to sigh.

“Perhaps not fully, but you can try to reduce them,” she urged, causing Harry to nod. “You have questions, cast away.”

“How advanced is your wandless magic?”

“Ah,” she chuckled exasperatedly. “I was hoping you wouldn’t have noticed that slip. Very limited, a couple of orbs of water at most.”

“Show me?” Harry requested. She bit her lip, considering for a moment before relenting. Raising her hand, Harry watched as several orbs of water slowly coalesced around her fingertips, growing to the size of golf balls. As she spread her fingers, the orbs shakily orbited around her, several times before collapsing to the floor with splashes as she released her hold on them, visibly exerted. “Impressive.”

“It’s pathetic, no need to sugarcoat it,” Ira rolled her eyes.

“I’m being serious,” Harry chuckled. “If you’re bound and wandless, an orb of water could weaken the ropes for you to break free. Make it dense enough and it could cut through shackles. An orb the size of yours lodged in the throat of an enemy would choke them to death with nary a trace. The possibilities are endless.”

Ira’s eyes widened at that as she shook her head amusedly.

“You’re one scary kid, you know that. If you were a few years older, or I a few years younger…”

“Four years seems insurmountable today. When we’re in our twenties, perhaps it will raise eyebrows. By our forties? Who would notice?” Harry shrugged, grinning teasingly.

“Wasn’t it you who said you were already taken?” Sensing roughly a dozen figures approaching, Harry sent a quick burst of legilimency towards Ira, instructing her to choke him. Nothing else could have explained favourably how close they’d gotten.

With apologetic hesitancy, she did as he bade, lifting him up by his neck just in time for Harry to see Malcom and his goons enter the duelling hall, looking at the duo. Harry resisted his magic calling for him to react, still able to breathe because Ira’s hand was slack. With another burst of legilimency telling her to hold her position, he began kicking his legs as though desperately struggling, hands clawing at his neck. She seemed about to let go, but his eyes met hers meaningfully, causing her to hold on.

“Ira,” Malcom’s voice interrupted, “as much fun as I’m sure you’re having, father wants your presence.”

“This isn’t over,” she hissed at him, tossing him away. However, he felt his back grow wet and his fall cushioned from painful to merely slightly uncomfortable. With a sniff, she stepped away from the platform, following Malcom away.

--Break--

“Ready for your first lesson, Harry?” Hurst asked with a grin. Rather than her usual robes, she now wore battle armour, her flowing hair tied into a ponytail. With a thrust of her wand, a flame whip extended from the tip, its tail splitting off into nine ends. “Watch and learn.”

On cue, roughly twenty training dummies came to life, some with swords, others with wands. As those with wands began firing at her, Hurst twirled gracefully in the air as though dancing, shattering some of the spells with her whip, deflecting others and dodging the rest.

Harry watched with rapt attention as the first sword wielding dummy entered range. Coiling her whip, she lashed out, catching the blade of the sword and yanking it out of the dummy’s hand before sending it flying towards another’s head, impaling it with deadly accuracy.

Without even looking, she had continued moving, decapitating two of the dummies charging at her before the whip shorted itself as she twirled it around, so fast that it made it seem as though she were encapsulated by a glowing dome of fire. All the spells flickered uselessly against it, failing to do anything, with an occasional whip lashing out, pulling one of the dummies into it and slicing it into a hundred pieces.

Suddenly, the dome disappeared, and Hurst was a flurry of motion, moving at a speed that his occlumency was hard pressed to keep up with as she sliced through the dummies with several lashes a second, until just ten seconds later, they all lay like scrap on the floor, with her standing at the centre breathing heavily. As their eyes met, Harry couldn’t help but shudder at the power which shone within.

“The whip. One of the more basic transfigurations, but traditional for students of battle transfiguration to master. The manipulation of the whip in a precise, rapid manner is extremely taxing, though in time, incredible feats can be achieved with it,” Hurst lectured. “The first few months will be spent merely honing your skills in this before we move onto other exercises.”

“Is there a reason why the whip is used?” Harry queried. Hurst chuckled.

“I’ll tell you when you’ve mastered it. Now, time’s a wastin. Conjure a whip, whatever material you choose.” After considering for a moment, Harry willed for one of lightning to be made, causing a stream of cackling yellow energy to shoot out of his wand.

Looking to Hurst for guidance, she merely waved her wand, repairing one of the dummies and causing it to stand to attention. “Hit it’s head.”

Concentrating hard, Harry curled his whip several times, building up momentum before thrusting out and tugging to the left. Concentrating with his magic, he willed the length of the whip lower as he saw he’d aimed to high, forcing the length down and guiding the end to coil around the dummy’s head. With a yank and a jolt of magic, the head was lobbed off, rolling to the ground.

“Not bad, but you’re expending too much magic to control the whip,” Hurst critiqued. “You have a stationary target, you should need to manipulate your whip after the initial burst.”

“But isn’t the point of battle-transfiguration to establish control?” Harry frowned. Hurst pondered the point, before nodding.

“In a sense, yes, but you’re missing the point. When you conjure a spear to attack, the moment after you send it flying, you aren’t continuing to manipulate it. When you conjure several golems, you aren’t actively manipulating each one anymore. In a battle, you will be attacked from ten different sides, and controlling a single transfiguration isn’t good enough.”

“Then what’s to stop an opponent simply dispelling it?”

“Ah, now that’s what we call veiling. Another concept we won’t apply practically for some time, but I know the look in your eyes, so better the information come from me than some unreliable source,” she chuckled. “What holds a piece of magic is a complex topic, one that hasn’t fully been deciphered even now, which is why I’d wished you would have pursued arithmancy. Nevertheless, runes should be sufficient for a basic grasp in time. An impossibly great number of factors go into this, but through stronger intent as well as other forms of manipulation, the difficulty of unravelling one’s piece of magic can be increased. The mark of a great transfiguration battlemaster, perhaps even more so than the scale of work they are able to produce, is the integrity of their work. Some methods of veiling that involve irregular matter manipulation, simply require experience and knowledge rather than power, meaning that for a unit of magic expended on the battlefield, one gets far better results.”

Harry blinked, taking in the information and resolving to try and figure out the equation for himself. Still, he would abide by Hurst’s teachings in her classroom.

“The reason we are using your magic’s whip rather than a normal whip is because you are better able to feel it. Even without manipulation, your affinity for your own construct means that you wilful be better able to detect differences and mistakes, improving the speed of improvement,” she smiled knowingly as he opened his mouth. Abashedly, Harry closed it with a snap. “Now, try again.”

Nodding determinedly, Harry slashed with his whip again, allowing it slam onto the side of the dummy, failing to coil and falling limply to the side, beginning to listen as Hurst offered corrections.

--Break--

Walking into his room, he was surprised to see that Kat was straddling on top of Delphi, tickling her relentlessly while Del squealed. His lips twitched upward in amusem*nt and relief that the girls seemingly came to a resolution while he was away. He didn’t have the heart to interrupt the moment, but Kat noticed him and blushed profusely, an apologetic smile on her face. Her grip slackned, resulting in Delphi smacking her with a pillow and falling to the side as the blonde girl got up with vengeance on her mind before freezing at the sight of him.

“Don’t stop on my account, it’s not like you’re in my room,” Harry chuckled.

“Um…”

“We have an explanation?” Delphi squeaked. Harry arched an eyebrow.

“That I would like to hear.”

“Um…” Delphi turned to Kat for advice, only to receive a shrug. “We don’t have one.”

‘Hoot,’ Hedwig barked annoyedly from her perch, leaping off and bonking the two females on their heads before flying happily towards Harry.

“Who’s a smart girl? You are, Hedwig, you are,” Harry cooed, admittedly exaggeratedly to annoy Kat and Del. Rubbing her feathers delightedly, Harry hid his amusem*nt at the two witches' visibly envy. “Aren’t you the most beautiful thing in the world?”

Pulling a box from his pocket, Harry unshrunk it, taking a rat out and unfreezing it. “Here’s a snack, for you. Have fun!”

With a delighted hoot, she swooped off his shoulder, grabbing the rat and mauling it to death, blood all over her white body as she began to feed happily. Both girls looked mildly disturbed at the sight, and sat at the edge of the bed while Harry pulled out a chair.

“So I take it the two of you made up?” He received two nods. After a particularly loud squelch caused Del to wince, he arched an eyebrow. “You don’t feed your owls with rats?”

“Just owl treats,” Del choked out with a wince. Harry rolled his eyes, turning to Kat, who nodded her agreement.

“That’s not healthy for them, but that’s a discussion for another time. Why don’t you tell me the reason the two of you are in my room.”

“We were waiting for you,” the two answered in unison. Harry found that mildly disturbing, and had a flashback to the Weasley twins from Hogwarts.

“For…what exactly?”

“To…see you?” Kat answered meekly, while Del nodded her head. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, but couldn’t stay angry for long at the adorable, pleading expressions the two had. How the fact two individuals older than him could appear so adorable was beyond Harry, but he opened his hands, smiling as the two tackled him with a hug.

--Break--

“So…what’s there to do on the weekends?” Harry queried as Del was snuggled up next to him, purring contentedly as he combed her hair with his hand.

“Quidditch games and duels are usually ongoing. All guild assemblies happen on Sundays, so that takes up a few hours for the representatives to. Considering the amount of homework, there’s very little time for much else. Don’t you have homework?”

“The small amount for runes I’ve finished already,” Harry shrugged. “In master level classes, it’s more self-study than anything. Most things Hurst has forbidden me to try without her in supervision, while Ivarin has yet to do much.”

“Huh…I forget sometimes you only have three classes. Adepts and masters aren’t given much official work, but they’re still expected to self-study,” Delphi cautioned, stealing a quick kiss. “I know Kat’s got a lot of work to do for her project in charms, I’ve got a stupid amount of work for DADA and quite a bit for charms.”

“Guess I’ll go do some self-study for runes then,” Harry shrugged, placing a kiss on her head. “Good luck with your work.”

“You want to cultivate the little runt, don’t you?”

“It’s free real estate,” Harry grinned, drawing a giggle from Delphi as she shoved him playfully.

“You have a beautiful, half-naked girl in your be and you’re off thinking about little boys,” she chided. “What sort of message does that send?”

“That I’m not a horny bastard, you minx,” he retorted, pinching her cheek. Delphi swatted his hand away with a scowl, especially as Hedwig began clicking her beak in laughter.

“Even your owl is laughing at me, woe is me,” Delphi sighed dramatically. Harry rolled his eyes, waving her goodbye before leaving his room, heading towards the library.

The entrance was large and simple, yet the sections inside were anything but. The atrium of the library contained several dozen gates at least a dozen stories high, with a pair of armoured suits standing guard under each, as well as a glowing blue barrier.

Heading for the one entitled ‘runes’, Harry was able to walk through the barrier with little trouble as the runes ribbon on his chest glowed slightly. Entering, he could see another two sets of gates further inward, no doubt to separate the master students from the adepts and the adepts from the rest. Looking around, he took a moment to admire the vastness of the chamber, for there were at least a hundred rows in front of him, each at least ten shelves deep. Looking up, he saw that there were more shelves in the six levels above, though most seemed to be reserved as study or collaboration areas.

Stowing his hunger for the books aside, Harry headed up a set of the stairs, peering around at the various study spaces. Many were occupied, with students peering over books or scribbling furiously on parchment. Not spotting Anviel amongst them, he ascended another two levels to continue searching, seeing yet more study space. On the fifth layer, he noted that most of the space was designed as workshops rather than study space. The area was sparsely occupied, though a few teams were discussing larger runic discs. Ascending another level, he grinned as he saw Anviel alone, busy carving runes onto a disc.

Approaching him, Harry felt his curiosity rise at the sight of a large runic disc, far beyond the size of what he should have been working on. It was a metre in diameter, and he could distinguish several finished clusters, mostly sparking or anchoring clusters, though there were a few others interspersed. The boy noticed him approaching and waved with a big smile, gesturing for him to come over.

“Aren, good to see you again.”

“Harry, likewise. I wasn’t sure if you were serious or not,” he grinned. “Take a look.”

“Ignition cluster in seven points, a cyclical incursion…what are you up to?” Harry smiled.

“Just a personal project,” he answered evasively, causing Harry to frown. Seeing this, Anviel shuffled nervously. “If I tell you, do you promise not to copy?”

“Honestly, I’m planning on dropping runes once I’ve finished disciple. From the looks of it, this is at least Adept work, so honestly, I have little need for it,” Harry shrugged. “Besides, most work is just derivative of others. We stand upon the shoulders of those long past, no?”

“I..guess so,” Anviel frowned before perking up. “I’m setting up a wardstone. Want to watch?”

“Sure. These are your sketches?” Harry queried, pointing to an expanded piece of parchment on the table, upon which were at least several thousand runes. “It’s going to be hard for you to carve, though.”

“It’s good practice,” Anviel shrugged. It was at this moment Harry noticed the boy was using a gold knife with runes etched on it, far sharper than the standard equipment used in class. Seeing his appreciative look, Anviel held it up for him to see. “Beautiful, no? It’s an amazing piece, Bogoslovsky’s curve.”

“I’m unfamiliar with the piece,” Harry admitted.

“I’d be surprised if you were. It’s not a popular one.”

“I see,” Harry nodded while pondering. Switching to Russian, he asked, “Russian, isn’t it? Or more accurately, Soviet.”

“How did you know?” the boy stiffly replied in Russian, confirming what Harry suspected. Harry chuckled, raising his hands appeasingly.

“Bogoslovsky, the muggle, at least, was a famous Soviet composer. ‘Dark is the night’ is one of my favourite pieces. I just made a lucky guess beyond that.”

“Really?” Anviel queried with amazement, any hesitation or animosity or hesitation forgotten. “My personal favourite is 14 Minutes Until Start.”

“I haven’t heard of that one,” Harry admitted. “Cosmonaut song?”

“You’re eerily good with your guesses,” Anviel chuckled. “I’ll sing it to you, if you’d like.”

“I’d be honoured,” Harry agreed quickly, while his mind raced with the possibilities.

“Packed into the tablets

Are the space maps

And the Navigator checks

The route for one last time.

Let us, guys,

Smoke before launching:

We still have fourteen minutes

Left until the launch.

I believe, friends,

Caravans of rockets

Will head us forward -

From a star to a star.

On the dusty paths

Of the distant planets

Our footprints'll be left as our marks.

And after many years

We'll remember with the friends,

How on the stellar roadways

We were the first to venture,

How we were first to manage

To reach the cherished goal

And from the greater distance

Look at Mother Earth.

Long are we awaited

By the distant planets,

Cold worlds,

Silent fields.

But not one of the planets

Is waiting for us as this

Precious planet

Named the Earth.”

Anviel looked towards him, causing Harry to smile.

“That was beautiful…admittedly more optimistic than most Soviet compositions I know.”

“How so?” Anviel queried. “Soviet songs are infamous for their forced optimism, no?”

“My favourites are the songs that seem to hold grim determination. Katyusha, for instance. The songs have stories behind them, emotions that resonate with each note and lyric while honouring the traditional beauty of music, so unlike the modern music today,” Harry admitted.

“Huh, personally I prefer optimism. March of Stalin’s Artillery, for instance. The upbeat tune just feels so motivating, at least for me,” Anviel chuckled. “I do also hold a fondness for Russian chansons, Murka in particular is quite beautiful.”

“That I can agree with,” Harry chuckled. “Before I knew Russian, I simply thought it a nice tune. When I learned the lyrics’ meaning…I was rather shocked, needless to say.”

“How did you learn Russian, anyhow?” he questioned. Harry shrugged.

“I imagined quite a few Revanchists would attend this school. I thought it prudent to learn their language. Turns out they mostly go to Koldovstoretz despite it being in the far east,” Harry sighed in bemusem*nt. “Admittedly, I’m quite curious about magic in the Soviet Union. There barely exists any information.”

“It was a harsh life. You are aware of what a military state is?” At Harry’s nod, Anviel sighed. “Every magical worked for the state in some capacity. Students were classified into three branches: combative, intellectual or subpar. Those with an aptitude for combat and related talents were put into intensive programs to train them into agents of the Union. Those more intellectually gifted, such as myself, were dedicated to research and development, ranging from breaking enemy codes to creating new wardschemes. Those classified as subpar…well no one knows what happens to them.”

“How did they maintain such a grip? With apparition and whatnot, you’d think that it’d be impossible to keep people subservient,” Harry frowned. Anviel shrugged.

“Nobody knows. All we know is that people who try to defect or resist in any way are tortured then executed publicly. No one knows of any who successfully escaped. There are those who believe in the cause, of course, but most are simply doing so out of fear. When the Union fell in ninety one, White and his compatriots disappeared, though to where, nobody knows. All we know is that we were able to move freely. In the chaos that ensued, we were attacked by the Revanchists and dispersed, not that we really cared.”

“White?” Harry frowned.

“General White, at least that’s what we called him. No one I know has ever seen him in person or even a picture. Probably a fake alias, we unofficially called him the white demon because people kept thinking they saw him peering at them from the snow,” Anviel shuddered. “He and his enforcer Sparrow…stuff of nightmares, I tell you.”

“You’re sure it’s a he?”

“I suppose it could be a she. Could be a gremlin, for all I know.”

“Huh, that seems odd…just leaving like that.”

“Won’t look a gift unicorn in the mouth,” Anviel chuckled. “You’re not…resentful of it?”

“Why would I be?” Harry frowned.

“I was a part of the Union,” he pointed out. Harry shrugged outwardly, even as he pondered how best to leverage this information within.

“It doesn’t matter to me. The past is the past,” Harry answered resolutely. This seemed to be the right thing to say, as the boy beamed. “Now why don’t you tell me more about why you need a wardstone.”

“It’s…it’s…the Revanchists in the school don’t like me. Some like to pick on me. It’s nothing major.”

“Nonsense, you’re my friend. Friends don’t leave each other to suffer. You’re under my protection now.” Anviel’s smile could have outshone the sun, and Harry knew he would be loyal for a long time to come.

Chapter 20: Escalation on Technicalities

Chapter Text

Harry frowned as he saw the white mark of the Deathly Hallows glow slightly as he approached it. The infamous mark of Grindelwald, who had been rumoured to hold the Elder Wand. Walking towards it, he pressed his finger, tracing the edge of the triangle and feeling it hum with power.

“They’ve tried to remove it for decades,” Delphi supplied. “They’re said to be cursed, for no known spell can remove them, and those that try seem to suffer horrible fates.”

“How…peculiar,” Harry mused. “Wasn’t he expelled during his fifth year?”

“He was. The only student to take three masteries at once: DADA, Dark Arts and Runes. There’s been an unofficial rule not to let anyone take more than two masteries at a time ever since the war.”

“I see,” Harry hummed thoughtfully. “How was he expelled? I doubt he’d go quietly. Not to mention he could have probably captured the castle during the war.”

“Durmstrang remained neutral grounds during the war. Neither side wanted children involved and left it be. Conflicts among students and even staff were common, but always contained. Oaths were made.”

“How do magical oaths work?” Harry frowned. Delphi blinked, before giggling. “Did I say something funny?”

“You do realise they’re just fantasy, right?” Delphi pointed out. Harry paled, remembering his visit to a certain illicit bookeep. Magical oaths don’t exist, only honour. Otherwise, they’d be commonplace everywhere.”

“I see,” Harry frowned. “And how did they force him out?”

“With a bunch of aurors at wandpoint. They surprised him, made him pack his things under watch and marched out. He pledged to one day return to Durmstrang, but never did, of course.”

“I see…” Harry mused thoughtfully. Delphi looked at him with a frown.

“What are you thinking?”

“I do wonder if he left anything of value?” Harry shrugged. “When I was at Hogwarts, I took over an abandoned classroom and used it as a private refuge. I can’t help but wonder if he did the same.”

“Unlikely. The school’s been searched thoroughly multiple times over the decades, with nothing appearing.”

“Considering they failed to remove his mark, forgive me if I question the logical flow of your statement,” Harry deadpanned. Delphi hummed noncommittally. “I don’t suppose there are any good places to start?”

Delphi shrugged.

--Break--

“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! The third session of the five hundred fifteenth congress is opened,” the congress master announced, banging down his gavel. He was a tall and muscular wizard, either fifth year or sixth. He couldn’t distinguish what subjects the boy was taking, though he could see they were an adept in two classes and a disciple in a further three.

Seated at the rear rows in the centre portion of the assembly hall, Delphi had a stack of notes in front of her, the two dressed in the red Durmstrang robes along with everyone else. Harry glanced around the room, taking note of the ribbons on various individuals. While not being able to tell the subject beyond those within a few seats of himself, he was able to deduce that Delphi’s estimations were roughly accurate, with most either around six to eight novice or disciple statuses or two to four adept statuses, with an occasional master student interspersed.

Ira was seated at the bottom on the right hand section, no doubt the faction leader for the Grindelwaldians. As their gazes met, she dipped her head in greeting, which Harry mirrored before continuing his observations.

The dais itself was rather imperious, made of bronze with gold trimmings bearing the crest of the Durmstrang insignia. The chamber was mostly filled, though there were some gaps. Just by counting the flags represented hanging down from the ceiling, Harry estimated roughly five hundred guilds were actually registered to participate, the remainder likely having no interest in politics.

“The motions to be discussed in today’s session have been set forth in the agenda. Let us proceed with the first motion, submitted by congresswitch Livre in reference to amending the library charter on restricting general student access. Congresswitch, the floor is yours.”

A gaunty witch with pink hair stood up on the right side of him, pressing her wand to her throat and casting a sonorous. “Thank you, honourable chair. The fact is, a lot of students are being denied access to resources that are otherwise unused. Library books that sit dormant on shelves are of benefit to no one. Would it not be better to allow those willing to take the initiative to access the resources already available? In my mind, given that the resources available are currently nowhere near full utilisation, we’re throwing away opportunities to better ourselves. This is a matter of equality and principles. Thank you.”

“Thank you congresswitch,” the congress master acknowledged boredly, silencing the muttering amongst the others with a bang of his gavel. “The floor is now open. May those who wish to speak light their wands.”

Several rose up, though it was clear that the congress master was looking to Ira for directions. Without hesitation, he announced, “The chair recognises congresswitch Ivarin.”

“Thank you, honourable chair,” Ira smiled, standing up. “While I applaud the intentions of my fellow congresswitch, it is clear in my mind that such a policy would be disastrous. There are thousand of students in the halls of Durmstrang; allowing each to access all the resources available would be impractical, causing logistical issues on the supply side and limited benefits on the demand side. The fact is, such a policy means that resource capacity must be increased to the maximum potential student demand, while in most situations there will be barely a noticeable change in evident demand, resulting in a lowering of effective utilisation. I sympathise with these concerns; more than once. There have been times when I wished I had access to the transfiguration or runes section, yet I recognise the necessity of the current system. The fact is that exclusivity itself maintains the value of access. Thank you.”

As she sat down, a satisfied look on her face, the congress master banged his gaven. “Thank you, congresswitch. May those who wish to speak light their wands.”

Harry watched as several of those around Livre raise their wands, and turned to Delphi, nudging her slightly. “Does it always bounce back and forth like this?”

“Nothing official, but unofficially it’s observed by most because it’s usually more effective for debate,” Delphi whispered back. Several more figures on both side argued to and fro, though it was clear that a general consensus from the ‘neutrals’ at the centre were tilting in favour of Ivarin’s faction. “I…don’t like that look, what are you planning?”

“Just watch,” Harry whispered back. As the congress master called for anyone to speak, Harry raised his wand, being one of the few. Mutters were drawn as they noticed, with Ivarin co*cking her head curiously towards him but indicating to the congress master for him to be called.

“Thank you, honourable chair,” Harry stood up. “It’s clear to me that we’re engaging in a parallel debate. While my honourable friend who proposed this has clearly good intentions, my honourable friends who oppose this measure have pointed out valid flaws. Yet this not necessarily be so.”

The whispers from both sides grew. Many of those half awake had stirred, observing him scrutinously. “Privileges and a tiered system of access should remain, yet it does not mean reform does not offer benefits. For instance, what if we allowed non-subject students access to the resources to the library but refused to allow them to take them out? What if we sold temporary subject passes, the funds of which could be directed to increase the total amount of resources? I do not pretend to know all the answers, yet I believe that all the intellect in this room should be able to come up with reasonable suggestions that achieve the aims of all. Thank you.”

Sitting down, the hall burst out into a flurry of whispers as various delegates whispered to each other. Ivarin locked eyes with him, a curious arched eyebrow as she whispered to her counterpart before co*cking her head. Getting the message, he turned to Delphi.

“What are you thinking?” she hissed angrily. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

“I’ll explain soon, love. Trust me,” he smiled, stealing a kiss and watching her anger slowly fade as a blush crept up her neck. “Take over for me, I’ll be back soon.”

Before she could ask where he was going, he stood up, heading to the back and following Ira into one of the conference rooms, raising an eyebrow as she cast several protective charms on the room before turning to him.

“Bold move, mister Potter.”

“Call me Harry, at least in private,” Harry insisted. With a wry smile, she dipped her head in agreement.

“Ira then. Your first session and you’re already disrupting the status quo,” she purred, a glint in her eyes as she traced a finger up his chest, “What are you planning in that dangerous mind of yours?”

“Nothing you couldn’t put to a stop if you wanted,” Harry responded humorously. Ira rolled her eyes, though her lips did curl up. “Would you want me to stop?”

“Would you if I asked.”

“We’ll never know, because you don’t,” Harry answered silkily. Ira arched an eyebrow.

“What makes you think so?”

“You don’t like playing politics, but you know how to take advantage of opportunities. If I’m so willing to put myself out there to create change, and in turn opportunity for you to advance your agenda with far less effort, why would you reject it?”

“You are aware that both sides will be out for your blood,” Ira pointed out. Harry merely smiled. “It is a dangerous game you’re planning to enter.”

“The only ones worth playing always are,” Harry countered. “Besides, this takes the heat off me.”

“How so?”

“Those who wish me harm will always find a way to attack me. I would prefer it to be an avenue I know rather than one I don’t. Your father will see me as a fool and focus at least some of his energies undermining me in this field, meaning less time spent on other avenues I’m less able to defend against,” Harry reasoned. “Besides, we will always be in battle. By wrestling control like this, I’m dictating the pace and the momentum. Subconsciously, many will turn reactionary to me, perhaps even look to me for indicators on how they should act.”

“And should you make a misstep?” Ira pointed out. “Durmstrang is hardly known for its kindness.”

“Minimal harm will befall me. I have Delphi, I have Katerina and I have you.”

“Me?” she snorted bemusedly. “Surely you don’t believe that.”

“Ira Ivarin, the son of professor Isard Ivarin and muscle of Malcom Ivarin may be my enemy, but not Ira Ivarin, the talented witch lost without a purpose. Not Ira Ivarin, the kind witch who resents the gilded cage around her. And certainly not Ira Ivarin, the intelligent witch who knows I’m going to change the world and wants a part in it.”

She whipped her wand out, pointing it in his chest, tip glowing an ominous purple. Harry however, merely smiled lazily. “Are you afraid because I’m wrong…or because I’m right?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she growled. Harry shrugged.

“Perhaps. Perhaps, as you would tell your father, me and even yourself, I’m just a pawn, a pet project to amuse you until the next one comes along.” Harry shrugged, a wry grin on his face. “Perhaps you’ll watch me crumble and fall into less than nothing. Perhaps you’ll even cause it. But I don’t think you will.”

“How come?” Ira demanded, pressing the tip of her wand painfully into his chest. Harry didn’t allow any discomfort to show, merely meeting her gaze with the same lazy smile. “How would you know? How could you?”

Harry reached into his pocket slowly, pulling out a single still picture and showed it to Ira. “Do you recognise this?”

“Michelangelo’s ‘The Creation of Adam’,” she answered with a frown. “What about it?”

“Humans are inherently believing creatures. Being fully aware of how small any impact we may bring is in the grand scheme of the universe for all time, we seek a greater purpose, to believe we’re part of something more. Tell me, does the throne upon which god sits upon seem familiar to you?”

Ira shrugged. “Not really, why?”

“It has a rather great resemblance to the human brain, does it not?” Frowning, she took a second look at the picture, before nodding slowly.

“I suppose it does. What of it?”

“I rather believe that Michelangelo had a message for us: God is not an external being, but rather a manifestation of our own lack of purpose. Replace God with what you will, pureblood supremacy, a crusade against muggles, support for a quidditch team, magic itself even…we need to believe in something greater than ourselves. We latch onto these constructs, hoping to fill the gap within ourselves. But the intelligent and sensible among us feel its inadequacies, seeking something more. Don’t you?”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions: my personal beliefs, then how I might act upon those beliefs,” she postured, though Harry knew her resolve was wavering. “What if you’re wrong?”

“Then I will have gambled and lost,” Harry admitted freely, slowly raising a hand to her cheek and cupping it. She shivered at the gesture, not lowering her wand but not stopping him either. “But I have faith?”

“Faith,” she snarked. “Delusion, perhaps.”

“Perhaps, but to dare to hope is to dare to live, no?” Harry replied. Her response was cut off by an insistent knock on the door. Turning, the two saw Malcom staring in, an amused look on his face. She turned, eyes frowned suspiciously.

“You seem to have a habit of framing interruptions a certain way,” she pointed out. Harry smiled innocently.

“It does seem that way,” he answered noncommittally. Avoiding his gaze, she turned, storming out of the room. Harry tugged on his robes, straightening them out as he walked back to the main chamber, rejoining Delphi.

“What happened?” she hissed worriedly, checking him over. Harry grabbed her hand, squeezing reassuringly.

“Just a chat with Ivarin, nothing to worry about.” Yet instead of calming down, she tensed, glaring at him.

“Don’t lie to me, Harry. You can lie to everyone else, but not to me,” she jabbed a finger to his chest. “Now try again, the truth this time.”

“We’ll chat after this session, I swear it,” Harry acknowledged. Delphi huffed, clearly not pleased but recognising the necessity. The session continued with both sides putting out various ideas, ranging from sensible to nonsensical. By the end of the session five hours later, and after he had made several dozen speeches, trying hard to ignore the stiff Delphi resolutely ignoring him.

With a flick of his wand, the congress master swished his wand, distributing a copy of the amended draft bill to each represented guild. Excited and urgent whispers passed around, though most of the discussion had long been exhausted. With a bang of his gavel, the master silenced the room.

“The floor is now returned to the dais. We will now vote on resolution seven on reforms to resource accessibility. Those in favour, light your wands now.” A good spread from most of the room raised their wand in support, with scattered opposition who thought the bill either didn’t go far enough or went too far. For him, the bill was a messy mix of different policies, ranging from a demand for resources to be audited and re-segmented, to auctioning off first edition and other rare copies of books, repurchasing more common editions with the same content.

They weren’t bad policies, though Harry questioned when many would be implemented, if they ever were. Nevertheless, a balance of policies, some seemingly contradictory and others outright useless, had garnered enough support from the delegates to pass with a comfortable supermajority. Ironically, much of the opposition had come from the neutrals in the middle.

“Due to time constraints, the agenda is deferred to an additional session in two week’s time,” the congress master announced. “This session is hereby adjourned.”

Several nearby delegates introduced themselves, but all quickly headed off, no doubt to report on the progress of the meeting to their guildmates. With a stiff grip on his hand, as though afraid he’d run off, Delphi led him back to their dorm, taking them to her’s. With a stony visage, she pulled out a chair, before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Sit,” she offered stiffly. Harry winced at the tone and complied. “Tell me exactly exactly what she said to you.”

“Legilimence me, I’ll show you,” Harry offered, frowning as she shook her head.

“No, I want to hear it from your mouth. If I can’t trust your word, then I wouldn’t be asking.”

Despite her cold tone, Harry couldn’t help a surge of warmth at the tacit admission. “She was wondering why I was drawing attention to myself by intervening. I explained to her that as the boy-who-lived and with a dual mastery, I was going to be a target regardless. I further explained that politics is both something I need to practice, as well as a known attack vector I can predict and defend against. Offering such an opportunity to challenge will lower the likelihood that alternate measures I’m unable to predict are used. We also debated briefly on who was using who.”

Taking out the picture of the painting, he showed Delphi. “Here, have a look.”

“‘The Creation of Adam’, what about it?”

“What does it tell you?”

“Harry,” Delphi breathed in heavily. “I know you want this to be a learning experience, but I’m running extremely thin on patience.”

“The throne upon which god sits on is reminiscent of the human brain, suggesting that it is our internal desires that manifest our belief in things, be it god, ideology or something else. We seek purpose and meaning in the things we do. It is seeing hunger for this that gave me confidence she’d eventually join our side, and I told her as much.”

“Why are you so insistent on recruiting others, am I not enough? You have me, you have Kat, you’ve even gotten the runt. How many more do you need?” Delphi demanded, voice cracking. Harry reached out to her, flinching as she pushed his hand away, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Delphi…I’m doing this for our tomorrow. Every ally is an additional set of eyes and ears that may acquire useful information. Every friend is another wand we can count on in the impending war.”

“What war?” Delphi demanded. “Grindelwald is dead, Voldemort is dead, by your hands, mind you. Only those uncivilised folk in the Balkans and South America are fighting in their petty battles. What war are you intent on fighting?”

“Do you think Voldemort is dead?” Harry snorted. “He is reputed to be the greatest practitioner of dark magic in history, surely you don’t think that he’d be vanquished just like that.”

“You…think Voldemort is alive?” Delphi blinked incredulously. Harry shrugged.

“Let us say for the sake of argument you’re right, that Voldemort is truly dead. Do you think not one of his followers or adherents will rise up to take the mantle? Do you believe we’ll be able to outduel Sirius Black between the two of us as we are? Outplay Lucius Malfoy and his network? Escape the manipulative clutches of Albus Dumbledore?” Harry only realised his voice had begun rising as the tirade progressed. The sound of soft sobbing broke through his haze, and he felt a gash in his heart at the utter despair Delphi seemed to radiate.

“I…I just want…want us to be enough…is that really too much to ask?” she choked out. “Am…am I not enough?”

No, his mind supplied unhelpfully, but Harry knew the truth was not what she needed at this moment. Instead, he gingerly reached out, slowly pulling her into his lap and rubbing her back soothingly. “You’re all I need, Delphi. You’re all I want.”

“I…I’m falling for you, Harry, and I can’t control it. I’m scared…you’re tearing my barriers down without even trying…”

“I know,” Harry soothed, sighing. “I feel much the same way.”

“Do you?” she challenged, a strange gleam in his eye he couldn’t quite decipher. Harry felt himself choke on his breath.

“My first friend was at the age of eleven,” Harry admitted. “I met her on the Hogwarts Express on the way to school by chance; before that, I lived in an orphanage. I wasn’t able to control my legilimency for years…I knew what they thought of me. They resented me…feared me, even. Then I met her…and it was like entering the aether. I had someone who understood me…equally alone and equally driven. And then she turned against me, the scar of betrayal deep in my heart. I had thought to never trust again, yet when I met you…your cheerfulness inspired within me a spark of hope I long thought dead.”

He cupped her cheek, gazing deep into her eyes, trying to show his own vulnerability. “I need you, Delphi. Just as much as you need me, if not more.”

He brushed aside a strand of her hair that had fallen in front of her face, relishing her watery smile as she leaned in and kissed him possessively. “For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours, Harry. Now come to bed with me, I need you.”

--Break--

“Welcome back to the dark arts,” Ivarin drawled at the three of them. “With your introduction complete, we will be continuing to progress at the pace previously set. You’ll be expected to catch up yourself or resign your position. Am I understood, Mister Potter.”

“Crystal, sir,” Harry dipped his head neutrally. The man nodded stiffly, turning and summoning several coffins, placing them in front of them.

“Necromancy, amongst the darkest of dark magic that can be learned,” he whispered gravely. “The art has not reached its ultimate objective of truly resurrecting the dead. As of now, we do not know any case of genuine resurrection. The most difficult curse you will learn is the Inferni Curse, which will raise corpses nearly immediately. Ritualistic magic is more advanced and may yield better results, but certainly not at the speed and efficiency of the curse. Observe.”

With a jab of his wand, the lids of the coffins were removed to the side, filling the air with the smell of decaying corpses. Only through occlumency was Harry able to suppress his instinct to retch. With a flourish of his wand, professor Ivarin fired off a silver beam towards the corpse. “Corpus tuum tenetur ad ego.”

The beam continued even as his incantation finished, the blood vessels on the man’s hand turning black, spreading like spilled ink on his pale skin, while his eyes had turned milky. The man’s body was shaking, and Harry felt the wrongness of the magic in the air. Slowly, the corpse began to rattle, hoisting itself up, jaw clicking with unnaturally loud clacks as its soulless white eyes looked around.

When the beam finally faded away, Ivarin was breathing heavily, eyes slowly returning to their normal blue colour, Harry was enraptured by the infernus, simply standing there completely motionless, no twitch or shakes that would indicate a sign of genuine life.

“When a person is killed, imprints of them remain for a time. Magical bodies stay composed far longer than their muggle counterparts, and this presents a valuable opportunity,” Ivarin lectured. “With the Inferni curse, you are funnelling your magic, your intent and fragments of your soul into it. For a time, this will imprint yourself onto the vessel, allowing you complete control. The more you pour in, and especially the more skillfully, the longer the vessel will last. While active, inferni will expire quicker, though even if completely inactive, inferni will be rendered useless in relatively short periods of time, ranging from hours by amateurs, to several years. A reason why Voldemort was so feared was his ability to conjure up huge armies and keep them operating far longer than normal.”

“Sir, wouldn’t a golem be more effective?” Harry frowned. Ira twitched slightly, Otaba snorted derisively and the professor sighed annoyedly.

“The psychological effects of a horde of former loved ones attacking you is rather potent. Inferni are also somewhat more independent than golems. The magic on a golem will fade far sooner than a properly created inferni will,” Ivarin answered with a sneer. “Now, let us not waste any more time. Begin.”

Walking to one of the caskets, he levitated off the lid, taking a moment to study the body. Reaching out with his senses, Harry concentrated deeply, walking up and placing his hand on the corpse, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of squelchy, rotting flesh. Pushing a tiny bit of magic, he traced its path closely, watching as it spread throughout the corpse.

With a deep breath, Harry pointed his wand at the corpse, honing his magic before forcing a burst into it. The corpse shuddered violently, its body twitching but otherwise failing to move, but causing ripples around its magic, the feeling not unlike hearing a dissonant chord. With a frown, Harry turned to observe Rosier, who had her wand pointed at the corpse, muttering the incantation over and over again as a faint grey beam linked them.

Ira, on the other hand, had coiled her magic around himself much like he had attempted, though far more potently dark. Harry could feel the chalk-scratching-esque disturbance of soul tearing as she thrust his wand forward, sending a cackling black beam of energy.

The infernus leapt up in the air…before promptly exploding in a shower of bone fragments and liquified, rotting flesh.

“Foolish,” the professor hissed darkly. Despite his impassive look, Harry could feel the fear from Ira “Crucio.”

Harry’s eyes widened as the girl collapsed with a startled cry, body writhing and spasming. She bit her lip, trying not to scream, but it was a futile battle. Only several moments later, the professor dispelled the curse, though Ira remained on the ground, convulsing.

“What are you two looking at? Continue your attempts…preferably without wasting one of my corpses,” he sneered. Harry mirrored Rosier’s impassive nod, and turned back to his corpse, pointing his wand at the corpse in front of him and gently massaging in his magic rather than trying to force it in a burst.

Slowly, the corpse began to rattle gently, even as Harry repeated the incantation like a mantra. Speaking the words was like clearing the debris in a slightly clogged pipe, making it easier for him to channel his energies. Pressing slowly as watching the corpse slowly rise, Harry felt a surge of hope and awe.

Yet he knew something was off, the infernus he was creating did not have the same magical levels as the one the professor had managed. Despite sitting up, Harry knew the body was not capable of much more, as though pieces were missing. He thought back to the professor’s words and frowned, realising the key.

Soul.

Fragments of a soul were needed to fully revitalise the corpse. While Harry did not know enough of the mechanics of the soul, he was well aware that its separation could not be thought of mathematically. He was equally aware that splitting off any fragment was irreversible. Given Quirrell’s advice, Harry had no intention of doing so unless absolutely necessary.

Looking at Rosier, the boy had managed to get his corpse to wobbly get up, shaking unstably as it did so. With a primal clack, it lunged for Rosier, arms extended as though ready to maul the boy apart. With an impossibly fast flick of his wand, the infernus was incinerated to a crisp.

“An adequate first attempt,” the professor complimented. “However, you did not sufficiently impress your will and intent upon the creature. Endeavour to correct this.”

With a swish of his wand, another corpse was levitated over, causing Harry to realise how unjustified the punishment of Ira was. Subtly, he cast several soothing charms on her, for while the cruciatus could not be countered, its effects could be somewhat dampened. With a gentle legilimency probe, he massaged away some of her pain, wincing as his body jolted slightly from the pain bleeding over to his own body.

Still, it seemed enough to help the witch recover shakily. Exchanging a meaningful glance, Harry returned to his corpse, pumping the magic as he had seen Rosier did, yet trying to direct the flow. Rather than allowing them to spread naturally, Harry constricted it, channelling his magic disproportionately to trying to ignite the spark within the fragment of soul still echoing in the corpse. Slowly, it began rising again, this time with glimmers of intelligence as his hands slowly reached out.

“Inadequate, Potter,” Ivarin sneered behind him. “You’ve performed an animation charm over anything practical. Let go of your magic.”

Doing as he bade, the corpse continued moving for a split second before sagging limply, tilting and falling back to the confines of the casket with a lifeless thud. Harry knew that despite his weak performance, the professor hadn’t been entirely accurate.

“Do you know why your attempt was so pathetic?”

“Because I’m no-”

“Because you lack the proper motive. Let me give you some. Crucio!” Harry’s body was wracked with pain once again. The man’s curse was not as powerful as the first time, yet still grated upon his body with ruthless intensity. His fists curled up, body convulsing as his mindscape slowly cracked under the pressure. Biting down on his lip, he felt blood trickle out as he refused to scream. After a full half minute under the curse, he finally felt the professor’s magic regress from him.

Taking deep breaths, he controlled his rage, shakily getting up. Ivarin gave him a look of grudging acknowledgement. “Hmph, at least you aren’t as pathetic as her.”

Harry could sense Ira’s occlumency clamp down, but kept himself impassive. The professor was scrutinising him closely, though for what he could not be certain. “But you are not performing properly. You must impart a fragment of your soul into the vessel to be successful.”

“Is that the only way?”

“Do you presume to challenge every pre-conception of the dark arts?” Ivarin huffed. “Make no mistake, you are not-”

He caught himself, taking a breath as his eyes flashed. “You are still inexperienced in the dark arts. I don’t need you to understand, just obey.”

“But surely it would make sense to experiment,” Harry countered. He could feel both Ira and Rosier look at him incredulously as Ivarin chuckled darkly.

“Experiment? You think too highly of yourself, Potter. It takes years of study and intimate experience to even begin contemplating experimentation. But let’s hear it, what makes you against using a soul fragment.”

“When I asked about the difference between an infernus and a golem, one of the key aspects you mentioned was the importance of amplification rather than imprinting. Wouldn’t trying to amplify the echoes rather than putting a competing piece of soul fragment be more efficient?”

“The soul is long departed from the vessel, it is merely the means to contain one, albeit for a limited period, that makes the transfer possible,” Ivarin explained mockingly. “If you did not read up ahead, perhaps consider keeping your mouth shut. People wouldn’t realise you’re stupid as quickly.”

“Yes professor. Thank you for the clarification professor,” Harry dipped his head respectfully. The professor snorted derisively, turning Rosier and leaving him to his thoughts. Looking at the corpse, he concentrated on trying to feel for the echoes of the magic, reaching out to touch the corpse once again. It was difficult, but he had mapped out a slightly better image of how to guide his magic. It was not dissimilar to trying to legilimence an occluded mind.

With renewed vigour, Harry pushed his magic in, watching as the corpse once again slowly rose up uneasily. As it jolted towards him aggressively, Harry pushed out more of his intent, demanding subservience from the creature. He felt resistance to his will, as though the body had somehow gained a level of independence, but ruthlessly pressed forward, demanding its subservience. He felt it struggle, the body expending the magic he was pushing into it to resist. Knowing it was futile, Harry released his hold, allowing the corpse to struggle for several moments before falling limply back.

While the profesor was occupied guiding Otaba, Harry could see that Ira was watching him with curiosity, even as her own corpse had been successfully raised, staring lifelessly outwards. Checking to make sure the professor was not watching, she moved over to his side, giving him a look and, with a hand on his shoulder, quietly guided him out of the classroom.

Outside, he watched her weave various privacy charms around them and arched an eyebrow. “Is there a reason we’re skipping class?”

“As if you wanted to be with that psychopath,” she retorted without bite, lips curled up in amusem*nt. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I do, actually. For all his insults, the professor is a treasure trove of information.”

“Thanks, by the way,” she admitted hesitantly. Harry smiled, nodding in acknowledgement. “But I have to ask whether you’ve gone insane. What possibly possessed you to talk back to the professor?”

“Do you know why I’ve been given the role of master student?” Harry smiled faintly as they began ascending the stairs. “Because the professor wishes to push me down and break me. Whether for entertainment or some other purpose, he is playing with me like a toy, and I must find a way to maintain his interest. Become meek or docile, and he’ll lose interest, tossing me away. By taking measured risks…his interest is maintained and I stay in the class, learning from him all the while.”

“Absolutely terrifying,” Ira chuckled exasperatedly. “Utterly, f*cking terrifying, your mind.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Harry beamed, drawing an amused snort from the witch. “Forgive my prying, but why does the professor favour Rosier so much?”

“Because he’s everything I was supposed to be,” Ira ground out bitterly, blinking as Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing in solidarity. Whether due to it being bottled up, or his subtle legilimenic massaging, Ira continued her tirade. “He’s a male, obedient, a devoted Grindelwaldian and with a talent in the dark arts that surpasses my own.”

“My sympathies,” Harry hesitantly pulled her into a hug. She stiffened at the contact, and he was about to apologise, when Ira relaxed into his touch.

“Why are you doing this for me?” she sniffed. “Why do you care about me?”

“Because you…remind me of someone. I failed her, I don’t want to fail you,” Harry admitted. She looked searchingly, pressing her legilimency into his mind. He could have resisted the attempt, yet allowed her to sense the truth in his words, flashbacks of Amelie brought to the forefront of his mind. Belatedly, he noticed the tears had begun to form in his eyes.

--Break--

“What does this cluster do?” Harry frowned, trying to figure out the unfamiliar symbols. They were far too divergent to be variants of the 26 nordic base runes, not to mention that they resembled strange pictograms. “I don’t recognise it.”

“I’d be surprised if you did,” Anviel grinned. “It’s based on the New Chinese System.”

“The…what?” Harry blinked.

“Are you aware of the magical side of the Chinese Civil War?”

“Vaguely. I know that a lot of their aristocracy fled to Taiwan, but that many stayed behind, genuine believers in the ideology,” Harry shrugged. The boy seemed briefly surprised, nodding.

“Effectively yes. In China, much like say pre-Revolution France or early Britain, the higher ups in society generally used a standardised language different from much of the population. Thus the Party, rather than trying to recreate the lost knowledge on ancient Sinic runes, decided to create a new runic language from scratch based on advancements in arithmancial knowledge,” Anviel explained. “It’s designed to be easy to learn and generally well balanced, which makes it an extremely valuable second language for any rune aspirant.”

“I…see, and you’re not connecting this cluster to the rest of the ward scheme?” he queried. Anviel shook his head.

“No, I’m using them as stabilisers that isolate the remaining runes from external shocks,” he answered, finishing carving a cluster and grinning at the work. The disc was nearly completely filled. Feeling the presence of several approaching, he discreetly nudged the boy, who turned to look before his face grew ashen. “Kriff, you should probably get out of here.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Harry smiled reassuringly, his wand slipping into his hand. Turning to confront the arriving gang, he frowned at the realisation there were ten of them. While none were particularly noteworthy, in aggregate they were strong enough to pose a significant threat to him. Moving forward, Harry stood protectively in between Anviel and the approaching gang.

“Move aside, Potter, this doesn’t concern you,” the leader warned, his nine groupies closely flanking him.

“I beg to differ,” Harry replied frostily. “Leave.”

“There are ten of us and one of you. Don’t make this hard on yourself.”

“Last chance to leave peacefully,” Harry warned. The leader whipped out his wand, but for Harry, it was like watching in slow motion. Already, he had fired a cutting arc, causing them to hastily raise shields, the effect ruined as some amongst them tried to dodge, bumping into each other. Several let out screams of pain as the curse cut deeply into them, drawing blood.

He was forced to shield as several curses were flung his way, the remaining attackers firing without care for collateral. Behind him, he heard Anviel go down with a cry, but had little time to worry about that. Rolling to the side after another barrage, Harry fired off an another cutting arc, yet this time, they were prepared, some ducking under the spell and others shielding effectively.

Six on one, Harry continued trading spells, banishing chairs into them while transfiguring tables into various creatures, which significantly equalised the imbalance in numbers. With a swish of his wand, Harry landed a blasting curse on the arm of one of his assailants, liquifying it and causing a loud scream.

Idly, he wondered how no one had come to intervene as he fired a knockback curse, slamming the de-armed witch into a wall and knocking her unconscious. Only a tingling in his senses caused him to roll to the side, avoiding a decapitation curse. With a furious thrust of his wand, a huge blast of water drenched his opponent, into which he fired a lightning curse a moment later, electrocuting the boy.

Wincing as a cutting curse nicked his shoulder, Harry whirled around, deflecting several curses and ignoring the sound of a loud crack. Transfiguring more of his surroundings, Harry began to push against his thinned enemies, roasting one who failed to shield quickly enough.

Now two on one, the confidence they had rapidly faded, though they continued flinging spells at him. With a feral smile, Harry jabbed his wand, firing off a spell chain consisting of shield breakers, bone breakers and other debilitating curses. One of them fell with a cry, unable to effectively flicker their shield, leaving only the visibly exhausted and battered leader left.

His right arm was bleeding heavily, several deep gashes on his chest clawing through his uniform. “Y-y-you’ll pay for this, Potter!”

At that moment, several of the library staff arrived, wands in hand pointed at him.

“Cease and desist!” the lead wizard barked. Harry lowered his wand slowly, allowing them to approach. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Potter attacked us!” the leader yelled, pointing at him. Harry rolled his eyes.

“You drew your wand at us and provoked a confrontation.”

“You fired the first spell,” he retorted, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. Instantly, Harry realised that this had been a setup, and while he was not particularly familiar with the Durmstrang charter. Knowing what he needed to do, he quickly legilimenced all of the unconscious individuals, causing their eyes to turn cloudy for a brief moment before reverting to normal.

--Break--

“What were you thinking?” Hurst demanded. “You realise how much crap you’re in right now?”

“They were the one who provoked a confrontation,” Harry pointed out.

“You fired the first spell, did you not?”

“In sel-”

“I’m well aware,” Hurst sighed tiredly. “But while drawing a wand is not against the rules, firing a spell is. By definition of the Durmstrang charter, you’re in the wrong.”

“May I see the charter?” Harry inquired. Frowning, the professor acquiesced, pulling out a copy from her drawer and handing it to him. Flipping through the pages, Harry couldn’t help but smile as he read through the rules on conducting an investigation. “Do not worry, professor. I have this well in hand.”

“Very well, I’m required to take your wand. You’ll be placed in magic suppressing manacles as well,” she informed him apologetically. Harry simply nodded at that, hiding a smile. He had read as much in the charter, and this would only serve his purposes.

Leading him out of the cell and towards the great hall, he noticed that the corridors were completely deserted. Sensing his unasked question, she answered, “Everyone is gathered in the great hall, where your hearing is to take place.”

“Thank you, professor, and do not worry. Everything is well in hand. May I ask a favour?”

“I can’t get you out of this, Harry,” the professor sighed. “As much as I want to.”

“No, I’m well aware of that. Please keep the charter in hand and flip to page three hundred and eighteen. Read it out when I give you the signal.”

“What’s th-”

“You’ll know,” Harry assured. She looked to question more, but swallowed it as they arrived at the great hall, where all of the students had gathered. He could see the worried faces of Delphi and Kat, but reassured them with a faint smile, walking up unbothered towards the interrogation chair placed at the centre. As soon as he sat down, thick chains wrapped around him, oppressively squashing down his magic.

He faced a panel, upon which sat highmaster Karkaroff, professor Ivarin and professor Hurst. On their right, in a heavily warded and shielded section, were the students who had assaulted him.

“Let the hearing of mister Harry James Potter begin,” highmaster Karkaroff announced. “You have been accused of committing violence outside authorised locations, the penalty for which is expulsion. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Harry answered simply, causing the whispers among the students to rise. Karkaroff banged his gavel, silencing the room.

“Very well, let the trial begin. Mister Ivanov, your testimony?”

The boy in question sneered at him as he rose up. “I was approaching mister Potter to ask some questions about runes. Unprovoked, he drew his wand upon me and fired, taking down several of my friends in one slash. After this, the remainder amongst us defended ourselves but were overwhelmed.”

“Thank you, mister Ivanov. Mister Potter, how do you respond to these allegations?”

“I contest the description of events. Mister Ivanov and his conspirators drew their wands first, and prior to that made provocative, threatening statements,” Harry answered.

“You fired the first spell, by the law of Durmstrang you are the instigator,” Ivarin sneered.

“And the fact they made multiple provocations?”

“Irrelevant, the laws are the laws,” he crooned. Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement, inwardly smiling. Several others rose to give their testimonies, describing their various injuries. Harry didn’t really care, even as the mood of the room shifted decidedly against him. His mind wandered, until the banging of a gavel took him out of his reverie. Looking around, he could see the disbelief and offence many had taken from him drifting off.

“Mister Potter, do you have any final statements?”

“Yes. Repent.”

Most in the room blinked in confusion, yet as one, those inside the witness protection wards raised their wands in unison. Several of the staff on guard, led by Petrov, drew their wands, trying to intervene. Yet in the seconds it took to take down the wards, the witnesses had pointed their wands at the bottom of jaws and fired blasting curses, blowing their heads off in a shower of gore.

He allowed a faint smile to make it to his face even as the hall erupted into chaos. Karkaroff and Ivarin were clearly in shock, while Hurst was staring at him incredulously. It took a full five minutes for the staff to regain order, forcing students back to their seats. Many were whispering loudly at him, fear evident in their eyes. Some had vomited at the sight of gore, others sobbing. Some of the Grindelwaldian students were calling for his blood, yet in all this, Harry remained calm, simply nodding towards Hurst.

Gulping, she read out, “In the absence of all witnesses, the charges must be dropped.”

“What?” Ivarin thundered. “He’s murdered ten students, h-”

“Professor, were you not responsible for their defence?” Harry interjected. Ivarin turned to him, a murderous glare in his eyes. Harry looked down at his chains pointedly before back at him. “I’ve been put in a cell away from the witnesses until just now, and being suppressed heavily through your protocols. Surely you can’t blame me for their…strange behaviour.”

Ivarin scowled, dark aura flaring, yet both knew Harry had won. To accuse Harry, the professor would either admit to seeming ineptitude or colluding with him, neither of which Ivarin would be willing to swallow. Karkaroff swallowed, looking uncertain.

“As you said, dura lex sed lex,” Harry mused. “Unless you have anything else to add?”

Ivarin did not respond, simply growling. Karkaroff finally escaped from his stupor, nodding slowly. “Very well, seeing the…situation means there is a lack of admissible evidence, all charges against mister Potter are dropped.”

Slamming down his staff, the chains disappeared. Hurst hurried down, taking off his manacles and guiding him out of the hall. Kat, Delphi and Anviel approached him, but were shooed away by the professor. Entering an unused room, she cast several locking spells and privacy charms before whirling towards him.

“What in Merlin’s name was that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry shrugged lightly.

“Don’t,” Hurst hissed angrily, “play coy.”

She took several breaths, visibly calming herself. “No one in their right mind is going to believe that ten students decided to take their own lives in such a…”

“Professor,” Harry chuckled, ignoring her sharp glare, “what do you believe is more likely? That I somehow bypassed all the defences and protections of professor Ivarin, or that Ivarin himself disposed of them?”

“You’re…” she hesitated, visibly disturbed. “You’re a master in both the dark arts and my student in battle transfiguration.”

“I’m also a half-blood, the boy-who-lived and a second year student. Most of them will refuse to believe I’m capable of such out of sheer principle.”

“Perhaps that will work on most, but…why, Harry? Why would you commit murder?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Harry shrugged uncaringly.

“And what about those who hold you responsible?”

“Then they’ll have heard my warning.”

“What? That you’re a deranged killer?”

“That I killed them and got away with it,” Harry answered coldly, taking Hurst aback. “They will know that despite thousands of witnesses, despite the supposed vigilance of professor Ivarin, that I was involved with their suicide and that there’s nothing anyone can legally do about it.”

“Their families will not be happy. You’ve made a lot of enemies today.”

“That was inevitable, professor. But I’ve also made myself a far more attractive ally.”

“I…I hope you know what you’re doing,” she sighed tiredly. Harry shrugged.

“Don’t we all?” This elicited a short bark of laughter from Hurst.

“Get out, Harry. I’ve had too much of you for a day, and your girlfriends are impatiently pressing against my wards,” she sighed. With a smile, he waved goodbye to Hurst, opening the door only to be immediately wrapped in a tight hug by both Delphi and Kat.

“We were so worried for you,” Delphi sniffed. Harry took a whiff of the vanilla scent that surrounded her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly unharmed,” Harry assured with a smile, laughing as she forced a possessive kiss onto him. Turning to Kat, he grinned, “I’d offer you a kiss as well, but I don’t think Del would like that very much.”

Snorting amusedly, Kat rolled her eyes as she ruffled his hair. “How have you managed to get into so much trouble so quickly?”

“I’ll tell you all about it after we all get some sleep, okay?” Harry promised. Vigilantly, the two escorted him towards his dorm, both curling up on either side of him in bed. By unspoken agreement, Delphi faced him while Katerina spooned him from behind.

Chapter 21: Tides of Change

Chapter Text

Blinking, Harry frowned as he felt external warmth from both his front and back, four hands wrapped around him. He felt a spike of panic, until the events hours earlier returned to his mind. Delphi was still snoring lightly, hands wrapped possessively around him. Some of her hair had fallen on her face, which Harry tucked to one side. Her eyes blinked open, and a soft smile formed on her face.

“Hey,” he whispered softly.

“Hey yourself,” she grinned back, leaning forward and pecking him on the lips. The dimples under her eye had largely receded, and her skin didn’t seem as shallow. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much so,” he laughed softly. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“I’ll forgive you, after you tell me what happened.”

Harry did not yelp as he was suddenly pulled back, flailing his arms slightly before he realised Katerina had pulled him onto her lap, leaning her head on his shoulder. Delphi blinked owlishly before bursting into uproarious laughter. Katerina herself giggled as Harry flushed.

“You gave us a real fright, Harry. You told us you were going to study with the runt, and then all the sudden we’re told by Hurst you’re to be put on trial!” she scolded. “It’s that runt’s fault, isn’t it?”

“The runt, as you put it, could be a useful asset,” Harry rebuked gently. “Neither of you have experience in the field, and I myself do not possess a particular talent for it.”

“He’s just a first year student in your novice class, how good can he be?” Delphi frowned. Harry rolled his eyes, counting downward from three in a bid not to lash out.

“He’s demonstrated proficiency in Nordic and New Sinic runes. I’m pretty sure he’s also adept in Soviet-variation runes even if he doesn’t admit it. Even if he possessed a fraction of these abilities, he’s a socially isolated individual who can be nurtured into a sharp tool. That’s not even factoring in the message we send to those who might otherwise not have considered joining us. Loyalty and kinship is hard to find in the halls of Durmstrang, by demonstrating it for such a lacklustre members, others will conclude that we are honourable,” Harry explained patiently. Delphi blinked, nodding slowly as understanding spread across her face. “Do you really have that little faith in my risk-calculus?”

“I…” Delphi struggled for words.

“We trust you, but that doesn’t mean we don’t worry. If there’s one percent of a one percent chance something goes wrong, we can’t help but fear the worst. As you so often say, one unlucky accident is all it takes,” Katerina supplied. Harry hummed understandingly, taking the older witch’s hand and squeezing reassuringly. “So what happened?”

“The Revanchist and his goons moved up to us as a gang. Seeing them whip out their wands, I took the initiative, not knowing it was a technical mistake. I took four of them out with the first hit, then a duel ensued.”

“You managed to defeat ten of them by yourself?” Delphi asked incredulously. He heard a snort from behind him.

“Har can give me a run for my galleons, of course he held his own,” Katerina sniffed, as though insulted by Delphi’s insinuations. Harry rolled his eyes amusedly.

“They weren’t particularly skilled or prepared for confrontation,” Harry admitted.

“And how did you manage to…convince them to pop their own heads?” Kat queried. Harry relaxed into her massaging of his back with a content hum, inwardly amused by Delphi’s poorly concealed envy.

“Legilimency. The small amount of occlumency they had was shattered in suppressing the pain of their injuries. The organisation of their mind without proper defence actually made it easier for me. I amplified their perceived sensations of the pain, which lowered their instinctual resistance to harming themselves. Then, linking this to a trigger word in case the worst happened…”

“How did you even think to do that?”

“Despite being beaten down, he was triumphant. If the situation hadn’t escalated, they would have lived,” Harry shrugged. “If I’m going down, I’m taking those imbeciles with me.”

“Fair enough,” Kat supplied. “Are you prepared for the consequences, though?”

“Despite what most like to think, setting out to kill isn’t particularly easy. Most individuals are not psychopaths and lack the aptitude to harm others so permanently,” Harry chuckled darkly. “They had better hope to strike me down permanently…or death will be the least of their worries.”

--Break--

Entering the infirmary, he dipped his head in acknowledgement to several of the healers, walking over to one of the few occupied beds to see Anviel sulking. As the boy saw him, his face lit up.

“Harry, you’re okay!” he exclaimed.

“Yes I’m fine Aren. How are you doing?”

“My wardstone…it was destroyed,” he sighed. “Even discounting the time it’ll take to get back to where I am, the stone wasn’t particularly cheap.”

“How much could the discs cost?” Harry frowned. At Anviel’s incredulous look, he shrugged. “I’m not particularly familiar with the runic equipment market.”

“Discs…they get exponentially more expensive depending on size and refinement. A D-class palm sized one like those we use in class would probably be two or three sickles. A B-class one the size of what I used…almost three thousand galleons on the open market,” he answered. Harry winced, for that was a huge sum by normal standards.

“How can they possibly be that expensive?”

“It’s the refining process,” Anviel explained. “Any materials worthwhile to carve on have to be refined through alchemical processes. For the top grade stuff, there’s maybe fifty operations in the entire world, at least that are public knowledge. With the secrets guarded jealously and the different producers colluding, prices are kept high. It used to be far worse though.”

“How…how could it possibly have been worse?” Harry queried.

“Before refinement began, we just had to find the best bunch of rocks available and use them. Usually, the ones near ley lines would be somewhat better to work with, but attempts to farm rocks yielded no results. Our best guess is that it takes centuries or longer for the raw magic to have an effect,” Anviel chuckled. “It’s hard to imagine, but availability and prices today are far, far better. Besides, the highest level ones are only acquired by large institutions or ministries themselves. In the entirety of the Union, only the Kremlin and the Star warranted an S tier wardstone anchor.”

“Anchor…so not even the whole scheme,” Harry frowned. Anviel nodded.

“A standard size four S stone would cost well over twenty million galleons, if one was even available to purchase. A type eight A stone costs a twentieth of that, with nearly the same effectiveness. There’s very little point unless a scheme is to a ridiculous level of demand.”

“I…see,” Harry nodded, filing away that information and mentally raising his already high opinion of the boy’s knowledge on runes by a notch. “I do have a question: why are you in a novice class? Surely you should have the know-how to be at least a Disciple, if not higher.”

“My knowledge of runes is…extremely limited in a broad sense,” he admitted. “My familiarity is with warding, and all that I know is based in that field, leaving me dangerously ill-equipped in even the basics of the other branches.”

“Branches?” Harry frowned. “I…wasn’t aware there was much use for runes besides wards and rituals.”

“I’m not surprised. Most others have fallen out of favour. However there are other uses, cryptography and enchantments. Weaving enchantments into items will generally not last more than a lifetime, but using runes…well, the pyramids are still around for a reason. Wand movements are also dependant on runic principles,” Anviel explained excitedly. “There’s probably a lot more uses I’m simply not aware of too. I…um…”

Arching an eyebrow at Anviel’s stuttering, he turned around to see Ira with her wand casually to her side. “Mister Potter, I need to speak with you.”

“Miss Ivarin, lead the way.” Turning to Anviel, he smiled apologetically, waving goodbye before following Ira out into the corridors before entering a disused closet. She layered various privacy charms, and he added some of his own.

“What’s with the runt?” Harry snorted. “Am I missing something? Long lost brother, perhaps?”

“No, it’s just that Delphi and Kat called him the same thing,” Harry chuckled, raising his hands in appeasem*nt as she scowled at the comparison. “Seriously, why does everyone call him that?”

“He’s an unremarkable first year with a slight talent for runes. You’re hardly the sentimental type; why risk everything for him?” Ira frowned. Harry shrugged.

“Got to start from somewhere,” he shrugged. “He also has nowhere else to turn to, which means he’s going to be loyal to me.”

“That’s quite the leap in logic,” Ira challenged. Harry acknowledged the point with a nod.

“Perhaps. But it’s an investment. I’m betting that in the time I have exclusively with Anviel, I’ll be able to make him fully loyal. Besides, if nothing else, it sends a message.”

“Message?”

“The neutrals have been rolling over like bitches for far too long. They’re the perfect allies if I want to unseat the delicate balance between the two current main blocs,” Harry explained. “Whether Quidditch, gobstone, arithmancy or whatever focus their guild is on, loyalty is rarely more than strictly necessary. They’d throw each other to the crows for a slight advantage.”

“And you’re hoping to inspire change from that,” Ira frowned. “Ambitious…very ambitious.”

“Have to keep myself occupied somehow.”

“You really do enjoy causing chaos, don’t you?” Ira accused with exasperation. Harry rolled his eyes, though his lips did quirk up. “My father has gone ballistic. He was so enraged that half of his dark arts class today had to be sent to the infirmary. Karkaroff actually had to rebuke the man.”

“He has a remarkably poor temper,” Harry mused, drawing a snort from the witch across.

“Isn’t that an understatement? But there will be consequences, you realise,” she pointed out concernedly.

“I do,” Harry acknowledged. “I did not want to show my hand this early, but I was in an uncertain situation and took…liberal precautions.”

“I don’t want to know,” she shook her head. “Plausible deniability and all that.”

“Fair enough. But if I may be so bold, I don’t think you risked a meeting just to question my actions.”

“No,” she admitted with a wry grin. “Most of those I know have been scared witless by the…sudden suicides, which has been rather useful to capitalise on. For once Malcom actually shut up, though I doubt it’ll last long. I came to warn you about the Revanchists. A bunch of nut-jobs, if you ask me, but fanatical. I managed to convince most of the Grindelwaldians to distance themselves after their perceived weakness, but…that just makes them more desperate.”

“Good,” Harry smiled. “Desperate individuals are more prone to mistakes.”

“A cornered beast is the most dangerous,” Ira countered.

“But in stress, they regress to basic instincts. They become more predictable. A strong attack is harmless if I can anticipate and counter it in advance,” Harry retorted. Ira nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m sure you have a plan. Just…be careful,” she instructed. Harry nodded, slowly walking up to her and wrapping her in a hug. He felt her stiffen at the contact, before hesitantly returning it.

--Break--

“Well this is going to be interesting,” Delphi chuckled as the two sat in the guild assembly. Scant few other seats were filled, and most were content reading the agenda in front of them. Scrolling through his own copy, Harry chuckled.

“You could say that,” he mused. “I don’t think you got much chance to explain the mechanics last time.”

“Well, I was going to before you decided that shaking the status quo of the last decade was a good idea,” she accused playfully. “Everyone’s going to be scrambling to understand the changes…it’s going to be a nightmare to figure out.”

“Tell me about the anti-Grindelwaldians.”

“They’re a loose bloc consisting of pureblood supremacists, Voldemort supporters and anti-war supporters. It’s nominally led by Asmelda Venuci, the pink haired witch who spoke first last session, but they’re effectively a loose alliance more than a functional bloc. A lot of smaller academic groups not part of the neutrals align with one of the bloc’s constituents for protection. It’s a mess figuring it out, and frankly it’s better to look at it as three separate coalitions and a bunch of leftovers.”

“And the neutrals?”

“Mister Potter,” a voice called out, stopping the conversation. Harry turned, seeing a tall, surly boy extending his hand out. Accepting it with a firm shake, he smiled, discreetly glancing down to see the boy was an adept at duelling but nothing else.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Krum. Viktor Krum,” he supplied. “Can we talk in private?”

“Delphi, can yo-”

“I can take care of myself,” she smiled warmly at him, pecking him on the cheek and whispering, “Quidditch player, influential amongst non-member guilds.”

Nodding in acknowledgement of the message, he followed Krum towards one of the conference rooms, casting several wards around to protect their privacy. Satisfied, the boy began, “I have heard much about your exploits. I wish to come to an agreement.”

“Oh? And how might I be of assistance, mister Krum?”

“Sports funding. It has been heavily neglected for decades. There are many who wish for more facilities to be available. Quidditch, Bongslap, Murtuck. Funding has been put into gyms and duelling training, but little else in sport.”

“Tell me, mister Krum, what exactly is the situation of the facilities?” Harry requested. Krum seemed surprised, no doubt expecting to make a bargain. “If I’m to present your case, let alone endorse solutions I will need to fully understand the problem.”

“Da. There are roughly fifteen full time quidditch teams sharing one quidditch pitch, and at least a dozen more casual ones. The pitch is outdated, facilities worn. The ventilation has gotten clogged, which makes it difficult to breathe when training. It is not sustainable. The other smaller sports have to use makeshift equipment on the quidditch pitch, further straining resources.”

“Mister Krum, do not take offence, but there is one question that I will be asked by the members of the assembly and the faculty of the school. Why are you at Durmstrang?”

“What do you mean?” Krum frowned, bristling slightly.

“This school is focused on academics. Testing requirements into the school are based on academic abilities, not sports, arts, or anything else. Thus, logically, those who enter the school are those who are most committed to academics. Why would we divert resources away to other distractions?” Krum frowned, face contorting rather amusedly as he tried to come up with an answer. Harry chuckled inwardly, realising just how easy it would likely be to manipulate the lesser guilds if one of their more noteworthy representatives was like this. “Look, I’m not saying it’s not possible. I’ll go so far as to say I’m willing to help you. But even if every guild sympathetic to your cause joins the assembly, it’ll hardly be enough votes.”

“Mister Potter, we do not want to join politics. We just want to do what we love,” Krum shook his head. “We have no interest in much else.”

“Mister Krum, your predecessors’ absence from politics is exactly why there’s such a lack of investment in non-academic areas of Durmstrang,” Harry explained. “Even if we win funding today, what’s going to keep the funding coming in a year’s time? Five years? You and your friends must ask yourself: what’s more important to you? Avoiding politics or getting funding for your activities?”

“We do not have the knowledge to navigate the issues,” Krum scowled, before snapping his fingers. “Could you guide us?”

“That…is an interesting proposal,” Harry nodded thoughtfully, resisting the urge to show his inward triumph. “What were you thinking?”

“Could we delegate the voting responsibility to you?” Krum proposed. Harry was about to reject the proposal, but thought it over. This could work.

“Not at the moment,” Harry admitted. “But I have a proposal. How many members can you gather in the next hour?”

“What are you thinking?” Krum queried.

“Every guild member currently has a right to a seat in the chamber. There are roughly thirty free seats right now. If we can get more than that number in new members, especially far more, then-”

“-they will have no choice but to allow delegation,” Krum finished with a gleam in his eyes. Da, this sounds like a plan. I will talk with the others.”

“Very well, mister Krum. I’ll see you in an hour then.”

“Very well.” The two shook hands, before Krum hurriedly left. Walking at a leisurely pace, Harry returned to his seat, a gleam in his eyes that drew Delphi’s attention.

“What happened, love? You look like you’ve been given an Order of Merlin,” she chuckled.

“I’ve just gotten an amazing opportunity. Krum plans to basically shove votes in my hand so long as I can get him a new, shiny quidditch pitch,” Harry grinned. Delphi frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s effectively promised to delegate the votes of him and his friends’ guilds if I manage to make that possible and promise to advance the prospects of more funding for sports,” Harry explained.

“How will you do that?” Delphi frowned. At this, Harry became slightly sheepish.

“I was hoping…”

“You need me to do it, don’t you?” Delphi sighed tiredly. Harry chuckled nervously. “You’re lucky I really like you. Let’s think…why would anyone in their right mind divert funding away from the academic departments…”

“I mean…Quidditch players are famous.”

“As if Durmstrang cares about that,” Delphi sighed. “Most people would look down on such a career after attending a school like ours.”

“But surely…wouldn’t having an alumni network with Quidditch players be useful?”

“How so?” Delphi frowned.

“Could we get outside sponsoring like with the War Mages and the war room?”

“Quidditch teams are notoriously stingy on this sort of stuff,” Delphi shook her head before snapping her fingers. “But…perhaps the players themselves might be willing. Our alumni network in non-academia won’t be particularly strong…but it’s a start.”

“What about an income sharing deal?” Harry proffered, developing the idea of alumni contributions. At Delphi’s confused look, he explained. “In the muggle world, music producing companies will invest a lot into a bunch of promising musicians and take a cut of the future profits. Most lose money, but a few big hits more than compensates for it. If we set up a similar system, then-”

“-the program would be self-sufficient in the long term,” Delphi finished, quickly latching onto the idea. “We could probably sell this as…yes, Durmstrang is all about excellence. Going beyond academia or duelling into other fields…the possibilities are huge. But we’ll have to start small. Quidditch first, it’s the low hanging fruit.”

“Agreed. It’ll take some wrangling, but I’m sure we can organise this. Delphi you’re a genius” Harry grinned, kissing her on the cheek. Delphi couldn’t help but beam at the praise. “Do you need some time to come up with a speech?”

She frowned. “Aren’t…you going to speak? You’d have the most impact after your…stunts.”

“Del, you know me. I have a dozen things going on at once…frankly I need to delegate, and I fully trust you to handle the politics. I’ll be here to offer a few knuts here and there, but you should do this,” he smiled warmly. Despite her uncertain look, she acquiesced with a slow nod. “You got this.”

“I got this,” she repeated, a growing glint of determination in her eyes. “I got this.”

The next half an hour were spent with her whispering her speech and jotting down notes while Harry offered some ideas and critiques. As the assembly filled, Krum briefly entered to let him know the plan was ready to go ahead, drawing a few curious stares from the others. Finally, the chamber doors were shut, with the congress master ascending to his podium.

“Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! The fourth session of the five hundred fifteenth congress is opened,” the congress master announced, banging his gavel down. “Be-”

All in the room turned as the doors were opened, with a procession of nearly a hundred individuals entering the assembly hall. Whispers immediately spread, with more than a few looks towards him. Krum, in lead of the procession, announced, “We exercise our right as guild representatives for a seat in this assembly.”

Worried mutterings grew from both sides, and the assembly master seemed stunned for a moment before quickly recovering. “Very well, by the constitution, you are granted the right to your seats. We…might have a capacity p-”

Delphi stood up, lighting her wand. After receiving acknowledgement from the congress master, she spoke, “Thank you, honourable chair. If I may be so bold, we have long been struck by the issue of representation. Many of my esteemed friends in this chamber have said nary a word for years, sitting merely because they are obligated to do so. It has become a wasteful burden from an antiquated tradition. Just as we specialise and delegate in the real world, should this assembly also not reform to allow delegation of responsibilities to fewer individuals? I propose an emergency motion to allow for guilds to delegate voting to non-members.”

Outraged cries erupted from both sides of the chamber, though many actually were quietly thoughtful. The Congress Master was once again struck dumb, but the hundred or so new members began chanting.

“Vote now! Vote now! Vote now!” The situation began to devolve into angry shouts from both sides, with the assembly master frozen in stupor. Only after several minutes did the wizard bang his gavel angrily, slowly restoring order as he looked apologetically to a fuming Malcom.

“I see no recourse but to proceed. Will a-” Delphi raised a piece of parchment up in the air. Nodding reluctantly, the Congress Master summoned it to him. “A proposed amendment has been submitted, removing the clause requiring a guild representative in this assembly is a member of said guild. Those in favour, please light your wands.”

Even with the votes represented by the hundred newcomers, it was narrow, with nearly even spread of support from all areas of the chamber. “Seeing the closeness of the vote, we will need to consult the voting power ledgers. Guild representatives are to come up one by one to confirm their vote strength and intention.”

The process took a full two hours, but by the end, with a narrow margin, they had clinched the victory.

“And no-”

“We nominate Harry Potter as our representative,” the hundred newcomers chanted at once, drawing outraged cries from many. The Assembly Master was once again stunned, while Malcom was shouting in outrage, all composure lost even as several of his allies restrained him.

“I humbly accept the nomination,” Harry agreed, a triumphant smile on his lips, nodding to Krum. “Does the dais recognise this?”

“Um…the dais recognises this and…approves. Let the records reflect this,” the wizard announced in a stupor. The newcomers all signed off on the records, rowdily departing the chamber triumphant. Many of the stunned representatives remaining stared at him with either loathing or awe.

“By article five of the constitution, with a change in the core of the constitution, we are adjourned for a week.”

“Potter! I challenge you to an honour duel!” a voice cried out over the general commotion. The entire room fell silent, turning to look between Harry and the sixth year who proclaimed the challenge. Harry turned to Delphi, who frowned.

“On what grounds, Vikers?” she retorted.

“For disrupting the peace,” the wizard snarled.

“A sixth year student challenging a second year…how far you have fallen,” Delphi sneered. Several jeered, though most merely watched. The wizard scowled, pointing at Harry.

“Do you require your bitch to fight your battles?”

“I challenge you to a duel for an insult on my honour,” Delphi growled.

“I refuse on the grounds you aren’t worth my time,” the wizard sniffed. “Potter, I demand an answer.”

“You don’t have to accept,” Delphi cautioned. Harry considered for a moment, observing the boy’s robes. Adept in duelling, DADA and Dark Arts, he was no doubt dangerous.

“I accept the challenge.”

“Very well, next Tuesday at noon in the duelling chamber,” he sneered before walking away. Delphi all but dragged him away, entering a conference room and throwing a few wards up before whirling on him.

“What are you thinking, Harry? You had every excuse not to accept the challenge. I would be hard pressed to beat Vikers, let alone you,” Delphi raved.

“It will be a good challenge. Very few will go all out on me; I believe Vikers will be one of the few.”

“You’re…you’re insane,” she shook her head. “I’m not going to tell Kat, you better ask her to help you prepare.”

--Break--

“Begin!”

Harry leapt forward, firing several arcs and pulses of magic. While Katerina began dispelling them, he slammed his wand onto the ground, causing it to rise in a wave, slamming forward towards her. Watching his work, Harry frowned when Katerina casually swiped her wand at the wave, sending it hurtling with twice the force back at him. Shielding against it, Harry was quickly put on the backfoot as a shield breaker pierced his shield, allowing the last part of the ground storm to knock him over.

Despite rolling into a tuck, Harry was grazed by a cutting spell on the shoulder, hastily deflecting several curses before launching a bolt of lightning, which shattered three of Kat’s spells. With a slash of his wand, he fired off his warhammer curse, followed by several blasting curses in either direction. Katerina banished herself into the air, flingin several bludgeoners towards him and forcing him to roll to the side, peppered by shards of rock that had been blasted from the floor.

“You’re not taking enough initiative,” Hurst chided from the side. “Regain the momentum.”

Taking a breath, Harry leapt forward, conjuring several spears and hurling them at Kat, following with several blasting curses. With a casual flick of her wand, the air hardened, slowing down the spears into the path of his curses and nullifying the entire attack.

Swirling his wand above his head, Harry conjured a thunderstorm, ducking and weaving past several of Kat’s attacks in the meantime. As the rain droplets began to fall, Harry concentrated, beginning to manipulate them to surround Katerina, slowly gathering before all at once launching towards her.

With wide eyes, she carved an ‘x’ with her wand, causing a cushion of air to surround her and dampen his attacks. With another flick, Harry lost his hold over the liquid as it was manipulated into several spears and sent whistling towards him.

Harry ducked underneath the jets of water, casting a bolt of lightning at the liquid before shielding himself with a wall of flames once the stream arced towards him. Droplets began to splatter his body as the water punched through his fire. With a grunt, Harry slashed his wand, conjuring a slab of stone to absorb the impact while firing several banishing curses.

They splattered harmlessly against Katerina’s shield, and she did not relent with the water, which melded into shards of ice. Harry shielded against them, his blue barrier flickering unsurely as the bombardment intensified. Taking a breath, Harry flared out his magic, causing a small explosion outward and leaving him on one knee panting heavily.

Katerina sported several cuts on her robes, but otherwise was unharmed, her wand pointed at him and a gust of wind lifted him up, slowly choking him. Despite releasing him seconds later, the message was clear.

“You’re relying too much on movement. Neutralise the attacks, don’t allow them to remain,” she lectured, dispelling the water. “Against a less skilled opponent, having more avenues of exploitation may be an advantage, but it’s not working with me, and it won’t work on Vikers.”

Nodding, Harry stood up, dusting himself off and raising his wand. “Again.”

With a sigh, Katerina slashed her wand, firing several pulses of magic. Harry weaved his wand intricately, unweaving the magic when suddenly, a gust of air blew him from the side, knocking him off his feet. “You’re over-complicating things. This isn’t about a show, it’s about surviving. Simple things, Harry!”

“I think that’s enough for now,” Hurst interjected. Reluctantly, Harry lowered his wand, wiping the sweat off his brow. His arm was trembling, and his body was fatigued. “Harry, you’re incredible for your age. I can say with certainty that when we were twelve, none of us could have matched up to you. But you’re not fighting a twelve year old Vikers. You’re fighting a sixteen year old with three adept ranks and private tutoring from Ivarin. You can’t expect to use your usual tactics of overwhelming to win.”

“Then how do I win? He’s got several years of experience, a wider repertoire and more developed body compared to me,” Harry pointed out. Hurst sighed tiredly, while neither of the girls met his eyes. “You don’t think I can win, do you?”

“I don’t like your odds,” she admitted. “Barring a miracle, you’re not going to win the duel.”

“Then let’s not treat this as a duel, let’s treat it as a fight. How do I win this?” Hurst frowned at him, before slowly nodding.

--Break--

“You don’t have to do this,” Delphi pleaded. Kat nodded in agreement, causing Harry to sigh.

“Do you have that little confidence in me?” he queried. The two girls exchanged an uneasy look.

“You haven’t won a single duel over either of us for the past few days,” Del supplied uneasily. “VIkers isn’t going to go easy on you.”

“I know,” Harry smiled warmly. “I’ll be fine, I promise you. Trust me.”

“Harry, I know you’re incredible, but don’t you think you’re just a bit overconfident about this duel?”

“I’m not treating this as a duel,” he assured mysteriously. “Just watch and trust.”

Reluctantly, the two kissed him good luck before heading to the stands. Hurst merely squeezed his shoulder, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Don’t hold back.”

“I won’t,” he smiled in return. “You’re sure that-”

“Yes.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” Nodding, she departed, leaving him to ascend to the stage. He looked to Anviel, who gave him a nod and a reassuring smile. Touching the runestone in his robe pocket, Harry took a breath.

“Going to back out?” Viker sneered.

“Do you have any siblings?” Harry asked nonchalantly, causing the older boy to blink. “Well, do you?”

“No, not that it’s any of your business.” The confusion allowed Harry to identify the signature of his opponent’s mindscape.

“Good, then your family name will die with you,” Harry smiled, walking off to the other end of the podium before Vikers could get in another word. Professor Petrov stood on the adjudicator’s podium, staring down at the two.

“Very well, seeing there is no recourse, the honour duel declared by Chandler Vikers against Harry Potter is to take place. On my count, begin. Three. Two. One. Begin!”

Harry immediately leapt into action, firing several blasting curses and shield breakers. Lazily, his opponent unweaved the spells, but Harry had not been idle, conjuring a stream of water forward. He responded with a torrent of flames, which allowed Harry to cast a disillusionment charm on himself, quickly stalking forward.

“Legilimens,” he whispered, plunging into the boy’s mindscape ruthlessly. Immediately, Vikers reared his occlumenic defences, but Harry’s legilimency kept him at bay, wracked with pain. Stalking forward, Harry thrust his wand under the boy’s chin and fired a blasting curse.

As the mist dispelled, gasps were heard as Harry stood over the headless corpse.

“W-w-”

“Pathetic,” Harry sniffed, turning and walking off the platform as the silent crowd watched. Moments later, cries of ‘murderer’ began to rise in cacophany, though Harry cared little as Delphi wrapped him in a tight hug, trembling and tearing up.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. So glad.”

“I told you I’d be fine,” Harry smiled.

“It was a stupid plan. What if it didn’t work?”

“Then my abilities would be revealed and a lot of uncomfortable questions would be asked,” Harry shrugged. “I did have a backup plan.”

He revealed the stone from his pocket, causing her to frown. “Wha-”

“Poison.” He chuckled at her gape. “I’m not that arrogant to think myself infallible.”

“Only you,” Delphi shook her head with an exasperated sigh, kissing him soundly on the lips.

--Break--

“You’re extremely lucky the situation became tenable,” Hurst lectured sternly. “You were lucky that your legilimency was able to stall him enough for you to land a killing blow. In a proper duel with official regulations, you would be under far greater scrutiny, for the mind arts are forbidden from most tournaments. In a battle, you’d be hard pressed to pull this trick every time, and that’s not to mention those who are capable of advanced occlumency.”

Harry nodded to the point. It was true that there would be opponents capable of multiple mindstreams like him. Yet Harry also realised just how potent his mind arts were. Many of his greatest triumphs were predicated on it, and frankly, Harry was beginning to wonder about the usefulness of duelling. While it was useful in a pinch, Harry frankly didn’t believe that his ultimate goal was to fight.

“Harry?” Hurst’s interjection drew him from his reverie. “Harry, I know it’s ha-”

“It’s not that, professor,” he chuckled. “I’ve just come to the realisation that I’m probably not going to be a duellist on the level of the titans.”

“What do you mean? You have the talent and the drive for it,” Hurst frowned.

“And what of elemental magic?” he challenged. “I possess no affinity for any of the five. It’s the replication argument: I could do everything the likes of Grindelwald and Dumbledore did and still fall short. It doesn’t make sense for me to invest in this.”

“Your lightning is a secondary element, it’s not necessarily a flaw. How familiar are you with the elemental magics? Just tell me what you know.”

“Not much. They’re some of the most powerful magic in existence because of how raw and primal they are, making them hard to unweave. Gifted people will generally feel an affinity to one of the five elements, which they will instinctively be able to control better. Most individuals of significance are elementals.”

“That’s what most people know,” Hurst nodded with a chuckle, but factually incorrect. “Tell me, would you consider me weak?”

“Of course not,” Harry protested, wondering where the professor was going.

“And would you consider Quirinus powerful?”

“Of course.”

“Professor Ivarin, loathsome though he may be?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted.

“And if I told you all three of us were not elementals?” she finished with a grin. Harry blinked in disbelief.

“You’re joking.”

“No. I have a minor affinity towards metals, but your friend Zakharov, despite being sixteen, already has far more control over air. I could never hope to wandlessly fly, for instance. Ivarin, the witch, is another good example: she can manipulate water to a ridiculous degree of precision. Yet I daresay I could beat both quite handily in a duel,” Hurst shrugged. “And onto the point of magical integrity, let us talk about spells. In the second century, Roman mages on Hadrian’s wall would fire pulses of magic from their wands or staves to knock enemies off the wall. In the eleventh century, mediaeval wizards and witches would cast the fiatus spell, a weak cone of magic that acted like a wall slamming into an individual. Today, a bombarda hex could blast a human to bits, let alone more powerful magic such as a reductors.”

“Magic has innovated, yes. How does this relate to the inherent advantage of elemental magic?”

“Patience,” she chided lightly. “If elemental magic was so powerful, how do you think that not everyone has become an elemental?”

“The great equalisation theory,” Harry supplied, causing Hurst to blink in surprise.

“Yes…yes indeed,” she affirmed with an impressed smile. “Our magic itself is similar. There is a reason why transfiguration still stands the test of time, even runic duelling to an extent. It is because every field left behind will fight hard to recover its status. Elemental magic, while perhaps superior in the old era, is nothing special today.”

“Then how do you explain the fact that every known titan is an elemental?”

“Practice,” Hurst laughed. At Harry’s bemused look, she elaborated, “If you feel a particular affinity for a type of magic, you’re going to naturally focus more attention on developing it. There are plenty of unremarkable elementals, who despite their best efforts are nothing more than mediocre. Of course, there is a heavy bias towards those at the top, and excuses of laziness or lack of aptitude are…conveniently believable. Now, we’ve spent too much time talking and not enough time training.”

Harry barely had time to throw himself to the side before several daggers whistled past him, placing him in the path of a disarming spell. Wandless, Harry’s eyes widened as the daggers arced around, continuing to race towards him.

“You like dodging, then time to play,” Hurst cackled. Harry threw himself into the air, twisting to avoid several daggers. At the same time, several streams of molten rock shot up from the floor, while other parts of the ground turned into anything from spike pits to swamps.

Blinking in disbelief, Harry was given no time to hesitate, hopping on several stones through a swampy mess as the daggers whistled angrily behind him. As they neared, he winced at what was about to come, pumping all the magic he could muster into his legs. Despite the burning sensation, the power amplification was significant, helping him vault into a somersault, avoiding the daggers as they soared past below him.

Landing, he barely felt anything despite the poor landing, the pain from magic charging his muscles already grating on his occlumency. His hair stood up, and he sprinted to the side, avoiding a mouth that emerged from underneath the water surface. Several large, black crocodiles emerged, snapping their jaws hungrily and causing him to groan.

Chapter 22: Spark of Inspiration

Chapter Text

“Sloppy,” Hurst lectured, her whip slipping past his guard and lashing his skin. The razor edges cut lightly, but the wound it left joined the thousands more already on his body. With a flourish of her wand, several metal chains wrapped around him, yanking him to the floor. A moment later, they were dispelled.

“I…hate…you,” Harry wheezed, laying panting on the floor as Hurst looked down on him, a wry smile on her lips.

“I’m touched, Harry,” Hurst chuckled, hoisting him up. Harry winced, his muscles protesting and thousands of small cuts on his body still oozing blood. “That’s enough practice today, I’m not a sad*st, after all.”

Harry gave her a deadpan look, drawing a laugh from the witch. “Now come on, I have another pensive memory prepared. The end of the third battle of Bogojevo.”

--Memory--

With quiet cracks, Amanda and her team landed softly on the grass. Spellfire rained down on them, and she hastily summoned various rocks and debris from the surroundings, transfiguring them into butterflies and having them intercept various spells.

Their enemies quickly switched to blasting spells, but her work bought them time to regain their footing, and they began pushing outwards, knowing that their circle formation left little opportunity to dodge without risking a comrade. When a killing curse soared towards her, she conjured a block of steel, sending it forward to intercept it.

Whirling around, she conjured a small group of butterflies, intercepting a killing curse that would have eliminated her teammate. A second later, she was forced to roll to the side, narrowly avoiding a purple curse she didn’t recognise. Her heart stilled as she heard one of her teammates go down with a cry, but Amanda couldn’t afford to be distracted, channelling her anger by raising several iron spikes and sending them towards the wizards. Rather than continue with other attacks, she began veiling and chanting them, making them more difficult to dispel.

Her opponents, not realising this, mustered together, trying to vanish it before giving up and conjuring a wall of rock. Hurst grinned, weaving her wand as the spikes melted, sinking into the ground. Several moments later, loud screams emerged as the rock wall was blasted apart. But it was too late for the three magicals, who were encased in solidified metal coffins. With a careless flick of her wand, the metal contracted, slowly crushing them alive.

Taking a single moment to appreciate her handiwork, she whirled around, ducking underneath a flame whip. Conjuring a shoto, she allowed the whip to snake around it before yanking, casting a blasting curse at the mid-air wand and causing it to explode in a violent burst of magic.

With a swish of her wand, she summoned pieces of rubble, transfiguring them into several black crocodiles, which surged forward. Her enemies tried to cast various spells, but the creature’s thick hide protected them well, allowing them to surge forward with incredible speed and consume several of the enemy wizards.

More enemies popped onto the battlefield, beginning to fire spells and forcing them all on the defensive. Knowing what she had to do, she ordered, “Circle me!”

Instinctively, they obeyed, allowing her to retreat to the centre as they formed a protective circle around her. Plunging her hand into ground, she felt a shudder as her affinity reached out for the metals in the ground. Hundreds of thousands of speks began to resonate with her, surrendering control to her as she began moving them. Taking stock of where the enemies were, she lifted her hand up, curling her fist and slamming it down into the dirt, glowing blood oozing out of her cut.

The screams of agony began as sharp, jagged molecules of metal began to rise up at high speeds, piercing through the enemy wizards and witches as they desperately shielded to no avail, for the shields did not extend to below them.

Several moments later, she dropped her connection, entire body wracked with spasms as she slowly stood up. Droplets of liquid metal began raining down, many with the colour of blood. Only a few individuals further away survived.

“Retreat!” one of the remaining witches called out, and they all disappeared with a soft pop. Taking a deep breath, Hurst winced as she realised that she hadn’t escaped unscathed, a black wound slowly growing on her abdomen. Casting several quick paralysis charms, she turned to inspect her team, wincing.

Of the thirty that had arrived, only thirteen remained. With low, ominous whistles, several dozen wisps of black smoke jetted towards them.

“Vampires!” one of her team members called out unnecessarily. From the crisp black robes they wore, blood red embroidery leading to a bloodied peony, she knew these to be the elite Vahal fifteen.

“Form up!” she commanded, pulling out a flask of consecrated water, she took a sip before affixing it to her hip. Charging forward, she fired a blast of flames at the nearest vampire that materialised, causing the creature to twist, covering itself with its silky cloak as it leapt backwards. The material shielded it well, only embers appearing on the material.

The vampire bared its fangs at her, a feral grin on its face. She wasn’t intimidated, instead slashing her wand and firing a storm of lightning, thousands of tendrils lighting up the air like a series of nerves with the flesh casing around them removed.

The vampire in question growled angrily, throwing his hands forward and conjuring several vampiric bats. Her lightning lashed out, easily taking them out. With a snarl, he pulled out several daggers, hurling them with unnatural speed. Slashing her wand, Hurst transfigured them into iron spikes, turning them around and sending them back towards him.

With unnatural agility and contortions, he weaved through the projectiles, bounding towards her with crazed desire glinting in his eyes. Hurst conjured several daggers, sending towards the vampire with a flick despite knowing it would only slow him down slightly. Holding her wand with both hands, she plunged the tip into the dirt, causing a huge spike of mud to geyser from the floor, slamming into the vampire mid-leap.

Yet with impossible grace, the vampire somersaulted over it, diving down with a long sword pointed towards her. Taking a breath, she yanked her sword out of the ground, pointing it upwards and yelling, “Sanguis Sangum!”

The vampire’s eyes had only a moment to widen before brilliant white flames spewed out of her wand, shooting at impossible speeds towards the vampire and causing it to scream in agony. Hurst herself had collapsed to one knee in exhaustion, her arms unnaturally white and blood vessels strangely glowing.

In her haze, another vampire knocked her to the ground, prepared to bite her. She spat out the water in her mouth, causing the creature to scream in agony as rays of light shot out from disintegrating skin. Hurriedly kicking the body away, she cast a shield around herself as a bright, blinding light engulfed the area, soul wrenching wails grating on her ears.

“Irene, Targarian Twist!” Hurst barked. Kneeling on the floor, she cut her palm, placing it on the ground and allowing the dirt to glow red. Suddenly, the dirt on the ground began rising up, specks of metallic reflection amongst them. Her body trembled, her vision colouring red for a moment before she looked up to see the result of her work.

Iron spikes had risen from the ground, thousands of them around the entire area. There were spikes on the surface of spikes on the surface of spikes, covering nearly every centimetre of area. “Fire charms, now!”

Despite their shock, her comrades quickly obeyed, lifting their wands and casting flames. Vampires had an uncanny ability to regenerate, with the eldest of vampires allegedly reviving from a single drop of blood. The smell of sulphur spread in the air as black plumes exploded everytime a vampire was destroyed. Layer by layer, she lowered the spikes, allowing them to move further out and continue their work.

Suddenly feeling woozy, she uncorked a blood replenishing potion and a pepper-up. Her body would be completely out of it within twelve hours, but deep in enemy lines, she needed her A-game if she wanted to be alive in an hour, let alone twelve.

Turning to check on Irene, she quickly rushed to the girl’s side, catching her as her swaying gave way to collapse. Quickly pulling out several potions, she poured them down her protege’s mouth, massaging her throat to get her to swallow. Slowly, colour returned to her cheeks, her chest beginning to rise and fall once again as she slowly blinked awake.

“Hey,” she chuckled weakly, before heaving and coughing out blood. Amanda quickly supported her, rubbing her back as she coughed out blackened pus. A minute later, her system seemed to have cleared, evident from the lessened flickers in her aura.

“Hey yourself,” Hurst chuckled weakly, brushing some of Irene’s hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to head back to base?”

“Nope,” she grinned cheerily.

“Stubborn bastard,” Amanda accused half-heartedly.

“I learned from the best,” she grinned cheekily. Despite her roll of the eyes, Amanda couldn’t help an affectionate smile.

“Then be careful, okay? If the first wave consisted of the fifteen…well I don’t want to think what’s in store for us,” Amanda admitted. .

“But we got them,” Irene frowned. Hurst sighed, amused by the girl’s naivety.

“They were sent to weaken us. We’re at a tenth of our strength after that trick, and no doubt whatever is ahead will be even stronger.”

“E…even stronger?” Irene blinked. “Short of Voldemort himself…I jinxed it, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the dark lord has bigger prey than us,” Amanda chuckled, though whether to reassure Irene or herself, she could not be certain.

“Ma’am, it’s done,” Luvan called out. Nodding tiredly, she spared Irene another glance. Receiving an unwavering glint of determination, she smiled wryly, striding forward and casting detecting charms around them, nodding in satisfaction at the lack of any presences revealed in the vicinity.

“Is everyone good to go?” she looked at each of the standing members, who nodded solemnly. Resolutely, they cast flame charms at the corpses of their fallen comrades, before advancing along the path that would lead them to the besieged village.

As they reached the top of the mound, Amanda took a look to survey the scene, blinking incredulously as neither the wall of defenders nor the army of besiegers were anywhere to be seen. Beside her, equal looks of shock and confusion were visible on the rest of the team’s members.

“Something’s wrong,” Irene muttered darkly. “I suppose we’re going to investigate?”

“Command will want to know what’s happening,” Hurst sighed, torn between investigating and retreating. “Irene, you and Macks go back to command to report the situation.”

“Don’t send me away. Aside from you, I’m the most capable fighter here,” Irene protested. Amanda glared at the girl, though she did not back down. “You need someone to watch your back against…whatever this is.”

Seeing she wouldn’t back down, Hurst conceded reluctantly. “Fine, Macks and Irx, you two go back to base. Let them know that the town has fallen.”

“Yes ma’am,” the two saluted before tugging their portkeys and disappearing in flashes. The rest of the squad instinctively formed up around her, and she began leading them towards the town.

The streets were completely barren. Not even insects or strays could be heard. She could feel her heartbeat drumming in her chest, blood pumping anxiously as she fingered her wand, which did not offer the usual sense of warmth and confidence. Observing several of the fire pits ahead, she frowned at the realisation they were freshly burned out.

“Luvan, when was last contact?”

“Three days ago, ma’am,” the wizard answered grimly. “Duvie is many things, but incompotent or traitor are not amongst them. There’s no way the town fell.”

“I beg to differ,” a soft voice interrupted, causing all to whirl around. They quickly fanned out, leaving enough space that a single blasting curse wouldn’t wipe them all out. Against their enemy, it was probably pointless, yet they still had to try. In front of them, the dark lord Voldemort stood, wand lazily at his side pointed towards the ground, malevolent red eyes staring at them. “Incredible, how the senses can be fooled, no?”

“What do you want, Riddle?” Hurst demanded. The wizard’s eyes narrowed, before his head tilted back in a laugh.

“Amanda Hurst…how long I’ve waited to meet you. And you’ve even brought your protege Irene Ivarin,” he mused.

“Portkeys now,” Hurst ordered, but the dark lord raised a fist, curling the fingers inward as their portkeys’ magic shattered, the medals now perfectly inert as though never touched by magic.

“The others may leave,” he offered Hurst. Swallowing to hide her nervousness, she gave a single nod, hearing several cracks of apparition. Snapping her head to her side, Amanda scowled at the sight of Irene still standing there.

“Wh-”

“I’m not leaving you here, not with him,” she spat, glaring at the dark lord. Voldemort was unconcerned by her vitriol, twirling his wand without a care in the world.

“Irene, please.”

“It’s my choice,” she retorted.

“As touching as this is,” Voldemort interrupted, “I do have a schedule to keep to. Avada Kedavra.”

Quickly, Hurst summoned several pieces of rubble, transfiguring them into steel butterflies, which intercepted the curse. With a flick of her wand, they began darting towards Voldemort, who eyed them with lazy contempt, thrusting his hand out and conjuring a pillar of flames. Tendrils extended out of it, swatting at the approaching butterflies with ruthless efficiency.

With a snarl, Hurst leaped into action, summoning various pieces of rubble and transfiguring them into golems. Beside her, Irene had snapped her wand, conjuring metal spears and hurling them at Voldemort. Hurst knew she was veiling them, making it harder to untangle.

At least a hundred attacks were heading to the dark lord, yet with a gesture of his hand, a huge dome of flames enclosed him, completely obliterating every conjured and transfigured attack heading towards them.

“Keep attacking,” she barked at Irene, meanwhile summoning pieces of rubble and beginning to weave them into large golems. She could feel the sweat dripping from her brow at the exertion, but pressed on, ignoring the burning heat of her wand as three golems each five stories high began lumbering forward. Breathing heavily, Hurst summoned more pieces of rubble, transfiguring them into large spears and hurling them forward before firing off various spells ranging from reductors to the warhammer curse.

The flames swallowed all with seemingly no effect. When her golems finally reached their target, they slammed their rocky fists down, only for their bodies to crack, red flames spreading from within and causing them to explode violently. Fragments of what remained orbited Voldemort, who had dispelled the flames.

With a snap of his fingers, hundreds of fireballs the size of bears orbited around him as he levitated into the air, his entire body surrounded by a coil of flames. The two witches watched with horrified awe as the leviathan flicked his finger lazily, causing the fireballs to descend rapidly towards them.

The few transfigurations they threw at the magic did little, and the sheer veiling meant Amanda had little hope of untangling their magic despite her proficiency. Taking a breath, she cast a gouging charm beneath them, grabbing Irene and hurriedly firing blasting curses, burying them underneath a huge mound of dirt.

Suddenly, the ground began to tremble, before the earth below them exploded out, hurling the two out into the air, their bodies hurled to the floor with little care. With a malevolent gleam, the dark lord hissed, “You cannot escape me so easily!”

Entire buildings around them began to be crushed as reality itself distorted, suddenly, thousands of tendrils lashed out from all directions. Amanda relied on her instinct, leaping through and twisting past some tendrils while blasting or shielding against others. Casting a quick cutting charm on her hand, she yelled, “To thélima tou theoú ekkenónetai.”

A huge burst of light erupted from her, destroying all the tendrils as her body collapsed limply to the ground. Her head sideways on the dirt and a ringing sound in her ears, Amanda nevertheless clambered up, swaying uneasily as she tried to reach Irene.

A huge wall of flames rose up between them, and Hurst turned to see the bemused visage of Voldemort. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Fine,” she snarled, plunging her hand into the dirt and allowing the blood to flow freely. Millions of specks of metal began to rise up around her, slowly morphing into several hundred metal spheres. Voldemort merely raised an eyebrow, commanding his orbs of fire to orbit himself. Hurst’s body shuddered at the toll it was being forced to endure, her skin beginning to crack and peel to reveal the flesh underneath.

Yet Hurst let out a guttural yell, thrusting her free hand forward and sending the metal orbs hurtling towards the dark lord. With a twist of his hand, the dark lord morphed the air into several solid shields orbiting him, yet Hurst had not finished, thrusting her wand and causing the balls to explode, a cloud of metallic dust searing towards the dark lord.

Yet Voldemort did nothing to resist the attack, allowing the cloud to surround his body. Where the attack had turned powerful wizards and witches inside out, Voldemort weathered as though it were a light drizzle.

Irene fired a flurry of spells, but with a raise of his hand, the spells literally broke with wails in the air, the magical backlash slamming into the ruins of a building. Amanda had little time to worry about that, firing a lightning spell in hopes of electrocuting the dark lord. With a mocking grin, he opened his mouth, and spewed out flames, which surrounded him until he was completely encased by it. So bright was his magic that Amanda couldn’t look at it directly, firing spells blindly. Suddenly, a force constricted around her, forcing her to her knees as Voldemort descended from the sky like a vengeful god.

“Crucio,” the dark lord intoned lazily. The spell moved with mocking slowness, but when it struck her body, Amanda’s world dissolved into nothing but pain. Every cruciatus she had ever felt did not compare, for she could already feel her soul wailing in agony. Her attempts to reinforce her occlumency merely did more damage, her mindscape quickly fragmenting. “So weak…let us see if you’re hiding something. Legilimens!”

Her mind was in shreds, and Amanda felt the dark lord rummaging through her mind, helpless to do anything. Every fear, object of hatred, source of love, it was all laid bare.

“Avada Kedavra!” Amanda felt her heart stop as the dark lord turned her attention towards a trembling Irene, who looked down at her wand incredulously.

“Silly girl, it is not as though you can simply say the words and use the wand motions,” Voldemort laughed mockingly. “Or did the dear professor here not teach you?”

“She taught me enough,” Irene spat despite her evident fear, launching into an assault. Voldemort’s hold on her slackened, allowing her to breathe easily. Shakily, Amanda stood, with a swish of her wand conjuring a metallic whip. Voldemort’s back was turned and she slashed out, charging it with magic in a desperate hope of landing a killing blow.

WIthout even turning to acknowledge her, Voldemort raised a hand, grabbing the whip and allowing it to coil around his hand. With a yank, Amanda’s wand was torn from her hands, falling limply to the ground.

“Crucio!” Amanda winced, but the expected pain did not come. Instead, it was her apprentice’s screams that tore through the air. With desperation, she drew her sword, stabbing it through the dark lord’s chest. To her horror, only a laugh escaped his lips as he turned, the blade still protruding from his body with her hands attached to the hilt.

Belatedly, she felt the pain of a blade through her abdomen, looking down to see the dark lord had stabbed her.

And then she was flying through the air, kicked away by the dark lord like a nuisance, landing on the ground with a thud.

“Can’t you see, Ivarin? Your master is weak…pathetic…helpless. Join me, and I can make you more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”

“I’ll never join the likes of you,” Ivarin spat. Amanda hoisted herself up on one arm, summoning her wand with a desperate thrust of the hand. As soon as her loyal companion soared into her grasp, she relished the pang of warmth that spread, quickly weaving various healing charms that would allow her to function somewhat normally.

“Then you have chosen…poorly.” She watched helplessly as Irene was lifted into the air, her legs kicking helplessly as the life was slowly choked out of her. Moments before killing, Voldemort flung her towards Amanda, who cast a cushioning charm, slowing her descent.

“This is the best the infamous Amanda Hurst and her protege can do?” the wizard sniffed. Suddenly, the rubble around soared into the air, morphing into thousands of silver darts, which began whistling as they spun quick enough to cause whirlwinds in the surrounding air. Dozen at a time, they launched themselves towards the two witches. Hurst raised a dome of stone around them, transfiguring it into steel and pressing her palm against it, trying to reinforce the metal with her affinity. Beside her, Irene was weaving powerful enchantments, trying to buy them some time.

“Gah!” Hurst screamed as a long spike penetrated through the metal and through her palm, which rapidly began to wither. “I can’t hold the barrier. Disapparate now!”

“Together on three,” Irene instead proffered. “Three, two, one, now!”

Hurst disapparated with a crack, breathing a sigh of relief as she landed in a familiar patch of grass. Several other members of the Revanchists quickly rushed to her, but she only looked around in panic, a sinking realisation that Irene had not apparated alongside her.

“I have to go back!” she exclaimed, twisting with a crack. She was slammed into the edge of a ward and stumbled back. Quickly beginning to weave a hole, it was unnecessary as the wards fell moments later. Rushing in, she winced at the smell of sulphur in the air, but pushed through, yelling out, “Irene! Irene!”

At the centre of the town square, a metal pyre with the mangled corpse of Irene was present, her body twitching. Rushing to her side, she cast all the healing spells she could, yet it was no use. There was no spark of recognition in her eyes. A brief scan of legilimency caused her to stagger back at the sheer chaos that was her mindscape, completely warped into something non-human. Tears fell freely from her eyes, even as she was roughly shoved aside. Looking up weakly, she saw Isard rushing to the body, cradling her in his arms as the corpse slowly withered until only sickly black droplets remained.

--Memory--

“Th…that was Voldemort?” Harry breathed incredulously, sweat dripping from his forehead. Even with Ivarin’s memory of Grindelwald and Voldemort, the titans had not seemed completely insurmountable. Strong magic, yes, but nothing more than mastery. Yet Voldemort here had been toying with Hurst, not a scratch on him as he obliterated every single one of her attacks. Despite it not being his affinity, the wizard had used metal against Hurst. “How…how can one even go up against someone like that?”

“You train,” Hurst answered simply, lifting up her robes to show a nasty scar oozing black pus. “You pick yourself up and you continue trying, because that’s the only way. If anyone can surpass him, I believe it to be you. You defeated him while still sleeping in a crib.”

“It was a fluke, an irreplicable anomaly,” Harry protested. “It’s not like if Voldemort appeared today, I could do the same thing.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Hurst nodded, “but in time, perhaps.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Harry, I don’t do this to discourage you, quite the opposite. I do this to show you what’s needed. You cannot expect to rely solely on your admittedly talented mind arts. The likes of Voldemort demand your best to just survive. Now, let’s practice your whip again, shall we?”

Harry nodded, a determined glint in his eye as he thrust his wand forward, conjuring his whip of lightning.

--Break--

“Harry, I’m done with the proposal. Can you have a look over for me?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed, taking the parchment in his hand, chuckling as Delphi laid her head in his lap, wiggling around in a demand for attention. With one hand massaging her scalp and half an ear on her mewls, he began reading through the proposal. The contents were nothing out of the ordinary, merely diverting more funds and authorising the construction of new facilities for quidditch teams, proposing setting up a network with various professional teams and so on. There were more minute details on the specifications of such work, agreed through arduous conversations with various quidditch fanatics. “I see no problems, is your speech ready?”

“Yep,” Delphi chriped. “I’ve already rehearsed it several times. We’ll need roughly another fifty guilds to support our motion, but I don’t think that should be a big issue if we play this right.”

‘Hoot!’

“Hedwig, welcome back! Had a good flight?” Harry grinned as his owl did a twirl in the air before landing on Delphi’s face, beaming proudly.

‘Hoot!’

“Glad to hear it,” he laughed, tickling her beak before giving her feathers a soft ruffle. “Do you have a letter for me?”

‘Hoot!’ Hedwig bobbed her head up and down, extending her talon. Carefully untying it, Harry summoned over a rat, unshrinking and unpetrifying it before tossing it to the ground. ‘Hoot!’

Hopping off Delphi’s face, Hedwig swooped down, easily mauling the rat and beginning to feast on its body. Meanwhile, Harry unfurled the letter, the slight scent of perfume letting him know it was from Daphne.

“Who’s that from?” Delphi asked with a scowl, rubbing her face from where Hedwig had perched.

“An old acquaintance, Daphne Greengrass,” Harry answered. “Haven’t I told you about her?”

“Not much,” Delphi shrugged, shuffling until she was wrapped around his back like a backpack, her shoulder on his shoulder. Harry chuckled at the non-subtle attempt to read the letter.

Dear Harry,

I’m so glad you wrote back. Your warning about the headmaster was most appreciated, meeting him was most…unpleasant. He’s planning something in regards to you, no doubt on that. I’ll try and dig around to see what I can find…by Merlin, he had us all fooled. If only Malfoy knew what lay beneath that benevolent mask.

Thank you for the recommendations, at this point I’m not surprised you’ve figured out my subject choices. Funnily enough, we’re going to be offered advanced classes after Easter to ease the transition into electives. Apparently with the new changes, a lot of students broke down or dropped subjects. Oh, and Granger of all people was forced into remedial classes for DADA and transfiguration. Girl actually had a row with McGonagall over that and was put in detention. Though I suppose I can’t laugh too much, I was put into the same remedial classes along with herbology. Ugh, if I have to listen to one more lecture on Chinese Chomping Cabbages, I swear I’ll make a stir fry out of them. No idea what that means, but Su Li told me that’s apparently a saying.

A lot of Hogwarts’ life has been sucked out of it. We have classes from morning to night, seven days a week. Pretty much all extra-curricular clubs have been cancelled, quidditch included. I will say, learning directly from aurors is amazing. They’ve even moved some of the trainee program to the grounds, Tonks and several others are really being put through the grinder!

Snape’s still an unbearable git as always, apparently Dumbledore’s put him on probation. Can’t take away house points or give detentions anymore. They’ve found a few other potion masters and mistresses to supplement him because pretty much every non-Slytherin who takes the subject is in remedial classes.

Believe it or not, I managed to take Longbottom under my wing. He’s actually close to testing out of remedial lessons! It’s hard, but definitely fun. No doubt worth it given his future prospects as well. I swear you’ve rubbed off far too much on me…

Anyways, apparently Rosier managed to make French news. She placed third in some sort of U17 triathlon featuring duelling, potion brewing and corralling creatures. I’ve attached the clipping below, just thought you might want to know.

As much as my ass protests this, I’ll admit that I miss our spars. Duelling just isn’t the same after what you put me through. Perhaps we can meet over the summer, if you’re not too busy? I may have blabbled a bit about you to my new friends; needless to say they’re rather hopeful of meeting you.

Well that’s all from me for now. Hope to hear from you soon.

Love,

Daphne

Looking down, he saw Delphi had an unreadable expression and frowned. “Del, you okay?”

“Just fine,” she murmured unhappily. Harry sighed, flicking her on the nose.

“You can tell me what’s wrong. That’s what couples do, you know. Talk about their problems.”

“Who’s Daphne?”

“An old acquaintance. I taught her a few tricks, built her up as a counterweight to Malfoy,” Harry answered. “She’s a decent duellist, intelligent and cunning. Also the heiress of her family; she’ll be a useful tool in the future.”

“Tool?” Delphi arched an eyebrow. Harry shrugged.

“To call her an ally would suggest we’re equals, and that’s not the case. She’s an asset against the blood-supremacists of Hogwarts, not to mention that her debt and infatuation with myself means she’ll be useful if I ever return to that school,” Harry explained clinically. “Greengrass is an insurance policy, nothing more.”

“And what about Rosier?” Delphi pressed.

“What about her?” Harry co*cked his head. A brief flashback of the marketplace returned, though he clamped down on the memory. “Just a friendship of convenience, perhaps a passing infatuation. There’s nothing more to it.”

“You’re not telling the whole truth,” Del accused, eyes narrowed towards him. “Why?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry deflected smoothly, though her triumphant gleam suggested he was fooling no one.

“Talk, Harry. I won’t judge.”

“Are you sure about that?” Harry challenged. “How can you be sure about that?”

“Because we’re better than that,” she grunted, poking him in the chest. “And because I don’t break promises I make to you. Don’t make me ask a third time, unless you want me to beg?”

“I thought she was the one,” Harry shrugged, wincing as Delphi flinched at the admission. “Out of the orphanage, she was the first person I met. I thought fate had given me a chance to find kinship…but it wasn’t meant to last. Do you know about the Dervalender?”

“The dreamwalk daisy?” she frowned. “What about it?”

“I encountered the plant shortly before arriving at Durmstrang on the outskirts of a Christmas market. All alone, watching couples, families, groups of friends walk around merrily…and there I was all alone in a foreign land. And then I saw her…the girl that had been the source of so many dreams and nightmares returning to my side. It was like an angel appearing from the horizon, offering salvation. And then I woke up, strewn on the snowy ground, all alone,” Harry recalled bitterly. Delphi was blinking tears away. “It was a fantasy. Why would she have turned her back on her family for me? What use did I offer her except as a source of information? Just a toy to be played with and discarded when the next new thing comes along?”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. “I’m so, so sorry, Harry.”

“No…it’s good to finally get that off the chest,” Harry admitted tiredly, placing a kiss on her forehead. “But we’ll be different, I know it.”

“How do you know that?” she blinked, co*cking her head. Harry chuckled darkly.

“Because if I’m wrong, then there’ll be no coming back for me.”

--Break--

“Oyez, oyez, oyez,” the congress master slammed down his gavel. The chamber was much less packed than in the last session, with only a hundred or so representatives present, leaving the chamber feeling rather empty. “I declare the fifth session of the five hundred fifteenth congress open. On the agenda currently, is congresswitch Rowle’s proposal to introduce an expansion for non-academic related activities at Durmstrang. Congresswitch, you have the floor.”

Harry gave Delphi a smile and a squeeze of the hand. Despite rehearsing plenty, she was still somewhat nervous. The whispers and points, many questioning why he wasn’t the one speaking, no doubt did little to help.

“Thank you, honourable chair. I stand before you today with a proposal to increase funding for various non-academic activities. Having studied past debates on this matter, it is clear to me that reform is urgently needed.

For over half a century, Durmstrang’s extra-curricular activities have been limited to sharing one dilapidated quidditch pitch without proper ventilation. It is inconceivable to me that this has been allowed to stand for so long, and I believe that urgent funding and investment into the program is vital to support our students in their pursuit of excellence in non-academic fields. I look forward to a fruitful debate. Thank you.”

Sitting down, the muttering from the others began. Malcolm looked apocalyptic, his wand actually giving off small sparks in addition to lighting up. The congress master called upon him, and the boy rose. “Thank you, chair. I find myself surprised that my esteemed colleague would bring up such an issue and waste the assembly’s time. In spite of many other pressing issues, she has elected to revitalise an age-old debate long settled in an attempt to galvanise support for her own political aims. I find it outrageous that we are sitting here humouring this, and call upon my fellow representatives to censure her.”

Murmurs grew, the atmosphere turning decidedly hostile against them. Delphi was trembling slightly, but Harry squeezed her hand, channelling a slight burst of magic. “You got this.”

“Thanks,” she gulped, standing up as the congress master gestured for her.

“Thank you honourable chair. I admit to being disappointed that my colleague would dismiss the conversation without any meaningful engagement. It is this hostility towards non-academic subjects that has disillusioned so many at Durmstrang from participating in the political process. Considering that over two hundred guilds have written in support of this bill, I find it hard to consider it a waste of time. I implore those in this assembly with a shred of dignity and honour to engage in this debate with good faith. Thank you.”

One of Malcom’s goons raised their wands, and were called upon. “Thank you, honourable chair. While admirable to represent the interests of different parties, the fact remains that Durmstrang is foremost a school of academics. We are not known for quidditch or gobstones or other things. The competition for funds between subjects is fierce enough; introducing non-academic subjects to the mix would be madness. Those who intend to pursue other avenues are free to join alternative schools that specialise in different areas. It is a philosophical imperative that simply must be honoured. Thank you.”

Looking around, only Delphi had her wand raised, for no others seemed to want to speak in favour of the bill. “Thank you honourable chair. I applaud my colleague for engaging with the topic, however misguided I believe he is. Durmstrang is a school for excellence. Not excellence in academics. Not excellence in duelling. Simply excellence. Despite the harsh entry requirements to the school, many of our students have found the drive and ability to excel in academics while pursuing other paths of exploration. On the matter of resource scarcity, I do not believe this to be a long term issue. Let’s use quidditch as an example: we can get sponsorships from brands, from quidditch clubs, perhaps even from alumni. Moreover, I think you’d be hard pressed to argue that quidditch players do not have a great influence on our society, from the wealth and fame they accumulate to the networking opportunities they provide. What does it matter if they are a world class academic, researcher, duellist or sportsman, so long as they bring glory and opportunity to Durmstrang? This is not a matter of philosophy, but simply practicality. No matter your beliefs, would you be willing to forsake such an opportunity as a matter of pride?”

The murmurs definitely grew this time, from the back-benchers on either side as well as the neutrals present. Several more passionate speeches were given by both side, yet the momentum had decidedly shifted from its original hostility.

“I can’t believe this might actually work!” Delphi whispered excitedly. Harry chuckled, squeezing her thigh.

“You’ve done well, Del. Networking with the back-benchers behind my back? Should I be worried?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she grinned innocently. Harry rolled his eyes, lightly flicking her on the ear. Several more speeches later, and all sides were exhausted. Malcom looked like he wanted to blow a gasket, but his filibuster could only last so long with limited support. As the votes were tallied, they had won by a supermajority.

“Very well, the motion has passed. Resolution 1992-015 will be sent to the highmaster for approval. Unles-congress wizard?”

“Given their role in bringing the legislation to life, I propose that congress wizard Potter and congress witch Rowle be responsible for presenting the case to the highmaster and the board,” the wizard proposed.

“Agreed,” the congress master nodded, pleased with the proposal. Harry placed a firm hand on Delphi, preventing her from protesting.

“Trust me,” he whispered softly. Reluctantly, she nodded her assent, clearly displeased.

“Then the session is closed,” the wizard banged his gavel. Harry and Delphi mingled with several of the other neutrals, accepting congratulations for their passed legislation. Delphi really stepped into her element, effortlessly charming those around her and using humour to lower their guards. He himself took a more passive, observing role, waiting until the chamber was practically empty. The duo walked into one of the conference rooms, both casting privacy charms.

“Right, want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. “They’ve made us represent the assembly because they believe we will fail in promoting the legislation. However, even assuming that is the case, this is far too invaluable an opportunity to miss. Access to both the board and highmaster is hard to come by, and we can advance our own side projects in the available time.”

“You…expect us to fail?” Delphi frowned.

“No, but I would be a fool not to prepare for the possibility,” Harry chuckled. “Both the highmaster and the board are unknowns to me; if nothing else, the insight I will get into their thinking will have made this exercise worth it.”

“Plans within plans,” Delphi sighed. “Sometimes, I’m both dying to know how that mind of yours works…yet also frightened of what I’ll find.”

--Break--

Striding into the master’s section of the dark arts library, he ignored the envious looks from the adepts present, beginning to scan the shelves for what he needed. Several of the books were kept sealed behind chains. One was actually held in a stasis charm, glowing an ominous purple.

The dark magic leeching in the air was palpable, an oppressive air of dread, temptation and lust filling his senses. Even his occlumency could only do so much, but Harry forced through the haze, scanning through the tomes until he found what he was looking for.

A tome with a glowing, fiery skull on its cover, Harry dragged it out, heading to one of the study areas. Thankfully, the wards reduced the ambience to a mere tizzle compared to the suffocating constriction in the library proper. Laying it on the table, he frowned as he realised the skull housed a rotating wheel with various runic symbols on it. Taking a breath, he traced a finger over the edge, feeling the magic and allowing it to guide him.

Instinctually, his hand reached out, reaching over the turner and beginning to move it slowly, until the first ring clicked into place. Turning the other way, he continued to turn several cycles, watching the runes on its surface shift and morph into different shapes. Stopping as he heard another click, Harry began turning the final wheel, waiting and waiting. Three cycles…four cycles…five…the click finally came, and the skull’s flames receded as a resounding clicking sound emerged.

Carefully, he opened the cover, wincing at the cloud of dust that came out. Blowing softly, the blank pages became covered with blood red script.

Realm magic is one of the most dangerous arts one can attempt. Many who attempt to learn its secrets suffer a fate worse than death. The journey to unveiling such secrets is tumultuous; if someone has succeeded, then it is not public knowledge. This book attempts to chronicle what little is known about the art and offer insights into how one can begin their descent.

Magic cannot be created or destroyed: perhaps one of the most universal tenants we are taught. For all the manipulation of it, we have never been able to truly create or destroy it. Despite this, historical records seem to indicate that the world enters through cycles of magical growth and decline. Ley lines and Yel lines constantly exhibit an imbalance in magic entering and departing our surroundings. There are many theories, but realm magic is based on the conjecture that there are other realms through which magic can be transferred.

Perhaps the most famous alleged example of use of such magic is King Solomon, who supposedly used such magic to face off against demonic and eldritch entities from other realms. While only hearsay and never replicated to such an extent, supposed use of ‘demonic magic’ or ‘angelic magic’ have been demonstrated by certain individuals throughout history. The greatest example of the former is demonic mist, which corrupts the mind and soul, while one of the latter is the exorcism elixir, which purges all deviant behaviour. Of course, whether these are truly realm magic or simply extensions of more mundane branches of other types of magic remains hotly contested.

Among alleged practitioners of such magic, it is universally agreed that ritualistic sacrifice is necessary to tear a breach and create an interdimensional rift that bridges the realms. The mechanics of such are far from universally agreed even within the small community of practitioners, though yet another commonality is the importance of astrology and celestial alignments.

While no public knowledge is available on how they are interlinked, assuming the assumptions thus far are correct, there is significant correlation between fluxes of magical imbalance on the planet with particular celestial alignments. Without the ability to travel to other planets, stars and galaxies, it is virtually impossible to verify anything beyond through logical progressions or conjecture.

Harry continued reading, yet beyond the first few pages, it was more speculation than anything, and he quickly stowed away the book. Continuing perusing through the shelves, he found little else that was of use in regards to such magic.

Disappointed but not surprised, he frowned, taking an opportunity to explore the catalogue. Reading through the various titles, he frowned when he saw several entries were redacted, with Grindelwald’s mark replacing the letters. With a curious hum, he tucked it in his pocket, departing the library more determined than ever to unravel the dark lord’s mysteries.

--Break--

“Most of you have made adequate progress in developing basic carving techniques. Those who have not ought to reconsider their place in this class,” professor Aribage lectured. “Now that we have gone over the basic incisions and exploitation techniques, you will begin working on carving actual runes. I have brought in master students Xekoi and Mevic to supervise. You will have the next ten weeks to practise and familiarise yourself. Not just in accuracy, but speed as well. But let me go over your end of year examinations.

While in your novice classes, you only had an end of year examination to contend with. A pass will be sufficient to place you in a disciple class. However, this year, you will have the opportunity to pursue an advanced independent project. Doing well on this project will allow you to progress directly to advanced or even mastery classes. However be warned that I will not judge projects lightly. No matter your age or experience, context will not be taken into account, only results. There are those among you who have spent time since last year coming up with a project.

To give you some examples of past projects, Xekoi jerry-rigged two modified Rimannic clusters to a sufficiently stable degree, and Mevic created different alloys, including one that has superior properties to the current international standard of iron-titanium composite. Now, that will be all. I look forward to seeing some of you next year.”

With that, the professor waddled off, leaving Harry blinking stunned. Turning to Anviel, he frowned. “Are professors like this?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised by the amount of contact time we’ve had,” the boy shrugged. “The professor’s shown up maybe three or four times in my inductee charms class. Arithmancy has been similar to this class, the professor basically said he wouldn’t show up anymore and left us to self-study. It’s not uncommon, because they usually ramp up expectations on adept and master students.”

“Huh,” Harry nodded, surprised. “Would you be interested in a little side-project?”

“Sure,” Anviel agreed quickly. Harry smiled, pulling out the ledger he had taken from the library. “What’s this?”

“Someone’s obscured the lettering. I want to figure out what it says,” Harry pointed towards the Grindelwaldian marks. Anviel’s eyes narrowed before he nodded determinedly. “I’ll see what I can do.”