Harry Potter and the vanished years - Arthur_Cowo - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Tired

Chapter Text

“Sometimes I wish I could just leave” he says. The words feel so forbidden and raw on his tongue that he almost chokes and instantly wishes he could pull them back in.

“Why can you not leave?”

“Too much responsibility. Too much to do still.”

“But are they really responsibilities?”

“Yes.” Sometimes, this incredibly sharp woman asks the dumbest questions.

Her gaze goes soft. “I mean that in the broader sense, Mr. Potter. A lot of responsibilities are just there because we make it so.” He frowns, and then she continues. “If I didn't want to be a mind healer anymore I could tell all my clients that my office will be shut down and then quit. I chose to be a mind healer. Do you choose to be at all the trials and the rebuilding of Hogwarts that you told me about?”

“Yes…” And here they are again. Why does she not believe him?

“Do you want it?”

“Yes.”

“But you just said that you wish to leave sometimes.” Her gaze flicks to the clock on the wall behind him. “Mr. Potter. Please think about the following question whenever you make a decision until your next appointment. Even small decisions, like your morning tea or coffee. Make it your mantra. Repeat it out loud or write it in a notebook whenever you can. ‘Do I want this?’ And with that I will see you next week.” She smiles and rises, guiding him to the door to her small waiting area.

“Yes, see you next week” he says with a weak smile.

Her waiting area consists of three velvet armchairs, a fireplace and a small desk where her secretary scribbles in a notebook.

“What does she mean by that”, he mumbles, as he staggers out of the floo and onto the small sofa at Grimmauld Place. After many failed floo landings he had decided to just put the sofa right in front of the fireplace, to avoid falling flat on his nose again. Well, he does know what she means. And deep down, when it's midnight and he is all by himself, he knows that it is a problem of his. That he still thinks he has to … to save… to help? To find the right word is hard. Duty might describe it. That he had some kind of duty regarding the wizarding world. He sighs, deep, and decides right there to take her words seriously. Do I want this? Do. I. Want. This?

Miss Taney is an American woman. She doesn't know much about him or wizarding Britain, and that's exactly why he chose her. It was important that his mind healer was not blinded by fame or appreciation or worse, thanking him over and over again, falling to their knees like it happens on the streets.

The end of the war happened a few months ago and of course all the world knows what happened to varying degrees. The death eater trials are still going on, Hogwarts is in the last stages of reparation for the new school year in September. McGonagall even offered him and all others of his year to return, to take their NEWTs. And a year ago, he would have wanted that, to get his NEWTs to become an auror. But now? He isn't sure. Even a single thought about Hogwarts, the dust in the corridors, the rows of bodies in the great hall, makes him sick. He isn't sure of anything right now and on top of that he is exhausted. It took a few weeks with Miss Taney to admit it and a few more to admit it to his friends. But still, wizarding Britain will not and can never leave him alone. The daily prophet is the first of many that hold a steady onslaught on his person. He has gotten invitations to parties, family gatherings, public events, political meetings at the ministry and even births to give his blessings. And above all of that he feels like he hasn't gotten a single minute to grieve the ones he lost. Yes. Sometimes he wishes he could leave. To be utterly alone. To be unknown. So that he can process and cope, and grieve. But he isn't allowed, there is still so much to do. Just a few days after the war he and Hermione started to help with the political landscape. Many people were arrested and many more were freed. Occasionally, there are still hostage victims found in some families’ dungeons. Like Mandy Broklehurst, a muggleborn Ravenclaw of their year who was found captive in Nott Manor. Ron and Harry are both in the emergency auror task force that was put together. They don't really work for the ministry and don't do any field work, but they helped with intel and strategies. The shortage of staff in general is worrying.

“Kreacher”

The elf immediately pops into existence right next to him “Yes master?”

“Could you please get me …” He pauses and remembers the words of Miss Taney ‘Do I want this?’ “Get me some black tea with sugar and milk on the side please.”

“Yes master, right away sir.”

He would love to use a different room than the dark lounge but it is honestly also one of the most inhabitable rooms available, except for the room he sleeps in, which is just dark, but not suffocating. And not so bad as the study for example. He has to refurbish the whole house if he considers making it his permanent residence, which he thinks he will. He is not really sure. As it is with anything nowadays. But god's, there is so much to do and it just doesn't end!

The first two months he stayed with the Weasleys at the burrow, but a few days after his eighteenth birthday party he had moved here. It was his house and he had decided he was stable enough on his own. He had begun to visit Miss Taney sometime in June, after a very severe night terror had him screaming so hard the whole burrow was awake again. Then Hermione had finally put her foot down and got him the addresses of a few mind healers.

Kreacher pops back with a tray and puts it onto the low table next to the sofa. The tea smells delicious and steam rises from the pot.

“Thanks, Kreacher.”

Right then, the fire roars and Ron steps out of the flames and almost topples over him.

“Harry! Why are you so close to the fire? Are you cold?” He chuckles and sits next to him.

“No, I decided to put the sofa closer so I don't fall to the floor anymore when I step out of the floo.”

“Ah, clever. Mum asks if you want apple tart or blueberry tart on Sunday, she can't decide and sent me to ask you. As if no one else could make that decision. Honestly, if she wants a guest to make that decision she could just ask Hermione or even Bill or Fleur, but no. So your answer?”

“Oh I'd like both, really. I don't care.” As much as he loves Molly, she is so intrusive sometimes. Ron is right, why does he have to decide?

Ron blinks. “Please decide, just pick one.” He almost pleads.

“Blueberry then.”

“Thank god.” Ron stands and steps back into the floo. But then he turns around and watches him for a few seconds. “You alright mate?”

Harry gives him a bitter smile. To admit that he is not okay is still hard. “No, not really. I've just come back from Miss Taney.”

“I see. My appointment is tomorrow. I know how hard it is. Especially when they ask very personal questions, right? But I force myself to go there each time, because somehow, it does help.”

“Yeah, I know.” He takes a sip of steaming tea, just to do something.

“Tell me if you want to talk about it. You know where you can find us.”

He nods and Ron turns around again.

“The burrow” And is gone.

Harry puts the cup down, adds a bit of sugar and milk and tastes it again. He never tried tea like this. But he wants to try. Yes, he decides. Small steps count too. He will try new things from now on, things he wants.

After the war he didn't tell any soul about what exactly happened to him in the battle of Hogwarts. Hermione had bombarded him with questions and he had almost buckled but the fear of their reactions was too big. They, as well as the public only knew, from his testimonies at the trials, that he had walked to his death willingly and then he lived. He couldn't bring himself to tell anyone that he had been a horcrux. Not even Miss Taney, even though by now she knew some of his deepest and darkest thoughts that Hermione and Ron didn't know about. And he had told Miss Taney that he feels bad about that to which she only said ‘Everyone has secrets, Mr. Potter.’. But then he pauses with the cup on his lip, after a generous gulp, that is creamy and sweeter. But what does he want?

Suddenly this question is so grand, so broad, so bottomless and he has no answers, just more questions. What could he want? Material things? But not all things are available. What is he allowed to want? Maybe the things that are available, but then he feels overwhelmed. There isn't anything that he needs, he has a house and friends and food. Even for his birthday, he wasn't able to answer this question even though many many people had wanted to gift him things. Even Professor McGonagall. But every time he just shrugged, smiled and said “Surprise me.” He had no ideas. What do others want? Others of his age? Or maybe he could turn this question around entirely to find out what he might want. What do others want from him? No no no. He sighs. And he feels defeated again. This is exactly what Miss Taney meant, isn't it. He shouldn't think of others, when thinking about his own wishes.

A week later he closes the door of grimmauld place and begins his walk to miss Taney's office. It's a nice walk through the streets and a park of muggle London until you cross the threshold of a wizarding neighbourhood through a small gate. He made it his habit to walk to her office, it clears the head and helps him prepare mentally for the sessions. And afterwards, he takes the floo back home, emotionally exhausted.

“Mr. Potter. Welcome.” She greets and guides him with outstretched hands to his usual seat.

He smiles and she takes the chair opposite of him, settles with her notes and waits. She always does. She waits for him to start the conversation. To choose a topic. Once, he spent the whole hour talking about quidditch and she didn't criticise him, didn't say anything against it. Even told him a few sentences about her old quidditch team in ilvermorny.

His smile broadens at the thought of that.

“I thought about your sentence. ‘Do I want this?’ And I think… I spent a lot of time thinking about it. It is scary. And I tried to apply it. I thought about what tea I want, what I want for breakfast and dinner. I told my house elf to put more vegetables in my meals.” He chuckles. “Honestly sometimes I'd like to cook myself. But he doesn't let me.” He chuckles again. The grumpy and insulting house elf had grown on him since his return. He had shown Kreacher the destroyed locket and explained what had happened and he had never thought it possible, but after a few seconds the shell shocked expression on the elfs face had scrunched and Kreacher had sobbed. Cried and thanked him on his knees. “I… want to cook. But it is ok that he does it. It is not so important to me. Because I also want him to be happy. And… I think that applies to a lot of other relationships.”

She waits a few seconds. “You mean that you want something for yourself, but you also want other people to be happy and so these two wishes collide?”

“Yes” his voice is soft. He frowns and presses on, because what he is about to say is very hard. “Molly, my almost adoptive mum, she always… I'm invited to the Weasley family every Sunday. I usually spend the whole day there, from breakfast till dinner. We play quidditch or explosive snap or chess or we chat and eat. It's lovely, really.” He pauses, the words are stuck in his throat.

“But?” Sharp as ever, he thinks.

“But sometimes they are so …overbearing. And it’s still so hard without Fred. When I’m there, some days we all pretend we are okay and some days we cry and grieve together. I… I don't want to be there sometimes. I want to just stay home. Alone. I want to leave.”

“Last week you said the same. The word leave. Would you like to talk about what that word means to you. What do you mean when you say ‘I want to leave’?”

“I'd like to… go somewhere. Somewhere I don't have to feel so… seen? Where no one knows me. My house is a start, but I know everyone can easily access it. I locked the fireplace to the Weasleys, so we have a permanent floo connection for emergencies.”

“Very precautious.”

“Yes. The war made us have these … instincts? Maybe it's not necessary anymore but it also gives me a feeling of safety. But… as I said… I thought about your words. And the constant thinking made me realise something. That I have never wanted anything … of substance… for myself.”

“Like ‘big’ things?”

“Yeah. Big things like… to leave. What I longed for were minor things, daily necessities, like food, all the things I needed to survive, clothes, books, even quidditch gear, but beyond that… I never thought of, say, my future. I feel so lost right now, because, probably, I never thought what might come after the war. I never even thought of a future when I was together with Ginny. It honestly never crossed my mind… I guess surviving the next school year was always more… important.”

“It is understandable that immediate survival is more important than the future beyond that.”

The conversation takes a short pause and he gazes out of the window, over the swaying treetops. “I never thought of children or even marriage. I knew we would probably be together. But I know now, that this ‘together’ was more like how I am together with all the Weasleys. How I am together with Ron and Hermione. More like a family. It makes me feel bad now, because maybe I never loved her romantically after all. With how I was brought up, it… maybe isn't … unusual? Hell, I knew I was f*cked up, but I always hoped it wasn't so bad.”

“As we discussed before, your childhood with the Dursleys is not your fault. And maybe the childhood was bad, but that doesn't mean you, here and now, are bad or ‘f*cked up’, how you say it. You are just you. And if you feel you need improvement, then you can do it. You can improve yourself.”

He smiled at her, tears running down his cheeks. She was a little too direct and sharp sometimes, or maybe she wasn't, it was just that the things she said hit too close to home. But he liked her nonetheless. He doesn't know when he started crying, but it was not unusual. He cried a lot in these sessions.

After a few minutes and a tissue later, he feels confident enough to speak again.

“That sounds… good. I hope I can make it.” The words feel heavy on his tongue. Hope is such a big word these days. “The sentence is a good start I think. What do I want? When I thought about that, it … it's so scary. I think I'm so used to… just do the right thing, the thing that is needed and wanted of me, that I never thought about what I personally want in life. I knew I wanted to be away from the Dursleys, to have friends and family and good food and not be sick, maybe. I wanted to be an auror.” He narrows his eyes and blows his nose in the tissue. “But maybe I didn't actually want to be an auror after all. It was also… about survival. But now? Is that still… necessary? I'm so lost. But I know I want to help. I want to be there for them, all of them. I think it is my life purpose. Call it gryffindor-ish, but… but I'm constantly exhausted nowadays. And I want to be there and help but I also want to leave from it all.”

“People who only think of others and neglect themselves, will unmistakably reach a point where they break. And then they are no longer able to be there for others, because they themselves are lost. It always takes a lot of energy to be there for someone, to care, to help. And if you don't have any energy, you can hardly do that. So maybe try this perspective: if you really think that being there and helping others is your foremost life purpose, then you must take care and heal yourself, to help others.”

“That seems very… logical.”

She smiled.

One of the sentences of Miss Taney stays with him for the next weeks. What really are his responsibilities? He tries to change perspective, how she recommended, sometime after that week. If there was a child and he had to make the decisions for this child, would he do them the same. Think of himself as a child that he is protecting and guiding.

“Please don't misunderstand, Mr. Potter” she had added immediately. “I know you are no child anymore. But please think of it as a what-if-scenario. You as an adult protecting and guiding yourself as a child.”

So he sits at the breakfast table, daily prophet and letters scattered around him and thinks about each of them. Is it his responsibility to open these letters? Does he want to open them? Yes, he has to, what if it is important. Yes, he wants to know the contents.

The first letter gives him shivers. An interview request from Rita Skeeter. He puts it aside, without looking too close. The next is an invitation from Andromeda Tonks for Tea with Teddy. This he reads carefully. Teddy is his godson. And he thinks it through. Teddy and by extension Andromeda are a responsibility. They need him. He has to be there and spend time. And he wants to. He wants to give Teddy a good childhood. The little one is barely a toddler. It's important.

Then an invitation from… Gringotts? Why that? Did they finally decide to charge him for the dragon? The damages? The heist. His heart rate speeds up and …It says they had tried to reach him for over a year now regarding his coming of age and the associated changes in his accounts and vaults. Oh. Will they charge a higher fee now? He knows the trust vault still contains a lot. He barely touched it through all the years, so there should still be a bit of money. That's important. He has to go and he wants to go. If they charge him, so be it. He is a bloody Gryffindor and he will face battle-trained, armed goblins with nothing in hand. Because he doesn't have a wand anymore.

He shuffles through the papers and eyes the letter from the daily prophet. Rita Skeeter. He does not want to see her sharp grin and bejewelled glasses, answer her questions for which the answer is irrelevant anyway or even hear her voice. But is it his responsibility? The world deserves to know about… does the world deserve to know about him? About him? The war, yes? But him? … No.

He leans back. It feels like the months with Miss Taney finally really helped. Before that, everything they talked about was the past, which wasn't really bad, but he didnt feel like it helped him in the ‘now’.

The stairs to Gringotts feel like a thousand steps. Steep, stony, endless, until the doors suddenly open. The guards eye him, but he can't say that he could ever recognize a goblin's emotions. Their faces are so different and their values even more.

He walks up to the nearest teller, confident, but not arrogant, and waits until spoken to.

“Your business?”

“Harry Potter here on invitation.” He hands over the letter, which the goblin reads over shortly, then he nods. A sharp, quick movement. He waves for another goblin.

“Please follow Arnast, Mr. Potter”

He nods and thanks the goblin and they walk deeper into the ground floor of the bank. He has never been to these parts of Gringotts. Red carpet and white walls with gold ornaments. Giant paintings of goblin war victory poses. Weapons, guards. Then, he follows Arnast into an… office. A broad dark wooden desk with a few velvet armchairs. Arnast guides him to sit and he requests him to be patient please, his ‘account manager’ will be there shortly.

Huh.

Account manager? Harry didn't know he had that.

Just a few moments later another goblin enters the office behind him. He turns and if he is not mistaken, the goblin seems to be slightly out of breath. He sits opposite of him, behind the large desk.

“Mr. Potter. I'm glad you could finally answer our invitation. My name is Kraggus Shieldedge. I'm your account manager.” He begins to rummage in the compartments of the desk, placing several papers between them. “First, Mr. Potter, do you have any questions?”

“Yes. Why am I invited?”

“Upon your coming of age, the status of several vaults and accounts has changed. Also, you are finally able to claim the full lordship of your titles, not just the title of heir. Also, I personally recommend doing an ancestry status update, so that we can discuss everything. I may be your account manager, but sometimes things get overlooked, which I want to prevent.”

“... Sure.” Ancestry test? What for? Why?

“Then please take this knife” Shieldedge hands him a small dagger, handle first. “And put seven drops of blood on this parchment.” The parchment is empty, seemingly ordinary.

He does as asked, careful to not spill any more blood than asked and puts the finger in his mouth to stop the bleeding. The dagger is wiped on his jeans and they both watch.

The blood vanishes in the parchment, it takes a few seconds, and then words begin to form in a blood red and a scratchy font. His own handwriting.

Harry James Potter, born 31st of July 1980

Lord Potter - inherited at birth, to be granted title of Lord Potter upon maturity

Lord Peverell - inherited at birth, through bloodlines

Lord Black - named Heir by Lord Sirius Black, three days after birth, to inherit title of Lord Black upon maturity, or the current Lord’s death, whichever occurs first

Lord Slytherin - named by right of magic and conquest May 2nd 1998

Master of Death - claimed upon Death - May 2nd 1998

Triwizard Champion - 1994

Below various titles and names, a family tree began to form and reached three generations back.

When the lines stop forming Harry meets the eyes of the goblin in front of him. “What… “

“Good, good. It seems our records are complete except for these two titles”, he points to Lord Slytherin and Master of Death. “I must say I'm glad we did the test. I wouldn't want to disappoint you, Mr. Potter. It seems I have to add a bit more paperwork, I hope you brought enough time? If not, we can always schedule a new appointment for you, Mr. Potter.”

“Eh, no. I have time.”

“Good. The first question I have would be if you want to refuse any of these titles.”

“Um…no? Why should I refuse? What even are these titles? Honestly I didn't know they exist. I feel very confused right now.” Confused is an understatement, as for a few minutes now, he doesn't know when it started, but his hands are trembling violently. He feels cold, even though his heart rate picked up.

“You know the sacred twenty-eight, Mr. Potter?”

“Yes.” Those families, that call themselves exclusively pure-blood.

“Well, they are noble families. They have titles, land, assets, even vassals. They shape and form the political decisions of your kind, via the wizengamot.”

“But the Potter family isn't part of them.”

“Right.” He grins sharply. “Not anymore. But they were, some time ago. The Potters might not have a wizengamot seat anymore, but they are still a very wealthy family.”

“So… these pureblood wizarding families are noble… like the Duke of Winchester or the queen of England?”

The goblin tilts his head for a moment, apparently pondering. “I guess it's a valid comparison.”

Why does he not know that?

“I'm sorry, but I know nothing about this”, he admits. “Would you please be so kind and explain to me… “ There is so much. Again, he feels overwhelmed, like the whole world will crash upon him if he doesn't look left and right constantly. What does he have to know about these things? It all sounds like such a grand thing, so heavy on his shoulders. If he has to do this, he has to do it right! Wait. No… Does he even want any of this? The goblin said it is an option to refuse the titles. So… What does he want to know to make his decision? “...the responsibilities that would come with accepting any of these lordship titles?”

The goblin glances over the ancestry test and folds his long fingers over the desk. “Usually, a lord or lady is the head of the house, deciding on all matters regarding the family. That includes all assets, like properties and companies, investments, the vaults and money flow. They are also responsible for family members, approving engagements, marriages and the like. Above all else, a lord or lady is responsible to participate in at least fifty percent of wizengamot meetings if they do not delegate their seat. Then there are the… I'd say optional responsibilities. Attending social events and representing the house to establish business or political connections to the other houses.” Kraggus stares at him for a few seconds until Harry realises that he finished his little speech. That is a lot.

“You mentioned delegation. How do I do that?”

“There is an official document you have to sign, mentioning the person. The document has to be sent to the benefactor and the ministry. After all parties accept, the benefactor has full control over your seat and can vote in your stead in wizengamot meetings. You, as the lord, can terminate this relationship whenever you wish.”

“Huh.” It's still a lot. But if he can manage to delegate almost all responsibilities, then maybe it's not so bad. To be Lord Black on top of having Grimmauld Place means a deeper connection to Sirius. Maybe that blasted portrait of Walburga Black would finally accept him then. The chuckles dryly. Merlin's beard. Lord Slytherin? His gaze wanders across the page still laying between them for the umpteenth time. And Master of Death? What even is that supposed to be? He doubts the goblin would know about that. “You mentioned assets?”

“Yes. Properties and companies, investments, the vaults and money flow, mainly. Until you accept your title though, we both don't know what all of it is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gringotts has lists of the contents of each vault and all the properties and companies belonging to a family. But until you accept the lordship, I am not allowed to show you. Gringotts takes all their customers seriously, especially their privacy. And as it stands now, since you never even claimed your heirship titles, which you could have done since ten years of age, you are technically not part of these families. Technically. By law of inheritance. You ‘just’ have the right to be part.”

“I see.” His face scrunches in a deep frown and he closes his eyes for a few seconds. Or maybe minutes. Since ten years of age? Noone had deemed it necessary to tell him any of this… since eight years. What the f*ck even is his life.

“Sir Kraggus, please tell me about the rules of delegating the management of assets.”

It might be his imagination, but at the mention of his name the eyebrows of the goblin rose ever so slightly. “Because we don't know the exact scope of your assets, it's hard to say. You might have to instruct house elves to tend to the properties, maybe visit each property and company to evaluate the state they are in and then decide how you want to proceed. I know most of these probably haven't encountered a living soul in centuries, especially the Slytherin and Peverell assets. Investments are either done personally or you can delegate me, as your account manager, to invest for you.” At this, a sharp grin once again steals across his face. “Vaults usually do not need much management, except you want to effectuate projects.”

That, again, sounded like a lot. Delegating house elves? Evaluating companies? But… as it stands he is, will be, might be, a Lord. It is his responsibility. And if not him, who manages these things? There is no one else around. And given that since the death of the last lords, his Father, and Sirius, and who might the others have been? But since then there had been no management. The state in which they are, must be disastrous.

“Sir Kraggus, I think I want to accept the Lordships… all of them.”

“Good.” Again, he grins with way too many teeth than comfortable. “I'm glad the gold will finally flow again for these vaults.” He takes the ancestry test to the side and pushes a few parchments with written contracts to Harry's side of the desk. “Here, I'd like a sign for each of these.” And he hands him a red quill. The edge of the feather slowly fades to white and he knows exactly what it is. A blood quill. By reflex, the scars on his left hand sting as he takes the quill between his clammy fingers. He writes his full name on the first paper, the Potter lordship, and suddenly, something happens. Like a spring breeze of magic that washes over him. It circles him, like a small gust of wind, until it settles, right inside his chest, where his magic core is located. A shiver runs through him.

“Yes, you must feel the family magick”, the goblin says as Harry hesitates. It didn't feel unpleasant. But it didn't feel normal either. The magic was raw, nostalgic and ancient and definitely sentient. The gust had felt like it had tested him. To see and feel that he was truly worthy and not an imposter.

The same happens for all three other signatures, but each family magick feels different. The Black magick is more dark and forceful. Peverell is even darker and feels as sentient as a person standing next to him and sliding her fingers over his body as it tests him. The last, Slytherin, is accompanied by wordless hissing and slithers over his body.

He feels exhausted somehow. Even though he didn't use much blood or any magic at all, it feels as if he had cast three corporeal patroni after another.

“Now, please take these lord rings.” Kraggus takes four boxes out of his bottomless desk and places them neatly before him.

“Do I just put them on?”

“Yes. Either your pinky or pointer, you decide. I recommend putting them all on one finger, which allows the rings to merge their magicks. Try it.”

The boxes open all at once and he gets the chance to look at them. Harry spots the Potter ring. It's a gold ring with a blue stone. In the stone is the… Potter family crest? He’s never seen it, but it's obvious. A capital P with a stag in the background. The Black ring ist completely Black, vines and three crows around the family motto ‘Toujours pur’. He scoffs. The Peverell ring is the blandest of them all, just a narrow pure gold band. Slytherin's ring is carved as a milky green snake that winds twice around the finger. One after the other he takes them out and puts them on the same finger, choosing the left pinky. It honestly looks ridiculous, four completely different rings stacked on another along his pinky digits. The fourth ring ends just above his fingernail. A few seconds, nothing happens. Then a tornado of magic almost knocks him out of his chair. All four family magicks swirl around him, connections form like ropes thrown from berthing ships to a harbour. They connect to his magic core before connecting between each other. Some feel more or less reluctant to do so, but finally, the four rings swirl into each other as with apparition and only a single ring, snuggling tightly on his pinky, stays.

What's left is a blend of four rings, depicting the most important aspect of each of them. A marbled golden-milky-green snake that winds around his finger, holding a thick gemstone of a black and blue marble between its fangs. Carved in the stone, the Black and Potter family crests merge as vines that grow around a stags' antlers, who is surrounded by crows and, surprisingly, lily flowers. ‘Toujours pur’ and the capital P vanished, but he thought them to be the worst parts of the rings. The result is honestly breathtaking.

He exhales. “Well, that was intense.”

“Indeed. Mr. Potter, I will now introduce you to your assets.”

And that he did. Slytherin had a f*cking tower somewhere in a german forest region, no companies, but a truckload of galleons that had stayed untouched for centuries. Peverell left manors in Cornwall, India and Greece. No companies, but a vault with a lot of money and magic items like a pensieve, weapons, armors, a whole wardrobe, wands, jewels and runestones. The parchment with the list was almost fifty inch long. The Black family had a bloody castle and an adjacent forest somewhere in the scottish highlands on top of Grimmauld Place. They too had no companies, but even more money and valuables than the Peverell Family. Finally, it was time for Potter.

“From the Potter Family, you as Lord Potter inherit and gain control over the following.” Kraggus shuffled the parchment one more time. “Potter manor and all its employed house elves, the apartment in Godrics Hollow, complete management over ‘Linfred’s Potions’ as well as access to all vaults under the Potter name.”

‘Potter Manor’ he mouths. Again, a cold shock runs through his body but this time it's not magic, but his nerves that run wild. How did he not know that his parents owned a bloody manor?! And why Linfred’s Potions? He knew the name, had read it countless times on vials and jars containing potion ingredients and on potions in the infirmary or St. Mungos. Linfred’s Potions was widely known and respected. And he owned it now. Bugger.

“Now that I have read all assets to you, you will find these lists and documents in their respective family vaults. I also recommend joining your personal trust vault with the Potter family vault.” Kraggus eyes him, until Harry nods.

“Good. Most of these assets do not require immediate action. The properties have all been left in the care of house elves and there are written instructions by their last owners. The same goes for ‘Linfred’s Potions’, which has been managed in proxy by Gringotts as instructed since the last owners death. As for-”

“Who was it?” He had to know; who of the Potters was the last to leave instructions. He might be the manager now, but knowing this little detail of his family history feels like such an important thing right now. A connection to his ancestors. “Who left instructions for ‘Linfred’s Potions’?”

Kraggus’ eyes flicked over the parchments. “It was Lily Potter who last managed the Potion business.”

“Huh.” His mum. Of course she had. She was brilliant at potions! If one believes the sometimes very exaggerated stories of Professor Slughorn. “Then there will be no changes to her instructions, please.” Thanks mum, he thinks.

After a few seconds Kraggus continues. “As for the investments, there were only a few instructions which… for Slytherin, Peverell and Black didn't prove worthy and have since been discontinued per Gringotts judgement. Only the Potter vaults are currently regularly dealing with money. Most of which goes into stocks and Gringotts management.”

“I see. Then I will trust you, Kraggus, to deal with my investments.”

“How much do you want to offer? And are there any rules you want me to follow?”

He thinks for a few seconds. “You are free to use a third of all of my money.” Kraggus’ eyes widen so much he fears the poor goblin might lose his eyeballs. “Please invest in charitable causes. I want that my money helps half-humans, creatures, war-orphans, muggleborns, squibs and the like… Oh, and the companies you invest in should not be involved in anything illegal.”

“I understand.” The goblin glances over his notes. “It will be difficult, but as your account manager I will not disappoint you and see that your gold will be worth it. I thank you for your trust in my work.”

“Then the only thing left is the wizengamot seats, right?”

“Yes, if you have nothing more you wish to ask of me, Mr. Potter.”

“I want to… decide about the seats a bit later please. I don't think I should rush that.”

They schedule a meeting for next week, hopefully giving him enough time to process and think about the delegation. One more week of no political activities should be okay. And he didn't think he had much brain capacity left to think about politics.

Kraggus personally guides him back to the entrance hall. The goblin bows and on a whim, Harry mimics him with a short bow of his upper body. Then he is left alone. Of course he is never really alone. The meeting took several hours and it is now shortly after noon, the busiest time in Londons wizarding bank. People stare at him. Greet him. He tries to answer each with a nod or at least a weak smile, but he is so exhausted. Head dropped to the floor, still trying to wrap his head around everything, he steps out of the massive double doors. Flashes of bright yellow lights and a wave of shouting people rush over to him. Reporters from all main papers and a few other people crowd in on him right outside on the stairs, blocking the exit completely. He turns on his heels immediately, staring at the closing double doors that protect him from the assault. Temporarily. What should he do? He can't face them, not in this state.

Suddenly, one of the guards standing on duty clears his throat. Harry looks at him. He carries a lance almost twice as long as himself. The goblin points in the direction of one of the tellers, where Kraggus is standing, discussing with another goblin. Harry walks over to them.

“Mr. Potter. Gringotts is aware of your slight… security problem. For our best customer, the goblin nation is willing to grant you permission to use the Gringotts floo” Kraggus announces. Harrys eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. Gringotts best customer? He guessed that with these ridiculous numbers that he saw on the asset lists he was filthy rich. Dripping with money. But to be Gringotts best customer probably means he is the richest man alive. Probably of the entire wizarding world.

At home, he flounders on the couch and sighs. Not a second passed and he feels something shift around him. He sits upright but nothing moves. Then, the ring on his finger gets warm and suddenly he can feel another connection to his magic core. The magic of the house wards washes over him in a warm embrace. Lingers, stays and then retreats to the background.

Kreacher pops up next to him.

“Master. Congratulations on being Lord Black now. Kreacher is glad.”

Gods. Even the bloody house elf knew! Who else knew of all these things and no one thought it important to tell him? Why?

The next days feel like they are only creeping by, but are also suddenly over. He ponders about his newly acquired… things… for hours. One day Kreacher had to remind him to eat something, which was weird. The elf was never warm with him, just tolerating so to speak, but now it felt like they were finally in a respectful relationship. The lordships, the money, the properties. Everything was so much and felt so heavy. But at the same time he knew that he didn't have to take any actions, which calmed him down a bit. Things were taken care of for now. If that wouldn't have been the case, he would have buckled. Panicked. Under the pressure. But it is still a lot. And he feels that suddenly some things just make more sense. Like a veil on the world has lifted. It's no wonder that people like Draco Malfoy are so poncy and entitled, if their parents are literal nobility. It's no wonder that the Weasleys are so respected and influential, even though they are widely regarded as poor and as ‘blood traitors’ in some circles. Because they are still a noble family, even if poor and with different views than most pureblood families. He knows that he has to research this sh*t. But he doesn't find the strength to do so. Hermione would definitely feel more at ease with more knowledge, but for him, right now, he just tries to sort through the stuff he knows.

Harry declines his next invitation to the burrow. Because surely, they must have known and that's why he doesn't want to go there. Ron seems slightly taken aback, but he doesn't prod much and is satisfied after Harry explains about being too tired and not feeling well.

Then it's already time for his next session with Miss Taney. They meet like every week and she waits for him to start. He had enough time to think about what he wants to say, so it feels a bit like a studied speech, but he doesn't care.

“Recently, I discovered some truths.” He lets that ring for a few seconds before he continues. “If I was younger, I would have reacted with a lot of rage, but now I don't find it in me to react with anger, how I used to. Now, I just feel defeated.”

“You say ‘some truths’. I take it, it is something big and of meaning?”

“Yes. The truths are… so fundamental and important. That's why I'm honestly a bit surprised by myself, that I'm not angry. But I think that is a sign that I finally reached my breaking point.”

He fidgets the lordships ring on his pinky. He is the only person who is able to see it and by sheer force of will, by feeling the connection to the family magical through his core, he can will the ring to display either one of the family rings, it's merged state or stay invisible.

“Why do you think you reached your breaking point?” Her voice is soft, without any judgement.

“I think… I feel very disappointed. You see, these truths are things that my friends, everyone around me, knows. Or should know. And….” A tear rolls down his cheek. But that is okay. “Before, it felt like I could bear anything, because I have all of my friends. But now I'm not sure anymore. Because, why would they keep these things from me? Did they not know? Did they not care? And I want to know why. Why. Why. Why. But I can't find it in me to ask. It feels like they are very far away. Like I am now truly isolated and alone. And… I have finally decided to really do it. I will leave.”

Dumbledore has always kept things from him. But with Dumbledore, that was normal and he honestly didn't consider the man a friend. A mentor maybe. But since the battle he hasn't really allowed himself to think about the man. He exhales deeply and tries to calm his shaky hands. It is out. Miss Taney heard his words.

“Leave… as in die?” He looks up to her and her eyes are void of anything. She just looks like she really wants to know. As if he is some interesting divination, as if he is the leaves in a cup of tea she tries to read. It could have been insulting, but he finds her gaze brings a smile to his lips.

“No.” They have often discussed the value of his own life. It was one of the first things they discussed, his walk to Voldemort, through the forbidden forest. Without telling her of the horcrux within him or that he had to die. His emotions when he was killed and after that. But also other situations in his life where he just did things, without much care, or any care, for his own safety. Like saving Gabrielle Delacour even though the merpeople threatened his life. Or rushing to save Ginny, heading for London to save Sirius. And a lot of times he did not have an answer for her. Why did he not care about his own life? Well, he did. But, as she observed sometime ago, probably not as much as about other people's lives.

“Then what do you mean by leave?”

“I know, that I would do anything to not face my traumas and fears head on. Recently, its become easier. But I still escaped to my friends a lot of the time, when it became unbearable. But now that I don't feel comfortable with them anymore, it feels like I cannot escape anymore. And that is probably a good thing. But… I guess I just lost the last thing that really kept me here. One of the last things that I thought of as my responsibility. And that I wanted here. And now I want to leave. Tomorrow, I will begin to prepare for my departure. I still don't know where to though.” He shrugged.

“In the end it's all about survival, Mr. Potter. And it is okay to be afraid to face your trauma and fears. I must say I will be sad to not see you anymore. But at the same time, I am very impressed by your progresses. We have come a long way since our first meeting.”

“Yeah, that's true.” He smiles and picks another tissue. “But I won't leave right away. We will still see each other for some time. It's not decided yet, when I will leave.”

She smiles back and glances over her notes. His gaze wanders out of the window, how it does quite often when he has nothing particular to say or think.

It feels like a giant weight has been lifted from his soul. He said it out loud. He will do it. He has to. No. He wants to.

“I have never dealt with my trauma directly, it's always been a kind of race. Who is faster, me or my nightmares who try to catch me. I could never face the dangers, I was in, in retrospect. And now it feels like it catches up all at once.”

“If it means you will be able to survive longer, then your brain will automatically keep you from certain things. But if that happens frequently and for a long time, over years in your case, then it is just as dangerous. The stress accumulates and you are no longer able to cope. I must say I'm a bit worried though. As I understand, you plan to leave your social circle to a completely strange environment. Please take care of yourself. As much as you need to be alone to process these things, you should not shut yourself from the world. If you need someone to talk to, then do it. My office will always be open to you.”

Tears well up in his eyes, but this time, it's because of the warm feeling that spreads in his chest. Because of her kind words. “Yes. Thank you.”

After the session, he feels strangely energised. He feels more ready for action than he has for a months. He pauses and has an idea what that feeling might be: hope.

He doesn't even crash on the couch, but walks directly into the kitchen, to make some plans.

Harry takes a seat in front of the desk.

“Lord Potter. Have you decided who shall take over your wizengamot seats?”

“Yes. But first, I would like to apologise. As you might know, my friends and I broke into Gringotts a day before the end of the war, in which also Goblins lost their lives. I feel responsible for the damages and for the dragon that… escaped. I want to make it up to the goblin nation somehow.” He did not forget but last time he was too overwhelmed to speak up.

The goblins face is unchanged. “Lord Potter. I will now speak on behalf of the goblin nation. We knew that the dark wizard Voldemort was a threat to not only your kind and world, but also to all other magical beings. Especially those your kind labels as ‘creatures’. Shortly after the war, the ministry came to our king with an official apology and has since then paid all damages you and your friends were the cause of. The goblin nation has accepted the apology. Between us, Lord Potter, our king accepted, because he is also thankful to you, for defeating Voldemort. If it had been any other person though, there would definitely be a war by now.” The eyes of the goblin twinkle. “So. I, as representative of the goblin nation, can accept and deliver your apology, but we will not accept any more gold from you. The damages have been paid.”

“I see. Then please do that.” He smiled and the goblin nods.

The wizengamot seats were distributed with some paperwork. The Slytherin seat shall be managed by Lord Malfoy. Harry found it quite funny, to imagine the reactions. In second year a lot of people speculated for Malfoy to be the Heir of Slytherin, so to verify these rumours now would make the life of that poncy git a bit more interesting. The Peverell and Black seat go to Lord Weasley. Sooner or later, and as advised by Kraggus, the wizarding world will find out it was him who passed on these seats. So it's not important to keep it a secret. And there was no other good candidate for the Black seat anyway.

After that is sorted, Kraggus once again asks him if that is all.

“Actually, I need the help of Gringotts.” The goblin leans back in his seat. “But I don't know what Gringotts can do for me.”

“I first have to know what you want to achieve, Lord Potter. Gringotts can help you with almost anything, for the right fee, if it isn't illegal. And even then, some laws are quite… flexible.” He gives another of his cheshire grins.

“I want to leave the country for an uncertain amount of time. I still don't know where to, maybe that would be the first point where you can help me. I want to leave unnoticed, so no one can find me. And I need a new identity. Would that be possible?”

“Most certainly, Lord Potter. We can forge muggle and wizarding papers, we can arrange portkeys and can find you a safe house or property to stay as long as you like. Gringotts safe houses are - for the right prize - warded so that no one can find you.”

“I don't need a save house, just a recommendation for a country I could go to maybe.”

“Then I first need to know about your preferences.”

They talked for hours discussing places, sites, advantages and disadvantages of various countries. Soon, he had a growing list of intel about possible countries to move to. And honestly, most of them look very interesting. He found it hard to decide.

“Maybe as a personal recommendation, Lord Potter, why don't you move several times? If you cannot decide, then you can live in all of them. As much as it saddens me to see your gold piles shrink, but money should be no problem for you.”

“Huh…”

Kraggus was right. If he doesn't want to decide, then he doesn't have to. Just the first maybe. But that is soon decided and the contracts are formed. The date for his portkey was arranged and the forged papers shall be ready by then. He pays extra fees for top security and privacy, but since they are continuous contracts he doesn't worry much about the ridiculous number on the bottom of the parchment.

There is only really one thing he still needs and wants to do. It is the upcoming trial of Narcissa Malfoy. As an accomplice and follower of Voldemort she is charged with various crimes, even though she never took the dark mark. Yes, she tortured muggles and sat quietly when Voldemort murdered their former Hogwarts Professor for muggle studies, Charity Burbage, among many others.

But she saved his life.

And Harry was completely convinced, if she hadn't lied to Voldemort at that moment, then their side had never won.

The court room is completely silent as he tells his story again, this time, with more focus on his interactions with Mrs. Malfoy. How they duelled in Malfoy Manor, how she desperately tried to protect Draco on the battlefield, even though she gave him her wand. Harry didn't lie or paint anything in more light or darkness. He told the things as they had happened. Even though he would like for her to stay clear of an Azkaban sentence, it's not his place to make that decision. Lucius has been charged with Azkaban for life. Draco was pardoned for most charges, but has to stay under house arrest for the next ten years and isn't allowed magic for the first five of them. That's also why he isn't present today. Narcissa is the last person, who was close enough to Voldemort to actually stand face to face with him, who has to stand trial.

Harry gave his memories on other trials already. The wizarding world was shocked beyond belief when news got out that he sacrificed himself, that he didn't know he would survive. That there were horcruxes.

He lets the trial wash over him like a light summer drizzle. He only speaks if spoken to.

As he walks back to his seat on the side, he catches the eyes of Neville who is there as Lord Longbottom to vote, as is Arthur Weasley, and a few others.

The lawyers continue their questioning with other witnesses. A squib man who survived, forgotten in some manors dungeon, and tells the gruesome tortures in colourful detail.

Finally, the voting takes place.

And Narcissa Malfoy gets sentenced to life without magic and house arrest for three years. She is forbidden from acquiring a wand and practising active magic for the rest of her life. If she violates the rules, she will be sent to Azkaban. Harry is glad that she could avoid the prison, now it is on her. As the verdict is spoken several people draw sharp breaths. A life without magic is, for most, probably worse than the dementors kiss. But in her case, he thinks it's a chance. The two remaining Malfoys can stay together as a family. Narcissa seems to have a similar opinion. She doesn't react much when the words are spoken, doesn't even lift her eyes. But Harry knows this woman is capable of showing absolutely no emotion at all, even in the worst situations, so maybe she has a strong reaction, but decides to not show it.

The meeting is called finished and he leaves. Even though he hears a few voices calling his name, he pretends to not hear them. He practically flees the lower floors of the ministry, before the horde of journalists can ambush him again.

It is time, he thinks. Kraggus has welcomed him in their usual office. It is around midnight and after a short nap he stumbled to Gringotts for his departure. First, Kraggus had given him a polyjuice potion and now they are both staring at the small teaspoon laying on Kraggus’ desk. Harry's heart beats in his chest, he knows, if he wants to do it, he has to do it now. Everything is prepared, but something makes him hesitate. He will not see how Teddy grows up, won't hear his laughter and Andromeda’s stories of Sirius’ childhood… His friends will take on careers, maybe get married, maybe have children. But the betrayal sits too deep. He feels distanced from them, like a rift has opened that no one sees and no one cares about. He knows it's his own fault for not talking to them… but at the same time, they all had so many chances. It wasn't his fault that no adult had ever been on his side. He will leave. Or, if he wants to see Teddy grow up, he will return a few weeks later.

No.

Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Percy, Charlie, Bill & Fleur, Mr. & Mrs. Weasley,

I have decided to leave. I will be gone for a while, I still don't know for how long.

Please don't look for me.

I've given the Black and Peverell wizengamot seats to the Weasley family. I hope you use them well. Maybe it helps with your political campaigns, Hermione.

I thank you all for everything you've done for me.

Love,

Harry

The other side of the world means: Kyoto, Japan.

His arrival is very anticlimactic, considering that the last few weeks have all been leading up to this moment. He looks around and finds himself in a copy of the Gringotts entrance hall, except everything is tinged in a soft pink light. On each side, behind the tellers, are tall dark trees in full blossom, whose petals slowly rain on the customers. But just before they hit or cover anything, the petals vanish, like the snow of the great hall. Most trees have white or a light rose colour, a few are of darker shades of pink.

“Mr. Evans” He gazed down on the goblin who spoke to him. “My name is Anduk, I will show you to your guide for today.”

He nods and follows the native goblin, who directs him to a separate office, similar to those in the London branch. The goblin first verifies his identity, via the lordships ring and then introduces a witch to him, who entered the office upon the goblins' call.

“Mr. Evans, this is Miss Kobayashi, who will be your guide for today.”

The witch is much smaller than him, maybe a half-goblin like Professor Flitwick? But her face is not as squished and her nose not as long as typical for goblins. She bows to him and he mirrors the gesture. In preparation for this… move, he had inquired a bit about Japanese customs. With how vast the general preparations were though, he hadn't managed to learn much and only knew a few basics to not completely embarrass himself.

And then they were off.

The only things he had right now were the clothes on his body, his lordships ring, his forged identity papers and an appointment with a guide for the first day. Everything else had stayed behind. It was a good feeling. He didn't know what to bring anyway, except for clothes, but he felt like a makeover was necessary. To blend with the crowd, be indiscernible.

“Mr. Evans, did you arrive safely?”

“Yes, I came by portkey.”

“Ah, I must admit, portkey isn't my favourite means of travel. I much prefer the line network. Much safer, if you ask me. Well, what is the purpose of your stay here if I might ask?”

“Purely touristic. I've never been to Japan.”

“Oh, how wonderful. I will gladly answer all of your questions then. I assume that is also why you requested me for today, Mr. Evans?”

“Yes, I need someone to show me around for a bit.”

They stepped out of the Kyoto Gringotts branch and Harry froze for a few seconds to stare at the scenery.

They were towered by skyscrapers on each side, whose last floors weren't visible behind the clouds. You had to crook your neck until it hurt to even see a glimpse of the sky. He had left London around midnight. And here it was early morning, the streets only populated by a few early risers. All shops were at the bottom floors of the skyscrapers, in this small maze of alleys between them. Unlit neon signs with foreign symbols were scattered all about the walls. Flags and banners with bold advertising swayed in the slow breeze and from one of the shops came a huge cloud of vapour and clattering of kitchen utensils.

Miss Kobayashi gave him a smile and began to explain about the shops. They were all very similar to the shops in diagon alley; apothecaries, potion supply shops, wand makers, book shops, pet shops and in between were food stalls that she introduced as Izakayas.

“They are the go-to eating place in between your daily appointments and shopping trips for Japanese people. They usually sell hearty meals for a good price.”

She told him that the Kyoto wizarding district is hidden on the backside of a large Muggle shopping district. While the muggles shop on the outside, the wixen shop in between the buildings. Like a big square that was erased from their maps. The entrance alleys are concealed by trash cans and the like. But even though sometimes drunkards achieve to breach the muggle-repelling wards and stumble through the illusionary trash or wall, the shops are modern-looking enough to pass as voodoo or some yakuza hideout, so the muggles rarely have to be obliviated.

“I hoped you could help me with shopping. I need a place to stay and thought of purchasing one of those expanded tents. My friend had one of those. I plan to stay in nature a lot.”

“Tent?” She looked a bit worried. “If you mean portable short-term wizarding homes there is a place I know that sells them. But if you plan to live in nature for longer, I advise you to buy a portable flat.”

“I didn't know those exist.” He offered a weak smile. Every day, he thinks. Every day something new.

Miss Kobayashi leads them through the alley maze to the sliding doors of another skyscraper. This one though definitely isn't just occupied on the ground floor. The lighted window displays show wizarding fashion, brooms, cooking utensils and an entire potion lab on the second floor. It's an entire shopping mall.

They are greeted by a man and Miss Kobayashi talks to him a bit until he leads them to the elevator. Harry thought he would just point them the way, but the man actually goes on the elevator with them and then accompanies them to the floor.

It's bright and wide, the air fresh and filled with a smell of citrus spray. Everywhere he looks, there are suitcases, tents, bags, trunks and even a whole camping cart on the backside of the floor.

“Mr. Evans, if you allow I will cast a translation spell on you. You will be able to understand us and we will understand you. The spell isn't very accurate though, so sometimes I might have to translate for you.”

He nods and for the first time she draws her… wand? She unsheathes a small odd-shaped dagger from beneath her coat and points the blade at him. With movements that more resemble slicing and cutting than the flowing of a wand tip she casts the spell and he feels the magic envelop him. He looks up and the writing on the wall sign gets blurry for a short moment. It rearranges itself and finally says ‘house of magic’. Well, that seems to be the inaccuracy.

He now understands the man, who introduces himself as Mr. Kinosh*ta. Harry tells him about his imaginations of what his home should be capable of. At first he says he just needs a place to sleep but soon, Mr. Kinosh*ta reminds him of what is possible. Literally anything. There are really entire flats, stored in just a tiny suitcase. The small ones just have a room with a carpet, bed and wardrobe. But soon they get much more luxurious.

There is also an entire category of ‘throwing sites’. These are pocket sized items that get thrown on the ground, where they abruptly unfold and expand to a potion lab or bed and wardrobe or even a whole market stall.

The most expensive living space Mr. Kinosh*ta shows him is a two story flat that has two bathrooms, one with just a sink and toilet, the other with a bathtub. It has a spacious kitchen, a living room with a TV and fireplace and a four people couch. Two bedrooms and a walk-in wardrobe. This one is definitely meant for a whole family to live in. The exterior of the flat is a trunk that is almost half as tall as Harry and just as wide.

He is hesitant and torn. The smaller ones don't have baths and he needs at least a toilet or sink. But those with a bath are usually too big. He doesn't want so much space, he doesn't need it. It seems these flats are more intended to replace a hotel room, but if he buys one of those it should be to his liking… right?

Mr. Kinosh*ta seems to know what he ponders about and finally shows him a thick tome and hands it over.

“With this, you can do yourself” he says. By now, Harry understands most of the weird sentences that they share.

“The number of room, the wide, the extra room.” He points to the moving pictures that show baths and kitchens.

“I'm not sure…” But suddenly, he remembers that weird sentence from Kraggus. ‘As much as it saddens me to see your gold piles shrink, but money should be no problem for you.’ Then what does he hesitate about? He needs a place to stay. He wants to cook and sleep. But maybe it's not so bad to have a bit more.

“How long does it take to make one?” He points to the book.

“Finished in evening mostly.” Harry looks at Miss Kobayashi.

“They should be done in the evening.” She offers a more accurate translation.

He nods. And then he describes the place he wants, made to order for him. Just for him. A happy warmth swells in his gut as they proceed the order. It takes a bit longer to clear all the misunderstandings, because Mr Kinosh*ta takes his time to recognize the difference between a bathtub and a shower, and Miss Kobayashi has to help a lot.

He leaves the mall with a pick-up voucher.

“I'm glad you found the perfect place for yourself” Miss Kobayashi says. “How about a meal, then I could show you the best places around here that I know.”

They eat at a very delicious place. She recommends a noodle soup, which absolutely bursts with rich meaty flavours even though it doesn't contain any meat. While they eat, she asks about his travel plans.

“As I said I'd like to stay in nature a lot. I wanted to leave civilization behind for some time.”

“I see. If I may ask, did something happen to you?” He looks at her, but her face is hard to read. It could be genuine curiosity and he doesn't think she might have recognized him, he still got a different appearance, with polyjuice and all. But he is paranoid, and maybe she felt that.

“I saw you flinch a few times whenever there were a lot of people or loud noises. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. Please forgive me.” She shifts on her bar chair to face him and bows her upper body.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head vigorously. “That's okay. I guess you are right. I'm not good with crowds. That's why I want to spend time in nature… maybe you could recommend some places to me? I prefer places that are rarely visited.”

“Yes, of course.”

In the adjacent book shop he buys a map of Japan and Kyoto and they settle back in the izakaya, where Miss Kobayashi tells him about places and sites worth visiting. He marks those on the map and soon he has a better grasp of the country. The map is scattered with circles, crosses and a few notes. She also told him about places to avoid, though she is rather vague about the reasons, just saying that it's dangerous. Only a small vulcanic, uninhibited island gets a thorough explanation, as there seems to live an antipodean opaleye, an Asian dragon species.

After brunch they continue with shopping for him. The language barrier is still hard, even with the translation spell and her guidance on how to behave and customs. At least most people don't seem offended by his lack of politeness and knowledge.

He gets most daily necessities, a broom and a few books. He doesn't get a new wand. He doesn't want or need one. And deep down he knows the answer to that: magic, to him, has lost its… appeal? Value?

Suddenly aunt Petunias voice echoes through his mind as she calls him a freak. And he suppresses the urge to grimace. Yes, even the Dursleys haunt him from time to time still.

When they say their goodbyes Miss Kobayashi looks a bit worried that he bought so little. But she thankfully doesn't say anything about it and he is on his own.

Free.

Where no one knows him.

Soon, the polyjuice will wear off.

New flat and broom in hand he takes off from the outskirts of Kyoto. Miss Kobayashi had also told him about a few laws he should know, as flying for example, is only permitted outside of cities after nightfall and all brooms have inbuilt runes for a height and speed limit.

But that doesn't matter to him. He wants to get away from this loud, crowded and suffocating place.

The more the day had advanced, the more uncomfortable he got in his own skin.

Now it's just him, the forest and the wind in his ears. The wind isn't cold. In fact, shortly after sunrise the late august day in the bustling city got more and more scorching as it progressed. His stomach clenches with guilt at the thought of the friends he had left behind. Selfish. The brooms under him sways from side to side a bit and he tries to shake the feeling off. You can do this, you have managed the day until now. You can break down once you're settled.

He has to check the map a few times but soon, he reaches a bamboo forest and lands on the stone paths.

The only light sources are small antique lanterns dangling above him in the breeze.

The forest is extremely dense behind the fence that keeps tourists from destroying nature. He has to squeeze between the stalks, which are as thick as his arms.

The light sources from the paths are no longer visible and he is alone, crowded by towering bamboo trees that rise up in the sky far above his head. It is so dark, that he can barely see his own limbs. But he feels content now. Finally alone. Able to let go of the tightness in his heart which had taken a hold on him and was almost unbearable the last hours he had to endure in Kyoto.

He sets his new sports bag to the ground and opens the zipper whose ripping sound tears through the silence. He steps his first foot into the open bag carefully and feels how the proportions of his body get distorted. His second foot set into the bag he lifts it up along his legs and over his head. Space warps and he feels his hands let go of the sports bag. And then he stands on the threshold of the entrance of his flat. In front of him is a wide living space with warm wood and tall artificial windows that show a Japanese garden. He ordered Japanese wood floor and tapestry, adding to the feel of a foreign environment. The living space seamlessly shifts into a kitchen to his side. On the other side is a Japanese paper sliding door which separates the sleeping and living space. He almost stumbles over the shopping bags that he had dropped into the sports bag earlier. Good to know that depositing charm works. He peels himself out of the clothes, dropping everything in his path, and opens the sliding door. A king-size bed, a nightstand and an empty wardrobe, as well as the door to the bath, everything exactly as ordered.

Naked, he drops in bed and falls asleep.

Harry is panting, his back and neck are sweaty, tousled hair sticking to his forehead. Tears run down his cheeks and a single sob escapes him. God's. His nightmares haven't really gotten any better since the beginning of therapy, but they also didn't get worse. Today, this was definitely worse. He tries to draw slow and conscious breaths, to calm his heart rate and ease the panic. He focuses his eyes on the flower petals on his bedsheets. The colours and the feeling of the fabric.

The minutes pass and so does, eventually, that heart-clenching fear in his gut.

What a way to wake up on the first day of freedom. He hadn't imagined it like that.

Harry pushes himself out of bed. From experience, days like today don't get much better. The negative feelings of the nightmares will linger at the back of his mind until enough time passed to get over them.

Back at the Burrow, whenever he had woken up screaming or moaning, Hermione or Ron, or sometimes others had guilted him into talking about his nightmares. He had never liked to talk about his fears, especially if the scenes he was forced to relive where from first year. The feeling of Quirrels skin beneath his hands, the red eyes at the back of his head.

The curtain on the artificial window lets in a stream of sunlight. All of them are charmed to display the current time of day and weather conditions outside of the sports bag. It's still hard to believe they lived out of a damn tent when they had the option for something much more comfortable. But yes, he can definitely understand Hermione's thoughts behind the decision. His flat was by no means cheap or even affordable for the normal working person. He gets it. It had to be cheap, easy and fast. And none of them knew Harry was that dripping with money back then.

He fixes himself an easy breakfast, eggs and sausages, and forces it down. Most things in and around the sports bag are working with runes that have to be activated by tapping them with your wand. He doesn't have a wand, but he got the stove working after tapping his finger on it a few times. Honestly, with most things, he just hopes for the best. Even if the word and concept of hope itself is still very new and foreign to him. But he doesn't want to think about that now.

He allows himself to relax, or tries to, while unpacking the shopping bags containing everything from soap to a towel and a heap of new clothes.

Then he got nothing to do. And was restless again.

What should… no, what does he want to do now?

He reached the first goal, even though he never really defined it in his head, but it was the first goal: to get away from everything.

He’s got freedom (still scary). No responsibilities. Money.

But at the same time he knows that Harry James Potter has never been a person for ‘luxury’. So even though he has all of this, he will never abuse it. He knows that someday he will go to work somewhere, that he will return to his friends and family… even though that thought seems so far away right now. The betrayal is almost deeper than the grief.

And he knows, gods he knows he is so damn selfish for leaving. For abandoning them all, even though he knows that George, Ron, Mr and Mrs. Weasley, they all mourn Fred and Remus and Tonks and…

Every time he sees George, alone, he expects Fred to pop up right behind him and gets disappointed when he doesn't.

Teddy is still too young to understand it all, but it is weird to see him without his parents. Yes, he had worked up a companionable relationship with Andromeda, but at the same time he doesn't feel like he is good company to her. Or Teddy.

He wasn't able to be there any longer. Especially because he never got to tell them the whole truth about himself.

He sighs and wipes a tear off his cheek that threatened to fall on his lap.

His gaze lifts and catches the map. Right. He unfolds it and goes over the notes and recommendations. Even though he had dutifully nodded and given his best to seem excited when he was with Miss Kobayashi he knows that he doesn't feel any real motivation. One word catches his attention.

North it is then, he thinks. To do something, anything, always helps him better than to sit around and mull.

Outside, he taps the shrinking rune a few times with his finger until it finally works and shoves the sports bag that is now around the size of a matchbox into his jeans pocket. It's daytime, no flying allowed, so he starts to walk north.

The Japanese nature and landscape is beautiful. After a few hours he leaves the bamboo forest and continues through the sometimes rocky, but mostly forestry region. He forces his thoughts to stay in the present, mostly.

He wanders through a very rural village, whose people stare at him like he is a wild hippogriff. Most things he encounters and sees are so foreign, that they can keep his mind occupied. Around noon he stops behind a tree and fixes himself another quick meal (some noodles) inside his flat and then continues his journey. In the afternoon his feet hurt so much that he decides to rest for the day. So he distracts himself by sorting the books he shopped into the completely empty book wall in front of the couch. It looks ridiculous, how it's rows are completely empty, except for six books he put in the eye-level shelf. They fall over. There is nothing to sort. Six books can't be sorted, what an absurd idea. So he takes the Japanese dictionary and begins to search it for the names of ingredients that he will need in the future.

For a hefty sum, he had added an order box to his flat, that sits neatly next to the fridge. It works exactly like a vanishing cabinet, except that there are certain restrictions with the things that are sendable. He doesn't know the details, but he just has to place a piece of parchment with the things he needs inside, close the lid, and after some time the order will arrive on his end. Of course it has to be in Japanese, hence the small dictionary. The order box is linked to his account (again, an extra fee for that) so the money gets extracted without him having to do anything. And yes, it will take him a few days to process the amount of money that he spent yesterday. He still can't grasp how big of a number it was. He feels guilty.

For the first few days he just eats, sleeps and continues to wander by foot, slowly north. He just exists, does nothing. And that's okay, he tells himself over and over again. The Japanese islands are stretched from northeast to southwest, so sometime on the third day he decides to correct his course more to the east. He plans to avoid cities and civilization as much as possible, which is harder than he initially thought. The forestry region had transformed slowly into a more valley-ey and mountainous landscape with lots of rice fields and a lot of rural villages and small cities scattered along his path. But soon the, still very beautiful, landscape does not manage to distract his thoughts anymore.

The first week passes and September arrives. Right, the new school year has started now. Did Hermione go back to Hogwarts to get her NEWTs as she wanted? Did Ron start auror training without him or is he still helping George with Weasleys Wizard Wheezes?

Sometimes he thinks he should go back! Throw himself into the arms of friends just to be able to pretend that he is ok.

There is this deep, heart-wrenching sadness that drives so deep into his soul that it results in psychosomatic pain sometimes. Whenever it gets too heavy he stops to walk, trying to breathe, to breathe the pain away but his throat is closed by invisible hands. He sits down in the dirt of the forest, balling his fists into the wet leaves. They can't be all gone. It can't be. It shouldn't be. Gods, Fred was so young. Sirius was so young. Colin Creevey was so young.

Lavender Brown survived, but the image of her bloody torso, her guts mutilated and the organs that moved inside her with every shallow breath… it will never leave his mind.

It can't be real. But it is, is the constant whisper in the back of his mind. And whenever that whisper gets too loud he jumps to his feet and paces back and forth, sobbing, crying, until there are no tears left for the day. He had never before allowed himself to cry so freely, not even in Miss Taney's sessions. But deep within the forests, in a country on the other side of the world, he felt ready to let his emotions free. After, he either continues to walk, more like a zombie than a human being, until he is too exhausted to continue or he immediately crashes in his flat.

That is the most prevalent feeling of the first weeks: exhaustion, from his own feelings. Some days he doesn't even make it to bed and crashes on either the couch or the carpet, some days he doesn't even leave bed.

Some days he is overcome with a rage he thought he had outgrown. Once, when he was very far away from the next village, in some kind of natural reserve, he let go of the accumulated rage and screamed down the waterfalls until his throat was hoarse.

“Are you happy now, Voldemort?! You did it! You killed and tortured so many people that I can't even count them! I hope you rot in hell! That you all rot in hell, yes I'm talking to you, Bellatrix Lestrange! f*ck you!”

He wasn't proud of it. But somehow it felt good. And so he did it a few times after that, whenever the rage within got too big, too vast to keep bottled up, he shouted and screamed. Yes, he wasn't proud of it, but every time he did it a small smile tugged on his lips, especially if he bombarded the air with creative insults that hopefully reached their intended recipients in hell. Then he slumped to the ground and continued his path after taking a few breaths.

The faces of his parents, of Remus, Sirius and everyone he saw when he had held the resurrection stone are very frequent companions on his walks. Sometimes he talks to them in his mind or out loud. On even rarer occasions he imagines what they would answer. And he wishes to hold the stone again, to talk to them. But this very thin, very small shred that is left of his sanity in these weeks keeps him from rushing to the british Gringotts vault that holds the Deathly Hallows. He has no clue how or why they all assembled there, even the bloody wand had been back, but he doesn't want them.

September creeps into October and when he dresses he can feel every rib through his skin. He knows, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it, that he should do something about that. Harry continues to lose weight, especially with these daily foot marches. On his way north he had occasionally made a detour to the “tourist attractions” Miss Kobayashi had told him about. He saw ancient temples, stone statues, ley line crossings, other wizarding villages, a kappa nature reserve and countless accidental encounters with magical creatures. He even encountered a kitsune descendant in some village. They had tried to tell him a funny story but the language barrier was hard to overcome. Even though they carried a wand, which he hadn't expected. He has reached the northern part of the main island now and recently there is one steady question in his mind that is way more important than food: Why? Why did these things happen, why him. Everytime he thinks this specific thought he slaps himself on the cheek. Because if not him, then it would've been Neville. Or some other person. The prophecy was there, he tries to keep telling himself over and over, that it wasn't his fault. That it was no ones fault. But the idea lingers.

If it hadn't been for him, none of this had happened.

His parents would still be alive and happy and…

This bloody prophecy. Dumbledore knew what he was doing, he probably planned for Severus to overhear it. He didn't really want Harry to die, he had a plan, he just had to. But still. If no one knew about it, if no one had heard the prophecy, would it still hold magical power? Do prophecies that are left unheard pose a threat?

He tries to remember all that stuff Hermione used to tell them about prophecies and how they only hold value if someone believes in them.

But he can't quite recall what the conditions were.

He feels useless and empty, unable to understand why and how he is still alive.

The blade of the cooking knife slices over his finger and he startles. Oh. That was not as painful as he had feared.

On the morning of the 31st of october he buys two… no three candles via the order box.

Harry takes a hot shower, washing off all the grime from his shoulder-long hair that has accumulated for over a week now. Yesterday, he expected to feel even more sh*tty today than usual, but surprisingly he doesn't feel anything today. He feels nothing. He lets the hot water rush over his back until it burns, to test if he is still alive. Maybe he had actually died that night. As he looks in the mirror the scar catches his gaze. Harry floats the candles in front of him and lets them set on the ground in a triangle pattern. Since using his finger to activate the runes all across his apartment, he managed to do the most basic spells without a wand. He even feels the magic in his forearm and hand now, whenever he activates one of the runes. Harry sits on the cold forest ground and lights the candles. Back then, in the forbidden forest, everything had been so peaceful. But now things don't make any sense anymore. He stares at the three flames for a few moments. He knows Harry Potter, as he was meant to be, never lived, never existed. He died that same night along with his parents. And maybe now it is time for him to die too. Maybe he is actually dead and just lingers in limbo, in this semi-real consciousness…

He holds his pointer into the flame. Yes, still alive. The flame burnt a bubble into his skin and he looked at it. Why does this not bother him? Why was he okay for so many years, but now… Why was it okay to send Fawkes away with Ginny and… Why has his life never had any real value? Maybe he was meant to die and all of this, whatever it is, is just a big mistake. Dumbledore's mistake.

It's still approximately one day of walking till the shore of the main island, from which he will fly over to the next. Hokkaido is its name and there lies his goal. Every day he looks at the map and wonders if that is even worth it. But he feels himself desperately cling to the thought of reaching it and he doesn't know why.

He reaches his goal in the middle of november. It took a bit more than two months to walk from Kyoto to Hokkaido, but he knows he could've been faster. He took a lot of breaks. Breaks for crying, breaks for screaming, breaks for admiring the landscape, for sinking to the ground, for eating a little, for lying in the grass or in some blokes field and stare at the sky until his eyes burnt from the brightness of the sun and clouds.

Here and now the ground is sadly too cold and wet to lie down, even though he wished he could just sink to the ground. A few days ago it began to snow every day and he already had a runny nose from the constant cold. He didn't remember to buy a winter coat four months ago. But he needed that. It gave him this twisted reminder that he was still there, still alive. The cold kept him in the present.

He stood in the middle of a swamp, or at least it probably would've been one. Now everything was frozen over and according to the one single page on the mythical creatures that he remembers reading in “Fantastic beasts and where to find them”, here they should roam. Japanese snow nymphs.

The snow was so thick he sank almost halfway to his knees. His feet were absolutely wet and he knew he just had to hold out until he reached the ley line which crossed the swamp. In its vicinity, the natural magic was amplified, which drew in most magical creatures. As Mr.Scamander wrote, for magical creatures it is relaxing or something. Like a recharge.

And then he spotted them.

First he thought it was just the snow reflecting sunlight in the distance, but it was creatures. He inched closer.

Then he could hear faint, high-pitched laughter.

They were of varying hues of blue, their scale-covered bodies glittering with chromatic rainbow colours, and they were all female, beautiful women of various body proportions throwing snow at each other. Harry counted five individuals. Sometimes they seemed to vanish, their bodies melted with the snow.

A smile tugged on his lips and he was so surprised with himself it instantly vanished. When had been the last time he had genuinely smiled?

Harry spent the next few days at the swamp. He had reached his goal, seen the nymphs, and he didn't know what to do now. He tried to look at the map, search for the next goal, but he couldn't get himself to do that. The nymphs hadn't really been a real goal. He had seen the map, looked at Miss Kobayashi’s recommendations and then he had remembered his school book that had mentioned them. Of course he could look at the map again, search for something that might seem “interesting”. But it felt pointless.

A week later he wandered further north. He knew he was almost at another site and today he had mustered the motivation to move again. He walks through the heavy snow, it's strenuous and slow. And suddenly he stops. Just one step further a high cliff drops deep into the wild ocean. He blinks. He couldn't remember getting there, he had only continued walking and staring at his feet. One step after the other. He turned and saw his own footprints coming from the nearby forest, leaving a deep groove in the accumulated snow.

He turns back to the cliff and looks out onto the ocean. If one didn't know about the raging waters at the rocks below him, it was very peaceful. Just vast blue. The sky a lighter blue, the ocean much darker.

Harry felt this peaceful scene settle into his conflicted and restless soul. It felt right, it felt like it was the end. The right end this time.

And he jumped.

Chapter 2: Alive

Chapter Text

He was standing on Hogwarts grounds, the castle in the background. The landscape was strangely twisted, because usually the castle wouldn't be so far away. Snape stood with his back to him, wand raised on Dumbledore, who faced them both. He was unarmed, hands raised in the air.

Then Snape said, “I thought… all these years… that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”

Harry felt as if he wasn't alone in this dream.

“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. There was this odd presence that kept gnawing on Harry's perception, but when he turned to inspect, there was nothing. “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth: Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.”

Harry couldn't see Snape's face, but he saw him shudder. “You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?”

Dumbledore didn't answer, just looked slightly pained or maybe apologetic or maybe it was a nothing-to-be-done-about-it kind of look.

“I have spied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to be to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter-”

The scene disappeared in a swirl of colour and he stood on the blearing white platform of kings cross.

A … being materialised in front of him. „I think it is time you live for yourself.“

Even if he had known the contents of all the dictionaries and encyclopaedias in the world, he wouldn't have known how to grasp its appearance and so he settled to concentrate on what it had said and eloquently asked, „What?“

„I think it is time you live for yourself“, they repeated.

Harry frowned. „No thanks. I'm ready to meet my family in the afterlife. Or whatever happens to my soul now. I'm happy to cease existing too. I don't really care at this point.“

„I don't think you really want to die.“ They stare at each other for a few seconds and suddenly Harry knows who they are. „Your whole life has been…influenced.“

„Yes… I've realised that too. But that doesn't matter.“

„Really?“

„Yes.“

Their conversation takes a pause and Harry drags his feet across the ground. This place lacks… sound. And there is no feeling of stones and gravel meeting his shoes, not even ridges of tile spaces, just a bland clean surface. Was this the afterlife already or an in-between?

„I know it is very hard for you Harry. You have always been so kind at heart. Your kindness has been taken advantage of by the people around you. But you can stop punishing yourself now. I know that is easier said than done.“ They look around them across the emptiness. „You are master of death. You can't die.“

A short dry snort escapes him. He was too tired for anger. „I can't die“, he repeated in a flat tone.

The being nodded.

„And why the f*ck not.“

„I know it is a cruel present to you right now, but I have decided to bestow upon you this title and its abilities. This decision was made long before last May, mind you. It was very lucky that you went and met the requirements.“

Panic crept up his spine. The right end was not allowed for him? It had all felt so final and peaceful and god he was so glad that it was over, but now it was not? It was not allowed and the decision was once again taken from him. „Why?“ he croaked.

„You met the requirements“, they repeated. „And I've taken a liking to you. We've always been close, you and me. But it is astonishing, that despite everything, we met the first time only when you wanted it. Now too. You wanted it. You've defied me so many times before that.“ Death had the audacity to chuckle.

„Isn't it ironic, that you mentioned people commandeering over my life only to then do the very same. Why does every single person I meet want to take my choices.“ He crossed his arms over his chest in an admittedly infantile manner, but he didnt care.

„That might seem true, but there is a very important difference between Albus Dumbledore and myself. You are the Master of Death. In my realm, you are second in rank after me. And if you truly wish it, then you can die, you can cross. I will lead you there. But as I said earlier, I don't think you truly wish to die and I think it is time you live for yourself. I just think your psychological pain is so great, that you didn't see any other way to deal with it.“

So this deity wanted him to live? Just like that? „What do you get out of this?“

„I will accompany you from now on. But since the physical world is not my realm I won't be able to interact with it. I'll simply watch what you get up to. Your life has been quite interesting, despite everything…“

„I still don't understand why you do this. Can't you just watch our world just like you apparently watched me for years?“

„Being connected to you allows me to experience human emotions. When I met your ancestors, I accepted their spiel out of curiosity and boredom. You know that only one of them lasted much longer after our little encounter. But still, since then I've been wondering about the motivations that drive your kind. Why did Ignotus hide for such a long time? I just don't see the difference between your world and mine. I want to understand why your cultures connect me and my world with so much pain and sadness and loss, that sometimes people follow after their spouse not much later. I find it not understandable. So what I get out of it is quite simply experience. I hope, now that it is the second time we meet, our connection will become steady. You will probably feel my presence and I will experience your feelings on a broader scale.“

Harry thought for a long time about the things Death has said. „I think these last moments in the forest were the most peaceful of my life.“

Death looked at him.

„Why do I not remember our first meeting?“

„I don't know the details of human psychology, but perhaps the memories were locked by your brain because they were painful.“

„I get that you want me to live, I understand what it means to you. But couldn't you choose some other person? I don't think I can find much motivation to live within myself. Even if you send me back… there is nothing waiting for me.“

„Sadly, I have no influence or connection to your world. That one encounter with your ancestors allowed me a lasting connection to your family, through the items. And only if they are all collected is my presence big enough for a lasting connection to me. It was really lucky that they met me“, the being mused. „And so, no, I can't just choose anyone. As I said you met the requirements. And I would really like for you to accept. If it calms you…your parents have asked why you didn't cross. At the same time they seem not sad about it. They must be glad you are still alive.“

Harry choked on nonexistent air. „Can I talk to them?“

Death looked pensive. „You can talk to them and meet their spirits through the stone of resurrection, or you can cross now.“

„sh*t.“

„Take your time.“

Harry huffed and sat on a bench. He thought about their conversation for a long time. Death just stood there, shifting from time to time.

„If I live… is there anything I have to do for you? You said you want to experience human emotions. Is there anything I should feel more often than other things, to sate your curiosity?“

The deity chuckled. „No. There are no expectations of you. You can use the hallows as you like. You can do what you want, die and visit me, cross over when you wish.“

Harry swallowed hard. So he really had all the choices and freedom of the world? And he knew then, that a decision was made.

He jerked awake and groaned, everything bloody hurt. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, his back leaving a crumpled imprint in the snow. That bastard. Shoved him right back without warning.

Harry sat in the snow, not far from the place where he had jumped down the cliff earlier. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he saw his own footprints ending there, a few feet away. He peered down and saw a giant splatter of crimson blood being mixed with seafoam and the cold waters slowly washed the blood from the rocks, wave after wave.

He felt weirdly lightheaded. There was a sense of clarity, as if everything made sense, or maybe a bit more than before.

Dumbledore's betrayal.

Dumbledore had been the reason his life had been miserable, planned to be miserable from the very start. Harry knows he sounds whiney in his head right now. But he is allowed once in his life, right?!? Yes, there were other key factors, like Draco’s handshake, as the memory dreams had reminded him some time ago. They had started to occur sometime after the war and he was pretty sure now, that Death did meddle there. Even though they said they couldn't interact with or influence the world of the living, didn't mean that also counted for dreams. The memory-dreams showed key moments in his life, even though he didn't know until he saw them again why they had been key moments. The sorting into an unfitting house. Being kept at the Dursleys, without any knowledge or help, the summer after Cedric had died. And Dumbledore's machinations had been there from the start. How Hagrid had picked him up from the island. Yes, Hagrid was wonderful, but so unqualified for the job. How he was taken to the Dursleys as a baby. Why Remus had vanished for years. How Sirius didn't get a trial. Harry himself being chronically underprepared. Children injured and almost dying in school. Dumbledore himself dying. Snape dying.

At the same time there was a detachment there.

He had overcome it all.

The machinations. Divinations. Ill intent and killing curses.

He was free.

He felt exhausted from the blood and weight loss. That he was still alive, or alive again, - however does one even confirm that? - didn't make any sense to him.

And yes, he was actually quite angry, to be so unceremoniously shoved back into his body.

“Death? What should I do now?” He asked into the light ocean breeze that tousled his hair.

He didn't get an answer, but a feeling of warmth and reassurance in his soul. Oh, how helpful.

Harry stayed in his sports bag apartment, healing both from the blood loss and cold he had catched and trying to cope with the revelations that he was the sodding Master of Death. It was very slow work. He first started with lots of tea and a few regular meals. The whole experience had been so abstract, that even if he wanted to tell someone about it, he wouldn't find the right words to even begin to describe it. Maybe it had been the fourth or fifth dimension he had been in. Or limbo. Or the afterlife itself.

The first time he died, he had thought it was… maybe luck. That the killing curse had killed one soul in the body and that just happened to be the piece of Voldemort and not him. He had thought maybe the killing curse somehow chose to take the weaker target. But no, Harry was simply not able to die, since that very day apparently.

Harry faces the truth he hadn't dared really think about since the same day: He had been a horcrux. There had been an actual piece of a living soul inside him. A very twisted and sick soul that had slowly corrupted him. How did horcruxes stay alive? Had it ruined something within him? Had it fed from his own soul or pushed his soul to the side to make space within his body for itself? How did souls and bodies even work or had it more to do with his magic core? If yes, how did the other Horcruxes stay alive?

Death was ever present, like an invisible teacher watching over his shoulder. They didn't interfere, did not comment. There was only one wish from Death: Harry had to stay alive. He was free and could go where he wanted and do whatever. But the problem continued that he didn't feel any motivation to utilise that freedom. So he concentrated on the one task that he actually needed to do: eat and drink.

Harry turned down the stove with a tap of his finger on the rune, the by now familiar warmth of his magic running through his arm, and transferred the eggs to a plate. It was a day after his second death and the first time since maybe a month or so he wanted to try and eat something other than soup or bland bread and he hoped it wouldn't hurt his stomach. He sat there, staring at the steaming eggs. Then he took a bite. The sweet juices of the yellow of the egg ran through his mouth and exploded in such a burst in flavour that tears began to spill from his eyes.

He sniffed. „This is so delicious.“

And he suddenly got this feeling of content in his soul that wasn't his own.

“You like that, huh?” Harry muttered to Death as he took another bite.

He had found a blood replenisher in his first aid kit and took that shortly after he was convinced the eggs would stay in his system.

The whole week he continued to experiment with food and tea, starting with simple stuff. He thought that maybe if he didnt eat sh*te he might feel better too. Force the good feelings into his soul through the stomach or whatever.

His whole apartment was a complete mess and he began, very slowly, to clean it up. Since this moment of clarity and detachment after his resurrection it was as if his whole perspective had shifted. It wasn't much, he still knows why he had felt the way he did the last half year. He still thinks his actions and emotions were completely reasonable. But he doesn't feel about everything as strongly anymore. It was as if seeing Death, knowing the souls of his loved ones were in their care, had soothed something within him. If he wants to talk to his parents, to Remus, to Sirius, to Fred, he could summon them. It doesnt change all the other f*cked up sh*t that happened in his life and the nightmares were only a bit more dull since then, but to not feel as guilty about the death of countless people was actually a big step. Harry continued to think about what he might say to them as he cleans, scrubs and vacuums. The repetitive work was excellent for thinking and after he was done, he went outside with newfound resolution.

Harry dangled his feet from the cliff and summoned the stone of resurrection from his Peverell Lordship ring. It seemed to be a perk of being the master of the hallows, that he instinctively knew where they were and how to get them. Back in the forest the spirits of his parents and Remus and Sirius had been his courage. He remembered apologising and how guilty he felt about their deaths. Harry had been ready to die but he had also been equally afraid. And now he would never join them. A fresh surge of resentment and longing coursed through his mind, the feelings all knives in his chest. He decided on a person and whispered their name to the stone.

“Hey mum…”

Lily Potter looked just as young as the last time, her red mane tousling in the breeze just like his own hair. “You've been so brave.” She said, and Harry got a strong sense of deja vu. Though now, her smile isn't wide, but strained, her eyes are as equally hungry as the last time, but also worried. She was floating in the wind right above the raging waters.

Harry didn't know what to say, so he just sat there, legs swinging side to side. What would he say to her? Sorry I didn't cross over back then? There had always been a million questions he wanted to know of his parents, but right now not a single one came to his mind.

“Hey my Darling.” She smiled and he forced a small smile on his lips. “What happened after the forest?” She floated over to him and sit-hovered next to him.

“I… defeated him.

“Such a thing should never have burdened such a young person if anyone had asked me”, she huffed.

“I… am Master of Death… I collected all the hallows or something. I can't die.”

She frowned. “That's… surprising. Explains why you didn't join us yet.”

“Yeah…”

Harry noticed from the corner of his eye how she was looking at him, her eyes raking over his hunched and starved form. His clothes hung loose from his limbs. Everything about him looked longer and stretched because he was so thin, almost skeletal. He knew he looked terrible, it hadn't bothered him for months, but now a new feeling entered the mix: shame.

“Tell me about your life.” She said softly.

“...Why?”

She chuckled softly. “Because you are my son and I want to know how you are feeling. I can see that you've been through a lot.” She lifts her hand and pretends to caress his cheek - which obviously doesn't really work. “On the other side we don't really notice what's going on in the world of the living. You don't have to tell me anything, you could also just ask me questions…or I could tell you a story of mine.”

Harry took a deep breath. And then another as he gathered his courage. “I've always wanted to know so much about you and dad. I've been thinking a lot about my life since May…Did you know that Dumbledore intended for me to die from the very beginning? I was never meant to live.” A tear broke from his eye, the feelings stirred up and let loose anew. “And now I don't know what to do. I could do anything and everything but… my whole life I was so occupied with surviving that I never thought about my interests or my wishes.” He wiped his eyes. “Everything I did was to survive. I never had any-” A sob breaks loose and his throat constricts. “-any goals or desires. I know that I like flying, that I liked defence, that I didn't like potions, but-” He broke off and drew his knees up, hugging them. He watched the seagulls drift in the wind, forcing his mind away from the bad thoughts to calm down.

“Dumbledore planned for you to die?” His mother frowned, green eyes glinting.

“Yes. He said it himself, in a memory from Snape I watched… he said I was meant to grow, to die in the right moment.”

“What?! When did you find out about that?”

“A few hours before the end.”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, lost for words. “That must be the single-most cruel thing I have ever heard anyone say. I almost can't believe it…” He swivelled his head at her and she studied him, searching, and seemingly finding what she had looked for. A very shark-like grin spread over her face. “Isn't it ironic that you can't die now? Honestly, I will go and have a word with Albus when I see him on the other side again. But that shouldn't concern you now. You bested not only him, but Voldemort and anyone who ever wanted to see you dead. And if you say you don't have any goals, that is okay too.”Her voice and gaze grew soft and she made another caressing gesture at him. “I think most people don't know what their life goals are, you are not alone in that. It definitely wasn't my plan to marry shortly after school and settle down so quickly. It also wasn't my goal to fight in a war. When I was a little girl I always dreamt of becoming a journalist and travelling the world. To get as far away from co*keworth as possible. After our OWLs I wanted to get a charms and potions mastery…” She looked out at the ocean. “What I mean to say is, it's not bad to have no defined goal. Sometimes people just hope to be able to pay their next rent, or wait for the new book of their favourite series to get published.”

Harry sniffed. “I just can't find any motivation in me to keep going. I don't know what for.”

“Maybe you could only concentrate on the things that used to bring you joy? Sometimes the smallest things bring us the most joy.” She smiled wistfully at him and he couldn't help the small blush that crept on his cheeks.

“Sure… but it still feels all so meaningless.”

“Most things are actually meaningless. Take… quidditch for example. People go crazy over quidditch all around the world, but at the end, when everyone goes home, nothing comes out of it. There is no new arithmetic equation that got solved, no new potion, no new beast that got discovered, usually people don't even get money out of it. Most people lose money by going to a quidditch game. But to all those that participate, it's fun.”

“Huh…I never thought about it that way.”

“You could learn a thing or two from your old mother”, she chuckled and he found himself smiling at the sound.

“Did you play quidditch, mum?”

“No”, she laughed, the high sound a bit muffled from a sudden gust of water droplet carrying wind.

“I played seeker.”

“Ohh, I've always thought seeker is such a boring position.”

Harry bristled. “It's not. If you play your position right and manage to feint the other seeker you can determine the outcome of the whole game. And you have to watch out to not get bludgered constantly. The Slytherin Beaters made it their personal task to target me as often as possible.” He huffed and looked over to see his mother smiling.

“See. There is passion if I see it”, she said softly and Harry deflated instantly.

“Yeah… you're right.”

“It's about time I go now”, she frowned. “I can feel that I don't have much longer.”

Harry panicked. “What? Will I be able to summon you again?”

“Yes, probably tomorrow.” She smiled a last time and then vanished.

Harry stared at the place just mere seconds ago her spirit had vacated. He missed her already. Even if their talk had been just maybe ten minutes, he had … enjoyed it. And he wanted to do it again.

The next day he found himself looking forward to their conversation the whole morning. He decided to try and assume another summon exactly twenty-four hours later, just to be sure it would work. He hadn't known there were rules to the summonings and Death was a right bastard for not mentioning anything. Harry knew he could die and visit Death for a talk but he didnt feel like dying today. He still remembered it. The killing curse had been easy, it felt kinda like apparition, but jumping from a cliff was another matter. He had seen all the blood around him on the rocks. Water splashing around his unmoving form, the life and blood draining from him. The pain was like a fire that spread through his torso, broken ribs had pierced his lungs. His spine had probably been broken because he couldn't lift a finger and was forced to lie still through it all. The open wounds burned from the salt in the ocean and with each rattling, slow and painful breath he swallowed a gulp of sea water. And he had just wanted it to be over.

Harry sat on the cliff again and muttered her name to the stone.

“Hello, my darling.” She smiled and he reciprocated it.

“What was your favourite colour?” The question blurted out of him before she could even sit down next to him. He had taken a great portion of his morning to think about questions he wanted to ask her.

She beamed at him. “Turquoise.”

“Were you really that good at charms and potions?” Slughorn had always said she was almost a prodigy in those subjects and he wanted to confirm if he was truthful or just wanted to boast. Now Harry could confirm it.

“I’d say yes.”

“Why did you like these subjects so much?”

“Isn't it wonderful to change the properties of things? I think charms and potions are quite similar in that aspect. Charms just have those effects on objects and potions, usually on people. Did you know that I used to dye my hair in funny colours? At the end of the year I'd brew a few potions to take home and piss off Tuney with it.” She sighed. “So worth it.” She grinned.

Harry wondered what she would say if he told her about all the sh*t aunt Petunia had him go through, but decided he didn't want to open that can of worms right now. “Which colour did you dye your hair?”

“Oh I absolutely loved blue in all shades or sometimes pink, but I know most other colours than my natural hair didn't really work with my eyes. I attempted to dye my eyes too at one point, but that landed me in the hospital wing for a day.”

“Why that?” Harry chuckled.

“Because there is a fundamental difference between living cells and non-living cells in our bodies.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn't you learn that in transfiguration? You’d have to transfigure your iris to change the colour. But hair you can just dye with a spell… or potion if you want it to last longer. It's the same reason you can't Accio people. Their clothes though, yes.” She grinned sheepishly at him and he knew she had done that at least once in her life.

“What's your funniest story from charms class?”

Harry continued to summon and talk to his mum and it easily got to be the highlight of each day. She was right: he soon found small things that he enjoyed each day and she made him tell her about those things. Like the chocolate filled doughnut he ate for dinner the day before. Or how he watched out over the ocean and saw whales in the distance. He had also gotten used to this weird feeling of Death’s continued presence and the deity's reactions to his emotions.

It was February now and he felt stable enough to face civilization. He decided to go back to Kyoto, a town he already vaguely knew, as he needed a change in his surroundings and mum kept pestering him that he needed to talk to actual people.

The apartment was cleaned up and he opened the cupboard to get his broom and froze, hand in mid-air. There was a feeling coming from the broom. He squinted his eyes and in the dimly-lit corner of the cupboard, he could see a faint green glow around the sleek wood. It was hard to find words for the feeling; it was warm and he knew, he could still find the broom if someone hid it somewhere else, even with his eyes closed. What was this? The warmth of the feeling reminded him of the magic rushing through his arm whenever he touched a rune. Was it damaged? Did the magic leak out of the broom? Harry wrapped his hand around the handle and inspected the wood. There was nothing he could see that indicated damage, no cracks or splinters, even the bristles were in brand new shape. Hardly surprising, as he got it not long ago and good brooms usually lasted around ten years. He doubted it was broken. He would ask the store clerk in Kyoto about it.

Within two nights Harry flew on his broom back to Kyoto. He still didn't know what to do with his life, but there is a lingering restlessness, a spark of motivation that didn't want to leave, a need to explore and find.

It was still completely dark as he landed on the outskirts and walked through the city, but one thing became more and more obvious: something was wrong. Harry now hesitated directly in front of the giant dumpster pile between two skyscrapers, which was an illusion that concealed an entrance to the area of wizarding Kyoto. He had this weird feeling. The same that he got from his broom, but much stronger. But it also wasn't quite the same. It had a different… flavour… to it. The place was illuminated by the surrounding shops and street lights, but if he squinted his eyes he could see a faint glow, like a smoke cloud, hovering over the entire alley. It glimmered like hot air on asphalt. His gaze fell on the ground and he did a double-take. There was something on the ground. If he looked directly on it, it vanished, but from the corner of his eyes, he could see tiny shapes. They also seemed to move, but he could only barely perceive them, so he wasn't sure.

Harry sighed, plucked up his courage and stepped through. Something warm and soft brushed over him and then he was on the other side, looking out into the alley. He was very sure now that it was magic. But why was he able to feel it? Why now? And why could he see the magic? He’d never heard that his classmates could feel or see magic. Or maybe it just hadn’t been discussed? Maybe it was such common knowledge that it didn't need mentioning in magical theory. Just like the lord titles had been. All shops were closed, but at least the path was illuminated by hovering lights. He vaguely remembers that there was an ability called mage sight, but it was extremely rare. And what further fueled his doubt was the fact that this ability developed now. Usually people were born with special abilities.

Harry entered the Gringotts branch under his cloak, which he pulled in a swift movement from his Peverell Lordship ring, and requested a private meeting.

“Mr. Potter. Your health has seen better days”, Anduk greeted him after Harry had waited for roughly half an hour.

“Hello Anduk. Yeah, I know.” He attempted a small, reassuring smile but it was probably a failure and the goblin didn't care about him anyway.

The goblin tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “What do you need?”

“A batch of polyjuice potion for my James Evans persona.”

Even though it had been a few months, and he honestly didn't look anything like he had in last May, he knew his face had been in newspapers all around the globe. He didn't want to risk getting recognised. Maybe he should grow out his beard…

After the details were sorted and he had stuffed the potions in his sports bag the goblin looked at him again. “Anything else?”

He shook his head.

“Here are some letters for you.” The goblin shoved a stack of heavy parchments across the desk. He had a mail ward installed before his departure, so all his mail gets sent to Gringotts where it is stored until he picks it up. Harry had also clarified with the help of Kraggus which kind of letters should be kept for him. It might be petty, but the glee he had felt at the thought, that every single letter from newspaper employees got burned immediately, has been quite satisfying. He eyed the stack for a few seconds and then decided to take a look at them. He didn't have to write a reply if he didn't want to.

On the next day he set out into wizarding Kyoto, freshly polyjuiced. It was much milder climate here, but still a bit chilly. He wandered down the streets and got some things he had needed. A jacket and a winter coat. He took his time with everything. Weirdly, the people around fascinated him. They, their lives, their problems and wishes and needs seemed so insignificant in the prospect of death. Everyone died eventually - well, except for him now - so why do they care so much? Harry knew Death’s presence and the ‘present’ from Death had changed his values in some aspects. He knew that every life had equal value. He knew that he didn't have to worry about the dead. It is sad if people die early, but he knows even if they do, they are cared for. He knew, and this was probably the most mind-bending, that in the end one’s existence barely matters. In the perspective of centuries and millennia, people are born and die like flies. It was unnerving how calm he felt despite this change.

He wandered into the book shop where he first got the map and browsed through the shelves. In the small foreign languages aisle he found, funny enough, the Hogwarts school books from first till fifth grade. His fingers travelled over the spines and he stopped at a book that he recognized from third grade. Hermione's rune dictionary. He pulled it off the shelf and looked at the pages. It was all gobbledygook to him, even if he recognized a few runes from Hermione's homework. He has kind of a love-hate relationship with the subject. Runes have always been something really handy, with their applications in everyday life and their flexibility, one can use them for a lot of things. And he knew even though it required a lot of learning and work to understand - just thinking about all the different alphabets and that they can be combined, holy sh*t - he wished he could understand runes and use them himself. On a whim, he got the book and on the way out the shop also a Japanese language book. It was already past noon so he decided to get lunch at the same place he had been to with Miss Kobayashi.

The soup is steaming hot, the perfect warm-me-up for this kind of weather and he began rifling through his letters. It was quite the pile actually and all of them were from people he knew. From Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, the Weasley family. Harry’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he read the last sender’s name: Lord Malfoy had sent three letters.

Dear Harry,

I miss you. I hope you find what you seek. If you want to return someday you will always find a place with me.

I know that you weren't in the best state, mentally, when we last saw each other.

Please take care of yourself!

Please eat. And talk to your friends, we will always be there for you.

Please write to me some time, I’d love to hear from you.

Love,

Mione

Dear Harry,

Merry Christmas! We will all be celebrating at the burrow this year, Luna and Xenophilius will be with us. I think Andromeda and Teddy will show up too. Maybe you want to join us if this letter reaches you in time?

If not, Ron and I finally got our own little flat in the Salem neighbourhood in London, that's not too far from Grimmauld place. Ron and George did the whole move for us since I couldn't leave Hogwarts, but I will use the Christmas hols for unpacking. Maybe you want to celebrate the New Year with us, we might invite a few friends, your old roommates, a few friends of mine from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and Ginny asked to bring a few friends too.

I hope you are faring well, please write to me! Just a few words will do. We all miss you and just want to know that you are in good health.

Crookshanks also relays his greetings.

Please write to me if you are okay.

Love, Mione

He traced his fingertip over her handwriting and felt a pang of longing for her. Hermione was, from all his friends, the only person that had always believed in him. Even if everyone else turned their back to him, she had been there by his side. Suddenly he had this urge to discuss his deepest fears with her. What if the horcrux has irreparably damaged something within him? What if it wasn't just the horcrux that died in May, but it took something of Harry with it? What if the horcrux has influenced him, his emotions, moods, thoughts, not just momentarily like in fifth grade, but on a long-term scale? But at the same time Harry feels detached from her, he had changed too much within the last months, they had drifted apart. She seems in a completely different world from him, planning her future with Ron, buying a flat, probably deep in thoughts about her career and other normal stuff, cramming for NEWTs. Meanwhile he was… here. He was working towards feeling better and coming to terms with sh*t. But he still had the bad habit of cutting or burning himself if everything got too emotional. Not to mention how he looked almost like an inferi on bad days and maybe a zombie on good ones.

No, he couldn't go and talk to her. And to explain or ask these things over a letter felt wrong, it was no option for him.

He also didn't want to tell her of his horcrux-ness, and how would he ask about his fears without mentioning that?

The best outcome would be that no one ever knew about the horcrux that had nested within his forehead. Because he knows people would then fear the same things he did. Has Harry ever been himself? Was he influenced by it still in some way?

He knew he had to do something about that gaping hole of non-knowledge in his brain. He found himself once again resenting Albus Dumbledore for his incompetence to prepare Harry for his task. He doesn't know how horcruxes are created, how they survive, how they stay bound to objects or people… He definitely needed to research them. Outrageous, but Harry needed books. But yes if Harry was presumed to die anyway, it was irrelevant how much he knew.

He forced his thoughts back to the present and grabbed the next letter.

Hey mate,

I know Hermione probably didn't tell you in her letter, but everyone here is slowly losing their mind that you're gone.

My mum blames herself almost everyday, it's really hard to cope with.

And I know you didn't want to hurt us. I understand that it must have been very important to you to leave, if you didn't tell anyone about your plans.

If you need anything you can always reach out to me, you know?

I'm doing okay so far, the joke shop helps distract myself. It's still weird without Fred, but I guess you feel the same. I try to look ahead most of the time. Oh, and we're looking for a flat right now, Mione and I.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Ron

Harry felt a bit gutted. He knew Ron isn't someone for big words or words of affection. But at the same time - he didn't know what exactly he expected from Ron - but he was disappointed. Ron has always been more logical than emotional, even if there were times when his emotions completely obliterated his logical thinking, like in fourth year. When Ron thought, that Harry, who had never wanted attention, rather loathed it, wanted to participate in the Triwizard tournament. And wouldn't tell his best friends about it. It had been absurd.

Harry was still offended by Rons ambivalent behaviour, he realised. It was as if Ron chose to be his friend, only when he could understand Harry and shared his opinion on things, to put it bluntly.

The letter wasn't mean or distant. But it lacked genuine compassion.

The next letter was from Luna and odd, as anticipated.

Harry,

the nargles told me you are in Japan right now. Please watch out for Yuki Onna, they are quite dangerous even though they seem harmless. Oh, but maybe they will not affect you, just like Veela don't? Please send me your observation report as soon as you've encountered them.

Hogwarts is restless. She misses you. I'm sure if you had come back this year, your presence as Lord would have calmed her magic. The wards are not quite stable yet.

Professor McGonagall and the ward masters did their best but there is only so much they can do. I know you will return to Scotland sometime next year. I will schedule my departure with daddy, so we can break into Hogwarts and fix her wards in the summer holidays, when everyone is gone.

I have planned to visit Nepal next year, after my graduation.

I'm sure we will cross paths more than once on our travels.

Luna

And wasn't that ominous. Harry knew she would be right with her statements. They would break into Hogwarts together. Why Hogwarts needed him of all people to fix the wards he had no clue, but Luna seemed to know the reason. They will cross paths more than once in the coming time. And he will probably encounter Yuki Onna, whatever they are.

Hey Harry,

Just wanted to write to you. Honestly, I don't really know what to say. I thought we could meet sometime, but then Ron told me you had left and no one knows where you went? I hope this letter reaches you.

It's no surprise you would want to leave, whole wizarding Britain was clinging to your coat-tails. Gran put a mail ward on me and herself, because the interview requests just kept coming in.

I'm one of the few of our year who returned to Hogwarts for NEWTs. Hannah and Susan and Ernie are here, I have lots of contact with the Hufflepuffs now. The Ravenclaws and Slytherins mostly keep to themselves, but we all have lessons together with the regular seventh years. I also hang around Luna and her friends Ginny and Millicent a lot.

Hogwarts now is really…an experience. Everyone I meet in the halls thanks me for “slaying the snake heroically”, it's kind of ridiculous.

I think you can understand what I mean, we both know I have never been a very open person.

It's hard to deal with sometimes.

I'm sorry you had to deal with stuff like that all these years. I realised that now, that I'm going through something similar. I'm sorry I haven't been a better friend in the past. You dealt with a lot of sh*t alone. And the sh*t you got tangled up in here at Hogwarts was really f*cked up, I realised. I've been thinking about your past here a lot. I know it would be disrespectful to say I understand you or know what you've been through, because no one except for you does. But I think most of us, of your friends and family, have a good guess.

Yeah I don't know what I want to say with that. But I'm here if you need anything or want to talk about something.

You can always write or contact me. I've taken on lots of extracurriculars to help Professor Sprout rebuild the greenhouses and reshape the beds of the castle grounds, but I will find time to reply.

Neville

From all his friends, he hadn't expected Neville to be the most understanding. That was a surprise. Harry knows it's because Neville managed to recognize and acknowledge something his best friend didn't. Damn, Harry himself had barely thought through all the sh*t. Granted, most sh*t that went down in Hogwarts simply wasn't relevant anymore in comparison to the final battle, to his nightmares of Malfoy manor, to his nightmares of being lost in the wilderness without a wand and just a tent. But yes, Neville actually had a point.

And Neville, sweet, caring Neville, apologised for their time in school?

Harry could feel the sting in his eyes and how his throat constricted dangerously. Neville hadn't even been his friend since first grade and Harry would have never held him accountable for anything. But damn. He was very content with crying in general, but it was kind of embarrassing to do it in a random izakaya in Kyoto. Miss Kobayashi explained to him how private the Japanese population was. They just didn't do ‘feelings’ and ‘commotions’ in public.

So Harry sucked it in, deep down and read the next letters, which would surely distract him, judging by the name and flowing cursive.

Dear Hello Mr. Potter.

As Lord Malfoy I write to you today to express my deepest gratitude to you. Your testimony and statements at the wizengamot court allowed my mother and me to avoid being sent to Azkaban. Please accept my thanks. At the same time I offer you an apology for my and my family's actions towards you and your loved ones over all these years. Please accept the offer of gold I have sent to you along with this letter.

Lord Malfoy

Greetings Lord Potter

Congratulations on accepting your titles. I do not know how the House of Malfoy was worthy enough, but I thank you for the trust and faith you put in my house for bestowing the voting power of Lord Slytherin in our hands.

As Lord Malfoy I write to you again today, to express my deep gratitude to you. Your testimony and statements at the wizengamot court allowed my family to be reunited. Please accept my thanks.

At the same time I implore you to accept my apology for my and my family's actions towards you and your loved ones over all these years.

Please accept the offer of gold I sent with my previous letter.

Yours sincerely,

Lord Malfoy

Lord Potter,

I write to you again today to ask you to accept my gratitude, my apology and with it my gold.

A simple note, maybe saying „Yes, I received your letter and accept your apology“ will do. I know you lack manners (please don't take offence in that statement) but that's the polite thing to do in this situation.

Yours sincerely,

Lord Malfoy

Lord Potter,

I have now been informed that you have been missing for quite some time. I apologise for the tone of my last letter.

I hope this one reaches you.

I write to you today to ask you to accept my gratitude, for helping my mother and I. It was only thanks to your generous sincerity, that we both avoided Azkaban and were able to reunite.

I also wish to send my deep apologies, for how you were treated by me, my family and my companions all these years.

I had sent a missive with a donation of gold for compensation to Gringotts, you will find the money in your Potter vault.

I hope you are faring well.

Yours sincerely,

Lord Malfoy

A short, incredulous snort escaped him. At first Harry had feared they were from Lucius Malfoy, but then the contents revealed them to be actually from Draco. Right, Lucius was in Azkaban, so Draco, even though he was under house arrest, naturally took on the title? Had his mother not wanted the title? Malfoys letters were strange, they did not suit his usual snarky and above-all-else personality. Only in the third letter his usual tone shone through. It was odd. He knew he would definitely reply to him. Harry also found it… funny. How Malfoy seemed to verbally grovel before him. At the same time Harry thought it was unnecessary and very unsettling.

He finished the last spoonfuls of his soup.

Harry's next stop was the japanese version of Scrivenshafts, he needed supplies to answer the letters. The shop offered pergament and muggle paper in all imaginable colours, even colour-changing, self-burning, scented and privacy-enchanted papers. Quills from all kinds of birds, exotic to bland, dicta-quills, muggle fountain pens, and lots of art supplies. The wares were such a wild mix between wixen and muggle, there were loads of enchanted muggle items for sale.

Harry picked a few colourful quills that were charmed to be splotch and leakage free and muggle markers that changed colour while writing. He also decided on muggle letter paper and two beautiful notebooks. He had thought about it for a few weeks now, but he wanted to delve deeper into this spark, this need to live and experience the world that he had felt since his second death. Harry wanted to write down ideas how he could sate this curiosity, ideas what interests him or where he might want to go. With the help of his mum he had already found a few things that he liked and that brought him joy, but he felt like writing a list to come back to for dire times was a good idea.

In a side alley he returned to the safety of his apartment temporarily to write his letters.

It took him a few days to draft the best versions of the replies, scrunching up paper after paper, but finally, he was satisfied with them.

Hey Neville,

Thank you for your letter.

Yeah, I guess I can understand how you feel. The population of Hogwarts and especially her rumour-mill has never been forgiving or granted much privacy. I dealt with it by ignoring the people mostly, or as best I could. Didn't always work. As you know Malfoy had a talent for riling me up.

You do not have to apologise for our time at Hogwarts. If anything, you deserve an apology from me, because I hadn't been much support to you the first few years, even though I knew partly what you were going through.

I think being a Griffindor doesn't just mean courage, nerve and bravery. There are also the traits of chivalry and determination. And seeing how far you've come all these years, I mean I witnessed your progress in the DA, I think you can be proud of yourself Neville.

There is actually something you might be able to help me with.

I found out a while ago that the influence Voldemort had on me was stronger than I had feared and I suspect there might be something wrong with me. I won't tell you any details, though, as there was dark magic at play. Could you maybe send me books or information on the development of the body and magic core? Maybe something on possession? Don't worry, I was not possessed. But I don't know what else it was.

Where I am right now, English books are hard to come by. But maybe you or your gran might know more about it than the standard books?

Other than that I am managing okay. Still feel really sh*tty most days.

Please don't tell people that I replied to you, I try to keep contact at a minimum these days.

Love, Harry

The small lie, that Harry didn't know what had been the reason for his fears, stinged in his heart. But it felt necessary, to not worry Neville further and maybe compel him to send books on more topics than the ones Harry mentioned. He felt very sneaky at that thought and a small smile tugged at his lips.

Dear Luna

If you say so, then we will meet in Scotland during the summer. Right now I don't really know what might lead me there. If possible I won't return to England for quite some time.

Why do you need me for that task though? I know I am thought to be powerful, but I have no clue about wards.

Yes, I am in Japan. Please keep that a secret, but I'm sure the nargles told you to not spread those news?

How is Hogwarts treating you these days? Neville told me you hang out with him most of the time?

See you in summer, love,

Harry

His answer to Luna felt too short, too business and lacked feelings. Yet he didn't know what else to say to her. Her letter had been all business too. And somehow he got the feeling he didn't have to say anything to her, she knew how he was doing already.

Lord Malfoy

Yes, I received all of your letters. I hereby accept your apologies and your gratitude. But only under the condition that you and your mother accept my apologies and gratitude too. To you, Lord Malfoy, I thank you for lying on my behalf in Malfoy Manor. I’m not sure we would have made it out alive otherwise.

To you, Mrs. Malfoy, I thank you for lying Voldemort directly in his face. That was amazing. Again, and as I said in court, I don't think our side of the war had won if you hadn't done that. It saved my life.

I thought it was very funny to give you the Slytherin lordship, because in second year we thought you might be the heir of slytherin. And now that it is me, I find it quite ironic.

Please do not tell anyone that you were able to contact me.

Honestly, I feel like sh*t most days, but as it is the polite thing to do, I will just say that I am faring quite well, thank you for asking Lord Malfoy.

Yours sincerely,

Lord Potter-Black-Peverell-Slytherin

Harry smiled to himself as he read the letter over one last time. The chain of titles was unnecessary, but just the mental image of Malfoy staring incredulously at the ink of his letter made him smile.

To Hermione and the Weasleys he wrote a short letter saying that he was faring okay and they wouldn't have to worry about him. It’s been some time since he found out about them basically withholding a whole aspect of his identity from him and that still stood like a menhir between them. He didn't feel ready to face them yet, even through a letter.

He also spent the days updating his apartment. After spending roughly half a year in it, he desired a change in his daily surroundings and he was eager to meet this wish, this want, with glee. It was a feeling that he strived for these days: motivation.

Right now he was just Harry, he didn't have a purpose. It was unfamiliar. He had always had a purpose. There had always been something. Something bigger than himself, looming abstractly in the distance, a greater goal of his life. He had been forced to face from the first day, when he went with Hagrid through the Leaky, that he had been destined for something.

Something he couldn't avoid. Since then the motivation had been chasing him.

Now he didn't have that anymore, he had to find his own goals.

Kinosh*ta-san from the wizarding shopping mall had recognized his polyjuiced ‘James Evans’ persona immediately and they went straight to business. The language barrier was still present, but they worked around it with gesturing, pointing, Harry's dictionary and the few words and basic japanese phrases Harry had learnt since his last visit. They added a new basem*nt, which would come in handy for storage, changed the floor plan, extended the living room and added more windows. Harry also requested a charm which let him adjust the wall colours and window displays by himself with a tap of his wand (or finger).

After he left his sports-bag for the several-hour long renovation he explored the other floors of the department store.

Shopping or spending money was something he had never enjoyed. It had always come with a gnaw of guilt. And he knows where these doubts come from. Spending eleven years of your life having nothing and then suddenly owning truckloads of money for eight years was hard to come to terms with. And now he owned even more. It was a conscious effort to not feel bad about every knut he spent, but he was slowly becoming better at it.

He got blankets, cushions and other feel-good sh*t that the clerks recommended to reduce stress. His favourite new item was the artificial fairy lights. He also got a potion station. Maybe he could brew polyjuice? Even if the services of the goblins were convenient and fast, their fees were immense.

A few days later he was asked to the Gringotts branch. After consulting the topic with his mum and her nagging him that it was long overdue anyway, he had decided to get a healer's appointment for a general health check-up and to get first leads if the horcrux had left any lasting damage. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't just stroll into St. Mungos and schedule an appointment, even if he could just portkey back to London. But he desperately needed someone who spoke english. So when he had gone to send off his letters, he had asked the goblins to find him a japanese healer who spoke enough english so they could communicate efficiently.

He was escorted through the halls of the Gringotts branch to another office, where he got presented with a portkey and was whisked away into an unfamiliar, rather small examination room. It's got the typical examination cot and a potted plant in the corner.

A rather tall man with facial stubble and white robes greets him with a firm handshake. “Hello, Mr. Evans, my name is Healer Kurosaki. I have been told you need my assistance today?” He appeared very easy-going, but had this professional air about him. And his English seemed good enough. He pointed Harry to the cot and he decided he liked the guy.

Harry sat on it and began to tell his prepared story and questions. “Yes. I have been… cursed by dark magic, similar to possession, until recently. I want to know if there is any lingering damage, in my body, soul or magic.”

Harry knew that the healer wouldn't be able to diagnose him completely with the few information he was willing to give. But maybe the results would help him to find out in which direction further research had to go. He wasn't good at researching, he wasn't patient enough to pore over books for hours just to find a tiny clue eventually. He needed a heads up and his best course of action was to access the damage as it stood.

“So you need a thorough check-up? We can definitely do that, lad. Good that I brought the big guns today since I didn't know what you needed of me.” His face splits into a very easy and friendly grin. “While I get my stuff ready, you can fill this form for me.”

The form asked about Harry’s age, allergies, height, last inoculation potions and other stuff he didn't know, like his weight.

“Sorry but I don't know much of this information.”

“Ohh, that's okay lad. Here, drink this for me.” Healer Kurosaki handed him a potion that glowed in a red and yellow swirl as if one had captured and bottled the sun. And there it was again: that magic feeling. Harry felt that the potion was magic. “This potion reacts with your magic and will help me make the magic pathways in your body visible. It might feel uncomfortable and please tell me immediately if you feel exhausted or dizzy. Then I will give you the antidote faster.” Harry downed the watery substance. It left a sharp burn on this tongue, like stinging nettle. Immediately he felt how his body heated up.

“Oh yeah, it reacts fast. I will begin with the diagnosis spell now, please hold still but if it's too uncomfortable, interrupt me please.”

Healer Kurosaki drew a colourful small hand fan, opened it with a satisfying snatch and began to wave it over Harry's head and over the parchment he held in his other hand.

Harry watched, fascinated, as the feeling of magic flooded the room and over his body. It was soft and a bit ticklish, as it swept through his body. A few minutes passed and the burn in Harry's body intensified more and more. It felt as if the magic in his body got burned up by the potion, directly there in their ‘pathways’. Harry had never even heard of the concept of magic pathways within the wixen body, but it made sense. Why were there no subjects on wixen biology in Hogwarts? He tried to distract himself with thoughts and theories about how magic worked, what the magic core was and if magic ran in his veins along the blood or in designated pathways.

“Please drink this.” Healer Kurosaki finally handed him another potion and Harry downed it immediately. The potion had a menthol-like effect on his entire body and he wiped the sweat off his forehead.

“Let's look at the results, lad.” Healer Kurosaki had a lopsided, almost apologetic smile on his face now and somehow, Harry could tell it wouldn't be good. “Your magic paths are slightly underdeveloped for your age, but your core is even more worrying”, he began and turned the now colourful parchment for Harry to see where he pointed with his fingers. It showed a shadow of a human body which was crossed by lines and lumps of red and yellow, the same colours as the potion. The lines’ arrangement was very similar to how the veins and arteries would look, but the biggest lump, which healer Kurosaki pointed to when he talked about Harry’s magic core, was on the opposite side of the body than the heart.

“Your magic core age is maybe 15 or 16, but you are 19 in a few months, right?” Harry nodded. “I don't know what caused this staggering development. From how it looks, you used magic quite successfully and often enough. Thanks to that your paths are almost fully developed. But it is as if something has leeched off your magic power for months, years maybe.” He studied Harry's reaction intently and he felt coerced to nod in agreement. “I don't know how much magic was drawn and I don't know the potential of how strong you might become. The age of your magic core is a rough estimate, because I don't know which size it might become when fully developed, but for the average wixen your core age is around 15 or 16, as I said.” He studied the parchment again and then nodded to himself. “I will make a conclusion when we examined everything else. How long did that curse you were suffering from last?”

Harry frowned. “A few years.”

Healer Kurosaki nodded again. “I don't know what your curse was, but in the case of a possession, it always affects the whole host. Meaning the mind, body and magic. Usually a spirit draws on the host's magic and body to stay connected. It is a purely parasitic relationship that slowly damages the body and magical core, leading to their eventual failure. A possessing spirit will influence the host's mind and soul, but will not corrupt it. It will, if you will, shove the host's mind aside and into the background, to then take control over the body. Does that align with your experience?”

“Yeah, roughly. Most of the time, the spirit was in the background though. That's why I didn't know about it until I got rid of it.”

Healer Kurosaki nods absentmindedly and takes Harry's blood. He waves his fan over the phial which produces another diagnostic diagram. ”You have quite the deficits in Vitamin D and C, lad.” He smiles at Harry. “I'll write you a potion plan at the end for everything. It seems you also never got your inoculation potions as a child. There are absolutely no antibodies in your blood.”

He sat the diagram aside. Then he instructed Harry to undress completely and lie down on the cot. Showing the doctor his whole body, he felt self conscious of his legs, the thighs and shins the same thickness, self conscious of his skin straining against his ribs and collarbone, self conscious of the gauntness of his arms which appeared to elongate his whole body - and ashamed. The only reaction the healer showed as his eyes raked over Harry’s form was a slight frown and then he looked straight in Harry’s eyes. He was thankful that healer Kurosaki didn't say anything about it. “This is the last diagnostic I will do, it will also take the longest. We will scan your whole body for lasting ailments of past injuries, layer by layer. Don't worry, it won't hurt.” He smiled. “Do you know what a CT-scan is?... Yeah, it's like that but without the terrible noise and I will be with you all the time. If you feel any discomfort, tell me immediately. While we do that, I will also write a full report of your past injuries. Is that okay?... Good. I will talk you through the whole process now.”

As he said, it was not painful, but Harry could feel the magic tingling, searching, reaching through his body again. Healer Kurosaki found a few badly-healed injuries - like a dislocated shoulder, a few burn scars, mostly on his hands and arms, damaged nerves and veins where the basilisk tooth had pierced him. He also found residual dark magic in the scars caused by the blood quill, that Harry didn't have his appendix and neuron damage in his brain, which was definitely not disturbing. He mentioned the cuts on Harry’s hands and arms, that Harry had caused himself, with detached professionalism.

“Damn lad, you've had quite the history“, healer Kurosaki unrolls the full diagnostic parchment to its solid two foot length. “A Basilisk? Oh wow.” He winked. “I hold my honour as a healer in high regards, and the healer's vow will not allow me to tell another soul of your ailments. Although it would really interest me where you found that basilisk. Basilisk venom is extremely valuable. Though if you lived to tell the story it's probably dead, yeah?”

“Sadly, yes.”

Healer Kurosaki nodded again. “I think that is everything I can do so far. A soul cannot be checked for injuries as far as I know, only your mental health could be accessed by a trained legilimens and mind healer maybe. But that is not my field of knowledge. You have to see another professional for that. I would recommend you seek a mind healer about the cuts on your arms. Also, either you are possessed or not, there is no in-between. I’m quite knowledgeable with ghosts, wraiths and spirits.” He chuckled. “But that’s the thing lad. I don't think you were possessed. The damage is not big enough for that. I had expected much more body damage. The magic drain adds up somehow. I get that you can't tell me more yourself, but that is my assessment as a medical professional. Now onto your treatment plan and future outlook. Thankfully, most injuries healed either good enough or will be fixable. First I recommend using magic in regular and large quantities to strengthen your core. It will not grow on its own from here on, since your body has already reached its maturity. It wont produce growth hormones on its own. Leaving it as it is will not harm you, but you might encounter problems when you get older, being prone to certain diseases or having difficulties casting certain spells that need a lot of power. You should really go to your limits every day, cast spells to burn magic until you are exhausted. Here is your potion plan.” Healer Kurosaki hands him a long list with a drawn weekly schedule. “Along with the basic nutrient potion I also added potions to tackle your more severe deficits. These are your inoculations-” he points to a separate list below the schedule “- please take them on the designated dates. This here is a letter with instructions for my colleague, healer Shiba, she is a surgeon and will be in charge of your procedures. Like correcting the veins and nerve damage. She will also purify the curse scar on your hand.”

“How long will I have to do the… magic training?”

“You will start to feel the growth. You will tire slower than the days before. And if your core reaches its maturity you will feel it. It is like a pulse that runs through your body and you will feel a boost in your powers the whole day… Any other questions lad?“

„Yeah. I’ve been wondering about something. Since…a few weeks or so I can feel magic.” Harry glances up in his face and healer Kurosaki looks at him seriously and without any judgement. “And sometimes I can see the magic. It is like a soft glow on things and I’ve just been wondering if that is normal or not.”

“I’d say that is relatively normal.” He frowned. “Usually wixen can feel magic to a certain degree, it all depends on one's inherent abilities how strong the perception is. There are differences. Wixen who have so little magic they are almost a squib would not feel magic unless it rushes through them, like when they get their wand. Very powerful wixen can sometimes distinguish magics that were cast by different people… it's not really my field of knowledge, so I would recommend looking into that on your own, lad. My personal guess is that it's also got to do with your staggering core development. Maybe your abilities were held back because your core wasn't ready yet? I know that wixen children develop the senses for magic throughout their youth, but I don't know the age where these abilities should be fully formed.”

Harry nodded. So he wasn't going crazy and as expected, he didn't suddenly gain mage sight. Still, he should look into that. He was very glad that he’d already asked Neville for books on magic development.

“Thanks for everything, healer Kurosaki.”

After the appointment Harry holed himself up in his apartment. He laid sprawling on the fluffy rug on the floor, staring at the ceiling. He had it enchanted to display a slowly rotating night sky with the constellations highlighted by artistic interpretations.

Harry pulled the stone of resurrection from the lordship ring and whispered to it.

“Hey mum”, he smiled as she went over and sat on the bed next to him. The bed didn't dip from her weight as she sat down, contrary to what one would usually expect.

She grinned down at him. “How was your appointment?”

Harry sighed and lifted his notebook up, diving right into it. “So, I have lasting nerve and vein damage, residual dark magic, neuron damage, nutrition deficits, an underdeveloped magic core, underdeveloped magic pathways, several badly healed scars and fractures, I don't have an appendix anymore, and never got any inoculation potions.”

Through his listing of ailments her eyes had grown wider and wider and her hand covered her mouth. “Oh my god!” she whispered.

“Yeah, it's quite the list.” He sighed and stared at the star Procyon, of the canis minor constellation, slowly moving across the ceiling. “I told him that I was basically possessed and he said that it usually causes damage to the body, the magic core and basically shoves the soul in the background. I think the neuron damage and definitely the underdeveloped state of my magic core could be caused by the horcrux. But I don't think Voldemort was particularly interested in my appendix.”

Lily seemed over her shock and had a thoughtful expression. “So that stupid f*cker is still affecting you in a way.” She hummed. “Is there anything on your list that can't be fixed?”

“He forwarded me to another healer - a surgeon - and she will apparently fix some of the problems that can't be fixed by potions. He gave me this whole schedule of potions I have to take, I really hope they don't taste awful… But about the appendix or the neuron damage I’m not sure. I’ve never had my appendix removed by surgery so I don't know why it's gone. I’m also not sure how much the surgeon will be able to correct.”

“You didn't have it removed as a child maybe?”

“No, I've never been to a doctor, let alone the hospital.”

Lily sighed. “I know you didn't tell me about my sister yet, but from what I've gathered your growing-up with her has not been good. Please tell me about it when you…feel ready.” They locked eyes for a while and he saw her concern but also so much love and his heart constricted painfully. “Anyway, as an appendix isn't really necessary to the human body we shouldnt concern ourselves with that now. What about your mind? That’s what you feared the most, right?”

Harry nodded. “He couldn't say anything about that and he said only a mind healer and legilimens could maybe evaluate my mental state…” He worried his bottom lip before he decided to tell her more about his worries. She was dead, who would she tell about it anyway? “I know how it felt when his emotions bled through to me. Sometimes he would try and use my own emotions against me, to coax me to give in, or something. But those were only his conscious efforts. I know how we all changed when we wore the locket, it darkened every thought and emotions… I don't know if maybe, because the horcrux has always been with me, I just didn't feel its influence anymore, because it had always been there. Sometimes I would get unproportionally angry when provoked - like when I blew up aunt Marge. I know I always talked back to anyone as a child. I’d develop such deep hatred for some people… or maybe that has always been just me.”

Maybe Harry himself has always had dark thoughts sometimes. It was impossible to say with clarity if he had been influenced or not, but he knew he didn't feel different since May. He was still incredibly angry sometimes, still hated some people with a passion and would never back down if someone grated on his nerves… but at the same time he knew he’d developed this weird serenity with the world. And he didn't know if that was because of that whole Master of Death thing, because the horcrux was gone or because Harry had simply grown up.

She co*cked her head to the side. “I wish I could help you with these answers, my son. As it stands I can only advise you to take the healer's words to heart and follow through with your recovery plan. And maybe if you see a mind healer too, they might have some unexpected insight?”

“Maybe.”

She smirked. “I’m glad you went through with your appointment, even though you probably hated it.”

He smiled, because even though they had only spent a few hours together in total, she clearly got to know him better. “He was really nice.”

They fell into an easy silence and Lily started floating through his apartment, looking at his stuff.

Yes, Harry was glad he went to see a healer, because he had a lead now. He could properly begin his search for answers and a thought struck him. After the initial burst of motivation from buying the notebooks, he had spent days just staring at the blank paper, but now he could add the first items to the list of goals he had wanted to create.

☐ Heal my body

☐ Heal my magic core

☐ Understand the horcrux’ influence on me

Chapter 3: Wand

Chapter Text

Harry stayed in his sports bag apartment for a few days, trying to regain his bearings. That night after the appointment, after his talk with his mum, he hadn't slept.

His movements were slow and dazed the following days. From the way he lifted the blanket off his body, to the sloth speed at which he scrambled the eggs. They were a bit burned, but he didn't care much.

His body and his magic core were damaged. He'd say crippled, but apparently it was fixable. Still, he felt oddly defeated.

He'd not been in any fight, but Harry felt like he lost something.

It was very hard to leave the bed and to eat. But at the same time there was a persistence nagging in the back of his mind. A will to not back down no matter what, simply because he didn't want to admit defeat to Voldemort. It was the same stubbornness that had him sit detentions with Umbridge week after week.

So he forced his hands to lift the fork repeatedly to his mouth and then forced himself to leave the cosy apartment to go shopping at ‘bokuso yakkyoku’, the next wizarding apothecary.

He checked the list over once he got back and sorted the different coloured and labelled potions. Each heap was a different day of the week. The first was by far the largest, five flasks. An inoculation against - or for? - spattergroit, and the rest were different nutrients, a general nutrient potion, special vitamin C and D ones and a bone strengthener. He'd have to take the inoculations following healer Kurosaki's schedule from then on. The inoculation against dragon pox was to be taken two days after, then the second dose of spattergroit in two weeks. It was to not have the potions interact with each other in a weird way, but still take every inoculation in the right time period, as healer Kurosaki had explained.

“Welcome”, a witch that didn't look at all like a surgeon, greeted him, a few days later. “I'm healer Shiba.” She looked fairly young, the dark hair in a side-cut and if it weren't for the healer robes, from whose collar flashed the dark ink of a tattoo, he might've thought she was a street thug. He chastened himself for these prejudiced thoughts and stepped inside the treatment room of her small clinic, somewhere that was not Kyoto.

“Hello, I'm Mr. Evans.” He gave her a long scroll with instructions from healer Kurosaki and she unfurled it, looking it over.

She nodded, eyes flying across the lines. “Please lie down here, everything is prepared for your appointment already. The procedure will take roughly two hours, but don't worry, you won't notice anything. Are you perhaps allergic to asphodel or valerian?”

“Uh, not that I knew?”

She smiled. “Well, if you handled those ingredients in potions or herbology class just fine until now then we don't have anything to worry about?”

He gave her a reassuring nod and she pressed a flask into his hands. The colour and consistency as well as the faint smell that rose to his nose from the opening brought memories of the most pleasant potions lesson of his whole Hogwarts career to his mind. It was ‘Draught of the living death’. His last thought was that he hoped she was as good a potioneer as Professor Snape had been or he might not wake up from this.

Harry slowly regained consciousness, every light too bright. His whole body ached in a dull pain, rhythmically, with his heartbeat, as if someone pressed down on his body. He looked around and saw the mediwitch at the side table. She was writing something down, as the instruments next to her rinsed and polished themselves. A short blade that was covered in shiny red fluids hovered into the sink, just as a tiny round mirror with a handle got wrapped in a towel. He was covered in bandages, from his torso, only his stomach was visible. The left shoulder, left hand and the complete right arm were wrapped tight.

“How are you feeling?” she asked and stepped closer to cast some diagnostic charm that visualised his vitals - heartbeat, blood pressure, and other stuff Harry didn't know about - on him with her fountain pen wand.

He let his head fall back with a thud. “I've got quite the headache”, he mumbled in a meek voice.

She nodded. “Yes, I anticipated that. The headache should fade within a few hours, comes from the sedative. Anything else?”

“Uhn, throbbing pain?”

She looked over his vitals, swishing through different diagrams. “Yeah, that's from the procedures. I'd expect some pain after I cut you open, even with the use of a sedative, salves and pain killers you can't shut the feelings off completely, except you're unconscious. I’ve carried out the surgeries as they were instructed by my colleague and everything went according to plan.” She smiled down at him. “Now, let's go over the aftercare.” She conjured a stool next to his cot. “The bandages will stay for another day, then you can take them off. Here is a salve, I want you to rub that on every place that was treated, except for your hand. Here, this is a special salve for your hand that helps with scarring from dark magic. I've thrown a pepper-up in here also, if you need it for the headache.”

Harry nodded along, still hung up on the comment about scarring from dark magic. Would that work on such an old scar? Would it work on his forehead if he tried?

“The rest is simple”, she continued. “Lots of rest, a healthy diet and only light activity for a week. Listen to your body if you are exhausted. That was quite the procedure. I don't think I've had such a case as yours yet. I've seen entangled hexes and curses and infected wounds, but never dark magic damage that was left untreated for so long. It wouldn't surprise me if you feel like a completely new person in a few weeks. If you follow the instructions and rest, it should be alright though.” She smiled in a soft, warm, motherly way that didn't suit her badass shell.

“Thank you.” He said, really genuine.

“Then I hope I won't see you so fast again and wish you a quick recovery.” She grinned. “Off you go.”

As he stepped outside, Harry felt better even though his whole body was still throbbing. A big weight was lifted off his soul and there was a hope blossoming in his chest. It could be better, it would all be better. He only needed to tackle the very last item on his recovery plan now: the magic burn. For that he would need a wand. He found it a bit contradictory to burn magic till exhaustion for his core to grow bigger. Healer Kurosaki hadn't mentioned what exactly the problems were that might come with old age and an underdeveloped core, but Harry had the suspicion that wixen weren’t immune to diseases such as magical alzheimer or something. Harry had just finished telling his mum about the procedure.

“I think you should finally do it. I know it might be hard, but I also know how much he would want to talk to you”, his mum said and hovered over the stove, head first. She loved to “rotate around” as she called it. It was kind of distracting and a bit unnerving to see her float, zoom and rotate like a Millenium Falcon. At the same time it made it easier to talk to her about the things he didn't want to tell any other soul because it demonstrated unmistakably how she was dead. As it turned out spirits couldn't take any new knowledge with them into Death’s realm. Every time he summoned her she was a bit confused and sometimes didn't remember everything they had talked about, but after a few minutes she usually did. It was like their words were bound to this world. She had described the feeling to cross over again as “a bit like leaving everything behind. Worries, sadness, anger, even thoughts.” As such she hadn't berated Dumbledore in the afterlife and he was kinda glad about it.

“Mum, I know that… I want to talk to my dad, but I also don't. I want to laugh with him and confide in him. But the things I found out in Snape’s memories about their teenage years… it’s just really hard to try and build a relationship with these memories in the back of my mind.”

She sighed. “I understand that. I know he was awful. But he changed and Severus wasn't there to see any change the last few years. There are three whole years of change Severus doesn't know about.”

Harry sighed. “Mum… it just hurts. It hurt so much to see my own dad bully a person and I just can't believe Snape was the only victim.” She made a move to respond but he held up a hand to stop her and her mouth snapped back shut. “I know I didn't tell you anything about my childhood yet, but maybe it is time you know about it, so you understand.” He slumped down at his kitchen table and plated the steaming spaghetti he’d just made. And then he told her, down to the painful detail of Dudley's fist breaking his nose. Of the cat flap and the row of locks. Of the starvation as punishment for things he couldn't control. Of the baggy hand-me-downs and taped glasses. Of Harry-hunting for fun and how no one had given a sh*t about him or had asked questions, no teachers and no professors. He couldn't look at her face. Harry feared her reaction. He knew he had been a child and that nothing that was done to him had ever been his fault. But he knew she would react negatively and he didn't want pity. Pity didn't make the memories better. He scrubbed across his face as he was done. “Urgh, why is this so hard…”

Silent tears fell down her cheeks and she came close and ghosted her hand over his forehead and through his hair. “Did you ever tell anyone?” Her voice was faint.

“No”, he breathed and swallowed. “Who would I tell? I mean, I think Ron and Hermione had a pretty good guess. Ron and the twins broke me out of there in my second summer after all. But I never told them…the really disturbing details.”

“I am so sorry you had to go through that my dear. I wish I was there for you to hold you when you cried, to pamper you like every child would have deserved.” She sniffled and he averted his gaze, out over the japanese gardens that flourished outside his floor-to-ceiling living room windows. “You deserve everything and anything the world has to offer my dear.” She brushed her copper locks out of her face. “I had guessed your stay with my sister might not have been the best years. I know she was a stupid cow in our childhood and youth, but I had never guessed she would resort to violence against a child. I've always thought Vernon was no good influence on her.” A choked laugh broke from her lips. “But I guess she would say the exact same thing about James… Harry, I can assure you that your father has changed. He grew up. It doesn't… correct the wrongs he did.”

“I’ve stopped caring about that part of my life. I wouldn't cry about it, I think those feelings are long gone. It is still uncomfortable though… so yeah… Seeing my own dad use violence against another child just reminds me of Dudley and Piers. I think there was not much difference in cruelty or inflicted pain, even if their methods were very different.” He sighed. He knew, if Dudley hadn't been afraid of Harry’s magic, he and his gang would have beat him up every summer and not stopped around third grade. “I feel a bit better now that I told you, mum. Thank you for listening. And I hope you can understand me better now.”

She gave him a watery smile and opened her mouth to say something but just then she vanished, leaving him in his silent kitchen, alone. Her time for the day was over. Harry let his head fall on the table. He’d forgotten about that. At the same time he didn't want to be alone right now, her company had felt good.

So after a few minutes he lifted the stone to his lips and whispered to it. “James Potter”

James was exactly the same height as Harry. He was wearing the clothes in which he had died, and his hair was untidy and ruffled, and his glasses were a little lopsided, like Mr. Weasley’s. He looked around the room before his gaze zeroed in on Harry, slumped in his chair.

“Harry! What happened?” He walked over and leaned over his hunched form, his eyes taking in every detail. Eyes red rimmed from unspilled tears, his lips a thin line, eyebrows in a frown.

“Hey… dad”, Harry croaked. James was probably very confused right now, the last thing he knew was that Harry had willingly walked to his own death. And now he saw his son, hair long and unkempt, thin as a skeleton, almost crying in some foreign kitchen.

James frowned and narrowed his eyes. “What's wrong?” he asked again.

“Take a seat, or something.” Harry said and waved his hand noncommittally. There was a lot they could talk about, but right now he didn't want to go over his own or his dad’s past, he needed a distraction from that. “I…” He didn't know what to say or how to start the conversation. “I talked to mum a few times already.”

“Oh?” James sat down across from him and gave a wavering smile.

“Yeah… I’ve been quite busy lately…or not really, I mean I'm mostly arsing about and exploring the city… have you been to Japan before?”

“No.” He still studied Harry’s every move. “Didn't really have much time for hols. But I've been to France and Poland for potions conferences with my father and grandparents during the summer sometimes…”

Harry didn't know what to say, how to reply. It was a bit of trivia from the life of his father he had given anything for at another time. But right now, he didn't know how to process it. He’d never left Britain and never been anywhere but London, Surrey and Scotland.

“What do you need, son?”, James asked as Harry was still searching for a good reply and he startled.

Harry sighed. “Company, I guess. Just had a really hard talk with mum and then she had to leave - you can only stay for half an hour or so. ” His gaze wandered around the table and he was surprised for a second to find his spaghetti there, completely untouched.

“Company?” James’ voice was soft. “Sure, I can do that. Is there something you’d want to hear about? Or do you want me to stay silent?”

Harry sighed again. “I’m not sure. Distraction would be nice. I… would really like it if you could talk about your parents or something?”

“My parents?” James chuckled softly. “Yeah, of course. It’s a shame you didnt get to know them. They were Fleamont and Euphemia Potter. Did you know that Fleamont was actually a surname back then? He told me he was always made fun of for the name, but it had been his grandma’s dying wish that his parents name him that. Have you… been to the manor yet?” Harry shook his head. “It was much too pompous for Lily and I, so we only used it as a holiday residence occasionally.” His eyes took on a very far-away look. “If you visit there, you should summon me, or Sirius, or your grandparents, we can tell you where all the secret passages are.” He grinned. Harry felt a pang in his heart. He’d love to see the house, hear the stories and learn about his family.

“I… didn't want to go there yet. But someday, I will be ready.” He grimaced. “I’ve got a lot of time left apparently.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry shook his head, he didn't want to explain all of that right now, so he just waved his hand.

And James continued. “My dad, Sirius called him Monty, was the biggest sap. He cried so much, at any occasion. When we celebrated Christmas and Yule, when I got my Hogwarts letter, when I got engaged, when Sirius moved in. My mum was a very stern woman, could've given any pureblood a run for their money, even though she wasn't a pureblood herself. She was calm, collected, but sharp as a dagger in her wisdom and humour. She loved the sh*t we got up to as kids. Even if she scolded us for burning her persian tapestry, deep down she was cackling like a hag and we loved it.” James let out a longing sigh and looked out the tall windows. “I like your place, where in Japan is this?”

“It’s a portable short-term wizarding home, that’s no real garden.”

“Oh. Still a nice choice.”

“Do you know the story of how we smuggled a crup into my parents bedroom as a prank?”

They talked a bit more. Harry felt stiff the whole time, didn't really know what to say, but all in all it was surprisingly nice. James… his dad… was surprisingly soft and understanding. He didn't pry if Harry refused to talk about something and when he was gone again, Harry was glad he had summoned him after all.

The next day Harry stood in front of the ‘magic forge’, a shop emitting noise, ozone smells and an occasional smoke cloud of various colours. He still felt a bit under the weather from the surgery, like not completely energised, but he had nothing else to do with his day. The shop was the complete opposite to Ollivanders glum, crammed shop. Rhythmic clanking and noises from a saw grinding through wood echoed from the open doors. On the last days of the war, he had used Malfoy's wand, which Harry had returned to him at Malfoy’s trial. Since then he hadn't felt the need to get a wand, even though Ron, Hermione and Ollivander personally had offered him to help acquire one. Back then it didn't feel right. He had wanted to distance himself from magic. All of his nightmares were filled with the destructive nature of various spells, colourful bursts from hexes and curses, in red, blue, purple, and of course, no good nightmare was complete without an applegreen flash sent right at his chest. But now, if he stared at his enchanted ceiling, tapped his pointer to the stove rune or held his broom in hand, he began to find the wonder in it again. That spark from eight years ago, when Hagrid had brought him to Diagon Alley the first time and he had wondered why brooms fly, pictures move and owls bring letters to people. It definitely helped that he now knew exactly what things were magic, he could feel it. And now he needed a wand to “burn magic”, as healer Kurosaki had said, to help heal his magic core.

He would first ask if they could repair his old wand though. The holly wand had always been reliable and they had stuck together since he was first introduced to the wizarding world. If it wasn't fixable maybe he could still put it in a display case? He was still unsure about using the elder wand which he could simply summon through the Peverell Lordship ring. He had never cast a single spell from it, his fear of its power was too great. Yes he feared it. That wand, even though it was just an instrument, had brought so much destruction and suffering and was wielded in two wizarding wars. One might even say it had been the core piece of both wars. To look at this wand was to look at the moment of his own death, as white hands pointed it to his chest.

On a brighter note japanese wands looked far too interesting to just pass by. He wanted to give in to that curiosity, which was a precious feeling to him these days.

Harry clasped the parts of his holly wand in his pocket, took a deep breath and stepped inside, a small bell chimed above him.

Several people were carving, cutting, smithing and forging, from wood, stone, crystal and metals. There were sharp hitting and now softer shredding sounds perceivable and it was smelting hot, the air charged with sweat and something burnt.

“Hello”, a man greeted him with a cheerful wave. He wore a brown apron that was completely smeared with what seemed to be motor oil. “How can I help you?”

“Hi. Uh - I was wondering if you could repair my wand?”

“Let’s have a look at it then.” The man led him past his coworkers, who were all deep into their craft. Harry catched a glimpse of a golden elongated metal object that was being hammered on at the anvil. The man closed a door behind Harry as they reached a small backroom and the noise from the workshop cut off immediately. He held out his hand and flicked his fingers in the universal sign for ‘give it to me’.

He trailed his fingers over the two pieces and held them so close to his face the splinters almost poked into his eyes. “Hmm… I’m sorry Sir, but I’m afraid this is beyond repair. Completely broken.”

“Oh.” Harry put the pieces back into his pocket, careful to not damage them further. He’d think about what to do with them later. He had the urge to honour his old wand somehow. “I’d like to purchase a new wand then.”

“Sure, let's get to it then. You will find that we don't do wand’s though. We craft foci. And we can't craft wands. I know they are standard in Europe, but here we use foci instead of wands.”

“Yeah… I mean, I've seen people use them. I thought they just looked different? What is the difference between a wand and a foci?”

“Focus. The singular is focus. Foci is plural. You know that famous saying that a wand chooses its wielder? Well, for a focus it's the opposite. A focus is yours, it comes from you, your magic. A focus could never be used by someone else. I've been told there are some differences in the feel of it too, but I don't know about that. I don't know much about wands, never had to care about them.” He chuckled.

“So…alright then. What do I have to do?” Would he have to test different foci, like different wands? But if the focus comes from him and his magic, maybe it is much more involved than that?

The craftsman turned to his shelves and waved his focus - a beaded bracelet - and drawers opened and cubes of different colours and textures floated between them. The magic was the same as with a wand though, from what Harry had seen so far. Here, the blacksmith clearly used the levitation charm. He pointed to a clear glass orb, floating it towards Harry.

“Hold onto it.” Harry plucked the orb from the air and turned it towards himself. As soon as his skin touched the material he felt a warm rush flow through him, but this time, it wasn't just in his arm like with the runes in his kitchen. It came from his chest, deep inside, and flooded through his bandaged shoulder, arm and hand to the orb. It was exhilarating, the magic rushed through his body, like the wind around his ears when he was on a broom, and he couldn't help a small hiccup of joy. He saw how his magic was collected and contained within the orb. It was forest green with yellow dots and sparkles. The colour looked so fresh Harry had the strange urge to bite into it, maybe it would taste like kiwi?

A few seconds later the orb was full and the rush stopped. Harry breathed and looked up to the man, who was now smiling.

“Excellent. You can give that to me. We will use your magic to determine the shape and size of your focus. Now we will select materials that resonate with you. I’d like you to touch each of these cubes. Tell me what you feel when you touch them, some should be similar to the core glass, some should be very different.”

This part of the process was the same as getting a wand. He touched the first cube, a brown one. It was light and grained, some kind of wood.

“I don't feel anything.”

“Alright.” The blacksmith nodded and put the cube back into its drawer, replacing the air space with a different one. The process continued. And soon they had gathered a ‘good’ pile and a ‘bad’ pile. Those that did nothing were put away. The ‘bad’ feeling was quite different from being rejected by a wand. Wands would blow up the room or jump from his hand, but here, instead he could feel his magic recoiling from his hand, sometimes just a bit into his arm, sometimes it crawled back to his core to hide. It was funny, almost like an animal that had to be coaxed out by the right sort of snack. The right snacks for Harry’s magic turned out to be a strange collection of metals, wood and fabrics. The strongest reaction came from a grey metal, which felt almost the same as with the core glass.

“Good, I think that’s everything sorted. Lastly, I have to ask you if you have any preference regarding your focus design?”

Harry blinked. “Uh, no? I mean what preferences are we talking about?”

“Maybe regarding the colours of the fabrics… with these metals-” he waved his hand over the small pile “- I will create an alloy that combines the different reactions you told me about. We could add colouring pigments in that process. Stuff like that?”

He imagined himself wielding a rainbow dagger and cringed. “Uh, no. Maybe something neutral? Not too colourful and bright.”

The man nodded. “Yeah that can be done.”

A bit later Harry left the shop, with a parchment slip that would alert him if the focus was ready to be picked up. Apparently the process could take anything between a few hours and two months.

Muggle Kyoto was much noisier than the wizarding part of the city. He didn't walk for long, just back to the small side alley where he usually set up camp if he went back into his apartment inside muggle Kyoto. The sports bag was easy to hide behind the rubbish skip of ‘Midori Tea’.

He had decided to stay in Kyoto, which was occasionally suffocating in its bustling and density of people, odours, sounds, cars and architecture, but if he longed for solitude, he could always retreat to the comfort of his apartment within a few seconds. He also left the city occasionally on his broom if he needed to breathe and take a stroll in nature.

The streets were glowing with neon signs, and his eyes were bombarded by commercials and colours and foreign things.

He stopped in the dirty alley and pulled his sports bag over his head, immediately standing on the small landing of his apartment.

He went into his bathroom, discarding his belongings on the way, to get rid of the bandages. Healer Shiba was right, he did feel exhausted easily. It stung and burned as he removed the bandages, layer after layer, off the caked blood which opened some of the cuts again. Though there wasn't really much to see. Harry ran his finger over the bumpy line of scab on his arm and across his shoulder. He remembered the moment the sharp tail tip of the Hungarian Horntail had slashed through his gear and shoulder. Just a bit to the left and it would've hit his head. Damn, Death really wasn't kidding when they said they had always been close to one another. He lifted his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror, sitting on the rim of the bathtub. He looked like a dosser. His hair was long, almost to his shoulder blades. It was similar to Sirius’, but did not have any of the charm that Sirius’ hair had. It was in such hopeless tangles that he would probably have to cut it. But he liked it long, he decided. It might be untameable, but in long locks it couldn't stick up to all sides like he was electrocuted. Still. If it wasn't for polyjuice, people probably wouldn't even serve him.

The next day, the answer from Neville arrived and Harry was surprised how fast his friend had been. The big and heavy parcel contained several books, tightly wrapped, and on top lay a letter. He tore the paper apart to read the lines.

Dear Harry,

Thank you so much for your kind words. When I wrote that letter it was just a few days into the Hogwarts year, but I'm accustomed to the attention and looks now. I feel much better. Hey, do you remember Hannah? From Hufflepuff. She actually asked me on a date for valentines and I'm so nervous, holy sh*t. I've never really been on a date before! I hope I won't embarrass myself somehow. I have no idea when she started to fancy me…

I’m sorry that you feel ‘sh*tty’. But I hope the things you asked me for will help you a bit?

I asked Gran about the topics (without mentioning you, of course) and also remembered a few titles and books from my childhood and from the Hogwarts library. The books are new - Gran didn't let me remove them from our family. You can keep them.

The first one ‘Body and Core - everything grows!’ deals with wizarding biology, but it is mostly oriented to a much younger audience. The other titles are more for adults, especially the ‘Pathway pamphlet’ which is very thorough on magic pathways and the core’s growth. I also found two books on ghosts, there are small passages on possession respectively, but nothing in depth.

I thought you might also be interested in the books on healing magic that I included. I don't know what it is you are dealing with, but I thought if you reached out to me and didn't go to St. Mungo’s it’s got to be difficult. ‘Wixen weeds’ has a lot of information on healing mixed in between the lines that are usually left out in other plant and potion books because they are regarded as ‘irrelevant muggle knowledge’. Like how aloe vera helps with moisturising the skin and could therefore be added to salves.

I hope they will help you and don't worry, I didn't tell anyone about our contact.

Love, Neville

Harry grabbed the first book and leafed through. ‘Body and Core - everything grows!’ really was rather addressed to children than adults. Most pages had big illustrations with a small text to the side.

“The body is made up of different components: bones, blood vessels, organs, muscle tissues, nerves and magic pathways.” … “Blood provides all cells of the body with oxygen.” … ”During this stage of development, the brain produces growth hormones, like testosterone for the sexual organs and praexamerone for the magical organs and pathways.” … “At the age of seventeen, most growing processes have finished inside the body.” …

There was one illustration that looked similar to the diagram that healer Kurosaki produced by giving Harry that burning potion. He pulled said diagrams from his notebook and laid them side-by-side for comparison. He didn't see any difference. Only if he squinted his eyes and tilted his head to the side, maybe then, his own magic core was a bit smaller than that of the illustration. He sighed. This book was cute, but did not help.

The ‘Pathway pamphlet’ had real, sometimes very bloody and gut-churning pictures from cut-open patients and was clearly addressed to healer trainees. With sentences such as “Here, the patient suffered extensive pathway damage from a failed bombarda maxima” or “Child magic cores such as these are often found in patients that were later discovered to have some kind of creature inheritance” and “Magic drain over a prolonged period can result in an underdeveloped magic core.” Oh, that's it! Harry read on. ”Such cases are rare, but can occur when a patient was using too much magic for too long (which hinders the core from recovering at a healthy pace), cursed or otherwise influenced by external forces, like dark artefacts. An underdeveloped magic core can pose several health risks when the patient attempts to perform advanced magic and can lead to other diseases later in life. Most patients have a prospect of full recovery, if treated under close supervision. Research is still sparse, but it is generally recommended to coax the core to develop after the magic drain was removed. A developing core that suffers extensive magic drain is often found to try and overcompensate the drain by demanding more praexamerone of the brain. That can lead to overdeveloped pathways. When the drain is removed, the core will stop to demand high levels of praexamerone and which can go as far as to stop development completely. If this condition is not treated slowly and individually, other forms of core damage might occur. The worst possible case is death, when a core break happens.”

Yes! ‘Coax the core to develop’, but how? The book didn't tell. And the prospect of death by core break sounded very painful, but what was slow and what was fast treatment?

The next page dealt with core sizes and from the pictures alone, which he compared to his own scan, he could tell that healer Kurosaki was right. The final size and even shape of the core was predictable only to a certain degree. Some were more lumpy, some were more oval, but none looked the same as the other. Here, he could definitely see the differences in the core age of the depicted patients though, which was dependent on it's volume, and according to the book, his own core was indeed roughly at age 16.

Harry sighed even deeper and skipped to the referenced section about praexamerone, which mostly consisted of diagrams and explanations how the hormone interacted with other hormones on a chemical and biological level. Harry felt like a lemon. It also told which potions ingredients had a bad influence on the developing magic core of children, which were fortunately only six.

The last chapter answered a question he’d had for years: “Muggles do not develop magic pathways or a magic core because their bodies do not produce praexamerone. Studies have found that the interactions in the body are much more complex than this one hormone alone though. Administering praexamerone in young muggle children did not result in them developing pathways or a core, not even of rudimentary quality. Squibs however often have underdeveloped pathways and cores and produce low levels of praexamerone.” On the next page was an illustration of a human with a peanut sized light over the right lung and unconnected lines throughout the body. Below that were several real life examples of scans from patients, some had no core but pathways, one had a core and pathways but they were small and did not reach through the whole body.

Harry put the book down and decided to take a break.

The rest of Neville’s books were definitely interesting, even though he just skimmed through all of them, but none offered valuable information that helped him.

His goal was to find out what exactly the horcrux had done to him, but a horcrux wasn't really comparable to possession, that much he knew now from the ghost books. Professor Quirrel had been possessed. The main difference was the loss of great portions of memory, but also the influence on one’s soul and magic. The spirit slowly consumes its host's identity.

Therefore the information from healer Kurosaki, that a possessing spirit draws on the body and core, might be true, but completely unhelpful. The real cause of any of his afflictions was still cast in shadows.

Even the reasoning behind him having to burn magic in order for the core to grow was uncertain. Harry didn't think the mediwizard a liar but it was unsatisfying to not know the reasons. Usually he’d let Hermione deal with stuff like that, but she wasn't here… maybe he should contact her about this after all? No… he didn't want people to know. Not even her and Ron.

At least he had a vague guess about the appendix. ‘The most common wixen maladies’ had told of a sickness called appendicitis, which often happened to children and teenagers and lead to high fever, stomach cramps and pains and severe nausea among other symptoms. And by reading these symptoms Harry had experienced a sudden flashback to his childhood. He’d been around five years old and laid sick in his cupboard for a few days, tossing and turning, throwing up several times and sweating profusely. He remembered passing out. And then the next morning the pain was just gone. Maybe it had been accidental magic that removed his appendix, just how it had grown his hair back within a night or how he’d bloody apparated to the roof of the school kitchens (he now knew it was apparition. Back then he’d thought the wind might have catched him as he jumped behind the big trash cans outside the kitchen door).

In his notebook Harry collected his findings and possible theories, which he discussed with his mum. According to the ‘Pathway pamphlet’ some curse or external dark magic had affected his core growth. He didn't believe that he used too much magic for too long. In third year, when learning the patronus, it had affected him, but he’d passed out from the dementor and not from the magic drain. That left the strong possibility that the horcrux really was the source of his underdeveloped state.

Neville,

Thank you so much for the books! They contained a lot I didn't know yet. Sadly they didn't help me with my initial problem and I fear the knowledge I seek won't be available for just anyone, in published books.

How was your date?

I am beginning to heal, but I still don't know the cause of my health problems.

Maybe there are some interesting titles in the forbidden section you could relay to me?

Love, Harry

Harry ate regular meals, occasionally leeching off the wonderful and vast offer of (to him) exotic foods and drinks in Kyoto's food stalls and izakayas, while he waited for his focus to be finished. And slowly February continued. He drank his potions, balmed his wounds with salves and recovered from the surgeries. And after a while, he was astounded to say he felt as good as never before, just as healer Shiba had assumed. He hadn't noticed it before, but apparently all the built up sh*t had quite the influence on him.

His left hand felt lighter and as if he had drunk a strengthening potion specifically for it. He didn't feel weak holding a pan full of fry-up and he could hold his broom in a death grip with his left hand now, too. Sadly, the dark magic residue in his hand was gone, but the scar didn't fade. The words ‘I shall not lie’, were still readable, even to unfamiliar people.

His shoulder had a sudden flexibility to it that he was sure of wasn't there before.

His “basilisk arm” felt much more sensitive from the restored nerve endings and blood vessels, which took getting used to. He got goosebumps whenever something foreign stroked over his arm, like his jumpers or when he put his hands in his pockets.

He'd also applied the special balm to his forehead. It was a fresh, cold feeling that would've done wonders for his Voldemort induced headaches, but sadly, even after a week of trying it out, nothing changed about the lightning bolt shaped scars. Granted, since the horcrux died it wasn't permanently inflamed anymore, it wasn't sensitive, just plain old scar tissue. But he wouldn't say it healed “pretty”. Harry remembered, before he'd gotten his Hogwarts letters, how his scar had been his most liked feature about himself. Over the years it had become his most hated feature about himself now, and he didn't know how to feel about that. He remembered that it had made him feel connected, to his parents, his past life with them, the car accident. Somehow, in that dreaded house of the Dursleys, his scar reminded him that he'd not always been there.

So, after a week of trying it out, Harry wasn't sad that the salve didn't help. He was… king of glad. Even if it made wixen recognise him.

During his healing period he wasn't allowed to move much, so he tried to quell his boredom with reading.

The rune dictionary was… not helpful. It was just pages and pages on the different runes, how they were written, explanations on their historic origin, where they were used and for what purposes, like protection or strength. But nowhere in the whole damn book was a single example. No beginners projects, not even “if you combine this rune with this one, that happens”. No.

So he tossed -not really, he put it down carefully - the stupid thing back in his bookcase and pulled out the Japanese language book. Which went a bit easier, after a few days he got a few beginners sentences down, as the book gave a good handful of example conversations and everyday sayings.

“You think you got rid of me, Potter!”

Lord Voldemort's noseless green white face broke from his forehead. It extended farer and farer away, from his neck down it had the scaled body of Nagini. And the face turned to him. Voldemort grinned.

“Catch!”

Instinctively, Harry catched the ball that was tossed at him before it hit his face. His magic roared through his body into the ball, he got weak and tried to let go. But he couldn't. He dropped to the ground, sucked dry of magic.

“Finally, you are defenceless, Potter!”

The scene shifted and Voldemort's snake body turned to the row of prisoners standing In Front of them. Neville, Mione, Mrs. Weasley, Luna, …

Crucio!

Mione screamed and fell on the ground of the manor. A chandelier swayed above them all as the magic rolled through the dining hall. She writhed and bucked against the ropes that held her in place and Harry laid on the floor, barely able to lift his hand.

Something crashed and Harry bolted upright. He took huge lungfuls of air, his breath way too fast to be comfortable. His limbs were trembling, as if he had watched a Voldemort vision and could still feel the aftershocks of a crucio. His long hair stuck to the back of his neck and he wrestled his t-shirt off to breathe better and let the air cool his skin. And then he saw what his magic had done to the room in his sleep. There were a few new cuts in the delicate paper walls and new scorch marks near the window. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and held this position. He thought, sorted his emotions, tried to collect the shards of himself. More than once, his thoughts drifted to the kitchen knife. It would be so easy, to take the edge away, to make it hurt and burn to distract his mind.

After a long while he found that the thoughts of doing that alone had calmed him down enough and distracted him from the sharp, knife-ey feelings.

He knew there was never a good night for him. Nights were hard. But he also knew there was the occasional day when it was so bad he just drifted through the hours afterwards, and this should be such a day.

So he started his day shortly after three in the morning. Who should complain about him making a ruckus that early? Certainly not his non-existent neighbours.

He avoided opening the knife drawer and just tossed a few things together for a quick, not even remotely complete breakfast. He wasn't even hungry, really, but he needed to do something with his hands to take his thoughts away.

Two weeks after his first visit to the ‘Magic Forge’ Harry returned to his apartment with a new box. It had been, with forty-three galleons, significantly more expensive than his old holly wand from Ollivanders, but Harry thought it was justified. The other focus projects he had seen and the pure energy and passion that emanated from the whole shop was worth every galleon he’d spent.

He placed the box on his kitchen table and opened it. He had been very excited about the possible shape of his magic, imagining daggers and other weapons. Maybe something similar to Godric’s sword would be useful. But instead, in the box on a satin cushion, sat a thick, long object that ended in a broad disc, perpendicular to the stick. It was a sword handle from the looks of it. The handle was wrapped in cords of black fabric and other materials he recognized from the ‘cube test’. He took the handle from the box and felt how his new focus connected to his body, magic core and soul. He felt a connection that was similar but also very different from the warm rush of acceptance from a wand. His core reached out and sent a hot rush of magic through his arm to the focus, creating a magic tether which then reduced to thread size, ceasing the drain. He knew instinctively this connection would stay until this focus was destroyed. That's what the smith had said, wasn't it? No one else could use his focus, it was literally made of his magic. But why a handle without a blade? Harry shrugged to himself. As long as it would work he didnt care what his focus looked like. He held it outstretched as he would with a wand. It was much much heavier than a wand and the lack of a blade tipped the weight of it more towards his palm. Then he waved it, with the incantation on his lips and the movement flowing from his muscle memory.

“Lumos - argh!” The sun exploded before his eyes and a magic org*sm crashed through his body. Magic rushed through his pathways from his core to the focus. It was too much, too fast! He started to pant, he tried to make it stop. The flow continued as if a dam broke and he felt himself growing weak. The focus fell from his hands and together they tumbled to the bamboo floor tiles.

“Oh my god, what was that?” He was so exhausted, everything trembled and he remembered the nightmare from a few days ago. Dread crept like a hand over his chest and grabbed his throat, holding tight.

Death had lingered in the back of his mind and he had almost forgotten about the deity, but now he could feel their presence creeping forward, observing and assessing. And Harry got the feeling of curiosity that wasn't his own.

“Yeah” Harry croaked against his closed-up neck. “I have no clue what that was. I'm pretty sure that was my first ever magic drain fatigue.”

It had just been a simple Lumos, a first year spell! A first year spell wasn't supposed to drain him into exhaustion. And Harry knew, he just knew, that he’d done the spell correctly. His magic was in a frantic state, overwhelmed by the suddenly depleted reserves. It was weird, Harry thought, still lying on the hard ground. Before, he had never known or felt his own magic, but now he suddenly knew what it was ‘feeling’? All he could physically feel was his pulse in his throat and a full body tingle. But his new sense for magic told him that his magic was uneasy and significantly depleted.

He heaved himself across the room and onto his couch, where he recollected his breath. Fact was, he’d found a foolproof way to enter magical exhaustion each day. Another fact was, if this continued, he wouldn't be able to cast a single spell again in his life. Unless he got another wand. But the way his frantic magic calmed down to a soothing hum when he picked up the sword handle and inspected it again told him that his magic core probably didn't want anything else anymore. It wanted this focus. They were bonded.

Harry spent the rest of the day in bed, taking notes and going over them. After a good nights sleep he was delighted to note his reserves were almost fully restored. How did that work, anyway? He didn't know and had better things to worry about.

Right after breakfast Harry made his way to the ‘Magic Forge’.

He greeted the staff with a smile he didn't feel.

“Oh, hey, didn't expect to see you so soon again. Changed your mind about the Zhodai?” Zhodai were the equivalent to wand holsters.

“Uh - No, thank you. I wanted to ask if my focus may be malfunctional?” The blacksmith took on a deep frown and Harry instantly knew he had accidentally offended the man. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “It’s just that, when I cast a spell with it yesterday - a very simple spell - I almost fainted from magic drain.”

Now his eyebrows shot back up in the opposite direction and almost vanished up into his hairline. “Magic drain? Oh.” He scratched his beard and eyed Harry in an assessing way. “You’ve been practising the western magic ways until now, right? Well, I guess that could happen. Uh, I’m definitely the wrong person to explain this but a focus does not help the caster, it just opens potential? So to speak. I’ve heard that wands undertake a great part of the magic work for the wixen, that’s a big reason why their use is so frowned upon by the leading scholars of magical theory - here in asia.” He added. “Anyway, that means you have to learn how to use it. Lucky for you there is a Xiūyǎng - a training hall? - not far from here, they offer duelling and spellwork courses. You should find someone to teach you there.” With a snap of his wrist the beaded bracelet flew into his hand from his Zhodai and he waved it, conjuring a holographic compass needle. “It will guide you there.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you.” Even if he wasn't sure what he was thankful for exactly. Training sounded… good?

The needle really guided him to his goal, changing directions at intersections and corners and finally, Harry was almost afraid they would leave wizarding Kyoto and go much further, they stopped. The needle pointed to a narrow flight of stairs leading downwards to some shady basem*nt door next to an izakaya. The door was full of graffiti that was charmed to move and bend slightly, each combating for Harry’s attention so he’d read the artists’ names.

He opened the door and stepped into a long corridor, which had rows of benches and shoe racks between the adjacent doors. On a small counter, that was more a school desk, sat an elderly woman. She smiled, hunched over, and greeted him in Japanese and Harry hurried to explain with his basic phrases that they would need a translation charm.

“Hello, what would Sir need?”

“Hello, I was told I could get help with my focus. I’ve never used a focus before, only a wand.”

“Ah, you can join duelling club today.” She got up and led him along the corridor, the hands clasped behind her back in that typical grandparent-ly way. Harry could peek inside some of the rooms, which were only obscured by flowing colourful fabrics with koi patterns. He heard people shuffling around and the typical scent of spellfire rose to his nose. She turned and parted the fabrics with one hand. They entered a broad training room, clearly extended by spatial magic. Two people were rapidly throwing jinxes and hexes at each other, dodging and deflecting. Stray spells were stopped in mid air by a protective dome that lit up bright orange with each hit, before the spells could harm the bystanding group.

The elderly woman spoke to one of the bystanders and Harry got the sudden feeling the woman hadn’t understood him. From what Harry could observe, these people were all either still students, or just out of school like him, but none seemed older than twenty. The duellists in their mid proved a very solid skill level, each casting completely silent. The young woman swung a red scarf and the other woman held a small sword, longer than a dagger but shorter than the sword of Gryffindor. Harry could feel the magic buzz and pulse from their duel.

“Young man, Mr. Shinode is instructor has time for Sir.” Harry turned his face to her, but kept part of his attention closely on the spellfire next to them. Some uneasy feeling squirmed inside his stomach and he was sure it wasn't from the magic inside the room.

Mr. Shinode was actually a woman and Harry was confused, but decided to go along with it. Mr. Shinode bowed - Harry hurried to mimic him? her? - and cast a translation charm on them both.

“You have problem with your focus?” The voice was also female, maybe another mistake of the translation charm?

“Ah- Yes. I’ve never used one before, I’ve only used a wand.”

The woman nodded. “We see about that.” She then turned and pushed through the students, ending the duel. On her command all the students spread out across the room and arranged in duelling pairs for free practice. Mrs. Shinode waved him to follow her and they stood across each other in a corner, but Harry could hardly look at her, he was too distracted by the flashes of blue, orange, red and purple flashing all around. His heart rate picked up and his hands got clammy.

“What is your name?”

“Uh - Evans.” He’d almost said Potter.

“Mr. Evans, please demonstrate to me a spell. How you usually do.”
“I’d rather not. The last time I tried I almost fainted from magic drain.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Then please let go of your focus immediately if you feel out of control.”

“You might want to close your eyes…” he warned and demonstrated his sun-exploding-level Lumos. He felt the floodgates open, this incredible potential that brought his magic into a current. His magic was pulsating through his pathways and he forced his hand to open, forced the break of this satisfying connection, and his sword handle clattered to the ground. He sighed with relief. Fainting or collapsing from magic drain wasn't something he wanted to do in public. He looked up. Everyone had stopped to stare at him and he suddenly remembered: the Japanese people don't do commotions.

Mrs. Shinode removed the hand that had covered her eyes. “I think I understand the problem. Everyone, continue!” She called out without taking her eyes from him. “Please follow me, Sir.” She turned around and Harry hurried to pick up his focus and follow her. They walked back through the corridor and into another room. A small group of children was gathered in a wide circle around a man, who went from person to person, giving advice and other comments. Each child held a ball in hand, each a different colour.

“Harukor, a word.” Mrs. Shinode called.

The man looked up and exited the circle. While they exchanged some information, Harry got the chance to study his appearance. He wore beige long robes which were a stark contrast to the modern muggle-like clothing everyone else wore. The long garment was painted in an abstract dark blue pattern. His head was completely hairless, except for the small goatee that drew the eyes down and over a sequence of runes on his throat. Harry had to do a double take. They were not painted on his skin, like one would normally expect with body runes. It wasn't even drawn in blood, as he had thought from the red colour. They were carved into his skin. They reminded Harry of the runes the Unspeakables had to wear so that they weren't able to talk outside of the department of mystery. But the ministry used special paint for that. Not body mutilation.

Then, the woman left Harry with the strange man and a group of children. They all stared at him and a few girls giggled to each other behind their hands. This group was definitely pre-magic-school age.

“Welcome to class, my name is Kotan Harukor. Come in circle.” The man, Harukor, waved for Harry to join them and he stepped up a bit awkwardly, as the kids shuffled to make more space for him in their circle. The instructor went up to him and gave him one of the balls too. It was a very smooth and cool see-through material and upon closer inspection it looked awfully familiar. Like the core glass he had held at the blacksmith a few weeks ago.

“There are two runes on orb. One - for reset. Other - for start. You press start and try to keep your magic flow slow and steady. Watch. Akiko, demonstrate please for Sir.”

A little girl - one of the oldest members - stepped forward as her friends giggled. She held the orb outstretched and used the other hand to activate the start rune. The inside of the orb changed from clear glass to a swirl of orange, it was a slow dribble, like an hourglass that was filled with sand.

“A bit faster.” Harukor instructed.

The flow of her magic changed to that of a mountain stream filled with orange glacier water.

“Perfect.” The girl beamed and the instructor smiled at her. “Now, everyone back to practise.” Harukor strode over to Harry. “Try it.”

Harry glanced around, but the children didn't stare at him anymore. He felt so out of place and above all he couldn't believe he had ever been so small! He looked down in his hand and pressed his thumb to the start rune. The effect was immediate, just as he had expected. The magic in his pathways roared through his hand and into the orb, until it was filled with forest green magic filled with yellow sparkles a few seconds later. Harukor put his fingers to his lips in a pensive movement.

“Do you push your magic?”

“Uh… no.”

“It just get sucked out?”

Harry nodded.

“Try it again and again. Try and feel what feels like.”

“Uh…” Harry didn’t really know what to feel for, but he didn't get to ask, as Harukor had already turned away and started correcting the other students. This went on - reset, start, magic rush, reset, start, magic rush - for at least half an hour, until class was dismissed.

“Come back tomorrow. You will improve.” Harukor said to him as Harry left the room along with the other squirts. It was nice of him to say that, but Harry wasn’t sure it was a justified thing to say. He had made absolutely no step forward. And the most frustrating thing was, that he didn't even know in which direction he had to walk. Regarding this magic flow control thing, he was a blind as with occlumency.

The next morning, Harry had just chugged down his next inoculation and potions regiment for the day, when he remembered the small parcel with an attached letter that had arrived for him a few days ago. As Harry opened the letter, already dreading the contents after recognizing the flowing cursive, several newspaper scraps fell out and sailed across his bamboo floor tiles. They were cut-outs from the daily prophet. He knelt to pick them up and skimmed over the contents.

“Vanished! - Where is Harry J. Potter?”, “The chosen no one”, “The Golden Trio scattered!” and similarly titled articles all dealt with his whereabouts. Where was he, was he dead, why could no one contact him, etc. The last line was always the best: “We tried to contact Mr. Potter, but to this day all our attempts for a press statement have failed.” He chuckled softly.

Lord Potter-Black-Peverell-Slytherin,

Thank you for the reply and for accepting my thanks and apologies. My mother sends her regards and made me tell you she found your wording quite amusing.

I can’t believe you have four titles now.

I hope you are aware of the political mayhem that you caused even though you're not even present and that little detail of your four titles is not even revealed yet? As I got the Slytherin proxy, several people petitioned for the founders' voting power to be removed, arguing that no one of the original family existed anymore. It was quite ridiculous. But it’s mine now and I will use it. I hope you know what you got yourself into, Potter.

And I don't even want to imagine the uproar that will inevitably happen when you take on all your titles for official voting power.

Why did you even leave? And where did you go? I thought you’d rush to change the political landscape and help rebuild the ministry after the war.

Will you return for the memorial opening at Hogwarts? I think if you don't show up the wizarding world will lose the rest of its sanity. There are even rumours of Neo Death Easters planning to ambush the festivities.

As I believe you are in hiding somewhere, I sent you a few newspaper articles that I found very amusing.

I hope this time your reply will be faster than seven months.

Lord Malfoy

Harry hadn't expected a reply from Malfoy, let alone such a civil one. For their previous interactions, this was almost a friendship. Harry smiled to himself. Unbelievable, him and Malfoy actually being friendly.

Inside the parcel was a heavy tome. Harry huffed from it's weight but finally got it wrangled out of the box and heaved it onto his table by the couch. “Selwyn Anthropology”, was the title. He opened the register, what could that be about? He didn't even know who Selwyn was, nor why he should write about humans. “Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Abbott, Potter, Weasley,... ” It was about families, not humans. The tome contained a chapter on most big surnames. Intrigued, Harry went straight to the Potter section.

“The Potter family, all originating from Linfred of Stinchcombe” Harry smiled at the name “the first “potterer”, who was a famous potioneer. Their family rose in status and ranks all throughout the 13th and 14th century, earning them the honour of becoming an “ancient and noble house”.” … “Most Potters have been closely affiliated with Gryffindor and Hufflepuff house, though there were also a few of Slytherin and Ravenclaw. The Potter family has been very influential in the advancements of potions, with their latest contributions hailing from Fleamont Potter (born ), who invented the Sleekeazy Hair Potion (though there were rumours it still didn't help his own hair).” … “Traditions: Not much is publicly known about the Potter's private affairs, but they have always stuck to celebrating the days of Lady Magic. During the 17th century every Potter was seen carrying a sword or epee, but it is unknown if the martial arts are still carried on in their family.” … “Rumours: There is the public belief that the Potter family suffers from a blood curse, resulting in their untameable hair and need for glasses. It is rumoured nothing can be done about both problems. Since the consequences aren't exactly dire, the family haven't tried to cure or purge it, carrying it along their bloodline for generations.”

Harry leaned back on his couch and smiled. “Wow… that's one possible explanation for the hair.”

There were a few pencil drawings and portraits of long dead Potters in between the pages and Harry could do nothing but stare at them. All descendants of the main line, except their spouses of course, had very shaggy and wild hair. There was a picture of a witch that he liked very much, her name was Charlotte Potter, who lived around the 18th century. She reminded Harry of McGonagall, her sitting position was straight and regal, her face stern and the monocle only added to that, and she seemed to be of similar age as his former Professor. But her hair was light brown and big and poofy, even though she had managed to force it into an updo.

Harry knew in an instant that this book contained invaluable information to him. Sadly, the Potter chapter was rather short in comparison to the Longbottom or Nott chapter, and it mostly contained “public” knowledge. But for Harry, this was all new. As such, he began to pen a reply the moment he'd sated all his curiosity about the Potter's.

Lord Malfoy (-Slytherin),

Thank you so much for the book. Can I keep it? It seems to be pretty old and valuable.

Thank you for the articles, they were indeed funny.

As for your questions: I just wanted to be left alone. To be allowed to live normally without people watching and analysing my every move. So, yeah, you could say I really ‘vanished’. I find it rather amusing, really. Because these articles completely proved my point. I couldn't even go to the grocery without having reporters breathing down my neck.

For that same reason I will not return to the memorial opening. It is time for others to take the steering wheel in hand. Neo Death Eaters sound threatening though.

I honestly hadn't expected a reply from you, but since you apparently want to keep communicating maybe you could help me with something? You've also had runes as an elective, right? I'm trying to understand the third year runes dictionary right now and it talks about the alphabets and stuff, but then it talks about ‘catena’ the whole time but I have no clue what they mean by that. Maybe you could help me out?

Harry

After he finished the reply and sent it off, he went back to the training hall - Xiūyǎng - to join the daily focus training. He’d decided overnight to try it again.

But he was, to put it simply, complete pants at it. It was a course meant for children to learn to control their magic flow before they enter ‘Mahou tokoro’, the japanese magic school, and get their own focus.

But Harry had never been one for the finer details. He sucked at dancing, couldn't keep any rhythm and didn't see any difference if Hermione wore make-up or not. So he struggled against this stupid f*cking orb for hours, listening to Harukor’s advice “It is about intent, Mr. Evans. You have to will it.” Yes, but what's that supposed to mean? How can you will something into existence that refuses to listen? His face was scrunched up, his head empty and he didn't know what to do if not thinking of an incantation or waving the orb in a wand movement. “It is about visualisation, Mr. Potter. You are thinking too much.” And it took a lot to not just give up. Because why did he even try so hard? He was immortal, he had tried to kill himself a few weeks ago, why did he even care about this sh*t. Harukor said he thought too much, Snape had said he’d thought too little in occlumency training so which was it?

“I will leave Kyoto next week.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. The other children gathered their bags and left the training hall with loud chatter.

“Months working with you have been good, Mr…James Evans.” He winked. “I learned much.”

“Thank you so much for teaching me, Kotan Harukor.”

“Yes…” He looked left and right, but by now all other students had left the room. “I want to invite you to my tribe. In June, we celebrate and I invite you. I hope you will find time.”

Kotan extended his arm and pressed a small slip of parchment into Harry's hand. He took a small glance - apparition coordinates - and put it away in his pocket.

“I will honour this, my Friend.” He answered - in Japanese - and put his hand with two fingers to his throat in the Ainu friend greeting.

Kotan smiled and nodded “Continue your path, the ice is thick.”

And Harry left the Xiūyǎng and stepped into the sunny late april day. “The ice is thick” was an Ainu saying that meant the other person was sure of one’s success. He smiled.

Kotan had been the only thing keeping him in Japan by now. He had plans where to go from here, but now he felt a bit overwhelmed with having to act on them so suddenly. He could leave immediately, he knew that. Well, as fast as Gringotts managed to approve an international portkey.

As he strolled through the deep canyon of alleys between the skyscrapers he closed his eyes and felt the magic all around himself. People were splotches of faint magic, objects seemed more perceivable the stronger they were imbued with magic. Most every day things went unnoticed, only if he closed his eyes and focused on the warm feeling of magic around him would he sense these things. The pet shop was a bright beacon of wild magic from the animals, almost drowning out the other shops and people around. But sometimes there would be a flare, a blip on his radar and his eyes would search for something. It usually took a bit until he found the source, because in these moments he usually relied on his eyes until his brain caught on that he couldn't really see magic, only feel it. Through this method he had found a few very interesting things in muggle Kyoto, where there wasn't much ambient magic drowning out weak magic, like an ancient shrine, a weird stone sculpture, a tea shop that also sold teas from magical plants - but the shop owner didn't seem to know that.

Harry was able to cast a few first and second level spells with confidence now. The one thing that had come the easiest, was, surprisingly, apparition. With Kotan together he had worked out a few principles surrounding the use of a focus. Every person he had talked to was surprised it was so different from casting with a wand, but Kotan had at least known how to approach the change. Kotan had also known immediately that Harry used polyjuice whenever he left his home and through long conversations after class and a few meet-ups in izakayas they had become something like friends. And his invitation to the tribe was a great honour for people who were outsiders.

Two weeks ago, in the middle of April, Neville had finally sent a reply. Maybe it was payback for his own very long period of not-replying.

Dear Harry,

Yes, the date was awesome! We are actually a couple now and Hannah is absolutely wonderful. I hope to introduce you two the next time we see each other. Will you visit the memorial that is revealed on the anniversary of the battle?

I’m sorry the books didn't hold the answers that you need. I did look into the forbidden section, but since I couldn't remove those books I wrote some of the titles down for you. From what you told me, maybe this is a topic that is better researched at something like a family library. Didn't the Black’s have a family library?

By the way, I heard from Ron that you took on the titles of Lord Black and Lord Peverell! Congratulations. I looked up the Peverell name and it’s been literal centuries since they last had any living descendants, however did you manage that?

I attached a list of titles about healing and plants that are pretty common in family libraries, maybe that might help you? On the same list are also a few recommendations on politics, the wizengamot and so on.

Other than that, I am glad that you are recovering. I wish you the best, hope you are doing well.

Love, Neville

After reading Neville’s letter Harry had to slap his hand to his forehead. Of course. All this time he had forgotten the most valuable resource he had access to: the family libraries of his properties. And so, since Neville’s letter had arrived, Harry had a plan of where to continue his research on horcruxes from now on.

Harry didn't know anything about the Peverell family. What he did know was that the family's English manor stood on a rocky cliff in Cornwall, several hundred kilometres more south than Tinworth, where Bill and Fleur had their shell cottage between the dunes. The cold, strong coastal gale carried salt and mist.

He hadnt meant to return to England yet, but since he didn't know Indian or Greek, he couldn't exactly waltz into the other Peverell properties he owned. And for the Potter or Black properties in Britain, which would certainly hold some valuable information, he didn't feel ready yet. Harry knew there must be tons of things and heirlooms in those properties that would remind him of his parents or Sirius and he just wasn't ready for that yet. But if he wouldnt find anything in the Peverell manor, then those properties would unmistakably be his next step.

It was quite astonishing that the building still stood. There were no rotting planks, every tile was still in its place. It looked like a family home, maybe like those villas aunt Petunia had always dreamt about and where romantic beach movies happened, just much much older. Everything was of pale wood and the windows were painted in a baby blue colour. The air was so heavy with raw, natural untouched magic, that Harry wondered if they were maybe standing on a ley line. It didn't have a fence, but it still appeared that no living soul had stepped up to its door for centuries. Harry felt the house wards accept and welcome him into their radius and as soon as he stepped over an invisible threshold, something above the door began to glow. His head snapped up and there, between roof and door, was the symbol of the deathly hallows, the Peverell family’s coat of arms. Interesting. Harry walked up the cobblestone path and right as he wondered if it might be locked, the door swung open. Inside was complete silence. But it didn't appear dead. There was no foul smell, no signs of abandonment, it was just uninhabited. There wasn't even dust on the floor. And he had seen the cottage of Bathilda Bagshot, which hadn't been in use for some time, as the woman had been dead, but decay came quickly.

Harry took a few tentative steps into the hallway and just as the door swung closed behind him two green glowing dots flashed in the darkness before him. His hand shot to his wand and - sh*t, he couldn't cast spells! His breath hitched. Next to the eyes another pair appeared. And then another! They moved around and studied him intensely… but they didn't come closer. After waiting a few seconds with nothing happening Harry's curiosity won and he took a tiny step forwards. His eyes accustomed to the darkness and what he saw was a giant painting of a three headed giant snake with razor sharp scales. Then it began to hiss.

~Welcome, Peverell-erell.~ He hadn't known he could still understand, let alone speak parsel. For some reason he had believed it was a skill that came from the horcrux.

~Uh, hello?~ Harry hissed back. If the creature talked to him first before attacking or raising an alarm, that couldn't be a bad sign, right?

~May I know your name?~ Hey, this painting was even polite and didn't try to chase him out.

~I’m Harry~

~Welcome to the family, Harry-Harry. It’s been a while since we’ve seen a living so-soul.~ The three heads seemed to talk over and into one another from time to time.

~How long are we talking about?~

~Which year-year is it?~

~Uh, 1999~

~Goodness-rotious! Seven hundred years! Chssss! We are so glad-glad that there is finally a new head of house. We have not seen anyone since Iolanthe put the house in hibernation.~

~Hibernation? You mean a stasis charm?~

The monstrous painting-snake did a very cute movement where two of its heads tilted to one side and the last head to the other side. ~No. It is similar. But hibernation is parselmagic and definitely not as fragile as a simple stasis charm~ It scoffed. ~Hibernation is exclusive to us snakes.~

Parsel magic? There was such a thing? But the more important question first ~Could Iolanthe speak parsel?~ Harry had been taught that parsel was a skill of Slytherin and his descendants. And who was this Iolanthe?

~Yes of course she could. Most Peverells did before our bloodline died out with her father’s generation. We had almost given up hope, if we are honest. It is a great honour and sign of talent if a Peverell inherits the gift.~

~Why could the Peverells speak it? I thought it was exclusive to the Slytherins?~

All three heads gave off an angry hiss. ~That was true only under a certain angle. Salazar loved to talk about himself as a great and accomplished man, but he failed to recognize talent if it wasn't from his own space of knowledge or if they were muggle born. That’s why he might be the only native parselmouth, but by far not the only one of the world. Ridiculous.~

~Uh - the Peverells didnt come from England?~

~Of course not, youngling. Our line has a long history with the middle east, mainly persia. The height of our influence was around the year five thousand. We lived in India at that time and were scholars of astronomy and especially arithmancy. Honoratus Peverell himself helped advance the research on the Aryabhata scale of magic and therefore revolutionised the arts of magical measurement. That was a very advanced magical craft for its time, mind you. You can go to the study, there is our family tapestry.~ That would explain the Peverell properties in India and maybe Greece too, if they were scholars for centuries.

Something squirmed in Harry’s guts and he first didn't know what it was but then: he was excited. His breath hitched. The thought of seeing the family tapestry, something that would connect him to this house and unknown people, made him excited. It had been such a long time since he’d felt anything like that, that he had to pause and reign the tears of surprise and small joy back in that threatened to collect in the corners of his eyes. ~Which way is the study?~ He finally managed in an even voice.

~I will show you the way, youngling~ The snake began to slither along the walls through other paintings. All were landscapes, like a big prairie with cube shaped mountains in the distance or a dense rainforest where it rained at the moment. It was as if every other painting in the house was made for the runespoor to slither through or get a change of scenery. On another note, Harry felt the presence of death very strongly in this house. They were everywhere, almost as if the deity might materialise every second and scare the sh*t out of him. The Peverell family crest also seemed to cover and adorn every object possible. It was woven in the rug, hidden in some corner of each painting, painted on the armour standing about (sadly not moving or talking like in Hogwarts) and engraved on every wall-hanging weapon.

On the upper floor, in a big study with windows facing out to the raging waves below the cliff, were two walls, completely covered by a beige-gold tapestry. It held blotches of coloured portraits of people long dead and only one still living. The Black family tree had started on the bottom and grown upwards, but this one grew from left to right and covered two entire walls. Harry stepped closer and hovered with his fingers over his own name, the only one in his generation. His branch led up to James Potter, whose branch led to Fleamont Potter, and so forth, up to Iolanthe Peverell who had married a person called Hardwin Potter. From then on, her Family name had been lost, but not their family magicks and legacy. In fact, from the many people that existed in the family, over the course of just a few generations, their branches were reduced to three and then only one remained. It looked odd how on this wide tapestry only a single branch grew for seven hundred years. It looked out of proportion.

~We have often come in here and reminisced about our great times. But we guess we haven't been here in a while. There are two new people. You and your father. Oh, he seems to be deceased. My condolences, youngling.~

~Thanks… But I've never known him.~

Harry’s gaze wandered back along his branch all the way to Iolanthe. Her father had been Kelsier Peverell, and his father had been the famous Ignotus Peverell. His two brothers, Antioch and Cadmus were both in their twenties when they had died. No branches grew from them.

~We do hope you still honour your father. The Peverell family has always held parent-child relationships in high regard.~

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He wished he could just talk to his dad like he could to his mum. Their last and first conversation had gone surprisingly well, but Harry hadn't felt the need to summon him since then.

~We see you have been alive for some time, youngling. Why did you decide to honour your inheritance now?~

Harry wandered around the house while he told the painting about his life. Again, it was much easier to talk about everything, even his own death. Because it was a painting of a bloody snake. Who would it tell? Apparently, it could only speak parsel, too. The snake told him a bit about itself. It was a runespoor and had been the familiar of Honoratus Peverell, that guy who made these advances in India with some inventions, after he had helped it settle a blood feud with fellow members of its species. No wonder it spoke about the bloke in such a glorifying way.

Harry had zero architectural knowledge and his experience with houses were limited to the Dursleys’ pretentious terraced house, Mrs. Figg’s cat pee and cabbage infected dump, the Burrow and Grimmauld place. But this house? He loved it. It was homely. The furniture was very old, not even just grandfatherly, but centuries old. Some pieces looked like straight out of a history drama or the Buckingham Palace, but at the same time it was not pretentious or showing off wealth with ridiculous gold ornaments or the like.

The snake finally introduced itself as Nivedita, “the one who is in service” she roughly translated, as they arrived in the manor’s attic, where he found the most impressive room of the house: the observatory under the roof. Half of the roof was completely made of glass and according to Nivedita, many generations of Peverell’s spent days and weeks up here learning about the night sky from their parents and grandparents. It was also the only other room that had a giant tapestry. It depicted a broad wheel-shaped diagram, with months and other words written on certain points. First Harry had thought it might be an ancient birthday calendar, but Nivedita had explained it was a ‘year wheel’. The three heads were in disagreement if Esme or Winifred Peverell had woven it, but then they explained what it was for.

~The year wheel is a calendar for the days of Lady Magic. We are astounded you haven't heard of it before-fore. Surely the calendar system cant have changed again? We know it was quite the uproar with the change from the julian to the gregorian calendar.~

~I don't know about that, but... So it is for holidays? Like christmas?~ Harry looked at the different sections, which looked close to a sectioned cake from above. There was no Christmas in december.

~Christmas-mas?~ All three heads broke into indignant hissing. ~Why should we magic people worship a god that has no influence-ence on us and whose followers chased and burned us!~ It took a while for Nivedita to calm down, but then she launched into a better explanation. ~The days of Lady Magic follow the natural flow of magic, which changes with the constellations, the sun, the moon. These days are not selected randomly and some change by a few hours each year, depending on the natural flows. Each day that is highlighted on the chart, has a special meaning for magic, like beltane, which is the next powerful day of the year, only a few days away. And so the efficacy of certain magicks is stronger on some of these days.~

They talked a bit more until it was pretty late already and Harry took on Nivedita’s invitation to use the master bedroom. It was spacious and decorated in a royal blue with light yellow walls. On the ceiling was a big fresco of a mountainous and prairie landscape. Exotic magical and non-magical beasts grazed and hunted across the wall.

Before he went to bed though, he took out his notebook and opened the most important page: the painstakingly slow growing list of things he wanted to achieve in his life

☐ Heal my body

☐ Heal my magic core

☐ Understand the horcrux’ influence on me

☐ Heal scars?

☐ Get a deeper connection with my family

☐ Learn runes

☐ Learn japanese?

☐ Find friends a companion company …Animal?

Chapter 4: Midsummer

Chapter Text

Niveditas words and their conversations played on repeat in his head until the sun rose and he got up without a wink of rest. His bare feet slapped over the hardwood floor as he made his way through the dark and quiet house.

Soft hissing pulled him out of his reverie on the days to come and what he’d want to do in this dark and vast manor.

~You are awake-wake already?~

~Oh, hello. Still, actually.~

She hissed, but this time it sounded more like a thoughtful hum. ~You can talk to us if you cannot slee-sleep, youngling. We are always awake, too.~

~Thanks…~ He wanted to decline her offer but then paused in front of her painting (a dense european forest with lots of conifers) and thought about it a bit more, watching her. It might actually help to take the edge off his thoughts and maybe end the spirals if he would talk to her. But he didn't want to burden her with his sh*t… but she was a painting. And so far, she was fairly nice, if a bit suspect. He nodded, slowly. He wouldn't tell her anything crucial or too personal. Sometimes, if he had these reflective moments in the mornings, he couldn't really say what it was that kept him awake. But maybe they could talk about random things instead. For distractional purposes. ~I'd like to talk the next time, then.~

~May-maybe you want to try the other bedrooms?~

~Uh, I’m not sure. But maybe it will help?~ He frowned as he'd finally reached the library. It was in the basem*nt, every wall lined with tall bookcases and in the middle were a few tables and chairs. Hermione would probably die for this sh*t. He drew a breath and shoved the painful thoughts about his (once) best friend away.

~We are sad that you do not see the full glory of the Peverell collection, but just the sorry excuse that is this manor’s books.~ Nivedita hissed from the only portion of the walls that wasn't bookcases, right next to the stairs, where a big painting of a beach hung.

Harry let his gaze wander around the room, but it seemed to have no sorting system. ~What kinds of books are here?~

~What are you searching for-for?~ She slithered through the dunes of her painting.

~Specifically… horcruxes.~

She made that slow hissing hum again. Maybe it was a risk to tell a familiar of a powerful old family that his interest involved really dark magic. ~Do you plan to make a hor-horcrux?~

He scoffed. It was a part of his life he hadn't told her yet. Really, he had only given her a basic outline yesterday. However, he had a feeling he should offer her more of himself, to make her trust him. She was in no way hostile, but there was an underlying uncertainty between them. ~No. I was a Horcrux. I had a part of someone else stuck to me for a long time. And I want to know if it had any effect on my health. If it sucked on my magic or damaged my soul or something like that.~ Now, she was one of two people who knew about that, the only other person being his mum.

~You were a horcrux?~ This time, all her heads were in agreement on which way to tilt. ~We are astonished you survived this kind of magic, youngling. But you won't find anything on soul-soul magic in this library. Even if the weather conditions here are brutal, this manor’s focus has been astronomy since its foundation. There are a few books on other, more general topics though.~

Harry sighed. He really really didn't want this manor to be a dead end. He'd planned on staying here and exploring everything and to read about dark magic and make bloody progress! … Wait. He totally could. He could just stay here and arse about even if the library didn't have anything on horcruxes. He had a few other goals now, after all. A tiny smile tugged on the corners of his lips. And maybe there was a book the giant monster didn't know about?

Harry went around and looked at the books more closely. He remembered a few of the titles from Neville's book list, which he had conveniently forgotten in his sports bag, and looked out for these specific books.

Maybe, while he did that, he could get more information out of the reluctant beast. ~Yesterday, you mentioned a hibernation spell?~

~Yes, Iolanthes doing.~

~What is that spell?~

~It is essentially a very strong stasis charm that affects everything within its range. Iolanthe knew she was the last Peverell and sealed all Peverell manors-s with the hibernation spell to prevent decay.~

~Why did it not wear off after seven hundred years?~

~Because it is hibernation.~ Nivedita tilted one of her head's. ~It has to be woken.~

Harry had no clue what the difference was, but decided to roll with it. ~Is it… awake now?~

Her tongue flicked out. ~Only temporary.~

~Are there any downsides to hibernation? Or with me being here if the house is not fully awake?~

~You cannot alter or control the wards. They let you through because of who you are.~ Her eyes narrowed. ~But you are not conn-connected to the house wards. The wards are weaker in hibernation. We would be glad if you woke the house and connected to the wards, youngling.~

He frowned at the row of ancient tomes in front of him. If the snake was so reluctant towards him, why would it want his help? ~Why?~

~We feel the manor is weak already. Soon, all magic will be consumed. It is another downfall of hibernation. The wards cannot take in any magic.~ So the life of the painting was endangered?

~Take in magic?~ Harry’s finger stopped over a very familiar looking tome with a royal blue spine and gold letterings: ‘Moste potente potions’.

~A small amount of magic is always fuelled into the wards through the natural ambient magic. But in hibernation that isn't possible.~

~What do I get out of that? Out of waking the house and wards?~

Nivedita opened her three jaws slightly in toothless, crooked smiles. It was quite the disturbing image. ~You get the honour of our eternal gratitude, youngling. The reassurance that your possession, this manor, will survive for the next millennium and not just three hundred more years. Also, the house will help you while you are here.~

Harry hummed and stopped in front of a book on herbology. ~Do you know if there is a book called ‚Roses and Rabies‘ in this library?~

~We haven't heard of it, but you can use a standard title-search-charm in here. The library is not warded against it.~

~A title-search-charm. That sounds really useful. How do I cast it?~

The runespoor hissed disapprovingly and muttered something until she replied. ~The wand movement is a v-shape, kind of like an open book that lies in front of you and - oh you have a focus!~ She gave repeated little hisses. ~Wonderful. We see you are a true Peverell.~

And that's how Harry had to tell her he had actually no clue about foci. And him being a “true” Peverell was somehow rude.

~Do not fret, youngling. Many Peverells preferred a focus instead of a wand, because they weren't happy with their wand core alignment.~

Harry blinked, processing that. ~What do you mean by that? What’s a core alignment?~

Nivedita was quiet for so long that he turned around. She was staring, three heads and six green glowing eyes piercing into him. ~We see now that you lack a much greater portion of basic education-tion than we had thought, youngling. We would like to officially tutor you. We hope you accept our offer.~

Harry’s eyebrows rose and he didn't know what to reply. He’d grasped that Nivedita wasn't one who gave out her knowledge freely, he always had to ask questions and how he wondered if maybe she didn't trust him until now. It would certainly make sense. But now she offered to tutor him, maybe she had realised something? What had changed in her view of him? But to be tutored by a portrait snake meant to stay in this house and he wasn't ready to commit to that.

~I will think about it, thank you Nivedita.~ Harry said and frowned at her.

All of her three heads nodded in a different rhythm. ~A wand has a core, which is mainly responsible-sible for drawing the magic out of the user. However, as everything that has to do with magic, and intent and emotions play a big role in every process, cores are choosey. Let’s take a unicorn hair core for example.~ Harry had now completely turned his body to her portrait and leaned against the bookcase. ~Unicorns are the purest creatures in the whole world. If a unicorn gives its hair for a wand-wand core, that in itself makes the wand blessed and biassed in a way other wands aren't. The personality of the wand will be morally, ethically good. It relishes to do good, to heal and save people. But it will bristle up and maybe even prevent its use for morally bad things like hurting someone, destroying things, some unicorn wands even refuse simple charms like a severing charm. And that is why many of your ancestors preferred their foci over their wands, because a focus is not biassed-sed. At the same time a focus is much harder to control, obviously.~

~...right~ Harry frowned and stepped closer to her. A strong wind bent the coastal grass around her. He wanted to know what she thought about him and what had triggered this change. It was one of the longest and most thorough explanations she had given him until then. ~I did not plan to stay here for long, Nivedita. As much as I’d like to stay and let you tutor me, I must ask for your motivation? I had the hunch you did not trust me until you saw that I own a focus and asked about wand cores.~

Nivedita gave an indignant hiss and all her heads swivelled to the sides, avoiding his eyes. Harry observed her squirming for a few seconds, then resumed travelling his finger over the book spines. There was a lot. Initially it had not appeared much, just one room, with books on each wall, but make it floor to ceiling and there is so much knowledge collected in here.

Finally, she spoke again. ~We did not trust you, my Lord. We doubted you as our true Heir and Lord, because-cause you do not look anything like our previous Lords and Ladies. You might be young, but we thought you inappropriate and unworthy, because you lack abilities and knowledge. We formally apologise. But we realised that it is not our place to judge. We know of your story, at least what you told-told us. But we only recently came to the conclusion that it is due to your circ*mstances and your life, that you appeared unworthy, even though those circ*mstances were not your fault.~ Harry hummed. ~If you accept our apology, we would be glad to answer any question you have and thoroughly tutor you in anything and everything you might want to know about.~

~It’s alright, Nivedita.~ From the corner of his eyes he saw her giant body sack in relief, one head even sunk to the sandy floor. ~I know very well that I appear unworthy. I mean I look like a dosser, I did not complete my NEWTs and probably forgot a large portion of stuff I was supposed to learn in Hogwarts. I can completely see how I am unworthy as Lord of any noble house. Honestly…I feel rather asserted that you didn't like me instantly. Just because I am a Lord, doesn't mean I would be good at it.~ He paused at an interesting looking book, it was thin, with a filthy brown spine and cover. As he pulled it out of the shelf, it almost fell apart and a few loose pages stuck out between the front and back. “Brooms for every witch” ~So, yes. I accept your apology. And if you want to help me, your help is very welcome. I know there is a lot I do not know about… well everything, really. I have a friend who tried to help me but… I don't aspire to know everything you might want to teach me though, so maybe we can bargain on what you want to teach me and what I want to learn?~

At breakfast, Harry finally got the chance to relish a true British tea blend again since last August, when he moved to Japan. A three-quarters year without it was definitely too long. Since arriving on the British isles the order box in his sports bag didn't work anymore, so he had to, reluctantly, live off the centuries old storage of groceries of the ancient Peverell manor.

~Do not worry, my Lord, the hibernation spell puts everything to sleep, even the milk jar.~ The giant snake had tried to assure him, but he still took his tea bland. The way of address she chose for him since their little argument was goosebumps inducing. He only knew a few people who had been addressed that way, and all of them were either dead or incarcerated. Still, the three-headed monster didn't budge. She was dead set on correcting her previous stance and ~shameful disrespect~. And now she took every chance she got to explain even his minor questions thoroughly.

Harry took a bite out of his sandwich, while listening to Nivedita's explanations about wands and foci.

~A wand draws as much magic out of its wielder as it sees fit for a spell, my Lord. Wands are sentient, they help their wielder in that way. The wielder just has to say the incantation and the wand movement, so the wand knows what the person wants to cast and then the wand will do the actual magic work. That is why they also only work with certain people, people who they like and want to cast with. It is a double edged sword, this relationship. Because as I said earlier, that way a wand limits the wielder, while also making it easier to cast spells.~

~So the focus doesn't draw magic out of me? How does it have this exploding power then, that doesn't make any sense.~ He had shown her his problem with his focus earlier.

~Our observation is that your war honed senses seem to keep your magic at an all-time-ready state. We sadly - as a painting - do not have the ability to sense magic anymore, but the way your magic explodes out of the focus can only be explained such. Because it does not make sense for a focus to be on maximum output all the time, my Lord. The focus doesn't do the magic work, but you, my Lord.~

~So I am subconsciously pushing my magic out?~

~ That is our observation, my Lord.~

Harry didn't know how to feel about that. If what she explained was true, then it made sense, but at the same time she had told him so many things about wands that he had never heard about. It made sense, but also didn’t, because what about core glass then? Why did it feel the same, if the core glass was pulling and the focus was pushing? Harry felt like a lemon.

The manors ward stone was a big boulder, absolutely covered with runes. Some, he recognized, others were completely alien. Some were angular, just a heap of straight lines in a neat arrangement, others were made of intersecting and overlapping circles of varying sizes. And others looked like animals and people - Egyptian hieroglyphs? Since this small room, which was accessed through a latch in the basem*nt floor, had no portrait for Nivedita to reside in, Harry was on his own. Standing just a few feet away, Harry felt a weak pull from the Peverell lordship ring. It wanted to connect to the ward stone. But the scaly monster had told him what he had to do.

~The hibernation spell is a charm of parselmagic that puts the subject to sleep. Usually one would cast an ‘ennervate’ or a similar regeneration charm to wake the subject. But here it is different. The wardstone is no person and more of a sentient object. It will be a first experience, even for us. To wake the manor, you have to feel for the spell and break it with your magic. It might also happen, that the manor will simply use your magic to break out of it on its own. Put your hands on the stone and feel for a connection. It is all completely intuitive.~

So Harry followed the pull and placed his hands on the stone.

He felt the ghostly dark fingers of the Perverell magic brush over him, sinking its claws into his core and laying claim over his magic. He felt the warmth rush through him as fresh forest green magic met with the dark. But now that they were in direct contact - and with a much bigger source - he could taste the Peverell magic better. It was much richer, with hues in the darkness. It was the protective darkness of a black alpha wolf shielding its pack, the shadow of a palm tree that brings relief in the harsh desert sun, but if you were used to it a darkness rich with guiding starlight. And it was bitter like dark chocolate. The rush through his body didn't stop and Harry felt the familiar exhaustion win over him, his legs gave out and his vision swam.

When he came to, Harry flinched. Everything around him was bright with magical energy, like in the middle of a lighthouse. At the same moment, he could identify a new presence in his awareness. The house had used his magic to break free of the hibernation and to recharge its ward stone. Harry shivered and climbed to his feet with a groan. His body had gone cold and he was utterly exhausted, even though he had probably lied here for a few hours at least. The big boulder was so rich and dark with magic, that Harry couldn't look at it, even though he knew he didn't feel magic with his eyes. It was more of a hammering on his consciousness from its direction. And he could feel how he carried a bit more of this darkness within himself now. It was unsettling and comforting at the same time, but he couldn't find a good analogy for it.

~My Lord? Are you awake now?~ Came a very distressed hiss from above.

~Yes~ Harry called back and slowly climbed the small ladder up and back into the library. His limbs were heavy and sluggish.

He could feel the house - Peverell Star Manor, something fed the information into his consciousness - all around him and when he stepped a foot on the stairs to climb up to his bed, the stairs began to move on their own, making him almost trip, as they carried him up to the second floor bedroom, where he’d intended to spend the next night.

“Oh, thanks.” Harry said into the empty air around himself. Then he was almost shoved into the room from the top of the stairs - the door opening on itself - and he stumbled into the blanket-y and pillow-y bed.

~What happened my Lord?~ Nivedita appeared in the wetlands landscape of the bedroom.

Harry scrubbed a lazy hand across his face and creaked an eye open. ~I lost consciousness… from magic drain…~

~What? Why? That shouldn't be such a consuming task? Why-... Have you not reached magical maturity yet, my Lord? ~

He fought against his eyes that wanted to fall shut again, to answer the devoted monster. ~No…Mmm… no…working on it… tomorrow…~

Harry had completely abandoned the subject of runes until Malfoy did something incredible and helped him. He sent with his next letter, which came by owl to the Peverell manor, a book.

Lord Potter-Black-Peverell-Slytherin,

I hope you are well.

As I do not own the title of Lord Slytherin, but only the proxy, it is extremely inappropriate to address me as such. I hope you refrain from that in public, but your lack of manners is unsurprising.

About the Selwyn Anthropology: Keep the stupid book. As a Black, it was part of my mother's dowry and I know all of its contents by heart now. Also, it's not that rare. Grandfather Cygnus just thought it would be nice for my father to know more about the British noble houses, as my father came from France and hadn't lived much in England by then. Since I’m discarding of a lot of my fathers possessions, it would do me a favour if you kept it.

I hope this children's rune book is simple enough for you to understand. It will answer your question. Send a word if you need other books, you can keep that one too.

The memorial opening passed without incident, it seems. But there was another funny article about why you didn't show up, which they obviously could only speculate about.

On a different note, I can understand how you want to keep off the public, to prevent from being judged. As a Malfoy I have always been in the public eye some way or the other, so I am used to it. Which does not mean that it gets easier. My father had always only shown his most proper side to the press and public and maybe it would've done our family some good if he hadn't.

My mother sends her regards and so do I,

Lord Malfoy

Harry smiled. For some reason, the easy banter with Malfoy always lifted his spirits. It was an easy role to fall back to and at the same time their whole communication had never been like back then. It was much more free and slowly got more personal. He found that he could understand Malfoys viewpoint only to a certain degree. Why would it be good to misbehave or show your bad sides in public? Wouldn't that only lead to even more publicity?

Harry shrugged to himself, ignored the scathing (not really) insults and began to read his new children's book.

“A rune comes from many available alphabets, which all have different purposes and uses. The most important alphabets are the Elder Futhark and Egyptian runes, or hieroglyphs. Many runes combined make a catena. While Arithmancy uses equations and spells are made up of charms, jinxes, hexes and curses, runes make a catena. Only a catena works. If runes are combined randomly it will rarely create anything. Runes are carved into the object using either a wand or carving tools, which both allow the person to channel magic into the runes while carving them. This step takes years of practice and is best done by your parents or magical guardian. The easiest beginner projects are the glow stone and the paperweight projects, available in the crafting chapter.” …

Harry hummed and thought about Nivedita’s question. ~I don't really know what I want to be tutored about. I think one of my problems is that I don't know what there even is that I could learn. But I also think I never got the chance to learn in peace, so it's no wonder I don't remember sh*t. I have a slowly growing list of goals, though…~

Nivedita hissed from somewhere in the darkness around him. ~And one of these goals seems to be runes.~

He turned in his makeshift bed, readjusting the pillows on the hard floor. That night he wanted to sleep in the attic, right beneath the clear view on the stars through the glass roof. ~I’m not sure. I picked up runes on a whim. I think they’re useful, but at the same time I don't want to bother with learning all the alphabets… I wish I could just learn what I need, when I need it.~

A small cloud crept over the twinkling sky. ~That is not an unwise approach, my Lord. We recommend having a broad basic knowledge in most fields, though.~

~Yeah, that sounds reasonable. That way I might have a better idea what I might want to learn more about.~ He frowned.

The night was so dark and bright at the same time, except for that one small cloud. The difference between the deep space and the brighter band of the milky way was like a clean cut through sky. He could almost discern the different colours of the milky way. Harry extended his arm and held his hand out into the air. Pinching two fingers together, he could almost imagine plucking a star from the sky. He’d never seen them so crisp outside from the astronomy lessons.

~Would you tell me about the stars and constellations? What did the ancient Peverells study up here?~

~The stars and the night sky is the best guide to all things considering time. You can determine the season and the date by looking at them and determining their positions. Kelsier for example was very interested in astronomy combined with divination. The constellations, the positions of the planets, the moon and the sun influence the flow of raw natural magic here on earth. He was convinced that certain dates, certain arrangements of the celestial bodies influenced the decisions of the people, because they influenced natural magic. I was never convinced of his thesis and he couldn't prove it. What he proved though, was that humans and magical beings are subconsciously aware of shifts in the natural magic around them. But it is not strong enough to change reason or for causality, I believe.~ He swivelled his head to the side and eyed the huge telescope in the centre of the attic. The metallic parts were reflecting the soft light from above. He’d not yet looked through it, but he very much looked forward to it. Of course, nothing could beat astronomy lessons with a telescope in the Scottish highlands. The weather conditions were much better. The cool air was better (no flickering) for observations than the warm coastal air of Cornwall. Nivedita continued. ~Another aspect of the stars is navigation. Many Peverells, who were not scholars in Abydos or Vaishant Aasini, were night nomads, as were most magical people in the previous millennia. Night nomads were moving through the night and hiding in the daytime, to practise their arts free from the shay al nahi, the muggles. And thus the night sky was their home. They knew when to pick certain potions ingredients, when to find certain beasts and when it was best to avoid the forests.~

He let his gaze sweep over the constellations - he actually recognized a few. Orion had always been his favourite, because it was so easily recognizable with the three stars in a straight line making up the belt of the imaginary person. The enchanted ceiling in his sports bag apartment was really well-made. But this? This was breathtaking. ~I didn't know astronomy had such a big influence on everything.~

~It does. If a wixen wants to harness every energy they can get their hands on or wants to produce certain results of spells or potions with precision, the position of the stellar bodies should always be taken into account.~

Harry hummed and they fell silent as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

~Do not cramp up your hand, my Lord, hold the wooden handle just like you would a feather.~

Harry readjusted his hold and tried again, face scrunched up in concentration, to carve a line into his practice slate. He’d found these centuries old tools and slates in the study which once belonged to Iolanthe Peverell, when he’d asked the Star Manor for assistance. There had been several old slates covered in neat rows of practice runes, which might have been from Iolanthe herself or her children.

He could carve lines, yes, but they were not straight. It was very hard to get the pressure right and sometimes he slipped off with the tool. They were all wobbly.

~If it doesn't work, we can start with wood, but wood will not be able to perform the project from your book. It will not glow.~

~Why?~ He gave his blade a whack with the carvers mallet that was a bit too enthusiastic and a rather wide piece of stone chipped off the slate. He groaned.

~That is a bit too complicated to answer right now, but to put it simply… different materials react differently to magic and there are certain prerequisites for them to be able to hold the magic efficiently. Wood is only able to be used for a catena if it is thoroughly prepared.~

Harry grumbled and tuned her babbling out. By the end of his second practice session, he could confidently carve the runes Isaz, Naudiz and Gebo, which all consisted of straight long lines only.

Most of the library books were written in Old English, using a hideous font where every s looked like an f, words were slurred together and had weird latin sounding endings. It took a lot of imagination to understand some of the texts. They were even weirder than ‘Moste potente potions’ from the forbidden section of Hogwarts and he remembered how he and Ron had cackled over some of the terms and phrases. For the beginning he concentrated on finding the titles mentioned in Neville’s booklist as he trusted his friends’ judgement. The more books he skimmed through though, the more books he found that sounded interesting, like “Algenib Peverell’s collection of alternative uses for standard charms”. And with Harry being himself, he found he was easily distracted and steered off his initial task. He liked that though. Earlier in his life, he would've gotten scolded for being unconcentrated, but now, as curiosity was something precious and still a bit fragile to him, he enjoyed the feeling. It gave him a confirmation every time, that living was something he could do. That there were things in the world that he liked and wanted to find out about. And it was not just once, that he was overcome with this simple joy of life and shedded a few silent tears over the books of the library, when he found something that lit a tiny spark in him.

Talking to spirits still came with occasional surprises, like when they accidentally moved through a wall, made no sound of footsteps when Harry expected to hear them, or other physical reactions that just didn't come. And now his dad hung his head in the giant chest full of Peverell family garments.

“I saw something shiny way down there” He said as he emerged again. “I think gold is a really great colour for you” He grinned and then sighed over-dramatically. “It’s such a shame I never got to see you in your school robes or quidditch gear. I bet you were the most handsome on the whole field.”

Harry scoffed and gave the scissors a harsh snap, while his other hand moved to pick up and separate the next lock of his hair. It really was a futile attempt to try and save anything longer than maybe his ears. The knots and bundles were too tight and he still had no hairbrush. (And he didn't want to catch lice from using a Peverell hair brush, yikes.) “Well I can say with conviction that no one shared that observation, dad. People were never interested in my looks.” He frowned. The thought alone was so strange and sounded even weirder when outspoken.

“Ohh, that reminds me!” James scooted up to him and sat next to Harry on the rim of the bathtub. “You have to tell me absolutely everything about your love life!”

Harry snorted without real humour and didn't say anything.

“Come on! You absolutely had to have a sweetheart! Any cute girls? Or a cute boy? Snogging in an alcove? Making out in a broom closet?”

Harry paused his haircut and turned to face his dad, who was giddy as a schoolgirl. “Dad. I can tell you that there was never anything longer than a few months.” He studied James’ reaction, as he said the next part, carefully. “I never had the luxury to think about things like romance or love or even sex. Merlin and Morgana. The war basically started with my first year in Hogwarts, when Quirrelmort tried to kill me. And I know that might sound very harsh and self-deprecating, but I’m way too f*cked up for love, if you ask me.” James’ eyes widened. “I grew up hated, dad, and bullied. I got beat up and starved. I have no healthy relationship with love.” Harry heard a faint angry hiss from the wall and James gasped. Harry’s expression was cold and emotionless as he studied James further. He had mostly processed these things. Or at least accepted them. He had not really processed and come over them, or he wouldn't be so bitter about it. These facts about his past still stung. But it was okay to say them, even though, or especially because, they were harsh truths. “So to answer your question dad, no. Not really. I had the most disastrous date in fifth year, where the girl I took to Madame Puddifoots cried her heart out over a different bloke. I had a few months of a very awkward relationship with Ginny Weasley in sixth year but then I had to go and hunt Voldemort and after the war I was too depressed and haunted by my nightmares to feel anything for her again.” He resumed his haircut and let his father stew on his words. Only the quiet snipping of his scissors cutting his hair was perceivable. Harry then washed his hair again, but did not try to put any form in it. He glanced over to his father occasionally, to study his face. James’ emotions shifted between shocked, hurt, maybe pensive, maybe resigned. It was not easy to interpret his different frowns since he didn’t know him for that long. There was almost a hole on the left side of his skull where a really nasty knot left him with no other option than to cut his hair the whole way off. It was completely uneven, longer strands interchanging with shorter ones, but at the same time his hair had never been anything but messy. So who cares. And since he plans to let it grow long again it wouldn't matter then. Harry looked at his dad again and their eyes met. James looked at him with such heartbreak and pity that it was really hard to not throw the stone of resurrection into the farthest corner and be done with it. But he was saved from a very painful conversation as James vanished, leaving Harry alone with a feeling of having glass shards stuck in his heart.

The library contained books on all sorts of topics and the interesting part was that they contained a lot of dark stuff. A few centuries back wixen didn't draw a harsh line on what is considered light or dark magic. Even though a lot of dark magic was forbidden today, because it went against the modern moral code, Harry couldn't help but find a lot of these magics really interesting. As all recipes or spells were written consecutively in the books, no matter if they were “light” or “dark”, the moral problem wasn’t always immediately recognizable, sometimes only if the recipe contained “blood” or the spell required “a living sacrifice”.

~But why is this magic-magic prohibited today?~ Nivedita had a problem understanding the modern moral codes of wixen. And Harry struggled to get to the core of it and explain it so that she understood. He knew that sacrificing someone was bad, but it was another matter entirely to try and explain to a centuries old three-headed monster, why exactly it was bad. She argued that it couldn't be wrong to sacrifice an enemy.

Harry sighed, slightly exhausted from their debate already. ~I don't really know. In Hogwarts, a lot was either forbidden or allowed, but they rarely explained.~

Nivedita hissed a scoff. ~How are you supposed to learn critical thinking if you do not discuss your morals and rules with your teachers? We have observed that already, but… you are too naive, my Lord…~

Harry chuckled dryly and looked up from the Old English text he tried to decipher. ~I guess that is true. But not always. When it came to school rules I was the first one to break and question them. But when it came to knowledge, I always took the things people said at face value… I think that is one of my biggest… mistakes of my past, maybe… but at the same time, it had not been important to me, the knowledge I mean.~

The runespoor studied him for a few seconds. ~You had your Hermione.~

~True. I trusted that she was the brains out of my friends. And that was very good, it allowed me to concentrate on surviving. But… I begin to question that perspective. Hermione was always there with us, fighting too. I could've done both, too. Fight and know why and for what I am doing it… ~

The giant snake shook one of her heads. ~Back to critical thinking. What do you think? Why are so many crafts prohibited? Many have been a daily occurrence, where we are from.~

He knew it was a good question. A lot of potions that dealt with blood required one's own blood to work on the body. The blood of another person to work on them. And spells that required sacrifices unleashed powers so great, they could flatten a country. ~I think it has a lot more to do with potential damage than direct damage.~ Harry mused. ~Because if you use the wrong blood in an animal-binding-potion, er, I don't know what would happen but it must be dangerous. Mixing another person's blood in your own body, or accidentally cursing the wrong person must be horrible.~ The animal-binding-potion was one of the more interesting ones he had found. It had been used to bind animals so they would always find you, and had been the start of owl breeding lines, as Nivedita had explained.

~An interesting thought, potential damage. It is true there is that risk, but most rituals that used things like blood required witnesses and an official ceremony. Through these measures, it was almost impossible to cheat or fail the ritual, my Lord.~

Harry hummed and frowned down on the line of the herbology book. ~I guess if you practise dark magic under such circ*mstances the risks are minimal… but what is your argument on the influence of dark magic on the caster? In Hogwarts and one of the arguments of the general public was, that dark magic corrupts the wixen. Is that true?~

She tilted one of her heads from side to side, contemplating. ~It is true under certain circ*mstances. But what did they mean with corrupt exactly? The core? Or the moral code of the wixen? Or something else?~

Harry looked up and across the room at her portrait, where she braced a harsh coastal gale. ~I'm not sure, really. I guess they meant the wixen gets addicted to dark magic because… I don't know, it feels too good? But the people were rather vague when it was discussed, if it was discussed at all.~

~We think that is a complicated correlation, my Lord. And it depends solely on the individual if dark magic corrupts the wixen, whatever corruption it may be. Some rituals require such a large amount of magic, that it might damage the magic core of a weak wixen. Sometimes people go mad from the guilt, or the feeling of power, that comes after using dark magic. A weak mind will undoubtedly grow addicted to the feeling of power and accomplishment from using it. But if all these potential risks are considered beforehand, if the wixen has a strong mind and heart and is magically capable, we do not see these problems with dark magic, my Lord…~

Harry looked around in the room again to let her words sink in.

Weeks went by and Harry was busy. He burned his magic and drank his potions and ate regular meals. In between that he turned the library completely over, in search of anything on horcruxes or his recovery. He knew Nivedita had said there was nothing on the topic, but maybe he could gather some related information on dark magics? Nivedita also teached him about history, astronomy and other things he asked about, like ancient spells he found or about magical theory he didn't understand.

However, she had learned there were days when he didn't want to talk to anyone and just be left alone. The Star Manor and all its contents offered a level of distraction for Harry that allowed him to exist in a rare level of calm. But sometimes these distractions were not enough, the runespoor was too chatty to be comfortable and his mind just wouldn't stop drifting. He remembered the aching emptiness of his stomach in a tent in the forest of Dean. The adrenaline in his veins and his accelerated heartbeat from jumping to his feet from Hagrid's arms to duel the darkest and most powerful wizard of all times. The defeated and forlorn expressions of his friends after the battle of Hagwarts, despite the victory. The corpses. Fred’s funeral. Snape’s funeral. His exhaustion. The confusion. Why was he still alive? Dumbledore’s words, fresh and raw from the pensieve. Like a pig for slaughter. And then his feelings got too complicated. He still didn't really know how to feel and think about the man he had once thought of as his greatest mentor.

He spent a lot of time cabbaging, or wandering through the dunes when he was not motivated anymore to read dusty tomes or listen to a snake reminisce in the past. But of course, those were moments where he was not distracted and those moments led to reverie.

And he often wondered, just like now, why he was even doing all this sh*t. It was a lot of work, the learning, even if he had to admit that he probably wasn't even doing as much as he had been forced to do for their first year homework regimen.

But… life was too much sometimes. And it took conscious effort, but he allowed himself to take things easy. If he was exhausted, he stopped. If he wasn't interested anymore, he stopped and did something else. And if he was too overcome with complicated thoughts and emotions, he allowed himself to take a step back. Stop. And think. And process again. Just like today.

Harry stood on the warded off portion of the pebble beach behind Star Manor. He did the slow body movement exercises that Kotan had shown him to increase his awareness for his own magic. It was another routine he tried to do every day, aside from his potion regimen and magic burn and practising with the core glass. The exercises consisted of very conscious movements, arms and legs did slow circles and triangles or other shapes through the airspace around him. By closing your eyes, it was easier to consciously feel the magic. The warmth flowed in waves and pulses through his pathways with each movement. Harry let his hand come up in a wide arc and felt the magic accumulate in his palm. He raised and stretched a leg and the magic ran through his calf to his foot, tingling in his toes. And nothing could stop his thoughts quite like physical exercise.

Harry decided to answer the letter from Malfoy now, but this time he wanted to finally address what had lingered between them since… since their first letters. And to level the grounds on his intentions from the start, he decided to break their stiff way of addressing each other. He knew why Malfoy did it. As Harry had four heritages and Malfoy only one, Harry had, in the eyes of a pureblood Lord, a much higher standing. Malfoy could risk his reputation and a feud if he behaved disrespectfully towards Harry. But since Harry actually gave no sh*t about that stuff, he decided to unceremoniously break the ice that way.

Hello Malfoy,

Thank you for the books. I am honestly astonished that you would give me those. If you don't mind me asking, maybe you could tell me why you get rid of your fathers things? I thought you had a good relationship? At least, to me it always seemed that way.

I am actually glad that we have this weird, friendly truce for a while now. It makes me kind of question if such a thing might have been possible earlier. I mean, I know things were never easy, for neither of us. There was too much going on, not just between us but especially the people around us shaped our relationship a lot, I think.

If we had existed in a bubble without outside influence, things might have gone extremely different. But those are just my personal musings.

If we

I think

I know we accepted each other's apologies, but I want you to know that I forgive you for the things you did to me over all these years and I hope that you can forgive me too. I have a feeling you do, because you seem to try and be nice to me, but I wanted you to know that.

I am glad how we are talking now. Maybe we can be friends? I hope so… I actually kind of broke all the friendships I had. I didn't fight with Ron or Hermione or the other Weasleys, but… I really needed to distance myself and that's why I haven't contacted them in a long while. It makes me feel bad, now that I think about it, but… I want to be selfish, you know? I hope that makes sense.

Thank you again for the rune book. As I explained, (I think I explained?) I am trying to learn runes. I don't really know why, yet. It's just something I had the whim to do and I try to only do things I want recently. Do you maybe have other beginner projects I could try? Maybe something with wood? The glow stone was hard. Don’t laugh.

I didn't understand why you would want your father to “misbehave” in public? I’ve always tried to be polite to everyone and the press. I know how much power the public opinion holds on you.

Greetings, Harry

It was bold. Harry ended up writing much more honestly and heart-to-heart than he had intended, but his gut told him it would be okay. He hoped Malfoy would… respond in kind? He didn't know what to expect, but at the same time it felt good to just spill everything and admit a few things to a living person. He felt himself looking forward to the reply whenever he thought about what he’d written for the next few days.

Harry had heard the term “ritual” a few times in his Hogwarts time. It had been said in secret, in hushed tones, when the topic of conversations turned to the “dark side”. From studying said dark texts, spells and potions for over a month he had formed the hypothesis that a “ritual” was the word used for magic that required either blood or a sacrifice and was combined with runes and arithmancy.

Arithmancy was the art of magic numbers and maths. It was the link between all magic arts, if a wixen delved deeper into the origins and underlying principles. Niv had explained it as such: ~Maths was used by farmers to buy and sell cattle even before the pyramids were built. And so arithmancy was used by wixen long before the first spells were written down. The difference between maths and arithmancy is that arithmancy calculates magic. It is needed for everything that has to do with research and development of new magics. How much magical power is required for a spell? How long will the potion have to stew if I add pygmy puff hair instead or unicorn hair? Where do I need to place my ward stone if I want to cover my whole property and do we have to add support stones?~ Which had then resulted in a general discussion about ward stones. But as Harry was delving deeper into the dark arts, stumbling across potions to alter one’s hair colour permanently, fiendfyre, rituals to place blood curses on your enemies, ancient texts on sacrificing animals for the days of Lady Magic and body runes etched into the skin for a permanent wand holster. And from all these he developed his own theory about the making of “his” horcrux.

So I know what a ritual is, I know that they require knowledge on runes, arithmancy and sometimes astronomy and that most, if not all, rituals require blood or a sacrifice.

Harry still had not found a single book mentioning soul magic or topics related to it. But theoretically, he now knew what must've gone into creating a horcrux. The magic force required to split a soul was unknown to him, but he had a hunch it might be ginormous. And if he thought about everything he knew about the day Voldemort killed his parents and created the horcrux within Harry… It had been the day of Samhain, the celebratory day of Lady Magic rumoured to be closest to death. It is believed that the dead can cross over on this day and that it is especially suited for the darkest arts that deal with death - and a horcrux requires a sacrifice. From all the instances Harry had discussed horcruxes with Dumbledore, the word sacrifice had not been said, but “it requires the killing of a person”. And that was essentially the same. If he understood correctly, sacrifices are used to strengthen the magic in all rituals, which should aid in splitting the soul when making a horcrux or maybe aid in binding the soul piece to the new host or object. Then there was arithmancy and Tom Riddle’s obsession with strong magical numbers. Magic numbers were strong for a reason. They were a position, a state in which the magic was most stable for some usages. So in some cases, it is not only required to have three or seven or twelve sets of something, but the magic shifts itself into these numbers on its own, sometimes accidentally. And Harry was the seventh piece of soul for Tom Riddle. That, in combination with the fact that Samhain is a strong day for natural magic (Niv explained something about the earth's rotation around the sun and equal day and night lengths or such) probably resulted in the accidental splitting of Voldemort's soul. Because from what Harry knew of that night, Voldemort didn't intend to hold a ritual.

So his parents were most probably the sacrifices, amplifying the ambient magic even further, combined with the unstable state of Voldemort's soul. And that led to an accident, that did not require a grand setup or arithmancy and runes to split the soul of Voldemort again, creating the seventh piece into a stable state and that piece latched onto Harry. Now the question was why not any other random object? Maybe a toy from the bedroom? If that theory was correct, then Harry had been a horcrux even before Voldemort tried to kill him. Had that been the cause of his survival?

When he came to this theory, hunched over a book on family rituals, he felt once again a deep ache in his chest. Resentment towards Voldemort and, unsurprisingly, Dumbledore. If Harry had all this knowledge here at his fingertips and could expand his knowledge on the dark arts and their possibilities, surely Dumbledore would have done the same? Harry was convinced by now that Dumbledore must have had his own theories on Voldemort and especially the events of Halloween 1981.

In the winter and spring months his feelings on the adults in his life had mostly consisted of regret, a lot of self-loathing, self-pity, and mostly he had felt defeated.

It had been a slow process to accept that he had been mostly one thing: a child, tossed into a war he wasn't responsible for. He’d been a helpless child forced into a crucial role. Abandoned by those adults who were meant to protect the child.

He knew the prophecy forced him to action, but he also knew that the adults around him did just as much forcing and if they hadn't been there… Well, lately he liked to isolate things. Think about them in topic bubbles. And he knew if Harry Potter had existed apart from Wizarding Britain, prophecy or not, things probably wouldn't have escalated as they did. He was certain Voldemort wouldn’t have returned - or not as early - for example.

But Harry also knew, that he could theorise and stew on those things as much as he liked. He was here now. And he tried his best to ignore the constant dull emotional pain in his chest and maybe, one day, fully move on.

Pale, long fingers snaked around his throat. There was a weight pushing him into the floor, on his chest, on his arms and legs. As if thick manacles pulled him down. Harry tried to breathe, but every draw of air was rattling and unsatisfying. It was not enough! Above him, as the pressure on his neck increased he saw a glint of animalistic eyes.

Harsh hissing shocked Harry out of his sleep and he thrashed and fought against the blanket entangled between his legs until he was finally free and he breathed. He panted as if he had really been choked to death.

Nivedita’s worried hisses startled him. ~My Lord, maybe it would-~

~No~ Harry panted.

~Alright~ Harry heard her slither away without argument, but he was too worked up to be thankful for her understanding.

It’s always the same basic theme, he thinks as he sank to the floor, the cool hardwood grounding him. He is trapped somewhere. Being trapped and forced to do things or unable to do things seems to be the basic overarching theme of his nightmares these days.

Back in the library for his research of the day, Harry let his gaze sweep over all his spread out books. Something very vulnerable within his heart was offended by the sight of them. Why is he doing all of this again? Why does he learn runes? Harry stepped up to the table and began to close the books and put them back into the shelves. What for? He has never had any interest in runes before! He'd slept through every lesson of history. He stopped and sighed. Niv slithered through the dunes in her painting somewhere behind him.

His fingers itched and he had the weird urge to run very far or to sort the whole library. Niv’s presence had been new and refreshing compared to the last three-quarters year before. But now he felt like he couldn't be… free. He couldn't let out his feelings around her, not completely. There was always a detail he didn't mention about his nightmares or his past. It was suffocating in a way he had never known before the war. He remembered in a vague way that he had always talked about all his thoughts and feelings with Ron and Hermione. But now… now he probably wouldn't. And here, in the library, with a weird painting that watched him, day and night, he couldn't breathe anymore.

He tugged on the connection to the house within him and let the Star Manor carry him all the way to the entrance hall where he grabbed his coat and practically fled from the house.

The air outside was still a bit cool in the morning, not quite heated up yet despite the summer day.

He walked the short path down to the pebble beach and walked all the way up to the water. There, he watched the lethargic in and out of the foam and waves. It was calming and he concentrated all his thoughts on the sea, to not think about himself.

He doesn't know how long he stood there, but now, the sun has warmed the wind and the slight chill that sent goosebumps up his arms disappeared completely.

He took out the stone of resurrection and began strolling along the coast. He needed a distraction right now and he knew one person who usually said such atrociously stupid things it either distracted him and made him smile or he got displeased and forced the spirit back where it came from.

“James Potter” he whispered to the stone.

“Dad, can you wield a sword?” Harry opened his Peverell coat so it billowed around himself. He felt very much like Snape wearing it. It was from black kelpie leather, which was shiny, smooth and soft, almost like fur, and completely waterproof. On the back was an embroidery of the Peverell coat of arms, the deathly hallows.

“Good to see you too, son.” He drawled. “A sword?” He mused and chuckled then. “No, definitely not. But my dad was forced to learn from his dad, grandpa Henry. Uh, your great-grandpa Henry. My grandpa was a man who loved traditions.”

Harry hummed.

“You wanna learn sword fighting now? Don't you have so much to learn already?”

“Hmm I’m thinking about it. And… nothing I'm learning right now is really… has any connection to me, you know? So. I read somewhere that it had been a family tradition to carry a sword.”

James laughed, completely doubling over. “You know that was really long ago, Harry?” He wheezed.

“Well, duh, I can't really be choosey about my sources, can I? Not like I can just come up to you anytime I want and ask.” Harry deadpanned and James instantly collected himself.

He cleared his throat. “True that. Yeah, my dad said the knowledge was much bigger a few generations back as it wasn’t really taken seriously anymore. Muggles became more peaceful and slowly, swords were exchanged for guns and other modern weapons and in modern times, people weren't allowed to carry a weapon around anyway.” He hummed. “That’s why it slowly died out. I thought it was really stupid as a kid, but now I can see why you want to learn… Couldn't you summon my dad or grandpa Henry or maybe an even older ancestor of us?”

“It’s not that easy. I have to know their names and how they looked and I don't know what everyone looked like.” He had found that out through a few experiments with the Peverell ancestors. He had been able to summon Iolanthe and talk to her about her life. From her, he had the names of her children who were not his ancestors but sadly, he couldn't summon them. Then, through a few other attempts, he'd found this weird rule. Because their portraits were missing from the Peverell tapestry, he didn't know what they looked like.

James hummed again. “You could visit Potter manor and take a look at the family tapestry. There are portraits of everyone.”

Harry sighed and looked up and over the peaceful waves. “I've been thinking about it, but I don't feel ready yet.” Talking to his mum and dad helped with making peace with a lot of things that had haunted him until recently. And yet there was an ache if he thought about the Potters.

“Hey, son.” James leaned forward to catch his gaze and he smiled in such a soft and warm way that it tightened Harry’s heart. “I love you. I love you with all my heart and when you were born you meant the world to me, you and Lily.” Harry held his breath. “No matter what you do or say or not do, I will always love you. You will always be my son. And I know, I can see, that you are… struggling… right now, uh. I’m really bad with these things, but…I’ve realised that I should’ve said that a lot sooner, but be sure that from now on, whenever we see each other, I will say all the things I never got the chance to say and that you should've heard every day.” James frowned and brushed his thumb over Harry’s cheek to wipe the tears away, but his fingers didn't find any resistance. James' expression was heartbroken. “I’m proud of you, son. You grew into such a wonderful person.”

Harry closed his eyes and silent tears ran down his cheeks. He felt his cheeks and eyes cold from the soft wind on his tears.

It took him several attempts but he finally managed to choke out a wet reply. “Thanks, dad. I… needed to hear that.” He sniffled and wiped the snot and other liquids away on his sleeve.

“Then I will say it even more now.” James’ voice was wavering as if he cried too. “And I wanted to apologise for last time. I’m sorry I asked about your love life, even though you told me of your chaotic school years. I know there are still things you haven't told me, but… I didn't think before speaking and… yeah maybe I should do that more.” He gave a dry chuckle.

Harry let the words of his father resonate within and something very fragile inside his heart was partially mended.

Somehow, the day was not as bad now, as when it started.

“That was six seconds, yesterday it was five! You are getting better!” His mum said as his sun-explosion-Lumos died away.

“It seems so.” He smiled to himself and set his focus down on the nightstand. Now that he was burned out, as he did every evening before bed since February, he was exhausted.

“I think you should be happier about your progress, my dear. If we take into consideration that you just instantly fainted the first time you burned your magic… I'm not sure how much longer it will take though. Did healer Kurosaki say anything about that?”

Harry flopped back onto the mattress. “No. I think he couldn't give an estimate. He just said that I would feel it, if I reach magical maturity.”

“Oh yes! I reached mine a few days before my seventeenth birthday and it was mind-blowing. This rush of power that went through me, it was exhilarating, but also a bit frightening…”

“I mean we don't even know how fast my core grows…” Harry sighed. “I wish I could do another scan of my core, to see how much bigger it got already.”

His mum hummed. “You said it included a potion, the antidote and a parchment, right? Why not do it yourself?”

“That's a good idea, mum, but I have no clue where to get the recipe and I haven't found anything like it in the potion books here. It must be a recent invention.”

“Oh right… I always forget that this place has been uninhibited for … how long was it again?”

Harry adjusted his pillows and laid down. “Around seven hundred years.”

Lily hummed and looked pensive for a few minutes. Then her gaze slid over to him laying in bed and became incredibly soft. “Good night my dear. I am sure you will make a full recovery. I believe in you and I love you.”

When his parents gave him these moments, when they said they loved him and had that look of unconditional love in their eyes, Harry rarely knew how to respond or react. What was he supposed to do or say? I love you, too? No matter how much he tried to force his mouth and gnawed on his lips, he couldn't say these words. Somehow he thought if he said them, something irreparable in him would shatter. But he also knew these actions of his parents squeezed his heart into a thigh ball of some pain he couldn't quite place. So, he smiled up at her, a bit crooked and weak. “Night, mum.”

Niv had sparked Harry’s interest in parsel magic. What was it about? A different type of magic or like a different method? Or was it just spells as usual but cast in parsel?

She pointed him to a few books but he was so tired of reading all the time and he found her stories and tales much more interesting, so he kind of bribed her into telling him about it instead of having to do the research.

~All parselmagic has to do with snakes and those that speak parsel. There are some dragon species that can speak parsel, some lizard species too, but it's mostly about snakes. Parselmagic can add effects or change properties of things so that they resemble properties or abilities of snakes. The hibernation is an ability that most snake species use. And to cast a hibernation hex on someone changes that person into that state. You can send people in a very strong sleep with this hex, my Lord. We think Iolanthe did something very genius when she cast the hex on the manors ward stone. As it is not actually a person and it shouldn't work on objects.~

Harry let that sink in for a few moments. ~So it's all about snake abilities? Can you turn into a snake with parselmagic?~

She nodded. ~Yes there is such a spell.~

~What other abilities are we talking about? Like… uh sense of smell? Can you get a split tongue with parselmagic?~

Niv let out a series of repeated soft hisses. ~Yes. These are good examples for aspects of parselmagic. There is also the venom spitting curse, scale-bind-curse, jaw-dislocation-hex, and a lot of parselmagic deals with potions or runes too, like the snake-smell-potion or if you want a permanent solution using blood runes, the snake-smell-catena.~

What the f*ck were blood runes? Blood magic - okay. Runes - okay. But blood runes? ~That sounds really interesting… But I still don't understand how you can cast parselmagic? Does it have incantations and wand movements? What makes it different from regular magic?~

~Parselmagic is cast in parsel. It has its own script and uses the Hebrew alphabet as runes. And there are wand movements and incantations, but since you use a focus, my Lord, we will teach you parselmagic in a different way. Since magic is, as we teached you, at its core about intent and emotions, we will teach you in detail what effects you should expect from the spells. So that you can achieve the results with your focus. It should help you adapt to casting with your focus.~

Harry let her - reluctantly, since he hadn't wanted to read again so soon - guide him towards a few books on parselmagic, sitting innocently on the very bottom shelf of a bookcase. They were, as Niv had said, mostly in hebrew. Another item for his steadily growing list of things he intends to learn (or know the basics about), he thought with a sigh. But he understood why they (whoever) chose the hebrew alphabet for parseltongue: the letters looked kinda snakey.

Harry sighed and put another hideous book back into the shelf he’d found on his skimming missions. ~Say, Niv, which of my ancestors was such a huge fan of cheesy romance novels?~

~Oh, that must be Margaret. She also left an entire row of cookbooks in the kitchen. I've never liked her much. I think Sheliach should've married Arie, but he was smitten with Margaret instead. She was a right bint, I tell you that. Arie was cultured and could keep up with Sheliach’s intellect.~ Oh no. The sentimental monster started to gossip again. ~They grew up in the same neighbourhood and went to the tutors together, that's how she visited us a lot of times. But then they had this argument about her wanting to go to Egypt to study runes and curse breaking, but he was against it and-~

Niv went on a long, overly detailed gossip rant on family problems. Harry liked hearing her babble when he worked through things that didn't quite need much attention. Like carving runes. Her voice was like a background noise and he could easily place himself mentally in a busy classroom to get into the state of learning. She knew by now that he didn't always listen to her babbling of gossip, but she had said she didn't mind much. She explained: ~To value the delicacies of human interactions and relationships is something only true social masters can say about themselves. We have never been one of those, mind, but Honoratus always valued the social arts. ‘To coax someone into doing what you want, Niva’ he’d said. Oh we miss him very much.~

Harry was absolutely convinced by now, that there was not a single book on anything resembling horcruxes in the entire library of Star Manor. The book that sat before him on the balcony's table had nothing immediate to do with his goals, but promised a maybe interesting side project. It was a warm day, the breeze refreshing, a good teapot ready and Harry let the wind clear his mind before he dove into the new topic.

“Brooms for every witch” was a rune book on broom crafting and since he found the small, fragile treasure he'd been dying to read it. To be able to make his own broom? To make it faster than a fire bolt? Or increase its turning speed for even sharper feints? Or other fun things? His fingers itched from the possibilities like they had rarely for anything before. And even if it wouldn't turn into a full project, to know how brooms were made was something he couldn't just walk past. So he began to read.

“Us witches have crafted brooms for centuries. This little guide is a compilation of tricks and hints, collected from sisters and mothers and grandmothers, for your personal projects and enjoyment.” … “Broom wood is grown and meticulously prepared through the life of the tree, with similar catena to wand wood.” … “Popular broom woods are all lightweight, like Fir, Cedar or Pine.” … “It is important to not grow the broom wood too fast, so the magic of the preparation catena can seep into the tree, but also to not let it grow too slow, because the wood will be unresponsive to changes in its magical properties then. See chapter one for instructions on your personal arboretum. ” … “A catena is etched into the broom wood, which enables the broom to fly and determines its general properties, like maximum speed, magic consumption rate, turning radius, efficiency with consumed magic, response speed or maximum height.”... “One of the quality signs of a broom is how the catena is written on the surface area of the broomwood. Brooms require complex, spacious catena, with looping and intercrossing sections, which an inexperienced craftswoman might not be able to fit on the working area. It therefore requires thorough planning when starting a broom project.”

The book and its example projects were way above Harry’s acquired skill level. All runes were foreign, or in weird combinations that he didn’t know the reason for. So, reluctantly, after reading the introduction and skimming the projects, he had to admit he wasn't ready for this book yet. Harry felt a bit disappointed. He knew, he had only learned runes for a few weeks, but he also had the illusion that if he just reproduced the example projects it would work out, right? He knew the basics on how to carve them. He knew the meaning of around half of the elder futhark runes and a few egyptian hieroglyphs now. Like the Fehu rune. Fehu was for fortune, property or money, but could also mean wealth and abundance in a more philosophical or abstract sense. Othala meant property too, but only in familial relations, like homeland, inheritance or kin and tribe.

But another problem was that he had no idea where to buy broom wood. And the patience to wait years to grow a tree was something he didn't possess. And he wasn't settled in one place enough to attempt to care for a tree sapling.

He’d hoped that a wood project would be better as Niv recommended it for its easier carving properties, but…

Harry knew now which day Kotan had talked about when he'd invited him to his clan's festival: Midsummer. The day of Lady Magic, that was on the top of the year wheel hanging in the upstairs study. It was dedicated to the longest day of the year. The day had also something to do with earth’s rotation, as Niv had explained, but he couldn't really bother to remember the details. What was important though was that this day changed the direction of the natural flow of the magic and therefore marked the reversal of certain things. Like in which direction to face when preparing certain rituals. Shortly: it was an important day for all things magical and Harry was perplexed why he hadn't known about that before. Of course, they teached the basics in Hogwarts. He remembered distinctly, from Herbology, how certain mushrooms could be found on the east of trees in the earlier half of the year and in the west of trees in the later half. But now he knew the reason for that. Nivedita had been exasperated about what was taught at Hogwarts (~Basically nothing!~)

Harry had now spent a month and a half in Cornwall, just rifling through everything. He found family heirlooms and tasted centuries old biscuits. The personal bookshelf in his sports bag apartment got a few additions from the Star Manor library that he wanted to keep and study further, like “Brooms for every witch”, "Book of the invisible sun” or “Beginners guide to goblin culture”. The nightmares and bad days still continued like some weird menstrual cycle.

Over these weeks he became very good friends with the three-headed monster that roamed the manor walls. Niv kept him company while he was working through the whole library and talked his ears off until he didn't want to hear anything about her family gossip anymore. As annoying as she was sometimes, she was a well of knowledge on history and magic.

And so he asked the giant snake. ~Niv, would you want to come with me when I leave in a few days?~

~I’m sorry, my Lord. My place is here. As warden of Star Manor I should not leave the house.~

~Oh, I see. I didn't know it was your official job.~

She chuckled. ~Please greet the other warden’s from me if you visit the other Peverell manors. They are not as informative as me, but they are certainly nice to be around.~

Harry didn't want to leave her behind, but had to move on. During the day after he thought about friends. His mum didn't tire to remind him that he needed to talk to people who weren't portraits or spirits, but he kind of didn't get her point. Yes, he had to admit, sometimes he missed people, but only because of the physical company. Communication and human interaction was a lot of subconscious touch and gestures, hearing someone breathe and other small details. And he could maybe satisfy those urges with a pet, maybe a cat?

A few days before the mid June event, Harry travelled back to Kyoto and apparated to the coordinates given on a small parchment by Kotan. Harry’s head spun for a few more seconds, until he collected himself and stood upright. He was in a forest, with red, green, yellow and orange trees all around. It was so colourful and such a sharp contrast to the glum coast of Cornwall, that his breath hitched. In a pit up ahead, laid a small village. The cabins, built in a wide circle around the village centre, were all completely wooden, with flat roofs of dry grass. He could feel the wards of the village and the wixen living there faintly. The whole village was up on their feet, bustling about, children squealing in the distance and chasing each other. He began walking towards it, still unsure if he should stay or go, but then he spotted a person heading in his direction. It was Kotan, spouting an even more eccentric robe than he usually wore, but Harry had to admit it looked really nice. The fabric was of desaturated blue tones in a stripy pattern and on top of that were bright red wriggly lines. Kotan stood in front of Harry now and they bowed and greeted each other with the Ainu friend greeting, two fingers on the throat. Harry looked up again and saw that the runes on the neck of his friend were glowing softly.

Kotan gestured to his neck, his mouth and shook his head. Then he pointed to his head and then to Harry and tilted his head in question. Harry didn't really know what the man wanted, but he nodded. Kotan extended his hand to Harry’s forehead and he flinched back. Kotan just smiled, blinked in a confused manner, and left his hand extended. He probably wanted to cast some kind of spell on him, right? Harry didn't like to be touched, especially not on his forehead. It had been a year since his scar hurt and it wasnt sensitive anymore, but old habits die hard. Reluctantly, he leaned back forward and into the touch, Kotan’s two fingers brushed against his skin. It was warmer than expected.

“Now we can talk.” Harry heard Kotans voice in his head and Harry’s eyes shot up to meet his gaze. He was definitely using some form of legilimency right now. Without prior eye contact. Through touch. Should he reply in his thoughts, or is it a one way connection? Hello, can you hear me? Kotan just smiled and seemed to wait. One way it was, then.

“Hello, how are you?” Harry said in Japanese and Kotan smiled.

Again, Kotan’s voice resounded in Harry’s head. “Good, thank you. And it is really good to see you, Harry. I am happy you could make it. In preparation for the festival, all adults of the community are forbidden from speaking. But I can talk to you like this, it is no disrespect to the tradition.”

“Why?” Harry asked in Japanese.

“Come I’ll tell you and show you around.” Kotan said and began walking back to the village. It was a bit weird, with Kotans fingers connected to his forehead the whole time. “As you know, we value and hone our talent for wandless magic since our early childhood. And as you know, we use these runes to prevent ourselves from speaking. These silent days are mandatory twice between the ages of twelve to twenty-one. And for the festivities all adults that want to participate go mute again.”

Harry hummed and they passed the first homes. There were small patches of crops growing behind and around each house. Kotan waved at a woman, carrying a basket and she came up to them, wearing similarly eccentric robes, in earthy orange tones with green circles. They all bowed.

“Harry, this is Misu, my mother. She will welcome you to the festivities.” Kotan lowered his hand and gave Misu a nod. She smiled at Harry and pulled a flat, broad wood out of the basket. It dripped with water and before Harry could flinch back, she pulled the smooth stick over the skin on his throat. A few drops of the cool liquid ran down his neck and into his shirt. Then she dipped it back into the water and with a sharp yank splashed more of it across his face. Harry screwed his eyes shut. This was not just water. It smelled a bit sour, but also had a slight sweetness to it. He opened his eyes again and cleaned his dripping glasses on his sleeve. Harry’s tongue flitted over his lips. It was alcoholic.

Kotan lifted his hand again and spoke into Harry’s thoughts. “There are many traditions and rituals leading up to Midsummer. This is one of the welcoming traditions, for relatives who join the village from outside. Of course, we all have modern lives now, so for the days of Lady Magic we all return to this ancient settlement of our ancestors. Come, I want you to meet everyone.”

There was a hearty smell of fresh cooking wafting from one of the surrounding houses while Harry met Kotan’s family and extended family and extended extended family. All the adults had the same or similar runes as Kotan on their throats. Older people had more runes and younger fewer. A lot of the people, and the children too, wore face paint. Stripes and triangles and circles were drawn across their skin and some children painted mock runes on themselves. They all expressed their joy to meet him with exaggerated gestures or vigorously shaking his hand. Kotan seemed to be related to almost everyone and it was even more impressive that he knew how exactly they were related. Harry got the feeling this village was almost like the Black family. Everyone was somehow related to everyone. What was surprising, was that these people mostly didn't know who Harry Potter was, and he was glad they were not excited to meet him because of all that saviour-and-chosen-one-nonsense. Kotan hadn't known that Harry Potter was supposed to be a name he should know when Harry had reintroduced himself on their first izakaya outing. They had no expectations of him and so, most importantly, couldn't be cross with him if he wouldn't meet their expectations. It was the biggest factor why he decided to come here, even though he had been absolutely terrified of meeting so many people. To these people he was a random guest, a friend of the family, and he knew from Kotan just how valuable it was for him to be invited to their culture and festivities, as an outsider. As such, he tried to talk as few as possible, too, to respect their chosen muteness. He respected that no one answered him. Not that it was hard. He was used to long periods of complete silence and he still vividly remembered how he hadn't spoken for weeks in the winter months.

Soon, Harry was rowed into the preparations for the big day - June 22nd. They stood in a circle and drank from shallow bowls, a liquid that when it ran down Harry’s throat, burned despite its sweetness. It was the same liquid he had been splashed with. Kotans immediate family then gathered in one of their houses for a meditation session. They all sat in a circle on a big handwoven blanket. The children of Kotan’s sisters were playing and squealing, running around them all, while the adults sat completely still with closed eyes. Professor Snape would be proud of their meditation technique and the thought resulted in a dull pang in his chest and a small smile. Another person he had very complicated and twisted thoughts and feelings for. Harry watched the family from the sidelines, as the outsider he was. He didn't even try to fall into a meditative state. He continued to watch them occasionally as if he wasn't really there. Just a spirit, floating by. And he found that that perspective, too, gave him the strength to stay. Seeing so many people had made him uneasy. Before coming here, he’d feared and debated with himself if he should really go and honour Kotans invitation. But since these people couldn't talk to him, which he now knew, he wasn't really forced to socialise. It made the small interactions he had with them somehow more significant, but also not as suppressive. Their silence gave a serenity to every moment. But it was also eerie in a way and creepy. Like the man - Kotans uncle - who burned his finger on a kettle and did not shout. Harry saw him react, he flinched and would have probably cursed or hissed. But there was not a single sound out of his mouth. By the end of the day, as he laid down in a sleeping bag on the floor next to Kotan, he was drunk from all the rounds of clinking glasses with the sour-sweet alcohol. His head spun and it had been really hard to keep himself from babbling anything that came to his mind.

For the next two days Harry was completely integrated into the preparations and activities that led up to the big event. There were constantly fire’s burning in each house and people were cautious to never let them go out. Also, he’d gotten a divination reading from Kotan’s mother using stalks of herbs and herb tea. Part of the preparations were duels as entertainment. Normally, you would see two wizards face each other with grim faces and fire spells at each other from a distance. But these duels turned out to be completely different.

A flute was used to signal commands like “start” or “next round”. That much he could understand from watching, even though - of course - no one explained it to him. The first time he’d heard the high-pitched flute tone on his second day, he had startled and sloshed his alcohol from the shallow bowl onto his shirt. Then, three people - Kotan and his sister and another person whose name Harry had forgotten - gathered in the village heart. As Kotan sauntered off he turned back and winked at Harry, who could only give him a wry smile, unsure what this was about. People made a space for them in their middle. The flute sounded with a different specific note and they began to… brawl, everyone versus everyone. Kotan ducked away from a kick from his sister, just as the other bloke threw a stunner at her and she froze. Harry did a double-take. The guy had no focus, no wand. He had watched the guy as much as Kotan and his sister, but now he concentrated on them more, to see them casting. The man charged at Kotan. Who then moved his hands quickly in an outward motion, closed his fist with a yank and cast a full-body-bind on the guy, who snapped frozen mid sprint and collapsed on his nose. Harry knew, on a basic level, that Kotans tribe practised wandless magic. But to see in person, how a person casts a spell wandless was simply mind-shattering. It was something he hadn't thought possible, even as Kotan had described it to him. The people all clapped their hands on their chests repeatedly in a similar fashion to applause and then Kotan’s sister and the other man were ennervated by Misu.

The duels continued, scattered throughout the days. It appeared anyone could use the flute and initiate a call to battle. Sometimes two or even four, but never more than five people participated. With a mix of muggle martial arts and controlled accidental magic, they brawled each other with huge grins. And no thank you, he shook his head vigorously as Kotan co*cked a questioning eyebrow at him. But he enjoyed watching them a lot. They used their whole body with these exact flowing movements Harry had done on a beach in Cornwall, to send ‘incendio’s and stunners at each other. Their movements were much faster though and sometimes they moved in patterns he didn't know yet. Back in February, as Kotan had teached Harry his exercises to learn to feel and control his magic flow, he had also explained that it was the way of his tribe to cast spells. Harry hadn't really believed him back then, but now he was fascinated. The duels never lasted long though and one could see the strain on the wixen when they cast the spells and the duels usually ended with a martial arts throw or shove of some kind rather than with a glacius or full-body-bind.

Then came the morning of the 22nd of June. On the last evening, there had been a challenge to jump over the big fire erected in the village heart. And Harry still didn't really know what to expect of the big day. He mused about it, being one of the first to wake up from the long evening of drinking together around the embers. Maybe an animal sacrifice, like in one of the Star Manors books on rituals? And Niv told him of the old ways and barbaric traditions that included drinking blood in some European cultures. But he knew nothing specific about the Ainu culture surrounding Lady Magic.

Kotan woke up next and he rummaged a bit longer than usual in his bags. With a wide smile, he held a bundle out to Harry. Harry co*cked his head to the side and took it. Kotan gestured at Harry's body in a wide arch. His eyebrows rose. For him? An outfit? He shrugged and went to change. It was an eccentric set of robes, forest green with black triangles. It was beautiful and Harry bowed in thanks and thanked Kotan with smiles. Sometimes it was hard to express your feelings. Kotan waved it off.

After a lazy breakfast, on a cue from the flute, the people gathered in the village heart and separated into two groups. One were the children and a few elderly women and men. The other group were adults and a few teenagers who were almost adults. Harry stood next to Kotan and managed to only flinch slightly as Kotan touched his forehead like on the first day.

Kotans voice sounded through his thoughts. “You should go to the others. My group is for those familiar and proficient with our ways of magic.”

Harry looked him in the eyes and nodded.

A bit later Kotans group - they were around twenty - walked off and out of the village. It was the first time he was separated from his friend and he had no idea what to do. Usually he stood to the side and watched or Kotan showed him explicitly what to do. Thankfully, one of the girls from Kotans sister - Aya was her name? - tugged on his long green sleeve. She grinned and babbled away in Japanese, which he didn't really understand, but nodded agreeably anyway. She also used grand gestures and facial expressions so it wasn't too hard to guess what was going on. Their group would leave too, but in a different direction. They would do something important and they would do it with their hands.

They began to move, up the hill where Harry had come from and deeper into the forest for about half an hour. It was very unsettling. So many people would usually chatter away, but the only noise from the big group was the rustling of leaves. He heard more birds than people. Then, the leading elder stopped and waved their hand around in the direction of the trees and the children dispersed. Harry followed Aya, who followed an elderly man. The man huffed and rattled with each step and Aya hooked their arms together. The man led them through the trees, his head swivelling around. Suddenly, Aya drew a sharp breath and squealed. She let go of the man and darted forward to a fallen tree trunk and crouched down. The man followed her with an indulgent smile and patted her on the shoulder. Aya held in her small hands a long stalk of a plant with light blue flowers. So they were collecting plants?

Yes. Soon, Harry understood that everyone gathered plants, but not a specific one. From time to time they crossed paths with the others and silently showed off their haul to each other. And everyone seemed to collect what they liked, so Harry started to do that too. So far, Harry had gathered a bit of ivy and a pretty purple plant and a pretty red branch. Aya collected a lot of mushrooms and bits of bark and every flower she could find. The old man collected branches and leaves only. But Harry was still hesitating. He didn't know what they would do with these things after all. Were they for a bouquet? But mushrooms didn't make sense in a bouquet?

They spent the whole morning in the forests. Around noon, they returned and Harry got a look at the other collections. There were flowers, branches, herbs, mushrooms, tree bark, leaves, animal fur and some kid even dragged a whole limb of a tree into the village heart. The other group still hasn't returned. All the people from Harry’s group then gathered in a circle, with Harry sitting between Aya and the elderly man, and they began to take things from the stuff they collected and traded. An elderly woman traded an herb stalk for a bit of ivy from Harry. After the trades, which were once again done completely silent, they settled down into the circle once again And began to… combine their things. Aya began weaving yellow and orange and red flowers and tree branches into a beautiful band. Around the same time, seven people gathered and began weaving long strands of plant fibers. The elderly man twisted his green and yellow branches around each other into a similar band. Harry watched them all, fascinated. Aya finished the band off by combining both ends into a ring and then stuck a few mushrooms in between flowers. Then she began a second one from the many things she still had. So, Harry started with the ivy and used the nifty trick from Aya to cut a small part of the stalk and pulled purple flowers into the ivy. No adult talked and it was quite peaceful. The closer it got to the main event, the quieter the children and teens got too. He got the feeling they were waiting. His fingernails were covered in flower sap. They spent a few hours like this. The people who weaved the big fibres finished a huge basket shaped thing, that was placed in the middle of the village, at the same place the fire had been yesterday. By now, only one woman was still occupied with tatting flower circles, which she finished soon. Harry was long finished, twirling his thumbs and joining a few children in their flow-movement-practises.

Suddenly a boy yodelled, announcing the return of Kotan’s group. Harry strained his neck and saw them all approaching. In their middle, above their heads, floated a big soap bubble. Harry frowned. They came closer and he saw, that they all had their hands and arms in distinct poses. Crossed over the chest, or like a metal hand held before them, or thumb and forefinger touching in a circle. And above them was no soap bubble, but a big blob of water. It wiggled slowly, almost like oil or honey. They were so close now, that he could feel their collective magic. It accumulated below the water. The people moved into the village heart and with collective movements of their arms, the big blob sank down into the basket. The flute rang and the flower group scrambled into action. They all cleared the seats and blankets away into the cabins, cleaning the sandy site. Kotan moved to Harry’s side and they smiled at each other, Harry a bit confused, Kotan a bit exhausted. The children and elderly went around and distributed the nature circles until everyone had a crown on their head. Kotan moved into Harry’s space and boldly took one of the two crowns he made and put it on his head. He grinned as Harry scowled in mock-affront.

Then came what Harry would later know to be the main ritual. Every single person gathered to stand around the basket - which was slowly leaking. On a flute cue, the whole village moved using a different, but colloquially known sequence. Harry did not know, but gave his best to imitate them immediately. These movements were slow and controlled again, not yank-ey like in the duels. A wide circle with the right leg, then a triangle with the left arm. And Harry began to feel the magic of every person collecting in the middle again. The blob rose out of the basket again and then it expanded. It grew larger and larger and thinner and thinner. The water stretched above Harry’s head. If he would hold his arm into the sky he could touch it. And suddenly it wasn't just the magic of the people that gathered. There was a raw magic mixing in. As if the blanket of thin water collected all ambient magic around and concentrated it, filtered it. More and more magic gathered and he felt himself longing for it. He knew it would taste good. Like soft summer drizzle, and early sunrise, and a soft breeze off the coast of Cornwall. The blob stretched over the whole village now, stretching over the houses and almost to the ward line. Suddenly, the water was too thin and it ruptured in several places simultaneously and a thin splash covered everyone. Harry’s heart pounded a steady thump, thump, thump in his chest. He has never been high, but this must be the feeling. It was like drifting in a lake of potential power. The ritual itself had been the speedy descent down a water slide tower. And now he was floating in a big lake of magic. It lingered. It tasted of rain and mint and fresh lavender and thyme and was just as wonderful as he had thought. It was warm and embraced him. Harry imagined that it must be the same feeling as bathing in a hot tub. The magic swirled and bubbled up in more potent currents occasionally.

Suddenly, everyone around did a swift arm movement from below, as if they were throwing a ball up in the sky. Harry did too, automatically, and the lingering magic rushed through him. It sped up, flowed through his arm and hand and fingers just as he finished the movement and a forest green spark shot out of his hand up in the sky. All around him fireworks and sparks go off into the air. The warmth was exhilarating and he couldn't help the big grin that spread on his face.

And then, after the last firework fizzled out, the people exploded in a cacophony of shouting and singing. People were using their voices for the first time in a week again and it was simply so overwhelming that Harry’s hands shot up to cover his ears.

When the ritual was over people began to chat amicably and it was such an incredible shift in the level of noise and onslaught of information that Harry had to take a few steps back. Kotan took his elbow and guided him to his family tent. Kotan whipped his focus out of his zhodai and cast a strong translation charm on Harry. Kotans magic, which was usually smelting and had a feeling of dry coal and soft embers, now felt like it was fuelled with herbs, almost like burning incense.

“I hope you are not too confused and felt left alone the last few days.” He smiled and Harry shook his head.

“I had no clue what I was doing, but it was really interesting to watch and learn.”

“Come, I can explain our traditions to you and you can finally talk to the family.”

“Sure, yeah, let's do that. Er… Then I can finally give you guys the presents I prepared…”

“Oh?” Kotan perked up and he wriggled his eyebrows expectantly.

Harry rummaged in his bag and pulled out a handful of pebbles from the beach of Peverell Star Manor. “Here, uh. It’s really not much. I carved runes in them, so they will warm your hands. They have lost their magic since I made them a week ago, sorry. They have to be recharged every few days, but since you guys have a much better control of your magic I thought that should not be a problem for you.”

“Ahh…” Kotan took a pebble and studied the band of runes, partially wobbly, which went once around the stone. He closed his hand around it and then opened a few seconds later. Harry could feel that it was charged with Kotans ember magic now. His friend smiled. “Thank you. I’m sure the kids will love this.”

☑ Heal my body

☐ Heal my magic core

☐ Understand the horcrux’ influence on me

☐ Heal scars?

☐ Get a deeper connection with my family … Peverell, Black, Potter … Slytherin?

☐ Learn runes

☐ Learn japanese?

☐ Learn the method to make magic core visible

☐ Glowstone project

☐ Find friends a companion company …Animal?

☐ Elder Futhark Alphabet

☐ Egyptian Hieroglyphs

☐ Make a broom

Chapter 5: Basilisk

Chapter Text

When Harry left, a few days later, to travel to his next destination for horcrux research, he left with an invitation to come back on September 22nd. And as he apparated back into the bustling anonymity of Kyoto, Harry was glad to be alone again. After midsummer, when everyone in the village was able to talk again, it got a bit overwhelming. But he was glad he came to see his friend and got to know him and his family and tribe a bit better. The surge in magical power had lasted for a few more days and Harry still felt energised.

That didn't quench Harry's deep wish to be completely alone again, though. To breathe in peace. Think in peace. And on a more self-deprecating note: suffer and come to terms in peace. He didn't really know when he had become such an unsocial creature. He knew he had been rather social back in his Hogwarts days, but now? He just couldn't imagine sitting in a room full of people, traffic going in and out, noise of people playing cards and laughing loud and him in between it all, sharing his deepest thoughts. That just wasn't possible anymore. His thoughts and the things he cared about were not fit for discussions. It would just result in him constantly killing the mood and people would worry. He sighed, just from the possibility of people asking about him and how he was doing. He knew his old friends wouldn't let him mope in peace, but that was what he needed. Still needed, even one year later. It was a safe space.

But before he could get to his next destination, he needed to make a necessary shopping trip. To be alone was good, but the silence was, over long periods of time, oppressing. He would find himself missing the background noise. He learned that from the stark contrast between the dusty silence of Star Manor and the rural silence of Kotan’s village. The sounds of peoples‘ activity around him had been supportive for deep thoughts and now, since that realisation, he wanted to get something to emulate that: music.

He downed a good swig of Peverell (polyjuice) potion in a London back alley. He wasn't sure if wixen, rare as they were in muggle London, would even recognize him but he rather played safe than sorry. It was of lavender colour and smelled a bit like the men’s perfume section in a drug store. The hair for the potion came from one of the hair brushes lying around and he was soon a completely different man. He was around hundred twenty years old, a bit taller than Harry and of sturdier stature. Kelsier Peverell was the son of the famous Ignotus Peverell, and died as an old man, at Star Manor. Kelsier (Harry) took his glasses off and stowed them in one of the deep pockets of his Peverell coat. It was weird having long hair again. Then he pulled the stone of resurrection from his Lordship ring and muttered to it. Two spirits appeared.

“Hey mum, hey dad.” He said after their gazes had cleared from the usual thousand-yard stare. His voice was full of testosterone.

James stumbled a half step back and his eyes raked over Kelsier’s form. The ashen braid that reached almost to his bum and the equally light grey full beard. He wheezed a few breaths, then started to cackle. “Hey kiddo.”

Lily rolled her eyes. It was the first time he had summoned them together. “It’s nice to see you again, my dear. So your first self-brewed Peverell potion works.”

“Technically not my own.” He smiled at her. “I think it wouldn't have worked without you.“

She chuckled and James laid an arm around her shoulder and they looked deep into each other's eyes.

Kelsier cleared his throat after watching them all lovey-dovey for a few seconds. „I need your help shopping today. Could you stay with me so I don't freak out?”

„Sure thing.“

„Of course, dear. Is that alright though?“ He had talked about his social fears with Lily occasionally, so she roughly knew what was gnawing at him.

“I have to face people, mum, I have to get better.” Kelsier said.

She didn't look too happy about it and sighed. „Yes, but maybe if you slowly get used to more people, that would be a better approach for you?“

„I will try and see. And if it gets too much I will leave. Trust me, I know my limits.“

She nodded and he began strolling out the side alley, to the main road. With a last deep breath he turned the corner and walked down Oxford Street. It was the busiest shopping time for muggle London, in one of the busiest shopping districts, and so an inappropriate amount of people were flowing up and down the sidewalks. There were much more people than at Diagon Alley or the other parts of wixen London. Kelsier tried to keep to the buildings and stay out of the way as much as possible. He concentrated on his breathing. In and out. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. There were so many smells. Passing perfume and sweat from the people, garbage, freshly baked chips from a street vendor, the passing car exhaust.

„Hey that ice cream shop must be new, I've never seen it around here.“ James said.

„Highly possible. Or you forgot about it. We‘ve been dead for-“

Lily and James stayed a few steps behind him, passing through the muggles, and talked about interesting things they saw, but he was too occupied with trying to stay calm to notice much of what they said.

They were almost halfway to their destination now. His hands were shaking and he clasped his focus harder. It dangled from a thick Peverell leather belt. Sweat ran in large beads from his forehead and down his neck not just from the late June sun. But also from the choking feelings of panic that wound like strong arms around his chest. The crowd moved unpredictably. Shoulders bumped into him. A woman slung her bag over her head and he barely sidestepped her. Making him almost trip over a dog. Kelsier regretted avoiding crowds for such a long time. He’d mostly moved at night and in the evening in muggle Japan and their wixen population was smaller than that of Britain. He moved closer to the walls again.

“Oh Lils I love you so much, you know that?” His dad said suddenly, pulling Kelsier back to the present and his stomach did a weird somersault-Wronski-Feint-manoeuvre. He had never heard his parents say that to each other and he desperately wished for a calmer environment, to appreciate the moment.

„So. What exactly will we buy today, Harry?“

Lily pulled his heart from its deep dive and he cleared his throat. „I want to buy music. Maybe you would have a recommendation for me?“ His voice was only slightly choked. Also, it didn't matter if he talked to the air in the crowd, it was loud enough and the Londoners were weird enough to not notice such a thing.

„Muggle music?“

He took a breath to answer her the best he could. “Celestina Warbeck or the Weird Sisters seem to be the only really popular and wide-spread known wixen music in Britain and that is not a good variety if you ask me.” Dudley had been prohibited from playing loud music, but Kelsier still had occasionally heard snippets from his room when he’d spent his summers in ‘Dudley’s second room’. So he knew a bit about muggle music and that muggles had a huge variety of it, not just Petunia’s operas.

„Oh that's not true, my mother was an avid fan of Mr. Broomfield for example.“ James piped up. „He made these really soft and cheesy love songs with his deep voice. It was rancid, but she loved it. Bet she had a slight crush on him.“ He laughed in this carefree and open way of his. Sometimes Kelsier catched himself feeling a small pang of jealousy over that laugh from his dad.

Lily hummed. „When we went to school the other kids knew all kinds of bands but they never piqued my interest, so I don't remember their names. But there were quite a few, not just Celestina or the Weird Sisters.“

Finally Kelsier stopped in front of a shop. „We are here. Wish me luck.“ He said and stepped inside.

The shop was cramped, glum and dark and the air was dusty and definitely needed some ventilation. There was some electronic pop song playing in the background. Behind the counter, which was really just a mountain of records stacked in boxes, stood a black guy with sunglasses and long dreads.

“Good day, Sir.” His voice was deep and raspy and he talked really slow. “How can I help ya today?”

Kelsier was glad his disguise suited his lack of knowledge. “Hello. Uh, I'm here to buy music, but… I don't really know what to buy.” He glanced over and saw Lily nod to him encouragingly. James smiled, too.

The man came to Kelsiers side of the shop. He smelled a bit funny, kinda earthy. “Do ya want somethin for ya grandchildren or maybe ya spouse?”

“Oh, no no… I… grew up with opera and classical music for most of my life and I knew someone who liked everything that was hot on the radio, but… I am here because I think my taste in music needs a bit of polishing.” Another reason for the disguise was that it helped with his social fear. He found that it was easy to keep in mind that this man was not talking to Harry Potter, but to Kelsier Peverell, an ancient and powerful wizard and honorary member of the Callirrhoe Institouto Magissas in Greece. It made him brave to go for as much honesty as possible.

“Ohhh ya came right to the best place for that kind of adventure then.” He chuckled, which sounded a bit as if he was sick with a heavy cold. He glanced outside. “Experience tells me there won't be many customers today so I have a lot of time for ya if ya want.”

Kelsier secretly took a deep breath. “Oh, that sounds really generous. If you are sure you have the time, then please, by all means.”

“We will introduce you to the world of music then, Sir. It is never too late for that. I am almost fifty now and I opened this shop in my thirties.” Kelsier felt the tension ease off his shoulders a bit. “So I think we will start with the popular music, maybe narrow it down to which genres you like? Here this is super hot this year. The backstreet boys. They are playing right now.” He held up a finger in the air and Kelsier listened for a few seconds to the background music. “Lassie’s and chaps both swoon over these dudes. I've never had that many young people in my shop as when that album was released. It's mental if ya ask me. How can four men have that much power?” He chuckled, and James chuckled too, but only Kelsier could hear his dad. “Here. She is also super popular. Britney Spears, an American gal.” He walked Kelsier through the aisles of wooden crates, filled to the brim with records and CD’s and cassette tapes and mini discs. He grabbed a thin plastic CD cover of a few other artists too and walked Kelsier over to a massive tower of black and silver machines. There were so many knobs and buttons on these machines Kelsier wouldn't even know where to begin. The dreadlocks guy pressed a few buttons on a silver machine, the music stopped, and he changed CD’s. A similar pop song began, but this time a woman - Britney Spears - squeaked over it. James and Lily began to drift off and explore the shop on their own.

“I… don't really like her voice… “ And that cover picture was suggestive in a rather uncomfortable way.

The man rattled more suggestions off with his raspy voice. “How about Rap? That's another thing the youngsters are wild about. Maybe Will Smith? Notorious B.I.G? Cypress Hill?” He changed CD‘s a few times. The music was very rhythmic and some songs had good melody, but the vocals were a bit odd. So Kelsier just shrugged and shook his head. Rap sounded like something Dudley would enjoy and he refused to think about Dudley right now.

“Yeah… I didn't think ya the rap kind o’ guy. Maybe ya like soul? Destiny's Child. Or better yet, Whitney Houston. Her last album is roughly eight years old but still sells like pot at Woodstock… Or Natalie Imbruglia. Very comforting and feels like a warm hug sometimes.“ He changed the CD again.

“Hmmm. I like the general vibe of soul, but it's a bit too… soft?” Kelsier said.

“Too soft, huh? Then how about Depeche Mode. Really modern. They mix these modern, uh, synthesisers they’re called, with normal instruments.” Another CD, another sound.

Kelsier listened for a bit. “Uhh… It's a bit boring.”

“Boring sums it up pretty good.” The guy chuckled. “I’m not a big fan of them myself but I can see the appeal. Maybe this guy then? Ricky Martin. It's the middle aged women that swoon over this guy. Really fast paced music with a lot of Spanish influences. Great for a party, if you ask me.”

James stepped up to him. „Ask him about the Dire Straits. They make really good music. Maybe suits your needs a bit more, kiddo.“

Kelsier followed his advice. “I'm rather searching for something that can fit in the background. Uh, how about the Dire Straits. Their first album? I heard that is supposed to be good.”

The dreadlocks guy stopped mid motion and looked back at him. “The Dire Straits? I'm not sure if I still have their album, Sir. That's twenty years old. Tell ya what. Ya stay here and listen to the other albums and I'll go in the back and see what we can do.” He took another stack of CD covers and shoved it into Kelsiers hands.

James groaned. “Holy sh*t, I can’t believe the Dire Straits was twenty years ago already. Feels like yesterday to me.” He had a wistful gaze on his young face. “This guy, I forgot his name, the lead guitarist… ugh, anyway, he motivated me to learn the guitar. I hope my old guitar still stands at Potter Manor then you can learn to play it too, Harry.“ He grinned and Kelsier found himself smiling. He had eased up enough to enjoy the trip. However, Kelsier didn't dare to come close to the technic tower, let alone touch it. There had been a few instances of electronics reacting poorly to his magic in Kyoto and he didn't want to piss off the guy. Also, there was no other person to maybe take the blame. And he hasn't mastered the confundus charm with his focus yet.

When the guy came back, they continued to listen through a few albums from the Dire Straits he’d found and similar albums he’d brought.

“Well if ya like this slow Rock kind of music I would recommend ‘Fury in the slaughterhouse’, they are quite popular right now, and maybe the ‘Foo Fighters’.” The small basket the shopkeeper had picked up for Kelsiers selection grew heavier by the minute now. “Oh, also. Maybe ya like Heavy music too? Ya know, Metal and Hard Rock. Here. Do ya know Metallica? Master of puppets sold like, what, three million copies already?” He changed CD’s again . It started with a slow artistic guitar intro, which Kelsier really liked, but his ears were soon bombarded by distorted guitar riffs, fast paced drum patterns and an angry singer screaming his heart out.

“Oh my god!” James exclaimed. “I love this sh*t. Lily, why are we dead?! I love this music. Harry, you have to get it!” He was banging his head to the rhythm and Kelsier couldn't suppress the muffled snort that escaped him.

Kelsier finally left the shop with the “Brothers in arms” album from the Dire Straits, “Out of time” by R.E.M., “The colour and the shape” by the Foo Fighters and two albums from Metallica, Nirvana and the Red Hot Chili Peppers each. He paid for everything with the Gringotts credit card for muggle purposes.

Shortly after he exited the music shop his dad stepped before him. Kelsier’d just been on his way to the Leaky Cauldron.

“Harry, before I go back for today I wanted to once again honour my promise. I love you with all my heart and I am proud of the strong person you have become. We probably have different views on strength.” His adoring gaze turned a bit sad and maybe even bitter. “But to me there is no greater strength than being true to your feelings, values and self.” Lily stepped up next to him and he slung his arm around her shoulders with a lovey-dovey smile. He looked back to Kelsier. “I am ashamed it took me so long in my own life to realise that and that’s why it had been my wish, that if I would pass on anything to my children, it would be to be true to your feelings…”

Lily grinned at James, people moving through their spirit-forms. “Good speech, Jamie. You are on the right path, Harry. I love you.” And together, arms slung around each other's shoulders, they vanished, leaving him emotionally reeling in muggle London. After an embarrassing long while of staring into the open air, Kelsier continued the rest of his shopping alone.

In a valley in the Scottish highlands, on an island in a big lake, stood Black Castle. Grass in all shades of green grew around the lake: pine green, apple green, yellowish green, reddish green, tartan green. Harry had to think of McGonagall's plaid tartan blankets immediately. It was moist and misty. Small patches of purple wildflowers growed between small rocks laying around. A narrow stone bridge led from the sand path over to the island where the Castle stood. It was much wider than tall, with overall two floors, if the tiny gothic windows were an indication to its interior, but everyone knew that was a bit difficult to estimate correctly with wizarding space. The building looked like it might be at least four times the size of number four Privet Drive in Little Whinging, built wall to wall and then interconnected inside by breaking down the inner walls. The castle had no crenellations like those garish prodigy houses and was made of - where the material flashed through the attacking ivy - rough dark stones. There were two towers, to the east and west, but they appeared completely decorational in purpose. There were no fortifications, just an overgrown garden on the whole island, with rose bushes, a few apple trees and lots of hip high wild grass. While Harry crossed the bridge, he spotted a boat house behind the Castle.

It was much more to his liking than what Harry had imagined from his experiences with Grimmauld Place and what he knew about the family. I just hope the interior doesn't scream at me.

As he crossed the inner ward line he felt how the energy around him shifted. The dark magic of the house probed him, if he was worthy until finally, it hooked onto his core. It had a force to it, as images and metaphors raced through Harry’s head, much stronger and more concentrated than at Grimmauld Place. The Black family magick was like a dark raging river in the night, beneath the constellations. There was ivy and small flowers growing on the river banks of this magic current. Black birds fluttered and circled above him, cawing ominously. And it welcomed Harry in its midst. It was strong enough to carry him if he lost his strength. But he knew a few feet below the surface where the light of the constellations wasn't reaching, there laid the Black madness, drowning those who lost their own strength for too long.

All of this happened within a few seconds and Harry now stood in front of the open entrance hall. There were gargoyles who guarded the entrance double doors, eyeing him critically. Above these doors, the Black family motto was carved into the stone: Toujours pur. He took a great risk.

“Hello!?” Harry called into the dark.

He held his breath. No screaming. Nothing happened. No crack of house elf apparition. But didn’t my account manager say that some properties were taken care of by house elves? He didn't remember which ones though.

The Black Castle interior was similar to Malfoy manor, but also not. It was similar in size, in pretentious energy and uselessly luxurious décor. But the whole colour-scheme, the used materials and therefore vibe was completely opposite to that of the polished white marble floors, echoing portrait-decorated halls and chandeliers above dining tables. The wooden floors creaked with every step, long oriental rugs dampening the sounds. Everything held a similar darkness as with Grimmauld place. The halls were absolutely crammed with wall decorations, nick-nacks from far-away travels, family heirlooms, items of conquest and pride, some were even adorned with small brass-plates describing their origin.

“Requisite copy of the Halberd of Slytherin, given to Alnilam Black, as a gift from Merula Slytherin in 1207.”, “Skin of a slain maledictus. Encountered in Indonesia by Hatysa Black”, “Portrait of Queen Mary of England, bestowed to the house of Black by the Queen's Lord High Treasurer”, …

The castle’s magic was much richer than at Grimmauld Place. What was weird however, was that there were no moving portraits in the halls. Of people. Instead, there were, in between all the nick-nacks, moving portraits of dogs of all sizes and fur colours. He had seen a few people-portraits in a study and a drawing room, but since he didn't fancy talking to them right now he’d only glanced in those rooms. Harry called out again, but it was as silent as before, so he continued to explore the halls and rooms. He knew no one was home through his connection to the wards. And yet it felt like he was trespassing.

A display of deceased house elf heads on the stairway reminded him of a certain grumpy old house elf. He is a Black elf, maybe he can travel to different properties?

“Kreacher!” A heartbeat, then two, and with a crack the elf appeared.

His eyes widened as they looked at each other, but then he bowed. “Master Harry called for Kreacher.”

For some reason, he was glad to see the elf. It had been quite some time since he talked to someone he knew. A living someone, at least. “Kreacher, are there no other elves? Do you care for Grimmauld Place and the Black Castle at the same time?”

Kreacher grumbled inwards, but replied. “Kreacher has been the only elf of the noble and most ancient house of Black since his mother died. Kreacher has been proud to care for the Black Castle and Grimmauld Place for his Mistress and Master Cygnus. Since Master Cygnus’ death, Kreacher still took care of the Castle, oh yes. Pride of the house of Black.” It was honestly impressive, that one elf cared for two properties. But that also might explain the sorry state of both places, none was really clean. But Harry had a hunch, that Kreacher preferred the Castle. When they had first stepped into Grimmauld Place, the house had been quite dusty but here, he didn't see much dust.

“Who was Master Cygnus?”

“Master Cygnus was Mistress’ brother, Master Harry. He was Lord of the noble and most ancient house of Black before you became Lord.”

Harry frowned. “So that means somehow, none of Cygnus’ children got the title?”

Kreacher’s pale eyes widened. “Oh Kreacher pleaded with his Master, pleaded every day. But Master Cygnus was adamant that none of his daughters were worthy. The name of the house of Black would have died, he said. So instead of Master Draco, when Master Regulus died, Master Cygnus made the blood traitor Sirius his heir.” The elf spoke the words blood traitor in a whisper. Even though they had talked about the matter a few times, Kreacher still saw Sirius as a traitor, even if the elf wasn't as convinced of Voldemort’s and more importantly Mistress Walburga’s quest for blood purity anymore. Slow steps were still steps, Harry hoped. But wait. Draco? As in Malfoy? Oh right, his mother was a Black. But Harry didn't really remember how she was related to Sirius exactly.

“So, er, Cygnus lived here? Alone?”

The elf nodded, his batwing ears flopping back and forth.

“And he died here? When?”

The elf grimaced, but it was probably his griefing face. “Master Cygnus left Kreacher in 1992, Master Harry.” Oh Merlin, I hope he hasn't been decaying somewhere in here since then? That's seven years ago. “Kreacher has entombed Master Cygnus in the Black family sepulchre.” Thank Merlin.

“Thank you Kreacher. I believe, um, your service was worthy of the house of Black.”

The elf practically beamed, as much as was possible for such a wrinkly person with shark teeth. Still, Harry smiled. “Kreacher is proud to be Black elf.”

“Er…Could you maybe help me while I stay in the Castle? Could you show me the library?”

“Of course. Please follow Kreacher, Master Harry.”

Finally, he hit the jackpot. Behind a floor-to-ceiling double door lay a spacious library, with rows of shelves filled with ancient texts and tomes. He was tired already from the prospect of having to look at every single one. It had to be thousands of books. Soft warm light filtered in through the open curtains and hit a cosy wingback reading chair.

“Thank you Kreacher.”

The elf squirmed and pointed into a far corner. “When Master Sirius told Kreacher to throw the books away, Kreacher couldn't do it!” he confessed. There was a big collection of crates, mercilessly stacked where they fitted best. It was a harsh contrast to the meticulously organised bookshelves. “Master Regulus loved his books and the library, he would've hated Kreacher for doing so! Kracher put the books here for saving them.”

Now it was Harry's turn to smile. Luck was on his side! Now he had the combined libraries of Grimmauld Place and Black Castle at his disposal. If he could find something on horcruxes - and as Niv had advised: soul magic - it must be here.

“Thank you , Kreacher. Regulus would be proud, I'm sure. I’m glad you saved them. I can use them too, now,” Kreacher showed him another cheshire grin. “Uh, so… I guess I’ll be busy now.”

“Of course, Master Harry. So you will stay here from now on? Kreacher will begin to tidy up the grounds and garden then.”

“No! Don't do anything to the garden, Kracher.”

The elf wrung his hands. “Why… Why not, Master Harry?”

He remembered he’d seen a few pretty wild flowers in the tall grass. They had spoken to him, persisting and showing their beauty in between the attacking weeds. “I… would like to keep the gardens wild if possible.“

The elf narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “Then I will tell you when lunch is ready, Master Harry.”

The next morning a new edition of the Daily Prophet fluttered into Black Castle via owl.

“Who is this wizard?!

Yesterday, an unknown wizard was spotted doing shopping in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. Most importantly: he wore the Peverell family coat of arms!” There was a small hand-drawn illustration of the symbol of the deathly hallows. “We all remember last year, when Lord Weasley (Arthur Weasley, 49) suddenly got the voting power over this most ancient title, along with the title's voting power for House Black. Now, dear readers, it is no secret that Harry James Potter, saviour of the wixen world and defeater of he-who-must-not-be-named, has been sole Heir to the assets of House Black. And so we speculated back then already, that he and Lord Peverell might be the same person. But this event opens new possibilities! Who is this person? Do he and Harry Potter know each other? Was this Harry Potter in disguise? We remind you that Harry Potter has been untraceable for almost a whole year now. The quality of the photos doesn't permit a good identification of the face, but we are sure there is a secret to be unravelled and we will continue our research, readers! If you know this person, please do not hesitate to contact the investigation department of the daily prophet, via owl addressed to ‘Barnabas Cuffe or Andy Smudgley, Daily Prophet’, via floo call at ‘Daily Prophet Office’ or in Diagon Alley No. 11.”

Below that article, which spanned the whole title page, was a large picture of him as Kelsier Peverell, strolling past the Magical Menagerie.

Oh great. A cold feeling of dread crept up his spine. Now the Weasley’s might guess that he is back in Britain. Harry took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. They wouldn't find him here. No, they couldn't. Black Castle was unplottable, and owls were untrackable, but… Harry knew of a few ‘dark’ rituals now which allowed the caster to locate a person or object. But the Weasley’s wouldn't go that far, right? But maybe other people would…

He decided to distract himself with breakfast.

After breakfast Harry went into the library and began to set up his new music equipment. Of course it was widely known that magic and electricity do not mix well. So he had taken an artefact from Star Manor as inspiration to solve that problem. The artefact was a flat, plate-like disc, inscribed with runes along the outside diameter. It was roughly as big as Molly’s tray, which she used sometimes if the family ate in the garden. The disc created a magic void inside the inner diameter of the catena. Inside that circle more runes were ingrained, in seemingly random arcs. During his visit at Knockturn Alley he’d obtained rune chalk and new potions ingredients and rune tools from ‘Verena’s warding corner’.

Harry pulled the rune compass out and began to outline the catena shape on the library floor with regular chalk. He aimed for an outer diameter that could comfortably hold all his music equipment. After he’d placed all relevant markings he would need, he used the rune chalk and copied the catena to the hardwood.

While he worked Harry could hear Kreacher softly muttering in the distance. “Master Regulus would enjoy… oh yes… Runes.”

He stepped to the first shelf, foot tapping to the rhythm of the Foo Fighters album softly and looked around. The first whole row of shelves was on astronomy. Then the next aisle was on charms. The topics seemed to be sorted alphabetically. But where would one search for soul magic? In the dark magic section? The amount of books that held information on ‘dark’ magic and its uses was considerably greater than it had been in Star Manor. Some of those books were protected by really nasty curses, like the blood-boiling curse, which Harry only managed to avoid because the Black family magick protected him. He knew that the noble and most ancient house of Black didnt give a f*ck if magic was considered dark or not, so it was a bit odd they protected their books in these ways.

What was good though, was that most books contained much more up to date information. And everything was well-assorted with a custom library system! He felt a bit bad for the thought, but it was much better than the Star Manor library.

Later, in his one hand was Neville's book list and his other hand trailed along the book spines. Kreacher was no real help with finding certain titles and so he resorted to using the title-search-charm Niv had teached him. Soon he found all the books on the list. There were titles on general healing and plants, some of which he didn't even consider to read further after skimming the synopsis. But Neville's recommendations on politics and the wizengamot and managing a lordship were a welcome help to him.

The first two days were spent getting to know the castle and creating an overview of the library in his head. Just so that he had a general idea where the topics were located. The place was easily twice as big as the library of Star Manor and he didn't have a painting guiding him through the books here. Just a title-search-charm, but that was no help if you didn't know which title to search for, right?

From the open library windows he had a great overview of the garden behind the castle. He could see the lake surrounding the castle and hedges and shrubs sectioning the garden into different areas. There was a pond with a big globe-like structure inside it and he saw several bronze statues. Kreacher brought him lemonade to keep his head cool into the dusty library and the windows were constantly open, but he expected the real heatwave was yet about to start. Some days were so hot that sweat beads collected on his forehead and ran down his nose, almost damaging the precious books. He would have to check the garden out some other day and maybe take a dip into the lake.

On the third morning at Black castle, a parcel arrived by owl.

The letter began with “Potter”, instead of “Lord Potter-and-so-forth” or “Dear Harry” and so Harry heard Malfoys voice in his head immediately. The tone with which he spat the word, which had been ingrained in his brain for seven years.

Potter.

My father is in prison and will never return, why should we keep his stuff? I know most people think we had a very good relationship, but every family has their problems. No, I will not share my tragic life story with you.

It would've been good for my father to show more of his true alignments and personality in public and by extent mine too. I did not say that we should have behaved like randy Erumpents, Circe above. But if people are used to the true you, then they will not judge you so mercilessly if you behaved out of line for once. It is a difficult line to walk, to keep balance between making a fool out of yourself in public and to make people think you are unfailable. My father made the mistake of making everyone believe he was unfailable, including myself.

I do not need your forgiveness or pity. I know what I did and why I did it at the time. The people who hate me have a reason to do so. I say this because while I was never guilty of all they accused me of, I wasn’t innocent either. It’s a matter or responsibility.

No, it does not make sense for you to be selfish. It goes against your whole personality, actually. Unless no one ever knew the real you? And I cant believe that to be true. Your stupid Gryffindor arse is too honest and noble to hide your true colours to such a degree. That would be very Slytherin.

It pains me to say it, but it is good for you to try and learn something. Maybe for once in your life, you might understand something. For that, the children's rune book is perfect, at least. I’ve sent you an assortment of some magical items. It helps a lot in one’s studies to examine the successful work of previous masters. To learn from them and their mistakes. The mock snitch for example is a genius advanced project using only elder futhark runes. It helps a lot with learning about the distinctions in runic arrays if you try and replicate the project in a different alphabet. I wrote a bit of instructions for each item. This is the last time I will help you. Consider any debt I might have had as repaid with this.

It is pretty rude to assume that I wouldn't hate you if others weren't around, you underestimate me, Potter. But even if it is so utterly stupid to think about these what-if-scenarios, yes I must agree. I think we are both equally at fault that the possibly best friendship of the millennium did not come to happen. But alas. I do not need or want it now. No. I don't want to be your fu friend, Potter! Don't write to me anymore.

I do not want to be your friend and you are very stupid to cut contact with Granger and the weasels Weasleys. Who will suffer your whining now?

Lord Malfoy

Harry held the offending piece of parchment for a few minutes into the air, just staring at it, rereading a few passages. So his attempt at a friendship was met with a feud. Good Godric. And worst of all was he couldn’t remember writing a single offending word to Malfoy.

There was also confusion over some of his statements. Had Draco thought there was some kind of debt between them? When had he ever heard a Malfoy talk about responsibility? Why should Draco’s life story be tragic? The choice of words felt odd. As if there was some dark, well-kept family secret. Harry could imagine that Draco was in a bad position right now, hated by most of wixen Britain for his former affiliation with the Death Eaters. But that was not tragic, it was self-induced.

Harry pondered why he felt so disappointed and kind of betrayed. Why would he feel betrayed? Ah, because of the last sentence. That one hurt. If Draco thinks Harry “whined” in his last letter, then that was a breach of trust. He’d just been… a bit more honest. And he had hoped it would be met with honesty in return.

So… they were not friends, but enemies again. He had hoped they had overcome their previous difficulties, but…Considering all these reasons, Harry was not miffed by Draco’s rejection of friendship and him effectively reducing them back to enemies.

Harry opened a new door on the second floor and wandered inside, just like he did with all the other rooms too. His eyes swivelled around, until he stopped short.

“Oh my god”, Harry whispered to himself and stepped closer to the big tree growing on a dark tapestry. He traced his fingers over the rough fabric. There was him. Harry Potter and his portrait, growing from a branch right below Sirius Black.

“Are you the new Lord Black?” Harry whirled around, focus ready.

On the opposite wall to the tapestry was the painting of an aged man. He was painted together with two dogs who had such long hair it almost looked like they wore wigs. His salt and pepper hair fell over his shoulders in long waves as he leaned forward and studied Harry with grey eyes. He looked so much like Sirius, that Harry flinched again. He breathed in for a few deep seconds. This could not be Sirius’ portrait, he knew that. There were details askew in his cheekbones and the age difference made it quite clear too.

“Who are you?”

“Orion Alnilam Black, well met. And you do not look like a Black.” He sneered and then narrowed his eyes. “You look a bit like that portrait below my wayward son, though. Are you Harry Potter?”

“I- do you have other portraits you can visit?”

He grinned, again, looking much too similar to Sirius than was comfortable. “Why?”

“Because I do not like my secrets leaked. I do not want anyone to know that I am here right now. There are people who have access to Grimmauld Place who I want to avoid…” He trailed off. Orion gave him a very out-of-place smirk.

“Well, I have another portrait at Grimmauld Place, but if you are who I think, then you have the power to forbid the portraits from talking about your incriminating secrets.”

“I am not-” He sighed. “Then, as Lord of the noble and most ancient house of Black, I hereby forbid you from sharing any contents of the things we talk about with anyone else.”

“There. Also, you have the power to revoke people’s access from your properties.” He sniffed.

“I know that.” He’d read a bit about that in one of the books recommended by Neville on “how to be a proper Lord”. “But I do not want to kick these people out.” Maybe they need the house as a hiding place someday.

Orion sneered again but didn’t comment. “So will you answer my question, my Lord?”

“Yes, I am Harry Potter. Well met.”

Orion grimaced, but cleared his expression quickly. “What are you hiding from, Harry Potter? Or who?”

“How much do you know about the recent events?”

“Honestly not much. But the world must truly go to the dogs if a halfbreed like you became my Lord.”

Harry hummed and simply turned around, studying the family tree again. If Orion talked to him like that he did not deserve an explanation. Also, he was not in the mood to share stories about the events of the last years. There on the tapestry was Andromeda, completely intact. And Nymphadora Tonks next to Remus Lupin, their flowers wilted. A fact he swiftly ignored and moved on. Their son, Edward, even had his nickname “Teddy” written in the name tag. His eyes raked over the other branches of the tree. Andromeda and Teddy and himself were the only people alive. No wait! There, higher up on the tree was a person named Marius. Harry calculated the years in his head. If he was born in 1919 then he was eighty years old now. Who was this person? Harry brushed over the portrait. This man had not much in common with Sirius or Orion on the wall behind him. His hair was short and straight, the nose broader and he appeared to be a plump man even though the portrait only showed the head and neck.

“Who is this person?”

Orion sniffed. “You mean Marius? He is my… first cousin, once removed.”

He hadn’t known that expression. “Yes I know that. But why is he alive?”

“How should I know that?” Orion asked exasperated. “He was a squib. His father kicked him out when he was ten. I don't know what became of him, but I know that Cygnus held contact with him for years.” He tutted. “My brother in law was a much too soft man. Though he showed his true colours only after he was the last one remaining. The senile toe-rag! He loved to torment us all by reading their letters aloud in the halls.” He sighed dramatically. “Cygnus knew I didn’t like Marius. I never met him, but the stories that great-aunt Cassiopeia told me were not pleasant and these letters confirmed my fears. He was a muggle creature keeper! The disgrace!” He growled, sneered again and then huffed. “But their generation was full of bad ones. My aunt Dorea married a Potter - no offence, my Lord.”

Harry scoffed, but hid a small smile. This guy was so ridiculous.

As Harry expected when he’d read the newspapers on his second day back in Britain, a letter arrived a few days later. The neat handwriting, addressing the letter to ‘Harry Potter’, was instantly recognizable.

“Dear Harry,

I’m writing to you today, even though Ron advised against me doing it. He said you will contact us when you are ready and that you probably need more time still. But you are my best friend. You will always be and have always been my best friend.

And so I’m certain that this letter will reach you via direct owl and Piggy won’t return with just a simple note from Gringotts stating they would ‘deliver the letter at the next convenience’. Because I know it was you in Diagon Alley. It was you. With polyjuice, right? Even though I’m not sure how you managed to polyjuice into a dead person. That completely defies the laws of alchemy! And yes I know you were a real Peverell. I got special permission to enter the ministry’s civil registration archives. Do not try to fool me, Harry Potter! It will not work!

Now I will tell you why I go to such great lengths to write you a letter.

Well. There is really a lot I would like you to get updated on.

Ron and I have been living in our own little apartment in the Salem neighbourhood of London for almost half a year now. And I am so glad to be out of the Burrow. I spent the months leading up to our move at Hogwarts and working on passing my NEWTs, so I was not subject to all the drama. But it was not a pretty time. Charlie quit his job in Romania to stay a few months more shortly after you left. Ginny stayed at home, too. She helped George and Ron with the shop occasionally, but… What I’m trying to say is, that no one of us was in a really good state of mind. George usually tried to cheer everyone up, but he secretly cried when no one looked. Ginny too. A few times she opened up to me and confessed a few of the truly gruesome things the Carrows did to the students and made them do to each other. I can understand why she did not want to return. It was hard to walk around Hogwarts. There were so many places where we hung around together. I -” There was a peculiar outline of smeared ink, as if a drop of water had hit the paper there. Harry read on. “I couldn't look into the places where the corpses were, Harry. I ate in the kitchens for almost all meals and the first day, when we gathered in the great hall, I just cried the whole time.” There was another dried up teardrop smearing Hermione’s ink. “What I’m trying to say is: I get it. I understand why you left. I know my last letter must have been a bit weird. I don't know why my last letter was so weird. Why I tried to pretend my life, our lives, were golden and splendid when they are actually not. But honestly… none of us were at a mental stability suitable to support each other. I think it is only because all of us went to mind healers, that we survived this. That we got out of this as a family, still broken and battered, but still a family and not a collection of strangers. And I want you in this family, Harry Potter. I do not care what self-deprecating sh*t you think up in that brain of yours, but you are family and always will be.” The letter continued in a different colour of ink. “Maybe that was a bit harsh.

I think now, that it was probably for the best that you left, wherever you went. Since your parents died, you carried more on your shoulders than any other wixen. More judgement, more commentary, more condemnation. I am glad I got legal assistance for me and the Weasley’s against the newspapers. And I do not agree with the papers, if that is your fear. We do not resent you for leaving. It is okay that you left. We miss you, but if it is the best thing for you, then so be it.” There were a few more teardrops over the next paragraph.

“My parents did not recover. I travelled to Australia over the christmas hols to cure them, I even brought a specialist on memory from St. Mungo’s along with me. They assessed my parents and we tried to reverse my spell, but… They did not remember me, Harry. I am an orphan now. They are Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins, living in Melbourne…

George is addicted to Elvish Powder now. He hangs around Knockturn Alley day drinking sometimes, sometimes he hooks up with strangers. It is hard to watch and Molly does not want to lose another son. I really do not want to give you a bad conscience. I just want to update you.

Charlie is up in Scotland now, at the Great Greenich Reserve. He likes it to be closer to us all.

I finished my NEWT’s in May and the graduation ceremony was a few weeks ago. I got so many job offers immediately. But you know that law was always kind of my passion. I started in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but I know I won't stay for long. The first week was awful already. There is so much wrong with this society!

Ron and Ginny manage the joke shop with Angelina and Katie now. They divided the work so that everyone has enough time for their other side projects or jobs. Ginny and Angelina are under contract as reserve players for the Harpies now. We are very happy for Ginny, when she picked up flying again sometime in January, she got a lot of her spark back. Molly started a self help organisation, with knitting and sewing, for parents and everyone else who suffered losses during the war.

But other than that, I am faring better now, too. Ron is, too. Ron is so much more relaxed now than last year and I try to take every further step of my life slowly. I had to take up more regular mind healer sessions again after christmas hols. I try to take the pressure out of every thought, a technique my mind healer told me.

Please write to me, Harry. As I know you, you are probably keeping most of your thoughts to yourself, which is not healthy in the long run.

I do not want you to feel bad, Harry. I know there were many bumps and obstacles in our lives, but please do not quit our friendship after everything we sticked together through.

Please write to me. We are here for you

Love, Mione and Ron”

Harry leaned back in the satin wingback chair with a heavy sigh and wiped his own tears off his cheeks. Her words, the kindness, everything about her letter touched his heart. Not solely in a warm way, there was also a bit of grief and sharp loneliness, disappointment with himself. Self-loathing. He shrivelled in on himself, deeper into the cushions. You abandoned everyone, you selfish prick! It took a long while to process everything in Mione’s letter.

Finally, he got his own writing supplies out.

“Dear Mione”. Those were the first words and they stayed the only two words he wrote until a few days later.

He had the wish to talk about himself lately. Maybe because he talked to Lily almost every day and to James on most days, too, he didn't feel that much shame about his thoughts and feelings anymore. He still remembered their first talks. How he had choked on almost every word. But now he felt… accepted. In a way he had, prior to last January, only occasionally felt with others. Maybe he should return? Talk to her? To Ron? Harry took a deep breath and suddenly Miss Taney's words broke loose from his memory: “Ask yourself. Do I really want this?”

“Dear Mione.

Thank you for your letter. I can't express to you, how thankful I am that you understand me. I still need to keep my distance. But contrary to your expectations, I am talking to people. I have daily routines I try to keep up and I’m confiding in someone. It has helped me already, I am getting better bit by bit, but…

I can tell you that I went to Japan last year. I've been out in nature. Our camping trip from hell was still fresh in my mind, but I prepared as much as I could and had a lot of supplies, so it was rather relaxing than exhausting. The landscapes are so varied, from volcanic and snow-covered mountains to rainforest-like waterfall regions. It helped me a lot to keep my mind off the bad thoughts when I saw new things. But I also spent these lonely days thinking a lot about the people we lost and my own life, honestly.

I think I can reveal to you that I am ill. It might be untreatable. I still don’t really know what it is, though. I am spending my days researching, trying to find what it is exactly. And I am back in Britain now for research purposes. But I cannot return to your lives yet. It’s not because of this illness, trust me.

I don’t know when I will leave, but your next letter might not reach me as fast as this one.

Greet crookshanks from me.

Love, Harry”

Sometime at Star Manor, Harry had gotten around to reading the ‘Selwyn Anthropology’ from Malfoy more thoroughly. The book sadly didn't contain anything on the Peverells. They were too long gone and so no information on them survived available to the public. But the chapter on the Black’s was fleshed out with great detail.

„The Black family has always been at the foundation of the British wizarding world, giving them the honour of being a ‘noble and most ancient house’. It is publicly unknown who the first Blacks on the British isles were, but it is clear they had been one of the first big wizarding families in Britain. Their roots probably stem from the Celtic and Gaelic tribes first settling down during the last ice age. First documented mentions of the Black family name and coat of arms appear in surviving missives and decrees, now stored at the Department of Magology and within the archives of the Civil registration Department.” … “Since the foundation of Hogwarts, most Blacks have been closely affiliated with Slytherin, though there were also a few of Ravenclaw house. The Black family has been very influential in the advancements of astronomy and astronomical theory. The family is also responsible for the first breeding line of crups. They bred dogs and finally the first magical dogs successfully for many centuries, making them the makers of the crup. Many family members attended Seoul magical university and the family still has strong connections to the oriental and asian astronomical research groups.” … “Traditions: Many Black’s own one or more dogs. Arranged marriages belonged to the family traditions, although the Black women are infamous for breaking off their engagements. Recent examples include Dorea Black, who married Charlus Potter. He was not approved of by her parents, Cygnus and Violetta Black (née Bulstrode). Another example might be Lucretia Black, who married Ignatius Prewett instead of Adalrico Rosier, as intended by her parents.” … “Rumours: It is a widespread rumour, that especially the Black women might fall ill with the ‘Black madness’. Not much is known about it, just that those who fall ill with it show a great tendency for self-destructive and rash behaviour. The last person to fall for the Black madness is rumoured to be Alphard Black, who died of mysterious circ*mstances in his study, though it is rumoured he took his own life.”

Whenever he was bored or tired of learning (which happened rather frequently), Harry wandered the castle and talked to the portraits, slowly getting to know his deceased family members. There was the portrait of Lycoris Black, who died from a terrible accident with her printing press. She was chief editor of Witch Weekly in her time and an avid sports fan. She told him about all the broom races she had visited for her journalist work and Harry stored that knowledge about famous races carefully. Maybe he could partake in a broom race one day? Melania Black (née Macmillan, as the small brass plate informed him) would not shut up about her garden work and what more decorations she would recommend him to place “just behind the statue of Phoebe”, whoever that was. Sirius Black the second looked so much like his grandson Orion from the tapestry room and in respect so much like Harry’s godfather, that the direct relation was clear. Sirius Black the second was spouting so much nonsense about ‘dark’ magic though, that it was hard to get any real information out of him. He had been an avid politician and had tried to marry his daughter Lycoris off for as long as he lived. She was a genius escapist though and always managed to avoid her parents’ attempts, like conveniently travelling to Arizona for the Canyon Chase. Whenever he visited the tapestry room again, he and Orion would exchange a few words. He was much better company than his wife Walburga, who had warmed up to him after he’d become Lord Black and connected to the family magick, but still couldn't hold back on withering commentary. Orion loved to drop dog puns. Did he know that his son was a dog animagus? Harry smiled at that thought but continued their conversation.

Without the tapestry showing the relationships and descendant-ry of the people, Harry would have long given up to piece anything together.

But the most interesting conversationalist was a pudgy, brown-haired woman. Druella Black (née Rosier) had been the wife of Cygnus Black, who last inhabited the Castle. What made her so interesting started with just a little side-remark from her side.

“My poor Cygnus. I told him every day that he should connect with you or Andy or even Cissy, but in the end he died alone here. And I couldn’t even paint his portrait.”

Harry perked up. “You were a painter?”

“Oh yes.” She smiled. “Most of the portraits of our families' last two generations were either made by me or my sister Phelia.”

“Oh wow. You have been really talented.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him as if he was a cute little animal. Maybe a rabbit.

“How are portraits made? And how do they move?”

And then she told him about the art of making magical portraits and it became clear very quickly, why certain families had so many portraits and other families did not. For one, the financial aspect of the required resources was immense. The Weasley family probably could not afford that. Druella told him how much she charged for a portrait and then quickly amended how much of that money went into her supplies. Another reason was that the finished painting had to be infused with the magical signature of the person to give it their personality and that required a ritual which involved blood, runes, arithmancy and warding. All these disciplines required a high level of knowledge and therefore pushed the price up again. And lastly, for the ritual to work the dead body had to be five to ten days deceased at best, to still hold enough magic. This was the reason Sirius or Regulus Black had no portraits, as there had been no body left to take magic from.

“So… magic holds the soul?”

Druella chuckled, a very high pitched noise that sadly reminded him of Umbridge. He shivered. “The soul... You are quite the philosopher, young man. Well, yes of course. Our magic is our soul.”

If Harry was held at wandpoint and forced to give an analogy for casting with a focus it had to be wordless spellcasting. Since sixth grade in Hogwarts, wordless casting had been more and more mandatory in classes, with the introduction of silent casting in DADA in the first month of school and then slowly becoming more and more expected to do in charms, herbology and transfiguration too. But at its core, casting with a focus was so much more than just to silently cast a spell.

He finished the last movement of the Ainu pattern and simultaneously pulled the sword handle from his leather belt. Niv had suggested doing Kotan’s routine before he tried casting magic every day, to grow his perception for his own magic. Harry’s magic was rolling in slow, controlled waves through his body now, made aware of by the movements and slow breathing. He could taste it much better now, too. It wasn't just fresh and forest green. It was like a whole forest full of critters, snakes in the underbrush, a glance of a stag and mist drifting between trees. It held an undercurrent of crackling electricity. A lightning bolt flashing through a thunder cell. It was ready to be unleashed at his command now, to be shaped how he liked. He tried to hold on to this feeling, to the warmth, like a warm hug, familiar and “home”. Himself. He. Just Harry and his magic. And he shaped it, stretched it to be fast and energetic and gave it purpose and intent in his head.

But he knew his magic, once again, began to speed up and grow chaotic, by just thinking about getting ready to cast. It was anxious and protective. But it was too clumsy in its desperate attempt to protect. The intended shape and mental image grew uncertain.

All of this went through his head while he lifted the focus from his belt to the duelling dummy.

A projection of a blade glinted for a tiny moment before a bolt of electricity zapped across the distance and into the dummy. Then a crackling sound reached Harry’s ears, the echo of the spell.

The chain lightning spell was a sixth year spell. He had mastered it once. But now? There was only a tiny scorch mark where there should be much bigger damage on the duelling dummy.

He let his head hang with a sigh. There was dried blood on the basem*nt floor…

After training Harry donned the forest green robes with black triangles Kotan had given him and apparated to Diagon Alley. Kreacher had been able to give him hair from a long dead Black man: Arcturus Black the first, father of the famous headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black. The man was dead long enough that no one should recognize him. Harry hoped.

If you follow the polyjuice recipe then yes, it is impossible to transfigure yourself into a dead person. But if your mother was a potions and charms genius, tweaking the potion to suit your needs was fairly easy. Lily had managed to change the properties from alchemistic - a potion that uses aspects of transfiguration - into paracelsic - a potion that adds properties to a person or object. So the new potion was closer to a strong glamour than human transfiguration.

“I proudly call this creation the Peverell potion.” She had grinned at him.

Niv had tried her best to explain to him the differences between focus and wand, but he just couldn't shake the feeling there was still information missing. And if he knew that crucial piece of information, then everything would fall into place and his training would finally progress. The wizard on one of the counters looked quite bored, flipping through the pages of a book on the counter before him.

“Excuse me, Sir.” His eyes flicked from the book up to Arcturus's face, but other than that he didn't move. “Do you have anything on spellcasting with East Asian methods? I’ve found a few books on wands back in the magical theory aisle, but nothing on other methods used across the world.”

Now the man frowned and had a disbelieving smile at the same time, which turned his face into a grimace. He straightened up. “What other methods do you mean, Sir? How would you spellcast if not with a wand?”

Harry gaped at him. “Er, in East Asia they use foci. The whole process of casting a spell is totally different because of that.”

He looked a bit nervous. “I'm sorry, Sir. Never heard of that. I can say with reverence that we do not have anything on spellcasting with- without a wand. I am responsible for the inventory.”

“So… you want to tell me the biggest book shop in wixen Britain has nothing on foreign spellwork?”

“I am sorry, Sir. If you know the title and author of a foreign book we can organise and order it for you to pick up here.”

Arcturus felt… disappointed. But on the other hand he was not surprised. Surely, if Flourish & Blotts had books on foreign magic, Hermione would know of it and in turn he would've heard of it at least once. Because if even he himself found foci cool and interesting, Hermione would absolutely lose her marbles over it. He tried and pulled on the last straw he could think of.

“Do you know if that is maybe a restricted topic or considered ‘dark’ in Britain?”

“No, Sir.” He scratched his chin. “As I said, I've never even heard of it.”

“So I would not find anything on it in Knockturn or Horizont Alley?”

The man's eyes widened and his answer was a bit dazed. “Probably not.”

“I see. Thank you.”

He could only ever read a single page of this certain book per day, because these contents were… they were… too personal. He didn't know the person who wrote this, but their words struck so close to his heart that it was painful. In “Atlas of modern psychology”, they wrote about childhood abuse, about trauma and psychological problems of trauma survivors. Of symptoms like learning problems and cognitive delay. Of struggling with close relationships. He wanted to put the book away and never look at it again several times, but the way they managed to describe things about himself he had never managed to find the words for drove him to pick it up again every day.

And he knew, bloody hell he knew he was a traumatised kid, but to read about it made everything about his experiences much more real.

The book talked about different examples and forms of neglect and abuse. Emotional abuse (“Name-calling, setting unreasonable expectations, threatening, dismissing or invalidating the child and their feelings or isolation, to name a few variants.”) and of course various forms of violence in physical abuse. Harry was not sure which had been more frequent, the violence from Dudley and his gang or the emotional abuse from all three. Neglect is damage done through denying help and Harry had to think back on his vanished appendix… “Failing to give a child medical care or treatment when needed, denying a child food, clothing, or shelter, abandoning or locking a child in a room for hours on end, leaving a young child at home alone without a caregiver or with neglectful caregivers, ...”

It hurt a lot.

It made him feel self-pity and regret. But there were so many more feelings. Sadness for his own younger self, longing to correct the past, desperate because could he ever recover from this?, anger and a wish to destroy something which vanished quickly into hopelessness, because unleashing his anger did not help anyone.

Because most of the listed examples had happened to him. He just never knew they were… that it was okay to feel… that they were a form of violence, too. Why had there been no adult in his life who was just… there for him? The book even gave examples of recognising neglect and abuse in children for teachers and other adults. Silent tears ran down his cheeks. Once again, Harry put the book down to stop the thought spirals from gaining momentum. He remembers chunks of his therapy sessions with Miss Taney. They had also talked about his upbringing occasionally and she had said some of these things from the book, but… not as clear. The book's merciless wording was a punch in the face but also a wake-up call.

He had been methodically neglected and abused as a small child.

And he hadn’t even reached the section on traumatic experiences yet.

Harry stepped closer to the big globelike iron structure made of several concentric rings he had seen from the library. It was definitely magical. Because of the strong ambient magic coming off the Castle and the property it was difficult to discern the taste of it though or what about it might be magical. It was roughly car-sized and stood on a platform inside a small pond. The pond seemed inhabited - at least Harry saw the waters move and ripple from time to time and he thought he’d seen a flash of orange scales. Each iron ring had markings of numbers and words etched into it, like Sol, Cancer, Leo and there were dates and planet names. On the ground below the structure was another circle with numbers - the hours of the day. Right now, the shadow of the big arrow piercing the structure pointed between eleven and twelve in the morning. A sun based time indicator? The rings seemed to be some astronomical device used to determine the position of the constellations in the sky.

“Kreacher.”

The elf appeared next to him with a crack. “Master Harry called for Kreacher.”

“Do you know what this thing was used for?”

“Kreacher does not know the workings of this device, but Master Cygnus spent many nights here.” He waved his wrinkly hand at the shallow stone bench next to the pond. “Made Kreacher worry about his health. Master Cygnus looked at the constellations using it. It is called an - an - armillary sphere. That was the word. Does Master Harry want to spend the night watching the stars, too?”

“I think… Yes, I’d like that.” His last nights had been sleepless and chaotic. His mind just didn't want to calm down when the time came to go to bed. All the new information and research were driving laps in his thoughts.

“Then Kreacher will prepare blankets and some midnight nibbles.”

Harry continued his leisurely stroll through the dried up garden. Behind a dividing hedge and shrubs, stood one of the many dog statues scattered across the property. Harry had already seen a few of them from his broom and from the library, but walking through the garden he noticed that every corner seemed guarded by a dog. Some of them moved. They wiggled their tails when he approached and closed their eyes when he patted their heads. Some even stood up on their hind legs to greet him, but none ever left their base platforms. Some of the statues were familiar from the many portraits decorating the Castle walls. Some dogs were long haired and tall or short haired and small. Dogs with more folds than flesh, ones with more fur than dog or ears all the way to the floor. And a few days ago, he’d found a few big dog pen’s and a small cemetery behind the annex.

A bit later - he had continued his lazy stroll - he finally reached his main goal and placed the bathing towel on the warm wood of the short pier. He dangled his feet and calves in the water and looked out over the lake. It seemed to have a few random splotches of magic within, but he couldn't taste the exact sources or distinguish if the locations moved.

“Kreacher!” The elf appeared again. “Are there grindylows in the lake?”

“Not that Kreacher knew, Master Harry.”

“Are there any other animals in there?” The water was not muddy, so the first few metres were clear and safe.

“Kreacher knows that Lady Melania populated it with koi koi once.”

“What are koi koi?” Harry eyed the water and drew his feet back on the pier, just to be sure.

“They are magic beasts. They are often bred by wixen for decorative purposes for their gardens and houses. Kreacher also heard they are kept for good luck and for blessing the property. But Kreacher does not think there are any koi koi left.” Harry later learned that koi koi were colourful fish-like creatures that had feathery fins which even allowed them to fly short distances.

“Oh, so they are harmless then?... Does the lake have a name?”

“Lady Melania named it Loch Lyra, Master Harry.”

“I see, thank you , Kreacher.”

“No problem, Master Harry.”

Water held not the best memories and associations for him. Like nearly drowning and being attacked while trying to save a young girl and his best friend at the same time. Being left at Miss Fig’s every time the Dursley’s went to the water park. Jumping off a dragon, … Honestly, he was glad for the mandatory swimming classes in third grade or he wouldn't even know how to swim.

Now though, in the burning summer heat, Harry sank into the cooling lake and slowly paddled around. He swam around, got used to the waters. It really was refreshing. Sometime later, he turned on his back and just floated around. The sky was blue and the longer he looked, the deeper it got, sucking him into its endless vastness. It was so calm. And free. A kind of carefree happiness bubbled up in his chest and he felt his lips stretch into a broad smile. He could go where he wanted. The sun warmed his skin, his head was empty. Free of worries. Just drifting.

I should stay here all summer. This is really nice.

It had taken a few days of sanding the paint and varnish off, but Harry was now studying the catena of a few brooms Kracher had found for him in Black Castle and at Grimmauld Place.

The idea to dissect these old brooms came to him when he was flying over the lake and gardens on his japanese Kishi, the broom he'd bought in Kyoto and used since.

Flying had been pure instinct back at Hogwarts and even last year still. But now he could feel the broom. He could taste its magic (a bit like floo fire) and his own magic flowing through its wood and the runes. Depending on the grip position of the wixen, the broom would draw magic out of them, similar to a wand.

The first thing he noticed was that the catena of the Cleansweep Two, the Moontrimmer, the Shooting Star and the Nimbus 1000 all looked very similar. It was a long line over the entire length of the broomstick, all the way to the part where the bristles connected to the wood. Sometimes, the line wound around the wood in a soft incline. There were diverging loops and branches from the main catena line, for the different purposes of the broom, like acceleration and dexterity. The Shooting Star even had a part in its catena that allowed it to shoot stars out of its rear end like a sparkler. The brooms laid side by side in the grass and he picked them up one by one to further look at the catenas.

They were certainly not happy to be dissected and tempered with. The Nimbus - which seemed to be the youngest broom - tried to roll away every few seconds, so Harry took his focus from his leather belt and threw a sticking charm at it. He might have overpowered it a bit, because the broom didn't even wriggle anymore. A broom's inner magic - infused into the wood by using a special catena on the growing sapling - is what gives them personality and makes them sentient magical objects. It permits the use of the up command, for example. Good brooms can retain their inner magic for a minimum of ten years, but it also depends on the frequency of their use and how much care was put into them. That the Nimbus had still been able to wiggle even after such a long time was proof that it had been a well-loved and well-used item.

Harry traced his finger over the intricate characters, each etched into the wood with careful precision. There was not a single stroke too long and no spelling errors. However, what he noticed was that the different models partially had sections of different alphabets in their catena.

Thus began the tiring work of slowly translating the catenas, rune by rune. Yes it was tiring, but it was also… fun? Harry smiled to himself and wrote another entry in the chart in his notebook. First was the intent based acceleration section in the front of the handle. This section had the biggest variety in spelling and alphabets used across all brooms. But all catena contained some forms or combinations of the following rune meanings: gravity, force and reversal or negation. The intent based dexterity section, for steering and height control, further down the handle, had less diversity. He had fun learning this. He knew each character had purpose and in the end allowed for a functioning broom. Maybe it was the difference in usefulness why he found brooms much more interesting than the rune stone projects?

It was the middle of July now and Harry finally downed his last inoculation. He had only nutrient potions left now, of which a fresh batch was simmering in his sports bag apartment.

He’d also managed to find a potion book containing the exact potion that helped with measuring the magic core by making the pathways and core visible in a book called “Rare potions of specialised healing”. Sadly, the book did not contain the antidote, so he was still on the search for that.

“We have to make our own antidote, then.” Lily said over his shoulder. “Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not hard.” She chuckled again and read the recipe again. “But… Hmmm… it will be a bit harder since I'm dead, now that I think about it. You will have to follow my instructions to the tea, Harry. If we start now, we can assess our first batch this evening.”

The rest of the day was spent with “Introducio Arithmantica” and with a small rune project. He knew a lot about runes now. At least for my standard, he thought with a small smile. All these small projects from the childrens rune book and analysing the old projects from Malfoy and the brooms were helping his knowledge gather in heaps and bounds. His notebook now contained several pages with ideas on how to tweak or improve these small projects, like the hand warming stones he’d given to Kotan and his family. His idea, to write the catena in a circle and add a prosperity-rune from the egyptian alphabet using a side loop, had worked. The new hand warming stone stayed warm for two weeks instead of just one. A catena is like a sentence, he thought. It's got grammar and spelling and just combining random words does not create a sentence that makes sense. He could discern certain nuances of the runes with the other alphabets now, too.

It was so peaceful here and he could take his time, so he did. No one was distracting him (Ron or Dean and Seamus) or bothering him with the unimportant parts of the learning process (Revision time tables™ from Hermione). It was weird, but he thoroughly enjoyed it. And he felt a rush of real pride when he ticked off the runic alphabet bullet points on his goal page in the notebook.

Their first attempt at an antidote was a failure.

“Ugh. It should not react like that.” Lily sighed. “I think we added the Ghoul liver at the wrong time. We will have to calculate the recipe again. Get your notebook out. Alright. Fifty milligrams of foxfire powder and two litres of purified water make a base with a magical power of how many joules? Use the abacus for me.”

It's been a bit over four weeks at the Black Castle, making it the beginning of August, when he finally had a break-through. Inside the haphazardly stuffed and stacked crates were all the books from Grimmauld Place. And Harry could slap himself for not thinking of this earlier or making the connection himself, but this collection also included the books of Regulus Black. Sirius’ brother, R.A.B. who had first discovered one of Voldemort’s horcruxes and tried to destroy it.

One crate contained an assortment of books on soul magic. ”Moments of magic: daily inspection of your soul”, “The mind, illuminated”, “Wherever you go, you are here” or “A practical beginners guide to meditation” all contained annotations in a flowing cursive handwriting. There was also a copy of the infamous “Secrets of the darkest art”. And soon, from all books combined, he reached the following conclusion: Magic and soul were strongly intertwined. But also separate on some level, because muggles had souls, but no magic?

Harry thought back to his many conversations with Druella. She was convinced she wouldn't be able to make a magic portrait of a muggle, because they had no magic and therefore no soul to capture, but… They were alive, weren't they? Thinking, living beings. And what about squibs?

Whenever Harry read these books his head spun from all the mind-boggling theories. But one thing became rapidly clear: he had to pick up meditation, to be able to access his mind, and occlumency, and then eventually he could evaluate his own soul. And with this evaluation, which consisted of some ritual that he only skimmed over first, Harry would finally know if Voldemort’s soul piece had damaged his own soul. He hoped. There were reports of wixen who dived so deep into their mind they couldn't come back, which was why one had to strengthen their mind with occlumency to prevent that. And even occlumency masters still took a risk in performing this ritual.

“I can't believe it’s my arch nemesis again”, Harry groaned.

James looked up from the open newspapers spread across the table with a grin. “Who do you mean?”

“Not a who. A what. Occlumency. Do you know it?”

“Yeah, marginally. I know what it is about. Why do you hate it so much?”

Harry thought about how he should breach the topic, but then decided on the head-on way. “Because Dumbledore forced me in fifth year to learn occlumency from Snape, but… it was horrible. I’m not even sure anymore if he tried to teach me, you know? Because I can’t imagine using legilimency to bombard your mental shields is the way to teach it. Maybe the way to test it, yes. But not to teach it…” Harry turned around and saw James gaping.

“He… he used legilimency?!?”

Harry nodded.

James blanched even further. “That is not the way to teach it, holy sh*t. I can't believe- and Dumbledore knew about that? And approved that?”

Harry nodded again and a queasy feeling built up in his stomach. “What would you do to teach it?”

“Well… first, do not try to distract me, we are not done with this topic. Second, you have to learn to meditate first, right? So…um… I would start with guided meditation. Then the second step is to build a… I forgot how it is called, but to imagine your mind and then dive into it and I guess I would also try and guide the person into that, by giving clear instructions and talk about it, search for analogies together… We marauders learned guided meditation together, so I can still do that by heart.” He chuckled and then wistfully stared out the window. But what his dad had said sounded much better than… Harry found it hard to even describe his lessons with Snape sometimes, even in his own head. It had been so… humiliating. There had been absolutely no respect for him as a person from Snape.

And maybe now his dad, the bully, could correct what Professor Snape, the victim, had destroyed in Harry. He felt hesitant to ask, but once again tried and barreled on with his words.

“Would you teach me?” James looked back at him. “Meditating? And maybe occlumency too?”

“Uh, sure.” He chuckled. “Meditation is no biggie, but I would have to freshen up my knowledge on occlumency first and… maybe I could learn it for you, son and then teach it to you?” Harry felt how a small blush crept on his cheeks. His father would learn something only to teach it to him? Him? “But I’m not sure yet if that would even work, since I’m a spirit. I can't use magic-” Harry’s mind was rattling, the cogs turning. James was a spirit - a soul? - visiting the living world but he didn't bring his magic with him? So magic and soul were separate in this regard, but in others… not? “- magic anymore, so I don't know if I will be able to do occlumency. But I can probably meditate. I guess I’ll just have to try.” His dad grinned at him and Harry smiled.

“Thanks, that would help me a lot. I could never just ‘clear my head’ as Snape said.”

James snorted. “It doesn’t even work like that.”

Harry felt a knock run through the wards of the estate and therefore through his own magic core and pathways. It was a peculiar feeling, more like how Harry imagined soundwaves travelled. But who is it? No one knows I’m here and the property should be unplottable. The knock resounded again through his whole body.

How did they find me? Was it the Weasley’s? Harry shivered and reached out with his magic to feel the Castle. There on the threshold of the inner ward line stood Luna Lovegood, her eyes following a butterfly through the front garden, tapping her foot to an imaginary rhythm.

“Hello Harry.” Her voice was airy and she sounded as if she talked more to the garden than him, when he approached her.

“Luna.” He was a bit shy to think of her reaction to his appearance. “What are you doing here?”

She tilted her head. “Picking you up. Don't you remember? I wrote in a letter that we would break into Hogwarts together in the summer.”

“Oh… right…” He wouldn't question that. There was a much more pressing matter. “And how did you find me?”

“I followed your colour of course... Harry.” Her dreamy smile vanished into a frown. “Oh, I am so sorry that you will never meet them. And to think that I said to you I was excited to meet my mum again sometime.”

“What? You said what?“

“Yes, in your fifth year. I said I was glad to meet my mum again when the time comes. Behind the veil. I had asked if you could hear them too.”

“Oh. True… I think I remember now. You came to console me about Sirius’ death, right?”

She smiled again. “I hope the others are on time, too. Come.” She extended her arm in a gesture for him to take her hand. Right, let’s get this over with, then. Harry waved his focus and accio’d his sports bag and coat, which came zooming out of a big double window on the castle’s east tower and she apparated them away.

He looked around and recognized the wooden buildings and cobblestone paths of Hogsmeade. They had landed at an apparition point. Harry immediately flapped his coat up and the fox fur hood deep over his face, even though it was broiling.

“Do you think I need polyjuice?” He asked. “I don't have much left.” If it hadn't been Luna who asked and if it was any other problem, he would have refused to return to this place. Hogsmeade and Hogwarts. He could already feel a slight tremor in his left hand.

She hummed. “No. Not today.”

The village was almost empty, as it was the summer hols already, but he still followed every individual they encountered with hawk eyes. Harry glanced up at the castle, which he once considered his real home. Raw, natural magic was swirling in huge currents around the whole place. It tasted old and fresh at the same time. Timeless and still ancient. This place must have been rich in magic for way longer than Hogwarts stood here. The magic was too raw and strong for that. Hogwarts had been built around the 10th century. It feels special. But he could also feel that it was chaotic. The wards were weaker than the ones of Black Castle had been. As they stepped over the inner ward line he felt Hogwarts reach out to him. It connected to his core and settled, but the connection was just a thin thread in comparison to the thick boat ropes of Star Manor and Black Castle or Grimmauld Place. And he felt the castle take a breath when he stepped into the entrance hall.

“You feel her too, right?” Luna whispered.

Harry nodded and they continued up hundreds of stairs more. Harry had no clue where the ward stone was and he was just following Luna’s lead, until they reached the seventh floor corridor. It helped that the castle was empty. If it had been bustling with life, he wouldn't have made it that far. Every corner, every hallway triggered some memories of the six years of learning, surviving and battling in this castle. Up until now, he hadn't questioned where their goal lay.

“Is the wardstone of Hogwarts in the Room of Requirement?”

“Oh!” She shifted into such a sudden excitement, that Harry flinched. “That reminds me of something. Would you wait here for me?”

“Uh… sure?”

She twirled around and went back the way they came, her arms swinging with each step.

Then he stood alone in the corridor. He looked up to the opposite side of the big tapestry, where, if you did it right, an ornate door might appear with a room for everything you could wish for. He knew much more about fiendfyre now than when they had raced for their lives and he was very sure the room itself probably didn't exist anymore. Also, it must've cost the castle quite a lot of magic to contain the fire into the room. The bombardment of the castle had happened around the same time. And so the castle couldn't have been strong enough to save the rooms concept or other versions of the room. If Harry understood it right, the room of requirement was born from Hogwarts itself, a manifestation of millennia of sentient magic, concentrated into a single focus point. However, the room itself must follow the basic laws of magical theories. It must be some kind of catena-created ward space inside the Hogwarts wards. Like a bubble inside a bubble. Harry stood in front of the wall now, his eyes tracing over the inconspicuous stones. Suddenly, footsteps approached from the stairs - Harry tensed - and they continued down his corridor. The person walked past his back, to the other side of the corridor. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw the back of a tall man, wearing light grey robes, walking away from him. A cold bucket of fear was dumped right over his head and ran down his shoulders and over his back. The man stopped, turned around and did a double take. Seconds ticked by. It was Draco Malfoy, his hair almost as long as Lucius’ had been. He had faint shadows under his eyes, but the state of his wardrobe was as impeccable as always, maybe even a bit more elaborate than in their school days. He looked much healthier than when they had last seen each other, at his trial.

“Is that you, Potter?”

All his insecurities and fears came rushing back in the face of Draco Malfoy. He is not ready for this!

Memories flashed before his mental eye. Draco’s grey gaze, incredibly close to his face, wincing from the pain of Bellatrix’ grip on him, reflecting Harry’s own fear but he said “I’m not sure.” Draco’s trembling hands crushing his stomach as they fled from the fire. Draco, groaning with blood spilling from the long gash across his body.

Harry swallowed and almost choked on the big lump in his throat. His hands and legs twitched. He felt like vomiting or running away screaming.

Malfoy was still looking at him expectantly and did not sneer or walk away with a stinging insult. Harry then decided on a hesitant, wry smile. “Hi” he finally croaked. Harry did not want to talk to this man.

“Merlin's tit* I thought you were some homeless person. You look like-” He didn't say it, but ‘sh*t’ hung in the air between them, almost grabbable. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you didn't want to return to Britain anytime soon?” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you here for NEWTs too?”

“I'm here, um, to help Luna.“ He decided to leave the answer cryptic, but honest.

“Lovegood?”

“Yeah… and you?” Harry’s voice was quiet, almost meek.

Malfoy sighed dramatically. “McGonagall wanted to see me about NEWTs. Don't know why she couldn't visit me at the Manor, but she went and got extra permission from the ministry for me to leave the house…” Right. Malfoy and his mother were still serving house arrest. Now that Harry got a taste for travelling he couldn't imagine staying at one place for very long again. Above his left shoe, Malfoy wore an ankle chain that exuded a soft blue hue. A tracing bracelet? His robes were from fine cloth and he had silver rings on his fingers and a gem necklace that looked like it was from Narcissa. In combination with his grey robes it didn't appear tacky though, it looked high-fashion. His face, as Harry studied him swiftly, had a very haunted expression, staring at a far-away point behind Harry’s shoulder. Oh. Right. The room of requirement. Crabbe died there. “It's weird to be here again.” Malfoy said in a quiet voice and they both shared a moment of wistfully gazing around the castle hallways.

“Yeah, for me too. If it wasn't for Luna, I wouldn't be here now.” Harry said eventually.

Malfoy met his gaze then, frowned and said, almost to himself “You feel different, Potter.”

Harry didn't know what to say to that and he felt the pressure increase. Draco expected him to behave, talk and think in a certain way. Normal. Like Harry Potter.

Harry took a small moment to examine the tight feeling in his chest. It was… fear. He was afraid that he had changed and at the same time terrified that he had stayed the same as a year ago. He was afraid those once closest to him might say the same, that he changed. But he knew if it came from them, it would probably mean he changed in a way they didn't expect. Maybe didn't even like.

“Well, bye then.” Malfoy said suddenly, and turned, his steps abating through the halls. Harry stared after him. And suddenly he remembered: the feud. In light of that revelation, that hadn’t gone as apocalyptically as he had feared, but he still felt exhausted already. So Draco was still angry with him for some mysterious reason. Should've asked him about that.

Who even was Harry Potter? It was weird that Draco Malfoy, his once arch-nemesis, was the first person to say he had changed. He had this odd tight feeling again. What did he not like about that thought? Maybe the fact that he would've liked it better to discuss changes in his personality with those closest to him first?

Just then, more footsteps approached from the other side of the corridor. Luna, Neville and Hannah Abbott rounded the corner together. And everything he had managed to distance himself from came rushing back. Neville how he stood covered in blood swinging the sword of Gryffindor. Hannah, how she tried to tend to Lavender’s wounds on the battlefield. Luna, skinny and sunken-eyed in Malfoy’s dungeons. Harry shifted in an awkward manner and watched the expressions of the newcomers turn, very slowly, from contemplation, to recognition, to complete shock.

“Harry!” Neville said as they all came to a stop in a small circle. Worry coursed on Neville's face as his eyes raked over Harry's form. Harry knew he was not dangerously underweight anymore, but he still looked a bit too thin. His pulse quickened. “You really look a bit sick, Harry.” Neville said with a frown. Harry felt his heart drop from his body all the way to the dungeons.

“Harry? As in Harry Potter?” Harry glanced at the blonde woman standing between Neville and Luna. Hannah Abbott eyed him and her gaze burned itself in his heart. Of course they would be confused. And disappointed. He was supposed to be the hero of the wizarding world and instead he had a crooked haircut and wore some edgy black leather coat. His breath grew shallow. He couldn't breathe.

But he even managed a smile when he answered Hannah. “Yeah, that's me.”

“It’s really good to see you again, Harry.” Her boyfriend said. Neville looked really good. There was a glow to his aura, like he could take on a thousand Malfoy’s now and no comment of them could break his confidence. He had something of a big, ancient tree, that just stood strong and calm, no matter how bad the storms were. And Harry couldn't believe that life just went on for others. Just went on. Continued. With dreams and goals and hopes and… stop stop stop. He had a few goals now too, no need to panic.

“Let me introduce you, Harry, this is my girlfriend Hannah. Hannah, you know Harry, but I don't think you had much to do with each other?” And then Harry made a quick decision. They expected Harry Potter, so he would give them Harry Potter. I am not really present here and they are not talking to me, they are talking to Harry Potter from now on.

Harry Potter shook his head while Hannah said “Oh that is not true! I was in the D.A. Neville, have you forgotten already?” and extended her hand with a smile. They shook hands and Harry Potter returned her smile. She seemed to be the very caring type, there was a warmth in her, but at the same time she was assessing him in a weird way, judging him.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” Hannah asked with a small frown.

“Yeah, Luna, why are we here?” Harry returned the question to the woman staring into the nothingness between them all.

“I told you all, that Hogwarts is weak. She had her whole wards broken, that took a great toll. We are here, as the founders heir’s, to give her our magic.” She turned around herself once with a tinkle of her earrings - a chain of stars - and came up to Harry. “We have to go to the chamber now, Harry will lead the way.”

“What chamber, I thought we were here for the room of requirement?” Harry Potter asked.

“The chamber of secrets, silly.” He heard small gasps from Neville and Hannah.

Harry Potter frowned. “Wait… the chamber of secrets? Why? Why did we meet here then?”

“Because I forgot something and you had to meet someone.” She blinked.

Harry Potter sighed. “Alright then…” He was completely unprepared for this situation and he didn't want to go down there.

“Wait.” Hannah chimed up. “The chamber of secrets is real?”

“Oh, yes.” Harry Potter answered her.

Luna hummed. “I've always wanted to meet her, it's so sad that she had to die.” Luna said, as they made their way down to the second floor girls' lavatory.

Harry didn't know who “she” was, but he knew only one creature died down there. “Do you mean the basilisk?”

Luna nodded, her earrings jingling again.

“Wait”, Neville spoke up. “We are really going down there?”

Luna beamed. “Yes, I got brooms for everyone!”

“Why do we need brooms?” Neville’s voice wavered. sh*t. Neville couldn't fly on a broom. They were so unprepared for any of this.

“Wait, so we are all Heirs of Hogwarts founders? I’m the Heir of Hufflepuff, then Neville must be Gryffindor and Luna, you are Ravenclaw? Harry, are you the Heir of Slytherin?”

“Bit ironic, isn't it?” Harry Potter answered with a chuckle and grinned.

“It is.” Neville said. “But who cares. Why do we have to go to the chamber of secrets for the ward stone? Isn't it in the Headmasters office?”

“Of course not, silly. The headmasters office has a transceiver rune stone, but not the original ward stones.” Luna explained as if it was public knowledge.

Neville cleared his throat after a while. “So, Harry, where have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve just been drifting from place to place, wherever I wanted to go, you know.” He shrugged in a casual manner. “Enjoying my freedom and the peace.”

“Oh, that sounds exciting.” Hannah said. “I’ve always wanted to travel too. What have you been doing?“

Harry Potter flashed them a secretive grin. “Nothing much to be honest. I learned a bit about runes.”

Hissing at the sink had his companions flinch back a bit, but then they got even more hesitant, as they exited the slide. The air was stale and somehow warm down here and Harry took a moment to admire his past self. To walk through here and face a basilisk at twelve… damn.

“I can't believe I’m seeing the chamber of secrets.” Neville’s voice echoed through the lumos-illuminated corridors. The wall relievos were all completely covered in algae and the floor was partially slippery. Somewhere water was dripping down and between their feet ran a small trickle of water towards the chamber. He had never asked this question, but… Just how big was the Hogwarts sewer system?

“This is not the chamber.” Harry Potter said. “Follow me. I don't know in which state the entrance will be. Back then, the entrance hall collapsed.”

“It collapsed?” Hannah was at his side now, and Harry Potter launched into a retelling of the adventures of his second Hogwarts year, of defeating a basilisk that was controlled by a manic spirit possessing a school girl and almost dying in the process. He even told them about the young Voldemort and the diary.

It took a bit of careful levitation of debris at the entrance, but they soon created a big enough hole for them to crawl through.

When they shone their lumos around and into the open chamber, they all gasped. Hannah and Neville because the chamber was so vast and impressive. Harry because the basilisk still laid there, in a lake of its own dried-up blood, and it was massive. His childhood brain had probably altered his memories a bit, because he was even more impressed with his past self now. The others hadn't noticed the basilisk until they followed Harry’s light.

Luna gave an airy sigh. “She shouldn't have died.”

“No…” Harry said and he walked towards the corpse slowly. The others followed with a bit of a distance.

Harry stared down at the open jaw, missing two fangs now. The first one broke off during his fight, stuck in his arm. He remembered the piercing pain. Blunt and sharp at the same time, unlike any spell damage. Unlike a blow from Petunia’s pan and unlike a nick in the finger during potions class. It had been the greatest pain he had experienced until then. Blood gushed out past the fang with the rhythm of his heartbeat. After the fang came out the other side of his arm the pain suddenly stopped and instead his whole arm grew numb. The blood stopped running like water and clotted in place, slowly dripping down and mixing with the basilisk blood on the floor. Harry’s whole arm darkened, his flesh was poisoned and it spread like the black death through his veins. Then they had collapsed together. His arm had looked like a spider had spun its black web until Fawkes healed him with his tears. Harry absent mindedly rubbed his arm. Now though, he knew there was much greater pain than a basilisk stuck in your arm. The longing, never dulling ache, sharp and constantly grating and gnawing in your gut from losing your loved ones. Or missing someone you never met in person. Or your heart shredded to pieces because you realise your life is even more f*cked-up than you ever thought. This was, to him, the greatest pain. A pain that could not be healed by potions or even phoenix tears.

The other fang was taken by Ron and Hermione in the battle of Hogwarts… Memories flashed through his mind once again. How he had seen them, sitting hunched into each other, as he’d sneaked past them under his cloak in the Great Hall, to go to Voldemort alone. Harry shook his head.

Now he saw this six year old corpse laying here. The eyes of the basilisk were milky and some scales covered in a bit of algae, but other than that there was no state of decay. And for some reason a deep contentment, that was not his own feeling, seeped into his mind and he instinctively knew the basilisk was okay. It was Death, he realised.

“She has found peace now. She is okay, Luna.”

Suddenly, Luna drew him into a hug. “It's okay, Harry. She didn't mean it.”

“But he did.” Harry whispered. “Voldemort meant to kill Ginny and me.” She stroked his hair for a few minutes in silent comfort. He didn't know how to react, so he just closed his eyes and felt her warmth, smelled her hair, strands tickling in his face and he felt himself relax a tiny fraction. Her hug and comfort didn't reach the deep turmoil that he had buried inside himself though.

Then they broke away at the same time and Luna leaned down. She stroked over the scales and the colourful feather crown of the dead basilisk. “You were so brave, too.” She hummed.

“I’d thought they would clean it up or something.” Neville said into the melancholic mood and Harry just barely suppressed a flinch.

“How?” Harry Potter asked and flashed Neville a grin. “They can't get in without someone who speaks parsel.”

“Oh… True.” Neville admitted with a pensive frown. Him and Hannah were holding hands and they kept a careful distance from the corpse. She looked as if she might be sick any second, a bit like Harry felt inside.

“You have to open another passage for us, Harry. Back here.” Luna now stood below the wall where the jaw of Salazar Slytherin's statue had been hanging open, since his second year, and Harry walked over to her.

~Open.~ He hissed to the wall. A relievo of a snake slithered away and slowly revealed the borders of a doorway, which then manifested.

Luna opened the door without hesitation and they all stepped into a spacious circular room. It was roughly the size of the astronomy classroom on the tower. In its middle was a stone as big as a Stonehenge menhir: Hogwarts’ ward stone. Its whole surface was covered in Elder Futhark runes. Four smaller, but still boulder sized rocks floated like asteroids around the menhir. Their movement was slow, much slower than walking speed. On the floor around the centre stone were several circles, also accompanied with runes and on the floor below every asteroid was also a circle that moved with them.

Was the stone moving with the circle or was the circle moving with the stone, Harry wondered.

Hannah gasped behind him. “She's so weak!”

Now that Hannah had mentioned it, Harry paid closer attention to it. As he’d stepped into the room he had subconsciously blocked all information of his magic sense, the magic too strong and ancient. But there was so much going on, such a whirlwind of colours and tastes and analogies that he had to turn his face and blink the headache away.

“Hogwarts needs our magic and our blood to strengthen and renew her wards.” Luna explained. “Everyone, to your support stone.” Luna strode across the room and stood in front of a random boulder. But then he saw the emblem of Ravenclaw, intricately interwoven into the catena on the ground below it. With a swift movement, Luna pulled a dagger out of her robe pocket and slashed it across her palm. “Place a palm on the stone and let Hogwarts take your magic.”

Harry Potter did as she had demonstrated. He stood in front of his Slytherin boulder, slowly walking with it. He cut his palm and smeared blood on the boulder. The surface was rough and edgy, but then all his senses were reduced to the warm flow of his magic, slowly leaving his body and flowing into the stone. The magic in the whole room was vibrating in anticipation and slowly calmed. Harry felt how the others gave their magic to the castle too. It was a swirl of colours, though magic only felt like a colour and felt like a taste. It wasn't like he really saw or tasted it. It was just that colour or taste was the easiest analogy for him. The catena were strengthened, the wards gained more power. Suddenly there was enough magic to support parts of the catena which the castle had neglected before, to preserve its energy.

The connection to his core grew steady and thicker and he felt the warmth of the castle, embracing him. Then, something weird happened. A consciousness flooded into him and he got glimpses of his own Hogwarts years before his inner eye. How he lay injured in so many places, like the quidditch pitch, on the beach of the lake, in the chamber of secrets, when Sirius got in, when dementors roamed the grounds and so many more dangerous situations. And this consciousness, Hogwarts, excused the behaviour of Dumbledore towards him and excused her own ineptitude in properly protecting the students.

He opened his eyes and saw the wistful smiles on the faces of the others.

“She suffered, too…” Hannah said.

But now the wards were strong again. Like multiple layered walls and a wide moat protecting the residents from any attackers and ill-willed persons.

Harry Potter walked down all the way back to Hogsmeade with the others. Talking and smiling. Later, he will wonder how he did it, but he even managed to say goodbye to everyone and exchange the usual pleasantries such as ‘I will write more’.

“Harry.” Luna’s voice, so serious and hard in comparison to her usual airy demeanour, yanked him out of his thoughts. “Remember this. The ancient one will reflect your future.” Then she smiled airily, said her goodbyes with a hug and apparated away, leaving him alone.

As soon as he landed in Black Castle, Harry broke down. He breathed and breathed, gulped huge mouthfuls of air but nothing reached his lungs. He coughed, gasped and laid down on the floor completely. His heart was in his throat, his eyes wide open. He could feel the strain on them, but he didn't see anything. His breath quickened, from huge gulps to shallow panting. Black and white spots began to dance in his vision, like on the telly after midnight, when Dudley or Vernon fell asleep on the couch. A flash of Neville's gaze on him crossed his mind and he groaned. Hannah had judged him, too, his body, his thin wrists clearly visible. He was a failure. Pitiful, weak, ill. He was only good for sacrifice and death. Maybe Snape was right. He had been too arrogant all these years and now look where he stands. He couldn't control his magic, unable to cast spells. The “man-who-conquered”, unable to defend himself against probably even a boggart. He was arrogant and too impatient to learn anything.

He just wanted to be. He didn't even want to be normal anymore. Just exist. Just be. He wanted to live without peoples’ expectations of him. He wanted to crush these expectations with his bare hands or scream over them until no one thought or uttered them anymore. He wanted them all to see, hey, Harry Potter is not who you want him to be or think him to be.

His panting breath echoed through the empty halls of Black Castle. And he felt how something crumbled under his feet. He was free falling. Knifey feelings stabbed his chest and he sobbed, even less air reaching his lungs. Every breath was immediately exhaled with a sob.

He clenched his fists as despair was rapidly changed to hot boiling anger. He growled and hissed involuntarily as he breathed through clenched teeth. They had all moved on and where was he? He was sobbing and snotting all over the carpet. Pathetic! He roared his anger into the echoing halls in a shout and immediately felt even more pathetic and silly. A short hiccup-sob broke through his lips. But now all emotions were gone and he felt weirdly dead. Numb.

He slowly crouched into a sitting position and assessed the wet mess on the carpet. The snot had pulled thick slimy strings when he’d lifted his head from the ancient textile.

He couldn't stay here any longer. Not in this hallway, not in Black Castle, not even in England.

With new resolve he rushed to pack all necessities, leaving everything behind he wouldn't desperately miss. And after just fifteen minutes, he called for Kreacher, told him he would leave and to clean the hallway, and mounted his Kishi.

☑ Heal my body

☐ Heal my magic core

☐ Understand the horcrux’ influence on me

☐ Heal scars?

☐ Get a deeper connection with my family … Peverell, Black, Potter … Slytherin?

☐ Learn runes

☐ Learn japanese?

☐ Learn the method to make magic core visible

☑ Glowstone project

☐ Find friends a companion company …Animal?

☑ Elder Futhark Alphabet

☐ Egyptian Hieroglyphs

☐ Hebrew and parselmagic

☐ Make a broom

☐ Find music that I like

Chapter 6: Ash

Chapter Text

Harry held the handle of his Kishi in a death grip. It had started to hurt after a while, his knuckles white from the strain, but the pain was… good. It helped him remind himself that he needed to breathe. If he hadn't been drained from powering up Hogwarts‘ wards, he’d surely have destroyed something in Black Castle or along the way with how frantic his magic had been. The wind tousled his cloak and helped to get a cool head.

He drew his focus and slowed down a bit, to concentrate on casting the spell. His magic was just as chaotic as his emotions, but after a few attempts he managed to force his magic into the right shape and intent - an arrow, mental images of four corners, northern lights and the vast sheet of ice on the north pole - needed to make the focus spin on his palm. It pointed to the left side behind him and he corrected his course to make it point at his stomach.

He needed to distance himself from the British isles as much as possible. Only a very strong dissociation had helped him choke the reaction to seeing Draco, Neville and Hannah and Luna. He knew the term from reading the “Atlas of modern psychology”.

The more distance he put between himself and the highlands, the more he managed to calm down, until he was able to take deep lung-filling breaths again and wasn't about to pass out from a lack of oxygen. The surrounding clouds made it hard to estimate his progress, but also allowed him to focus on his thoughts alone. The height limit of the Kishi was not aeroplane level, but high enough for the lower hanging clouds to conceal him most of the time.

He played their conversations and facial expressions in his head on repeat, analysing his Hogwarts visit. They all went on. Made plans for the future. Draco was even doing his NEWT’s, even though he was sentenced to years without magic and house arrest. And he himself was still… felt still… It was as if the whole last year was a complete waste. A waste of time and resources. He couldn't help but compare himself to them. There was deep shame eating him inside out deep in his stomach. He had not found the goals he might want to achieve in life and he was still a purposeless bag of meat. It even felt like it was worse than last year, when he was sitting in Miss Taney’s counselling chair and told her he needed to leave to get better. He had wanted to find his place in life. He had wanted to face his traumas and fears head on, but… But now he couldn't even return to the place he had once considered his home and he couldn't look his friends in the eyes. Harry Potter was known to be confident, sarcastic and occasionally quick witted and he was headstrong. But he? He didn't feel like he was that person, like he belonged anywhere. And he was scared of Hogwarts. He had spent so much time thinking about the events of his school years, he has relived his greatest fears almost every night and there is still no f*cking progress! His hands clenched around the broom more painfully again as a wave of rage coursed through him but it dissolves as fast as it came. He has no one to blame or to release his anger on than himself.

Maybe he was a coward. As it stood he couldn't grasp that he had ever been sorted into Gryffindor and this thought made him question his whole identity even more. Gryffindor had been a solid pillar of his self throughout his whole youth. And he remembered that the memory-dreams sent by Death had reminded him of his sorting ceremony, how the hat had wanted to place him in Slytherin, that it would help him “on the way to greatness”, but… he had never felt it as raw as now. It was like an old wound that was on a good way to healing got infected overnight, screaming with pain and discharging pus and crusting with blood.

The flight was cold and mostly spent in deep thought, except for the moment where he almost crashed into a mountaintop. It was pitch black, deep into the cloudy night and he held his Kishi at the same, maximum height level and so when the clouds gave way unto a snow and ice covered rock, Harry just barely swivelled out of the way. Had it not been for his seeker reflexes and broom control, he might have crashed right into the snow. But he managed to just scrape the cold surface with his boots and the broom bristles and then had to search for a way around the mountains. These were probably the alps, right?

A few hours later the sun was about to rise in the distance, painting the clouds purple and pink and he sank a few hundred feet to assess his position. Below him was water in every direction. It took a few moments to think, but this was probably the mediterranean sea.

He was tired from being awake for so long and he should eat something, but he couldn't land anywhere to set up camp. Not that he was very hungry, he usually wasn't. He let his gaze wander across the curved horizon slowly. Maybe he was close to some land? And yes, up ahead in the distance was a dark blob rising in the ocean. The closer he got, the more confused he got, where he actually was. The broom sank further and he was soon soaring with seagulls and seabirds high above the waves. The blob turned out to be a big island, rising all the way up to the clouds. Harry knew his geographic knowledge was lacking at best, since he had visited muggle school only until fifth grade, but he couldn't remember there being such a huge island in the mediterranean sea.

Anyway, he didn't care and landed, stumbling, his legs trembling from disuse, on the rough mountain peak. The sun had just started to climb higher in the sky, so the climate was cool and a bit misty and humid from the clouds that passed over the earth. He was so high up that he actually walked through clouds sometimes, in search of a rock to hide his bag behind. The landscape was mostly reddish, from the sand and rocks, with lots of dark green splotches of large conifer trees and small shrubs. Up here was even the occasional tiny fleck of snow.

He sat his sports bag down and climbed inside, landing on his doorstep. Harry scuffled through the living room - it was completely chaotic here, all the things he’d packed in a rush lying about - and crashed in his bed. Thank Merlin I don't have to burn magic anymore today. Through powering the Hogwarts wards and the long flight, his body and core were exhausted enough.

And then he laid there, tired, exhausted, but sleep didn't want to come. He tossed and turned, his thoughts swirling and tangled. Future scenarios and fears dominated them. A few hours in, a headache started to form behind his eyes. He got up, drank a cold glass of water (the clock said it was afternoon already) and he closed his eyes again and tried to sleep on the couch.

He didn't know if he ever really fell asleep, but when he got up a few hours later he did not feel rested. His eyes were dry and crusty and his head was full on pounding now. Time to get to work and repair the damage in the apartment and arrange the new stuff a bit better. There were still scorch marks and cuts in the paper walls from former nightmares. Back then, in Japan, he hadn't been able to use active magic as he had no wand (he wanted to use), but now he could repair the damage with his focus. The silver lining of today was, that his magic core did not necessarily need sleep to recover, just rest.

He arranged his stuff in the basem*nt, book shelf or below the bed, depending on where there was more available space or where it fitted thematically. His basem*nt had been converted into an impromptu potions lab when he’d begun to work on the nutrition and pathway potion together with his mum…

Harry then went outside, picked up his bag and began to descend the mountain. It was a good hike, but then it gave him time to mentally prepare for braving civilization - to shop for supplies. His order box had not worked since Japan.

He knew he was tired and exhausted, but something was going on with this island, he realised after a while. There was powerful ambient magic here. It was like a tingle in his brain and on his skin, the raw and natural character of it. At least… it was more powerful than elsewhere. It felt just as strong as at Star Manor and… he remembered Niv explained that the manor was purposely built on a ley line. Maybe there was another ley line here? Or it was just his headache and the sweat on his body making him sensitive.

The further down he got, the more he felt the impact of being at the mediterranean sea. It was much hotter than in Scotland. He wandered down the streets until he arrived in a small town. There were a lot of sail boats in and around the harbour and people playing volleyball in the afternoon sun. In the distance all the way down on the beach were muggle tourists splashing in the turquoise waters.

Harry decided to talk to a man who was walking past him with his dog, apparently a local. “Uh, good day, Sir, do you know what I could do on such a beautiful day on this island?” Maybe he could find out where he was in a roundabout way.

“Oh, we have many tourist attractions to offer.” He flashed a big grin and shoved the sunglasses higher up his tanned nose. “You could ride the banana boat down on the west beach, but I heard the snorkelling class is the most popular. If you are no beach guy, I recommend the hiking path to the lookout point half way up on Monte Cinto.”

“Thank you.” Harry even got his face to smile a bit.

It took talking to four more people until he could coax one of them to say the name of the island he was on. Corsica. He knew he had heard the name from somewhere, maybe from one of the kids in primary school? Anyway, as he did not know where Corsica was, that did not really help. He should really work on his geographic knowledge if he wanted to arrive in India in one piece. Maybe he could find a map somewhere?

Harry spent the next hours in town. He bought a massive amount of supplies - water bottles in six packs, cereal packages, cans and powdered food like soups and stews, some juice and milk for the next days - using two shopping carts, under the judging gaze of the pierced and tattooed cashier as they cashed him up for almost 320€. He paid with his Gringotts credit card and then, behind the supermarket next to the trash, discreetly put everything into his sports bag one by one, confident the supplies would appear in his entrance area. Next, he found a map of Europe in a boat supplies and repair shop.

Corsica was south off the coast of France. Harry trailed the path he thinks he took from the Scottish highlands to the mediterranean sea with his finger. If he estimated the distance, maybe he could arrive in Turkey the next morning.

He did in fact not reach Turkey. When he landed on one of the smaller islands of the group he was currently flying over, he was convinced this was part of Greece. The sun had been up for about an hour already. His eyes burnt from staying up for roughly thirty hours and maybe that was the reason he hadn't made it all the way to Turkey. The salty breeze warmed his skin, still a bit cool from a whole night in the air.

He’d used the Point-me spell again to keep travelling east. And on his way here he’d encountered - probably - another ley line. The ambient magic that was like a faint buzz or glow or sparkle or maybe tasted like light in the air around him had increased and then decreased again somewhere in the middle of the ocean. What even were ley lines?

Anyway, the island was big enough for one single white tree, that looked as if it hadn't seen a drop of water in many years. The water was sparkling and a clean turquoise and exactly what he imagined the Caribbean to look like.

In the middle distance was the coastline of a much larger island. Small white houses were arranged in piles along the mountains, which made them create a sort of stairs shape from the distance. None of the islands had sandy beaches, just rocks making a harsh shoreline. Below this tree was not the best hiding place, it was too exposed for his taste, but he didn't worry much about muggles coming to this small rock off the main island.

Sometime during the night his vision had begun to swim. And even now, as he crashed into his living room to lay on the couch, strange hallucinations mixed with half-dreams and half-reality collided before his eyes. He wasn't sure if the dolphins he saw were real or just shadows of waves on the surface.

Harry woke up after thirteen hours of sleep. Behind the floor to ceiling windows, the illusion of the Japanese garden lay in darkness again - he’d slept the whole day. He turned on the artificial fairy lights that went along the apartment's ceiling for a soft illumination.

After a quick and easy “breakfast” Harry prepared to swing on his broom again. But on his way outside he stopped short from a peculiar feeling tapping on his senses - his magic sense to be precise. There was something in his apartment that was highly magical. He turned and wandered around, following his sense in the direction of where it got stronger, then weaker, then stronger again. Until he stopped in the middle of his living room and shoved the couch away. There, below one of the wooden floor tiles was a strong, almost thumping, or pounding, magical something. In the end he had to use his kitchen knife to cut a hole into the bamboo floor, but he was rewarded with seeing his apartment’s ward stone. It hovered there, seemingly in pitch-black empty space, various loops and arcs of the catena wrapping around the stone. It was fascinating, but after a few minutes of staring at it he shoved the couch back to cover the hole. His curiosity was sated and messing with your house's ward stone was a whole category more complicated than creating a small pocket warmer.

His ass still burnt, but he didn't want to rest any longer and so he took off into the night sky. The wind, the new impressions of the changing landscape, the clouds, helped keep his thoughts away from the panic inducing thoughts. Yes he thought about his life, his past, his fears a lot. But something about the flying kept it all from spiralling out of control. The physical activity and distance from the earth allowed him to look at everything from a detached angle.

After roughly two or three hour of flying he saw glittering spots of light from harbours and cities in the distance. Finally, mainland. This should be Turkey. Clanking sounds and ship horns reached him even at this height. After he reached the continent again there came long strips of darkness in between the light clusters.

At sunrise Harry decided to fly in the clouds for a while longer until he found a good spot to descend. He noticed palm trees between the many hills and mounds. There were wild camels and donkeys. Mostly, the landscape was dry and warm, more prairie and steppe than much greenery.

He then stopped at a tea house for breakfast. The people - distracted from their board game by the arriving stranger - tried to ask where he was from, where he was headed and were all disgustingly charming. Harry felt uncomfortable. He didn't want to socialise. At least they could tell him he was off his Europe map already when he asked for directions. But the warm and diabetically sugary peppermint tea that they served in an elongated teacup was absolutely divine and he told the shopkeep such.

In the next bigger city, where he spent the day sleeping, Harry finally bought a large world map. It was an inconvenient thing with more fold lines than information and after he first unfurled it completely he never figured out how to accurately fold it again. But at least it helped him navigate. He would need to keep going east until he reached the Caspian sea and then south-east through Iran and Pakistan to reach India. He would definitely invest into a wixen map the next time he stumbled across a wixen community. Maybe a map that worked similar to the Marauders Map, with the ability to display a specific portion of the area at will?

He had completely messed up his sleeping schedule by now and woke around one in the morning for the next stage of his travel. The landscape became more and more mountainous that night, some peaks of Turkey were covered in snow. After sunrise, he landed in the middle of nowhere and wandered further through the prairie. The air was dusty and dry, with the sun scorching down on him already, which made it a bit hard to breathe. He spent the time between landing and sleeping practising spells and burning magic, a task he had slightly neglected the last few days. First, Harry further practised the point-me spell. Walking had a similar effect on his body as the Ainu movement pattern had, he thought, as he stepped over a few stones lying around on the dry, yellow-reddish earth. He could feel his magic calm and ready, ebbing in soft waves through his pathways, ready to strike but not frantic and berserk. And Harry found he was slowly getting better with forcing abstract thoughts to represent his intent and shaping his magic. For spells he hadn’t cast this way yet, he still had to try and succeed a few times in getting a feeling for the shape and the right picture in mind. But he was getting better. At this thought a warm feeling that had nothing to do with the warmth of his magic collected in his chest. He was… glad.

He put his focus on his belt and tried the same thing he usually did with the sword handle for a Lumos with his bare, outstretched hand: picture the light, know the light will come and feel the warmth travel through his body and up his arm. But without his focus the opening he usually felt at the end of his pathways was shut close. Or rather, tight. It felt as if he tried to channel all the water of the Thames through a tiny keyhole and expect it to be able to extinguish a burning house. He could certainly understand why the Ainu are exhausted after one spell and why they have to train their whole lives, if wandless magic feels like that all the time. Still, he tried it a few more times and each time he had to shake out his hands from the whole body shiver. It was hard to explain, but to push his magic to its limit and

Even using his focus with his non-dominant hand produced better results than trying to cast wandless. The sword handle manages to open up the floodgates of potential and behaves like a lens, ready to focus (haha) his magic. But without a focus it's just diffuse light. It was a weird feeling.

Around noon he went to bed, with his sports bag between some rocks.

The next night, the sky was even brighter than at Star Manor. But at the same time the wind had almost nearly qualities. There was Pisces and Aries ahead, he saw Saturn and Jupiter ascending and Mars as a bright spot over the horizon. Somewhere around three or four in the morning Taurus and Orion rose over the horizon before him. He felt like he could reach out and touch the thousands of stars of the milky way. Harry Potter was insignificant in the perspective of the universe and he felt weirdly content. This is what he wanted, he realised. He wanted to be insignificant, be looked-over. Then he saw the andromeda galaxy and he was catapulted back, like a portkey hooking in on his navel, into his world and reality. He could not simply vanish. Harry Potter had to be responsible and… and there. But… Britain had not collapsed in his absence. His former friends were living their lives and so… maybe… he could start living his own now?

The next morning he bought a scarf against the arctic wind of the night and the sand blowing in his face during the day. The people there looked at him a bit funny. Maybe because he was walking around in a long-sleeved shirt and his face was beet red from sunburn. But he didn't want to have his scars visible. They reminded him too much of who he was and where he came from at the moment. And he rather felt like an on-fire garbage can, than have flashbacks to Voldemort casting “crucio” on him from the long silver line running along his forearm.

According to the map he was now in Iran, in some remote, desert-ly part of the country. He left the small village and continued off into the desert, thinking about anything but his f*cked-up life. And he realised there were still some questions left unanswered from the last months. What was it with this new magic sense that he was developing? Was that normal? Healer Kurosaki had said magic perception was normal, that all wixen felt it to a certain degree. Was it just another Harry-Potter-thing that he’d never felt it before? Maybe the horcrux had prevented this aspect of being a wixen? And why does it feel like he can even see magic sometimes, even though it's not a sense of sight? How much magic sense is even normal?

Anyway, another thing that made questions gather in his head was his magic core. Just from observations alone, from comparing the time it took to burn off all his magic each evening, he could tell that his core was growing. Around February or March the time had been around one or two seconds at full output. In June it had been roughly six to seven seconds. And now, in August, it took almost ten seconds for a full blast “incendio” to burn off. He was getting stronger, or at least, he had more magic reserves. But why was his core so underdeveloped? Because the horcrux had sucked off his magic all these years? But that didn't feel right. That answer held some kind of… touch of fishiness.

His thoughts did a full one-eighty and turned to other things he’d held off to think about. Luna's last words had been cryptic, as always, but now, with some clarity, he was very sure she had told him some sort of prophecy. “The ancient one will reflect your future.” What the f*ck was that supposed to mean? Never mind that he had, once again, a prophecy tangled up with his life. He knew, Luna was not at fault for her prediction, but… divination in general just made bile rise in his throat.

Then he thought a lot about his time at Hogwarts, which seemed so far away and crystal clear in his memory at the same time. His recent visit to the castle had kicked off a few memories he’d completely forgotten. And… somehow… even if it sounded ridiculous even to him in the privacy of his head and his chest constricted from being so stupid and silly… He felt truly alone. More alone even than after fourth year, when he’d been shipped back to the Dursleys and been kept in the dark about anything and everything and also everyone.

Of course he knew that his friends made a point to try and talk to him, to contact him- but that didn't change the fact that he felt alone. Because Harry Potter was not really left alone. But even if he would talk to his friends he would feel alone. They would not understand how he feels. Why should he burden others with his thoughts and worries? Every time he thought about what pulled him down into these thought spirals he just felt dumb. So, no, he couldn't explain his emotions.

How had he done it? How had he socialised back then? What was different now? He knew it wasn't just his second death and the change in morals that came with it. He doesn't feel strongly about the fallen people of the second wizard war anymore. And yet… he had changed, profoundly. Harry Potter was no more and instead he was… he just was. And he didn't know what that meant anymore. Because if he wasn't Harry Potter, as people had known him, then who was he?

During the afternoons he wandered through the desert, he was really glad that he had cut his hair short a few months earlier. Sweat ran in small currents down his neck and into his shirt. His pants stuck to his legs. And there was sand everywhere. In his bed, in his hair, his shower, in his underwear.

In between he spent a lot of time thinking about his values and what he would want to achieve in life. Before, in the months after his second death, there had been small goals. Goals that kept him going and waking up every day. But he knew it was not enough anymore to just live from day to day. To just look at this list and decide on which of the listed topics he wanted to spend time on that day. Yes, these last month's have just been a means to get by.

Maybe he should visit Death.

On the sixth day after leaving Black Castle in the Scottish highlands, he reached India. He only knew he was in India now, because the street sign language changed from the Arabic letters of Pakistan to Indian Punjabi, a script he'd come across regularly in Star Manor. The landscape slowly changed, from pure sandy desert to lots of dry grass, trees scattered about, but still no dense forests. Everything was kind of wide and open. The roads were still of dirt and sand, no asphalt.

One thing he f*ckin couldn’t wrap his head around were the cows wandering the streets at random. Or the monkeys occasionally stealing trash and jumping overhead across the roofs. The markets proffered local specialities, fresh produce and street foods. Palm trees stood much taller than the buildings and gave shade. Though that was not really needed, as it was the rainy season. The rain accumulated in large puddles and stood almost half a metre tall in some places and flooded rivers. Heavy wind whipped the water in your face and then a few hours later the sun glistened in the sky as if it had never been any different.

It took another day to find out where he was and where he needed to go next, but on the next morning, he arrived in Ludhiana, which was the biggest city of the north-indian Punjab region. The bustling city offered a harsh contrast to the more rural regions he’d encountered on his way here. It was hectic. Everyone was busy. People were bumping into him on the streets, as everyone usually crisscrossed their way through the others. Many people were transporting their goods around on bikes or tuk-tuks and there was the constant honking of traffic like a blanket of noise over the whole city. The houses stood tightly together, cables running between them. The air was heavy with dust, motor exhausts, and many more scents from the nearby factories. It all collected in a dull grey-brown smoggy haze that hovered in the middle distance over the streets. The city was not nice to people by foot and much more suited for the countless motorcycles and cars, so it took him a while to adjust to the excessive influx in sensory information. The city had a few more quiet places, like the temples and gardens, which were like small islands of peace.

He actually didn't know where the Indian Peverell manor was. It was under the administration of the Indian Gringotts branch and so the British branch only had rather vague information. The papers stated it to be in north India and so he went to the north Indian Gringotts branch to find his house. The entrance to the wizarding shopping district of Ludhiana is hidden as one of the thousands of motorcycle shops. One went down the stairs into the cellar and from there into an underground shopping maze.

It took a few hours to get everything sorted. He updated Kraggus Shieldedge - who visited from Britain by portkey to talk to the wealthiest customer of the goblin nation - on his whereabouts for letters, parcels and communication with his account manager. And Kraggus updated him on his financial status. In the whole last year his passive income had been more than what he had spent, with the shares from “Linfred’s potions” leading the scoreboard for ridiculously high profits. They discussed a few new investments, donations to be made in the name of the houses of Potter, Peverell and Slytherin and he requested some of the items from the Peverell vault.

“Now here are your accumulated deliveries, Mr. Potter.” Kraggus handed him three letters and a thick brown parcel.

After that they talked about how they would handle his registration with the muggle ministries and the N.I.M.M. which took another while to discuss. Gringotts would handle his paperwork and he would soon get a message about his muggle identification.

At this point he just wanted to crash somewhere. It was not really physical exhaustion he felt, but he was… tired. He didn't want to think or talk or see anyone anymore and so he was glad to finally leave for his manor.

There was a tall wall surrounding the square inner courtyard of the manor’s property. Right and left of the tiled path up to the entrance doors laid shallow square water basins. A few leafs created ripples in their quiet surfaces. He’d seen similar basins at temples and public places in the cities, too. What made him stop though was the wall itself. There were colourful mosaics of various moving animals decorating the surface, of grazing rhino’s, a tiger in the jungle stalking by and several creatures that looked like turquoise snakes flying through the mosaic sky. The opposite wall held a dragon and monkeys jumping over buildings.

When he opened the tall double-doors a strong sense of deja-vu hit him in the face. There was a big painting across from the entrance doors with a piercing gaze that greeted him.

~A visitor?~

What animal was this? It looked to be the same beast as those on the wall outside. But he was sure he’d seen them in “Fantastic beasts and where to find them” before. ~Hello. I am the new Lord Peverell. My name is Harry, well met.~

~Welcome to the Oasis, Lord Peverell~ They had a really raspy voice and it’s beak clacked while talking. It looked a lot like a teal feathered snake and it’s purple wings, which were half-opened behind their face, made them look much bigger.

~Thank you. You are an occamy, right?~

~Correct, Lord Peverell… ~

He didn't want to talk to the warden much longer and so he went on the search for the property's ward stone to wake the house. He could feel the presence of the ward stone somewhere above. He walked through halls flanked by pillars and had to search for another way several times because he couldn't find the next set of stairs leading up. There were lavish and opulent decorations in gold and jewels everywhere. But just like at Star Manor, there were no portraits of former family members. Druella had mentioned the modern technique had only been invented around four hundred years ago. By then the golden time of the Peverell family had already been over. He finally found the stone, a huge thing on a pedestal, on the sunkissed terrace. It was square and open, with a parapet going all around.

After just a few hours of exploring the manor and grounds he decided that he doesn't want to spend more time in this huge and mostly silent place. While he found Star Manor freeing, it was much more cosy than the Oasis. And Black Castle had been populated by chatty portraits and a house elf along with his music equipment. But here… it feels weird to be the only source of noise in these opulent halls. So he retreats to his portable short-term wizarding home. It is honestly more like a real apartment to him by now and definitely in use for longer than what anyone would consider short-term.

He was more or less drifting through the days. Soon, he learned the occamy was not as chatty or witty as Niv. In those moments he missed the silly comments and thoughtful discussions with the three-headed monster.

His favourite place of the Oasis is the terrace. It is also one of the places of the manor where the presence of the heavy Peverell magic, which he so closely associated with Death, is strongest. Mostly due to the huge ward stone. In quiet moments, like at night, the stone even hums faintly. The magic in it is so strong that the vibrations create soundwaves in a deep frequency. And then he’d usually think about visiting Death. In death every being is equal. He found himself thinking back on these first weeks after his second death. In the perspective of centuries and millennia, people are born and die like flies and one’s existence barely matters… And he wants to be insignificant. He wants a cosy, quiet life… What is missing for this image to become reality? But if he is indeed insignificant… why live at all?

If he was not thinking about Death, he spent his time trying to read. The Oasis‘ library was full of books and the occamy warden even confirmed for him there would be books on foci, but since they were all in either Hindi, Punjabi or Sanskrit, there was not much he could understand. Instead, there was “Schneider’s Compendium of Dark Curses”, “An Introduction to the Dark Arts” and “Differences of Rituals, Sacrifices and Blood Magick” on the balcony table in front of him. But since he can barely concentrate anyway, he spends more time staring into the distance, studying the horizon. His heart felt empty. He was bored, but had no motivation to do anything. He opened books. Put them away again. Opened the potions drawers one by one without searching for anything. He ached for something, anything to soothe the emptiness in his chest. His spark was gone. That feeling that he’d been chasing for the last months was simply gone!

Maybe because he doesn't know what to do with himself anymore.

Even though he was far away from Britain again, from his past and all the sh*t that happened to him, he did not feel as removed from it as he’d felt in Japan. Maybe it was the unread letters and the parcel, a constant reminder that he was not as removed from his former life as he would like. Maybe it was that just a week after, his run-in with former classmates was still too raw and fresh in his mind. There were flashbacks lurking in the back of his head and he had to control every intake of breath to be slow and filling, to not drift off into manic shallow breathing.

He is lying on the floor right now, the stone of resurrection loose in his hand. And… He doesn't know why he does it, but he summons a person who would usually just add to his misery. But maybe that is exactly what he needs. Maybe he's become a full on masoch*st now. And… it's better than the other need for pain he feels. Which he’d been avoiding and trying to bypass since April.

“What is this, Potter!” Snape seemed to lean back to sneer down on him along his crooked nose. Which was unnecessary. He was already lying on the floor. He could not be lower than that.

A wry smile spread over his face as he looked up to the man he had hated and resented for all of his Hogwarts career. “Thank you for looking out for me all these years, even if you didn't take the best approach.” He started. “I called you to thank you… and maybe talk to you.”

The man narrowed his black eyes on him. And even though he behaved as he always did, most-probably already an insult on his cutting tongue, he couldn't help but like the man and smile up to him. And again, he wondered what the f*ck was wrong with him.

“I do not require your thanks. And that is the petty reason you disturbed my rest? To feel better about yourself?”

“The war is over, Sir. You are dead. I am free.” He couldn't help but scoff at himself. “There is no reason for you to hate me anymore.”

“What do you know about me? You think you know everything, Potter?” The voice of the man took on a quality which would have a first-year-Harry pissing himself in fear, but he could just smile and reminisce in the past. Maybe it was that now he knew the man’s true motivations, he knew he would never harm him, not really.

Still, he didn't answer, because he had no answer for that. “I am the master of death. We have about an hour until you vanish.” The time for these summonings had steadily increased since January. He didn't know why and didn't question it. “I talked to my mum and dad already… Thank you for everything.” He felt the need to repeat it, because he doubted if the man understood just how deep his gratitude went.

He heard Snape click his tongue. Then, he walked a few steps, robes billowing behind him, to one of the chairs between the kitchen and living room and sat.

“How did you do it? How were you able to have.. motivation to live after the first wizarding war?” He asked.

“What do you mean by that, Potter.” Snape growled.

“I don't know what to do now. And I have the feeling we were in similar situations. You and me both, survivors of wars, left with the shards of their lives. Yes, we had very different situations, but I want to talk about the similarities right now…”

Snape breathed, but it could almost be counted as a sigh. However Severus Snape didn't do such uncough things as ‘sigh’.

“Get on with your life, Potter.” The disdain was clear in his voice. “Marry the Weasley girl. Have a few kids. Become an auror as you wanted. That's what heroes do. They continue happily ever after.”

“I'm not a hero and you know it. You are probably the only person who would say with confidence that I am not and have never been the hero… How old was that memory? Where you realised I had to die?”

He heard Snape rustle with his robes. “That memory was from the year Dumbledore had his hand cursed. In the winter of 1996…”

“Right, I remember. The same breath he said you have to kill him he told you to say to me I have to die… did you resent him?”

Snape breathed again, but this time it sounded like he braced himself for the conversation. “I did, occasionally. Dumbledore held my life in his grasp since I pledged my loyalty to him, but of course it was my own decision which led to these circ*mstances. I let him use me. It was my way… of trying to repent. But the older he grew and the deeper I got entangled in his schemes the more I secretly questioned his methods. And when I died it was too late to feel any real resentment. One can only really resent what had possibly been changed by one's own actions…” Their conversation took a small break, each in their own thoughts. “I must wonder how you managed to survive certain death, though. It seems to me the Dark Lord is finally defeated now? Otherwise you wouldn't be vegetating here like one of Pomona’s mandrakes.”

“Well, when the killing curse hit me I… kind of died and came back. I remember being in some sort of limbo and then I kind of talked to Dumbledore there and then I woke up and the horcrux was gone.”

“I see…” And he heard the sneer in his voice. “And why exactly were you hit by a killing curse? No- don't answer that. I bet it was some utterly stupid Gryffindor idea of heroism and self-sacrifice.” Snape sighed, really this time. “You manage to do the exceptional even in death.”

He scoffed. “Dumbledore had all kinds of theories about me and Tom Riddle… my mum's protection in us both because of the resurrection, the power of my wand, which was broken at that time, me being the seventh horcrux, that I went to my death of my own free will also played into it in his theory… But recently I learned that the horcrux… damaged my magical growth all these years. I have been trying for the past half year to correct the damage, but… honestly, I am doubting if I will ever reach magical maturity.”

Snape blinked. “I have honestly never thought about that. But it is an interesting question.” His face grew pensive, studious. “I think it is a valid concern, no one, not even Dumbledore, thought about this before.”

“Because he thought I’d be dead anyway. So why care about my health.” He couldn't suppress the bitterness in his voice. “You of all people should know that the man didn't know everything. I am honestly tired of everyone holding him in such high regards.”

Snape sighed again. “Since you disturbed my rest and I am apparently not able to return before the time runs out, we could discuss the topic. What information did you gather up until now?”

He looked at the potions master sitting on his kitchen chair. He had his fingers steepled in his signature pensive gesture and was looking down on him with a calm and curious face. The man looked very intrigued to his judgement, to pretend to just kill time with this discussion.

“Well, honestly not much. I went to a healer half a year ago, because I feared the horcrux affected my soul…” He thought about how much he wanted to tell Snape. Of his fears from back then. The fear that this anger, the impulsiveness and maybe other personality traits had never been his own. The fear he had felt since fifth year. And the anxiety of finding out, even in retrospect, that he had been influenced his whole life, that he had never been himself. No he didn't need to tell him that. His mum already knew about it. “And the healer did some screenings, a blood test and also made a visualisation of my magic core and pathways. And he said my core was too small for my age. My core age is not overlapping with my actual age. He said my core was the size of a wixen of age 15 or 16, while I was 18… And I had neuron damage. I think it is possible the horcrux had an influence and maybe damaged my brain and soul, as it was in my head all my life. Since that appointment, I've been trying to research horcruxes and soul magic. My last sources pointed in the direction that magic and soul are so closely intertwined they might actually be the same thing…”

“I see… What did the healer say about treatment?”

“He said to burn my magic every day. To use my magic until exhaustion, so that my core grows. He said if I wouldn't do that, then maybe I would get complications later in my life and have difficulties with complicated magic.”

“That is the correct form of treatment to my knowledge. I studied a lot of material on wixen biology for the development of potions. But… you have been able to cast the patronus spell since third year. It doesn't make any sense for your core to be underdeveloped. Ah- except…” He looked at Snape again who had leaned back and looked around the apartment. “Have you tried casting the patronus since the war?”

“Uh… no?”

“Could you cast it now?”

“I’m not sure it’s possible. I have a focus now, instead of a wand.” He sat up and reached for the sword handle on the low couch table.

“A focus? You mean those wand equivalents used in east asia?”

“Uh, yes, exactly. But it doesn't work like a wand. Instead of an incantation and wand movements, a focus is solely powered by the wixen, their intent and imagination… I’m still trying to figure it out and I haven’t mastered all spells yet…”

“Try to cast the spell, Potter.” He demanded.

He glanced up at the professor and tried to ignore the sting and rising retort on his tongue.

It took a minute to get into the right state of mind and the magic rolling in soft steady waves in his pathways. His breath was deep, the green forest of his magic filled with life, calm but ready like a hunting snake. The happy memory floated through his thoughts, warming his heart. It hadn’t been easy to find, most of his go-to happy memories from back then are pretty useless now. So he thought of the accomplishment of creating his first successful rune stones. He shaped his magic in his mind, guiding it, controlling the flow, until it grew a bit wild and unsteady again. Then he pushed the magic through the focus with the intended result clear in his head: a protecting spirit form of a stag. Well, colour him surprised, when a silver doe sprang from the sword handle.

“Well. You are indeed able to cast the patronus.” Snape scoffed and they both watched the animal roam around the room. She bent her elegant neck down and sniffed on ‘Brooms for every witch’ on the couch table.

“How do you feel now?” Snape murmured.

“Well, I feel much more exhausted than I normally would…”

Snape had leaned forward in his seat and looked at the translucent animal with blatant interest. “Potter, loathe am I to admit it, but you have always been powerful. Why should your core not be mature now? Why should you be magically weaker now than before the battle of Hogwarts?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Use your head, Potter!”

He groaned. Why must this man be so difficult? And why make a fight out of this discussion. “If you figured it out already and you think I am so incompetent, then just tell me your brilliant f*cking deduction!”

The black eyes of the potions master narrowed, but his voice was calm and controlled. “I believe, and this is a conclusion I drew with my own knowledge on magic cores and magical anatomy in the back of my mind, that the horcrux ripped a portion of your core out of you with it’s death.” He peered down on him, still sitting on the floor.

“So I have been mature, magically, at some point?” He couldn't help but doubt this statement. It felt… incomplete. He just couldn't believe that Snape would have the perfect explanation for his condition after talking for just half an hour. “But I never felt that rush of power the books and my parents talked about…”

“I cannot judge that. But as far as my understanding of magic cores and souls goes, they are indeed so closely intertwined, that it is sometimes hard to separate them. This is also one of the major reasons why soul magic is so dangerous.”

“But… why was Voldemort so powerful then? If he split his soul? Shouldn't he have been super weak in the end?”

A look of surprise flitted over Snapes face, but it quickly shifted back to his usual detached mask. “My guess is that if the horcrux ritual is performed adequately, it splits the soul but leaves the core intact. Since I never found a source which gave a step-by-step manual for the ritual, I never got the opportunity to analyse it deeper than a few assumptions and what I saw first-hand from the Dar- Tom Riddle.” Snape frowned.

“Ok, back to me now. So a portion of my core has probably been ripped out. Can I ever achieve maturity then? Is the core like a muggle organ, like if it is gone it cant grow back on its own? Or is the core special like that?”

Snape hummed and steepled his fingers again, closely scrutinising his sitting form. After a while, he spoke. “I know that there are illnesses which affect the core and pathways, so no, the magic core can not grow back indefinitely. However I agree with that healer, that one should try and coax the core into regrowing itself. This is never a futile attempt. Have you… observed changes in your magical aptitude?”

“I did. In the beginning I could burn my magic at full capacity for maybe two seconds and then I’d be exhausted. Now I can keep it burning for ten seconds.”

“Anything else that changed?”

“Er… I can feel magic now.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “Have you not been able to feel magic before, Potter?”

“No, never.” He looked around the room for an example and therefore missed how Snape gaped at him in astonishment before he closed his mouth again quickly. “I can feel that below that floor tile over there is the ward stone of my apartment. I know that my broom is in that closet, but I can also feel it faintly. It’s really weak compared to the ward stone, but it is there.”

Snape studied him further. “Curious… I am surprised but at the same time not. Magic perception is not discussed much in the curriculum until sixth and seventh grade if I remember correctly. Before that the sense is too underdeveloped in most wixen children to warrant much attention.”

“So… it is normal?”

“Definitely.”

He looked over to his bedside clock and sighed. “We have about five minutes left.”

“Good. I hope your summoning me and disturbing my rest will not become a common occurrence.” Snape sneered and he couldn't help but smile.

“Oh, don't give me that. I know you enjoyed it. My mum says the afterlife is pretty boring.”

Snape stayed quiet and he thought about what else to ask.

“So what level of perception is normal?” Granted, he might have asked this question to his parents, but… he didnt feel like talking to anyone who knew “Harry Potter”.

“It depends on the individual, but it is most common to feel magic in a sixth sense sort of way, to use muggle terms. One instinctively knows where a magical object or person is in a room. There are people who associate magic more with colours and shapes, or more with tastes, or smells. Most wixen only know if there is magic, not what kind of magic. But there are rare cases, when a wixen can distinguish individual forms of magic. This goes as far as being able to match enchanted objects with the person who did the catena or charm.”

“Is that really rare? To distinguish different magics?”

“Yes. Usually those individuals would be considered magically powerful by the wixen community. Because such an ability can be very advantageous for various crafts.” Snape narrowed his dark eyes on him. “So you can distinguish magic, Potter?”

“I don’t really know. But I know… for example when I went to the ancestral Black Castle, I could… taste… erh it’s really hard to describe. But I knew what it stood for and I know the Black family magick seems dark and cold on the surface, but it is also very warm deep inside. But the broom that I have has a lively magic that feels… green, kind of.”

Snape had steepled his fingers again and he felt the intense scrutiny of the dead man’s gaze boring into his skin. “I see. Well, I believe my time is up. Good day, Potter.” And without any further ado the potions master vanished into thin air.

There was a man on the side of the muddy road. People gathered around him and he talked to them. Each person was sent off with a prayer and a blessing, that was clear even to him (who did not understand their languages). “The ancient one will reflect your future.” He had decided to ignore the issue of this weird prophecy from Luna up until now. But in actuality, it was like a foreign body in his head, throbbing for attention from time to time. Divination and prophecies were not the same thing actually, as he had learned with Niv. Divination is if a person seeks the guidance of the universe. But prophecy is a piece of the future, freely given. Luna clearly had a gift for the latter. He thought about the meaning of the words, but the only “ancient one” he could think about was Dumbledore and that man was thankfully dead. He would not be able to tolerate the old man meddling with his life even more. And “reflect the future” sounds as transparent as a wooden door.

He sighed and turned away from the shay al nahi market to seek the entrance to the wixen shops.

This part of the city was not as populated and chaotic as on the streets above. Soft artificial fairy lights illuminated the underground chambers. But somehow, down here he was reminded of his old life and old self even more. The cauldrons, wand maker, even the book stores reminded him of his yearly back-to-school shopping. And the worst part was, that in between all the twisting pain there was a longing, to go back to the old days, his old friends. He longed to go back to Britain, throw open the door of the Burrow and hug them all tightly.

He groaned to himself and turned away from the colourful window display.

He wanted to get rid of it. The memories and especially the feelings. He wanted to vomit his feelings all over the streets and leave them there to never bother him again.

Instead he bought a lot of sh*t he would never need: incense, ritual candles, a whole set of different cauldrons, wand holsters in green and black, two enchanted bags with survival kits similar to Mione’s beaded bag, a few colourful robes with traditional Indian elements and weirdly, a lot of soap.

And then he stumbled over “The Vortex”. The entrance was actually just a dingy corner, with colourful cloths obscuring the open doorway. He’d wandered inside in search for anything, anything interesting, in the wixen underground shopping district of Ludhiana that wasn’t an apothecary or a book shop.

After walking down the narrow hallway, where he had to press himself to the wall to let another witch pass him, he entered into an open space littered with pillows and blankets. People were sitting or lying together, the air heavy with their whispering and murmurs. Most smoked from cigarettes or thick bulbous pipes, some just played board games. The smoke with an earthy, acrid smell in the air was so thick, that he could hardly see the other side of the den.

A goblin appeared next to him out of thin air. “Welcome, Sir. What can I get you today?”

“Uh, what can you offer me?”

“Oh, you ask the right questions” A very ominous grin stretched over his wrinkly face as he rubbed his hands together. “You have not been here before, right? Well then I recommend Morgana’s Dust for the beginning. Trust me,” he continued just as he opened his mouth to ask what the f*ck this was about, “you will not regret the experience. Now follow me… Ah- Here is an excellent place for our new customer. Prasanna will get back to you shortly.”

He sat down on a purple pillow next to one of the many shallow tables. There were floor-to-ceiling cloths with trippy prints floating between the tables, separating the whole room into smaller sections. He was just about to study one of the other people more closely, when another goblin popped up next to him. Could they apparate like house elves here?

“Here is Master Qasim’s recommendation: Morgana’s Dust. He tells me to recommend you to eat it instead of snuffing it. This will be five galleons.”

He was a bit confused when the goblin said nothing more after taking his money and just disappeared as fast as they had come. On the saucer sized plate before him was a light blue thin shard. It broke with little force into smaller pieces and it was clear to him now that this was a drug place. He’d never taken any drugs in his life, except for a bit of firewhiskey. He had always thought drugs were more of a muggle thing, because he didn't hear or read anything on drugs in the public media before. He knew Dudley and his gang had smoked cigarettes and liked to throw empty beer bottles at him and the other kids. But if George was addicted to Elvish Powder and he himself could just go here and consume Morgana’s Dust then maybe drugs were much more common than he’d assumed until now. The Goblin said to eat it? Well, here goes nothing.

He took a smaller bit of the shard and put it in his mouth. It tasted fruity or a bit like bubblegum and stuck to his teeth like candy. Everywhere it touched his tongue, it felt like small little fireworks burst into life in his mouth and when he opened his mouth he could hear faint popping noises. He chuckled, an actual, real chuckle. The feeling was so funny that he didn't chew the rest, but just put the pieces on his tongue one after the other. By the end he was shaking from laughing so hard and rolled from one side to the other on the floor. Sometime after that, the cackling stopped and he stared at the colours of the cloth before him. The crisscross of the fabric threads, he could image how the cloth had been crafted and how the colours had spread through the finished fabric. The pink was so bright that he could only really look at the darker colours. Then he saw the pompoms on his purple pillow, which suddenly laid on the other end of the space. He stroked his fingers over the soft plush. Again and again and again…

Third Eye, Ecstasy, Elvish powder, Gunk, in the span of a few weeks he tried all of them. And all were terrible. Yes the “high”, or “confusion” was maybe a better term for some of them, was good. It made him feel better about himself. His mind was so occupied with trying to process all the elevated impressions bombarding his senses that he didn't have any time or comprehension left for his problems or real life. But the down was terrible. He felt out of control afterwards, unsure which memories were real or altered or just silly hallucinations from his drugged mind. It was hard to stay away from the den after that realisation and he found himself giving in to the need on a few shameful occasions.

The only places of the Oasis he still visited, were the garden and the terrace. Now, he was recovering from his recent visit to the den, leaning against the parapet, even though he should probably not do that. Because of the dizziness and nausea. Well, as long as he did not look down… His thoughts and gaze drifted into the direction of the white-grey mountains he could see in the distance. They were very far away, obscured by the white haze of the atmosphere. But the air was fresh up here and he tried to breathe his hangover away. He looked at the mountains once again. Somewhere, there in the distance, was Mount Everest, the highest mountain in the world… What would it be like to stand up there? How far could you see?

He took one of the letters out of his pocket and broke the seal to finally read it. He’d seen it lying on his table this morning. There was an ominous, foreboding feeling in his gut, because… he’d never gotten a letter from Andromeda since he left.

Harry,

I write to you today to tell you formally, that as Edward’s guardian, I have officially revoked your status as ‘godfather’ with Gringotts Bank and the Ministry of Magic’s civil registration department. I told you a year ago that I understand your position and your struggles and I still do. You said you needed a year or maybe two. But I gave you enough time to show your sorry face on my doorstep! I know it was you in Peverell disguise, don't you even dare to lie to me.

But what Edward needs these days is a family and I have therefore passed this honour on to Bill Weasley. Teddy is growing and becoming more aware of his situation and surroundings and I don't want him to constantly think there should be someone else present too.

I hope you are in good health and I wish you all the positive things in the world.

Sincerely,

Andromeda Tonks

So Andromeda cut all ties with him? Cut him off of all his former responsibilities regarding Teddy? Somehow… he was glad to be rid of them (even though he hadn't done anything for their relationship since last year) and at the same time there was this emptiness left in his heart. It constricted and hurt, as if his rib cage might spontaneously collapse at any time.

He sighed and smoothed out the edges of the letter he’d accidentally crumpled while reading it.

What the f*ck am I even doing with my f*ckin life. Why am I even trying so hard? I tried to kill myself a few months ago.

He sighed and wiped the tears off his cheeks. For a while the only sounds on the balcony were the wind and his hiccups.

He was trying so hard and it didn't change anything.

With his focus in hand he summoned his notebook from his sports bag, which had a fixed place on the terrace by now, and opened his goal page just to rip it out with one satisfying tearing sound. Then he watched how his “incendio” consumed the flimsy paper.

He eagerly took the pipe, letting himself take a sweet, long drag. He fought against the urge to cough as he held it down and then slowly let the smoke out of his nose. He could feel himself relax immediately. The flavour was mild and fruity and when he finally gave in and coughed he could swear he tasted melon. When he left the den everything was slowed down, the birds that were flying overhead, the people who passed him. And at the same time his hands were shaking, his whole body like on rubber bands. He was hungry, so he wobbled up to the street vendor on the corner next to the den where he usually got one of these delicious fried breads. The man rolled the dough with the pin round and round and round and round. Then he put the flattened pieces into the hot oil. Bubbles formed on the outer rim of the dough. It puffed up more and more until it was almost ball shaped. His gaze yanked up and he saw the man staring at him. He held up two fingers and fumbled with his pocket to pay him a galleon. Next thing he knew, his hoodie was painful on the skin, the chair pierced in his butt, his legs burned from the contact with the fabric of his pants. Everything was in pain. Then he was lying on soft but unsteady and wobbly clouds and he felt himself flying off into space. Everything spun around, and staring at the ceiling sadly did not help the dizziness. Sometime after he remembered half hanging off the toilet half lying on the bathroom floor. And then, with the recovery from the high, there came the guilt. He was thirsty and cold, his throat felt like sandpaper.

And maybe this time really should be the last time. He does not like that he is so out of control. Pain he can control, pain sharpened his world.

He dragged his feet through the garden, thinking of a room full of pillows and blankets on the ground. The den was not far away, if he started going there now… he could be there in maybe twenty minutes… and maybe shut his brain up completely in about an hour… and he didn't even have to worry about money. Morgana’s Dust was weaker but kicked in faster, so maybe…

“Urgh!” He threw himself on the ground and stared into the blinding sky. “f*ck this sh*t… This can not continue like this… ”

He held his hand up in the sky and stared at the silvery scars. “I must not tell lies”. Just five minutes later, he was leafing through “Catena for wizarding spaces and subspaces”. He had seen this specific project a few days ago and remembered thinking about it when he’d seen that muggle street magician who conjured cards out of nowhere.

There it was.

His fingers were trembling as he took the rune knife, but then something shifted. He looked at the catena in the book, then on the sentence in his hand. This catena was meant to be put on a small bag to create a pocket inside it and definitely not to be put on a hand. But he’d read enough about blood runes by now to know what he was doing… roughly. The anticipation in his soul settled and everything became sharp and clear. There was a goal, a purpose. And he began to carve the runes in his hand, over the sentence. It hurt, no questions asked, but he’d had worse… much worse. Then again it was the perfect amount of pain to distract from his emotions and thought spirals. Blood spilt in small rivers down his fingers and dripped on the carpet. When he completed the catena, he wiped the blood off to examine the runes. Some, mostly those directly covering the old scars, were not deep enough. The runes had to be distinguishable from the old scars to work properly. A sudden idea shot through his mind and a wry smile crept on his face. He remembered Lily’s potions lessons a few weeks ago at Black Castle and quickly dug through the many drawers in his basem*nt. With the correct phial placed before him he sat on the cold stones and carved the whole catena again. Each letter that was completed, was dusted with a small dash of an orange-yellow powder. It burned itself into the blood and raw flesh. His mother had warned him that foxfire powder was not to be added to any salves because it reacted badly with exposed wounds. He hoped the powder would make the runes more prominent to cover the disgusting sentence. Now the only thing left was to let the runes settle. When they healed enough, he would let his magic flow into them to test them for the first time.

After that, the continuous pain on his hand allowed him to focus on other things again. It throbbed and burned quite satisfyingly with each touch on the bandage and flexing of his hand.

He put his carving tools to the side and closed his hand around the broom handle. He could feel how the broom’s exposed catena drew magic from his body, the runes lighting up softly with his magic one after the other. This time, he tried to exchange the egyptian rune for visibility or seeing: an open eye. There were three variants of this rune: one empty shape, an eye with two tear streaks and an eye with three tear streaks. The egyptian runes were very delicate and precise with spelling but at the same time it was very easy to make mistakes (as the various still smouldering ember patches in the grass around him proved). There were simply too many variants of each rune. The eye rune for example could also be closed or half closed. It was madness. Intriguing madness. Because if he got this right, then this old broom would fly to him on a whistle.

Meanwhile his magic flowed all the way to the end of the catena, the broom brimming with magic. Its inherent airy and baby blue magic combined with his own fresh forest snake-y magic. It looked good so far, nothing burst into flames, but then it happened. Without warning he was thrown back like a ragdoll from an eardrum destroying explosion.

“Urgh! What the-” He rubbed over his face, which was painful, and looked up. This was different from the small fires, bubbles, sparks or other displays of wild magic he’d created by accident so far. A high flame spread from the broom over the grass at rapid speed and he scrambled to his feet and to safety on the stone path. The garden was divided into regular squares of grass or flowers or passion fruit trees using stone paths. By now the whole square burned. He tried to breathe through his sleeve, but he had to cough out the dark smoke again. He didn't even try to douse the flames. He knew he was unable to produce a strong enough “aguamenti”. (Also, with that much fire and smoke nearby the air just wasn't humid enough to provide enough water for the spell).

So instead he set up a few weak wards that would prevent the fire from catching on to the neighbouring garden squares. And then he just went back inside and waited for the fire to burn down.

When he returned to the garden the next morning, the ground was still warm. Everything was black and white, ash and dust covering the surrounding stone paths. But there in the middle of the smouldering square were two red-orange orbs. What the f*ck was that? He sighed. Of course. These things only ever happened to Harry “the-man-who-lived” Potter. Because he recognized them from “Fantastic beasts and where to find them”. He held his hand over the eggs. They still radiated heat. And he would have to decide what to do with two Ashwinder eggs.

He didn't know what to do with these eggs. Should he freeze them? It is recommended to do that, but… those are innocent lives. How could I kill two innocent babies?

Instead of doing what was recommended in his “Care for magical creatures” textbooks back in Hogwarts he put them in the hearth and checked on them every few hours until, two days later, two grey wriggling noodles came into the world. He came back to the hearth as they had already freed themselves from the leathery shells. They stopped and stared up at him.

~Hey there.~ He said softly, to not startle them.

~I am Parvin, I am the older one. This is my brother Shashi.~

~So you have names already, good.~ He chuckled.

~You hatched us, human. Thank you.~ Shashi let off an affirmative hiss next to his sister. ~What do you call yourself?~ She asked.

~Uhm…. People call me Harry…~

~Yes, but what do you call yourself? I call myself Parvin. Shashi is Shashi. Others like to make up names for oneself, but it doesn't have to be the name you like to address yourself with. So?~

~Uh… ‘I’, or ‘me’?~

~We cannot call you I. Your magic is green. You shall be Green for us.~

The hiss Shashi gave off sounded almost like a chuckle. ~What do you do all day, Green?~ He asked.

~I just came here to check on you, but I usually don't spend any time here. Do you want to… like… go back in the wild?~

Both snakes looked first at each other, then at him, tongues flicking out. ~That is not really possible, Green. We were born from the fire you created, we are intertwined with your magic. We are no ordinary snakes… I can feel that I need to be near you.~

He frowned. ~Oh, well I’m sorry if you didn't want to be bound to me.~

They both chuckled. ~Your tasty magic created us, Green.~ Parvin explained. ~I can feel that you magic has a deep connection to snakes.~ She strained her neck and booped her nose against his hand. A deep green spark ignited between them until they both recoiled. Parvin shook her head as if she’d been burned and at the same time he could feel how a soft grey magic mingled into his core and settled there as if it had never been anywhere else.

Meanwhile Parvin sputtered. ~I was right that your magic is snakey but it tastes much richer in its raw form. Urgh, that hurt.~

They poured over books on parselmagic from Star Manor together for several hours that same night - well, he did all the work and read the pages to them since they would just char the precious books if they would touch them with their bodies. In the end, it was a combination of luck and his affinity for parselmagic which made it possible for them to hatch and be his familiars from the start. That weird spark formed and set the familiar bond. They were both magically connected to him now.

A week later he left the Oasis. By now, he couldn't remember the last time he talked to somebody who was a human being. He did a lot of meditation and thinking, just wandering through nature, letting his thoughts roam and talking to Parvin and Shashi. They seemed to be content with long periods of silence from him, but he still ended up telling them everything about himself that he could think of. It honestly felt good, the talking. They were easy company and liked to share stories of their own with him, like what they dreamt that night or how they would fight against a goat.

But at the same time he felt restless. There was this need, which drew his longing gaze north every day. He felt the need to go and climb up Mount Everest. Maybe to prove something. He didn't know what, though.

It was time to take the bandages off his hand for the last time. He was glad that the runes healed very neatly. There was an orange hue in the silvery scar tissue from the foxfire powder, which gave the runes a mythical feel which he quite liked. Shashi found them very pretty. One aspect of blood runes which made them so risky was that they could only be tested for functionality when they were fully healed, as the scar tissue has to heal and coalesce with the surrounding flesh. In the end it is the difference in composition which allows the magic to flow through the runes and not the whole skin. Shashi also said the foxfire powder probably helped to make his runes even more prominent and more conductive than his skin. To power the catena he let his magic flow through his pathways and gather in the area of his hand. It took conscious effort and a constant supply of magic to keep the catena functioning - another one of the riskier aspects of blood runes. If a wixen has not enough magic to power them, well, they are pretty useless or the person is in a constant deficiency of magic. But as this catena was not a big project (it covered the back of his hand in a spiral, with a side loop around his wrist and another side loop, with a length of around one handspan, down his arm) and his core had grown even more since he last measured the time, he didn't worry about that. Instead, he took his notebook off his kitchen table and watched as it vanished in his hand. Taking things out of the subspace would take a bit of training - the feeling of putting his hand into his other hand was absolutely goosebumps inducing. Then he wrote his first new goal into his notebook: climb the Mount Everest.

God f*cking dammit!

Nothing can ever go smoothly for him!

~Green! It’s getting too cold!~ Weak hissing sounded from his belly region.

Sharp wind blew through every crevice of his flimsy hoodie and he was too disoriented and weak to apparate out of the snow storm. He should've never let it come so far!

It had started with one single idea. One thing he’d wanted to achieve.

~I know, I know. I am saving all of my magic now!~ With a flick of his hand he emptied the catena subspace of his hand. The two books that had been inside got hurled into the snow and he let his magic recede from the runes, so the soft glow disappeared from the scars in his hand.

It should be simple. Turns out climbing up the highest mountain of the world was actually not that easy.

The idea, this one single remaining goal in his notebook, seemed simple enough. So he started by planning his route on his new wixen map: first reach Nepal, then climb the f*ckin mountain right? Easy. Not quite.

He even shopped for supplies, dried nuts and candied fruit from the market, enough water and dried food for maybe three months. He encountered elephants in the luscious grasslands. And interrupting the long stripes of no civilisation were dense settlements. The Indian landscape then slowly changed, becoming more open and vast the closer he got. The grass vanished when he got deeper into Nepal. Turquoise rivers cut like axes deep through the mountains, which were covered in shrubs. There were these shrines scattered around, which had colourful pennants hanging off rows of thread and coming together on the pointy tip of the shrine. Sometimes these shrines consisted of just a head-high stack of rocks. And there were fantasy animal statues which depicted religious figures next to some temples. The clanking cowbells from hairy yaks carrying crates was one of the most common sounds in the higher settlements. Tree’s reclined more and more, even the conifers, until there was just this black and white landscape left. He crossed a beautiful hanging bridge adorned with colourful flags. There were glittery mountain lakes and he shouted from the top of his lungs down the valley standing on a huge boulder. From then on, his breath puffed out in a cloud with each exhale and since his two familiars complained about the cold, they were wrapped around his torso from then on.

After one last night placing his sports bag on dry ground he began the serious part of the climb. It had taken him almost three weeks by foot from central India to the so called base camp of Mount Everest. September had come around now, which was off season, so there were no muggles around to disturb him. From there on, it was honestly physical labour. His feet hurt, his calves burnt from fighting through the snow and over ice. There were icicles forming in his hair and on his eyelashes. He had honestly not the best equipment, everything covering his body, from the gloves and scarf to the thick winter pants and jacket were things he had transfigured from his closet or living room. The positive thing was that transfiguration came much easier to him now than at school. (~This has probably to do with your aptitude for abstract visualisation through the usage of a focus now, Green.~) He had to recast the spells every few hours, but that was okay, he had to withdraw back to his apartment frequently anyway to warm up. He forgot that his short-term wizarding space is not airtight against the surrounding atmosphere though. Which means the harsh arctic winds whistle into his living room through every slit in his doors and windows.

His arms were still recovering from the “snake bite of loyalty” as Parvin had called it, the f*cking bitch. It was a bite charged with their magic to increase the familiar bond. A snake familiar would increase the wixen’s affinity for parselmagic and the books from Star Manor recommended deepening the familiar bond further by “exchanging magic”. And yesterday, out of nowhere, they had suddenly turned on him in the middle of breakfast and bitten him, each in one arm.

Speaking of these two menaces, they were coiled around his chest at all times now to share his magic with them, too, not just his body warmth.

~Shashi needs a break, Green!~ Parvin called.

The weather had not been good to begin with. But over the day it had gotten worse. First there were low clouds obscuring the path. Then he got hit by hail and had to climb back into his bag to recover and warm up.

It continued like this for two days - climb further, go in the apartment to warm up and rest, climb more, warm up and eat something… He was pretty sure he’d lost his way though. The wixen map was wonderful to get a good grasp of your immediate surroundings while also providing a good overview of any area imaginable, but the thing was that Mount Everest seemed to be unimportant to wixen. The map could zoom in and out of even the Galapagos archipelago and he could find No. 12 Grimmauld Place, but the Everest was not mapped. He had to mount this thing blind.

He drew the blanket tighter over his shoulders and glared into the direction of his couch. He had to do something about this f*cking wintriness. “Catena for wizarding spaces and subspaces” had morphed into one of his favourite books, so he knew which chapter to look at and quickly sat down next to the hole in his floor. To amp the room temperature, without deactivating the ward stone would be like operating on an open heart. If the catena broke, the whole apartment would collapse. Parvin and Shashi both helped identify the meanings of all the side loops and together they made fast work of the mapping of the catena. Experimenting would not get him far here and would only risk the safety of all, so he first transferred the whole catena onto a large sheet of parchment. He used the markers from Japan to edit and optimise the runes - though he would only touch the most important part for now. It was time. He sat down by the ward stone again and separated the room-temperature-side-loop from the main catena.

~Hurry, it’s getting cold already!~ Parvin complained.

~Shush! I need to concentrate…~

The constant chatter and flow of information and warnings from Parvin helped him stay concentrated, while Shashi applied the two-person-rule and compared his work to the draft on the sheet.

~All clear, Shashi?~

~All correct, Green.~ Shashi confirmed and so he reconnected the side loop to the main catena.

In a sudden burst of blinding light, his world shifted abruptly from the ordinary to the catastrophic. Time seemed to stretch and warp, each moment elongated as if suspended in a dance of vibrant colours and chaotic energy. The ward stone stopped spinning and then with a feeling as if all magic had been sucked from the atmosphere, a deafening roar filled the air, drowning out all other sounds, as a dark explosion detonated right in front of him. The force of the blast sent shockwaves of magic rippling through the apartment, shattering glass, bursting wood, and tossing everything into the air. He watched from the wall he’d been thrown against, through hooded eyes, as the whole apartment burst outwards like an inflating balloon. Time seemed to slow as he was carried along into a whirlwind of chaotic magic. He landed hard in the frozen snow, rolling to the side just in time to avoid the fridge catapulted his way. Books, cutlery, the couch, everything was yanked out of the vortex into random directions. Finally, with a sound like a suction cup, the ward stone popped into existence in the air and fell to the ground, lifeless. The air crackled with residual energy, humming and buzzing like a live wire. It tasted as though the very fabric of reality had been torn apart.

And now he tried to recover as much of his possessions as possible.

~Green! It’s getting too cold!~ Weak hissing sounded from below his hoodie.

~I know, I know. I am saving all of my magic now!~ Books discarded, he scrambled to his feet and walked around in a hunched position, to shield the sensitive beasts from the arctic conditions. He gathered another hoodie and pulled it on, then he found his thick jacket, still transfigured. A few feet away, under some fairy lights and already a lot of snow, was his sleeping blanket and he wrapped himself in it to continue the salvage. In the end, he built a tent-like structure from pillows, blankets and other debris to shield them all from the snowstorm.

He sat there, trembling. It was not perfectly shielding from all wind, nature found every small crack and slit in his little construction.

~What do we do now, Green?~ Shashi mumbled.

~We wait for the snow storm to be over, then we try to descend.~ He said those words more to himself than to his companions. Because let’s be honest, the situation was dire. He could apparate, yes, but right now he needed to save all magic to keep them warm, he could not apparate all the way to the base camp right now because he was still disoriented and weakened, magically. At the same time there was almost no way to recover his magic if he wanted to keep Shashi and Parvin alive. They needed a lot of warmth to stay alive. They could warm themselves with magic, but in these temperatures that meant a constant stream of magic went into warming them. His limbs began to grow numb and he flexed his hands.

Yes, it was dire.

He didn’t know any way out of this f*cking situation!

And in this moment his self-hatred grew into proportions he hadn’t lived through since a few weeks. Since he’d met them both. And he realised how much he loved these two menaces.

He tried to occupy himself with meditation. The wind became a part of the background, the cold grounded him and he kept still to keep the pain at bay and conserve energy.

Suddenly, a stinging pain drilled into his chest, right where his core was. He instinctively reached out with his magic sense to check on Shashi and Parvin- Shashi’s magic was missing!

~Shashi! Parvin, what is up with him?~

He pulled on his jacket and fought against the tightly wrapped layers of fabric until his bare stomach was exposed to the cold. He drew a sharp breath. His fingers were completely numb and so it took him a few tries to reverently touch the cool body of the usually hot snake. Shashi’s body loosened from its position and slid into his palm, where his head hung loosely to the ground. Parvin hissed.

A sob broke from his lips and he hurried to pull the many layers back down to provide at least the tiny bit of body warmth he had left to his remaining companion.

He could not hear her over the gale, but Parvin said something. They must've been hateful words. His eyes roamed over the corpse of his familiar and he curled up tighter into his small fortress of blankets and pillows. His grey scales which were normally interlaced with a glowing pattern were now dull and white, like ash.

Seeing him like that hurt just as much emotionally as the physical pain in his core from the breaking of the familiar bond. He trembled and could feel himself grow weaker. All his magic was flowing into his belly region now, to keep Parvin alive, to warm her.

But it would not be enough. His vision swam. He didn't even try to wriggle any limb or extremity, his feet had lost their feeling a long time ago. And suddenly a feeling similar to a portkey grabbed his consciousness and yanked him away.

☐ Climb the Mount Everest