The Price of Magic - CH1
AN: usual disclaimer applies
"Evacuate the vicinity. Evacuate the vicinity. Use the west gate. Do not use apparition. Do not use portkeys. Do not use the portals." - The automated message from the sound crystals installed in every major building played, interspaced with a blaring alarm. "Move back now!" - The High Protector yelled, before beginning a long chant to stop the oncoming… something. It had the appearance of hot summer air, with the image behind it slightly distorted, the effect itself almost invisible to the naked eye. Despite this, anyone with a grain of the Gift could feel the unnaturalness emanating from it, making the hairs at the back of their neck stand up, and their head to start pulsing with pain.
The High Protector suspected, almost knew, that his efforts were to be futile, and he would likely perish today, but slowing the advance down by even twenty minutes guaranteed that hundreds of innocents would not be lost in this horrible day. Knowing this, he steeled himself and the Heavy Words, calling to the entity which is Magic, began flowing like a steady river.
The distortion won. After an hour, Old Magic gave way to the grinding gears of Time itself, and the wall rushed forward. The High Protector could do nothing but stand as millennia passed in the blink of an eye. After a fraction of a second from the outside, but millions of years from inside the distortion of space and time itself, only the Mythril staff clattered down onto the beat up sidewalk, and a handful of dust flew off, all that remained from the most powerful wizard at the time.
Harry woke up with a jolt - the dreams of Atlantis being lost, and other ancient events that he didn't even have a clue when and where they happened, pursued him ever since he used the Merlin-forsaken time turner. On the bright side, he could at least understand everything that happened, despite the language having nothing to do with English, almost as if the information itself was fed to him. The headaches returned and with it the painful reality of waking up at nearly five AM - too late to go back to bed and rest up properly, to early to be well rested.
He wasn't sure what to make of these dreams - they seemed to be based on real events (or at least that's what Hermione said), but they used magic that even the bushy-haired witch had no idea about. Last time Harry talked to her, she suggested something that he was finally seriously considering. To talk to the man that seemed to know everything, even if he left Harry in the dark for the majority of times - Albus Dumbledore.
It was with these uneasy thoughts and pursued by the pulsing pain in the back of his head, seemingly incurable by potions, that the day passed. Hogwarts' rumour mill was having a field day over the miraculous escape of Sirius and Buckbeak - although for some it was a less than happy occasion, with a seeming mass murderer at large, and a known dangerous creature out there. Regardless, unlike the previous times, no-one truly believed that Harry and his friends had anything to do with it, and Harry was more than happy for that to be the case. He was more than tired of the fickle thing that is the public opinion, and seeing his Godfather, one of the few surviving links to his parents being falsely imprisoned, did not help this cynical opinion.
The end of the day rolled around, and it was only then that Harry decided to talk to Madam Pomfrey about his constant headache. He was met with the smell of potions and cleanliness of the hospital wing, and its matron's frown on seeing her usual patient.
"Hello Mr Potter, I did not expect to see you here so early. Any concerns?" was the tired question from the mediwitch.
"Hello Madam Pomfrey, sorry to bother you again" Harry stammered "I seem to have a headache that the potions just can't seem to shake off"
Pomfrey's raised eyebrow and a "come hither" gesture with her finger made Harry fully convinced that he will not be getting out of her grasp any time soon.
"Alright, anything else that you suspect might cause it - high intensity magic or exercise, perhaps the end of year stress?"
Harry thought for a second. The headache only started when the dreams started, but why would that… Regardless, it was odd, and Pomfrey asked for his suspicions.
"I've started having these recurring dreams of magic and…"
"Mr Potter, please say no more. I am under orders to report this kind of situation to Professor Dumbledore." Pomfrey interrupted him "Please remain here, I will be back momentarily"
It was a sight of a frowning Dumbledore, missing the usual twinkle in his eye that greeted Harry. This alone was cause for concern, but when Headmaster asked Pomfrey to leave and sealed the room with the flourish of his wand, that's when Harry really began to worry.
"Harry, can you describe these dreams to me," Professor asked in a grave tone. And Harry recalled. As he spoke, professor's face cycled from an expression of confusion to dismay, and then to one of a pleasant surprise.
"Mr Potter, can you please describe what I'm holding in my hand," Dumbledore asked with a sense of almost trepidation, holding up some swirls that formed into a winged snitch, which Harry immediately answered, yielding a smile from the old wizard.
"Professor, why are you asking me this. My eyes don't hurt, it's my head" asked Harry, thoroughly confused by the entire endeavour, and the inexplicable emotions on the Headmaster's face.
"Please be patient with an old man like me, Harry. It will be easier if I was to demonstrate it again. Simply watch what Poppy, I mean Madam Pomfrey, says" With these words, Dumbledore asked for Pomfrey, and she emerged from her office. Repeating what he did with Harry identically, Pomfrey only stared at Dumbledore blankly and said:
"Professor Dumbledore, if you are seeing things in your hand, I can refer you to the appropriate healer at St Mungo. There is absolutely nothing in it." Answered the mediwitch, unhappy about being distracted from her work.
"My apologies Poppy, simply needed to show Mr Potter something"
"I would appreciate, Albus, if you left me out of your schemes and let me get on with my work" grumbled the healer in response, and turned to go back to her office.
Harry sat there startled. He saw the thing in Professor's hand. Clearly, the Professor saw the thing in his hand. What was going on? It was that exact silent question that Dumbledore answered.
"It seems, Harry, that you are starting to be able to see magical emanations. Something that I am only capable of doing with these glasses. Talking of which, are those the same glasses you had before, or a gift from your mysterious benefactor?" Harry only shook his head "That answers the what but doesn't answer the why. If I was to guess, your headaches are from Hogwarts being so full of magic that your head simply can't handle the input, as the field is so saturated, much like our eyes adjust to the light levels, but we get blinded if we suddenly open them in a bright room."
"So what do I do Professor?" Harry was not keen on headaches. He was also not keen on this getting out and resulting in yet another round of hated whispers behind his back and staring by the students. In fact, he was not keen on the whole thing that seems to be surrounding him every year, but as the old adage goes, "Man proposes, but God disposes". There was not much Harry could do about all of those alone.
"The answer is simple Harry. We will need to develop and control this power. Over the next few days, I will pass a few books to you, and I would appreciate if you would read them. And I mean personally, not how you and your friend Mr Weasley seem to have Miss Granger read most things for you". Harry had the decency to blush at the gentle rebuke, and it was true enough. Between the three of them, Hermione focused on the academics and Harry and Ron were more than happy to push that part to her. Likely that had to change now. Harry was taken out of his musings by Dumbledore.
"Also Harry, I would like to think that this new development is not to be widely shared. I am sure you would agree with me there" Harry only nodded. It seemed that the Headmaster understood the annoyance of muttering behind the back.
The end of the year passed in a flash. Harry was reading the two, surprisingly thin and simply worded books - "The Art of Focus" and "Brief History of the Magical World (with pictures)".
The Brief History was self-explanatory, as it went over the beginning of Magic as we know it with the birth or creation of life, and through the major magical events - such as the rise of the Egyptian empire and its slow decline, the rise of Atlantis and its mysterious destruction (with Harry's dreams putting a new light on this) as well as the development of the magical people of Europe from the Romans, to the dark ages, to the Renaissance ending with the stature of secrecy in late 17th century.
Interestingly, the magicals of Africa, Asia and the Americas were only briefly mentioned, with the author implying the inability to disclose information about those groups, bar the basics. The wizards of Africa, great shamans of the plains, would not use wands to "direct their power", but rather trap spirits to do their bidding. Apparently, this resulted in an equally powerful system of magic, but one focusing on preparation and resource allocation. This already had Harry confused - how can an Ancient Spirit be as powerful as some person, but he had no answers at this time. The magicals of Asia used runes and blood magics to talk to the world directly - whatever that meant. Regardless, they had the largest share of True Seers and warders. Nothing was known of the Native American wizards due to the utmost secrecy in which they practised their magics.
The Art of Focus was an introductory guide to organising one's mind and tracking the magic flows through the body. The foreword advertised this to people with "low magical ability" which had Harry somewhat insulted, but regardless he pushed on through the book. It, in his mind, was definitely worth it - as now he had much cleaner control over the spells and coupled with his ability to see magical traces, he was hoping to get start unraveling the mystery of the strange dreams, and the occasional feeling, or understanding, of what was to happen a few moments away.
But the dreams themselves have not stopped - Harry kept seeing a place in the heart of the desert, where three magicals of seemingly ancient Egypt conducted classes and rituals in a hidden from normal view building. The desire, the need, to go there was growing by the day.
During Harry's weekly chats with Dumbledore, where the Headmaster checked Harry's progress and trained him in basic usage of what he called "True Sight", Harry did once bring up the dream and the urge to go there - but Dumbledore vehemently opposed such ideas with the criticism of danger and lack of practicality. Despite this, in his heart, Harry knew he had to go there.
Harry's friends also noted the change in him, with Hermione commending him on becoming more studious, while Ron just scoffing at it. Harry dared not to tell them why does he have weekly meetings with the Headmaster and when Ron guessed to Hermione that it was about how to get Sirius free and the rat to justice (Ron still shuddered to think a grown man shared a bed with him for the last few years), Harry chose to not correct him.
The end of the third year brought about many changes for the Boy-Who-Lived, and only the Sleeping Gods knew what history would become.