There we are, the seventh chapter of my FF =)

All: I want to thank everyone for their comments, whether they include critique or praise! It's always nice to know what kind of reaction my FF caused =) There were many people who wrote something about the sixth chapter and to some of them I pm'd a response, but as it were so many... I apologize to everyone who still has unanswered question. I always welcome pm's and will do my best to answer them promptly.

Here we go!


Magicks of the Arcane

Chapter VII


Hogwarts - 4. March 1995

Drops of rain were battering against the windows lining the corridor, rattling their frames and making them dirtier by the minute - as they had been doing for several days already. The biting cold that resurfaced was accompanied by the howling wind sweeping through the yards, able to be heard in every corner of the old looking castle. Hogwarts reflected his current state of mind in a most depressing manner, Harry thought as he walked through the narrow hall leading away from Professor McGonagalls classroom, passing unpolished suits of armor and unlit torches on his way.

Her class taught one of his favorite magical branches, but since the tournament had begun there was nothing enjoyable about it. Instead, he felt uneasy every time he crossed the threshold to the room, as it left him completely vulnerable to the scared stares of his peers. Fright and suspicion seemingly permanently etched onto their faces and with each time he didn't answer their questions these feelings only increased.

He had hoped that the positive reception after his second task would carry over and that his fellow students wouldn't resent, but like him for the spectacle he made.

He felt lonely and although he was too proud to forgive Hermione and Ron, a 'good work' or 'nice mate' from the other Gryffindors would have felt good nonetheless.

It didn't happened.

Just like second year, the whole school was afraid of him and like then, he had to blame a gigantic snake.

It looked good at first, when the adults decided to make the whole thing a bit livelier and he really enjoyed the evening, but in the end... he still ended up in nearly the same position as two years ago.

After the celebration, when campfires were extinguished, remaining bones of roasted boars littered the ground and every adult except the professors had left the ground, fear reared its ugly head and all it took to fester were masked words of contempt and sly accusations, whispered into the ears of susceptible students. Oh, the Slytherins thought themselves clever that night, unseen and unheard by any of their opposition... But Harry had seen the subtle advances of Malfoy; had heard the poisonous lies of Nott and like the foolish boy Snape always accused him to be, he thought them empty threats.

Where was the experience he had gained during his second year? Where had it been, when he needed it the most? He should have known, that just like then the students would start to spite him either out of fear, jealousy or both, but like an idiot he had clung to the belief that everything would work out in the end. Past events had taught him, but he did not heed their lessons when he smashed his keg of butterbeer together with Salvoskis glass of vodka and Hálfdans bottle of Akavit, ignoring all signs that pointed towards trouble.

And how could he resent the students curiosity, when he would have done exactly the same only months ago? He, Hermione and Ron would have sneaked around and used every method possible to get some informations.

He wanted to answer, wanted to clarify what had happened down in the lake, but his own insecurity held him back. Did he even know what really happened? The magic he had commanded on that day had felt as frightening and terrible as the being he summoned with it.

And something had scared him during that moment, even more then the gargantuan serpent had done. Something that no spectator could have seen or felt.

The drain on his magic had been incredible and emptied him of nearly all his reserves, but it hadn't been sufficient to create such a beast. Something else, worlds apart from his own magic and control, had sustained the chant and called the gigantic serpent into being. An unknown power that had frightened him beyond belief with its might.

Lost in thought and pondering on the mysterious force, he wandered alongside the walls of Hogwarts until turning to the right, walking around a corner.

A flash of light suddenly blinded him and out of instinct he took two steps backwards, his wand already moving in circular patterns that started most shielding charms beyond the simple Protego.

"Mr. Potter!"

He retained his tense posture, but stopped his wand motions as the unknown voice sounded neither hostile nor aggressive. Slowly the light started to recede and his impaired vision cleared, but when he could finally see again... he wished it hadn't.

"Mr. Potter, I'm from th-"

"Daily Prophet, Potter! What's your opinion about the second task?" asked a short woman to his right.

She had rudely interrupted the burly looking man in front of him, that stunk of booze, but didn't seemed all too concerned about being cut off. The noise of quills scratching against parchment reached his ears and he noticed the unassuming people standing in the background. More reporters, eager to write down anything he would tell them.

His panic rose, as the group of inquisitive reporters attracted the attention of several students lingering in the hallway, heightening the amount of people crowding him even more. What were these people doing here? Hadn't Dumbledore said that the press only had access to the castle for the two days after the task?

How could he answer them, when he himself didn't understand it?

They closed in on him, ignoring any notion of personal space and repeated their questions, confused by his lack of response. His eyes darted around, looking for possible means of escape, when he suddenly saw something that made his blood boil in fury and removed the last portion of calm he had possessed.

He should have known!

Suddenly the constantly growing gaggle of people made sense and Harry vowed to return the favor someday - in the most humiliating way possible. Against the wall far to his left leaned Malfoy, a satisfied smirk on his face and his eyes alight with unhidden cruelty when he noticed that Harry was looking at him.

The situation grew worse when a reporter started to touch and shake him, trying to elicit a reaction.

"Mr. Po-"

"Lumos Solem!"

Blinding white light erupted from the tip of his wand and he wasted no time to turn around and run away as fast as his legs could carry him. There was the very real possibility that the students would fear him even more now, but that didn't matter at the moment. At least, as long as he was still in the reach of those vultures.

How could he have been so careless, so lost in his thoughts, that he forgot to use the notice-me-not charm after class had ended? Again, he had been caught unaware and it angered him. Turning around a corner, he stopped his wild run and tightened the grip around his wand.

"Corpora Abditum!"

He would be damned before stumbling into another trap of Malfoy. The idiot was a conceited and bigoted blighter, but a Slytherin nonetheless - and past experiences taught him that Slytherins most likely had back-up plans.

Harry peered around the next corner, not satisfied with relying purely on the concealing charm. He had become complacent over time and this flaw had revealed itself in a most brutal manner, minutes ago. The danger of tripping up during an interview was quelled, but the reactions to his rather sudden and violent departure had a lethal potential as well and it irked him to no end that it was Malfoy, who had brought him into such a situation.

Disregarding some silly badges, the ponce had kept quiet throughout the whole year and a trap like that, he had only expected from people like Nott or Zambini, but not Malfoy. It showed that the hat had been right in its decision in first year, when it barely touched Malfoys head and screamed Slytherin. Like a snake, the blonde had lied in wait and struck when it hurt the most.

Which seeds of doubt and what rumors would Malfoy spread in his absence?

Even someone as dim - No, he couldn't allow himself to think like that.

Not anymore. Against all odds the Slytherin had capitalized on his lack of foresight and it were his thoughts, that everything Malfoy did was inconsequential, that enabled him to do so.

A mistake he won't repeat in the future.

Finally having reached his sanctuary, he nearly ripped the door out of its hinges when entering and flung locking- and silencing charms alike at the brutalized piece of wood as soon as it had closed behind him. Only when he sat down on his chair, did he allow a suffering sigh to escape his lips and buried his head in his hands.

Malfoy - no, the whole house of Salazar would use the situation to its maximum potential, baring some minor exceptions. How long will it take, for him to be seen as a Dark Lord again? The parents good opinions of him meant nothing, when they were that far away from their children.

The speed at which reputations were able to be shattered was frightening and Harry wondered what his would be in a few days. Still Merlins reincarnation, or Voldemorts after all?

"Incendio."

Carefully controlled fire incinerated the various international newspapers that haphazardly littered his desk - none of them including an interview, but each of them vividly describing his honorable and courageous deeds. A bunch of inane drivel if he had ever seen one.

Not one of them considered the dozens of Merpeople he had merciless butchered on his way to Gabrielle. It sickened him and they had the gall to call the slaughter noble, as if the beings that he 'vanquished' were nothing. The changes of expression he had seen in their faces, from shocked to devoid of any life, had given him a completely new sense of what a live was worth.

Suddenly he understood Dumbledores constant preaching for forgiveness and the avoidance to kill a lot better. Their frightened stares, when they realized that he wouldn't be scared away and started his chant were forever etched into his mind.

Did not even one of those idiots feel any kind of horror about his actions that day? Did no one mourn the lives he had extinguished in a matter of minutes, he asked himself and a lone tear slowly trailed over his cheek. What hurt the most was that it hadn't even been necessary as he learned only minutes after the task had ended.

Disgust welled up inside of him and he thought about the hours that had followed. Swayed by the euphoria of victory he had become one of them, belonged to the same group of people he was condemning now. Oh, how glorious it had been to narrate the battle from his own point of view to the Swedish Minister and depict any spell he had used with cruel imagination; how satisfying it had felt to be recognized not for his parents death, but for something done out of his own strength; and how proud he had felt when Hálfdan patted him on the shoulder, urging him on to describe everything in minute detail.

He didn't even stop after noticing Dumbledores disappointed look. A look that had remained throughout every story of the Black Lake he told and was a far cry from the proud smile, Harry was used to receive.

He had seen the frown that marred the older mans face when Harry continued to celebrate, even after, or especially after being told that the hostages were safe all along and the mindless battle had been useless. Drunken on his victory he had ignored it, thought it to be another eccentric facet of his headmaster and regaled the attentive audience with the next story about his bloody battle.

Now he understood, and the callousness he had discovered that night, lingering in his very own soul, shocked him to the core.

"I've done something terrible, Hed." he whispered fraught with guilt and turned his head towards the snowy owl that had perched itself on his shoulder. His gaze wandered aimlessly around the room.

He couldn't sleep in the dorms, not anymore. The stares would drive him barmy and the floor seemed just as good tonight.

If it would help to humble him a bit, all the better. Humbling was something he desperately needed right now as the thought that he resembled the pompous idiot Lockhart on that evening was incredible disgusting.


On a large ship and completely surrounded by muggles, Sirius Black looked over the calm ocean, his gaze firmly fixed on the horizon. The carefully concealed magical paper 'International Magical News' was starting to crumble in his hands and with it, the picture of his godson on the front page.

His destination? Scottland.


Hogwarts - 9. March 1995

"We've got a lot of work to do, Hed!"

Harry stood in the middle of his room, readying his wand to use some difficult transfiguration spells he read about in the attempt to escape the countless stares. Malfoy had done it and while nothing had hit the press just yet, words about his spell against the reporters spread fast in Hogwarts and changed the fright into accusations. At the moment, h e could count the people that would even communicate with him on one hand.

"Mutare Lectorum."

The old desk, one of the only remaining in the room, slowly changed into a sturdy bed frame capable of holding two people. It was a pity, he thought, that he couldn't just permanently transfigure a complete bed and had to bother with every single step in between.

"Mutare Culcitra."

A chair transformed itself into a soft mattress. At least he hoped it was soft. It was something he had to test after his bout of transfiguration was finished.

"You know, girl, I wonder why the Weasleys never did that..."

Hedwig, who lazed around on her very own perch, cocked her head to the side. "Don't give me that look! Even if they aren't able themselves, they could have always asked Dumbledore."

Did Hedwig just shake her head?

"Do you think they would consider it charity?" he asked, while waving his wand through the air and transfiguring one of his old school robes into a large blanket. Some hoots answered him.

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't it concern me? Mutare Cervical." His magic surged through the holly wand and with a wide sweeping motion, the tendrils of power reached out to several small objects, permanently changing them into pillows.

"I know that Ron can bugger off, but his parents got nothing to do with it!"

He carefully arranged the blanket and the pillows on his new bed, before sitting down and turning completely to Hedwig, who hooted at him in a reproachful manner. "No sweater this Christmas? Well yeah..."

Her amber eyes locked with his green ones.

"Can't imagine that Ron told them good things about me. Anyway, want to go on a walk?" he asked and instantly, as if she had just waited on it, Hedwig flew from her perch and landed smoothly on his shoulder.

He walked out of his rooms, applied the several security charms and made his way towards the grounds. The clouds that had hounded the castle for weeks were gone and the first rays of sun met the earth. For the first time this year it felt like spring had finally come.

The notice-me-not charm helped him to navigate through the throngs of students that walked the grassy fields, or sat by the lake, enjoying the good weather. He would have liked to be just one of them, but being Harry Potter had several disadvantages to the name and every time he passed one of the happy groups, chattering away about professors, schoolwork and other people, he felt a pang of jealousy.

There was no need to sate his curiosity about current hot topics in the castle. There was only one and he had absolutely no intention to hear anything about himself at the moment. He felt miserable enough as it was.

Far away from the nosy student body of Hogwarts, he seated himself under an old oak and let the shadows enshroud him, bathing in the feeling of invisibility they provided. For the last days his thoughts had been scrambled and the guilt over what had happened still gripped his heart. It was exhausting and slowly his eyelids closed, the darkness inviting him into Morpheus grasp.


"Behold, the city of Gernhag!" His master pointed towards the large city in front of them. It's walls were as high as the magnificent old trees he had seen, when they wandered through the forest of Skellarg and he had been taught the significance of various magical herbs and fungi.

A small stream split the city in half as far as he could see it, but instead of making it look bucolic, it added to the imposing impression of Gernhag. He looked towards the man that had taught him the ways of life for over a decade now and marveled once again at the length of his beard. A source of constant amusement for his master.

"Many glorious battles have been fought in front of these very walls." The man turned to his young apprentice and his eyes sparkled with mirth as he gave him a short slap on the back of his head.

"Lad, don't concentrate on my beard! There's history right ahead of you. Tell me, do you remember what I told you about the city?"

The young man, thoroughly chastised, trained his eyes on the gigantic structures. "Gernhag, built after Monochtes first rise and a bastion of our folk for centuries."

The older man nodded. "Right, but don't just concentrate on the surface. You will find these informations in every historical manuscript. What else do you know?"

"It is ruled by nobility, which lives in the higher parts, but they don't care about the normal people. In the lower sections crime is festering and poverty is abound." he answered.

"So you did listen to me for once. A surprise indeed!"

Harry gave his master a suffering look, but the man only laughed. "Let us go down then and discover this wondrous place filled with disparities."

For a man that was two-hundred years old, he sure walked fast. Harry had to scramble, just to catch up with him and it wasn't easy as the small path was littered with debris - remains from an old guard tower that had crumbled under the burden of time.

"Harry?"


"-, Harry?"

Confused he woke, still lying under the large oak tree. What was that? The dream was of the same nature as the one he had months ago, but lacked the desperate fighting and the constant feelings of anger and fury.

He looked around, trying to determinate whose voice it was that broke him out of his sleep and his green eyes widened a fraction when he saw the headmaster leaning against a tree, his brows furrowed and his beard oddly braided in an intricate design.

The man looked at him, his blue orbs as penetrating as they had always been.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" he asked.

"Professor..."

Harry didn't really know what to say. In truth, he had dreaded a further conversation with the headmaster, but now it seemed unavoidable.

"Still celebrating your victory?"

Guilt welled up inside of him as he looked towards Dumbledore and the cruel thoughts about the second task returned full force. If the headmaster wasn't speaking in riddles and metaphors, which seldom happened, he was brutally blunt and it were moments like this, when Harry hated that particular trait.

"No." he whispered. "I hate myself for what I've done..."

Was this the time, when the headmaster would think him the same as Voldemort? In the end, Harry thought, his actions had been of the same variety, if less cruel. Unbothered, he had feasted after the massacre, not once thinking about the deaths he caused that day.

"Yet I saw you drinking happily, reveling in the afterglow and attention."

Again, it felt like an arrow shot through his heart. "Headmaster, I... I-. There were so many of them.. and they wouldn't let me pass. Gabrielle! She looked so frail..."

He was at a loss for words and the gaze of his mentor did nothing to calm himself. Several minutes went by, but the professor did not speak. His expression told Harry nothing and his head hung low as he knew that soon, oh so very soon, the older man would judge him. For years, he had striven for the praise of the headmaster, appreciating every compliment, but that it seemed would soon be a thing of the past.

It felt like an hour had passed until Dumbledore finally spoke: "It isn't the deed I criticize, but what followed it." he said and stared straight ahead, not even looking at Harry.

"I felt proud of you, undeniably so, when you rose from the lake, because even after you had faced all those trials, you held true to your beliefs and selflessly secured a hostage not your own. For you, who knew nothing about the workings behind the task, it was the only way."

Dumbledore turned towards him, but his face was still unreadable. "No, the tragedy that happened in Sul'adan wasn't of your making, you were but a tool in the slaughter."

Harry winced as he saw how the headmaster narrowed his eyes.

"I already exchanged heated words with Barty Crouch, as it was he, that made the Merfolk swear to hinder any champion concerned with another hostage. As a newly accepted species under ministerial laws, chieftain Murcus readily agreed of course, eager to improve their standing."

It had been possible to avoid the whole thing if Crouch hadn't spoken to them? No, he thought and quickly suppressed his feelings of anger. He murdered them and he alone had to bear the guilt for it.

"For someone with your convictions, a battle was inevitable."

Dumbledore looked truly sad, when he continued to talk: "I am disappointed in you, because even after I told you that the hostages were never in any danger, you did not mourn those that fell by your hands."

"Professor, I-"

"Were you that easily swayed by the feeling of belonging? Or was professor Snape right and it was the fame that swelled your head?"

The words were harsh and bringing the potion master into the matter only made it worse. So far Dumbledores view of him had fallen...

"-orry. I'm sorry headmaster... so sorry." he whispered over and over as the faces of those he killed appeared in his mind. Dumbledores look softened somewhat, but still he continued.

"That is good, but my questions remain unanswered."

"I don't know. I- I finally felt like the people were celebrating something I did. I and not my parents. Something that hadn't anything to do with Voldemort..."

Harry nearly stumbled over his words.

"And thus you forgot those that died by your magic, eagerly telling stories around roaring fires when the Merfolk mourned their loss."

The headmaster, still looking forlorn and weary, walked away, but left Harry a last advice.

"It is not I you should apologize to, Harry."

And then he was gone, not leaving a single sign that he had been there to begin with.


Hogwarts - 16. March 1995

"Mutara Monumentis Lapsuum Morti."

Tendrils of his magic reached out to the old shelf, wrapping around it, trying to form it after his will. For a moment it looked like it would finally work, but after several seconds in which nothing happened, the magic receded and Harry sighed in frustration.

"Mutara Monumentis Lapsuum Morti." But he wouldn't give up. His wand moved through the air as he incanted the spell once again and traces of his magic permeated the whole room.

And again, the spell didn't take hold of the shelf.

Since the conversation with the headmaster, that left him a guilt-ridden wreck, he had barricaded himself in his sanctuary, looking for a way to apologize to the Merfolk. He had an idea, but the practical application was incredible difficult and for days he tried to make his magic obey his imagination - to no avail.

"Mutara Monumentis Lapsuum Morti!"

He poured more and more of his essence into the spell, but he knew it wouldn't work like that and it was the frustration that hindered him. The piece of transfiguration he tried, day after day, hour after hour, wasn't dependent on power, but on pure finesse and it was something neither achieved by being overly emotional, nor with the usual concentration he had.

He sunk to his knees and his fists hammered onto the cold floor as he recognized the early signs of his empty magical well. Why couldn't it just work? It didn't matter. He would do it, or die trying!

And he rose to his feet, his face a mask of steely determination, his wand in constant motion.


Hogwarts - 17. March 1995

He had done it.

He stood in front of the Black Lake and a shiver ran through his body when he remembered what had happened down in these waters. Personally, he would like nothing better then to never return to this wretched place, but he had a mission and without completing it, he would forever be plagued by nightly terrors of guilt and shame.

"Aeres Cinctum Somatis."

The layer of oxygen wrapped around his body, making it once again possible to take breath under the water.

He took a last, shuddering breath and then walked straight into the lake.

Instantly, as if he was remembered as an old friend, the water engulfed him and he swam towards the place where he knew Sul'adan to be.

No spell would transport him there that day.

As he dove deeper and deeper into the treacherous water, he recognized some of the places he passed and he vividly remembered each fight that took place. The strangling legs of the Plimpie, the sharp projectiles of the Piscibus...

But the waters were calm today.

"Solem Aquis."

Orbs mirroring the sun appeared around him, spending him light and illuminated the dark confines of the lake, announcing his presence. But when he looked around, it took all of his power not to gape.

Fishes, of all variety and color, Jellyfishes, pellucid as always and many more beings were swimming behind him, following his light as if they knew what he was about to do. He was wary, of course, about the dangerous creatures that he had fought only weeks prior, but when, after minutes of silent observation, they still didn't attack he continued on his path to Sul'adan.

As he swam through the last wall of plants that obscured his vision, his movements ceased and with them every motion of his silent followers. Green eyes, filled with grief, gazed over Sul'adan and took in the destruction their owner had wrought. The assortment of simple huts on the outer left of the settlement were seemingly under construction to rebuild them and piles of rubble littered the sea ground. The devastating result of many Defodios he had carelessly thrown around.

Torches, lit with a light not unlike his Solem Aquis, illuminated the working Merpeople who unsucessfully tried to remove the large boulder he had flung with Petrae ictui - the advanced stone bullet charm.

To see the devastation his actions have caused... It was one thing to have nightmares, but to look at it with his very own eyes...

Slowly he went deeper into the settlement and was met with frightened and suspicious stares, but no one was willing to stop him in his advance towards the center where the statue of Sul'adans founder stood.

It was a terrible feeling to see the horrified looks of Merpeople so small they could only be children. The terror he had brought into the life of innocents would forever remain a black mark in his life and he vowed to do everything in his capability to ease their fears and sooth their worries.

With his heart full of sorrow, he arrived at the large monument of Persos - a Merman who was renown for playing the most beautiful harp, as he remembered from the books he read. Most of Sul'adans population had followed him alongside the various beings of the sea, still wary about his intentions.

As was their right, Harry thought and finally came to halt in front of a Merman whose face was set in an expressionless mask.

Murcus Persos the fifth, chieftain of Sul'adan.

He saw how the Merfolk assembled behind their leader - not with raised weapons, but alert should something of hostile nature occur. In the years to come, Harry would often wonder what had surprised them more at that moment; the deference he showed them, or the nature of his gift?

With his head turned to the ground he brought himself in a kneeling position and commanded every ounce of his magic to circumvent the very nature of water, rooting him to the spot.

His magic obeyed and his sluggish movements to navigate the waters ceased, leaving him completely still, kneeling at the heels of Sul'adans chieftain.

Silence.

It felt like hours had passed and no word of Mermish, English, or any other language had been spoken during that time... until the tranquility was broken by Murcus, who swam forward and laid his webbed hands on Harrys shoulders.

No words were needed as the last Potter finally looked up and stared into the chieftains yellow eyes, asking for forgiveness with his suffering gaze. A forgiveness that was granted, when Murcus gave him a nod of acknowledgment and pulled him into a standing position where he could see eye to eye with the Merman.

And then he heard it.

Music, so beautiful and angelic that it ensnared the senses and made one revel in its elegance - yet was so very sad. Several Merpeople had taken up their harps, following the chieftains example who had started to play on his own, and what followed... was something Harry would later on have trouble to describe accurately.

A symphonie of such a mournful nature, that despite its innate sadness, it made him feel content. It was a song of death and rebirth - the never ending cycle - and as if it had invoked ancient magicks, instincts older then the known world took over his body and he reached into the satchel that hang from the belt of Hypolytos, pulling out the gift he had made for them.

The feeling he had was so very different from the Imperius and yet he was in a trance, his body moving on its own as if guided by invisible hands. His magic engulfed him, filled him to the very brim and he felt it pulsating under his skin, but it wasn't of violent nature. His arms rose slowly, but he wasn't uncomfortable with it, even if it wasn't by his own will.

And just like that the magic vanished, leaving the gift enlarged in front of him as the ancient presence that guided his movements left his body.

The music ended and when he came back to his senses, he stared on the large stone tablet he made for the Merfolk, examining it once again. He didn't know the names of the fallen, but their faces he remembered vividly and it were those faces he had carved into the tablet; in a sense, making them immortal after they had died to defend Sul'adan.

After minutes, the chieftain uttered some Mermish words and several Mermen carried the tablet away, securing it with ropes beneath the statue of their Paragon. As they did their duty, Murcus returned his gaze to Harry and jerked his head, making the green hair fly through the water - wild and untamed.

No translation was needed and the Potter heir understood, that while Murcus forgave him, his presence was still a constant reminder of their loss. The guilt he carried didn't vanish, but became easier to accept as he made his way back to the surface - the trail of beings that had followed him to the settlement slowly scattering into all four winds.


Hogwarts - 18. March 1995

"So, I apologized to the Merfolk..." he said, once again sitting across from his headmaster.

The highly ornamented armchairs were as comfortable as always, even if the topic of their discussion was anything but... The tea, Tipsy had served each of them, was cold by now, but none of them thought about asking for a new batch.

"That is admirable, but after everything you told me about it, it still isn't what you truly wanted to tell me." Dumbledore answered.

Either the man was incredibly perceptive, or he had just legilimized him for the fun of it, but he doubted the latter. There was no need for legilimency, when his body language told him everything he needed to know.

"Well, yes... but it connects with it."

The older man remained patient and stroked his beard, which was still braided, waiting for him to elaborate.

"When I summoned that snake... I felt- I felt like I wasn't in control anymore. Like something else controlled it. Something incredible. Something dangerous. The snake was gigantic and... and the thought of it out of my control... was terrifying."

Dumbledore didn't seem all too surprised by his admission. "But only now you came to me with this matter. So I have to ask myself: what else has happened that made your concerns rise?"

Harrys eyes weren't on the headmaster when he answered and instead wandered around the room, taking in the various portraits that listened with rapt attention. "When I was down in the lake, apologizing... it happened again. This time I didn't only loose control over my magic. I lost control over my body! Like an Imperius!"

"Did it feel like an Imperius?"

"Ye- No... The effects were the same, but whatever it was didn't try to impose itself on me - it only wanted to guide me. It's just..." he trailed off.

"You have nothing to fear, Harry."

His questioning gaze met the headmaster, asking for an explanation.

"For all the knowledge you acquired over the last months, there are still many things you don't know about our world. Things, that even most people who lived in it for all their lives don't know, or chose to ignore."

Dumbledore rose from his chair and went over to the large window that overlooked most of Hogwarts. "Mankind fears what it can't understand. Always, we strive to gain the power over these things - wizards and muggle alike, but whenever it doesn't work and we aren't able to control them... they are left forgotten. It would not do after all, to destroy our illusions of might."

The topic went into a strange direction, Harry thought as he listened to the headmasters words, but he didn't interrupt him. Those were the times, when the true brilliance of the older man shone through.

"So we let them fade into obscurity as they could threaten our self-worth; threaten our feeling that everything we do, we control ourselves. What you felt, Harry, was magic in its rarest and purest form... We can guide magic, we can bend it to some extent, but we will never be able to make it obey us completely - magic is sentient and it will behave as such."

"Sentient?" Harry asked, baffled by the concept.

"Yes, sentient. Magic isn't a mindless power given to us by some deity, but a deity all of its own, blessing us with its power. That we cannot control the very nature of magic, that our control over the power within us is only an illusion... it displeased us magical folk and thus the information about it remain forgotten by everyone, but a few."

"So, what I felt..."

"Was magic itself, guiding you on your path. It felt, how you struggled with your summoned snake and decided to help you. It sensed your pure intentions, when you gifted the Merfolk your tablet and it helped you..."

Dumbledore turned around and a set of intense, blue eyes stared into his own green orbs.

"You should never fear it, Harry. Be cautious, of course, but never fear it. Your conscientiousness when using these spells, not the magic itself, is the power you have to master in the end."

Harry nodded, but remained silent. Not that he was able to say much on the topic... The headmaster had the habit of dropping bouts of knowledge, that were very hard to digest. Minutes went by and he had to surpress the yawn that tried to escape him, when Dumbledore spoke again.

"Can you endure the inane waffling of an old man for a minute longer?" the headmaster asked and for the first time in weeks, Harry saw a genuine smile appear on the mans face.

"Yes, sir." answered Harry cheekily and grinned back.

"You need a hobby."

"... What?"

What the-

Just go with the flow, Harry thought and nodded seriously.

"Joking aside, I do see that you are strained by the heavy burden of the tournament and I fear it will take its toll, if you don't find something that helps to relax your mind and body."

"Um..." answered Harry eloquently.

"Everyone needs it, so just think about it, Harry - and between us... even after all these years I still wonder what form of relaxation Voldemort has chosen for himself. I'm sure it would make for a terribly amusing tale."


Hogwarts - 22. March 1995

'Quicquam Velarit - Notice-me-not ward

The Quicquam Velarit is one of the three major wards that conceal the presence of something or some place. Its application is tedious, but tremendously rewarding and thus a component of many advanced warding schemes as it hides what needs to be hidden from prying eyes. Muggle, Squibs and average user of magic are unable to identify what lies behind this ward and only those with power, or experience in warding are able to lift its veil of secrecy, revealing what has been concealed.

The ward was created by Ælfric, Earl of magical Northumbia, in 868 A.D. as the fear towards wizards rose steadily and many of them dreaded that whole revolts would break out soon. To answer this threat and keep his own court save, Ælfric invented the Quicquam Velarit and fled from the Muggle Earls keep, abandoning his position as magical advisor.

He was blessed by the fates, that the small feethdom he had been rewarded with, years before, lied in a peaceful valley and the only entrance led through a small gate. Intent on saving himself and his magical vassals, he warded the gate and was spared the rage of his muggle contemporary who was surely lusting for revenge, but neither he nor his warriors were able to find the entrance.

Exactly fifteen runes have to be carved into what has to remain unnoticed and only after linking them to the central rune Algiz are the eighty-seven wand motions to be done.'

Harry closed the book with a suffering groan and secured it in its appropriate shelf after taking the notes he needed. Fifteen runes... Fifteen! His hands would be smeared with blood in the end, no doubt.

And why did it have to be Algiz, he thought with disdain as he lazily flicked his wand. In the Elder Futhark of muggles it was easy enough to carve, but as always magicals had to make something simple incredibly complex and thus for the magical Algiz, or Elhaz as it was called, many, many embellishments had been added.

"Contraxi."

The parchment, quills and the cheap ink pot that were lying on the table shrunk and he secured them in a small satchel on his belt. He used them for his normal school days as they weren't even half as expensive as one piece of Vellum, but nonetheless he treated them with great care. He might have many Galleons now, but that hadn't always been the case and he still vividly remembered his early years in the Dursleys household.

They never laid hands on him and hadn't been physically abusive with the exceptions of small slaps to the back of his head, but the vitriol they spouted whenever he was near, had been hard to swallow. As he only had the barest necessities, he quickly learned about the worth of his possessions - be it personal or material - and it had shaped his beliefs. He would never look down on people using low-grade equipment as he knew exactly how it felt to live in poverty while those around you thrived in their rich lifestyles.

Walking through the library, he gave a respectful nod to Madam Pince and wondered if the usually grumpy librarian had incredible hidden powers. Dumbledore told him that the great assortment of books was sentient, but as the caretaker for them... did Irma Pince see them? It would make sense, he supposed. How could she care for books she wasn't able to see, after all?

The woman struck him as an avid reader, so the question was valid. Did she read them? Has she had access to this incredible accumulation of knowledge for decades and used it? The thought alone made him reconsider how he had treated her over his first three years at Hogwarts. He had seen her only as a nuisance, a bother whenever he had to research important topics for his adventures, but what if a hidden well of power, or wisdom lied behind her gruff exterior.

It was funny in a way, that he would have thought such musings wasted months ago, but after only a few lessons with Lady Broadmoor his perceptions had changed so much. Now, whenever he thought about people he met, it was always a notion in his mind to assert their magical power and influence.

"Corpora Abditum."

He reapplied his notice-me-not charm and made his way towards his sanctuary while his thoughts starting to wander again, when he passed Neville in the old corridors. Neville Longbottom, scion and lone heir to house Longbottom. A house that had, according to the few informations he knew, a long lasting alliance with house Potter.

Aside from that, Neville was just a likable, if shy dorm mate. That was the impression everyone had of him, but Harry looked deeper then those people, searching for the qualities that could make him a valuable ally, if not a friend.

It was rumored that he was near Squib-level, barely able to pass classes in order to advance to the next year, but was he really? Would have Hogwarts magic recorded him for education in her hallowed halls, if that was really the case? He couldn't help but wonder, if there were some reasons as to why he had so much problem with the curriculum and the magicks taught at the castle.

His practically non-existent self-confidence was a given, but could one really say that he had no courage? Hadn't the Sorting hat seen something in Nevilles mind, that made it sort him in Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff, despite his fierce loyalty?

Of course it had and Harry remembered all to well the sudden bouts of incredible courage that Neville displayed some times. Had he not tried to stop them in their first year? Yes, he did try and although he had failed to stop them, he nevertheless stood against them, upholding his beliefs of what was right.

Or the fact that he asked a girl to the Yuletide ball, when so many of his dorm mates had problems and never managed it, but what was it that inspired such sudden confidence in him?

And, of course, the last piece of well known information about him - his insanely skilled hands at Herbology. Many people laughed about it, believing that potting plants and caring for them didn't need magic, but Harry knew they were wrong. Magical plants were only harmless throughout the earlier years at Hogwarts and continued to increase in their threat-level as the school years went by.

So how was it, that someone with seemingly no innate talent at any other magical branch, be it simple Transfiguration or Charms, had such profound power to grow and care for the most hazardous plants the magical world had to offer?

How was he able to subdue a Ayahuasca Liane - a plant with incredible potential in healing rituals, but with the same properties as the Devil's snare and fire-resistant to boot - when he didn't manage to turn beetles into buttons?

How could he care for a Vevenatos bush that expelled terribly potent poison into the air, when the mere thought about DaDa lessons made him shiver in fright?

Neville Longbottom was an enigma, Harry decided as he reached his room and closed the door behind him. He would continue to observe him and spend kind words as one could never know, when such people rose above their fears and inabilities, becoming Paragons of light themselves.

With a flick of his wand, he transfigured a quill into a knife and murmured the incantations of Conduro and Accuo - the hardening and sharping charms. The morning was still in its early stages, but he would need a long, long time until all fifteen runes were etched into the metallic frame of the door... possibly the rest of the day.


He smiled as he slowly leaned back against the old tree, centuries old, that bathed him in its shadows. Grass rustled with every movement of his body and his gaze directed itself towards the horizon, where Hogwarts towered proudly over the castle grounds. Not many students frequented the area, the closeness of the forbidden forest evoking anxiety in most of them, but Harry had long lost his fear for dark places and their dangers - for him and his current occupation, no other place could be better.

In a few minutes the sky would darken, calling the moon to change its place with the sun, but Harry didn't care. The Quicquam Velarit had worked and now he had the time to indulge in his new hobby. It was truly a wonderful suggestion of the headmaster to find something relaxing, he mused and snickered.

Thoughtfully he chewed on his newly acquired pipe, a simple wooden one without fancy carvings, and inhaled deeply, savoring the taste of spicy tobacco. Somehow he doubted that Dumbledore meant smoking, when he advised him to find something that would take the edge off after a strenuous day, but the image of the mans incredulous expression should he learn about it, was quite amusing.

He had looked through several tomes in the library already, making it his mission to research the cure for lung damage to appease the headmaster the next time he saw him. Of course, he also had an ace in his sleeve in case the old man wouldn't be swayed by his compelling arguments; an ace that would surely bring a smile on the headmasters wrinkled face.

Well, he would be mortified if someone else saw his ace, as it was somewhat peculiar even for his standards and the thought of spreading rumors about it was better left alone. The heavy book on his lap contained many tales, not of the often gruesome and bloody variant he used to read, but stories, legends and myths designed for children.

It felt liberating, he supposed, that he who never had enjoyed the amazing wonders of a good childhood, was finally able to indulge in something as simple as a children's book. Maybe, he could make a living as a story-teller after his Hogwarts years have ended? Like the bards of times long forgotten, traveling from magical settlement to magical settlement and regaling attentive little kids with mysterious and happy stories.

He exhaled slowly, failing to form any shapes with the smoke emitting from his mouth. Or, he just took the one single book he had managed to nick from Dudley way too serious. Next thing he knew, he would call himself Mithrandir and journey the world on top of a small cart, pulled by the might of a beautiful white horse.

These thoughts were inconsequential anyway as long as the danger of Voldemort lurked just around the corner, threatening the wizarding world and through that, everything he held dear.

He was no Gandalf, but maybe... Why not? Clearing his throat, he threw a last look at the open book and took his wand out of its sheath. A small wave later and several pebbles had been transfigured into small figurines, each resembling a knight in full armor.

"The tale you're about to hear today, is called The well of Ascalon." The little knights formed a circle and started to dance in a weird pattern.

"Many years ago, the legendary king Arthur and his court celebrated Whitsuntide with a tremendous feast. It is said, that the feast had been so great, not one drop of pumpkin juice remained throughout the lands!"

Another puff of smoke escaped his mouth.

"The well known knight, Kalogrenant, had traveled through the country far and wide and when he returned, seeing the roaring fires of the great feast, he wasted no time to tell all about the tales, he had heard on his long and dangerous journey.

'I met a man living in the wild, clothed in nothing else but rags and he told me about a mystical idyll, where a magical well is hidden!' he said and all the valiant people of king Arthurs court crowded around him, listening to his words."

Harry swished his wand and the figurines made a circle around the statue of Kalogrenant.

"'And what did you do?' asked Iwein, a relative of Kalogrenant. To whom the knight answered: 'I wandered through all the known parts of the forest until I found the well, but once I got the water out of it, I fell and spilled it.'"

The transfigured knight made the impression of slipping on a banana.

"And Kalogrenant told them about what happened after the water had been spilled, because it was indeed magical water! It took, but seconds until the weather changed and Kalogrenant was drenched to the bones, large thunderclouds assembling above him! For magic is a harsh mistress to those, who waste her possessions."

"Agumenti." he quietly said the incantation and the figurine of Kalogrenant was flushed away by the small beam of water that left his wand.

Just as he was about to continue a rustling sound to his left made him snap his neck towards it and when he saw the cause for the disturbance, he started to blush slightly.

There stood Fleur in all her glory and he groaned, inwardly lamenting that it was always him, getting discovered in such embarrassing moments. She smirked and her eyes were filled with mirth...

"What an enchanting tale, 'arry." she laughed and to his great consternation, started to clap her hands excitedly. "Do continue! I want to know more about the valiant Knight Kalogrenant."

"Fleur..."

How utterly and terrifyingly embarrassing...

The French Veelas smirk widened and with impossible grace she slid to the ground, taking place next to him. There was no way to talk himself out of that one. No way, but the truth.

"Fleur, I-"

"It's an interesting occupation, is it not?" she asked and for a moment he was baffled. He heard no sarcasm in her words and that at least he had expected. Not just from her, but from anyone who would have run into him, telling stories to himself.

"It is..." he said with hesitation.

"Grand-mere had a story teller visit us once and he was incredible! Gabby didn't understand much, of course, but the man told us tales for hours. It was beautiful."

"Really? I thought they didn't exist anymore."

Fleur nodded and he noticed a reminiscent smile playing on her lips. "Non, but they are rare. Very rare. Grand-mere said, that her friend had traveled to nearly all places our world has to offer, seeing and hearing things he would later build into many of his fascinating tales."

"He must have seen many places." Harry said and got a far away look in his eyes. Wouldn't it be glorious, to journey over the world like that man had done? It definitely beat any other job in the magical world he could think of.

"I guess he did. He was quite old, after all. Unfortunately, we never saw him again and grand-mere remains tight-lipped... Do you want to become a story teller?"

"Maybe," he answered. "but at the moment it's more of a relaxation from the tournament."

"Oh? It looked relatively easy for you, 'arry. I assumed that you have no problems with it." she said with curiosity written all over her face and a bitter laugh escaped him. A laugh that had probably startled Fleur, as it was a far cry from the usual cheerful nature he had showed her before.

He would never know, what exactly had moved him that day to talk with her, but soon the words were leaving his mouth.

"Easy? Day for day I train and train and train... just to have a chance of surviving that blasted thing! And then, the second task..."

"The large snake?" she asked.

"Not just that... I killed dozens of Merpeople, because they were in my way. Dozens! And no one but Dumbledore seems to care! It sickens me. I sicken me."

Fleur remained silent during his much needed venting and he was thankful for it. "I brought terrible magic into their lives! So terrible that it subdued them on the spot! That's just twisted beyond belief..."

In one motion, Fleur moved over and laid her arms around him.

"'arry." she whispered in his ears, understanding that she was one of the only persons that had ever seen him so vulnerable. "That you are frightened by your own magic... it shows me that it wasn't created by a lust for power, but necessity."

Her hands stroked his back soothingly and she looked directly into his eyes. "We didn't know... We couldn't know, that the hostages weren't in danger."

"But-"

"Shh." A well manicured finger sealed his lips. "We couldn't know, 'arry and I will always be thankful to you for saving my little sister."

She held him as sobs wracked his body and tears leaked out of his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried in someones arms. Had there even been a last time? He didn't know and didn't care at the moment.

"Gabby is my everything. I was dying with fright and you saved her. You saved her, 'arry!" she whispered. "And let no one tell you otherwise..."


AN: Aaand that's it! Next chapter will take some time as university starts again in a week... but I promise to try my best and up new chapters regularly.

Btw. for those who are interested in the 'tale' Harry told: Last semester I had to read a book called Iwein. About 8000 verses of old German... Wasn't really pleasant, but at least the story behind it was somewhat interesting. Harry told a very shortened and abridged version of the real intro and I apologize for any mistakes I made. It took some time to translate old German into normal German and then into English ^_^

Someone asked for a list of the new spells I invented, but as it would make the AN pretty long I wonder if I should really do it. Your opinions will be included!