Author's Note: Many thanks to GJMEGA for editing this!


Who then devised the torment? Love.

Love is the unfamiliar Name

Behind the hands that wove

The intolerable shirt of flame

Which human power cannot remove.

We only live, only suspire

Consumed by either fire or fire.

-T.S. Eliot


Perhaps the fall would not have been so bad if the height had not been so great. The rush of magic filling every pore of his being, the runes burning painful pleasure across his skin. It was euphoria, a sensation hard to describe and harder to place. For a glorious second he was his magic, was a being made of light.

Then it was if a star had fallen, a missing link in his self-discovery, and the runes had rebelled, had fought, had attacked him in their discontent. His own magic turned against him, rending and tearing, an angry snake squeezing him in its coils. A punishment and a threat, the consequences of having an incomplete set. He had had the impression beaten in him that his magic was not his own until the runes were satisfied, the balance of magic weighed and measured. Mene, Mene, Tekel, u-Pharsin. To measure, to measure, to weigh, to divide. A phrase in Aramaic he had read before, the writing on the wall.

He had been measured and weighed and found lacking. Harry sighed, gathering in a lungful of air and letting it go slowly, closing his eyes. He was so bloody tired.

When the magic had finally let him go, he had only rested on his hands and knees, laying his sweaty head against his arms. His wings were gone, no magic left to even summon them. Dread was even silent, banished from his magic. He had no energy to move. He had waited there for hours, unable to rest, unable to move. When the air began to lighten, he painfully sat upright, feeling stiff and sore. Voices began to move closer through the woods, coming from the direction of the house.

He looked up at the sky, light pinks and yellows and purples pushing back the darkness.

"Harry! Oh Harry, are you okay? Can you walk? Harry? Harry!"

The voice, young and urgent, beckoned to him. He made himself look, turning his head inch by painful inch. He met eyes, uncomprehending. Everything seemed bright and fragile. Hands grasped him, lifting him up, steadying him. More voices conferred, back and forth, worried and frustrated and Harry just stared, unblinking, silent.

Finally strong arms lifted him, gathering him close as a voice let loose a stream of curses. He was carried through the wood, into the house, laid in bed. He was gently pressed back into the pillows, soothing sounds running together in his mind. He could not understand the words, only that someone was there, someone who loved him, someone who wanted him to be alright.

"Harry, my son, talk to me. Are you alright?"

More voices, more hands. Food brought and taken away. Still, he could not rest, his mind frozen in shock, his magic dribbling in slowly, a drop at a time, and he was angry and hurt and he just wanted to go to sleep and wake up and have everything make sense again.

Darkness began to creep into the room, shadows growing longer and larger and swallowing the light as it consumed the day. Harry closed his mind with his eyes, letting the darkness swallow him too.


When Harry awoke, the sun was streaming in through the window, lighting up small sparkles of dust that were floating in the air. For a second, he just watched them dance, letting his mind rest and drift. He was on his bed, the covers pulled up over his chest. Slowly, he lifted his right hand, feeling an extra weight attached to his forearm. Sun glinted off the polished scales of the red eyed cobra. He spent a moment considering the two headed snake, the green and red that twined together. Dread was silent and still, no magic connecting the two of them.

He lifted his hand the rest of the way, finally softly touching the hair on his head. He spent a minute considering, his mind unable to comprehend. His hair was as long and messy as usual. He pressed his fingers harder against his scalp, feeling the raised skin underneath the hair. Semekh.

He remembered.


Harry slowly lumbered down the stairs, taking one step at a time. His body felt fragile, sensitive. He was hyper aware of every bruise and cut and scar on his skin. Never before had he understood the dangers of blood magic as he did in that single moment. His magic too was scarred, and refused to respond to his call. His wings were just a tattoo on the skin, pretty and elegant and useless. He followed the hushed voices coming from the other room, greeted with silence as he entered the kitchen. For a second they all paused, shocked to see him.

Then, as a wave would break on the shore, they all started forward at once, bombarding him with questions and queries about his health, his mind, his feelings. Harry found it hard to separate one voice from another, one word and thought from any of them.

He began to shake, and an authoritative hand pushed him into a chair, and silence reigned once more. When Harry looked up again, only Mr. Steel and Kerr remained in the room. Kerr stood, arms crossed, on the opposite side of him from Steel. The boy practically radiated a mixture of anger and concern. Mr. Steel's calm facade was broken, betraying a depth of worry the man had never shown before.

"Harry. This ritual, this... magic. It is too much. I have seen sense, have been shown sense."

The man glanced at Kerr, who glared right back. He continued.

"I do not know what happened, but... too much has went wrong already. Too much unplanned consequences. We cannot do this again. You should not have to go through this again. We will find another way. We will come up with something."

Kerr interrupted forcefully, his eyes earnest.

"Harry, please, listen. I know this, whatever this is, is supposed to protect you and us and whatever from the wizards, who may or may not be enemies, but please. The boys and I, we have been training too. We can protect you, I know we can. And we can protect ourselves too. These wizards, they don't seem to think much of us. They underestimate us. We can help ourselves. You do not have to do this anymore. It's not worth it! You could die!"

Harry blinked, feeling a bit in shock. The truth washed over him, and he accepted it. He could die. He could, but nothing in this world would stop him from cutting that last rune into his skin.

He started to talk, coughed, and had to clear his throat and start again. Another glass of water was pushing into his hands.

"I know. I realized this, last night, at some point. Nothing went wrong, this time, I don't think. It's just, it's the magic. It... has its own rules, its own desires of a sort. To break those rules is a fate worse than death. Last night or, whenever..."

"It's been two days!"

Kerr blurted out. Harry gulped, and nodded.

"Well, two nights ago, that was like, a warning. The runes, I've done six so far. And seven, well, that's the magic number, so to speak. My magic, it's... well perhaps not gone, but... inaccessible. I cannot feel... anything. Until that seventh rune is complete, I don't think I will be able to go on. I will not be able to go on. I... I have to, don't you see? I have to complete it. I have no choice."

Kerr looked angry, helpless. The boy, well, man now he supposed, could not argue with him.

Mr. Steel nodded.

"It is as I feared then. Well, once this runic set is complete, we will have more of an idea of what is going to happen if there is a next time..."

"There will not be a next time, sir! Don't you see? How on earth could you allow Harry to go through all this again? What is the purpose?"

"Kerr, I understand how you feel, I do not like it either, but, Harry is already protected in ways we could never protect him ourselves. And if he goes into the wizarding world on his own, he will have defenses that others will not expect of him. If we want to be able to see him again, to keep in contact with him, this is the only way."

Kerr shook his head violently, before launching into another tirade. Harry did not bother listening, even if he was appreciative of the other boy caring about him. Mr. Steel understood just as Harry did, anything that he would have over the wizards was an advantage. None of them knew for certain what was going to happen. Harry would be there eyes and ears into that world. He would be able to tell them about its structure, its population, its heights and depths.

Harry had caught on to the fact that there must be other normal people in this scheme with Mr. Steel. The man had made vague comments about others, and he also somehow was still coming up with new material, even out here. And some of their own books would mysteriously disappear as well, usually after one of the many trips into town. Mr. Steel must be part of a network of people trying to figure out this secret world. Harry wanted to know their motives as well, and eventually would insist on it. Money? Weapons? Defense? Who knew?

Harry leaned back in his chair. Two weeks could not pass fast enough. He wanted his magic back, and he wanted to get on with his life. He wasn't sure about anymore sets of runes, but it would be him that would make that decision, no one else. And if the wizards came in two months, he would be ready for them as well. Perhaps not as ready as he would like, but more ready that he would be if he had known nothing of the wizarding world.

He looked up at the inquiring tone of voice. Kerr repeated himself with a frown.

"I asked, are you hungry? You've got to be."

He nodded thankfully. As the boy turned and walked over to the fridge, Harry saw that Mr. Steel had quietly disappeared.


It took another three days before Harry could focus on anything that mattered. Still, things were much harder. He felt like only half a person. He did not dare try to talk with Dread, who was still wrapped tight around his forearm. Instead, he planned Zayin, and attempted to catch the others in their own plans.

Kerr, Mike, and Tiny would all spend the morning together. He suspected it was target practice. Then, in the afternoon, they would closet themselves in with Mr. Steel. Eventually he simply asked the older man what they were up to.

"Plans, of course. For how we might defend this property. Where we will go, and how, if we need to flee. We will go over all this with you too, of course, once you have less on your mind. We all must be in this together."

Harry had to make do with that. No other information was forthcoming.


A week until the new moon. The same as when this all first began. Harry sat at his desk. He missed flying so much. It had helped ease his mind and body. Now, with no escape, all he had to grasp was the last rune. Zayin. The letter Z, Weapon. It even looked like a Z, though perhaps one set on an angle. It would be carved on his right palm, the mirror to Heth. He had always been dominant in his right hand, and he figured that would also be his wand hand.

That seems to make all the more sense to put an offense rune there. Zayin, the seventh letter in the Aramaic alphabet, and the seventh rune on his skin. It could even mean the number seven in some contexts. A magic rune, if he had ever seen one. It was all so poetic.

He obsessed over Zayin, learning all its connotations and root words. The rune was almost paradoxical, for it was derived of the word for rest. What weapons and rest seemed to have in common eluded him at first, until he considered his own situation. Sometimes, a weapon of war was needed to accomplish rest, to be able to have peace. Zayin would not be a tool of revenge or evil, but a weapon to defend, a tool of righteous anger, of justice. To correct wrongs, to even the balance.

How odd it was that the number seven was revered even outside of magic. In the Hebrew language, which often used evolved forms of Aramaic and Phoenician, the number seven was the number of wholeness, of completion, of being blessed.

He, too, would be blessed once the seventh rune was completed. His set would be complete, his magic complete, and he would be blessed with their magic, their power.

His body thrummed with the thought, a ragged pulse running through his body.

Zayin, Seventh, Weapon.

Over and over.

Zayin, Seventh, Weapon.


When he woke up the morning of the new moon his magic was alive. It swirled like a conscious beast through the air, sniffing and snarling and purring and growling. It romped and reveled and made him laugh aloud with joy. He could not call it back into himself even if he wanted to.

When he came down the stairs, the boys stared transfixed. His magic showered sparks of light, tiny specks of green and purple and blue and red, every color of the rainbow, the air glittered. Tiny was the first to laugh, and then they all joined in. Mike was awed, and reached out a hand to touch. The magic changed, caressed, loved. The boy's face showed the most emotion Harry had ever seen, heartbroken and joyful all at once.

"Thank you, Harry."

His voice shook, and then he turned and left the room. Kerr and Tiny stared, before reaching out their hands in turn. Some of the same must have happened to them as well, because Tiny sat immediately, while Kerr turned several shades of red.

"It's like, wow. Like, I know how you feel. We are family."

The word love did not have to be said. Tiny hugged him, the magic singing in the air. The morning hours went by fast, his magic growing more and more bold. At lunch time, his wings released on their own, and the relief almost brought Harry to his knees. The burning he had been dealing with abruptly disappeared, and his magic rained down on him like a cool summer storm. His wings were sharp, then soft, turning back and forth faster than the eye could see. Mr. Steel suggested they move the party outside before damage was done.

Harry's magic grew more and more solid, at time a bird in the air, other times a cat crouched in the grass, always moving and exploring. They all watched it, in wonder. Harry told them he could not control it, and that while he knew the magic was happy at the nearness of the culmination to the ritual, he also knew that that happiness would quickly turn to rage if the set was not complete. What a physical magical presence would do if it was denied was not something Harry had to guess at. He imagined he would not walk away from the result unscathed.

Dinner time came and went, a hasty picnic outside as the sky began to darken. Harry smiled and talked about nonsense, enjoying the presence of the others. When the magic began to get increasingly frantic, he stood and turned his face towards the clearing, a tug almost physically tugging at his feet.

"Good luck, Harry. We will be waiting."

Mike spoke up, his voice calm. He said it as a statement, with no doubt that Harry would return. He smiled, before turning almost against his will and stepping away.

With each step, his magic grew closer, began to coalesce back inside himself. It prowled at his heels, and when he stepped into the clearing, it let out an unearthly howl to a new moon, to the darkest-night. It was then a part of him, and Harry felt as if his feet were barely touching the ground as he walked into the circle. He could not bring himself to sit, but stood, wings spread out behind him. He lifted his forearm to his eyes, looking Dread over in the darkness. The dagger had stayed around his arm the whole time, unable to be removed. Perhaps it was even a side effect of the ritual coming to completion.

"Awaken, blade-of-mine, to the hour-before-it-all-ends."

At his hiss the scales shifted, the heads began to sway, steel tongues flicking out to taste the air. Red and green flashed, and the blade lifted from where it had rested against his skin. He felt its loss, and reveled in it.

"We wait, winged-speaker. We wait on your magic-light, to taste the magic-blood-life, to tear-the-softest-place, to create anew the balance of darkest-night and greatest-light."

Harry found himself smiling wildly, relieved to hear their odd speech and ritualistic words. He looked within himself; saw his light arching across his body in patterns he could not understand. For how long he stood there, he could not say, just skimming along the magic and feeling its power. His runes began to burn again, their light increasing by the minute as magic streamed to them. His heart beat heavily, struggling with the load. Harry opened his eyes, knowing the light glowed from behind them. It was almost time.

At once he seemed to be looking out, and again looking him over, and now it was three pairs of eyes that saw, three heads that thought, and his coils tightened and his hands clenched and his scales shifted and his wings spread and he was a creature of light, he was his own sun shining.

"Ankh."

At the word, his heart thumped heavily, and his breath left his body.

"Mem."

Again, a stutter, a heartbeat.

"Heth."

It was burning, his skin and his lungs and his magic.

"Ayin."

Another stutter, another thump, and he felt as if his heart would beat out of his chest, would drum into the ground.

"Ayin."

Another for the other, brothers in runes, at once one rune and two. If he had still had his vision he would've lost it then, as spots gathered together and darkness bled through his body as his lungs struggled to breathe.

"Samekh."

Oh, the power, the sixth rune, the catalyst. The point of no return. He felt a scream building within himself, and forced it down with pure will. His eyes turned to his right palm, held open before him like a sacrifice. Giving-great-fear-in-troubled-times shifted, hisses spilling forth, steel moving and grinding against itself, the point of the blade resting against the softest-place.

The number seven, the greatest number of all. The numerical value all magic desired to be present in, the weight and balance of the world. For a weapon in defense of peace, his own and those he loved, to bring rest, to bring justice. A weapon whose form was morphed, ever changing to meet the need, but always there, always sharp, always waiting.

Weapon. Seven.

A quick slash, down and over and up across and down again, as neat as writing with a pen, the ink blood that spilled up and over, running down the wrist and the arm and dripping from the elbow, liquid power given to the earth.

"Zayin."

Seven runes, seven magic's, seven spells, seven scars, seven times blood spilt in this place, seven times magic and life given to the moon and the air and the ground.

His magic rumbled, it howled, it sang, exultation at its highest point, the culmination of all the struggle. He was aware of Dread wrapping itself back around his forearm, of the pain of its fangs sinking into his wrist, the sharing of life and power. The runes across his body no longer burned, they seared, open again and then closed, a reiteration of the last three and a half months. Seven nights, four with a dark moon and three with light. The light within him leaped, and he leapt with it, spinning into the air in a glory of flight, his heart beating in time with his wings. His eyes beheld at once far and near, a magic of its own, and everything seemed created anew and ancient at the same time. He was a new creature from an ancient world, the only of his kind.

He flew until dawn began to lighten the sky, his own strength dwindling as it grew stronger. He landed in the yard with a running bound, each step weighted more than the other as he approached the door. He carried himself of his own power up the stairs, past the others anxiously waiting for him, into his room, closing the door with a quiet snick. He breathed in and out, letting his heartbeat slow, letting his magic slide from his grasp at last. He felt free for the first time in months, his thoughts truly his own at last. The compulsion from the ritual was gone, and in its place clarity.

He slid off his clothes and sat on the bed, looking down at Dread looped around his arm. The cobra's fangs were buried in his wrist, and it was beginning to ache fiercely. The eye gleamed up at him, and he realized that the thing was not even dormant.

"Release me."

The hiss spilled from his mouth, and the dagger immediately complied, lifting its heads up with a bit of a sulk. The four puncture holes sealed instantly, and he saw they were the exact same as the ones he had had before, when the knife was first bonded to him. He shook his head. How was he supposed to tell the snake that he might never call it again? Or if he did, it would be months and months from now? Perhaps likening it to the seasons, winter and summer, would help. Did it even matter?

"Sleep for me, sleep the deep sleep of coldest light and soft snow. It will be warm again before I need you."

As the motion stilled and the magic left the knife, Harry put it in its chest for the first time in over a month. He no longer felt that constant need to have it by his side. He slid the chest under the bed with a final caress, before falling back on his bed.

He was tired, but it was the clean kind that came about from being up all night, not the bone-deep weariness he had walked around in lately.

He slept.


The soft knock at his door woke him up.

He came awake instantly from a dreamless sleep. Strength filled him as he easily swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. It was dark outside, and he assumed it must be about dinner time. The smells wafting from outside the door confirmed his theory.

"Harry?"

A soft voice, afraid to wake. He smiled and opened the door, about causing Tiny to fall flat on his face. The boy hopped back with wide eyes, gaping.

"Harry! you're awake! I thought, I mean, we thought you might like food but we didn't want to disturb you, and you've been so tired and weak and I thought, well, you would be too tired but they said to offer food and.."

Harry laughed and stopped the flood of words with a gesture.

"I'm fine! Better than fine, actually. I'm starving!"

The boy grinned and led the way downstairs, greeted with shouts of surprise.

"Harry!"

"Harry, you are awake!"

The boys practically jumped him, talking quickly and asking questions. Mr. Steel saved him when he entered the room, a quiet calm presence.

"Let him eat boys! He can tell us all about it at the dinner table."

Dinner was a loud and happy affair, the mood lightened greatly. Harry tried to explain as best he could the details, but most of it was incomprehensible. How to explain magic as light, runes as constellations, his body as a living sky? It would make no sense without showing it, and how could they understand, being magicless? Would it only make them regret what they had never had?

"Well, at least that creepy knife is gone. I mean, I swear that thing wanted to bite us or something."

"Oh, come on, it just wanted to be friendly!"

Mike teased Tiny, who rolled his eyes dramatically. Harry was suddenly struck anew by how much he would miss them when he had to leave, and the fervent hope that he would have another year with them.

Dinner was finished, dishes cleaned, and everyone went their separate ways. Harry found himself hovering in the door of Mr. Steel's office, watching the man at his desk. He had a computer now, a slim compact thing, and was steadily typing away. The man looked up and gestured Harry to a seat. He closed the door behind him. For a second he sat there in silence, putting his thoughts in order.

"Sir. I feel much better, now that the set is complete. My mind is clear for the first time since beginning. I know why we did what we did, and now my mind is protected. No one can take information from me without my consent, and even then it might be difficult. My magic is stronger, my body is stronger. Against my peers, I will have significant advantage. What is our next goal, truly?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Harry watched him a second, before looking down at the desk, suddenly nervous.

"I know there must be more. More people in on this, whatever this is. All the evidence points to you not working on your own. You don't have to tell me."

He said the last quickly as Mr. Steel began to interrupt, before continuing.

"I figured this whole... thing... with me. It's so you can find out more information about the wizarding world. More than you all know now. A true inside source, who can ask questions and not be suspected. I'm okay with that. I understand the motives, truly, I do. The things I've learned already... well, I can understand. But what now, with me, sir? What do I do now?"

Mr. Steel leaned back, contemplative. It was a few minutes before he spoke, slowly, as if weighing each word spoken.

"I suppose it is up to you, Harry. You have access to all my accumulated books and items. You can study them, if you so choose. If we find you are staying with us another year, i plan on resuming the regular school work with you, Tiny, and Mike. Math, English, and so on. Kerr will take his tests this summer, and his life is in his own hands. If you decide to participate in another ritual set, that is your decision. I will neither forbid nor encourage it. You know the risks well enough now. You have my support, Harry. Anything I can do for you. I regret any ill feelings caused the last few months. I would like to make it up to you."

The man's face betrayed nothing, and he sat upright and stiff. Harry was not sure what he should say to that, if anything was required.

"Well, okay. Okay. I guess that's it, then. I guess I would like some time off, to... play. To enjoy being here, with everyone, just in case. Then, well. If I ever do another set, it will not be anytime soon, I need time to... get used to my own magic again. How it shines... I mean, how it works."

Harry nodded again for good measure, then stood and began to walk out the door. Mr. Steel interrupted as Harry was about to leave.

"Harry, my son. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Harry paused and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He left, silent.


Harry walked through the woods to his clearing. The circle was beginning to grow over in grass and weeds, flowers sprouting up here and there. Within a few weeks one would never know what was there, what took place there. Harry was stricken by the urge to mark it somehow, but had no way to do so. Rocks? Flowers?

He snorted at that last thought, picturing himself planting pretty flowers in a circle. Plus, how would one mow the center? He laughed aloud. Logistics always seemed to ruin great ideas!

Finally, he sat down at the edge of the clearing in a bit of thick grass. It was a warm day in May, and Harry was itching to try out his runes. He closed his eyes and looked over his magic. The light flowed forth from his heart as usual, spreading through his body to pool in the areas over his runes and tattoo. He let his wings come forth, watching the light uncoil from his core in fascination. The wings started as light, growing bigger and bigger, sprouting from his back and then turning into physical flesh and bone and steel. He smiled, feeling like an artist who had just finished painting the perfect masterpiece. It was perfect.

He turned his attention to the first rune, Ankh. It rested above his heart peacefully. All light seemed to pass through it and return, and endless circle. The resurrection of magic, a return to life to what has left it. At least this rune turned out exactly as intended!

Mem was next. Centered on his forehead, light spread from it and seemed to set his mind alight. He focused on it, flowing into its light. It was like being a boat on the ocean, at once calm and tranquil, then dark and violent, crash upon crash upon crash. He came to himself with a gasp, heart beating fast. Woah! He shook out his suddenly numb hands, and was amazed to see it was already late morning. How long had he been sitting there, lost in thought? With a force of will he sat still again, once more looking inwards. He inspected Heth next. Time for a fun rune! He looked its light over, a strong star... He extended a tendril more of magic to it, seeing how the magic circled through Ankh and connected itself to Heth, making the rune glow brighter. Stronger too, he imagined. That would be an exercise for another time, slowly building up the power in his runes. Couldn't ever hurt to have too much!

He stood up with a smile, stretching his left palm face out. He made his eyes see the magic, observing how it worked.

"Heth!"

The light expanded instantly, a bubble of light that made his eyes sting. He squinted, concentrating on making it dimmer, and watched how a small amount of light was brought back into the rune. Not into the body, he observed, but the rune. He focused on making it brighter and brighter, until no light was left in the rune at all. Amazing.

Finally, his eyes beginning to water, he drew the magic back with a quick mental snap. The light was now back into the rune, pooling pleasantly, a glowing rune of magic. He didn't feel the least bit tired. Technically, he supposed, the magic to sustain the rune was already present, so the only effort expended was the concentration to keep the shield in place. He wondered if it could be broken, and if so, whether the magic would return or be lost, to have to be replaced at a later time. He would need to practice making the shield weaker and stronger, bigger and smaller. A challenge, he thought with a mental grin, which would be fun to play around with.

He sat down again, searching out the brother runes, Ayin. They rested on either side of his temples, tiny circles barely half an inch in diameter. With his hair messy they were practically invisible, but to his magical sight they glowed brightly. He observed them closely, seeing how the active runes connected to his eyes in overlapping concentric circles. He reopened his eyes, stomach growling. He shook his head, standing again and walking into the center of the circle. Then, he turned and looked back to where he had been. He saw a rock near the tree line, covered in moss. He concentrated on it, narrowing his eyes, and was rewarded as things began to get a little clearer, a little closer. Almost as if he was moving there to look right at it up close. He saw the tiny sprigs of the moss, the textures of green and overlapping fuzz, and the tiny speck of a beetle climbing the mountain of rock.

"Harry?"

He turned to look, and almost fell over backwards as he saw deep caverns and hair and... he closed his eyes, frantically trying to make them normal. When he reopened them, Mike was looking at him quizzically.

"It's time for lunch, scatterbrain."

Harry nodded, gulping. for a second he had thought some huge hairy monster was about to eat him. He made a mental note to never look too close at another person ever again!


By the time Harry finished his chores and got back outside it was midafternoon. He sat down again and took a deep breath. This time he turned his eyes on the sixth rune, Samekh. It had, by far, been the most traumatic experience, even worse than Mem. His own magic, turned into a rabid animal to tear him apart... not a thing he wanted to remember. He made himself make sure the light filled it, saw with interest a small connection between it and Mem. He had no idea what that might mean. His mind had not been terribly clear that night, and he had been afraid some unintended consequences would result. He looked closer, and saw that tiny almost infinitesimal strands of light spread forth from the rune, almost like a spider web, nearly invisible, to cover his entire body. He could only assume that that was the healing aspect. He had planned the rune to be a support, giving more endurance and health, but there was not a true way to test it. Time would tell whether he got sick again, and whether he would heal faster.

The last rune, Zayin, was almost the brightest, second only to Ankh and Heth. Its pool of light seemed to be in motion, but Harry was interested to see that very little light actually connected the rune to Ankh. He pulled another strand out, attached it to the rune... and the light seeped right back, not holding true like Heth did. He frowned, tried again. Same result. He opened his eyes and stood, this time pointing his right palm outwards.

"Zayin!"

Nothing happened. Harry felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dropped over his head. What on earth?

"Zayin! Zayin!"

He looked into his magic, and the light coiled there, same as before.

"Zayin!"

Nothing. He grit his teeth, confused. Why would the rune not respond? He tried to think over that night, what had he focused on? A weapon, right? And a weapon, it would, well... shoot people? He tried to think back. Had he said shoot? He had said attack at least, right? Oh, man. What use was a weapon if it couldn't do anything? He grumbled to himself, before giving up on it. He would need to look over his books again, perhaps ask Mr. Steel. He knew the rune was active, knew there was magic set aside. He would just have to figure out how to use trigger the thing.


"...and it won't work! I'm tried multiple times, wracked my brain, and I cannot figure it out!"

Harry huffed, his shoulders shaking in frustration. Mr. Steel observed him a second, before dropping his eyes to Harry's notes and the book of cuneiform.

"You said you knew the root was rest, correct?"

He waited for a nod before continuing.

"Well, perhaps it only works in self-defense. Or, perhaps, it only will work as a boost in correlation with another weapon. Maybe it only makes people sleep? Who knows, when it comes to magic? I do not know what to tell you, Harry. All you can do is keep testing it. Perhaps one of the boys would agree to be a dummy? No?"

Harry shook his head glumly, though a bit of a smile tugged at his mouth. The boys reactions to that particular question had been hilarious. "Hell, No." "What? NO!" Only Kerr had considered, before smiling and shaking his head. "Is it worth the risk of harming us, Harry?" He had had no answer to that, and had given up on it.

"Well, then, I cannot say. Time will tell. Do not give up!"

Harry nodded and left the room with a sigh. That could have gone better, he supposed. He had been hoping Mr. Steel would have a magically awesome idea that would make everything work again, but no such luck. Well, at least Heth was fun to play around with!


Harry smiled, expanding and retracting Heth. He could make it as wide as five feet diameter, and as small as to cover only the space above his skin. Smaller than two feet and it tended to warp, contouring to the outside of his skin. He could not partially fuel the shield; it was an all or nothing type of rune. He figured with some work and effort he could strengthen the shield so it would cover a wider area, so that he could protect others beside him. Well, that was something at least. As it was now, it would not cover his wings completely. He was not positive if the things were magic-resistant, but he did not want to leave himself open to attack like that. He figured he would need at least twenty feet diameter to protect them in the air, though he could get away with ten on the ground with wings furled.

He considered his magic. He could probably spread a little each day to Heth, without feeling too tired. His magic was mostly recovered already, and was much brighter than before. Like a muscle, it was getting stronger every day he practiced magic, and his runes had made it grow by leaps and bounds. He tried to make himself feel better about Zayin's failure with the thought of how great Heth had turned out.


Harry looked up as Mike appeared in the doorway.

"Mr. Steel says come down. It's time to go over plans together."

Plans. Of course. It was now early June, and they had two months before Harry's birthday at the end of July. All the others were already seated around the dining room table. Mike and Harry joined them. Mr. Steel began.

"I have already talked some to most of you, but now is the time to get down some concrete plans and begin to brainstorm. First, the wizards will most likely not be hostile. Instead, they will send a letter or perhaps a teacher and a letter. At most, I doubt we will have more than two teachers show up. They will want to talk to Harry, probably explain the existence of the wizarding world, perhaps even a magic trick or two. Then, Harry will be given further instruction. This is the most likely scenario, and also the most harmless. However, I believe in being prepared. There is a chance that these people will instead attempt to take Harry forcefully because he is being raised by muggles. I have not been able to find concrete proof that all wizarding children are allowed to remain with muggle families. In this scenario, the wizards are hostile, and may come in larger groups. I want to stress something here."

Mr. Steel stared at each of the boys in turn.

"We will not attack them, unless under attack first. Our goal is not to hide Harry from the wizarding world. Instead, Harry and I will go over contact options for him meeting up with us at a later time. Our goal is to protect ourselves. We have no way to hide our own minds. If the wizards capture Harry, they will not want us to remember that fact. We must, instead, immediately flee."

He was interrupted by outraged noises from Mike and Tiny. Kerr simply leaned back, expecting.

"Yes, flee. We are no match for a wizard, even with those toys I know you are all practicing with. We can only hope to surprise them long enough to make our own escape. The minute Harry is taken, we will leave. I want us to be ready for this, even if this is only an off chance. It is not worth the risk. And remember, if any of us have our own minds read, then the game is up. Harry will be under suspicion. Keep this in mind. If the wizards come forcefully, we defend only, and leave. The location we are going to will only be known by myself and Harry, whose mind is protected. Make no eye contact, I cannot stress this fact enough. That is the window to your mind, for the average wizard. I doubt extreme talent will be wasted on us. Most likely, we will get bored wizards just doing their job, and they will not be expecting resistance."

The boys seemed speechless, in turns angry and defiant, and then resigned. They knew what Mr. Steel said was reasonable.


Mr. Steel and Harry sat in his room, both staring the other down. Mr. Steel spoke first.

"My mind is perhaps the most vulnerable. I know too much, about you, and about this project of ours. I could be your worst enemy, if the wizards were to read me. I do not want it to seem like we are just abandoning you to them. We are, in our own way, protecting you."

Harry nodded.

"We will flee to London, first. If we are not there, I want you to memorize these two addresses. They are ones we can also be reached at. I do not know the exact means of wizarding mail. Whether it is a spell to mimic owls, actually owls, whatever. Do not send unless certain it cannot be traced. If we are at one of the places, I want you to put in an ad in the London Evening Standard. Word it exactly like this, short and sweet."

He passed Harry a piece of paper with a short phrase.

"Enter in a meeting place at a local restaurant of your choice. One of us will meet you there."

Harry felt a little overwhelmed.

"Sir, how likely is this to happen? I mean, you said earlier that you thought the wizards will simply be teachers, coming to recruit me for their school."

"I said, most likely they would be. Look, I have more books that I do not keep in the main room, you know, I've shown them to you. Here is one."

He passed over a book to Harry. The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.

"Even as early as a decade ago the wizarding world was put through a civil war of sorts. A dark wizard set himself up as lord of the others and tried to make slaves of all muggleborn children. He was a pureblood supremacist. Liken it to Hitler, if you would. He only got defeated by a miracle of magic of sorts, a small child who was in the wrong place at the right time. His followers were never eradicated, and many seem to be in political power. Old wealth and such. We do not know if the situation could have changed again in the wizarding world. I just want you to be prepared, Harry."

He nodded, glancing the book over.

"Can I keep this, sir? I want to read up on what happened myself. I have been mostly reading books on spells and such, not history."

"Of course, my son. Take this one, as well."

He passed Harry another book, not as thick as the first. Modern Magical History. Harry nodded, and stood resolutely.

"Thank you, sir."

Mr. Steel nodded, before waving him from the room. Harry resolved to up his studies. The others were taking too great of a risk for him to slacken off at this point. It was time to focus.


The coincidence was too great. Harry leaned back with start, his mind flying through the options. It did not make sense, but it did. So many things he had never considered, never put together. He did not for a minute think Mr. Steel knew. The man had never known his surname.

The Dark Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Defeated nine years ago, on All Hallows Eve. If it was truly defeat. The green light Harry remembered, the details of Voldemort's favorite curse, Avada Kedavra. The Killing Curse, an Unforgivable. A curse to separate souls from their bodies, to kill quickly with no marks. Never known to have been blocked before. Before.

The red-eyed man in his dream, the darkness in his mind. Behind the scar, a scar given from a car crash that killed his parents nine years ago, on Halloween. Lily, Petunias hated sister, Lily Potter, Harry Potter, Harry James Potter, son of James Potter. It all made too much sense. How many Lily and James Potter's could there be, who had a son named Harry, who died on Halloween, who was given a lightning bolt shaped scar? How many?

This changed everything. Everything. The wizards would not have left him with muggles if it were not for a good reason. And they would not have willingly let him go, either. Did they seek to keep him ignorant? Was he in danger from dark wizards, hoping to finish what their master started? The possibilities opened wide, and Harry found himself on the border of hyperventilating. What now? Did he tell them? What did he do?

The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry James Potter.

He walked as if in a daze, down the stairs, into the office. Empty. He exited, passing through the kitchen. Mr. Steel sat there, tea to one side and a newspaper on the other. He looked up smiling, only for it to fade at Harry's pale face. Harry slammed the book down, pointing wordlessly to the picture of a smiling baby boy, grinning toothless up at the camera.

Harry James Potter.

He tried to speak, couldn't. He sat with a thump, just pointing at the picture, the name. Hero. A bloody hero. Mr. Steel looked, uncomprehending. Then the man's mind clicked. It was almost audible, when the light bulb went off, an Ah-HA! moment. Eureka! The boy is a celebrity. What!?

"My name. Harry James Potter. My parents, Lily and James. They died nine years ago; my Aunt always said it was a car crash. That I got that scar in a car crash. Sir. Sir!"

His breath came fast again, and Mr. Steel abruptly stood and gathered him into his arms. He made soothing noises, and for the first time in years Harry allowed the tears to fall. He did not even know that he still cared. He had always been told his parents were the good for nothing sort, marrying early, having a baby, drunks the both of them. Worthless, jobless, freaks. Freaks, oh, how could he not have realized?

"What's wrong? Harry?"

The voice came from the doorway.

"Nothing, leave."

Mr. Steel commanded in a stern voice. Tiny obeyed immediately. Harry made himself step back, let himself be led into the office, the door shutting behind him. Mr. Steel gently pressed him into a chair, before pulling his own to sit across from him. He rested his hands on Harry's shoulder.

"Tell me. Whatever led you to this."

"My name. I've always known it, had to know it, for school. My parents' names too. A asked my aunt, she hated her sister, resented her. All I was ever told was negative. I was a freak, a worthless drain on their finances, a legal hassle and risk. They must have known, sir. Always no funny business, never questioning the odd things, only getting angry. They must have been forced to take me in. Why, I do not know. Oh, sir. What does this mean? If it's true, and it's got to be, the coincidences, it's too great. The same name? Parents names? Scar? Age?"

"Oh Harry. I knew of this, this person. Of you. I never would've put that together. This changes... so much. So much I cannot even comprehend it. You are not the average wizard. You are not even muggleborn! You are a half-blood, I guess. A step up, in some eyes. You will definitely be noticed, everywhere you go, and everything you do. And... These wizards. If they put you there on purpose... if they do not know you are missing by now, they will when it's time for your letter to go out, for you to go to school. And I highly doubt they will be happy with you being here, nor the state you are in."

Harry shook his head, wordless. It was all too much to handle.

"Oh, Harry."

"My parents died for me, sir. It says it, right there. My mother and father both, died fighting against this dark wizard. All my life, I thought they didn't care, that they were worthless. They were heroes! My dad, he was their version of a policeman, an Auror, my mother was already a renowned Charms Mistress! I had a family, that loved me, and it was taken from me."

He shook his head.

"And now, I can't help but think, what about that thing, in my head? Was that something of this Dark Lord's? Will I ever know? And look here!"

He pointed to the page before, a showcase on the terror of the wizarding world.

"This guy spoke to snakes! It reads: 'one of the dark talents, to speak to the cold-blooded denizens of the earth, a most evil-sounding trait; Parseltongue.' And I speak to snakes too."

Mr. Steel reached out again, pulling Harry into a hug. He sat stiff for a moment, before collapsing in the man's arms. Is this what it feels like to have a father? He closed his eyes and for a second let someone else consider his problems, make decisions. Mr. Steel gently pulled Harry back, tipping his head up to meet his eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Harry. Do not worry about that. I need to get into contact with some other people. This is bigger than I ever thought. To have you, right here under our noses... well. To the wizarding world, you are a hero. They have books about you, many obviously false, but they will have expectations. I shudder to think what would have happened if you had had no knowledge of this when you entered their world. I will try and get ahold of some books on wizarding families. Your father was a pureblood, and with that came political responsibilities as well. I imagine you even have money, laid up for you somewhere. Yes. Let me think on this. We will make more plans later. Will you be okay?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll be fine. I just... don't tell the others. Not yet. I'll tell them, if... when I need to."

"Alright. Try to relax. Everything is going to be fine."


Harry tried to keep that in mind as he attempted to finish his day. As soon as the others went to their rooms, he escaped out the door and into the night sky. He flew fast and far, not caring which direction.

He soared over farms and houses, over Cheddar itself, a blaze of softly glowing lights and dark streets. He sharpened his eyes downward, watching dogs and cats and the occasional person walking about. His eyes could see so clearly, another side effect of Ayin now discovered. Better night vision. He watched a car drive down a quiet street, and it was then he saw it happen.

A woman, walking from her car late at night, busy fussing with a purse, grabbed and cornered by two men. It did not take imagination to know what they wanted. Harry dived between one heartbeat and the next, the rushing air spinning past his face. He landed feet first into the side of the taller man, knocking him back and off the woman. The other man cursed, spinning, holding her ripped shirt in his hands, and paused, shocked. Harry could see the picture he made reflected in the man's eyes. A boy, winged in glinting silver and black steel. The other man jumped up, swinging his fist, and Harry's wing swept back, shearing it at the wrist. The man howled in pain and shock, collapsing. The woman cried, sobbing, clutching her torn clothes to cover herself. The second man cursed again, backing off, fumbling in his jacket.

He pulled forth a shaking gun, pointing it in his direction. Before the shot fired Harry cried out.

"Heth!"

The bullet went wild, not even hitting his shield. Harry did not waste time.

"Zayin!"

Both palms held out, his desire clear in his mind. Protect the woman, protect protect protect. The magic poured from his right palm, the rune glowing, the magic arching in its z shaped pattern, an arch that ended when it hit the gun, blowing it from the man's hand. His arm was next, an explosion of gore and blood, ending when it exited his shoulder. He panted hard, heart racing. Both men were on the ground now, one unconscious, the first attempting to crawl away cradling his injured wrist.

Harry glanced at the woman, sick to his stomach. She huddled, crying, refusing to look up. He quickly stepped towards her, but she backed up, shaking and afraid. He heard shouting and the sounds of sirens. With a last glance at the men, he jumped up with a leap, letting the magic help lift him up and into the air. He landed on the building above, and quickly emptied his stomach. He had never seen... never imagined. The thought of what that spell could have done to someone... it was so far beyond what he had wanted, when he had thought of a spell to protect oneself. It had exploded. And his wings... he could feel the man's blood dripping off his left wing, and that sent him dry heaving again in a corner.

When he wiped his mouth and shakily peered over the edge of the roof and down into the street, the police had arrived. The woman was being wrapped in a blanket by a female officer, talking rapidly. Medics were attempting to help the two men. They were all obviously confused. Harry wished he could sharpen his ears as well as his eyes and know what they were saying. One was rambling in his radio, making violent hand gestures. Harry spent another minute observing the scene before he noticed that the sky was beginning to lighten. If he did not head home now, he would risk being seen in the sky.

He quickly stood, backing away and to the other edge, leaping off and up and heading back home. His mind was a rash of confusion. Close to home he stopped, finding a pond. He looked himself over. His left wing was splattered with blood, as well as his coat and shoes. He shed them and his coat, wading into the pond a little ways, enough to dip his wings under and rinse them quickly. He wanted no part of that man within himself. He then did the best he could with his coat and shoes, a quick rinse. He glanced at the sky and sighed. He would need to walk the rest of the way, couldn't risk flying. It would take at least an hour. If the others noticed him missing, he would be in deep trouble.

Things felt almost normal now, as if he did not just cut off a man's hand and shredded another's entire arm. He had not meant to! He just wanted to help the woman, maybe scare them away, but then that one had hit his wing, and the other had pulled out a gun, of all things. And Zayin. He glanced within himself; saw the rune glowing as deep as usual. Such destructive force! What was the secret to it? Desire? He had in no way intended that result that was for sure. What was that saying?

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

What was he going to say? Should he tell the truth? Would they find out anyway? Harry resigned himself to walking back, setting a fast jog. He had a while to think about it.


The Auror on duty was thinking it was just another night. The Muggle Liaison Office was never really busy, hadn't been since the end of the war and its aftermath. The occasional item or scared muggle was usually handled by the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office and their team of Obliviators.

So it was with surprise that he registered a call coming through on that odd muggle device, the tell-o-phone. He picked it up hesitantly, this being only the third time he had had to do so.

"Hello?"

"Yes, is this the... MLO?"

"That is correct."

"I need to register... suspicious... activity."

"Go ahead."

The man described an odd incident, of a woman attacked and her would-be rapists being attacked in turn by an odd winged human, who shot a spell and decapitated a mans arm and another's wrist. It definitely reeked of dark magic. The Auror got names and coordinates, then began to summon the correct people. A team of three, two Aurors and one specialist in obliviation and legilimency arrived two hours later at the small muggle police office. They entered the through the back, and were led to a back room, where a woman held a tissue to her face. The woman looked up, confused by their presence and clothes. The third man was inside her mind the minute she made eye contact, skimming her surface thoughts. The woman did not remember much, only getting a glimpse of wing-like appendages and a flickering light. She did not remember much. The man withdrew from her mind.

"Obliviate!"

He only left a vague memory of being attacked before the men ran away, scared by approaching police cars.

"We will need to see these other two men."

They nodded, and were told that the men were currently under guard at the nearby hospital. They apparated there immediately, traveling under notice-me-not-charms up to the the rooms the men were recovering in. The guards were expecting them, and only stared at their strange attire before letting them through. Both men rested in beds, one asleep and the other trying to eat off a tray with one hand. The man glanced up, opened his mouth to question, and the man once more slipped into his mind. He was good at his job.

This man, Frank, had seen the woman first. He offered to hold her while the other man, Donnie, took his turn first. He had been in the process when he had been knocked off his feet by a strong kick in the side. He had gotten up and saw a small man or perhaps boy, his features unclear in the low light, with huge wings spread out from his back. He had tried to strike them and had barely registered the pain before he realized that his hand was missing. It had sheared off easily and cleanly, as if sliced with a sharp blade, an easy wound for the medics to stitch up. His hand had not been able to be reattached. The man had tried to flee, heard gunshots and turned back in time to see the small man shoot off a bolt of colored light that had exploded Donnie's gun, hand, and arm all the way up to the shoulder. The police had caught him before he could crawl much farther, the winged human disappearing as suddenly as he had appeared.

The man pulled out, frowning.

"Obliviate!"

He turned to the others, seeing the other man was unconscious still.

"It's not a harpy or veela. It seems the wings themselves cut off the wrist, perhaps some sort of armored plate? Regardless, very dangerous. Not a spell I have heard of before, either way. There are some that perhaps could copy the effects, with some creativity. Either way, not sure what we are dealing with here."

"Enervate."

The man, Donnie, came awake with a pain filled groan. The man was in his mind, as soon as he cracked an eyelid, watching the event from his perspective. He too had not gotten a clear look, but had attempted to shoot in defensive after seeing the man somehow cut off the hand of his companion. The bullet had went wild, and the resulting attack spell had knocked him unconscious just after getting a glimpse of his arms ripping and twisting into a million bloody pieces. The man had not heard the spells clearly, though he could confirm that the attacker did not seem to have a wand. Wandless ability was rare, and usually limited to certain spells. A favorite of the attackers, perhaps? One of their own creation? He pulled out of the man's mind.

"Obliviate. Stupefy."

The team left after visiting each of the other officers on duty in turn, obliviating where necessary, and filing a preliminary report with the muggles. When they reentered the Ministry they went directly to meet with their superior, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Justus Pilliwickle raised his head as they took seats, pushing his mountain of paperwork aside temporarily.

"Well?"

"I'm not sure, sir. At first it sounded like Rosier, just his style with the expulsion curse, but after looking into the memories this does not seem to be the case. That, and Rosier would never act in defense of a muggle. "

"Ideas?"

"Dark Wizard, definitely. Unknown curse, though it could be a personal hybrid created by the caster. Known to happen, with these dark types. Does not fit any open cases at present."

"Motive?"

"...Not sure sir. It would appear it was defense of the muggle woman, but that does not mesh with dark magic. Also, the extreme use of force, it seemed excessive. Perhaps a personal vendetta? It is unclear."

"I assume all cleanup has been handled."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Keep a file on it, names, dates. We will be on the lookout."

"Should I assign a patrol, sir?"

"I do not see why. We are short enough as it is, to send a team for one small incident that did not even result in death. Let the muggles handle it for now."

"Of course, sir."

"Dismissed."

"Yes, sir."

Once the men left, Pilliwickle tapped his paperwork with one long finger. There were still a few Death Eaters that had never been brought to justice. Some, for lack of proof. Others, an expenditure of wealth. And the last, those that were simply too good at hiding. Rosier was perhaps the most sought. The general public liked to think they were safe, but that was simply not the case. The DMLE force was too strung out, and too poorly funded, to adequately put on the kind of search needed to find the missing Death Eaters. And after the war, the people were simply tired of being afraid, and tired of spending money and effort in fighting. They wanted to lay down their fighting wands and live peaceably.

He wished he could let them.


~Review Please!~