Chapter One: Monsters without Souls.
"Bombarda, Confringo, Sagittas."
Harry Potter watched as the last three spells he cast fizzed towards the last standing training dummy in the room of requirement - with scarcely a foot of space between each of vibrant bolts of magic. The first Bombarda impacted raced towards the target, before coming to a halt about two feet away from the training dummy - a pre-prepared Protego shield flaring to life in order to save the dummy from a rather messy end. The shield spell flared a deep shade of blue as the Bombarda exploded against the shield - the gold and red hue of the explosive spell slamming into the Protego with incredible force. The once-pristine blue barrier appeared was already faltering, spider-web like cracks spreading throughout its integrity with such speed that, had the dummy been a real human being, they would have almost certainly attempted to either reinforce the shield with more magic in an attempt to restore its integrity, or they would have simply dispelled it and attempted to dodge the follow-up spells that Harry had fired off. Thankfully, this was a warmdown exercise so the dummies were not set to perform in a more human manner. This was simply to allow Harry to calm his mind and focus on his accuracy and speed whilst exhausted - something he intended to take full advantage of, as the poor practice dummy was about to find out.
The Confringo sliced straight through the centre of the cracked shield and detonated, causing the cracked magical construct to shatter like a glass window as the spell's concussive force annihilated what remained of the Protego', sending pieces of still-solidified blue magic cascading to the floor. Not even the dummy was spared, as the shield-piercing hex's secondary effect almost knocked the wooden construct off of its feet. Before the construct's momentum could carry it back forward to rest normally on its stand, two iron arrows embedded themselves into the dummy - one centre mass near the 'heart' of the dummy, whilst the second was firmly embedded in its 'neck'. Either or of these hits would likely have been fatal to a human opponent, as Harry intended and his teacher demanded of him, but that didn't stop the fourteen year old wizard from letting out a soft growl of frustration as he examined his handiwork, all whilst a soft clapping began from behind him.
"Bravo, Harry. I must say that your aim and spacing of those arrows has improved tremendously over the course of this afternoon!" A grandfatherly voice proclaimed, genuine approval and pride for Harry's handiwork evident in the speaker's voice. Harry sighed as he took a moment to conjure a towel for himself with a flick of his wand before using it to wipe away what sweat he could from his head, taking a moment to try and dry out his hair as well in order to make himself a tad more respectable. When he was done, Harry let the magic that was holding together the conjured towel fade back into the world as he banished it.
"What are you on about, Professor? I missed the heart and head again." Harry responded, the faintest hint of frustration creeping into his voice at that statement. He had been practising this damned spell for hours and he still couldn't get the consistency he wanted from the spell. The Professor let out a hearty chuckle as he stepped forward from the edge of the room.
"Indeed you did Harry, but may I remind you that every other child your age wouldn't even have the ability to perform the Sagittas spell, let alone apply it as you are?" The Professor responded patiently. Harry let out a frustrated growl as he spun on his heels to face his teacher, only responding once he had made eye-contact.
"I'm not like my peers, Albus. We both know I have to be so much better than them: for my sake as well as their own."
Though his appearance had long since been ravaged by the passage of time, it was obvious to anybody who met Professor Albus Dumbledore that the man had held a certain handsomeness in his youth - despite his thrice-broken nose. With his outrageously long beard, half moon-spectacles and garish purple and gold robes, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looked every bit the mad but brilliant old man that the Wizarding world knew him as. Harry Potter, on the other hand, knew that the man before him was so much more than the Wizarding world could understand.
Consummate politician. Dedicated educator. Esoteric philosophiser. Fearsome warrior. Fearless leader. All grand claims, but nonetheless true about the greatest sorcerer that the British Isles had produced since Merlin himself. But he was also just a man. A man who had made more mistakes than anybody else alive. A man who was training a 14 year old boy to help right the greatest wrong he had ever committed and wage a war that should have ended thirteen years ago. Some would call the man's actions horrifying, others abominable.
Harry would agree they were far from moral.
But they were necessary.
And thankfully, Dumbledore agreed.
'Probably more to keep an eye on me than anything, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.' Harry thought to himself wryly as he waited for Dumbledore to respond. The old man held Harry's gaze for several seconds before he let out a soft sigh, lowering his gaze to the floor before he responded.
"Indeed my boy, and for that, I can never apologise enough." The old man responded, his usual vigour and vibrancy replaced by a genuine, all-consuming sorrow that made Harry sigh softly, his previous irritation at his accuracy gone as he stepped towards his teacher / headmaster.
"Albus, we have been over this. You couldn't have stopped Riddle when he was at this school, nobody could have predicted just how much support he would gather, you didn't create the prophecy about me and Riddle….."
"And you're not responsible for me, either. "
"That is where you are wrong, Harry. You are my student, and so long as you are my student, your wellbeing and safety will always be my responsibility." Here, Dumbledore gave the young man a soft but heartfelt smile as he turned to make his way towards the door that would lead him out into the seventh floor corridor.
"When you're ready Harry, please do come by my office. There are a few things I would like to discuss with you about the upcoming year. As much as it pains me to say it, you may have to be exceptionally careful with concealing your condition this year."
At the mention of his condition, Harry looked down at his left wrist. Sat around it was an innocent looking silver bracelet, roughly a quarter of an inch thick. On a casual glance, one may simply believe the surface of the bracelet to be heavily scuffed and scratched, as it lacked the usual glisten of well-maintained silver. But if one were to pay closer attention, they would realise that the bracelet was not in-fact, scuffed, but rather engraved with almost illegible runes. Hundred, if not thousands of the ancient Norse symbols had been painstakingly carved into the metal by hand - each imbued with magical power and given a one, sole purpose….
To keep the magical freak that was Harry Potter alive.
(Three Years Ago, June 13th, 1991)
Harry Potter shivered slightly as he sat in the hospital bed that he had woken in around ten minutes ago. Despite it being the middle of June, the halls and rooms of Hogwarts outside of the comforts of Gryffindor tower were still uncomfortably cool in the evening time.
'I suppose that's the downside we have to deal with in exchange for living in a magical castle. Of everything though - the castle being a little chilly at night is a fair trade.' Harry thought to himself with a small smile. He had dealt with the cold plenty as a child when the Dursleys' 'forgot' to buy him a new coat at the start of winter, leaving him to shiver until they were forced to buy a new coat out of worry they would be accused of 'favouring' Dudley.
'Heavens forbid that happen.'
Shaking his head lightly, Harry dispelled any further thoughts of his supposed 'family' - though it was difficult to do when he had been left alone to his thoughts by the matron of Hogwarts hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey. When he had asked her about the Philosophers Stone, the woman had simply replied that Professor Dumbledore would be along shortly to discuss the matter with him and that he should simply rest until the esteemed Headmaster arrived. She had then quickly gone through a series of checks to make sure that he was recovering well enough - though oddly the elderly witch cast each spell two or even three times. However, considering that he had just survived an altercation with the thing that had killed his parents, Harry supposed that the woman was simply being exceptionally cautious. After all, who knew what Voldemort was truly capable of…. even if he didn't have a body.
Letting his mind wander, Harry spent the next few minutes in quiet reflection of the year he had just finished at Hogwarts. From making friends, to joining the Quidditch team, rescuing another student (now friend) from a fully grown Mountain Troll and saving a priceless artefact from the clutches of a murderous monster - it was safe to say that Harry had made the best decision of his life when he decided to follow Hagrid away from the Dursleys to Diagon Alley. Just as he was about to lose himself in the warm, fun-filled memories he had of his first year of magical education, Harry heard the heavy oak doors to the Hospital wing slowly creak open. Turning his gaze towards the front of the long, bed-filled hall, Harry watched as the doors parted just enough to allow the tall, grandfatherly headmaster of the school to pass into the Hospital Wing without having to break his stride.
When the bespectacled headmaster met Harry's eyes with his own, his genial smile blossomed into one of genuine relief and happiness - an expression Harry had not become entirely accustomed to having directed at him.
"Young Harry, you have no idea how happy I am to see you awake and completely healthy after what transpired with your…. former defence professor."
In response, the young man felt himself flush in embarrassment and break the headmaster's gaze as he looked down at the duvet of his bed. Though the young Potter did have to admit, whilst he felt embarrassed about having someone seem genuinely concerned for his well-being when they should have to be, it did bring him a great deal of happiness to know that there were more than a handful of people in his life who worried for him. Harry was about to speak when the final part of the headmaster's greeting registered fully with Harry's mind.
'...your former defence professor.'
'The man I… I…. killed.'
Immediately, Harry felt his throat choke up as tears began to threaten to spill forth. He never wanted to hurt anybody, let alone kill them. All he wanted to do was stop Quirrell from helping Voldemort regain a body - all he wanted to do was keep that damned stone safe. Now he was a murderer, a killer, a criminal. With each and every passing second, Harry's mind spiralled further and further into misery. 'I'm so sorry', the words he desperately wanted to cry out, became little more than fearful sobs as the damn finally broke and he collapsed back onto his bed, rolling onto his side so that he wouldn't have to look at the Headmaster.
'They'll lock you up, you damned freak! Nobody normal can turn another person into a crumbling ash, and normal people don't kill others! You're a criminal, a monster and a danger to society.' A part of Harry's mind whispered, sounding dangerously like Vernon Dursley when he was done administering his tender mercies after a bout of accidental magic. The cruel, insidious words continued to echo through Harry's mind as his fearful sobs gave way to unfiltered cries and screams of anguish and hatred. Just when he thought he had found a place he could call home, Harry had gone and fucked it all up, and was now probably going to be thrown into wizarding prison from now until the end of his days.
Barely aware of his surroundings as he writhed in his anguish, Harry felt a firm hand clasp him gently on his right arm, occasionally patting or rubbing the appendage gently, whilst unintelligible words slowly helped to stop his mind from spiralling any further. After a few minutes, the hateful, Vernon-like voice in the back of his head slowly began to recede. In its place, a gentle, grandfatherly voice offered soothing words and a firm but kindly hand that let Harry know he was not alone in this moment and that, despite what had happened, there was at least one person who wanted to still talk to him.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Harry let out the last of his tears and wrought forth the last of his sobs.
"Easy, my boy. Take a minute to breathe regularly - it will help you feel more at ease and aid you with speaking." Dumbledore instructed, his voice holding the warmth that Harry had come to associate with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Nodding gently, Harry slowly brought his breathing under control and took a minute to settle his racing heart and ragged breaths. After a minute, Harry let out a shaky but otherwise normal deep breath.
'Huh, what do you know, it worked.'
Sitting up, the young Potter turned his eyes towards his headmaster, who was looking at Harry with concern. Taking one last calming breath, Harry finally spoke.
"I'm so… so sorry Headmaster. I kno- Ron, Hermione and I shouldn't have gone down there sir. I know it was dangerous - but we felt we had to do something! But… I didn't mean to….. Professor Quirrell sir…. He attacked me and I…. I just…" As he tried to protest his innocence, Harry found his words failing him again, his gaze dropping back down as he slowly drew back in on himself. He really didn't know how else he could truly convey just how sorry he was for killing Quirrell. Dumbledore, meanwhile, let out a soft sigh, his blue eyes seemingly glassing over for a moment before they refocused and he replied to Harry.
"No my boy, it is I who should be apologising to you." Dumbledore intoned softly. Harry's gaze snapped back up to the Headmaster, shock evident on his features as he tried (and failed) to understand why the Headmaster was apologising to him. Noticing his confusion, Dumbledore smiled slightly, but it was a smile devoid of any joy, filled instead with bitter memories and the weight of a thousand mistakes. In that moment, Harry understood something that the rest of the wizarding world seemed to have forgotten about Albus Dumbledore….
He was only human.
"Sir... I'm not sure I understand, why are you apologising to me? I'm the murderer here." Harry said softly.
"I'm apologising, Harry, for two reasons. First of all, I am apologising to you for the fact that you had to defend yourself against Professor Quirrell and Lord Voldemort, Harry. Even though Quirrell was, for all intents and purposes, dead the moment Voldemort leeched onto his body, I still put you through a horrific and traumatising event. I should have been there to deal with them - I let myself get foolishly tricked by them, and for that, you have nothing but my most sincere apologies. My ignorance forced you to make a horrific choice, fight or die. I can only hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me. " The Headmaster said. Harry shook his head lightly at the headmaster's words, and he made to protest the old mans' words vehemently. However, before the first syllable could so much as leave his mouth, the aged headmaster fixed his student with a firm stare, silencing Harry instantly.
"I failed you terribly, Harry, and that is the truth of the matter. I made a grave mistake, one which very nearly cost you your life. I can only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for failing you so." Dumbledore said, his voice deadly serious as he held Harry's gaze. Harry smiled at the Headmaster's words.
"I forgive you sir. You made a mistake but you owned up to it and apologised to me. That … that means more to me then you could understand…" Harry said softly, earning a soft chuckle and another warm, heartfelt smile from Dumbledore.
"My boy, you have no idea how happy you made an old man with just your forgiveness this evening."
"I am afraid, however, that there is another matter we must discuss." The professor said, the grimace that came onto his face clearly speaking of how uncomfortable the coming discussion was about to be. Harry, unsure of what the headmaster could really be referring to (aside from Quirrell's death. Nodding, Harry gestured for the headmaster to speak again.
"Harry, I know this isn't a pleasant question for me to ask you, but I need to make certain of something. What happened exactly when you…. freed Professor Quirrell from Voldemort's influence?"
Harry winced visibly at the question and sat there for several seconds in uncomfortable silence - quite unsure as to how to explain what had happened to the late professor and the immediate aftermath of the event. Seeing Harry's unease, Dumbledore offered the young Potter a firm but supportive hand on the shoulder and a reassuring smile.
"You're not in trouble Harry. But there may be another subject we need to address, but I want to be absolutely certain of this last fact before we discuss it." The headmaster stated calmly. Harry, for his part, winced at the prospect of another topic to discuss, but he none-the-less nodded and began to recount what had happened…. all whilst praying to whatever deity that was listening that his headmaster could provide him with some clarity and understanding.
"It.. was like nothing I've ever seen: both in real life or even described in one of the Defence books, sir. One minute, Professor Quirrell was on top of me, his hands clamped around my neck as he tried to strangle me… the next he was screaming and trying to hit me in order to get me to let go as he just... Melted into ash, sir." Here, the young Potter paused for a moment as he quickly forced the memories of the utterly blood-curdling screams that had come from Quirrell as his body was disintegrated piece by piece.
"The weird part was sir, as Quirrell turned to ash, all the pain and tiredness I felt from the journey there and Quirrell's attack just seemed to… vanish. In fact, when he was fully gone, sir…. I…. I've never felt more alive. Right before Voldemort's shade attacked me…..
Professor, I felt like I could take on the whole damned world if I wanted to! Every part of me was practically full of energy and I felt like I could cast spells for days and days on end without worry! It was incredible! I was incredible…. and that scares me more than I can possibly say. A man died and all I could feel in that moment was powerful." Harry's explanation had started off as calm as the young Potter could manage, but as he explained himself more and more, Harry found his voice and panic rising. By the end of his impromptu barrage of information, the young Potter's voice had become somewhat hysterical as he recounted the terrifying reality of what he had felt in the immediate aftermath of Quirrell's death.
This time, there was no comforting hand on the shoulder from the Headmaster. Dumbledore did not offer words of encouragement, nor did he offer a small, hopeful smile to help alleviate the stress Harry was feeling.
Instead, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizenmangot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looked absolutely and utterly devastated.
"It is as I feared, then." The aged headmaster's voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke, but in the haunting silence of the Hospital wing on that fateful night, Dumbledore may as well have shouted to Harry.
Perplexed and concerned by his headmaster's words, Harry licked his lips and swallowed slightly in order to alleviate his rapidly drying throat - his mounting worry hampering his ability to speak.
"Sir, what do you mean?"
Dumbledore did not answer Harry straight away, but the Headmaster's furrowed brow and twitching moustache betrayed the fact that he was clearly attempting to think of a way to properly answer Harry. Eventually, after almost a minute of silence, Dumbledore finally spoke.
"Tell me, Harry, what do you know about Pariahs?"
The question caught Harry completely off-guard. Of all the things he expected the headmaster to ask him, that was the last possible thing on his mind. However, seeing that Dumbledore was clearly expecting an honest, forthright answer, Harry quickly answered the venerable wizard.
"If I'm honest sir, nothing really. All I know is that they're thought to be the most foul creatures in the magical world - and that we won't really be studying them until our third or fourth year." Harry said, eliciting a soft sigh from his Headmaster. Withdrawing his hand from Harry's shoulder, the older Wizard sat back properly into the chair that was next to Harry's bed before answering him.
"Pariahs are not creatures, Harry. They are people - witches and wizards who are afflicted with the most hideous of burdens in the magical world." The headmaster stated calmly. Harry tilted his head to the side, confused slightly by the headmaster's words.
"Do you mean Werewolves, sir?" Harry asked, earning a small smile from the headmaster who shook his head gently.
"I do not mean Werewolves specifically Harry. However, it is not inaccurate to say that Pariahs and most Werewolves are not responsible for their conditions. As such, I can understand why you would think I am referring to Werewolves."The headmaster said, eliciting a nod from Harry who found his curiosity peaked by the topic of their discussion. Seeing that Harry had no immediate questions, Dumbledore continued speaking.
"Pariahs are, for lack of a better term, anomalies of Magic as we understand it. Every living creature, magical and non-magical alike, has a soul. And every soul, no matter how big or small, is infused with magic, and interacts with what is known as the 'Magical plane'." Here, Dumbledore paused as he noticed the utterly bewildered look Harry was giving him, causing the old man to smile and chuckle at his student's confusion. Taking pity on Harry, the aged Headmaster continued.
"You don't need to understand the finer details now, my boy. All you need to know is that the 'Magical plane' is the theorised origin of 'magic' as we know it, and every living creature interacts with this plane of existence. This includes muggles. The difference between Magical and non-Magical beings is simply how 'attuned' the soul is to the Magical plane and magic as a force. Wizards and Witches, and magical animals for that matter, are attuned enough to be able to draw magic from the plane and use it to perform feats which defy logic and the laws of our world…"
"So spells, wards and everything else witches and wizards can do are a result of having a soul which can draw upon magic because they are attuned enough?" Harry concluded, earning a nod from the Headmaster.
"Yes, though there's a lot more to it than that - all you need to know for now is that this is how normal magicals interact with the world around them. Pariahs, however, are fundamentally different from all other magical creatures. Where regular Witches and Wizards have souls which are attuned to the plane of magic, Pariahs do not have souls that are attuned to magic." Here, the headmaster's voice became sombre, as he continued on his explanation to Harry.
"Pariahs are, for lack of a better term, anomalies in the very fabric of magic itself. Rather than drawing in, using and then releasing magic, as normal Magicals do, Pariahs quite literally devour magical energy. Most witches and wizards would tell you that they are ravenous monsters that wish to devour the magic of normal wizarding folk in order to satiate an unfathomable hunger caused by their lack of a soul. That would be, thankfully, largely fear-mongering foolishness caused by ignorance rather than good logic - but it is grounded in a semblance of truth." The headmaster stated, a slightly irritated look crossing his features at the mention of 'fear-mongering' and 'ignorance'. Harry, enraptured by the headmaster's words but not entirely certain as to why he was bringing this up, nodded his head in understanding. Satisfied that Harry was paying attention, Dumbledore continued.
"Whilst it is true that Pariahs do not have souls that conform to our understandings of magic, it does not mean that they are without them. Unfortunately, this simple fact has led to society making the conclusion that Pariahs do not have souls at all. This, in my opinion, has been the root cause for a great deal of the strife that Pariahs have caused over the centuries. The fear and ignorance of magicals has driven people afflicted with a condition as terrifying for them as it is for others, down dark and tragic paths - the most notorious of all being the first Dark Lady herself, Morgana Le Fay."
"Many other such beings have existed throughout our history. Most, like Morgana, were not evil monsters who sought to kill witches and wizards for their magic. They were simply people who suffered from a condition nobody has ever truly tried to understand - instead choosing to cruelly vilify them, eventually pushing these poor individuals to a point where they became the monsters that the world thought them to be." Dumbledore said, genuine sadness filling his voice as he continued on his explanation. As the aged wizard took a brief break from his explanation, Harry couldn't help but ask a question which had been at the forefront of his mind.
"Sir, earlier you said Pariahs devour magic. What do you actually mean by that?" The younger wizard asked tentatively.
"In truth Harry, I cannot say for certain. For you see, Pariahs are often so poorly treated by the majority of witches and wizards, that nobody has ever been able to get one to agree to work with them in order to figure exactly what their condition is. It is true that magical beings in close proximity to Pariahs find it exceptionally difficult, and sometimes impossible, to perform magic at all. The same goes for magical artefacts - paintings, wards, enchantments and so on. Pariahs seem to naturally nullify the magic of spells or other such effects within their vicinity. Similarly, spells do not affect Pariahs in the same way that they do normal witches and wizards if they do manage to come into contact with them. Spells which may deeply cut or even kill a normal witch or wizard may only scratch or moderately injure a Pariah. "
"I do not believe that this is born of an ability to 'devour magic' as many would imply, as that would mean a Pariah would be unable to cast spells - something which is not true. Alas," Here, Dumbledore paused as a forlorn look passed over his features, "certain members of our society are keen to leave the subject of Pariahs well alone, and continue this fear-mongering."
This, coupled with the fact that the majority of the Wizarding world who aren't actively attempting to suppress the study of Pariahs are keen to seek swift and simple answers where possible…."
"Are happy to think that Pariahs are simply dangerous freaks that want to drain them of their magic, all because some bigoted idiots tell them so?" Harry finished, his dry voice betraying only a hint of the disdain. The last living member of the Potter bloodline had been subjected to similar treatment from his supposed 'relatives' over the last ten years of his life. He knew, if only tentatively, of how these poor people were treated. Like Dumbledore had said, Pariahs were not at fault for being born: people were at fault for treating them like monsters because they couldn't be bothered to understand them.
The aged headmaster of Hogwarts shared a sad, knowing smile with Harry at his word - the aged wizard clearly agreeing with at least part of what his student had just said.
"Indeed, Harry. I would ask you, however, to reserve your disdain for those who are denying Pariahs their rights, not the masses who know no better," Dumbledore said.
"However, I am sure you are aware that I am not simply telling you this for the sake of making conversation."
Harry nodded his head once, the young wizard having known the defeater of Grindelwald was not simply sharing an interesting anecdote with him. Harry had a sneaking suspicion as to where this was leading. When the shade of Voldemort had attacked him following Quirrell's demise, none of the spells he had cast at the Dark Lord had any form of impact! Clearly, Dumbledore had been worried that Voldemort was one of these Pariahs, and the interaction between Harry and the Dark Lord tonight had all but confirmed the man's suspicions.
'Hell, maybe that's how he survived when he attacked me and my parents on Halloween night. Wait! If Professor Dumbledore knows what the Dark Lord is, he may be able to finally research properly into these Pariahs and figure out how to stop him permanently.' Harry thought to himself, a huge wave of relief and happiness washing over him at that realisation. Allowing a small, relieved smile to show itself, Harry met Dumbledore's wizened gaze with his own youthful folly before replying to the venerated wizard.
"I figured as much sir. But now you know what Voldemort is, you or whoever else decides to help can finally find a way to stop him for good!" Harry stated enthusiastically, his joy evident in his speech. However, the headmaster did not reflect even a modicum of the joy Harry felt. If anything, the powerful wizard visibly sagged - as if a new, more damning burden had been placed upon his shoulders. After several seconds of silence, Harry's enthusiasm had completely evaporated, replaced instead with ever mounting trepidation. In the last moments of innocence in his life, Harry assumed that his headmaster was simply despondent at the fact he had no information to really work on aside from the assumptions of bigots and ignorant fools. Forcing another smile onto his face, the young Potter spoke.
"I know it's rubbish that we don't know anything about Pariahs' sir, but you're the best wizard since Merlin himself! If anybody can work it out, it's you -"
"Voldemort is not a Pariah Harry."
"You are."
Harry remembered that particular moment like it was yesterday. At first, he had thought that the headmaster was cracking some sort of misguided joke in order to make him feel better. So Harry had laughed, at first. When the last surviving scion of the Potter bloodline saw that his Headmaster's face was still set in the same grim, saddened expression - Harry realised that Dumbledore was not joking. So laughter gave way to denial - with Harry spouting off all of the reasons he could think of as to why he couldn't possibly be a Pariah, all whilst flatly refusing to meet his Headmaster's steely gaze.
If he was being completely honest, he couldn't really remember much of the discussion that had taken place afterwards, aside from a few examples of other instances where Harry's Pariah nature had begun to show itself over the course of the year.
Like the school broom that gave out from underneath him at the end of his first flying lesson after he had saved Neville's Remembrall, as his ravenous nature consumed the remaining magical power stored within the charms and runes used to grant the broom flight. Or the Mirror of Erised showing little more than the faint outlines of James and Lily Potter as Harry's Pariah nature devoured the magic that would have given the young Potter his first glimpse of the two people who had given everything for him. By the end though, what Harry could distinctly remember was just how alone he felt in that moment.
Yes, he had felt alone before - he had become more than intimately familiar with the sensation growing up under the Dursleys' stairs. But not even the isolation he felt in his cupboard after his Uncle had disciplined him and taunted him could compare to the utterly crushing sense of loneliness that Harry had felt when he finally accepted his headmaster's words as true. Just when he finally thought he had found a world where he could find acceptance - in spite of the Dursley's treatment and his tragically-won fame - he found out that Vernon Dursley was right.
Even amongst the abnormalities of reality that were Magical beings, Harry was different.
An anomaly.
A freak.
After his world-shattering conversation with the Headmaster, the next few days had been something of a whirlwind for Harry. It had been revealed to him very quickly that there was no way that he could go back to the Dursley family. Now that his Pariah nature had been fully unleashed, Harry would devour the magical power that fuelled the defensive protections cast around the property and destroy them within a matter of days - leaving Harry totally unprotected from potential attacks from Voldemort's' followers that had escaped justice at the end of the last war.
This revelation had lifted Harry's dark mood considerably. Whilst he may be a freak, not only would he never have to return to his hideous relatives, but the Dursleys would never have the satisfaction of knowing they were right as Dumbledore simply told them Harry's exceptional skills demanded further tutelage given his celebrity status. The real reasoning was little more complicated. Harry's Pariah nature drained the magic in his general vicinity, and as such it would gradually weaken the strength of any wards that were set up on a property, unless they were set up on ley-lines - which would be able to negate the drain Harry applied to the ward schemes. Hogwarts had been set up at the confluence of two such lines, and as such, there was no danger of Harry weakening the schools formidable defences - or causing lasting damage to any of the enchanted parts of the school's makeup. Secondly, and more importantly - Dumbledore did not want Harry to grow up isolated from people his own age. Whilst part of it, Dumbledore had told Harry, was to make sure he grew up amongst his peers and did not become detached from the world around him, it was more to enable Harry to establish himself as a good person. So if his secret was ever discovered before he was ready to share it, there was at least a chance that people would see Harry, for who he was, and not the condition he had been afflicted with.
Apparently, Vernon Dursley had given the Headmaster an unmatched deluge of abusive comments when he had visited them to break the news that Harry would never be returning to them again. Apparently, the Walrus had some choice words for both Harry and the Headmaster. After dealing with Vernon, Dumbledore had returned and talked to Harry, asking him if his relatives had ever mistreated him. At the time, Harry pointedly avoided the question, shame clouding his mind and stopping him from speaking out about the way he had been treated for the last ten years. Dumbledore had not believed him when he said no, but the old man also clearly recognised that he wouldn't get anything out of Harry by pushing him into something he wasn't ready for.
"When the time comes, my boy, feel free to come and speak to myself or another member of staff. But only do so when you feel ready - not before, and most certainly not when it is too late."
Though he had never said it, Harry had always been grateful to the older wizard for never pushing him into talking about his life with the Dursleys. Harry still hadn't spoken about it to anybody, and he honestly felt like he would never be ready - but the idea was not quite as repulsive to him now as it had been even a year ago.
With his living conditions vastly improved, Harry had initially been slightly disappointed to know he wouldn't have free reign over the Gryffindor tower during the break. That disappointment had quickly turned into eagerness, however, when he found out he would have his own private quarters closer to the Headmaster's office. Normally, it would be reserved for the visiting families of sick or injured students, or foreign dignitaries / heads of schools. With its own study, lounge, bedroom and ensuite bathroom, Harry's new quarters had quickly become his favourite place in Hogwarts - partially due to their luxurious nature, but mostly due to the peace and quiet that they afforded him. Whilst he wouldn't be allowed to use them during term-time for sleeping or prolonged stays, Dumbledore had informed Harry he was more than welcome to use them to study or relax in: providing he slept in Gryffindor tower and spent time with his peers still, a condition Harry happily agreed to.
However, as with all things in life, Harry did not simply get a change in living circumstances during the summer between first and second year. He also had his magical education completely overhauled from the ground up. Dumbledore firmly believed that before they could truly begin to delve into Harry's Pariah nature and understand it, Harry would first need to understand magic itself more thoroughly. On top of that, with it now confirmed that Voldemort was still alive, the Headmaster felt it prudent for Harry to accelerate his magical education so that he would be able to defend himself should the worst come to pass. There were other reasons, which at the time Dumbledore did not share. Not out of a misguided attempt to let Harry have 'a normal childhood' or some such crock - but simply because until Harry was strong enough to protect himself and his mind, there was a risk that Voldemort's lackeys could discover important secrets, and that was a risk Albus Dumbledore was not willing to take.
To rectify this, what had followed in the subsequent eight weeks of the summer break had been the most enlightening, draining and rewarding of Harry's entire life up until that point.
Nearly every conceivable hour that wasn't spent eating, washing or sleeping was devoted to learning. rom basic theory to spellcasting and the history of the magical world, there was not a stone that was left unturned by Albus Dumbledore in his crusade to make sure that Harry was as well-versed as he could possibly be. By the end of the break, Harry's theoretical understanding of magic was closer to that of a third or fourth year student - and his spellcasting roughly that of a third year. The last part had frustrated Harry somewhat, but due to his Pariah nature interfering slightly with his own spellcasting and demanding he put more power than was normal into his spells, Dumbledore felt it best to let him grow a little bit before they moved onto more demanding magics. Harry was already putting more stress on his body when he cast spells than any of his peers, and thus needed to be careful. Too much stress could wreck his body and leave him ill for an extended period of time: something neither teacher nor student wanted to come to pass, especially as time was now a precious resource that they could ill afford to waste.
'To think that was only three years ago. Feels like it was only yesterday that the old man taught me how to cast Wingardium Leviosa again from the ground up.' Harry thought to himself with a small, genuinely mirthful chuckle. Dumbledore demanded nothing but the best from himself when it came to learning, and as a consequence he expected the same level of commitment from his charges - a fact Harry was exceptionally grateful for. Had he not taken the Headmaster's teachings and work ethic to heart, he wouldn't be a tenth of the spellcaster he was today.
'Hell, I wouldn't be alive.'
Shaking his head, the young Potter attempted to waylay the darker memories that were threatening to overwhelm his mind, and instead focused solely on the task of getting back to his room for a shower. Dumbledore said he had wanted to speak to him, and it wouldn't do to talk to the old man in a subpar mood. Lengthening his stride and increasing his pace, the young Potter stopped meandering his way back to his room and instead moved swiftly through Hogwarts hallowed halls.
'I wonder what on Earth makes the old man think I need to be more careful this year than others?' Harry thought to himself.
Little did he know at the time, but the news that Dumbledore would give Harry that evening would be far more important than he could ever understand. For when Veela and Pariah collide, only two outcomes are ever possible.
A love more powerful and passionate than anybody could comprehend.
Or a bitter hatred that can only ever end in death and despair.
And Dumbledore's meeting would be the first step to finding out if the latest tale of Veela and Pariah would end in blissful harmony.
Or unparalleled tragedy.
A/N:
And there we have it, chapter one of my new (and main) story, Pariah. As much as I enjoyed writing The Price of Greatness, I must confess I just felt so much more inspiration for this story that I simply had to set that on the backburner for now. I may re-visit it at a later date, but for now this is my main focus.
I'd like to give a big shout-out to all the beta-readers on the Harry/Fleur Discord server who have offered huge amounts of support, and have made this endeavour possible - from bouncing ideas around to making sure this first chapter isn't a mistake filled mess! If you're interested, do make sure to pop on over to the server. The best link can be found via the subreddit:
r/harryandfleur
It should be pinned at the top of the reddit, and the invite there is permanent, so make sure to swing on by if you're looking for an active and fun discord with Fic suggestions and discussions aplenty!
That's all I really have to say for now, I guess. Please do make sure to leave a review: I'd love to hear your thoughts on the first chapter and it really does make a difference when you hear other people's thoughts! Also, make sure to drop the story a follow or favourite if you're keen to see where this is heading and you don't want to miss anything!
Until next time, safe travels my friends.
Antiochus Soter.