The Ruined Peoples

by Pascal in Quebec

A very young Harry gets help from age 6 to fight against the cruel imprisonment he suffers at the Dursley's house. He sets out to earn his freedom by any means, at any costs, while trying to not lose too much of himself to the various beings, magicks and situations he will encounter. His ultimate goal is revenge against Dumbledore and making a new country of free magicals.

1. Chapter 1

The author wishes to express thanks to anyone who may read this story and encourages them to leave reviews, comments or even flame it hard. As with any who try their hand at publicly expressing an idea or story concept, all feedback is important and welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the Torchlight games, nor any other sci-fi or fantasy series, movies, comics, cartoons or news items used in this fiction as they belong to the creators, broadcasters or publishers who put them out for consumption by the public.

Author's notes about the story and development

The story is rated "M" not for smut or porn despite the sex scenes that may happen at some point but because of life events that happen in spite of our best intentions. Kids swear, smoke, drink alcohol and take drugs because the adults around them are like that. Violence permeates families, schools, churches and the streets we walk. Police brutality and corruption is rife and cheap to buy. Politicians have no care beyond the next election or big contribution to their hidden retirement stash. The Earth is raped, maimed and murdered every day but nobody cares unless they are paid to care or a person they love becomes sick and dies. Medicine saves us but do we want to see and feel the blood and guts being worked into, or share the pain and humiliation of the person getting cut up like cattle on the butcher's block?

The story is rated "M" because life is not for the faint of heart. Survival takes guts and passion and rage and a dose of killer instinct. Unlike the empty promises of religion, I can guarantee that the meek, the weak and the poor will not inherit the Earth at the End Times; they will all be dead or enslaved in the armies that fight for control over the scraps, but they will not inherit anything.

The story will be a multi-crossover with mainly with the video game Torchlight I & II while adding a Cthulhu Mythos and steampunk slant to the context of the tale. Some TV series, movies, cartoons & comics will be referred as part of the background mundane culture of the epoch, but not actual crossovers. Historical British persons will be referred, as will governmental functions and military positions. Some rewriting of mundane history will happen, but not that mush as it isn't the focus of the tale. The magical system used is a merge of HP canon, HP fanon, Advanced AD&D, RoleMaster/SpaceMaster, Torchlight spells, powers & Ember crafting, alchemy & transmutation from FullMetal Alchemist, shinobi from Naruto, magicks from Dresden Files, most of the Cthulhu Mythos beasts & magicks and Steampunk tech. Many of the deities or celestials mentioned are from the "Forgotten Realms" book series, as well as all the previously mentioned sources. Everything is mixed and proportioned to their species, race, culture and job specialization so it all gels together pretty correctly without having anybody overly powerful unless they are in fact Exalted, Celestial or Godly.

Full summary of story

Poor little Harry's early life was worse than Dumbledore could have imagined, or would ever have admitted, even if he saw it with his own eyes. The "Greater Good of Wizarding Britain" had established that the sacrifice of the Potter bloodline must be made, and so it would be, so that the rest of the population could avoid a return of the Dreaded Lord of the Darkes, Voldemort.

This deplorable state of affairs meant that when Harry Potter arrived at Hogwarts, he already had life experiences and survival skills that were more fit for the street gangs than polite society, and he was far from being a pliable pawn, no matter how meek, weak and docile he acted. For you see, Harry had learned young to hide his mind, aptitudes and temper for fear of being beaten by his relatives or teachers. Hogwarts soon proved to be no different than his life to date, and the events of First Year showed the child that he had no real future if he stayed.

Then arrived that fateful night, whence the mistreated house-elf Dobby came to warn him of dire perils coming to Hogwarts, aimed right at his life. Harry chose a far different path than the abnegation and self-sacrifice Dumbledore thought him groomed for. The discussion with Dobby took several days, and results in a far different situation than anybody wizardly or muggle could have ever thought. Dobby takes Harry to a sector of the English Isles that was forgotten by Time and Society, a grouping of abandoned ruins that have stood empty for centuries. From this almost blank canvas, young Harry will build an alliance that will shake the foundations of Britain to remake the wizarding world back into an open, pluralistic magical society that it had been in far Antiquity.

THE RUINED PEOPLES

First chapter: What happened and why

The Manipulator's hidden hands

(Harry Potter - theme)

1981

Moving around

The British Isles & Realms

When the events of 1981 occurred in Godric's Hollow, turning poor baby Harry into an orphan, many underhanded plots and schemes were enacted to insure the infant would have no choices in life other than to follow the path laid before him. By the will of a cowardly manipulator who dwelt in shadows, the boy would be astrained to plod along the tracks set in place by the secret conductor, like a locomotive bound to its railway, without any hope of ever leaving them for better roads.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was born in the late 1800's, and was very much a product of the culture and mores of the era, including that despite being a scholar and erudite of strong mind, he was also quite superstitious. Like most well learned men of his day, he believed strongly in spiritism, seances, augury, oracular testimony and prophetic visions granted by the Old Gods and Providence. As such, the elderly magus had no mental problems or moral qualms about being a highly trained alchemist who valued pure science while following naturopathic and totemistic philosophies. When you live in a world where ghosts fly around your dinner table at all hours of the day, it is hard to keep a stable, rational mind over the long term. But Dumbledore was not alone in this deviance; thousands in the wizarding world develop similar mental quirks and logic faults without realizing the slippery down-slope they are sliding on. You never think you are evil, if the entire population around does the same thing, and you certainly can't be wrong if they adulate you and promote you to all the positions of power they have to offer.

Just ask the German people, after 1945, what they have learned about those societal and psychological mechanisms; it will be enlightening as much as frightening.

Suffice it to say that Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Warlocks, had all the proofs in hand that he was more intelligent, more educated in the arcane, and more morally pure and exalted, than any others because the entire British population said so. Therefore, why would he ever have reason to doubt his own superbly blessed judgment of Things To Come?

HE had heard the prophecy, as it was told to him and none other.

HE had seen the pieces on the board, and moved them to fruition, not anybody else.

HE had the moral authority to influence James Potter and Frank Longbottom into going under Fidelius, with secret keepers of his choosing. Like worshipers in a church, the families obeyed the diktats of their priest as they thought he was 'inspired from above'.

HE had timed the betrayals of both boys involved in the prophecy so as to control events for their placement, education and personal development from afar, without anybody seeing it happen.

HE had manipulated the mental instability of Sirius Black to send him after the true traitor, then warned the aurors about his 'suspicions' concerning the future Lord Black's morality, lawfulness and stability. So warned, the aurors didn't waste time with questions or investigation when they arrived at the sight of the explosion that killed 12 muggles. Sirius Orion Black III was chucked in Azkaban prison without a trial, an audit or even a family visit, as Albus planned. With Harry Potter's primary oath-bound godfather out of the way, the plans for the Child of Prophecy could proceed apace.

All the blood relatives of the Black lineage were set aside quickly, by custom, family law, or false decrees passed surreptitiously in the Wizengamot by bribed, intimidated, potioned or spelled members who voted what Dumbledore put in their minds with legilimancy. A few who would have objected beyond his capacity to bribe or spell were attacked by imperiused muggles dressed as low-rank Death Eaters during the fallout of the war, so nobody ever linked these deaths to his hands. Said muggle pawns were then obliviated, confounded and killed with their corpses incinerated and vanished. Albus was an old warhorse who'd seen the trenches of World War I and II, he knew how to run counter-intelligence operations competently, especially since he absolutely FEARED any sorts of direct combat against strong opponents.

The Longbottom Lord and Lady were tortured into a coma, and Dumbledore made regular visits to Saint-Mungo's hospital to insure they were fed an alchemical concoction he brewed, thusly keeping them in their enforced reduced mental faculties. Augusta (née Rosier) didn't like him one whit, but she was distraught enough to not perceive the small doses of weak loyalty potion he put in her tea when he visited her at home, the hospital or the Gamot offices. Likewise, those healers he kept under imperius and loyalty potions were barred from harming anyone, just report all comings & goings of importance, and keep and few patients in their states of illness and mental incapacity so they no longer troubled Britannia.

The solicitors for the Potter family were attacked and burned out of business by the true Death Eaters, on fake orders that Albus had them receive through Severus Snape, as if Voldemort himself had given them. Since the Dark Lord was well happy with the resulting fear and chaos, nobody ever looked further. This later allowed Dumbledore to illegally, and falsely, seal the Potter wills & testaments to have himself declared legal guardian for the Potter Heir. He could not reach the copies of the documents stored inside Gringotts goblin bank, but he tried to pass unlawful national security decrees through a potioned & spelled Gamot meeting to force the Goblins to not reveal the wills to anybody who wasn't a Potter by blood. The person asking for the paperwork had to be present in person and submit to a mandatory Heritage Blood-Tithe Ritual. This intrusion into the inner working so the bank almost started yet another Goblin Revolt, which needed multiple concessions from the human wizards towards the sovereign nation to appease them back into their usual harmless grumbling.

In his attempt to outwit far better and craftier people than himself, Dumbledore had essentially rung the death knell of his manipulations and treasons as the Goblins never forgot anything done to them, regardless of payments and bribes the Gamot may have paid. They knew who was guilty, and suspected why he acted this way therefore the vaults and accounts of -BOTH- Potter and Longbottom houses were shuttered under an emergency decree by Ragnok Backsnapper, head of clan Gutspiked, 471st king of the British Goblins. This meant that only those payments necessary for the upkeep of properties, businesses and contractual debts would be processed, while revenues would be received and tabulate as normal. Each heir already had a trust vault as was the custom, so their own schooling and health fees were secure, as well as the allowance that each family had stipulated in the vault service contract. Likewise, Ragnok shuttered the Black house vaults and accounts when it was proven that the Wizengamot had put the future Lord in prison without lawful arrest, investigation or any form of audit or trial to justify the gesture. The Gringotts bank tried to publish the event in the Daily Prophet but was rebuffed by the editor, so they went to international periodicals, most notably the Washington DC Magical Herald, the Paris Libre et Magique pour Toujours, the Berliner Haexenzeitung, the Muskovita Gazeta, and the Tokyo Nippou Mahō no shinbun.

The governmental and popular backlash against the British Gamot and Dumbledore was so bad that Albus was at risk of losing his posting as Supreme Mugwump in the ICW and his diplomatic rights as British Member for the ICW general assembly if things proceeded along the path he had plotted. With his back to the wall and thousands of wands aimed at his face, the Manipulator had no choice but to improvise, so his potioned minions put Sirius Black in front of a cockamamie Secret Unspeakable Court and found him guilty of, you guessed it, 'Unspeakable & Anathema' crimes that couldn't be reported in public for fear of triggering a panic amongst the sensible, innocent souls of Britannia. The man was hence-with condemned to life-long banishment from the UK, British Isles and Realms until some future Wizengamot chose to give him a public trial to see if he had 'repented' his sins against magyck. Showing a rare moment of awareness of his limits in life and society, Albus didn't try to have the Black vaults and accounts seized or shuttered by ministerial decree, as he had thought of doing. Especially since Black immediately petitioned the ICW general assembly for a public trial on their stage, with Gringotts backing the request. This happened despite all that Albus tried, and Sirius Orion Black III was cleared of all charges levied against him by the British, upon which he assumed his Lordship and headship of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, peer of the Britannic Realms, regent Duke of the Zezetshire Cairnhills in the English Midlands.

Upon his elevation, Sirius wanted to petition the queen for recognition of his innocence to have his citizenship back, but Dumbledore used his usual curses, potions, and a bevvy of chicaneries between the Wizengamot and muggle parliament to stall any process for years to come. He could not stall eternally, but as long as it all blew up after Harry and Voldemort killed each other, then the crowds wouldn't give a damn what he had done to keep them safely out of the fight. Sirius could waste his time, life and the Black assets on getting a trial in England, Albus wished him the best of lucks because the boy didn't have the intellect, astuteness, acumen and magical prowess to counter a mastermind of the caliber he had chosen as enemy. Well, Dumbledore was wrong yet again, but only time would tell, and there were no guarantees he'd listen when it happened.

Now, in order to insure the two boys of prophecy were raised to be docile, pliable and low-powered, Albus hijacked as much of the few riches and valuables present in the Potter's Godric's Hollow cottage, on the night it exploded. Because of those bastard sub-human Goblins, he was lowered to the level of sifting through catastrophe zones for forgotten loot, just like a pauper teenager fresh out of school. He used these ill-gained monies, tools and artworks to bribe the workers in the ministry department that managed the Trace charms placed on children and convicts that were sentenced to penal labor in the community or probation periods. He had the workers place multiple ward crystals in a containment circle around the houses of the two boys to make sure he would have a complete record of their accidental magic and any wand spells cast in the area. This was especially vital with Longbottom Manor as any medical or alchemical spells could mean that Augusta was trying to free herself from his loyalty potions and compulsion curses. Later on, it would let him see what kinds of spells the two boys were trying out in the privacy of their homes, and intervene to crush them back down if needed.

Albus Dumbledore did not believe himself to be an evil man, no matter how many deaths or broken souls he left in his wake. In his messianic syndrome, he thought himself to be just an 'Agent of Providence' doing as the Divines had tasked him to accomplish so that the rest of society could eventually live without the threat of Voldemort hovering over their heads. Consequently, he NEVER told either family to belittle, harm or damage the child in their care. His only explicit orders were to be firm in their strictness so that the children grew up humble, level-headed, stable, and hard working, not letting them wound up savage, snobby, bigoted, or air-headed. He never once told them to be violent or injurious, and certainly not to withhold medical care from their charges. If either guardian did this to a child, it was on their own conscience, not Dumbledore's.

What a bloody fucking hypocrite!

Once each child was in position, Albus pretty much ignored them unless a truly spectacular act of accidental magic was recorded or a message came from the secret watchers he had placed near the homes, just to make sure. Unfortunately, both sets of paid eyes sent multiple messages concerning emotional abuse, physical coercion and even beatings the kids suffered from their caregivers or other adults. Dumbledore always dismissed these letters as the watchers being too softhearted or not experienced enough in education to see it was normal parenting.

What's the point of having 'eyes' if you're too blind to see anything?

What's the point of having 'ears' all over the country if he never listened to their reports?

Because he was DUMBLEDORE and he was always right, due to his superior intellect, education, erudition, greater magic and multiple societal jobs. He had convinced himself in the back of his mind to believe that the external watchers he set were to -confirm- what he knew as truth, not tell him reality was different. That subconscious mindset would come back to bite him quite badly, and very quickly.

Infant Harry Potter

(Harry Potter - theme)

1981 - 1986

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

Harry's first 15 months of life were ordinary for a Pureblood Heir. He was raised mostly by his mother who was studying from home to finish her charms and potions masteries in prevision of becoming a children's healer for Saint-Mungo's hospital. Lilian Mary Evans Potter, spoken Lily by her friends, was assisted by her in-laws and by an elderly house-elf that had helped raise James until he entered school. The boy's father was present in his life every day as he was studying to participate in the family's vast business holdings. He was assiduously following the tutorship of his father and grand-father in the arts of Family Magicks, which he would then pass-on to his children when they reached their own majority, at age 17, as was the Potter tradition.

James and Lily had married right out of Hogwarts at age 18, mostly because the Blood Purity War was already picking up steam and there were no guarantees for anybody's survival anymore. Lily was already depressive because her parents died in a traffic accident when she had just turned 17 years old, in her last year of school. She had missed their funerals because the muggles hadn't remembered how to contact them because of the war-time wards around those sectors under Wizengamot control. Immediately thereafter that deplorable incident, her sister renounced her and refused to attend their wedding, nor invited them to hers.

Then catastrophes happened one after the other for House Potter.

Harry's great-grand parents, Fleamont Potter and Euphemia Bones, were murdered in Diagon Alley on their usual Sunday shopping, which they did after attending the Lunar Temple to worship the Old Gods and Forest Dwellers with their friends and relatives. Barely twenty hours after their deaths, Voldemort himself attacked the venerable Potter Manor, trying to raze it to the ground. Despite the nominal master's death, the wards, animated golems, human hirelings and house-elves managed to fend-off the monstrous creature, pushing his troops back with heavy losses and multiple handicapping injuries to all involved. In a short pause during the tail-end of the conflict, the house-elves activated an old sacrificial War Ward that the British Ministry had made illegal several decades earlier, by giving the life of three captured Death Eaters to the manor's Keystone. The entire Potter Manor -shunted- its entire ensemble of buildings and territory to a hidden location that was under a religious Fidelius and Primal Essaence based Siege Wards.

Taken by a tsunami of boiling rage at his public defeat, Voldemort turned around, immediately attacking Jame's parents in their well appointed urban manor in Wales. Again, the Dread Lord suffered many losses to his followers, but this time he managed to penetrate the wards of the relatively new building, barely 178 years old, to kill both Charlus Potter and Dorea Black with all their elves, then set Fiendfire to the wrecked house after plundering all valuables that the auto-vaulting recovery spells hadn't removed to Gringotts for safe keeping.

With both primary residences of the family locked away or destroyed, James and Lily had no choice but to take refuge in the family's 'bachelor flat', the cottage of Godric's Hollow. The large two-level house had historically been the lodgings for the Potter children after their Hogwarts years, if they didn't want to live glued to their parents' sides, but still have contact with the family. The homey dwelling could easily accommodate a family of eight plus two human servants and two house-elves without being overcrowded. That was not by any stretch of the imagination a dump or blue-collar homestead, unlike where Lily had grown up, in Cokeworth.

Given that the Potter Cottage was not a well known place, Dumbledore easily convinced James to put it under a Sorcerous Fidelius that he would cast for the young family, supposedly to guarantee the stability and longevity of the enchantment. Unknown to them, that spell would have kept both Voldemort and the Manipulator out if they had cast it themselves, then chosen any secret keeper other than the traitorous Peter Pettigrew. Unfortunately, the young couple trusted Albus already, thusly the scheduled betrayal was accomplished forthwith.

After the events of Voldemort's Fall, Harry's life took an immediate turn for the worse.

Dumbledore had Rubeus Hagrid retrieve the baby and bring him to Hogwarts so that Madam Pomphrey could give him a checkup, before placing him with his new guardians, Lily's estranged sister Petunia and her husband Vernon. The matron did her best by the child in her care, but being potioned and spelled by Dumbledore for obedience, blind loyalty and discretion towards his much vaunted 'Greater Good' meant she actually did less than half of what was needed to heal the child's numerous injuries, to say nothing of the curse residues.

Thusly, young Harold Jamieson Evans Potter, Heir of Potter and Heir Presumptive of Black, was deposited on the doorstep like a milk bottle, in the depth of night, without ringing the doorbell or giving the inhabitants any sort of warning. What Dumbledore did leave was a heavily ensorcelled letter that would push the Dursley's to treat poor Harry as a difficult, dishonest child that needed 'maintenance' corrections and unyielding discipline to keep him from becoming wild and unmanageable. Here, Dumbledore could probably try to lie his way out of being declared an abuser and sadistic bastard, but he really couldn't. He set the mental programming in the curses to make the entire household, including occasional visitors, treat little Harry as if he were a hardened delinquent being held in a Borstal Reformatory from the years 1800. That meant that what Dumbledore considered "mild maintenance punishment to keep him docile" and could be excused away in the wizarding world because of potions and healing charms being so easy to find and use, became outright cruelty and torture with muggle guardians who had no access to those remedies to heal the injuries they inflicted on the child.

As usual, Albus had played on words and intentions; having one thing in mind, saying another and hoping that the people he addressed understood something else, then went away to commit acts that were yet another thing entirely. Having the habit of calculating 4 degrees of separation between his lips/writings and what happened in the real world made Albus Dumbledore the sort of enemy that nightmares were made of, especially given how amoral and narcissist he was. But, as was now usual for him after a century of practice, his written, cursed words were put into action in a manner so different from his orders that he had several legal & moral defenses built into the situation by the gestures and intents of others.

Little infant Harry would suffer greatly, in the Dursley household.

From the start he was refused the proper amount and quality of food since Vernon thought that a starving child would be less energetic, less prone to fits and tantrums, unlike his boy Dudley who was actually overfed and becoming pudgy by the day. Because Petunia had a limited amount of patience for anything related to domestic chores or active child rearing, Harry often went without changing his diaper in a timely schedule, was rarely washed as it would mean taking care of said diaper too, and neither adult wanted to hold him, since they disliked him already. In point of fact, Petunia tried repeatedly in the first 12 months to drop the child at diverse churches or group homes to rid her household of his pestilent presence. Nothing could separate the baby from his unwilling keepers, as Dumbledore had foreseen the situation, solving it in the laziest way possible by tasking a Hogwarts elf to discretely watch and report directly, without ever telling anybody else, including castle staffers. After the first two months of such aggressive attempts to rid themselves of the boy, including abandoning him in a subway station, a bus terminal, in a public library just before closing time, and in a truck-stop restroom at midnight, Dumbledore change tactics. He wrote down a list of situations in a "If – Then – What" style for the elf to follow without bothering him about it, unless the problem was not in the existent list.

The invisible, silent, house-elf would be present for the first five years then, when Harry passed his 6th birthday, becoming eligible for compulsory public primary school, Dumbledore pulled him back to regular duties in the castle. The little child was left to his own devices, and the headmaster never looked at the written reports the elf had compiled about the grievous violence and abuses the Dursley's had heaped on the poor lad. As far as Albus was concerned, he only needed the boy alive, moderately healthy, with low skills and sociability, and almost no survival aptitudes or self-esteem to speak of. Anything else could be gleefully ignored until it was time to eulogize the martyred boy, after Voldemort was buried for the rest of Albus' lifetime.

But things didn't happen the way the self-absorbed elderly Manipulator wanted.

The cursed letter and bastardized prison ward scheme he had applied to the house interacted with the innate dislike and distaste the Dursley's naturally felt for their charge. This meant that they put efforts into correction & discipline only if he was in arm's length, or they received a complaint from an adult they regarded as important in society. Being clannish and parochial by nature, the two parents were prone to ignoring anything bad spoken about Dudley, and reacted the same for Harry when it was a pure stranger who tried to say or do anything. This meant that Harry, who was not a genius but intelligent and observant all the same, quickly divined the behavior patterns and saw a way out by the time the poor traumatized house-elf was pulled away from his silent service.

Harry's bad turn that turned good

(Harry Potter - theme)

August 1986

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

From the age of 6 and up, once he started going to elementary school, Harry did the strictest minimum of anything ordered from him in the household. He usually disappeared in the streets from after Vernon left for work, staying away right until evening tea. Whenever the calendar predicted a long weekend, a family or religious holiday, or Vernon's fat sow of a sister visited, the infant found ways to stay completely away from the house for several days at a time. In fact, by age 7 it became normal for him to get out before Petunia cooked breakfast for her family, and come back only just before they closed the house for the night, near ten-thirty. If by any chance he got locked out because they turned in early, he had found a truly safe area in the neighborhood that he could use for shelter, even in the harshest of snowy winter nights.

Not far from Little Whining where he lived was an old concrete tunnel that passed under a railway that served the local branch of the suburban trains that linked with London City. The tunnel dated back to the reconstruction period after World War II and was in bad repair, but it had something nice that saved Harry from weather, gangs and pedophiles on countless occasions. The tunnel had been built with an integrated workman's shelter that had a heavy steel-plate door, cast iron wood stove, 12 steel-framed bunk beds, and three wet stalls containing each a sink, toilet and shower-head. The door had no built-in lock but it did have eye-screws on the outside to set in a padlock and a pair of stout deadbolts inside. Harry only had to filch some of Vernon's loose change while cleaning the couch, sofas and laundry to buy a good padlock with four sets of keys included. That would allow him to have keys hidden with his emergency stashes, just in case he got mugged or searched by a policeman.

After that, he picked dead wood from the public park the tunnel gave access to for the stove, and promptly stole wooden matches, candles, lighter fluid from the Dursley's, and scrounged old newspapers or magazines from the waste bins in the neighborhood as tinder. With the basic necessities in place, Harry only needed to grease and heat the old valves to unstuck them so that running water would flow again. As he had been drafted by Vernon to do just such a job in their garden shed after the last winter, the child knew how and had little trouble to accomplish the job. He was helped by having stolen a few of the older, less used tools in both the shed in question and the garage where nobody but Vernon and himself went to do stuff.

One day both adults took Dudley to see a pediatrician for vaccines and a regularly scheduled checkup, followed by a friendly visit at the home of a business partner of Vernon's afterwards. During that rare time alone in the house, Harry managed to find the keys for the attic and basement to let himself into the usually forbidden places.

The attic held only old stuff Petunia wanted out of the way, and especially out of sight, since all of her mementos from her childhood and sister Lily were stored there, untouched for longer than Harry was alive. The child found a huge old steamer trunk with a weird lock and colored heraldic crest on the flat top, but could not open it yet as he had no key. He did manage to find a very old photo album that was not secured, containing pictures of his mother when she was a child, something he shamelessly stole and brought to his concrete bunker later in the evening.

The basement was an altogether different story. That was normally Vernon's reserved domain, because he had set up his home office to keep all of the Grunning's paperwork in order in large filing cabinets. He had been loaned a heavy manual typewriter by the company to speed-up the composition and producing of his weekly reports since he had been promoted to department manager just two years before, when Harry was age 4. The basement was split into multiple sectors of high interest for the young explorer. Almost useless were the publicly accessible second living room with its small, menial wood-burning brick fireplace and matching diminutive windows, with the small powder room next to the staircase. Much more fruitful were the actual office portion, the machine room with gas furnace, water heater, main electrical box and several shelves of loose tools, parts and sundries, and a tightly shut cold room for long-term emergency reserves.

Harry took the time to scrutinize each square inch of Vernon's office to see if he could safely nick anything without it being traced back to him. He found a deep drawer in the file cabinet nearest the desk that held all the worn, no-longer needed office supplies and knickknacks that Vernon had been too lazy to throw away properly. He found several spare pencils of diverse colors to draw with, a few very old pens that still worked, an antique metal dipping pen that Vernon had used during his engineering classes to manually draw mechanical parts, a brand new box of colored chalk sticks, some worn-down erasers stubs, plenty of lined or checkered paper pads and rulers. All good for Harry to write lists, schedules, or draw what he wanted to fix in his bunker. Plus, he liked to draw plants and animals, so that would pass the time nicely; it wasn't like he could have a telly in that cement crypt! There was no electricity in the shelter because it was too old; the public works of the day had used diesel trains, not electric, and all their stations or shelters had oil lamps and wood stoves. Even using gas for the lamps and furnaces was deemed too expensive for such low-browed usages in blue-collar environments.

In-between the huge, plush, desk chair's segmented cushions, Harry found a wealth of loose small change that had accumulated for years on end, almost 18 pounds' worth of it! That gave him the idea to check all the drawers to see if Vernon didn't have a hidden stash of coins or bills that he could slightly lighten, just to round off his capacity to buy necessities at the antiquated Pawn Shop in the next district, some 9 streets passed the public park where he hid and lived. He was rewarded by the discovery of not one but four small jars of coins hidden in diverse drawers and spread between different pieces of furniture. He stole only a few coins from each, normally less than 5 pounds Sterling to make certain his pickings weren't easily seen to the naked eye. Given the layer of dust on some, he believed that Vernon was just as lazy with his money pinching as he was with everything else in life.

With the office searched, Harry went through the machinery room, a glorified walk-in closet with little moving room due to the large devices occupying most of the space. What attracted his attention was the quantity of old but still good tools, most of which were small enough to fit easily in his childish hands. A few minutes of silent inspection explained to him why that was the case; most of the control valves and electrical connections on the machines were small and located in uneasy spots where full-sized tools would be hard-pressed to reach and move. The solution was to use the long-handled but smaller versions of those tools needed, such as screwdriver, wrench, hammer, pliers and crowbar.

Harry was happy as the layer of oil residue covering the tools meant that nobody had moved them in several years, and the same on the floor confirmed the absence of human presence in the room at all. That gave him the impetus to take what he felt useful for his shelter, because he knew full well that anything he took here was something he would not have to buy, find or steal from somewhere else. Since money was in short supply despite his windfall of nearly 38 pounds today, he was wise enough to see the menial amount would not last, so he'd better be smart about saving and spending sparingly from the start of things.

The key for the padlock to the cold storage room was hidden quite badly in the machinery room, on the shelf right next to the door on the way in. Apparently, Petunia was afraid to lose the thing and Vernon was not the one in charge of stocking and maintaining the storage, so that was how things went. Shrugging it off carelessly, the young child unlocked the heavy door and blocked it open by sliding down the safety dead-bolt that was designed for just that; preventing the accidental closing and locking of the door with a person inside the room. Harry perused the thin metal trellis shelving with a critical eye towards finding edibles that were small enough to pass under his watchers' eyes without trouble, but good enough that he'd want to make the effort to bring them to his hidey-hole.

However, his problems were suddenly solved with a partial heart attack when the phone rang thrice before the voice of his uncle sounded through the speaker of the cassette tape answering machines, both in the office and upstairs. They were delayed by traffic on the highway due to a massive accident with over two dozen vehicles piled-up, and his own car had gotten skirted rather badly on the passenger side before they ended in the ditch with nearly six other cars. Because of the stress shock incurred by the relatives, plus the slowness of the police investigation into the causes of the catastrophe, they would be stuck on the spot for several hours. This would force the three Dursley's to sleep in a cheap motel for the night and return home in the early after-noon tomorrow, just after lunch and a bit of shopping. Unless they had to stop by the garage to fix the car to have it road-safe per the police instructions, in which case they could be delayed even further. They would call to warn him.

Then his uncle actually thanked the empty air, stating tartly; "I know you're in the house and listening, but I have to say that I appreciate you not picking up to force your damned flutey voice on me, given all the stress I already have to endure. Maybe you do have a few brain cells to rub together after all, and maybe smacking you around won't be needed, now that you're showing some discernment in how you interact with adults. Hummmph! We'll see when we come back how it goes." Beep!

Harry was so stunned by the vitriolic, blind demeanment he had just suffered that he stood there paralyzed by emotions for several minutes before the importance of what the older man said finally penetrated the fog around his mind. He had almost an entire day to himself to finish his pilfering and go stash it in his new home! Yay for him! It was about damn time that luck changed for Harry the Bloody Freak Potter!

Enthused by his new schedule, the child climbed back up the stairs to fetch a pair of rucksacks from Dudley's second bedroom where he stored his junk and unwanted toys that weren't cool or fashionable anymore, usually because he broke them to make sure he got new ones instead. This occurred regularly now that he got play dates with that mongrel Piers Polkiss, who kept telling Dudley that what he had was either lame, out of date or not good enough for a kid like Duds.

Harry sprinted back to the open storage room and began his 'shopping spree' with the alacrity and sternness of somebody who had spent the last two years accompanying Petunia Evans to the grocery store every Saturday that God gave them. He had heard her acrimonious complaints about lack of service, lack of choice, lack of freshness, lack of proteins, lack of vitamins, lack of fibers, and lack of essential oils so many times that he sometimes dreamt about it, when the usual nightmares about evil cackling laughter and bright bursts of green light left him alone. That meant that the child went straight for the three things most necessary in foods; dry packed, pickled in brine and canned. This was because dry packed could be eaten as-is without any prep or heating, while brined needed some water to wash and butter / oil to cook. Canned foods were much more varied, from fruit slices to baked beans in gravy to meatloaf, but you needed many items to open the can then prep the meal. And some like the fruits and vegetables were not a meal by themselves, they needed at least another item like bread, crackers, rice or potatoes to make it a semblance of a plate. Adding meat and condiments was vastly preferable, anyways.

The boy chose wisely a pair of boxes of specially made emergency 'shelter crackers' that had been a staple of British life since WW-II, when they were distributed by the army across the entire kingdom to palliate the food shortages following the destruction of entire cities by Nazi bombings. Everybody in Britain knew the look of the boxes, and schools taught kids that these hard, dry, salted biscuits could be good for nearly a hundred years if their packet wasn't open to let air and moisture inside them. For anybody in dire straights, these were a must, and it reminded Harry that purchasing more would be easy as they were common and cheap to this day.

After that, he realized he needed some butter as spread for the crackers or sandwiches, some oil, salt, pepper and a few spices to cook his canned food to a point where the taste from the metal can and preservatives wouldn't affect his tongue anymore. He took a few cans of fruit and mixed beans, a jar of brined sauerkraut, and several cans of pressed meatloaf or meatballs in gravy that were a big favorite of campers like the Boy Scouts. Towards the end he decided that he was British as everybody else, so he also took a large packet of bulk loose-leaf tea with two jars of powdered 3% milk, a jar of brown sugar and a jar of castor sugar to properly fix his food or drinks to his liking.

As the six year old was about to leave the cold room, he saw a few items on the farthest top shelf that got his attention in a hurry. With his relatives absent for more than 20 hours to come, he had the time to fetch a small folding chair to step on to reach the new loot. It was a reserve of 'adult' materials set aside for Vernon's personal needs, or as bartering goods in case of a real crisis. There were several 250ml bottles of cheap gin, four 1,5L bottles of good whiskey, two 1L tins of cheap bulk tobacco for pipe or rolling your own cigarettes, several bottles of 500ml of lighter fluid, a few different models of lighters, a miniature oil lamp with a 250ml reservoir, boxes of wooden matches, and...

There was an odd lump wrapped in an ancient oiled leather sheet with thread tied around to keep it in place. The thing stank of mineral oil and abandonment in Harry's small hands. The child carefully untied the threads and unfurled the wrapping to unveil the prize, or prizes as it was two distinct items bundled together. Unbeknownst to him, the poor child had found the proof of his uncle's secret folly. He had found an antique dagger with sheath and matching Walther P38 pistol dating back to 1945. Both were standard Nazi Waffen SS equipment that would have been worn by an officer in the dreaded army of the German enemy. Harry's memory of history was not good because he hadn't yet been to school, and what little he knew of the war was from all the books that littered the second bedroom upstairs, where Dudley threw them as he hated reading with passion. Harry had read what he could given his rather passable skills in that vital art, but there was only two books that spoke of the dreadful period of history and as children's picture books,they had scant details and nothing too traumatic to explain.

What he could tell was that the dagger was double edged, straight, with a pair of stylized eagle wings for guard and a flared pommel with a wooden handle, stored in a wooden sheath with steel fittings. The sheath and blade had many engravings of the eagle, swastika and German flag, and a grinning death-head on each. The pistol had a single magazine inside but no bullets; it was dull black with brown wooden handle. It also had eagles, swastikas, German flags and a single death-head on the top of the slide. Stamped along the left side of the barrel was the word 'Totenkopf' but Harry had no earthly idea what that meant.

What the boy did know was that he had just hit the lottery. Every night he heard the radio news programs about how tough British gun laws were, and how hunters, sportsmen and farmers wanting to protect their lands had to fight the constables to have their very few rights respected when they intervened and firearms were involved. Harry knew for a fact that his fat uncle did not have a gun permit, and most certainly had not registered this weapon with the police as the law demanded. Since he couldn't hunt with a pistol and they didn't live in a rural area with wild animals like foxes or crows, the chances of the bobbies giving him a license were nil, so the chance that he did register was not in question. Plus, if what Harry remembered about these symbols was true, then nobody in their right mind would want to show it in public, not unless they were desperate.

Looking at the unholy devices, Harry Potter realized that -HE- was desperate.

Desperate enough in fact that he wrapped the bundle anew and stuffed it in one of the rucksacks for transport to his hidden haven near the park. Since the gun was empty, Harry decided to look for the bullets, on the off chance that Vernon had actually wanted to use the gun for real, in which case he'd need the munitions nearby. It took almost a half hour, but Harry's lucky run kept on giving today; the box of 50 bullets, 9mm Parabellum, was hidden inside a partially emptied tin of cheap coffee that nobody in the family ever drank. Blinking owlishly at the find, Harry realized that like the key for the room, it was placed right next to where the bundle had lain, in case the contents was needed. Furthermore, the child realized also that it was the only tin of coffee in the entire storage room that he had seen, so it would be hard for Vernon to grab the wrong one during a rushed response to an emergency.

Harry grabbed a pair of 250ml bottles of gin since he knew this brand could actually be used as a wound disinfectant or fire starting fluid in a bind. He also took the mini oil lamp with lighter fluid, more matches, three of the lighters that could stay lit when you let go of the trigger and the tin of tobacco. Three months back, he had watched television when the Dursley's were out for the evening with the preacher's family and saw a news report about the homeless in London. Many smoked the pipe or cigarettes because the nicotine affected the stomach, curbing hunger pangs and cutting the need to eat, something these poor souls knew about far too much. So Harry being forewarned, took what he foresaw that he would need quite soon. With both sacks full, he took the old but completely full box of bullets last, then placed the tin back on the shelf and moved the bottles and boxes to hide the empty spot where the bundle had been stashed.

Carefully resetting the shelves in the storage room just as his aunt liked her pantry and closets to be managed, the boy erased traces of his passage as best he could without putting back everything he took. Then he carefully lugged his bounty up the stairs and closed the door locked, after making certain he hadn't left footprints on the hard wood risers to betray his movements in the forbidden area. He did a quick tour of the house to make sure everything was closed and secure before grabbing his thin windbreaker and ratty baseball cap, put on his taped-up trainers, got the spare key from the hiding place under the flower vase on the vestibule table and got out to do his emergency run to his hidden safe-zone.

Thankfully, he was able to get there without troubles or attracting unwanted attention, unpack the bags and order the stuff a bit, then return home before the time the Dursley's normally had evening tea when thy stayed home. Since the car was not present, nobody paid attention to the house, and since the lights would not be on until Harry came back, it attracted the eyes even less.

Harry did not know it yet, but the decision to steal the Nazi gun and dagger would be the changing point of his young life, since it indicated that he had already chosen, in the depths of his heart, that he could have to be violent, deadly even, to guarantee his safety. One secretive master Manipulator would see his plans destroyed by this, and he personally would never recover from the shock when he realized the depths of his mistakes.

Poor, miserable, no-good house-elf Dryskholl does good at long last

(Harry Potter - theme)

August 1986

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

The great, mighty and implacable 'Servant of -THE- Greater Good' Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, he of the many titles and acclaims, was yet again proven to be a no-good bad master whiskers to all of elvendom.

Over the last five years, the elderly crone of a magus had obliged the poor, miserable little house-elf named Dryskholl to accomplish the lowest, basest of ignominious chores. The felon wizard had forced the gentle, serviceable being to watch silently, from afar, what the poor cursed and potioned muggles inflicted upon the defenseless infant Harry Potter. The elf was witness to all of the indifference, setting-aside, abuse, brutality and eventually, the family turning their backs on the poor child when he began to disappear for hours and days on end without giving any explanations.

Dryskholl was as severely limited biologically and culturally as all of his elvish kindred, needing external magic to survive and thinking that only serving wizards or goblins would provide this. As he had been 'given clothes' at a young age by the evil family of dark wizards he was born into because he was too small and sickly, the poor creature had little choice to find an alternative home post haste to live. Albus saw this clearly and shamelessly exploited the vulnerabilities of yet another innocent for the glory of his own image and the furtherance of his evil schemes.

Thus, Dryskholl was bound to Hogwarts, and through her the will of the felonious headmaster who wanted nothing less than to enslave all beings to his whims while he still lived. The only small relief that was granted the elf was the sure knowledge that Dumbledore was too squeamish to practice necromancy to elongate his life or bypass Death's dominion. All the elf needed to be fully free was to outlive the cruel bastard, which shouldn't be that hard given how old the man was. Even the greatest transmutations that could heal, prolong life or transfer souls between bodies demanded a price, an 'Equivalent Exchange' for what was produced, and again Dumbledore wouldn't pay those particular tithes, fearing the loss of his magicks or sanity.

So, in accordance to his stated chores, Dryskholl watched silently over the Potter Heir to insure his survival and basic health, but never interfered unless he was truly at risk of death, coma, maiming or permanent handicapping of a necessary bodily function. Those were the terms set by Dumbledore; he could intervene but never upon a human directly, and never interact with them in a manner that they became aware of his presence & identity. So, the elf used basic household charms to clean & fix the child's meager clothes until they were so worn that the spells no longer took hold. He used invisible micro-portation to place healing herbs into what little food he could get to eat, especially away from the Dursley's. This led the elf to debasement as he began to pop around the bins and dumpsters of restaurants in nearby cities to find enough food that was still edible to cobble together snacks that he would 'lose' near where Harry was walking by, making it appear as though another human had dropped or abandoned it half-eaten. Dryskholl also had to magically put the child in deep healing slumber when he slept in his cupboard, under the house's staircase, because his innate magic just didn't have the resources or reserves to cure his ailments or repair injuries his kin had inflicted. On a few occasions, the elf had stolen potions from Albus himself to spell them into the sleeping boy's stomach to save his life and health.

Then the boy reached the age of 6, at which all muggles are to attend primary school near where they lived, a practice know as 'compulsory' because the only legal alternatives were a private school or a certified home tutor, which would be verified. Vernon would never spend any money on his nephew as long as Dumbledore's elixirs and curses flowed through him, so the boy was sent, quite unwillingly, to the local elementary. This caused a fit of anger because they now had to spend time and money on fixing the kid's appearance and health enough to not trigger an investigation by the Child Protection Services (CPS). Thusly, Harry finally got some glasses to partially correct his severe nearsightedness and was even taken to a dentist to clean his teeth. After that he had to go to a pediatrician because both the optometrist and dentist threatened to report the adults if they didn't get proof of behavioral changes on their parts inside the very week. This meant that the poor boy finally received the muggle vaccines he should already have gotten at the same time as Dudley, and a full record of his injuries was made.

Normally, the doctor and nurse would have reported the family to CPS or the police, but Dryskholl bent his orders yet again. He imitated his evil lord's methods by using strong compulsions that were attached to the photos and paperwork to convince the personnel to harangue the Dursley adults themselves, then negotiate with them better living conditions for the child. In reality, the elf understood that they would not feed or heal him any better, but they might be scared of the authorities enough to at least leave him at peace. This would be such an improvement for his health that the elf wondered if some natural instinct or curse-mandated reflex inside the Dursley's wouldn't make it unachievable.

As it were, the compulsions on the doctors held, and they managed to bullshit the family enough to make them pull back from physically hurting the child in their care. However, as Dryskholl had foreseen, they also stopped paying attention to his well-being and movements altogether. This was good because when Dumbledore rescinded the elf's chores and orders, he never commanded him to ignore the family or abandon Harry Potter to his mess. The only order he was given firmly was to never speak of the manipulations with any house-elf, portrait or ghost that was bound to Hogwarts, as well as no humans or Goblins at all, which still left the door wide open for quite a few things to happen. After all, Dumbledore had not mentioned house-elves, portraits or ghosts in service to other people, nor did he bar him from speaking to half-breeds like Hagrid or Flitwick, or other species like centaurs, dwarves, halflings, fae, minotaurs, orcs, ogres, trolls, and even snakes or dragons if a parselmouth could be found to translate the animals.

Yes, Albus thought he had been quite wise, ingenious and masterful in his manipulation of the lower life-form that was the servile, juvenile elfling. He was wrong, as he often was, but did not see it because his hubris and bigotry blinkered his eyes to the reality around him.

Dryskholl promptly took his partial freedom to watch over Harry Potter from afar, silently and discretely as always. The child was ignorant of magic and the ministry laws stated that only his family, magical CPS or the school that had his name in the Book of Souls could tell him. But it didn't keep the elf from helping far more directly than before, so long as he kept invisible and never touched the boy unless his life was in dire peril. That meant that the small elfling was joyful when the human boy found the abandoned workman's shelter, under the railways that led towards London's center. It was Dryskholl who fixed the potable water plumbing to insure the child had running fresh water,just as he cleared out the drainage pipes, and then the ventilation grates that allowed outside air to circulate inside the enclosed space. The elf unstuck the flue in the stove pipe, repaired the rusty old wood burning stove, and solidified the rickety old bed frames. While Harry was stealing from his family, the elf went around the cities he knew to find abandoned or discarded mattresses, bedding and cushions to pile up in a secure location. He then cleaned, sanitized and fluffed all the items that would be dropped near the tunnel's entry periodically, as if some lack-wit idiot had just dumped his trash in a public place as happened often, specifically for the child to find when he walked around his haven.

Upon seeing just how autonomous Harry had become since his medical visits and new glasses, the elf realized that he could perhaps help in different ways. One manner was by moving more of the park's dead-fall wood near the tunnel's entry, in the area Harry searched for fuel and materials for whittling little devices he thought were necessary. It was a harmless amusement and if he botched something terribly then he could just burn it in the stove. Dryskholl combed the entire park and piled up all the lost objects he found, repairing them as good as new then sporadically placed them in or near the tunnel so the child could find them. The elf was surprised that the human boy would often sell the objects at the pawn shop or trade them with the schoolkids for other things that were more useful in his life. That was a smart move showing a keen mind and capacity to plan ahead for prolonged jobs or harsher times of worsened poverty.

Amazed by the boy's innate cleverness, the elfling popped into muggle bookstores at night and browsed the shelves to find what he believed would help the boy even more. His old family had stressed quite firmly that "knowledge is power; therefore keeping mudbloods ignorant is an act to insure our dominance" so he would find the best books and magazines to help educate the abandoned child for the life to come. Dryskholl selected survival & camping guidebooks made by the Boy Scouts of Britain, with homesteading manuals designed to help small farms endure and prosper. A domestic first aid guide and familial health booklet from CPS were added the moment he saw them, plus another book for growing medicinal herbs in a home garden. A few hobby beginner's guides for home-crafting with wood, wool, rope, leather, metal and glass were put in the basket, along books on plumbing, electricity, carpentry, pottery and forging.

Then the elf found about a very tightly controlled set of books that few shops carried but would be directly helpful to his unknowing charge; 'doomsday preppers' and 'sovereign citizenship'. These books didn't all look very serious or credible, so the young elf had to take the time to skim through and evaluate each, instead of just reading the abstract on the rear cover like sufficed for all the previous texts. However, he did find better, more complete survival guides dedicated to the British weather zone, as well as a homesteader's guide to dealing with predators and thieves when far removed from urban areas and human help. He was surprised to find seriously written guides about living homeless in a big city or rural area, back-packing & squatting, dealing with bullies, street thugs or gangs. The nastiest bit was when he accidentally discovered a specialty therapy booklet destined to children surviving and recovering from violence at home, in school or having fled a warzone. To this lurid lot he added one last guidebook, entirely about the laws of the UK by territory and what were the limits of police powers and bureaucratic bosses, "something that all children, street dwellers and independent-minded people needed to read" the abstract said.

Powerfully disheartened by some of his latest finds, Dryskholl nonetheless decided that it was worth the risk to take some time in those questionable bookshops that specialized in serious, professional survivalism and warfare prepping. Given that the UK had suffered the Nazi raids not long ago, the elfling thought Harry could use all the help he could find, and he had stolen the big knife and pow-pow from Vernon, so he must have made some decisions about that already. The lonely elf soon realized that the bookshops he wanted were in fact army surplus stores or even unmarked, not-so-legal warehouses where discrete trades of texts, weapons, munitions, chemicals and forbidden military or governmental knowledge occurred in the dead of night.

Motivated by his true desire to see the young child alive, healthy and free from the shackles some would bind him with, the elfling patiently scrutinized the more deleterious inventories he found, regardless of how disturbed he became at the sight. Due to the bearded bastard and his long-term plans, he took a manual destined to train soldiers against commercial, religious or governmental propaganda to educate the boy's mind against verbal and emotional manipulations. This was followed by an antique MI-5 guide, dated 1967, about drugs, poisons, antidotes and using small doses of toxins to slowly build-up tolerances or immunities. With a great shiver of shame, the elf took a just-published British SAS officer's guide to surviving capture and imprisonment by the enemy, resisting interrogation & torture, and passing through the trauma without losing their sanity.

Seeing the great evils that human could do even without magic, the poor elf became vicious in his choice of books to bring back. He selected one of the first known copies of 'The terrorist's cookbook, ed. 1988' and another old MI-5 manual about infiltration, spying, sabotage & traps in a guerilla context. Remembering again what Harry had stolen from Vernon, the elfling began to peruse for seriously written, professional books about World War I & II from all perspectives, with a specific emphasis on the personal lives, training, discipline and equipment of the soldiers on each side. Then he had to truly search long and hard until he found a guide about farmers' guns, their usage & safety measures. The elfling struck gold when he chanced upon an old trade-school gunsmithing manual from 1974 that was used in the British army to train armorers.

After much internal debate, Dryskholl searched for beginner's books about self-defense, fighting, combat and formal warfare, which lead him to finally find some texts about World War II and the many resistance & insurgency movements it spawned across the planet. The poor elf took the horrid college-level tomes with shaking hands as he thought of Dumbledore and the many crimes he had in the works. Poor Harry Potter would need to know these things if he were to stay free.

There were a lot of pamphlets, guides, manuals and books in the secret cache the poor lonely elfling used as his home-base away from Hogwarts, but it was giving him ideas too. First he would order everything by how immediately important it was for Harry to learn and master the skills taught in the texts, then sort the books into piles by level of competency to make small packages of mixed subjects all at the same degree of complexity. This would allow the child to develop across many domains and choose those he wanted to put efforts into, thus aiding the elf in choosing what to drop near him on the subsequent 'gifts'. None of the books would be thrown away or sent back, as Dryskholl had decided that if Harry bypassed a subject presently, nothing kept him from reading it later when the need or desire manifested.

The frail elfling realized in his few last sorties through the survivalist shops and army surplus stores that he too was in grave danger from Dumbledore. He knew too much, and his oaths of silence and obedience were towards the school, not the man himself. If he was ever removed from his headmastership, then the elf could ignore his orders and speak his dire secrets to anybody willing to listen. So, the decision was easy; as he sorted and prepared the educational care packages for his charge, Dryskholl read through everything thoroughly, becoming one of the first house-elves of Britain with a radical socialist view of race relations, civil society, police powers and government at large. He was also the very first house-elf that he knew of who managed to learn how to operate and maintain several types of small guns that he stole from petty muggle criminals in multiple cities. He set up a secondary home-base in a wild area, deep in the forest on the Calf-of-Man island, in the central oceanic channel of the Kingdom between England and Ireland, to store his guns and munitions. He quickly spelled himself an underground practice tunnel to shoot at empty bottles or wooden targets he crafted manually as a way to pass those times when Harry was in school and didn't need him nearby. By necessity of his lonely life, the elfling became quite good at cooking diverse types of foods or whittling wood while reading books or newspapers of muggle and magical origins, with the wizarding wireless playing in the background. Due to his isolation when he was away from Harry, the elf clung to each scrap of culture or education he could find, thusly slowly making himself amongst the most erudite and well informed of his kindred.

By the end of the first year of elementary school, Harry Potter would have several dozen practical books in his bunker, sitting on wooden shelves he made himself, plus several highly questionable street-smarts, homeless & off-grid living, and tactical survival guides. Occasionally, he would find and bring back a historic or political book that he felt a 'gut feeling' about bringing home to read, because he felt an innate certitude that if he had more and better general knowledge, then people wouldn't be able to use him as a damned doormat to wipe their feet in his defenseless face, like his relatives had done all his life.

Albus Dumbledore's grandiose criminal plans, seditious schemes and treasonous manipulations of the magical and muggle populations had just been broken in secret by a young, frail and sickly house-elf who refused to let his morality and dignity be profaned by a fool. Nobody would know about it for a great many years to come, and by then, it would be far too late to change course.

Harry's elementary mis-education

(Harry Potter - theme)

1986 – 1991

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

Petunia Evans was as she had always been; jealous of her sister and disdainful of her supposed otherworldly powers. She also knew that her sister had stopped believing in their Lord Jesus in the third year of her magical schooling for reasons that were still nebulous as the younger woman had never explained herself. What Petunia knew to be true was that witches were wicked, cursed fools and she would have no truck with them, as commanded by the Bible of their Lord Savior.

Vernon was a bit more direct in his approach to the situation; he could have accepted magic if he had seen examples of it being useful around the house, or for healing illness and injuries. Should it have been demonstrated clearly that these capacities were for more than scaring or hurting people, then he would have accepted it in his life, even if only as a work tool. Therefore, his way of handling Harry was to 'beat the stupid and snob' out of him the moment he became aware of a misdeed or errant behavior, but he was prepared to reward the child if he did something truly helpful for the household. However, given that Vernon had a bad case of innate bigotry and was himself rather lazy, the chance that he would ever reward his 'indentured serf' was nil. The boy was simply far too useful as a meek, pliable servant to start bolstering his pride and self-worth.

The strange thing though, was that despite both adults being indisposed towards their nephew, neither ever did any genuine effort at finding out where he disappeared all day since April of 1986 had passed. The two parents knew that it was not normal or acceptable to let a child barely six years old haunt the streets all day, and some nights too, but something inside their minds made them not care. They no longer cared for his welfare, but most telling was that they also no longer valued the opinions of the neighbors, school officials, police or CPS if it came to that. For better or worse, the Dursley adults had completely disconnected from their nephew and nothing, not even Dumbledore's curses and alchemies, would ever change that.

Poor little Harry Potter had to trudge his way from wherever he had spent the night, with a full backpack, over to the disheartening, soul-warping patch of malevolence where the poorest kids from all over Little Whining were obliged to attend. Dudley instead was sent to a private primary school in Greater Whining, which sent a noisy yellow minibus to pick him up on the street corner next to Wisteria Lane with two other pupils. Dudley had a classic grey pants & white shirt uniform whilst Harry had whatever rags he managed to cobble-up for himself that day.

{ HP } - { The root of evil } - { HP }

So it was, on a dreary September 1 of 1986 that Harry Potter entered officially as a pupil of the local school; the Vice-Archiduke Ulyrance Van Uttebatten - GCVO public elementary academy. As befits an establishment with such a grandiose antiquated name, the buildings were old to the point of decrepitude as they had more-or-less survived the World War II bombings just enough to be repaired rather than torn down.

First built in the late 1700's as a wooden five storey tower to hold orphans and sickly children too poor for even the local church hospice, it burned down in 1789 due to the kids rioting against the abuses they suffered. It was then rebuilt as a Borstal type of corrective school from 1799 to 1868 when yet another massive riot by the juvenile inmates caused fires and a partial collapse. The second rebuild was done in 1873 as a pauper's public school for ages 6 to 12, at which age guilds and companies could hire apprentices to tend the basest menial jobs. That incarnation lasted until the 1939-45 period when the WW-II bombings destroyed the edifice, making the city planners of the day draft up a much bigger and modern design. The deluded buffoons had hoped the new layout and utilities, electricity & gas, would make such an upgrade from wood stoves and oil lamps that it would forcibly change the social atmosphere from the ancient decadence and violence over to a new openness and free learning. Instead, the imbeciles produced a large complex that was still cramped and decrepit-looking, even where it wasn't actually rotting to pieces.

The very worse part though, was that the new complex still made everybody inside it's brutalist cement walls feel claustrophobic and ground-down to nothing, pushing them towards emotional break-downs and outbursts of unmanageable anger and violence. The living, working and teaching conditions inside the ill-built school complex were such a mental hardship that the district reserved this posting as a punishment for those personnel that they hadn't managed to rid themselves of yet, and as a tool to break-in the idealistic young fools the ministry of education tried to send them every once in a while.

The cold, unwelcoming play yard was half asphalt and half cold, drab dirt and gravel without a piece of greenery in view.

The main building was the academy proper with the ground floor assembly hall, first floor mess hall and three floors of classrooms. A glass walled solarium on the rooftop served as lounge for the staff members between class times, during the ever-present British rains and snows.

The second biggest building was the gymnasium & swimming pool that was built all the way across the play yard so that the noises from the over active children didn't bother the classes or administrators. The gymnasium had been built in early 1946 so it was made of solid steel framing covered in thick concrete with a rounded roof so as to deflect the explosive forces of bombs. The building had been viewed as a civilian shelter, in case the war started up again, so there were large communal bathrooms & showers, a commercial galley kitchen, and several fireplaces molded directly into the concrete walls to warm the refugees that would sleep all over the main floor. The basement was practically abandoned since construction; it was split into eight storage bunkers and the machinery room for the pool's pumps and filters. Under the gym's machinery room was located another level, a sub-basement with two large tractor engines that served as generators in case of emergency, making just enough electricity to light up the panic lights across campus. In this level were located all the hubs that spread utilities to the school; the junction box where the city's power lines entered, the main natural gas pipe, the potable water aqueduct, and a hatch to the antique brick sewer tunnels that ran under Little Whining for close to 150 years.

The administrative building was built in the same period as the gym, because the predecessor had gotten a bloody big Nazi V-2 rocket in the broad side, collapsing on impact. The new structure was built on top of the still usable foundations of the wrecked edifice, saving work and money but creating a dark, dank basement level where nobody ventured. The visible part was split in four sectors; the ground floor with the receptionist & mail desk and the staff mess hall, the two floors of teacher's offices followed by the two floors of actual administrators, and finally a glass walled solarium on the rooftop. The only fully renovated and up-to-date place in the building was the principal's office suite which included his secretary's desk & waiting area, his own office, the reserved bathroom and butler's pantry for his tea set and snacks. Under the edifice's used spaces lay the foundations, two levels of ancient brick and mortar structure that had survived two centuries of hardship and violence. The first basement was a long corridor with ten locked supplies bunkers, five to each side, holding the wartime civilian safety & rescue materials to make the population endure through another conflict. The second, oldest, basement was split in three large rooms; the building's ancient machinery & boilers, the coal bunker and finally the school's dirtiest secret from a bygone era – the Renaissance Era's punishment room.

On the left side of the administrative building, between it and the gymnasium, had been added about ten years ago a small brick and galvanized steel garage. The structure was only the ground floor with four double-space roll-top doorways giving place for 4 large trucks or vans. This was were the newly revamped "technology initiation & machine-shop" classes were held instead of the dreary old basement beneath the admins. The slanted steel sheet roof and foggy tiny windows gave the place an air of being abandoned to squatters right from the opening in 1977.

{ HP } - { Suffer the children } - { HP }

Harry had been warned by his relatives about the kind of school he was being sent to attend; they had no care for his welfare and even less for his mind or learning. They had chosen to not spend a penny on him, and as long as he was registered at Van Uttebatten academy, the bloody CPS would not look further. They especially would not look at any injuries or welts he had as that might lead back to the teaching staff's heavy-handed approach to instilling discipline and docility into the litter of mangy mongrels they were saddled with. Vernon gleefully explained that as the school's personnel were all unionized, none could be fired without dragging them, and the school district's uppity bosses, through a public trial in Her Majesty's court. Something that nobody in their right mind would ever do for a wastrel bum like Harry 'your parents were drunks' Potter.

Lesson #1 before he even left the door of Number 4 Privet Drive; shut the fuck up and obey or you'll hurt something fierce, and the adults will enjoy doing it to you.

Lesson #2; the morality or humanity of laws doesn't matter, because of you have enough coppers and guns on your side even the most inhumane laws will be applied.

Lesson #3; give enough people money or a parcel of power of their own and they'll gladly help you crush others to your liking, no matter how monstrous the method and result.

Lesson #4; he was alone, he had no outside help, and the kids would probably treat him like Dudley had done, so no succor from them. Each child would be trying to survive the schoolyard bullies, the violent teachers, the perverted admins, and the other perverts that would be roaming around the complex to grab the weakest of the lot.

Harry had been secretly reading the local and national newspapers for several months, stacking up the periodicals in his bunker as fuel for his stove so he made the effort to read them before they helped him to stay warm in is safe little hole. That meant that he knew already what hellish den of perdition his relatives had consigned him to, and he had tried to prepare his mind and body as much as any abandoned 6 year old boy could manage. One of the things he had come to learn from the papers and a small battery-powered radio he had scrounged from a neighbor's bin was that Van Uttebatten academy was NOT the worse place he could go. The academy was still near where he had made his small home, and he would only attend during regular school hours.

In comparison, the church-run Saint Ignatiorus da Repentatori residential school, secure center for holding street-kids & young male delinquents, located in the forested rural area farther south by about 30 kilometers, was built like a genuine castle-prison. It was wrapped by 15 feet high stone walls dating back 131 years, and the buildings were around 174 years old with precious few utilities or services to be found. The austere sect of catholic Jesuits that operated the establishment had never allowed the local council nor the national ministries of Justice of Family Services to come poke their heads into their affairs. They had no choice but to modernize while repairing the damages suffered from WW-II like everybody else, but that was the limit tolerated by the doddering elderly priests. Harry's poor, miserable life would end very shortly if he were sent there, as he would be incarcerated around the clock, without family visits or furloughs of any sorts. The papers were rife with St-Ignatorus' reputation for cruelty, injuring and handicapping the boys in their custody, and almost every boy that left the place had been raped repeatedly by multiple priests or lay custodians.

Shivers of dread crawling down his spine as he remembered the alternative while staring up at the massive drab gray building of Van Uttebatten's façade, the abandoned child decided that he would do absolutely -ANYTHING- to avoid going anywhere worse. He would probably have to endure torments of mind and body, but as long as rape or whoring himself wasn't asked, he would try to endure. His only alternative was to ditch formal primary schooling and any chance to a secondary school afterwards by living in the streets full-time. However, Harry had quickly realized that he was the only child of any age that was completely abandoned in his village. If the coppers wanted to find him, they would have little efforts to make before they found his precious bunker and belongings. His only truly safe alternative would be to go off-grid in a rural area, far from prying eyes, but he had never done any camping or scouting in his life, so he wasn't sure if he could survive in the harsh British winter, given how young, small, underfed and meek he was.

Want it or not, this inhuman monolith of concrete would be his life for the coming five years, and he -HAD- to adapt, find ways to survive and dodge trouble, or else he might as well jump off the roof to end it on his own terms. What a joyful thought on his first day of school. It certainly wasn't the freedom and help he had dreamed about when he was locked in his cupboard!

{ HP } - { Year 1; 1986 - 87 } - { HP }

The first year was harsh, demeaning and beyond brutal in many ways for all the children who were forced to attend the Van Uttebatten institution. All of them were bloody well aware they were the shittiest turds floating in Britain's sewers, beneath the feet of their betters in life and society, as was Just, Proper and Civilized under God. Any suspicion that a child was not blindly accepting of this propaganda had the culprit dragged by the ear to the front of the classroom for a thrashing on the seat of their pants with a swishy rattan cane. If more than just one teacher or staffer complained to the principal about the child's indocility or lack of blind belief, the little hellion was then grabbed by a pair of stout custodians and dragged kicking and screaming to the antiquated punishment room in the second basement of the administration building. Few children ever spoke aloud of what the actual sanctions were, but they always came back littered with welts, bruises and occasional broken arm or leg because they tried to struggle free of their tormentors' vices. Apparently, getting summoned to the head office for a bare-arsed caning that left bleeding stripes on the skin was still proven as much safer and less painful than whatever was done by the school's thugs in the hidden basement room.

Right in the first week, Harry heard, and verified, that two different boys had been dragged to the basement and come back injured enough to require a trip to the nearby pauper's clinic to be patched up. Likewise, he saw with his own eyes no less than four classroom canings and heard a pair of teachers at noon meal brag about "having hauled a fucking little trublion to the principal to set some cuts on his chubby lower cheeks". Seeing and hearing directly the proof of the staff's utter lack of care for their wards, the poor neglected child lowered his head and affected an air of silent, compliant despair from then on. He never raised his hand in class, answered -VERY- politely to all adults, and absolutely never questioned the rules or protocols in place, even when he could see they were stupid or obsolete in today's society.

Having six years of life with the Dursley's may not be much in terms of experience, but it was enough to have comparatives and know that the people in Van Uttebatten academy weren't really trying to teach anything to anybody. The school was truly just a part-time, cheaper version of what St-Ignatorius claimed to do thoroughly full-time, with permanent results. That meant that Harry concentrated solely on his studies, books, and handing in completed homework or tests without ever challenging the grades given, foregoing any ideas of making friends for moral support and a social life at long last. This wasn't the place or time for that sort of self-delusion, and pretty much anything, including sneezing while the teacher was lecturing, could earn you an immediate six strokes of the cane, which no kid in their right mind would contest as they all knew what the other punishments would escalate into.

The good thing about tyrannies that are run by multiple tyrants at the same time was that such characters rarely played well together as a team. Normally, tyrants were lazy bums who brutalized their victims to enslave them into doing the work for them, so they rarely put a lot of effort into anything that wasn't their vices or the violence needed to keep slaves at work. The very predictable result of the staff assembled in Van Uttebatten was that the principal had a few favorite teachers who were given badges as "Senior Educator" while the rest were simply "Teacher" or "Junior teacher" as per the regulations. The senior educators could punish a child in their classroom any way they wanted, including removing clothing by force to hit skin, or they could convoke the culprit to their personal office for a 'severe sanction' that was still beneath the notice of the admins. Woe betide the poor foolish child that didn't realize quickly that trying to dodge the summons or denying it was issued would mean an automatic trip to the head office followed by an even worse descent to the cruelties of the basement's punishment room.

The kids had to hurry to learn which teachers were neglectful, lazy, passively cruel, actively cruel or genuinely perverted, and react accordingly if they wanted to survive with most of their limbs and organs functional. After the first month, nobody was stupid enough to think about coming out of the place healthy or completely sane. It was like living in a trench with both enemy sniper fire and rogue assassins happening at all moments of the day, sometimes without any actual reason too. The traumatized kids who were better socialized, or better at living on the streets, also came to perceive that many of the adult personnel had been severely impacted by their workplace and the immoral, criminal rules set by the directorate. Several teachers overtly smoked tobacco or weed, drank tea or coffee with alcohol in it that smelled throughout the classes they taught, and often enough a nameless custodian would sit at the desk, telling them to read silently because the teacher was out sick today. Some teachers were sick a lot, it seemed.

In October, the second month of school, Harry saw one of the few young girls, aged 8, that attended their sector of Hell on Earth step unto the parapets of the administrative wing and jump down to die as she impacted the unforgiving asphalt of the yard beneath. All the children watched from their classroom windows as the black hearse bearing the official crest of the municipal police came to recover the mangled corpse in utter silence, without a bobby in sight to investigate or write a report. The child's suicide was later attributed by the rumor mill to the fact she had just been in one of those 'special convocations' in a teacher's office, and she killed herself immediately after. That weekend, while Harry was discretely skulking around the back alleys and commercial streets in search of food and winter gear, he heard a pair of elderly constables talking on a bistro's terrace, as they spiked their cheap tea with even cheaper gin from hip flasks that had been stamped with their precinct and unit names as if it were normal. The two old bobbies chatted about the poor little tyke that the sawbones had gone to pick up from Creep-Utte, as they called the school. Both men had sighed forlornly about the fact she had just been raped before she jumped, given her hymen was torn and she had lesions in both vagina and anus still bleeding fresh, wounds that a head-first jump off a building would never produce.

Harry stayed silent as he crept away from the dangerous source of information, and never discussed the facts with anybody, not even when outside the school's campus. If there was one thing that life with the Dursley's had taught him young, it was that criminals always had plenty of friends in low places you couldn't see, and you were never as alone or secure in your secret talking spot as you believed to be.

{ HP } - { This means WAR! } - { HP }

Harry had learned much from his books about surviving the harshness of homeless life on the streets in a city. The stories about street gangs, thugs, perverts and how the youngest kids could sometimes act like wild dogs when they were starved or sick had impressed him in a bad way. That was why Harry had made efforts at finding small pieces of metal that he could file down into small shivs or stouter medium shanks to defend himself from grabby hands or bullies. There was no logical way he could carry his Nazi dagger & pistol in school where there was no privacy at all, and an army of scared kids wanting to earn reprieve from the adults who would denounce him the moment they saw any abnormality. The metal shivs were barely two inches long by a half-inch wide, and thin like a cheap letter opener. The shanks were five inches long by two inches wide, thick like a good dinner knife. Both types of blades had a three inch handle wrapped in plastic sheeting to keep them thin and easy to hide under his too-large shirt sleeves or hems.

It was a good thing he had been armed since one of the younger teachers had 'convoked' him to his office on the last day of class, just before the mandatory Christmas break. Little Harry had to cut the man across the tops of his hands and forearms to escape from a rape attempt after the man tried to forcibly rip-off his ratty clothes, supposedly to apply corporal punishments, without telling the boy what he had done wrong or what the pain would be. When the enraged felon tried to prevent Harry from escaping his office by jumping on him like a wrestler, the desperate child had no choice but to flail around wildly with his blades still in his hands. It wasn't like he had any fighting training, but what choice did he have? He ended up hitting the domineering male several times around his face and neck before the massive weight dragged them both to the floor. Harry was knocked out for a few minutes, only to wake up in the puddle of congealing blood, still under the cooling corpse of the dead rapist. In his panicked resistance, Harry had struck the man in the left eyeball, in the right ear, twice across the chin, four times across the throat, and a dozen times around the collarbones. The inevitable result was death by blood loss from too many cut arteries. The man bled out inside of roughly 40 seconds, well beyond any help the other staffers could have given.

That was the moment that Harry realized just how thickly insulated and sound-proofed the teachers' and admins' offices were, so they could attack and molest kids at their leisure without ever having witnesses. Taking advantage of the providential silence, the child decided that he had to plan for the worse case; being discovered and forced to run out of town to live in a remote rural zone. He started by the obvious, searching the body's pockets for any tools or valuables, then the desk and the rest of the small office. The wooden desk drawers weren't locked, thus allowing the boy to quickly find a small trove of pocket knives and artisanal blades like his that the teacher had seized over the years. A more modern multi-tool based off the Swiss Army knife system was the biggest and most reliable piece in the pile, so Harry took that one first, plus two five inch folding knives that looked matched, and the only obviously dedicated combat knife that had a two-edged 8 inch straight blade with a matching sheath. Next to the blades was a small black box that looked like a garage door opener; a battery-powered contact stunner. Harry triggered it to see if the sparkers worked, and also added that to his pockets. A short 12 inch metal rod with a rubber handle and round ball at the end wound up being a telescoping baton, similar to those used by juvie cops on the telly's news programs, when they visited a reform school or took delinquents to court. Since that was a good, reliable and very silent device, the child took it as well without hesitation.

Besides, it was free... Why let something pass and miss out when he needed it?

The other drawers held four new 12-packs of cheap French tobacco cigarettes and a dozen small 100ml glass bottles of English alcohol, gin, brandy and scotch whiskey mixed in a lot. In the same drawer were several candy bars and small sacs of jujubes or hard candies. With a disgusted face, Harry realized that he had stumbled on the pervert's 'rewards & payments' for getting his victims to cooperate willingly to his demands. Never before had the phrase "Stranger – Danger!" made so much sense as it did now. Especially when he looked at the three individually wrapped cakes that were normally sold eight per carton. The pastries were probably safe to take, but the small glass vial and antique glass syringe next to them was clearly a bad sign. Trying to read the label on the vial, Harry saw it spelled in bad handwriting "Happy sleep" and nothing else.

Shivering in dread at what could have happened to his poor self if he had ever accepted a cake or candy bar from this man almost had him vomiting in the bin next to the desk. Except that Harry had lived on the streets enough to have developed a stronger stomach than most 6 year old's. Taking his courage with both hands, the boys stole all the edibles and the syringe as he had almost no medical supplies, so this could be a boon in disguise. At worse, he could sell it to a junkie in an alley for a pair of quid. The other drawers were useless, filled with school paperwork or students' homework assignments that should have been graded over the holidays.

The rest of the office was a better help. The tea set was ugly as a wet turd, but the small utensils on the tray were sterling silver wrought in an old style that nobody liked anymore. That was good tradable stuff so Harry piled it near the door. Seeing the quantity of what he was going to loot out of the room, the child realized two problems; he would need a way to carry it all, and he couldn't be seen in the corridors with sacks full of loot. The other kids, at the very least, would bitch and pester him, but, at worse, another teacher or custodian could become interested and ask questions they should never think about. Thinking slowly, Harry's eyes fell upon the dial of the old clock mounted above the brick fireplace that each office had, in case electricity and gas gave out in the middle of a rainstorm or winter. It was nearly 17:00pm, almost an hour passed the end of the last class. And it was a Friday, too! That meant that almost all of the kids had already left, unless they had gotten hijacked by an adult for a last bit of perving before Hols. In any case, even most adults would have begun leaving if they hadn't already. The secretaries certainly closed their section of the campus by 15:15pm every day, no matter what. The women wanted no truck with the depravities that regularly occurred after class hours, and did their shifts specifically to avoid being witness or accomplice to anything they could avoid being aware of.

Smiling nastily, the child walked to the windows to discretely look outside, towards the small patch of the play yard and parking lot he could see. Almost all the cars were gone, but he didn't know who drove what, so it didn't help any. The yard was deserted, but then again it always was since no child wanted to stay near the hellish pit if they had an option to go elsewhere, including the few group fosterage homes that were located in the neighborhood. Harry pulled the curtains closed tightly and closed the harsh fluorescent tubes mounted to the ceiling, opting for the dimmer stained glass reading lamps spread around the room. Their softer, shaded glow had less chance of being seen from outside to attract attention where he wanted secrecy.

Now ensconced in a warm and locked room, he had all the time to search for bags or a caddy to haul his loot safely. Opening the closet built into the wall near the entrance door, he found a short jacket that could serve as a winter trench-coat for his diminutive size, an old umbrella, a pair of rubber galoshes that were far too big, and a small rucksack that seemed half-full. Opening the bag, Harry snorted in amusement as it seemed that the pervert had thought like him; he had prepped a go-bag in case he was discovered by somebody who didn't accept bribes or threats. Smirking at the cold corpse lying on the bloodied carpet a few feet away, Harry pulled out the three breath mint tins that held folded bills and coins totaling some 400 pounds in notes plus another hundred pounds in small change. Nodding approvingly at his haul, the child pulled out of the sack a camping hatchet, a cheap 12 inch Bowie knife, a cheap imitation Swiss Army knife with barely a dozen tools on it, one 6-pack of 8 hour candles, wooden matches, a cheap compass, a cheap rubber & plastic wristwatch, and a road-map of the county with four red 'X' marked.

The one thing that lit-up Harry's curiosity were two small leather pouches that were closed with a metal zipper. One was rather rectangular and bulky; it was a travel hygiene kit with a bottle of dehydrated shaving cream powder, a little furry thing to lather the cream, a straight razor with a packet of 5 extra blades, a comb, a wooden hairbrush, a toothbrush and paste tube, mouthwash, a bottle of paracetamol, some Gravol tablets and cough syrup. Yep, all good to go, and useful too!

The smaller kit was flatter, and opened like a note binder, with small thread loops on both sides to hold the instruments in place and quiet any noise they could make. It was a beginner's lock-pick set, with only some twenty pieces for picking the oldest and easiest locks publicly sold. Harry had heard of these kits, and only seen one, bigger and better, in the counter at the pawn shop where he did many trades. The child was happy since he had a whole chapter in his homelessness & squatting booklet about lock-picking but had never been able to practice since he had no picks. Well, that was a good find, and it also explained why this young teacher was put in Van Uttebatten by the district's bosses when he always dressed well and arrived with a meal bought at a restaurant every morning. If the guy had been stealing on the side to have the cash to purchase what he wanted to maintain his -supposed- social status, then it could explain why he wanted to be here. Nobody in this school would give a crap, as theft and fraud were probably considered clean, healthy jobs compared to what most people did inside these walls.

Walking slowly all around the office, Harry munched on one of the sugary vanilla cakes to silence his stomach and occupy his hands as he perused the 'catalog' before putting it in the pile of loot. There were a few things like the stained glass lamps that could easily fetch fifty quid each, but he could barely hold one with both hands, let alone lug the rucksack at the same time, so those stayed put. Baubles like the silver letter opened and decorative bronze desk organizer from the 1930's would leave with him. A small copper vase could fetch 15 quid, and its matched sculpted candlestick an easy 35. opening the drawers of the low dressers placed under the bank of three windows on the outside wall, Harry found an old flashlight with batteries still in the pack. The date said they were long gone, but maybe not. He opened the torch and pack, fitted the batteries and flicked the button. Bummer! The kit really was dead!

Oh well, he already had plenty here, hi hi hi!

Honestly, the rest of the office was a sheer disappointment, except for when he finally searched the long winter coat hanging on the brass hooks on the back of the door. That was the coat the teacher had worn when he arrived this morning. A brand new one, too. Harry whistled softly as he found a billfold with nearly 300 pounds and 500 Euros neatly stacked, all in 50's. In another pocket was a small zippered leather coin wallet holding some 20 pounds in small change and a plastic pillbox with four yellow caplets inside. Harry didn't know the pills, but he knew somebody who could tell him what they were, and the street worth. In another pocket was a flat leather card holder where the man had put his social security card, driver's license, teacher's union health insurance card, and a shooting club membership card. From the cardholder extended a lanyard that ended with the man's key ring; car, apartment, and a few others, including two that were identified as 'Uttebatten – teachers' and 'Uttebatten – custodians'.

Harry did a little gig of joy as he realized he had found the bloody jackpot. Firstly, he could wait until the school was truly empty since he now had proof that people other than the principal or head janitor had the keys to open the buildings. And, it was well known that the antiquated institution had never installed an electronic alarm system or cameras anywhere. With what happened to the kids, only a fuckwit of considerable ineptitude would record events in this dump! That meant the entire staff were free to come & go as they pleased, or as their illicit business was finished, regardless of the clock. Also, it meant that Harry could now leave and return all through the holidays to loot each and every room until he had a good amount of food, money and useful goodies to insure he could run off-grid if the damned CPS or bobbies wanted to blame him for the perv's well earned death.

Sitting in the comfy wheeled chair behind the desk, Harry checked the time again and came to the conclusion that he could do a little kip before packing up and moving around the desolate edifice to see what else the kids were barred from knowing. Supposedly, the school had no library but he'd heard a few teachers speak of one under their breath as they met in the bathrooms or in the yard to share a smoke. And, Harry was curious about that damned basement punishment room and what happened there. He could guess, but if he could damage or lock-out the room, maybe the bastards would stop hurting kids because they no longer had a secret lair to do it in.

It was passed 19:30pm on the clock when Harry awoke from his light nap to check out of the window to confirm he saw no cars left but that of the man he had accidentally, but happily, killed. The brand matched the ornate key-ring and logo on the actual key, so it should be it. Closing the lamps in the office and shouldering his first bag of loot, the child made sure to have the Bowie hanging in his belt and hatchet in hand before he ventured through the dark, abandoned building. With almost three solid weeks of holidays coming, the janitors and custodians had wasted no time in shuttering the building thoroughly, not caring that one or two staffers stayed behind to satiate their baser needs yet again. This cemented in Harry's mind the fact that each employee had the keys to access the school at will, and nobody would ever say anything about any weirdness they discovered come morning.

Listening to his basic wisdom for survival, Harry went down to the ground floor, to pilfer the reserves from the administrative mess hall. The moment he entered the dry pantry, the child saw how much better the quality was than for the student's mess. Instead of institution-grade bulk vats and drums, this pantry was stocked with liter or gallon sized containers with clearly labeled brands that came from Tesco or the local family grocery shop. Sneering in satisfied anger at the petty theft, he carefully selected according to his survival training; dry-pack, brined and canned, in that order. The tin of loose-leaf Earl Gray tea from Twinings quickly found a home in his pack, as did the jar of instant minestrone soup with noodles & veg already mixed in. Two large packets of Bovril beef broth cubes were grabbed, along two boxes of rice and a sack of noodles to make some variety with everything else he had at his underground home.

With his rucksack now having a problem at staying closed, Harry scrounged for another sack, finding an ancient but usable canvas shopping bag with a logo from a grocery store in a different district than where he lived. Not caring, the child carefully took several bottles of salt, pepper, ginger, cinnamon, paprika, cayenne pepper, cloves, minced garlic – onion & lemon juice mix, and a small tin of strong mustard seeds to grind and prepare to taste. The new sack allowed him to take some cans of corned beef, baked beans in gravy, and three peanut butter jars more.

In the walk-in freezer, that he stuck open with a step-stool, the child looked for easy pickings that could be carried discretely and be eaten quickly before it spoiled. He didn't have a fridge or camping cooler in his bunker, so he had to eat all the meat or fish the day he found it or lose it, unless he made the effort of brining the stuff. Which, honestly, he had tried to do, but vinegar was hard to buy in big enough quantity, as were the glass jars needed. Now however, he did have some cash so maybe he could regularize his food storage method. Thinking about it, he seized several 24-packs of frozen breakfast pork sausages, two packs of frozen ground beef and one large frozen turkey breast to eat as tonight's dinner and a midnight snack. As he moved around the cold room, Harry wondered if the people had done here as Vernon had, so he jammed his newfound Bowie in the door's hinges to keep it open while he used the step-stool to check the higher shelves for secret stashes. Bah! No luck. If there were anything important, the cooks had probably taken it home for the holidays.

With his food shopping (irony) done for the day, Harry closed the door and smiled as he saw the one thing he had wanted but been denied to date; a flashlight. The small emergency light was hung under the steel food prep table right next to the cold room's door, so the boy had not seen it when he opened the door on his way in. Flicking the switch, he smiled anew as the short, narrow beam lanced out across the low lighting of the kitchen, allowing him to search again in case he missed anything important or tradable. Being done here, the child decided to satisfy his curiosity once and for all, even if it was a very bad idea.

{ HP } - { This is what depravity looks like } - { HP }

Looking around the kitchen, he saw the door that led down to the basement, one of three staircases that were set into the building's frame. All three went from the deepest basement to the rooftop solarium, to facilitate escape in case of fire or some other catastrophe. Using the middle stairs was neither good nor bad, it was simply the closest before he changed his mind. Making sure the door didn't lock from in or out, he slid into the shaft and silently descended two flights to the bottom of the hellish pit that was this school. The moment he exited the stairs he felt a cold shiver pass down his back, and it seemed his senses were now wrapped in cotton wool, making his perception of events less accurate, less precise. His mind felt slightly foggy, but it dispersed after a few minutes of trying to shake his head clear. Walking out of the shaft, he saw that he was in the empty coal bunkers for the ancient water boilers that had fed heat and hot water to the school when it was still a single building, before World War II. It was public knowledge that the boilers and water plant were on the right hand of the edifice, on the parking lot's side to facilitate access to workers when the machines broke down, as well as for coal delivery, back when that was a thing. Given he had come from the kitchen, that meant he had to go left to find the damned dungeon and his answers.

Walking for a few minutes at a slow pace because he was loaded with loot, Harry eventually arrived to a a section of the foundations that was made out of dressed stone blocks rather than the poured cement and bricks the rest was made of. The corridor arrived right in front of an old oak wood door covered in iron strapping but no manner to lock it from the outside. There were no lock, eye-holes for padlock or chains, and no metal or stone supports to lodge a crossbar. The door was slightly ajar, without any light or noise coming from inside.

Taking his meager courage with both hands, the child held his flashlight in one hand and the hatchet in the other as he pushed roughly against the heavy, armored door to move it all the way into open position. What he saw at first glance was nightmarish, but not enough to inform him of what exactly the room's true purpose was. Panning the light around, he quickly found an electrical switch near the door and flicked it, illuminating the horrid chamber in the cold, artificial glow of industrial fluorescent tubes.

It really was a feudal dungeon, built as part of the first structure on the site. The floor, walls and ceiling were cut dressed stone blocks that had discolored from age and exposure to things best not imagined. three large stone fireplaces were present, one to each wall that wasn't the door where he came in. That meant that on the far outer wall, near the door to the staircase, was an hearth, as there was in the middle of the others. The chimneys had cast iron fittings to hang kettles or pots, and a metal rack of sorts to set logs on so that air flowed underneath to bolster the flames. All three hearths were cold dead, and it was a good thing. The cold air helped dim down the stench of piss, shit and vomit that came from several places around the dank, moist chamber.

On Harry's left side, the wall had an alcove shaped into the masonry wall, right next to the fireplace. It held a built-in box-bench with a hole in the top. A crude primitive toilet. On the other side of that same hearth an alcove that was obviously a washing stall of sorts showed a stone floor that had holes drilled through the blocks, but no water plumbing. On the other hand, there was a modern garden hose rolled-up around a plastic drum mounted to the wall near the outgoing staircase. A cheap plastic janitor's sink had been added right next to the hose support.

The right hand wall had a series of floating wooden shelves pegged to the walls on each side of that hearth, but nothing special in terms of structure. Likewise for the walls around the door where he stood.

That left the main floor of the chamber. This is where humanity's depravity was exposed to the naked eye of any who came here. There were four large wooden contraptions whose uses were pretty self evident. An old birching block from when the school had been a Borstal, the heavy wood and thick leather straps serving to hold a child or teenager in position while the rods, straps, canes or else were applied to the back and ass of the victim. What looked like a pommel horse for gymnastics but was in fact a whipping pony, where a child that was docile and didn't fight back against their punisher would bend over and hold-on by their own power until the beating was done. There were probably other uses too, but Harry wasn't a torturer so he didn't know them. The third device was a classic flogging triangle that you could tie the victim to in standing position, but slightly canted along the two angled face-beams of the frame. Being tied with their arms stretched over their head under tension augmented the pain of the beating while adding humiliation and powerlessness to the process, especially since the child so tied would normally be fully naked. The last device was the dreaded rack; a horizontal table with a drum-winch at each end to tie the person by the limbs and pull them apart until they broke the arms and legs off the torso. Or in this case, they could set the child face-down and beat or rape them at leisure, as it was like a very large, durable bed but without any cushions. Then again, the bastards probably thought the child's job was to be their pillow as they enacted whatever crime they enjoyed.

Harry didn't need to go look at the shelves along the walls to see they held assortments of whips, straps, canes, paddles, batons, shackles, chains, padlocks, a few old and partially used-up first-aid kits, a few mostly empty bottle of cheap booze, a cheap porcelain tea set and iron kettle, tins of tea, coffee, coco and Bovril. There was a shelf above the janitor's sink with a few almost full bottles of all-purpose household soap and generic drug store body-wash. A pair of dirty sponges and a pile of used flannel washcloths reflected moldy colors under the harsh lights from the ceiling. The odors of human waste came from the decades of unwashed misery that had crusted onto the devices and seeped into the mortar between the stone blocks of the floor. The room had apparently never been designed to handle the drainage needed when washing it out with a hose.

Small wonder, that? Harry sarcastically mused as his eyes took in the den of cruelty. So this was why so many bad teachers and admins were sent here and stayed for so long despite the horrible working conditions and miserably low pay. They had 'marginal benefits' that couldn't be found elsewhere.

Closing his eyes, the child said a prayer to the souls of those poor infant that had been dragged down here to assuage whatever pleasures the felons had dreamed of that day. From what he saw since he attended the school, not a single child here deserved to be treated like a murderer, rapist or arsonist in an adult prison. And yet, here he was, and here were those hellish devices.

Magicks and Gods are real

(Harry Potter - theme)

1986

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

Shutting the lights off, Harry was almost scared to death as he saw that several spots on the floor, torture devices and tools glowed a sickly pale whitish-blue in the dark. The phenomenon lasted for a few minutes then stopped naturally. It was as if something had absorbed the light while it was active then glowed it back, until it was adapted to the darkness anew. Not knowing what this was, or why, Harry decided to willfully ignore the event and walk back up to the ground floor.

However, that was when his entire life went to a worse Hell and back again for this one.

The antiquated torture room's door shut itself on its own power, and the whitish-blue luminescence started up again, emanating from what coalesced into strange circular drawings based upon pentacle stars, hourglasses, the sun, the moon's phase cycle, scales & weights, and a plethora of small sigils that looked like phrases or equations that Harry had seen only in cartoons or comic books about magic and faeries. Then golden lines of energy began to link all the drawings together like the web of some insane radioactive spider from the void.

Out of each sigil emerged transparent humanoid shapes that seemed to be dressed in clothing that was several centuries out of date. A few were actually wearing chain-mail hauberks covered by engraved field plate armor and great helmets. Some had pantaloons with puffy tunics and wide brimmed hats struck with many long feathers and much jewelry upon hands and necks. Others, the few women in the group, wore long flowing robes that hid everything of their shapes except their faces and hands, with shawls, veils and hand fans matching their outfits. One figure seemed the oldest of the lot, he was dressed much more simply in what appeared to be formal black trousers, button shirt, neck tie, vest and tailcoat, with a top hat bearing a golden crest on the front. The crest that was engraved above the doors of the school and printed on all its official letters and mailing envelopes. The crest of Van Uttebatten – GCVO, peer of the Britannic Realm.

The ghost floated away from the sigil that granted it shape in this reality, feeling the magic of the room and epoch as it glided slowly through the air like a collection of glittering dust motes rather than a corporeal person. The elderly features were severe, frown well in evidence on his now more defined body and face. Gazing upon the shaking small child standing near the closed doorway, the ancient village magistrate and ennobled knight raised a gloved hand to incite the boy to move towards the center of the ritual room so that they may begin the Awakening Rite.

"Come hither, yon lad." the stately alderman whispered ethereally, "We will not harm thee, in the name of Victoria my Queen do I swear, as the magick of Britannia is my guide and judge. So mote it be."

Harry's eyes were wide open, pupils dilated fully as he tried to control his fear and comprehend what he saw happening. It wasn't real! It couldn't be real! His relatives had always told him that magic and fairies were just superstitions, never real or to be believed unless he wanted to be declared mentally ill on top of being a freak and the child of drunkards.

Pointing at the honorable badges on his tailcoat chest, the magistrate explained "I am the humble owner of this ritual chamber, as it was passed through my family for more than 17 generations, as we served the Crown and Throne of Britannia. I myself am Ulyrance Van Uttebatten, the last Heir and Lord of the Van Uttebatten bloodline to have lived. I served in the land armies until I reached the rank of colonel, whence I retired to civil life and became Reader of Laws for Her Majesty's courts, earning the Bar only three years after I left the uniform. I served with distinction until I attained the function of village magistrate, upon which my poor wife died of a broken heart when our only son, a soldier as well, was killed in service. In recognition for all that my family had done, and what would disappear once I died in my turn, Dame Victoria ennobled me to the Victorian Order as Knight Grand Cross and seated me amongst the Peers of the Realm. It was, as you can see now, a mostly symbolic event. I only lived two short years after that happy ceremonial."

Harry shook his head violently, like a dog trying to dry itself while it was still raining upon it's back, to no avail. The ghostly apparitions were still all around him, and a few others now tried to speak as well, all of them related to this room and the Van Uttebatten family. "Enough! Please! Enough! I can't understand what you're all saying! I can't understand any of it! Let me go, please, just let me go... Haven't I suffered enough already?" begged the distraught child as he held his face in misery, long lines of tears running down his cheeks as he cried out his torment.

"what is the meaning of this depravity?" barked an ancient ghost dressed in the vestments of the Anglican priesthood from the 1600's, "Ulyrance! Descendant of our blood! What be the meaning of this calamity? No child should be experiencing such pain or shame inside the blessed effluves of the ritual chamber! The Awakening Rite is a holy and joyous occasion, not a time of penance and martyr!"

"Alas, my forebear, I know not what ails the boy. It has been many decades since we have last been convoked for the Awakening of a Magus unto our Laand." Floating closer to Harry's prone form, the distinguished gentleman asked kindly "Tell us child, of what ails thee so that accessing your magic gives you such tremulous emotions, rather than bombast and exultation?"

Shaking his head sideways slowly as if to deny what he was living, Harry rubbed his forearm under his nose to wipe way the snot and tears from his mouth so that he could speak without the foul taste making him puke. Not seeing the scowls his crass gesture caused, the boy simply tried to focus on the knot in the alderman's necktie so he could ignore it was a ghost that spoke to him.

"I don't know what an 'awakening' is. I was always told magic was superstition, something that poor folks and peasants came up with to explain what they couldn't. Faeries and ghosts were made up to scare people into following morality and laws, by telling them they'd suffer after death if they disobeyed their lords or priests. I was told only the insane or the drunk see spells and ghosts and demons and stuff of the sort. Fantasies and legends, but not real. Never real."

One of the genteel women floated near the prone child, looking at him kindly from behind her open fan and the thin lace veil that prudishly covered her features. "Then tell us, young one, why did you venture so deeply into the ground, down into the domain of our forebears? Did you not see the stone walls and wrought iron gates that surround the estate? Were you brought here without being told of the import of events?"

An other old man from the back of the ghostly conclave muttered mulishly "He could be one of those mudbloods that sprout up all the time, amongst the muggle hordes. Maybe he has shown signs of the Gifts and Blessings, but his family could not understand them?"

The woman near Harry shook her head sideways minutely in denial, declaring "We may have been asleep for several decades, but I can still ferret out the signs of orphan-hood, abandonment and living meagerly in the streets. These ratty clothes, calloused hands at such age, ill-kept body and uncouth mannerisms all speak loudly of a child adrift, without a beacon to guide him."

One of the knights in metal armor strode forth boldly, decreeing "Yon Lady hath the truth of the Divines in her Sight. Well known to us are her Gifts. If she declares him to be adrift, then so he is, and a Beacon to guide him we shall find. It is our sacred and sworn duty, despite that Time and society would like to forget that we had once existed. Tides of vermin and hordes of sinners shalt not see the End of our Creed in Mother Magyck, no they shalt not!"

Nodding sagely, the alderman with the top hat finally looked around the décor of the chamber, taking stock of the ancient hall for the first time since the late 1800's when it was last used. "What manner of abhorrent criminalities be this, boy? Who hath desecrated our Blessed Ritual Chamber by converting it to the Devil's workshop? Never in all my years of living have I seen any of these foul things outside of the London museums or history books about the Dark Ages and Renaissance epochs. What calamity hath befallen our estate, pray tell us!"

Shaking his head very slowly to clear it while avoiding disorientation and nausea, poor Harry was still too stumped to answer coherently. After a few minutes of respite, he began to look each entity in the eyes, making an effort to understand and memorize each person so he could try to think of what their presence meant, and how to answer them when they spoke. Trying to make an honest effort at being polite and truthful, the boy began to speak in his reedy, shaking voice. He explained what time period they were in, how the building above them was a school since a great many years in the past, and it kept being rebuilt on top of the old foundations. He confirmed the institution was named after the last Van Uttebatten, but nobody cared for that beyond that it was written in the stones of the edifices and on the stationary. Then he told them of the horrid crimes that were inflicted upon the children since the building had become a Borstal and then a public elementary school. He finished by telling them of what the teachers and admins used the room for in the last few decades. Because he had lived through too much trauma to handle alone and his mind wasn't right anymore, he told them about the attempted rape, killing and looting of the teacher and kitchen, before coming down here to validate the awful rumors. He had seen the truth and was about to leave when they emerged from... wherever they had been.

Frowning in anger and humiliation, the last Lord Van Uttebatten hung his head in shame as he wondered where his society and kingdom had gone so wrong to become this farcical caricature of what justice and orderliness were supposed to be.

As the ghostly conclave murmured their imprecations of shame and dismay, one of the youngest phantoms elocuted clearly above the din "We need the vordak to assist us! We have no bodies and can't move objects unless they were enchanted to react to ectoplasmic beings or Gifted souls like ours used to be in life. To help this child set right what has decayed, we shall need the Servant of the Creed to be our hands and senses outside these dreary walls. Call the vordak."

Again, murmurs floated amongst the group until a consensus emerged, mostly by lack of any alternative and the child's utter ignorance of anything useful in either mundane or magical life.

Addressing Harry, the Lord Van Uttebatten beckoned him kindly to stand in the middle of the room, between the four despicable tools of pain, on a faded circular engraving set in the stone floor. He guided the boy in reciting a prayer as he folded his hands over his heart and closed his eyes to focus on the intention of rousing and summoning the disappeared family's Servant from the deep sleep whence he awaited. A loud grinding of stone upon stone was heard as the back of the washing alcove near the left-side chimney pulled back sideways into the wall opposite the hearth to reveal a black masonry tunnel with stone stairs. Soon enough, a hushed whisper of clothes dragging along the stone floors and stairs beneath came hauntingly towards Harry's senses, making him wonder why exactly he had accepted to say the prayer to call the Servant upstairs.

When the figure emerged from the tunnel, Harry dropped to his knees in miserable fear of the horror he had awakened unto the mortal world. It was a floating beast, a shape from nightmares that the child would never forget. Hovering about three feet above the floors, covered in faded but rich vestments that reminded strongly of Anglican clergymen of high rank, wearing an abbatial mitre hat and holding in its clawed right hand a long wooden staff topped with a golden abbatial crosier, and a cast iron funeral urn in the left hand. From under the low brim of the mitre gazed out the empty, literally empty holes, of the floating undead skeleton as it peered at the child that dared summon it, with the indolence of those for whom power was as easy as thought.

As the trembling, miserable child thought his mind would give out its last whimper, the eldritch entity moved the clawed index of its right hand, aiming it at his face, incanting "Gaia mater, puer purus in insanitum dolorificat. Invocatum geos esspiritum sancti. Puer purificatum et sanitatum non tenebrans. Cruore sancti ut esspiritu benefactum. Ameno Gaia mater."

(Translation from elden Latin; "Mother Gaia, this pure child suffers an ill mind. I invoke the Blessed Spirit of the Earth. This child be purified and his mind repel the dark sleep. Blood be blessed and soul benefit of health. Mother Gaia, amen.")

Flowing from the undead thing's finger came a beam of hallowed golden light that bathed Harry in soft, benevolent healing effluvium gifted by Gaia, the Mother Earth, the Vessel of All Life, as she accepted to restore the poor, victimized orphan unto a state closer to the good health and stable sanity than what his menial existence had permitted him to have. As the prayer's effect ended, the child fell into a light sleep that allowed the floating creation of magicks and Faiths to inspect the Ritual Chamber and, amusingly, it so occurred that, yes, a magically enchanted skull can in fact move enough to form a full frown on its brow. Will wonders never cease? (sarcasm)

{ HP } - { Meeting Dryskholl and learning the truths } - { HP }

It was nearing 23:00pm on the last Friday of school when poor little Harry came back to his senses from the accidental but deep and helpful slumber he had experienced.

The six year old yawned widely as he mumbled silently "Man! What a dream... Floating skeletons and ghosts that talk... And spells in Latin... Lucky for me I don't live with the Dursley's full-time anymore or I'd get thrashed right & proper for dreaming that cold shite up."

Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see far more light than normal for his cupboard under the stairs, or his underground bunker. In fact, this light was whitish-blue instead of what aunt Petunia's cheap bulbs produce or the lively reddish flames of his stove and oil lamp. Sitting up from where he was laid out, the boy quickly realized he was not in simple Little Whining in Surrey, south of London, anymore.

He was resting on a sturdy wooden bed frame piled high with blankets and cushions that had kept him toasty in the rather hot chamber's atmosphere as the three monumental fireplaces we lit, the burning logs of pine, oak and cherry giving off an embalming smell that roused the senses. His position was along the wall where he had entered the dreaded room, earlier in the evening, but the shelves had been removed and the strange bed put in place for his use. All the torture and punishment devices were gone, as were the shelves and all electrical fixtures, but the water plumbing had been kept, if modified slightly. Above all else, the stonework around the chamber had been completely cleaned and the odd luminescent drawings renewed by some artifice Harry had no earthly idea how.

Confirming that his weird dream had not in fact been a dream at all, he could see that the stone doorway to the lower level was still opened, and the floating horror was hovering around the room, occasionally mumbling or praying in tongues that Harry didn't think had been invented for humans to speak or know about. Thankfully, the skeleton had its back towards the boy, so he was able to center his mind and senses before facing THAT thing again.

Then Harry became aware that all the ghosts were still present, but clustered together on one side, along the right-hand wall where the loose shelves used to be, with the undead priest floating indolently in the middle of the room. But Harry could hear some noises that were not what he remembered from either the apparitions or their 'Servant' whom he had awakened. What was going on here?

Suddenly, an excited squeaky voice exclaimed happily "Master Harry Potter is waking! We's finally be able to tell him about magic! The House of Potter can be free again! Bad master Whiskers' plans gonna feed them pigs, now!"

Whatever made that sound for a voice was -very- excited at the prospect of Harry being alive and well, and obviously wanted to help him somehow. The problem was that the boy had seen and lived so much bloody shite recently that he just couldn't believe anything at face value anymore. Plus, those street-life survival manuals had explained at length what desperate people will do to stay fed & warm, and what criminals or perverts were willing to pay or threaten to make those poor unfortunates cooperate. Not to mention the corrupt cops and officials on the take. Harry was clearly outnumbered, outclassed, out-equipped, and now he had to admit he was out-magicked on top of everything else. That wasn't something he had thought to judge about himself today when he left for the last school day before hols.

The Vordak Lord floated aside, giving Harry a clear view of the small being that was sitting on a small wooden chair that was as deeply padded and comfortable as the bed he sat on. The creature was surprisingly shorter than Harry, barely reaching 2 feet and 6 inches of height when it stood from the chair. For one fleeting second, the boy was inordinately gladdened to be bigger than somebody in this room, even though he guessed that it could still harm him easily, given that it seemed to take the flying dead priest's presence like the English accept rain all year long. On closer inspection, the diminutive entity had greenish skin that sported random brown splotches that made Harry's heart heavy. The boy had lived a hard life, and he could guess that those bruises were a sign of some disease the being was too poor or alone to find a cure. After that, the child saw the actual features; large bulbous eyes, long crooked nose, wide bat-like ears, and long agile fingers. The small humanoid was dressed in what were clearly infant sized rags discarded by humans, as they fit on it like Harry's own clothes poorly fit himself.

The raspy voice of the dead priest's ethereal whisper loudly around the chamber as he gestured comically with his left hand, the cast iron funeral urn clutched tightly by the short stem under the sculpted bowl.

"Master Harold Jamieson Evans Potter, Heir of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, Heir Presumptive of the Most Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Heir of the Most Venerable and Greatly Spiritual House of Peverell, na-Earl of Claymoors of the Scottish Lowlands, Peer of the Britannic Realms, Arch-Lord of Gaia and faithful anti-Champion of the Lord Hades, God of Death, Judge – Arbiter of The Beyond, and Guardian of the Grand Gate of Reality. Well met at last, High Lord Potter."

As the dead holy man bowed from the waist towards him, Harry almost lost awareness again. Eyes wide in surprise and mouth agog in stupor, the poor child was wondering if being dead had affected the old priest's sanity, or if the fungi in the old dungeon had gotten to the spells that kept it afloat. Then he winced at his own presumptuous imbecility since he knew nothing about any magicks to judge this mess, and knew even less about the beings in the room to judge if they were normal or healthy in any ways.

"Master Harry was never told by poor muggles who he be. The bad master Whiskers had potioned and spelled them to never say it. Besides, they never knew of it. Aunty horse-face and uncle walrus-man never bothered to find out, even before they gots cursey mail from Dumbledore." came angrily from the small green being. "Then again, they already hated magic and were bigoted for a long time before. Bad master Whiskers not chose them without reasons." the small shy creature completed as a quiet afterthought.

Humming in agreement, the hovering unliving priest beckoned Harry with his right hand, the clawed fingers moving dexterously around the haft of the staff that it also still kept a tight hold of. "Come and sit with us, child. You should not be so afraid of our conclave. We shalt not harm thee, not on this august night of your Awakening."

Deciding he had nothing else to do anyways, the weak, tired and despondent boy stood from the bed and walked towards the chair that had obviously been put in place for him, since it was twice larger than where the small foreigner sat. As he approached, Harry could see that all the ghosts were more solid than before, their features almost as defined as if they were flesh, although most women wore veils or hid behind hand-fans prudishly. The small green entity squeaked excitedly as it bounced to its feet to fluff and place his chair's cushions before he sat down, looking at him with an utterly disconcerting expression of beatitude on its pale, skinny face.

With the small green being sitting anew, the hovering skeleton spoke "The presentation I have said earlier is your full name, clanic affiliation, titles, and spiritual Creed. It is true that these may change during the course of a person's life, for some willingly discard family or title to retire in religious abbeys to finish their life far removed from the troubles of society. Others were born in such poverty they had never even the chance of clan or family, such that only a single simplistic name is used. In worse cases, the courts may order that a being or bloodline be struck from the books of their Nation or Congregation, making it magically impossible for any within their borders to speak or write the accursed name again until the sanction is lifted. As for being oathed to the clergy of any Faith, that also has yet to be enacted. What my Shen Power Sight dweomer has revealed of your Soul is not guaranteed, nor is it immuable amongst the Stars. Your life and experiences will determine where you walk, and what acclaims you attain."

Shaking his head slowly in denial, Harry replied with the certitude of the ignorant who had that state of affairs beaten and spelled into them all their life; "I'm not that person. I don't know who you think I am, but I'm nobody important. My parents weren't even important, since they were just drunkards who died in a car accident they caused. They were drinking again, so dad didn't have the reflexes to avoid the lorry that came out of the fabric's lot, so he rammed into them. The petrol tank exploded and they died, along with the two employees in the truck's cabin. They left nothing behind. No house, no money, no nothing but debts and pain and me. And I'm nothing. That's pretty well known, given how every adult I ever met always told me to my face."

In a strange twist of events that poor Harry was unable to understand, the skeleton's face seemed to loose some of its severity while the small green being at his side began to practically vibrate in outrage, its all-encompassing wrath etched so plainly on its alien features that even the child could interpret what it was, just not what it meant. Harry was too emotionally stunted and repressed to have much social or mental skills, so it was up to the conclave to help him through.

"Master Harry Potter bees most certainly NOT nothing! These bees LIES from the wands and bottles of bad master Whiskers! Curses on your head, he put! Made your family hate you! Cut all your bonds to the bloodline and servants! Criminal and traitor, he is! Not you! You is not bad! You is most certainly NOT nothing to people who knows yous!" the small creature bellowed in a spastic fit of distemper that caused it to suddenly bend over to cough out blood.

The ghost of old Lord Ulyrance Van Uttebatten floated forth, casting a spell silently from his bare hand upon the diseased creature. Shaking his head sadly, the alderman explained "It is as we had feared. His former master has poisoned the Bond itself, making his death unavoidable. He has but a few short days left, but he will not live past Friday of next week, at most. I am deeply aggrieved, friend elf, that you would come to such a depraved end. Your noble service deserves better acknowledgment than such turpitude."

Harry asked softly, fearful that he was beginning to understand what was being said around him for the first time in the entire situation; "What is happening? Why is he dying? Could he be saved? Can I do anything to help him?"

Replying with great kindness, a portly noble Lady ghost explained for him. "Nay child, no one can stop the progression of the foul curse that afflicts the house-elf anymore. If we had caught it months ago, when it was enacted, then mayhaps... But not now. As for the problem, that is simple to explain. This being is named 'Dryskholl', and he is a member of the race 'house-elf' which are a part of the larger elven species group. They are, to date and our knowledge, the only artificially created race of elves. In the long distant past, a cruel human saw the fey beauty, grace and magicks of the elvish peoples as a threat to his own magnificence. As is the course of such bigotries, he was too weak and too cowardly to challenge those noble elves directly in combat or even debate, as his mind was not as sharp or agile as theirs. So he fomented a solution as base and crass as his bigotry; he would use alchemy to create an entire race of 'elves' whose sole reason to exist would be to serve his menial needs as maids, valets and workmen on his estate."

Floating forward to pass a gentle hand upon the brow of the suffering elf, the elder noble woman continued; "Given how limited his own actively cast magicks were, and how afraid of combat he truly was, the hedge-wizard designed his 'elves' to not have an internal core to hold or generate magick the way that most naturally living entities do. Instead, he created a perversion of the Blood Law spells that permit to blood-adopt a stranger of any age into the clanhold, thus mixing the magicks of the group and individual to bolster all. This would have the double effect of making the creatures wholly dependent upon wizards giving them magic from their own cores to feed them, but also tether them to the physical estate and spiritual membership of the House, so that the burden of feeding and controlling the entities would not stay upon a single human who could wilt and implode under such stresses. Given that he was truly a weakling, this point was of some particular interest for the felon alchemist. That, plus the fact that slavers rarely want to expend much energy or mind-power on controlling what they see as machines made of flesh whose sole purpose is to make them rich, comfortable, and powerful without efforts from them."

The Vordak Lord ended the explanation "And so it is that for several millenia, the house-elves have served the greatest, noblest wizarding clans and families of Europa, the Slavic lands and immediately around the Mediterranean Sea's shorelines. Occasionally, when a place has enough natural magick emanating from the Ley Lines or from devout worship of the Living Gods, then house-elves can gather at this locale and live in relative freedom. Although, like the much vaunted wizard school Hogwarts, the owners of such places are usually quick to demand that the elves bond with their organization, be it school, church or guildhall. In all times and places, the magical capacities of house-elves have been quite impressive, and so they are always seen as a symbol of a group's raw magical potential, wealth and social status. And, while few would admit it aloud, they are superb magical combatants who will defend their homes most valiantly, and much more faithfully than the average human hireling, too."

Dryskholl nodded weakly, as he was recovering from his coughing fit very slowly. "Aye, master Harry Potter, sir. We house-elves have been scorned for our appearances, but sought for our Talents and Gifts since our race was given breath. This led to wizards trading or buying us like cattle, or sentient tools. Sometimes wees were exchanged for a good marriage contract, or given as payment of debts or bets. A few cowards even paid for their lives out of Honor Duels by offering their elf as Blood Tithe to close the contest without violence. In a few cases, jealous neighbors would attack and kill a family to steal their elves, then force the Bond of service to form with them. If the elves refused, they lost their magick rapidly until death, but sometimes the murderers would kill them anyways, to be sure. For thousands of years, we house-elves have served with as much honor as we could, oftentimes despite the evils our masters did, or forced us to do in their names."

Thinking hard, Harry asked gently "Is that why you're dying? Because the bad master Whiskers made you do things that were shameful and you refused? Or you did the opposite? You said something about spells and potions in my family... Did somebody poison us to be this way?"

Nodding weakly, poor Dryskholl confirmed the facts aloud. "Yes, master Harry. The bad wizard took you from house, when big bad Dark Lord kill your parents. He put curses and potions inside of you at Hogwarts. Then, he went to your kin to do the same to them. He bound the lot with charmed letters he sent every year to inject his will into the spells to keep them active. Magicks need three things to be; knowledge of what you want, intention and emotion. When a spell or potion is used, you can make it last longer by feeding it intention or emotions over time, otherwise it will lapse shortly. Very few things be eternal in magicks or Nature. Only elemental spells and alchemy make permanent things."

The young boy wondered aloud "So my relatives hate me because they were drugged, and their minds were altered to fit whatever this bad master wanted. That could explain a lot. But how was he able to force you? And what did you do that was so shameful?" he asked suspiciously.

Dryskholl shivered despite the warmth of the stone hall, wrapping one of the thin sheets around his diminutive frame. Taking the time to order his thoughts, the poor elf was well besides himself with emotions that were conflicting badly. First, he got to tell the young master about magic many years before the bad master Whiskers had planned. But it opened the poor elf's eyes to just how bad the child had suffered when the elf thought he was safe at school, away from the Dursley's hatred. Then again, the fact the child had discovered an old Ritual chamber where the hallowed ancestors still dwelt was a minor miracle of Mystra in itself, and could compensate for a lot of things.

In a squeaky voice that betrayed his tiredness, the sickly house-elf explained at great length all that he knew about Albus Dumbledore and his many positions, the 'prophecy' that the old idiot referred to each time he wanted to justify his acts, and the many evils he had perpetrated upon an entire community for a century, since World War I began in 1914 to be precise. Then Dryskholl explained how he had been born sick, how his first humans had rejected him, and how he had been reduced to seeking shelter in Hogwarts to survive. That was how Dumbledore managed to usurp the Bond with the school to force the very young and sick elfling to do his unholy bidding. For almost six years now, the servant had seen, heard and assisted Albus with his foul schemes, including popping to ill-defended houses to pour poisons into the food of sleeping wizards who wanted to think and live differently than Dumbledore wanted them to do. The man was a terrifyingly clever alchemist who used potions to change behaviors or anchor curses to living entities so that they would follow their unseen master's will.

Prompted by a few slowly spoken questions from Harry, the Vordak or the ghosts, the poor elfling gave them details about Dumbledore's true character, feeble body, and fear of changes or independent opinions. In many ways, the old man was very much the mirror-image of the bad wizard who had created his race, so long ago. He certainly believed that all species other than human were inferior, made to serve humanity or be used as potion components and sacrifices for rituals. Likewise, he publicly preached tolerance and friendship with muggles, the non-magical humans, but in reality he considered them barely fit to use as whores and theater performers, or also for sacrificial rituals. Albus Dumbledore may be afraid of pain and injuries to himself to the point of avoiding all fights, but he certainly never shied away from killing or maiming when it kept him in political power, or magically superior to all he surveyed. He just stole money from somebody to pay another to do the deed for him, unless there was a need for secrecy. Albus had indeed killed, maimed, handicapped, mind-raped and mentally programmed hundreds by his own wand over the decades since he sat his OWL tests, just as World War I was being started. On top of everything else, the wizened crone was incredibly good at bullshitting people, hiding his true nature under that kooky, goodly grand-father persona he affected. All species instinctively fear less those beings they believe to be slightly less stable or sane than the cultural norm of the day, so Albus used that to appear harmless by playing the fool in public assemblies. Until he was challenged face-to-face, in which case he did have a formidable repertoire of occult and esoteric lore to call upon, but no real fighting experience or skills to speak of. If he saw that you were gearing up to defy him, he would either curse you to compliance, or hire an assassin to end you silently before your challenge was spoken aloud. He only attacked from behind, or when the target was asleep, to avoid his ambush turning into an all-out fight that he could perhaps lose.

Harry sat in silence, trying to absorb what he had been told by the many fantastic beings that he had never thought he would one day encounter. The most amazing thing was that unlike the legends, these ghosts and skeleton weren't interested in hurting him or enslaving him in a pit like a stupid pig who could only be fattened for slaughter. And the 'house-elf' explained so much, but also served as such a dire warning of things that were already wrong...

Looking towards the hovering undead priest, Harry asked politely "I apologize for my manners good sir. You have apparently healed me and are trying to help my situation more than any adult ever has before, but I still haven't heard your name. Is 'Vordak' your identity or a title? And could you explain -what- you are, please? I never heard legends about floating skeletons before."

An odd windy chuckle emanated from the undead cleric as his shoulders seemed to shiver minutely under his thick ceremonial vestments. Gazing fondly upon the orphaned boy, he answered in his raspy voice with great detail.

"The word 'vordak' refers to the type of skeletal undead that I am. Unlike zombies, inferi and shamblers which are types of the same thing, but with different powers. A vordak can be lesser, normal or higher strength, and myself have been activated as 'higher vordak' when the rituals were enacted. I am styled 'Vordak Lord' because my mind is fully unfettered from any commands or physical focus point. I can move about, think and do whichever I wish, so long as I respect and abide the Creed to which I have willingly oathed. This means that my Gods have not abandoned me when I became undead, they simply have different expectations and goals than when I was alive. A skeleton has no flesh, nerves or veins, therefore I do not eat or drink, my body never tires but my mind does, and my core can be depleted so much that I must sleep to recharge. I feel no physical pains, but again mentally and spiritually I still feel things like pride, sense of duty and shame. The capacities of a Vordak are the same regardless of its power type at activation, they are just more energetic. As is evident, we hover, float and fly at will with quite a bit of speed and agility, even in the worse weather. We have the capacity to see life-force, soul, and negative energy as clearly as colors, although it is rather short ranged to a few hundred feet. We can sense the odor of blood as well as a hound, and thus know if a person is diseased or drugged upon contact. We can use certain spells that are reserved for Vordak only, which are programmed into our mind during creation. Other than that, we also have much greater strength, equal to five men, and are immune to illusion spells or effects except for a few specialized dweomers that were invented to fool undead."

Taking a pause as if he were a breathing man needing it, the floating cadaver proclaimed "I am to this day His Excellence, Sir Grahaut Gloutnay, Lord of the minor House Dhennack, cadet branch of Van Uttebatten, Bishop of Mystra, Mother of All Magycks, Abbot of Brutnor Abbey, and father confessor for the Elder and Noble House of Van Uttebatten. I am indeed most honored that you would be the man to rouse me from slumber, Heir Potter. You see, one of your ancestors was present during my transition to undeath, something I remember fondly despite the many centuries. It was a Dasmater Potter, a specialist Darkes enchanter from a distaff branch of your House that granted us his wisdom of things occult and macabre to accomplish the higher necromancies needed to fulfill the wishes of my patron goddess. While not a necromancer or follower of Hades or Necros, he had impressed me as quite adept in his trades and crafts. A good man, with a good wife and two well endowed daughters, as I recall. Alas, I never saw him again in this world, and have nothing further to give you of him. Your family was always much more ennobled than either mine House or that of my patrons, so that only my stature as Bishop and Abbot would have justified our kin congregating at social events or rituals."

Frowning in worry, Harry asked fearfully "Are you saying that my family were snobs or looked down on others because of money? Because that's not what I am or how I act. Oh, and by the way, I am pleased to meet you formally, Father Abbot Gloutnay. I hope our visit leaves you well and satisfied your time and the blessings of your goddess were well spent."

An amused feminine little giggle sounded from the side of the room where the ghosts floated in silent witness, gladly absorbing the simple innocence and light of life that pulsed from the child, despite how damaged his body, mind, magick and soul were. One of the youngest phantoms moved forward, stowing her hand-fan in a purse so she could lift her veil to bestow her appearance upon Harry during conversation.

"My but he learns quickly, for being such little rapscallion! You'll be having your hands full, my Lord Bishop Gloutnay, if you intend what I suspect. Not that I disapprove in the least. Our noble house has fallen to Time and the churlishness of curs, but our sense of duty and oaths have not. If you plan to apprentice the lad, then our Blood shall bless this with pride. One last feat of arms at the foot of the Throne of England, for the Crown and Faiths of our blessed Laands."

{ HP } - { Speeches of duty and sacrifice } - { HP }

The Vordak raised the index of his left hand, signaling for silence as he responded to his masters, in this life and the next. "I cannot apprentice yon boy, though it grieves me to abandon him to the eddies of knavery that sweep the Nation. Unfortunately for us all, our friend Dryskholl is not the only one who has been fatally wounded. I have scanned the estate and found that over the last century, all the manatite pillars and wardstones have been removed from the Laand. If the stones were still inside the Laand, they would still emit their waves of energy towards my crypt and I would have endured properly. Alas, without them fueling my magick, even the Divine powers from my Faith will not suffice to maintain my existence. My station is to serve as Steward and Guardian of the House of Van Uttebatten; if the House is destroyed, then there is no reason to reward the servant who failed to protect them. This was programmed into my magic during my elevation into undeath, and there are no mortal means to change this. If Master Potter had fully awakened his powers and progressed through the Creed of his Faiths, then maybe he could command such necromancies or Miracles of Hades as to grant me reprieve, or bind me to his House instead. But not now, not with what is left of us. All of us, you know this well, are not long for this world anymore."

The old Lord Van Uttebatten nodded sadly, confirming "I had not brought up the subject, for I yet hoped a solution could be found. Alas, with the estate ruined into extinction, none of our tomes or artifacts remain. Not that it would guarantee success, with how perverted the very seat of our Blood had become in a few short decades of absence. If the fools turned our beloved ritual chamber into a butcher's shed to harm children, then I shudder to think of what evil uses our heirlooms and volumes have been tasked."

"Dryskholl can help!" the elf exclaimed,surprising everyone. "I bees dying anyways. I could give magic and life to the Lofty Abbot so that he can float more long. He can educate Master Harry much better than Dryskholl could. That could work easy-peasy!" the elf said, completely at ease with offering himself as a sacrifice for this noble end.

Shaking his head negatively, the Vordak Abbot countered firmly but with great kindness "Nay, my young friend, you shalt not. It is I who shall pass magick and life unto thee, so that you may accompany young Harold further. I have but three fortnights of existence left, but if sacrificed willingly in the correct method, you would live to see him through to the end of his school year, and mayhaps the summer vacations. On the reverse, if you give your life to me, I will gain but one or two weeks of existence but be so weak and powerless that I would be bedridden and unable to use any magic at all, for fear of emptying my core on one casting. The benefits of you being alive are that you will last far longer, and are already acclimated to the culture and mores of the epoch, which I am not and have no time to correct. For young Harold's sake, please accept my offer. I know it goes against the nature of your kind to let others sacrifice themselves when you are designed and created for such events, but in this foul situation, the greatest benefit will be thus."

The small elfling looked deeply into the empty eye sockets of the hallowed undead, gazing into unfathomable depths of magic, wisdom and experiences that no ordinary being could grasp. He nodded his head slowly, thinking about a few things as he formulated a reply. "Dryskholl be of the opinion that nothing wees be doing can change this anymore. Yous all and me be walking to the Great Gate before Master Harry be 7 years old. My heart bees knowing this. Even if the Bond wasn't poisoned by bad master Whiskers, I had been sick from birth. Nothing can heal that. But, yous must be helping Master Harry with his Awakening Rite, and try to break the curses and evil potions on him before we make the Pledge."

The skeleton and ghosts all nodded at the elf's wisdom. His kind had no affinity for the higher spiritual rites needed for an Awakening, and the ghosts could speak guidance but not actually help beyond verbal tutoring. Only the Vordak had both solid body and the types of erudition needed to coach the boy through the ceremony. It was quickly agreed that Harry would undergo the Awakening then, upon rousing from the healing sleep that followed such events, they would purge and cure him from as many of the curses and elixirs as they could safely counter. After that, the child would serve as Binder for the Pledge between Bishop Gloutnay and Dryskholl, to be followed by his accepting the elfling into Bond with House Potter directly. Everything else would be decided after the results of these ritualized events were known.

{ HP } - { Some histories of the magical cultures and sects } - { HP }

It was passed one in the morning when the floating skeleton known as Bishop Gloutnay had finished preparing the chamber for the Awakening Rite that would see little Harry Potter touch his magical core for the first time in his life. It was also the time to give the child a cursory class on the many schools of sorcery, alchemy, mentalism, psionics and Divine Faiths that held sway across the many Laands of Earth.

Firstly, Harry was told quite clearly that Albus Dumbledore's grandstanding and hubris about being the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Warlocks was a heaping load of tosh. Firstly, Hogwarts school and the so-called Ministry of Magic were in fact nothing but a small sectarian grouping who were better known by the appellation 'Welsh Wiccan' due to the fact that the Wizengamot was founded by Welsh witches in late 800 on the humans' current calendar, and Hogwarts was built by that cult near the year 1,000. The group was so damned small that they had only one government building, one hospital, the castle-school and one mediocre, retrograde village that never evolved with the times. In essence, the self-styled Britannic Wizarding World was a religious & racial sect that had denied its feminine Faith roots to concentrate mostly on male-dominated sorcerous guilds and professions. This meant that the much vaunted ICW served only as the gathering of other European wizardry sects who followed a similar Creed, and it was obvious that their cultures and populations were similarly limited. Dumbledore's fiefdom held barely ten thousand souls spread across all of Britannia, Scotland and Ireland, while the ICW reached around 400,000 souls with its laws and cultural norms.

Even then, the British Ministry of Magic was never recognized by the Crown & Throne of the Nation as having any legal authority whatsoever. The fact that they arrested, jailed and even executed people routinely was quite a consternation for the ghostly host. As a religious movement they were supposed to be regarded in the same light as the Anglican, Catholic or Protestant segments of Christianity. They were to be subject to the Laws of the Land in all things, enacting only those exceptions granted by the Crown. This information made Harry well aware that he'd have to be real careful about these dishonest bastards, especially when Dryskholl explained about the Ministry's Trace charm that was placed on all wands bought from a master crafter, and the sensor crystals that dotted the country. It was especially galling to hear that Dumbledore had bribed and potioned workers to steal ward crystals from that semi-government to place a siege line of detectors around his household without having the legal right to do it.

This revelation however caused the deathly priest to laugh hollowly before he detailed why he thought it a great joke upon the man himself. "It is obvious now that this Albus has no experience with wards that need an actual master warder to enact. If he had studied the craft to its full extent, he would know better than to try this idiocy, that even the mundanes would realize was faulty in logic and execution. He set his detection array in a circle around a focal point that was to be the center of all attention, but that was the worse error possible. The Trace existed already, back in my days of flesh life. It was not, however, used to track children doing magic out of school or home, nor 'forbidden' spells. The very nature of the crystals used makes them unsuited for focalized emissions of power; they are passive receptors only. They were made like scrying mirrors but not attuned to a single source, so they could receive a standard pulse of magic that served as a coded distress call so that the community would be warned of impending danger, thus would send help at a useful pace."

Making an illusionary map of the county appear in thin air, the fleshless Bishop continued; "Behold how closely clustered the detectors are! Thinking to insure there were no holes in his grid, the inept buffoon had the devices placed so close that each is capable of sensing its two nearest neighbors on each side of the interception line. That means that the sensing elements are always saturated by the energies emitted from their counter-parts to the point they have no capacity to perceive anything else, unless it is cast actively at the crystal with deliberate strength of intent and emotions. Plus, the detection grid circle is so wide that it encompasses the entire county, because the knave didn't want to get a 'runaway alert' every time the boy moved to stores, school or hospital as that would waste his time on worthless investigations. The siege line is so wide that the child could lose himself amongst thousands of buildings, water pipes, sewage tunnels or warfare catacombs and the sensors wouldn't see a difference. In fact, young Harry has been living mostly in the streets and in a cement bunker for weeks already, and the cretinous felon has never become aware of it at all! And such is the proof that, by disnaturing the Trace sensor crystals in this manner, that he no-doubt thought quite clever, the old fool actually defeated his own machinations rather spectacularly!"

Several ghosts were in gleeful agreement with the holy man's deduction, going so far as to add that Dumbledore was clearly a man that had little contact with reality outside of his castle, and even less out of his sectarian group. Only sheer ignorance of basic principles of energy, magic, physics and networking artifacts together could explain such a failure of planning and crafting.

Then Bishop Gloutnay began to explain about the many other sects or guilds that tried to declare they were the true Government for Magical Humanity, most specifically for Europeans. As he never studied the lores and societies of Arabia, Africa, the mythical Far East or the -recently- discovered southern portion of The New World, the Americas, he could only give a succinct and focused discourse. While his list was not all-encompassing nor complete, it did give the young boy much matter to think about in the coming weeks.

There was the White Council (of occultism) located in Edinburgh Castle, in Scotland' capital of the same name. They were the oldest, richest, most numerous group in activity, and the most well equipped with several libraries and vaults across the planet. They had started in Alexandria, then moved to Carthage, followed by the Vatican in Rome, then Istanbul (Constantinople) and Madrid, to end up in there current location, in the vast tunnels beneath Edinburgh since 1499. The White Council had a militia of 'Wardens' that were tasked with hunting down and killing anybody who breached their inflexible Roman and Christian inspired 'Laws of Magicks'. This group is actually part sorcery and part Faith as they officially follow the Biblical tenets and have a small group of actual Angels forming a caste above the Senior Council. However, it is well known that Jesus and the majority of his loyal Angels have died nearly 900 years back, leaving only memories and hopes hidden in a few still active artifacts or relics that allow for prayers from the truly faithful to be enacted. It is in fact the White Council that demanded and enforced the 'Statute of Secrecy' passed in the year 1500AD, not the ICW or any other group. Most believe it was a result of the beginning of the Inquisition, but in reality it was because the Council realized that they could police, and even tyrannize, their wide-spread group of practitioners much better without always having to wait for a local sheriff or judge to permit their actions. By having a blanket veil of secrecy, whomever they hunt and victimize cannot appeal to a higher court, and other Faiths or Powers have almost no bearings on their decisions, which is the true goal. To protect those mages and warlocks that reach positions on the Senior Council to rule over their varied kindred of ALL spell-users, not just sorcery or alchemy, unlike the Wizengamots.

There was the Council of Dark Watchers, located under the British Museum in London. This group was intensely private and rejected the authority of anyone but the British Crown, whom they claimed to serve under a Royal Writ. They trained and tasked 'Slayers' to destroy undead, Lycan and Changelings who threaten the peace of the mundane world. Being focused on training muggles to battle magical entities has garnered this group many enemies amongst the other sects, and very few supporters on the mundane side, even from the British nobility or government. Like the White Council, they are hermetical, self-centered, and think they are the penultimate law of wherever they are conducting one of their brutal interventions. With these persons, the best courses of action are either active retreat or a fatal ambush, not wasting time in parley as they would use that delay to set-up their own attacks.

There was the Librarians of Venerable Antiquity, who had begun in Cairo – Egypt, until they moved their base in Cambridge - UK in the early 1700's, which lasted until WW-II when they were bombed out, so they moved their leadership to the USA in Washington DC. This group was relatively passive and non-violent, focused on hunting devices & artifacts that were dangerous or being misused, but they almost never entered combat against a living being. On the flip side, they were quite ready to sell copies of their books, scrolls and photos of artifacts to those whose Creed aligned with their own. One common opinion shared by governments and churches was that they were in reality a glorified Guild of tomb robbers in the job for thrills and money.

There was the Grimm Paranormal Hunters Guild, begun in Kiev - Ukraine, then moved to Prague – Czechoslovakia, then going to Manchester - UK, then moved to Dublin – Ireland, until they finally settled in Providence, Rhode Island, USA. This group was Founded by the legendary Grimm Clan who had specialized in occultism, paganism, witchcraft, Faith-magic, alchemy and exorcism for nearly a millenia. Tightly associated with the Eastern Orthodox Christian movement, these hunters have slowly lost a great deal of their religious bases to concentrate on the newer mundane weapons, and developing alchemy in a combat-support role. They hunted pretty much anything that was deemed 'supernatural' or 'otherworldly' but under the caveat that the entity or device had to have proven harmful. They were not mercenaries and did not commit contracts to kill or banish beings that harmed no one, regardless of how weird they were.

There were the ancestral Druidic Covens that emerged from the Germanic and Celtic traditions, spread around all of Europa, Slavia and Britannia. These covens specialized in summoning the elementals and spirits that made the Mystical Laands livable and stable. They also were the primary source of naturally magical plants and animals to be used as food or building materials throughout the known world. In fact, Druidism was usually such a benevolent, communal Faith and Creed that few governments had any trouble letting them set-up inside their borders. The problems came from other religious systems, like Christians and Muslims whose Creed commanded the forcible conversion of infidels, or their deaths in Holy War. This proved to be a bad choice since druids are quite adept at riding wild animals much better than armored knights, and they have a large choice of survival and combat prayers that unleash Nature's fury on the fools that trespass their Sacred Glades. Massive storms, floods, forest fires, earthquakes, plant-life that animates & rock formations that become alive to fight the invaders were all basic tactics of the Druids to defend their communities. In the last three centuries since the discovery of America by the Spaniards, many Druidic covens have relocated to the immense wilderness of that continent, especially the north of Canada and the central mid-west of the USA. Amusingly, the druids and witches moved on the boats and convoys of christian pilgrims, leaving them once they had arrived at their way-point where they would meet others of their sect for the final road.

There was the Sororitam Naturam Pieta Ordum matriarchal coven of witches, one of the biggest and richest female-led organizations that either mundanes or magicals had ever seen come to pass. This ancient society was created at an epoch whence even Clanholds were not fully developed as a means of controlling territory and population. These women were a mix of mundanes, squibs, semi-spell-users and full casters that worked, prayed, and lived for the good of their families and farming villages. They were the first attempt at civilization and social order that transcended the barriers of Blood, politics, wealth, magic and Faith Creed to increase the chances of survival against the harsh weather, animals and roving bandits. But their socialistic, egalitarian mindset rapidly rubbed churches and monarchs the wrong way, leading to most of the early nation-states banning the existence of the Order. In fact, many scholars believe that the paranoid mania of the Christian Inquisition against witches was only a political war to destroy the Green Sisterhood rather than really find Devil worshipers or others who had strayed from their Biblical Creed. In any case, the collapse of the Sororitam in the late 1500's under the ceaseless waves of assault is well known in the magical population, and that was the reason that hedge-craft became so undervalued, especially by male wizards and clerics. However, it is also well know that a group of surviving Sisters fled to the New World where they merged with Druids who had the same idea, thus founding joint communities of Paganism, Witchery, Druidism and hedge-crafting that should now be thriving peacefully.

There was the Freemason Faithful Guild, which was never derived from nor associated with the ill-fated Templar Knights, whom never bothered with witches and wizards, unless it was to hunt them on a warrant from the Inquisition. The Freemasons were in fact the first truly organized and powerful union (or syndicate) of professional tradesman & craftsmen to be acknowledged by the national governments and churches of Europe and the Slavic lands. They were initially founded by carpenters who specialized in the building of boats and bridges, but there were so many people who worked wood in each town & village that it almost ended in a flop. Then, the master carpenters had the idea to ally with the much rarer and costlier quarrymen, stone carvers, sculptors, and masons who laid the finished blocks with mortar. Since the word 'mason' evoked the soaring, hallowed prestige of christian cathedrals made of clean stonework, the syndicate leaders decided to call their assembly 'masons' but added the prefix 'free' to the name to express that they were not subaltern to any crown or church, but to their paying customers. Another detail lost to history was that the original name was a Teutonic word spoken "Freimaurer" that translates directly from Germanic into the English "Freemason" since the organization was first tried in the upper reaches of Poland. Because education in the intellectual professions was so costly, only those who studied in a religious monastery could actually have access to the books and tutors to reach proficiency in architecture or engineering, while the more traditional crafts were usually taught in apprenticeships. This explains why the Masons are so intrinsically mixed with Christian Faith and Creed, and why they often engrave prayers and Biblical Siglae in their works to magically reinforce them. After all, channeling celestial energy through religious spells has always been the easiest way to learn magical prowess, no matter what vitriol the magus spew about "begging for spells" or "letting the god do all the work". In reality, the Freemasons are primarily mundane, squib or semi-spell-users, who specialize in a trade or craft, who then learn to enhance and bonify their products with effects granted by their Faith's Celestials or Angels.

There was the Flamel Alchemical Trades & Crafts Guild, who were essentially the snobby, high-browed version of the Freemasons, but accepting only professional alchemists, transmuters, pure spell-users, sorcerers, warlocks or arch-mages in their ranks. Given the very demanding nature of the rituals and reactions studied, having a naturally very large magical core was a necessity to avoid accidents during the work sessions. Also, while the Flamel Guild liked to declare they were real wizards and scientists who didn't borrow Power from unearthly sources like the priests, the facts were that many did in fact use channeling or other Powers gifted them by a patron Saint or Celestial when they were desperate for a positive outcome to their projects. As the saying goes, "Pride goeth before the Fall", and since many members of the guild were not well seen by mainstream mundane society because of their weird Creed and hypotheses, then they had to learn to speak and act like the other upper, erudite classes or else face public rebuke, and even denunciation to the Inquisition as being in league with daemons and witches. It was the major reason why the Flamel Guild existed for a time, but disappeared from public awareness in the late 1600's, in the paroxysm of the Catholic and Spanish Inquisitions. The Guild did not die, nor did it implode or succumb to betrayal, it simply did like the Illuminati, White Council and other groups, it went underground physically and magically to repel detection.

There was the Occultum Mundi Illuminati, a philosophical 'secret society' whose membership, Creed and goals were always nebulous, despite that the name means "to reveal the shadow world into the light". Few details were known about them, except they were supposedly based in Italy, either Rome or Venice, since nearly a thousand years back. A credible rumor has it that they are an offshoot from the Librarians of Venerable Antiquity that went utterly rogue, deciding to use the various artifacts they were recovering to further their goals and personal profit rather than seek to stabilize the planet for everybody. In fact, because it is such a deep secret, one suspicion is that Illuminati members are encouraged and supported in their efforts to join other, more visible groupings to gather internal data and have a public cover to hide their activities beneath.

The Miskatonic University in Massachusetts, USA, was an inter-disciplinary collegiate that served as guild, school, army barracks and residential citadel on the shores of one of the most mystically active rivers on the planet, rivaling the Amazon, the Dnieper or the Yellow rivers. The fortress was fist settled some 70,000 years back, before homo erectus became the dominant species of the world, by beings that came from another planet located in a different dimension. Many residents of Miskatonic only looked humanoid as they had adapted a shape that the weak minds of their neighbors or colleagues could accept without breaking. The school and military institutions were quite mercantile, mercenary even, since they never commanded individuals to reject contracts outside their walls, but only scrutinized and regulated those jobs done inside the citadel to keep social peace, and forbid stealing the research or samples of another member. While not in any ways an actual British Colony, nor a bastion of white European males, the Miskatonic river basin had been far too intrinsic to the development of -EVERY- magical society on the planet for any Nation, culture, religion, college, sect or guild to ignore them. However, one visited the place at the risk of one's sanity, as the usual rules of metaphysics were wonky on the best of days, which were few. Even more important was that the flora and fauna along the watershed of the river had been so polluted by isotopes, radiations and organic dejections or offal during those seventy thousand years that all things were mutated into being grotesque, horrifying depravities who only sought to rend your flesh whilst profaning your mind before they consumed your shattered soul. Nobody went to the Miskatonic area without martial training and weapons of warfare, lest they be wanting a quick, messy end without sepulture to house their remains.

And finally, from the biggest human groups, there were the nearly 7,000 Christian or Biblical inspired denominations who kept on going, despite that their God and his Angels had mostly killed each other off in a Heavenly War some 900 years back. It was important to note that the majority were not European, nor even white-skinned devotees, as the world had changed much in the last 2,000 years. Unfortunately for them all, the Hallowed Halls of Heaven were torn asunder during the War of the Fallen, the Pearly Gates hanging askew as plants, animals, horrors and looters took over the once glorious temples, houses and parks. The few mortal human priests who could still cast true Faith miracles were either surviving Angels hiding amongst the mortals, or humans who owned a functional relic crafted before The Ending. In any ways, the hundreds of thousands of priests that toiled for Christianity today, those not frauds or crooks, did it out of pure hope far more than for getting magical prayers granted.

The Vordak admitted honestly that his studies of culture and politics were well out of date, and that he had read almost only about European, mostly white and christian, sects, guilds and groupings. That was the way of things in his epoch, and even the advent of Apparition and Gate spells didn't make transferring knowledge from one country to another any simpler, or cheaper. One constant throughout history was that "knowledge is power", as proven by Dryskholl's chosen strategy to help the child without being discovered. That meant that in a primitive era, you could learn only what you had the money to buy, but those titled noblemen, guild-men or priests in place would try their best to limit what was available to hands not their own. Bishop Gloutnay had a myopic view of the world seen through the British Kingdom because that was his reality when he lived, and it still was to this day because he could not stay awake for long periods unless the House Van Uttebatten tasked him with a prolonged chore.

That honest limitation of mind & means having been sorted out of the way, the ghosts took over to explain a few superficial details about the many intelligent societies and cultures that were present on Earth, back in their days. Maybe they still lived? Magical tourism was a great way to prepare a child for apprenticeship or formal schooling.

There was a race of winged humans called 'Buteos' that had the capacity to fly at up to 50,000 feet in the air. They had spells that could densify the clouds enough to be able to build plots of land for farming and residences. These were often mistaken for angels by religious followers even though they were just ordinary mortals.

Likewise, there were multiple races and sub-races amongst the elvish species, and they had their own winged kindred called 'Averiel', just as they had amphibious types and elementally inclined sorts for living in ice or underground.

There were the fabled dwarves, gnomes and halflings that many authors had popularized, but it surprised no one here as these writers were all citizens of one of the magical sects or enclaves who had used their basic knowledge to amuse the mundane masses harmlessly.

The reputations as primitive, bestial monsters made to the goblinoid, orcoid, ogrish and trollish races were quite a shameful thing, since these peoples had their own styles of magic and Faith which produced uniquely charming results to behold. Yes, they were in fact warrior cultures, but they did value honor and a certain sense of fair-play in single combat. If you tried a large-mass war against one of their cities, then you would experience something similar to what the human authors have been describing for the last three centuries or so.

The Fae and Fairies were a subject of very spirited debate, with many contentious declarations on all sides, but one single agreement; the Sidhe (Fae nobility) Courts were not to be trifled with. Human magic had precious little effect against a fully trained Fae, meaning only a skilled Slayer or specifically trained Grimm Hunter could take one on and hope to win while still healthy enough for the victory to mean anything. The four main Fae species and their natural home planes were:

Seelie (light) living in the connective demi-plane 'Never-Never' or 'Neverland'

Unseelie (Dark) living in the 'Border Ethereal' connective plane

nug-Seelie / Wyldfae (Neutral) living in the 'Mirrorscape'

akr-Seelie / Nexfae (Stygyan) living in the 'Styx River' connective demi-plane.

Each major species then split into hundreds of races and sub-races, which nobody had ever done a full survey of. Several races also lived in the 'Spirit World', the 'Dreamscape', the 'Astral Plane' and several of the elemental planes. Fae could travel rather easily to all the other para-elemental, higher, lower and external planes or dimensions, due to the large repertoire of portal and gate spells their cultures have accumulated over aeons. It is almost unheard of to find a Fae living in the void of space, but since that admission comes from a few Fae testimonies, most humans are weary of trusting that information. Because they rarely lived full-time in this dimension or plane, and their natural habitats are usually harmful to unshielded humans, it was rather rare for encounters between the two species to be long or meaningful. Skirmishes and criminal behavior however, abounded plentily, since both sides believed that living in a different plane of existence made them immune from pursuit and retribution by their victims' relatives.

The phantasmic group then engaged in a general, superficial discourse on the Divines, Celestials, Angels, Demons, Spirits, Elementals, and Pure Souls who were also called Ascended or Exalted according to where they stood on their initiatic path towards becoming Celestial. Then a very general overlook of the common types of undead or unquiet souls and animated aberrations of flesh or offal was done. Those last parts of the discussion had poor Harry holding his head in pain at the overwhelming torrent of raw information he had just absorbed about the world he lived in without seeing any of it before. He knew his eyes were bad, but had he been blind?

{ HP } - { The Awakening of an Archmage } - { HP }

Suddenly, Bishop Gloutnay declared that the ritual arrays and components were ready, and it was time for the Awakening Rite to be accomplished. Seeing the boy's interrogative mien, the old Lord Van Uttebatten decided to explain in greater detail what was about to happen.

"You will drink a potion that will trigger small, controlled reactions inside your body, mind, magic and soul to test the 'connectivity' between yourself and the multiple Realms of Power that exist. This testing will then leave an active linkage that can be trained into Gifts or Spells later on in life, if you have the resources or the will to elevate the potential into usable trades or crafts. The drawings all around serve to stabilize the person undergoing the rite so that they do not become sick, injured or die from accidentally over-charging their magical channels before they are ready for such a surge of raw Power flowing through. Because the testing is so exhausting for the short duration it lasts, the celebrant always winds up in a healing slumber, so the potion you will imbibe has curative herbs in it to feed you during your recovery."

Nodding at the instructions given, the child removed all his clothing and donned the thin white linen shirt that was provided by the floating cleric for this single usage. Since he would sweat a lot and exude vapors from the diverse Powers and toxins being scanned, it was normal that the shirt be destroyed when he awoke from the rite's sleep, as it could never be used again. Handing the poor, well shaken boy, who no longer knew which world he lived in, a golden chalice filled with the holy elixir, the noble Vordak priest gestured for him to drink it all in one go.

Half-way through the draught, Harry dropped the metal cup, soon following it to the stone floor as his meager body began to react very strongly with the potion. Bishop Gloutnay watched on with the placid indolence of those whom walked hand-in-hand with Death, no longer in a hurry nor afraid of anything the Multiverse could send his way. Besides his hovering form floated the ghostly host, peering intently on the child's contorting body and mind as they fought with themselves to behold, accept and adapt to the newfound wellsprings of Powers inside him.

Inside his own Soul, Harry had no choice but to let the Rite enact a basic mindscape for him because his hadn't activated when it should have. In order to accept the incoming data he needed an organized, self-regulated mindscape so he could slow it down enough to perceive, analyze and sort everything the Rite would perceive and do for him. This was actually one of the fundamental functions of the Awakening; to instill a working foundation of mind magic upon which the child would then build his Identity, Dreamscape and Inner-World so he could try to repel attempts at mind-rape, curses & potions that enslave, memory wipes, and possession. If the child's Blood-Law and Blood-Compact had been blocked or damaged, the ritual could, to some small degree, force the partial activation of whatever Legacy his Chartered Bloodline had granted him at birth, if he were part of such noble Tradition. To be fully capable of psychomancy and self-regulation would take many years, and only if he had an affinity for that art, otherwise it may waste decades of studies for little avail. Once the initial Inner-World was in place, the results from testing each nerve, vein, gland, bone, muscle and organ started pouring in to inform the boy on his physical standing. This was followed by the flow of data from his brain about his mental acuity, bandwidth, frequencies, and processing power if he wanted to study advanced mental dweomers or the much more demanding Psionic Arts. Then the rite tested all the Basal Realms, from Electricity through Channeling, Essence, Mentalism and Primal Essaence, going up to Mythal, Shadow, Wild, Psionics, Mana, Soul and finally Energon.

The data stream then changed drastically as the test began to actively scan deeply into his personal DNA and the ectoplasm matrix of his soul to look for Talents & Gifts, before widening to pulse through the Blood Law of each House he was linked to by Blood, Oath, Debt or Conquest, inscribing the long list of concepts and Family names in his cellular memory. While this was not a fully established Heritage Ritual nor a genuine Legacy Spell, it did give the child an idea whether it would be time and effort well spent to seek those two spells to ascertain his clanic and biological background further. Not to mention that any potential new family links were always good for those who were orphaned or exiled from home, whatever the reason for such drastic events.

Once the Awakening Rite had finished pulsing inside the child, it pushed outwards, forcing his aura and soul magic to exteriorize for the first time in his life. A gaseous nimbus composed of many layers in tones of bluish, golden, silvery and pale white coalesced into an ethereal sphere around the prone child, with hundreds of small scintillating glyphs, icons and runes floating around each layer. These occult symbols were the format of basic mind magic, mentalism, psionics and soul magic. When a person was able to willingly manifest their aura, they could read the formulae written to understand the state of their body, mind, magic and soul, thus being able to detect foreign intrusions, contaminations, injuries and unwanted modifications. This aura also allowed the user to effect voluntary changes like a control panel, although what was displayed should never be altered as it was a TRUE representation of the person. Any alteration to the ectoplasmic scriptures would immediately inflict the described situation unto the person, from their soul or DNA up, to suffuse every part of their being. There were however limits; you couldn't cure cursed conditions like bestial lycanthropy or bitten-vampirism, and most undead were actually devoid of souls that were intact enough for the aura to become visible to be of any use. Furthermore, free-willed or greater undead often wanted their status to remain as they had power and benefits mortals could not dream of, in a way similar to the Exalted and Ascended.

The ghostly host, house-elf and hovering Vordak Lord peered intensely at the glowing scriptures that were swimming in the various orbits of the gaseous nimbus. Bishop Gloutnay straightened with a satisfied noise, having beheld what he wanted to know. Young elfling Dryskholl had much experience with mind & soul magicks as his bad masters before Hoggy-Wartsy had been specialists of these Dark Arts. He could see where Harry's health needed immediate shoring-up, and what he could do with his meager means. Other, deeper problems would have to wait until the proper components could be harvested or bought from the many magical marketplaces around Europa, Slavia, Britannia and America. The poor elfling had no idea of what was where in the other continents unless he read a merchant's road-map, just like anybody else. The elderly Lord Van Uttebatten was well pleased with the accomplishments that this last Awakening had produced in his family's ritual chamber. As a last hurrah for his clan's memory, it was quite a success to their dead name.

With his aura returning into his body and soul, young Harold Potter slowly lowered himself to the lukewarm stone floor, falling into a deep healing sleep that would last for several hours until he awoke far fresher and in better health than ever in his six years of life. At that point, he would hear the plans that were discussed during his absence and be asked for his decisions concerning his lucky and prosperous future schooling.

{ HP } - { The Arch-Lord of Gaia is risen! } - { HP }

Harry yawned ans stretched himself awake near seven o'clock in the morning, on the first Saturday of his first Christmas break during his elementary schooling. The worse part of it all, he reminded himself was not that he would have to endure the Dursley's more for three weeks, it was that he would have to return to the septic tank of a school when it was done. Honestly, the adults should just openly call it a kids' prison and be done with it!

Yawning anew, the boy suddenly seized in fear-induced paralysis. Or should it be terror? As his tired mind rebooted from the exhaustion and lack of food, the poor maligned child had a catastrophic memory of what his teacher had tried to do with him, just on the eve of the vacation. The boy rolled into a fetal ball on his left side, facing towards the stone wall, not yet able to see the chamber around him nor acknowledge that he was not alone. It took several minutes for the shakes and shivers of the post-trauma adrenaline drop to subside, and a few more for the first more dramatic results of the Awakening to be felt inside his mind.

He had spells!

He now had four things floating inside his memories that were called "spell lists", which were as the name indicated clearly; lists of spells classified by subject or logical association, then ordered by the level of experience, difficulty and Powers required to cast them safely. This was a neat system! It was like having an encyclopedia in his mind, that he could flip the pages and scroll around to find what he needed at the speed of thought.

The four spell lists made him cry silently when he saw their names, and what they did. They were part of what was called 'Blood-Compact', a process that his parents had to willingly prepare by ritual when they reached the end of adolescence. The 'Compact' was a genetically and spiritually encoded copy of their knowledge, lives, and the general history, culture and mystical practices of the families each hailed from. Even though his mother was a muggle-born, she had managed to integrate images, sounds, odors and touch from her parents and grand-parents, much to the bewilderment of his father who had never know this could be done with ancestors who had no magic inside them. Given the complexity of the 'Compact' ritual, the information was supposed to download itself into his active memory at a steady rate, but split by segments across several years of his life. He should have gotten the 'Blood-Borne Identity' at age 2 and 'Familial Culture' at age 4 but the damned potions and blocks by Dumbledore had, well, blocked them.

All four spell lists were part of what is referred to as "The Childish Lists" by those who study profound magical theory, with divination, Blood & Soul Magicks. They were the 'Child of the Darkes' that set the 'Blood-Compact' in place, the 'Childish Lifeways' that granted survival and basic life skills, the 'Childish Defenses' to help keep the kid alive with a few combat skills and -limited- harmful effects, and finally the 'Childish Trickeries' that were never spoken of among polite society. That last one was mostly to help stay alive if the child was abandoned or cast to the streets as it had many skills and effects to turn an infant into a competent hoodlum who could steal, break-in, or sabotage much more easily than any mundane would.

Presently, there were a few things that were slowly coming to the fore of his memory and mind to be acknowledged and used immediately. Directly from having destroyed or lessened several blocks on his body, mind, core and soul, several events scheduled in the 'Child of the Darkes' list were coming to fruition all together in rapid succession. The memories left by his two lineages began to install themselves, then he saw in his Inner-Eye a strange glyph that he just knew was his own personal representation before Mother Magyck and the Divines, for now at least since he also knew that it would change as he experienced life. Then he was biologically and psychologically weaned off the need for a wet-nurse, even though he'd never had such a privileged arrangement since living with the Dursley's. This was followed by a quick, dirty and on-the-fly setup of his Identity parameters, basic Dreamscape and -again- the basic Mindscape which then led to the surprising redoing of the Awakening as an automatic process from within himself, but without needing the potion or outside help. Apparently, like one of the primitive computers they had in the Surrey Public Library, the brain & soul had to reboot whenever a series of drastic changes were made for those modifications to be absorbed functionally.

Coming awake far faster and less groggy following the second Awakening was a good thing as he now also remembered where he was, and who was present with him. Instinctively he used a small spell called 'Consolidate Conscience' to boost his morale and spiritual fortitude in the moment, to avoid another bout of panic or losing himself to a stress-induced slumber. Dropping into a coma whenever things were rough, abnormal or fuck-all-weird just didn't seem like a good tactical choice anymore, not now that he had a vague idea of what was strolling around the multiple layers of Reality unseen.

Standing up from the ground, Harry turned to look at the beings that had just given him the three best, most durable, gifts they could have ever handed him; the knowledge of his family, his connection to his living magic, and a few handful of easy, quick spells to help pull him through tough situations without any flashy-bangy effects that would attract nefarious attention. All three were now permanently and solidly installed within himself, and it would take something like brain damage, squibbing oil or an uncontrolled 'Obliviate' to rip that out of him.

Bowing from the neck in gratitude to the Conclave, he announced aloud "I am Harold Jamieson Evans Potter, Heir of Potter, Heir of Evans, Heir of Peverell, Heir Presumptive of Black, and future Earl of Claymoors, and Peer of the Realms Britannic." Straightening his back, he folded his hands pensively over his abdomen in a polite fashion, ending with "I am well met to all of you, and truly grateful for the services that you have rendered unto me and my houses, by hauling us from the trash-heap of History. May you be lauded in Life and in Death, so says Potter, so mote it be."

"So mote it be!" replied the ghostly host, Vordak and house-elf with gusto, as they were now in a celebratory mood. Bishop Gloutnay still had one question though; "And yar Creeds, lad? Have you beheld the Divines and figured out which would give your life and magic meaning? It can wait if you haven't, but if ye did, then you must speak them aloud for it to be Truth unto the worlds of the living, the dead and the Fae."

Nodding serenely, Harry explained "I have seen the great green glory of Gaia, the Mother Earth, the Vessel of Life, and found myself comforted, at home in her solid bones, incandescent blood, and gentle green fingers. But from her I would draw sustenance and endurance, and Powers to match my storming rage at all the injustices that were committed against my Families. She cannot give me peace, nor contentment. Those feelings I can only receive from Death, from the act of ending those that have betrayed, raped, injured and exploited my families in the name of foul causes that are as false as their public façades and social standings. In Hades do I find solace, and final, true Justice for those torts and grievances we have suffered from knaves. Furthermore, I now understand that both Dumbledore and the defective monster that attacked our home would never be stopped by ordinary magicks or artifacts. Only those blessed by Hades could impose a final, true Death unto the cowardly despots, sending them before the Throne of Judgment to face the one divinity they both fear above even Belzebuth in Hell Everburning."

Nodding wisely, the old Lord Ulyrance Van Uttebatten gave a polite little hand clap to show his approval for those revelations the boy had underwent so traumatically. For a complete novice, he was pulling out of it with grace, aplomb and fortitude that few possessed so young, or much older to be honest. Many a soldier he had served alongside of would not, at 30 or 40 years of age, had the courage or sheer bullheadedness to forge on as Harry did.

The elfling Dryskholl tutted as he shook a finger at his human. "You's can be finding the Faiths in the Celestials later! These be long studies and hard tests to prove faith and worth, not something done over dinner like reading the papers. You get showered and dressed, mees be making food and hot tea for us. Dryskholl be hungry, after almost an entire day of fasting while the rituals happened. Master Harry ate even less yesterday, so he bees needing food now!"

Nodding in approval, the child and unliving agreed with the servant's logic. Since Harry was indeed peckish and a bit weak, he sped his way through his washing and changing, the wonderful smell of the hot tea kettle dragging him by the nose as if it were an actual spell. Then again, he was a growing boy and he never truly ate to his hunger's needs over the last five years, so that could be the simple explanation too. The bestial growl from his stomach certainly said so.

During his wash, Harry enjoyed the incredible feel of his magic flowing through his mind and limbs as he used the few, low-powered spells the Childish Lists had revealed to him for sanitation and self-maintenance in case he had no home or lived in a deficient dwelling. Those few menial dweomers would mean the difference between death and survival in the streets or any orphanage en ended in, after poor Dryskholl died and he was finally alone again.

Deciding to banish those dreary thoughts for the moment, Harry concentrated on enjoying the conjured chair charmed for comfort and warmth, and the real food that the elf had taken from the school's kitchen above. Ha may be small and sickly, but that elf could cook like nobody Harry had ever met! He absolutely had to learn those recipes and tricks before the poor little guy died.

Squirming happily from the praise the human child gave him so openly, Dryskholl could feel a small trickle of magic entering him, originating from the boy's subconscious desire to accept him and not see him hurt or sick. It had been more than five years since the poor elfling had felt the emotions and support of Family and Blood-Law filling his core and mind; the feeling was almost inebriating with how raw, natural and pure the child's Power was.

{ HP } - { Farewell, old friends } - { HP }

After taking an hour to eat and speak of easy subjects like how the meal had been prepared and how kitchen work in a magical household was different from mundanes, the Bishop Gloutnay whispered his ethereal words unto the group. Hold his funerary urn aloft, the skeletal pontiff spoke in no uncertain terms. "It is time for the Pledge. My life in this Prime Material Plane has been fruitful and filled with acts of honor, feats of magicks unparalleled, and the presence of noble entities unto the last hour that I could whelm dweomers in the hallowed names of my Gods. I shalt walk unto this path willingly, happily, marching towards the Light that calls all beings to It when the End comes to pass. For the Grand Gate of Reality am I bound, and so before Mystra, Mother of All Magycks, Spouse of Archas Theos, Patron of all Occult Sciences, Mother of Azuth, Guardian of all Runes, do I finally depose the Charge of my Task amongst yon mortal beings. As I was commanded, I hath brought thee the inscrutable mysteries of the Multiverse, and the teachings of the Traditions of the Old Ways. May my passage into the Beyond be celebrated as the Wheel of Days turning anew, as a festival of Seasons and Souls."

The ghostly alderman Van Uttebatten floated forth, right hand over his heart as he intoned in a ceremonial tone "We here assembled for the last time in this world and the next, the Ancient and Noble House of Van Uttebatten hereby grant our faithful servant Grahaut Gloutnay, the Bishop of Mystra, Abbot of Brutnor Abbey, Father confessor of our Bloodline, the leave to march unto the Path of Light, that he may reach the Grand Gate of Reality. May Hades judge you fairly and render your soul unto thine goddess, to serve her thence as ye did here. So mote it be."

"By Van Uttebatten blood oath, so mote it be." chorused the ghostly host.

Gesturing with his heavy abbatial staff, the flying priest invited the house-elf to join him in the middle of the room, inside the ritual circle that began to glow a lambent blue when the undead entered its perimeter scripts. Nodding solemnly, the sickly elf slowly walked to stand in the circle, opposite the being whose holiness had been such that it transcended the barriers of life, death and society to keep on giving to his houses and community.

The undead's whispery voice rose anew; "I have no blood to initiate the Pledge, but this can be bypassed through the application of Soul Magick. I trust you know how to extrude your nimbus to demonstrate your true self unto the Divine? Then we shall both do so, and I shall connect the glyphs to enact the tithes and transference. When the rite is complete, my body shall lower to the floor and the bones will turn to dust, magically being sucked into my urn so that it can be interred at my crypt, at the abbey. The mitre will no longer be magical, and no longer be able to hold any enchantments due to the strength of all it endured for my creation. My crosier however, could still be used as a weapon or even re-enchanted for a different purpose, though the shape befits the cult of Mystra. You could also melt the gold to have some few riches to stabilize your life before entering formal schooling at Hogwarts or elsewhere you choose."

Signaling towards the open tunnel that led down to the holding cell where he slept between calls, the Vordak Lord told Harry "I have no family that remain. I knew this when I accepted the task of becoming the Servant for my patron house. As such, I leave you in heritage the meager items that you will find below. While old and worn, most will be of usage for your basic education, until you can craft or purchase versions more fitted to your own Faiths, trades and occult arts."

Having nothing else to say in the sad, mournful occasion, the boy simply nodded gratefully his head because if he tried to speak he would probably end up bawling out loud.

Both servant beings intoned the prayer they favored to expose their soul magick, showing four-tiered nimbuses of glyphs and lines that told of their lives, Faiths, Creeds, magicks and deeds. The Vordak swiftly established thin threads of gaseous ectoplasm between his nimbus and that of the elf, then chanted a long-worded, slow paced spell. After five minutes, when he quieted, it was Dryskholl who chanted an equally long-worded, slow paced and deeply involved response.

The actual transfer of life-force and magick took barely a minute to accomplish, given just how drained the skeletal guardian had been. They all knew the rite was complete when the glowing lines of ectoplasm linking the participants darkened from lack of power, then dissipated back to the ether. Mere seconds later, the unliving priest slowly dropped to the floor in a heap, his bones becoming a small maelstrom of dust particles that swirled around the piled clothing until it was siphoned into the cast iron urn. Whence it was once a shiny black as if just oiled and polished, the urn was now tarnished with age and wear, no longer spreading magic around it. The clothes were discolored and threadbare, with holes appearing where the self-mending charms no longer held the tissue together. Only the hardy wooden staff and gold ornament had survived unscathed.

Without a word, Dryskholl moved a hand over the urn, making it disappear as he sent it to the Brutnor Abbey catacombs, where Father Gloutnay had a crypt waiting for his remains since he had held the title of Abbot in his flesh life. With that last part done, the young elf snapped his fingers loudly, making all the contents of the lower cellar pack itself and teleport to the small workmen's shelter that served as Harry's true home for the moment. Given the highly emotional ritual that had just happened, the elf understood the lad would not be in any condition to wade through the personal belongings of the only adult who had given him any protection or solace in this life to date.

Sitting forlornly on his conjured chair, Harry asked quietly "Dryskholl? Why did he have to die before you bonded to my House? I think he would have liked to see that happen, don't you?"

Nodding kindly, the elfling moved to stand before the boy, patting his arm gently to avoid scaring him as he had never been touched without violence for so long. "Master Bishop knew it was his time, so he left. But, he also knew that Dryskholl could not bind to Potter family correctly because I hads too little magick left inside. All my powers were goings into living to see the next day. To see you better and safer. I needed the new energy to create a good, solid bond with yous to help yous as an elf should care for his master."

Understanding the need, but not liking the reality of it, Harry didn't blame either of them. It was what it was, because of this bastard Dumbledore, and because that was the life that servants usually had imposed on them. The few history lessons he had received in the school above them were pretty clear about it; mundane or magical, servants were rarely seen as better than livestock to be bartered, sold, used and abused, and sacrificed so that the House at large could endure. It was a deplorable mindset, but it also seemed to be ingrained in magick itself, as if it truly was the Natural Order of Things. Harry wasn't sure he accepted this, but he didn't know enough to argue the point, so he'd set it aside and read about it. Maybe meet a few magical beings who could have a discussion with him to grasp what was eluding him at present.

{ HP } - { The first Bond of the new House Potter } - { HP }

Squeaking in sympathy, Dryskholl asked meekly "If young Master Harry Potter is ready, wees can be doing the bonding ritual now. Mees be wanting a family for so long, and yous be needing an elf that can protect yous from bad muggles and magees. Dryskholl will do that for yous."

Nodding in admission of the truth, Harry stood to join the diminutive being in the ritual circle, waiting for the entity to show him how it was done. Dryskholl began by chanting a prayer in Latin, then made the response text appear in glowing green letters that floated in the air before Harry's impressed eyes. Harry instinctively used one of the childish spells to understand the Latin prayer and have the ability to speak it aloud. The spell lasted only a few minutes per casting, but it would be sufficient for this. After finishing the prayer, Harry felt an impulse that came from deep within, and then saw a memory of his grand-father Charlus Potter as he bound a new elf to the entirety of the House. Following the same gestures and intent he perceived from the ancestral memory, the child used another of the childish spells to cause a small cut to appear painlessly on his right index so he could finger-paint the simplified version of the Potter Crest that served for such purposes. He then sung a different prayer, to welcome Dryskholl into service for ALL of the houses and organizations that he led, represented, or defended, while still keeping preeminent leadership over the elf's activities and well-being so that nobody could hijack the poor creature to act against Harry or the Potters again.

The surge of magick was so intense that it made the elfling glow with an eldritch green aura for several minutes, and when the light abated, it revealed an elfling that was far healthier than before. He was less lean, less discolored, and fewer illness blotches visible, and stood as tall as his naturally short height permitted because his spine was no longer hurting him all the time. In truth, it looked from outside as if a miracle had happened, but the elf told them otherwise.

"It is as the Lofty Bishop told us before the Awakening Rite. I have been given more weeks to serve the houses of Master Harry, but not more than that. I will not see his 8th birthday. My body was healed enough to serve without suffering or being limited in whats I can bees doing, but nothing more. I accepting the magicks of the Houses, I also accepted that Time would demand to be paid for the deeds done. I accepted the price. That be Wisdom of the Ages, Master Harry, that ALL magicks and Psionics have price to pay for their uses, and the greatest feats command the steepest costs. None can escape this, ever, and any who tell you they can, or that Gods can, is a deluded, dangerous fool trying to build a cult, or a simple con-man trying to sell you a bottle of fake miracles that will addict you until your life wastes away in consumption."

Agreeing with the facts since arguing or raging would do no good, Harry nodded as there really was nothing else to do. As for magick demanding payment, he had figured out something similar on his own at the beginning of last evening, when the ghosts presented themselves to explain where he was, and what had been hidden from him. He had known all his life that any durable goods had to be made by somebody who toiled and strained for it; the Dursley's prided themselves on their clean house and lush garden, but neither could have happened without a servant to do it as they were too lazy or self-absorbed to do the hard labor. Since they had not the money to pay a mad service, the unwanted child dropped on their doorstep had done it for them, free of charge to them, but full of pain, shame and misery for him. Yes Harry was well acquainted with the concept of -paying- for services, goods and benefits, and how the costs were greater when you wanted something bigger, better or more prestigious than the neighbors.

{ HP } - { Passing into the mists of Time } - { HP }

Frowning, the boy asked softly, fear coloring his voice, "What now? What do we do?"

The ghost of old mister Van Uttebatten came forth to lay his cold ectoplasmic hand on the child's thin, bony shoulder as he spoke for the final farewell. "Now, you and your new bondsman walk out into the wide world of Gaia. Our old, dead House can no longer assist you. The scriptural circles that serve as our foci have given all they had left. Soon, our manifestations in this realm will cease. When that happens, the magicks that have protected this last bastion of our Bloodline will expire, and so will the structural integrity of this 1,200 year old chamber. The stonework will become as worn and decrepit as the vordak's old priestly robes, the mortar brittle and frayed to such extent that the room could collapse."

Taking an affected breath for pause as he didn't really need one, the alderman explained "As one last favor to the world of the living, and to make certain you have at least that much stability in your life, the last great work of our magic will be to convert this dank hall. It will be transmuted to an equivalent of what the other basement portions of the building around it have for materials and design. The Bishop was kind enough to cast a 'Comprehend Estate' divination when he first awoke from his sleep, so he programmed the renovation sequence into the array, during one of your sleep cycles due to the stresses and rituals. One good result of this will be that the room will be unrecognizable, and all the devices for pain or coercion will be destroyed, their materials used to feed the transmutation. Finally, as we pass into the Great Beyond for real, our Bloodline will offer this establishment that bears our name one last boon. We shall enact a Faith blessing upon the land plot to anchor a ward against criminal behavior and deviant desires. Unfortunately, without an initiated congregation to chant mass every week or a manatite, the ward will last only for a few months, probably enough to last until your summer vacations, and maybe until the end of them. No further, though.

"July, then," Harry murmured softly, "That's when it all falls apart again. Well, Dryskholl and I will just have to work hard to prepare for that. And if your good behavior ward cleans up the school as advertised, then maybe that kindness will last a few years past its expiration. The teachers and custodians didn't all turn into monsters over night, it took decades of neglect and ignorance from the district managers to make it happen. Not to mention the hordes of parents that know about the school's climate or have strong doubts but close their eyes because, in reality, they want to have their kids broken to make them docile and easier to manage at home."

"You see the shame of our ancestors exposed before you, child" old Ulyrance said desolately as he gazed towards the ceiling of the antiquated stone room. "Our land was never meant to house a schooling edifice, and I don't recall there being one when I was alive, yet this structure purports to be older than my lifetime. I understand not how this is possible, lest Fae or Spirits were involved in making a 'Temporal Inclusion' to change an established event to suit some need that over-arched every other priority in the English Kingdom at that period. That is one mystery more that you will have to solve, as you settle your affairs in order for your life to be free."

Harry chewed on his lower lip as he looked at the room's fading array of circles and scripts, and the ghosts that were becoming translucent before his eyes. Tearing up at the sight of his first true friends disappearing into the Endless Night, the boy bowed his head and closed his eyes to avoid the sight of being abandoned again, even if it wasn't their will to leave him. When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark save for a small white candle that Dryskholl had set on the empty cement floor to let him move around safely. During his silent mourning, the Van Uttebatten magic had done its job flawlessly. The ancient stonework had been converted integrally to concrete and steel beams, with even the plumbing, vents and electrical sockets where the modern architects would have set them. The soulless industrial light fixtures with fluorescent tubes hung from the ceiling, waiting for their switch to be flipped. The three fireplaces and chimneys were gone, as were the washing alcove and the stairs down to the vordak's cell. Now, all that remained was a totally empty second basement without anything to occupy or fill it.

A blank canvas for what came next.

Harry frowned angrily at the empty cavern of drab gray preformed cement as an idea took hold in his mind. If he were going to be wasting his time inside this damned children's prison, then he might as well make himself at home and live his body, mind, magic and soul as if they mattered to himself at least, if to nobody else. But first, he had some things to get in hand to set up for the rest of the day, like a clock that was mechanical so that magic bursts didn't affect the circuits.

Calling to the elf, Harry began to explain his plan in short, direct words. Soon, the elf was nodding his head as he could see that it was a good plan. It even had a few escape routes built into it, for the dark day that would eventually come, when the Magical Ministry of Wizarding Britain would call on him to attend Hogwarts, even if he didn't want to. They had an army, however small and badly trained, whereas he had nobody to help him resist. So he would have to fake being happy at going, and be prepared to defend himself at each turn of the road.

Harry's first education via house-elf

(Harry Potter - theme)

1986

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

Harry Potter may have been only 6 years old when all the shite went down the pipe, but he had already lived five straight years of misery that had wound up with him living almost completely in the streets before even entering primary school. His no-good relatives should have been reported to CPS or the police, but nobody did. He had learned, on that fatidic day of his Awakening that it was the fault of an evil wizard named Dumbledore who manipulated, mind-raped or killed anybody who stood in the way of his 'Greater Good of Wizarding Britain' as only he could define or justify.

But, now that he had indeed passed his Awakening Rite, young Heir Potter was a much different, and much better prepared, child than the mindless drug-zombie pawn Dumbledore had been grooming from afar, well out of reach of any discovery or retaliations. Harry's magic and psionics were partially unbound while his mind, manual skills and willpower had been totally freed from the limiters and dumb-down unctions that had been poisoning him for years. With his mental faculties, survival instincts and street-life acumen unfettered, the boy could now plan ahead competently in a manner that would see him live through this lonely Hell, and eventually prosper out of street-life.

Being well aware that his new companion -slash- servant Dryskholl the house-elf was sick and not due to live long, Harry planned everything for being alone again, right from the start. It had no use for his survival to just live with the elf in blind beatitude when it was a foregone conclusion that by the end of July the little green entity would be dead and buried. So, Harry took advantage of the two great boons that the House of Van Uttebatten had left him when they imploded at last, following his Awakening. A school that was now warded against evil intents, and a brand new, large but empty concrete bunker that was far more modern and livable than the small underground alcove he had converted, beneath the train tracks of Little Whining.

Yes, that was his first bright idea; move his permanent living space from the tunnel to the school's newly rebuilt and cleaned second basement, near the access hatches to the city's service grid tunnels. He would do like the house-elves prided themselves of accomplishing by moving unseen, unheard and without trace, from one end of town to the other, to run his business as he pleased without risking the bloody bobbies or bossy adults trying to command his life.

In fact, the accursed elfling was invited to make himself a bed nook just like Harry so they could spend as much time together without the elf spending magic on traveling all that much. The house-elf agreed quite gratefully, so he went to his island retreat to pack all of his cluttered belongings to transfer them to Van Uttebatten academy, to live out his last days in peace besides his new family.

With elfin aid, it would be easy for him to learn how to prepare candles, lamp oil or how to cast a blue-bell flame to house in a glass jar that would serve as his marching lantern and camp stove whenever he decided to venture into the county's dank, dark bowels. That was a practical charm, those blue-bell flames, because they also burned like regular fire but were fed just as much by the inherent magic found in all items, and also in all lifeforms. That meant that Harry could eventually use a jar of flames to burn his trash with little odors resulting, or cast the charm at an enemy who would slowly but surely become wreathed in the blue fire until the entirety of its body was consumed and degraded to sterile ash. However, the flames were VERY slow to progress on anything deemed a living thing, including plants that had just been uprooted or cut, and many magical plants, animals and higher sentients had an innate resistance to magic cast at them, regardless of whether it was helpful or harmful.

But the important part was still that Harry had managed at age 6 to learn a spell that was usually taught to 11 year old's in the charms class of Hogwarts as a replacement to wood, coal or oil for household usage. It averred that he was quite good at learning direct-application spells, but Dryskholl warned him to take it easy, lest he drain his core in one spell and put himself in bed for a week as he recovered. If he overtaxed himself while the elf was himself sick or no longer present, Harry might have to call for outside help, and the price to pay for such may not be limited to coinage from his Gringotts vault.

But, the little elfling was nonetheless ecstatic to see his young master have such an easy grasp of the lower Power Realms, and of hedgecraft too. It warmed his heart to see that the Old Ways still had a future, and it tickled him to a greener shade to see it was a bloody titled noble Arch-Lord that would be bringing back all the Little Magicks into mainstream society. The fact that Dumbledore's paragon of Wizarding Light was shaping up to be more of a religious Hero of the Faithful Darkes was also a great amusement for the dying elfling. Anything that made that old Manipulator eat his own beard was good in his grimoire.

With both learning to say openly and clearly what they were thinking or needing because neither had reason to fear their roommate, the pair rapidly developed a good working relationship. The child wanted most, but not all, of his belongings in the tunnel shelter to be relocated in the school basement so he could live here full-time. He would still keep a small reserve as a precaution in case he was being hunted, injured, or the school was being watched by hostiles. There would be much better space to practice not only magic, but also the few combat gestures that he could read in self-defense guides, homeless living booklets or insurgency manuals that Dryskholl had selected for him before all of this came to a head.

When they began spending full days together, Harry Potter had been tickled pink to see that his house-elf had developed a taste for soap operas like his aunt Petunia had, as the small entity liked to watch the telly from 3 to 4 in the afternoon while he sipped his tea and nibbled some treat or candy to tide himself over till dinner. The elf had found an old television set that was crafted in the old style of having a large wooden cabinet all around, with hinged doors to close when the tube wasn't used. It was a color model made in 1980, and even had the fold-down 'rabbit ears' metal wire antennae to catch the free public channels from Britain and France If they could find and elongate the TV cable from the school, the set had the plug for it too, so they see more variety like sports. The human child laughed heartily for the first time in years but happily joined the elf in watching his soaps when he didn't have a class to attend, which was often as the three first years of primary usually sat courses from 9:00am till 3:00pm unless they had a public assembly or a PTA conference that day. He could avoid being in the hall for student assemblies because they tapped into the Public Address System wires to have their own speakers in their shared room. The Parent – Teacher meetings were never gonna happen anyways, since Petunia & Vernon had already had a 'chat' with the principal about how to handle Harry's problematic behaviors without bothering them for it. The rat-bastards had essentially put him in a den of perverts and told them "Free buffet; enjoy!" like his life, health and safety had no value to anybody. Well, two could play that game, but he'd win it in the end.

Well, if they got a change of attitude from the man because of the Van Uttebatten ward, or the county changed out the principal, then Dryskholl could simply put an elf-charm on him, which was a version of a compulsion that was usually employed on very young wizard children to keep them from harming themselves, but could work on muggle adults just as well. Speaking of charms, the pair worked to quickly set up house-elf scriptures all around the door frames, the new hearths and chimneys that Dryskholl wanted rebuilt and Harry agreed, and the perimeter of the room, along the floor and at the joint with the ceiling. These scriptures would cause a set of spells to shroud the main room, bathroom, storage closet, staircase access and tunnel access from outsiders, be they mundane or magicals. The effects were 'unplottable', 'unseen', 'unheard', 'unsmelled', 'repel mundane', 'repel evil' and 'redirect interest to home'. Since the scripts were not engraved in the cement, they could easily be erased for updates or add-ons later, if needed.

{ HP } - { The gifts of Bishop Gloutnay } - { HP }

By Sunday evening of that fateful weekend, Harry and Dryskholl had managed to bring all of their mutual belongings together into the new space they would share. Harry had himself a good laugh when he saw the collection of knives, axes, swords, firearms and munitions the small elfling had accumulated over the few months he had been free from Dumbledore's corrupted Bonds through Hogwarts. The child was actually happy about it, because it meant the elf could teach him correctly how to operate safely the weapons that would fit his small hands and light weight. Trying to shoot a two-barrel shotgun like Vernon kept in the ground-floor living room above the cheap gas fireplace would only end up with Harry on his ass with broken fingers.

The elf was quite proud to show Harry the full selection of books, manuals and guides he had chosen to give the boy as he grew older and more capable. He was made very happy when his young master thanked him profusely for his kindness and the excellently useful titles he had picked up. Even the texts about armed insurrection or thriving amongst the criminal elements of the street thugs and mafia would be put to good use, given that he was practically living that sort of life already, anyways. What he was obliged to do by now certainly wasn't the CPS version of healthy, safe and happy childhood with a supportive, law-abiding family.

As they were thinking of organizing the shelves and cubbies to store or display their stuff, the elfling snapped his fingers to call back the small pile of items that had been left by the vordak at his death. Depositing the legacies in the middle of the small wooden table where they were sorting things out, the house-elf made Harry look up from his inspection of one of the more complicated England, Scotland & Ireland harsh climate survival books that had caught his eye.

Sighing in deep sadness at the sight of the pile, the boy nonetheless pushed aside the fun things to get on with the 'formal affairs' as he had begun to call anything that dealt with death or passing on of heirlooms to family and friends. The pile contained a few books that were quite old but well preserved by charms and being rubbed with Oil of Eternity. There was a small cast iron brazier on a tripod whose usage eluded Harry for now. Next to that was a silver mirror mounted to a wooden rectangle frame, like a miniature version of a tailor's mirror but scaled to be put on a table or bench. A foot-wide shallow bowl cast from copper with four clawed feet and silver runes inlaid around the top rim and inside bottom was too simplistic to reveal its use immediately. Then there was the old traveling trunk, barely the size of a modern briefcase for all that it was very much crafted in the middle ages, given the carvings on all sides and the flat top that had a line of golden scriptworkes running around the edge. The small iron lock was amusing for Harry as it was the type he occasionally saw in cartoons where the ornate key had a single large tooth.

Taking his courage with both hands, the child began to take the books to see the titles and open the covers for a brief abstract, if the authors had put one in.

The first book was actually a strong surprise for both friends; it was the grimoire of minor House Dhennack, from the forefathers of Bishop Gloutnay. That book demanded respect for it contained the memories and works of multiple generations of priests, sorcerers and alchemists. It was a handwritten jewel that any museum or collector would be proud to own and display.

The second book was a wood-plate printed compendium of medicinal herbs and animal parts from the Kingdom of Bohemia in the late 1400's. The tome was important because it was the standard text for the army apothecaries of the kingdom in that period, meaning that the lords had considered its remedies to be functional and reliable enough to pay for the troops to be healed so.

The third book was a manuscript journal from an expert diviner who had lived near Paris in the 1300's, called Panaris du Sasseux in relation to the hamlet he had been born in before moving next to the French capital to ply his trade to rich folks wanting answers about the mysteries of the universe. While the man was too low-powered to cast spells or rituals above a street-side fortune teller, he had collected quite the folio of true dweomers and ceremonials that a fully empowered caster like Harry could easily put to good uses. It was always nice to see what the enemies were plotting without risking life or limb to get the information.

The fourth book was actually a large leather binder tied with oiled thread. It contained nearly three hundred loose pages of parchment with many scripts and drawings, usually in tones of black, blue, purple or white inks. These were the personal works of Bishop Gloutnay on Death and its meanings, effects and ways, from after he became vordak. To this date, nobody in human society had ever laid eyes on such a priceless piece of theoretical and practical necromantic workmanship.

The last book was a slim folio from the early 1400's, the manuscript pages bound in fraying silk and carton, with the title 'Brutnor Abbey' and a outline profile of buildings as cover art. It was revealed to be the Abbot's guide to the buildings, functions and management of the abbey, as well as the diverse secret passages, tunnels and warehouses in case of war or social unrest, as was common back in those days of the Middle Ages. Harry decided that he would find out of the buildings still stood so that he could visit, and maybe see where the holy vordak's urn now rested at peace.

Harry needed Dryskholl's help to figure out what the brazier, mirror and copper bowl were used for. They were tools mostly for the spells of divination, scrying, contacting and summoning, but could also be put to more regular jobs like heating or preparing candle wax, mixing incense paste, reducing lamp oil to proper consistency, etc... These were simply the basic tools that you could expect to find in the library or laboratory of any serious spell-user or psionicist who had developed a beginner's application of magical sensings and communications.

The sculpted wooden box was a different thing; it was a traveling altar. This kind of thing was normally reserved for those priests who had their own money revenue, came from a titled family who wanted to see them regularly, or held a job with a lot of prestige, like abbot. In this case, the decorated cassette had been commissioned by the parents of Bishop Gloutnay when he completed his seminary and received his accreditation's as a full cleric of Mystra. They may have come from a minor house, they still had standing and some revenues, so they invested in a thing that could bring back more profits and prestige for the entire family. A traveling altar is much more than just items; it is a fully consecrated, embedded and enchanted group of artifacts that are designed to collaborate for a combined result. It can turn the prayers and spells of a mediocre priest into powerful effects, and even more if the man's power was lacking but he compensated by many readings on his Faith and theoretical studies on magic itself.

The box was made to carry the basic necessities for a mass or rite inside the use the flat top as the actual altar during the active phase of the spells. The kit held small travel format Tome of Mystra and Tome of Archas Theos; a Missel from Brutnor Abbey; a runed table cloth and two runed tea towels; five squat copper candle holders each bearing a glyph for one of the primal elements; a copper chalice with ivory inlays; a plain silver goblet; several herbology utensils made of wood, silver, copper and iron; and finally a small folding scale composed of the vertical pole, the balance beam and the two plates on chains, all in bronze. The entire thing was made to carry out generic masses, rituals of Faith, or help to produce Blessed Unctions and minor potions to heal the sick or repel darkness from a home. Quite a bounty, and also a priceless collectible.

Harry was overtaken by emotions for a good long while as he sat there, trying to see through his tears as he thought of the macabre appearance of the floating Vordak Lord when compared to the entity's golden heart and kind soul. Just like the house-elves, it seemed that humanity's obsession with beauty had more to do with primping one's own image than fairly evaluating others, especially different species and races. Well, Harry wouldn't let all these gifts go to waste. Not only were they magical, they were also part of what he considered his extended family, so he would use them and remember the kind people they came from each time he invoked a Celestial or cast a spell. Also, once he managed to reach Gringotts, he would see if he couldn't spiritually adopt the lesser houses into either Potter or Peverell to give them an extension on their lives and recognition amongst the living. For all they had done, these good souls deserved no less, and they were certainly more kin to him than the Dursley's or the purebloods of wizarding Britain.

The two weeks after that were spent with both Harry and Dryskholl trying to learn of each other during their brief time left, and preparing for the inevitable arrival of the police and CPS who would at some point be warned that yet another bastard had been found in Van Uttebatten's academy, as had happened so many times before. Except this time the man would be dead since long enough to stink-up the place, and that would lead to interesting questions. Maybe they really would have a new principal sometime after the Christmas break. A child could hope.

{ HP } - { Posthumous motherly gift } - { HP }

It was a good thing that Dryskholl had been able to use his unstable magic to travel to Gringotts to take contact with and encounter Harry's account manager with an introduction letter to be delivered in person. The goblin was pleased by the human boy's initiatives and stubbornness, both traits favored by Goblinoid culture. Therefore he quickly instructed Harry to buy a secured Gringotts mailbox to process all his normal payments or withdrawals without needing to visit Diagon Alley just to get some spare change. The box would teleport from itself to one of those other boxes set into the dial on the cover; fill the box, pivot the dial and press the button. Simple, efficient and safe at all times since nobody had ever found a way to intercept the signal. It would also make staying in contact easier, once the elf's imminent death occurred, which the manager could feel happening when the servant visited his office.

With the enchanted mailbox now safely ensconced in their shared room's work table, Harry received a bank services' list, an instruction booklet for vault users, and a few forms to sign for getting the appropriate Noble House services reestablished under his name. One such important service was that he got to have an enchanted portable mirror, with a tabletop stand aside, that served as video-conference screen for talking to the goblin manager in real-time. The communications having gotten much more personal, Harry was able to understand the persons and culture of Gringotts easier, therefore get things done much faster than whatever the old Manipulator expected.

Despite being only 15 years old when she set several huge events in motion, Lily had already lived through bullying and cruelty inside Hogwarts which was supposed to be the safest place in the UK and Commonwealth, but she saw the lie for what it was. The Slytherin's were not the only ones indulging in systemic bullying or casual bigotry against the new-blood wizards that had just learned of magic at age 11, just like she did. If there was a truism, it was that "In war there are no civilized men, only savage beasts bent on surviving that have managed to do so".

It was why Harry had a good pile of money in magical currency that had been set up under a different name than Harry Potter by his mother, who had severe doubts about 'The Light of Wizarding Britain' and his much vaunted 'Greater Good' that nobody knew anything about. Lily Evans had set up an anonymous low-security Pureblood Retiree's vault, but without tax exemptions so that herself or Harry could access it at any age or period without raising questions. It showed in the Gringotts and Ministry records as an old yeoman painter of magical portraits stashing money away from his contract-bride and layabout kids, so that nobody paid attention.

In reality, Lily had put in that anonymous vault's safety all the originals from her own records; birth certificate, parents' marriage certificate, muggle diplomas, British passport, Hogwarts OWL and NEWT diplomas and mastery acceptance letters. Then there were the magical marriage license for her & James, Harry's birth certificate, and both godparents' blood-oath letters, notarized by Gringotts and wizarding CPS. As an interesting note were the Heritage Ritual and Legacy Spell results she had received at age 11 upon entering the Wizarding World. They were eye-opening in terms of skills, Talents and Gifts, but unfortunately the Evans was no lineage to speak of, not even squibs, as far back as the tests could go with 13 drops of blood. Besides these intensely emotional papers were an Evans photo album, a photocopy of her driver's license and Cokeworth public library membership. Then she had neatly stacked the more banal school notes, homework, term projects and test papers, as well as several spell-books or antique scrolls of lores that the Ministry in general, and Dumbledore in particular, frowned on when it wasn't them who held the texts.

The capital thing she had stashed was the sub-dimensional 10 compartment trunk she had been preparing since she took her OWL's because she was already on the short list for Mastery classes in potions, alchemy and healing. Lily Evans had been choosing and commissioning this trunk from a master craftsman in Diagon when the First Blood War of Britain was in the preliminary phase, so she put a lot of defensive planning and forethought in the design. She had been personally targeted by the Death-Eater postulants since third year, and had been approached by none other than Lucius Malfoy himself in seventh year, to see if she wouldn't change sides. Voldemort himself had decreed that she would be granted a generous patronage from the noble Pureblood House of her choosing in their group of allies, and have his Lordly protection too. In the memories of anybody at the time, only a handful of persons had ever seen Voldemort extend such a magnanimous offer

Lily's customized trunk held the following rooms;

A full laboratory for brewing potions, alchemy, enchanting or Ember-smithing.

A hybrid surgery for muggle medicine & magical healing, with floo registered under another fake name. There was also a portkey reception plate and a decontamination cistern to fight the corruption of dark magicks resulting from combat or failed experiments.

A vivarium for lab-test animals & familiars, with five cattle stalls and 24 large dog cages. As a necessity, this area also had a butchering room with walk-in meat locker, a feed silo and trash mulcher to recycle the animals' wastes into compost for the greenhouse. Two of the cages had a copper nameplate that read 'Padfoot' and 'Moony' while one stall had 'Prongs' engraved on a tin cowbell hanging from a leather collar. On a worktable a much smaller cage with an exercise wheel had 'Wormtail' written in sloppy manuscript on the plastic cover. Several wooden perches for mail birds were hung on the wall near the entry, and one beautifully engraved bar had the name 'Untamed Shrew' on it.

A large segmented greenhouse for plants from every geography, and a few extra-planar zones. The segments were set up like small walkable gardens with stone benches & tables, fountains, water troughs, small cut-stone hearths to give light and heat where needed, or glowing blue rocks that generate chill otherwise. In the darkness areas for nocturnal or subterranean plants, the paths were lit by small glowing moonstones set into the sides of the flagstones. These chambers were used as much for potions components, food crops or spices, and meditative area to walk in peace to clear one's mind. Two small areas dedicated to cutting, processing and packing the vegetals had been placed out of the way and hidden behind decorative walls of living plants.

A large, airy workshop for multiple crafts; forge & kiln combo, grinding stone wheel, pottery wheel, small lumber mill, and many muggle power tools that had been rebuilt with an integrated adapter for using Primal Essaence drawn from an Arinyark capacitor though crystal cables.

A large study separated between the desks, tables & lecterns, the shelf-stacks and curio cabinets, the conference table for 12 seats, and the owner's portable walk-in vault, crafted and installed by Gringotts goblins for a steep fee. The vault held a secured mailbox, a charmed coin bag chained to the wall, and a large communication mirror mounted to a fixed frame on the fold-down desk. It was in this vault that Harry found notarized copies of the testaments of his parents, grand-parents, and great-grand-parents, plus the family tree each had submitted for their betrothal rite. While most of the Last Wills had been executed, those for Lily & James had clearly been blocked. Plus, the genealogy and Letter Patent for each godparent was here as well, on top of th other copies Harry ha found in the Retiree's vault at Gringotts proper.

A furnished apartment that had four bedrooms with en-suite, each large enough for two bunk beds or a large Queen-size, a full kitchen with 6-seat brunch counter on the island, a huge walk-in pantry with four large fridges and four shelf-stacks, a dining room & living room that can seat 24 large adults in each zone, and finally two public powder rooms.

A generic ritual room designed and built to archmage - class levels and needs, but without any specialties as Lily had not needed them yet. Those job-specific accouterments would have been selected and installed later, once she had passed her mastery exams at the Ministry, but was still in the waiting to get certified by the guilds. Also, if she were offered an apprenticeship, her master would have to help in the design and crafting of the ritual chamber so it fit what he would teach her. However, the chamber already held Lily's familial shrine, a cleansing cistern, a tabernacle & altar combo for religious ceremonies, five braziers, several man-sized wall mirrors for Gateway spells, and many hooks & chains dangling from the ceiling to hold scrolls, books or anything else during the castings.

The last feature of the trunk was two small climatized warehouses that each had a communal bathroom so they could be converted into emergency dorms with eight bunk beds (3 high = 24 cots) per room to house mass casualties from the war, when things got bad.

The biggest emotional shock for Harry was when he found that his mother had taken the time, effort and expenses to commission linked copies of the magical portraits of herself, James, his parents Charlus and Dorea, and his grand-parents Fleamont and Euphemia. The new frames were crafted blank and put in each room of the trunk whence they were hooked up. This allowed the occupants to have a familiar presence in the entire trunk if they were devoid of living companionship, like during long study sessions for the NEWT's or mastery exams & guild certifications. It also served to stave off depression or self-neglectful behavior if the persons staid inside the trunk too long, as there were no windows or contacts with the exterior other than the entry flap and the magical transports; floo, portkey and mirror gate.

On top of the loose money that had accumulated in Lily's vault from her unused wife's allowance and motherhood stipend as per Pureblood Custom, Harry thought that getting all those documents and trunk full of usable tools made all the trouble of contacting Gringotts worth every moment. It had also made learning practical magic much faster since the trunk was fully warded against the Ministry's Trace and 'Darkness' Monitoring grid, unplottable, undetectable, and had an Evans blood-ward that was specifically programmed to repel any unknown entities, including house-elves, phoenixes and summoned creatures. Transit spells like Apparition, Portal and elf-blinking were warded against, and redirected the being towards the White Council in Edinburgh to let the venerable castle's warding handle the rest of the disposal.

Yes, Lily had a nasty temper; Harry came by it honestly, it seemed.

Likewise, Lily had accidentally found out about Dumbledore poisoning people all around, including her and her toddler son, so she had devised a ward programmed to either repel foreigners who had such potions in them, or if they were in the 'Pass' list, jolt their biology to help them shake-off the drugs and compulsions. If Harry hadn't undergone the Awakening, the ward would have done about a quarter of the job, and as it was it did still give him a boost every time he went inside or left.

The trunk had immediately become Harry and Dryskholl's permanent dwelling and work space, letting them sleep peacefully much better than just the Blessed room left by the Van Uttebatten. It would take Harry several weeks to do a complete tour and inventory of the trunk, even with the help of the amazing house-elf at his side. However, there was always a new item or subject to study, and never enough time for it all. Lily had left a self-updating journal in the study, and she had written about trying to find a time-turner or temporal dilation anchor to create a 'more time' bubble for at least the study, but she had never managed to find one, let alone for sale.

Harry's continuing education via house-elf

(Harry Potter - theme)

1986

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

Dryskholl was parsimonious with his magic by necessity to stay alive, but not avaricious; he spent it wisely on things that would have a long-term impact for the child, even once he was gone, like remodeling the concrete hall with a pair of hearths, and making a better access to the underground tunnels than just the hatch and shaft it had been. He had also spelled a quick and dirty tunnel between the diverse parts of the school campus so that Harry and himself could walk around under everybody's feet without fear of discovery.

As they worked on the scriptural anchors for the wards around their new shared abode, Harry showed genuine interest in those arts and crafts that Dryskholl used to set things in place. Since the child asked the right questions with a polite manner but the wide-eyed gaze that spoke of true appreciation, the elfling immediately began to break the racial Taboo. It had been programmed into the minds of the house-elves that their magic was inferior and undesirable to that of humans, and to always affirm this aloud, especially if infants or children asked for explanations. Instead of blithely repeating the Taboo as instructed, Dryskholl fought against the ghost of the old Originator's bigotry just like he did against Dumbledore. After a few hours of mental effort, the sick elf was able to reclaim his autonomy to such degree that he started to teach everything he could say about his species and abilities to his young human friend.

He started teaching Harry the few limited powers that the other elves had shown him, a poor selection since all his instruction had already been shoddy from birth when his parents had seen how sick and fragile his body was. Yet, those few powers that Harry learned were a great, permanent benefit to him because neither required any components to activate, all were silent, wandless, and no human ward or sensor was ever programmed to feel them. In fact, only the wizard hospital St-Mungo's and the diverse magical bank buildings had ever bothered to install such monitoring wards. That meant that even the Magical Ministry of Wizards and the much vaunted White Council of Magic could easily be penetrated by lowly house-elf magic without triggering any alarms or getting attention.

The so-called 'limited' list of 10 skills and Talents that Dryskholl could teach Harry were:

House-elven Scriptures; a mix of skills & runes, this was similar to the same scriptural magicks used by other species but based upon the artificial tongue that the Originator had conceived for his slaves. By his Mandate, this tongue was specifically created as a shorthand, not a completely elaborated language because he didn't want his minions to have an education equal to the real elves, and must never be superior to humans. Still, this reduced set of characters, numbers and icons quickly proved to be just as powerful as all the other runic tongues known. Being able to use this language would allow Harry to have a secret code to cast his spells or program passwords into his wards that nobody would breach unless they were house-elves. Because of the bigotry of most species, none had ever thought of integrating this secret language into translation spells or items that were commonly available for moderate sums of money, so it was still secret.

House-elven Wards; a mix of skills & spells that create very quick but short-lived wards for purely defensive or utilitarian purposes. Basically absorption, deflection, repulsion, alarm, detection, identification, and suppression of one event or item like fire or fuel. Potent because while the range covered is only 15' x 15' x 15', the effect happens as soon as the caster wills it, thus almost always surprising the enemy/event being repelled. However, unless the ward scheme is anchored to scriptures or a Blood Tithe device, the energy field will collapse inside of an hour.

Shaping-Fingers; a Talent that can be taught but needs skills to be used properly. It allows the caster to create small bursts of pure energy around his fingertips to either manipulate parts into moving correctly or shaping raw materials into the device pieces desired. Because this demands both a lot of knowledge about mechanics and engineering for some things, and artistry for other things, the level of capacity varies according to the training and effort the user puts into developing the actual Talent and all the necessary skills that it imitates or complements. Any elf trained in gardening or herbology will use this ability to heal or splice the plants, as well as when they are preparing the components for mixing or brewing potions. Likewise, any elf trained for veterinary or humanoid medicine will use this ability to replace several scalpels, retractors, needles, and sutures as they move, open or seal, and sometimes shape, the damaged tissues or bones of the patient.

Sense Needs; One of the most basic Talents of the species, it allows the elf to know instinctively the needs of all the beings present in a determined area which is the estate of his master, plus a floating area of 500 feet around themselves. For Harry, he will only ever have a floating zone limited to 100 feet around himself. However, like with the elves, he will have it active even when asleep, which is capital. For the elves, this Talent not only allows them to be the best butlers, valets, maids or farmhands possible, it also allows them to KNOW what the entities around them want, even when they are spelled, drugged, mentally ill or physically brain-damaged. This means that house-elves always know when people are evil, violent, dishonest, thieves, want to sell bad merchandise or kidnap their masters or kin. Likewise, elves can feel a being's basal needs like hunger or satiety, fear & panic, curiosity, safety or satisfaction for the results of a task. This is the species first line of defense in figuring out whether a master has gone insane, wants to harm them or sell them, and if it is time to run for their lives by breaking the Bond from their side of things, which YES it can be done, for a drastic, hurtful price.

Auto-Inventory of Estate; a Talent that depends on the elf's ability to interface with and read the wards around an estate or public domain. This in turn depends on whether the elf was ever tagged or keyed into said ward schema. The good thing is that most human wards have gaping holes in them that were designed specifically to let both the owner's elves and those of high rank visitors easily access and manipulate the data flow, but not the active functions. If Harry can find a way to tag & read a ward scheme, he could probably cover an entire building the size of a medium house, or up to 150' x 150' x 150' in total zone. The Talent allows to KNOW of every bit of inert and living 'property' or 'tradable goods' in the area, and write that inventory with locations, owners' identities and supposed value into the caster's mnemonics module.

Call/Send Property; this Talent allows the elf to make appear near himself or send to their proper storage place any 'property' that was tagged by the Auto-Inventory Talent. Harry will have the same limit as with the other, meaning a maximum range of 75 feet from himself, and a limit of up to 3' x 3' x 3' of materials, or entities for livestock.

Heirloom Vault Access; a Talent that was initially made solely for the Originator to use his elves to manage and clean his numerous secret caches of artifacts, monies and laboratories where the more inhumane experiments were conducted. When he began gifting or trading the elves, one mage wanted a slave that could access his secret harem hidden inside a mystical gem, while the Popesh of the local sect wanted a guard that could go fetch holy relics without physically opening the Faith seals and priest locks on the armored doors. The Originator then decided to add to his creations a capacity for open-ended attunement where the builders of wards and vaults would create a specific Power frequency that would allow the elves to log-in their name and access rights to be allowed passage in a way that even the human employees would never be. This means that as of nearly 5,000 years back, all magical banks, churches or temples, schools, hospitals and public governance edifices have been built with this in mind, even Gringotts. This of course creates a massive gaping weakness in the ward scheme of any institution or home as the access registers are rarely audited, and when they are the owners never look at which elf did what or why unless they are specifically told that a house-elf was the suspect to investigate.

Discretion Vs Anything; an automatic Gift that requires neither skills nor learning as it is an aura of magick that radiates up to 3 feet around the caster. The aura makes the being invisible, odorless, soundless, and reduces all traces of his passage in an area by 25%, thus making it very hard to detect the being's movements even when actively searching. However, the aura has two very clear weaknesses: it does not block thermal scans and does not hide the elf's soul, thus allowing for True Sight, Shen Power Sight, the Presence-type of spells and most psionic skills to pass right through. Likewise, mundane mechanical pressure sensors in the structure of a building will register the general position and movements of a house-elf. For Harry, the Talent can be leaned at full strength without differences.

Kinetic Bulwark; a basal spell cast at 'interrupt' speed that creates a simplistic quarter-dome shield of pure wild Primal Essaence which can deflect both physical and energetic attacks. The shield is roughly twice the caster's height in dimensions and bluish. It is emitted by the hands and the caster is pretty much crippled while he casts this spell as the shield will collapse the moment that he does not have both hands concentrated on maintaining it. This renders the learning of wandless / gesture-less sorceries, prayers, mind magic and psionics a must for using this safely.

Grand Sweeps; a basal spell, the effect consists of a wide wave of Primal Essaence forcefully 'pushing' against all materials & beings in the zone. It is usually employed to clean away a large area from crude and worthless detritus like garden scraps or farm wastes, but it can also be used to do a drastic clean-up after a fire or flood if all you want is a bare-bones structure. The caster must be careful about the building's finishing (decorative) layer as the spell can and will strip down everything to the cement, stones or wooden boards if kept on long enough. One other most useful tactic for this spell is to repel enemies that try to attack or crowd-in the caster as they will be moved backwards quite rudely and dramatically. The area covered by one casting is usually a cone of 25 feet length by 12 feet width maximum.

Most of the Talents or Gifts that Dryskholl could not teach depended on the house-elves' specific sort of magicks, or were programmed directly into their genome, thus making them akin to an extra organ or limb. Likewise, these effects could not be easily replicated by simple skills or tools due to the source of energy used, or the Power frequencies concerned. Because the Originator had consorted with Fae of various kinds as well as daemons and elementals to try and find solutions to some of his more esoteric questions about alchemy, the man had needed to learn about the multiple planes and dimensions. As a way to both boost his servants while also making it impossible for any to replicate his creations, he had encoded certain Talents or Gifts into the genetics and cellular memory of the species that needed to employ the energy of the connective demi-planes or elemental dimensions. That also gave him the perfect tool to control his minions as blocking access to these other Realms was relatively easy with fixed wardstones or mobile 'Forbiddences' engraved into small Ember crystals. While Harry may never be able to wield these magical effects himself, Drsykholl taught him their lore so he could know the full strength and limits of any house-elf he encountered after his death.

The 8 Powers that Dryskholl could NEVER be able to teach Harry were the following;

House-elven Gestalt; a mind magic & psionic interlink between all house-elves alive that creates a passive hive-mind that transfers information only during the elves' sleep cycle. It depends on a set of glands and ganglia in the brains of the elves to function, and is entirely automated. The goal of this was to allow for the smooth transition of tasks and inventories from one work shift to the other without needing the master's involvement, or the installment of an elf to the job of foreman. This happened anyways when the estate had more than 7 elves in residence as it was in their nature to split into work teams of 6 maneuvers and one leader.

House-elven Ward-Tap; a Gift that was and is still quite illegal if any government or church were ever to be told of it. In fact, it might be the one reason why any large organization of magicals could want to genocide the servile species that many depended upon. A house-elf has a biologically anchored capacity to automatically detect, caress, and adapt to the frequency of any wards that are less reactive than Siege Wards, or less violent than Warfare Wards. That means that most household and commercial wards in existence have no built-in way to keep a house-elf from tagging and adapting to them to pass through as if they were using the front door with the proper key and alarm code. This capacity is used instinctively in junction with Heirloom Vault Access and the flaw that most humanoids have integrated to their schemes without realizing the tactical gravity of the defect they were normalizing.

House-elven Power Metabolization; the genetic and psionic capacity of the elves to receive and absorb ANY energies into their bodies while automatically passing the currents through glands that will change the Realm, Polarity and Frequency to a set that is proper to feed their core. The second half of this Gift is that the elf can reverse the process to transfer his own magic to any magical entity or device when the need arises. And yes, the Originator had wanted his minions to be usable as living batteries and charging stations for his various alchemic tools and wards when he traveled away from the safety of his domain. While most of the sentient species would look askance upon accepting a Power transfer from a house-elf for various reasons of bigotry, ethics or the refusal to endorse the creation of slaves, the elves have always seen this function as just another job their bodies do from birth, thus associate little emotion to it, like eating & excreting.

Phase Shifting; a genetically encoded Talent that allows the elf to render himself immaterial or just modulate his physical density by removing himself from the Material Plane in increments. It can be used to become even more present thus heavier and denser to resist weather or attacks. This Talent is considered a crime in most sentient societies since it means that the elves can basically walk through walls at will without a care for insulation or defenses as they are literally moving in the reality parallel to the referent world. This means that 99% of known wards will not stop them unless the scheme has a specific part to deal with incorporeal or trans-dimensional travels & beings.

Blinking; a genetically encoded Gift that allows for short-ranged teleportation at instant speed and doesn't need line of sight, only foreknowledge of the target area. A healthy house-elf can move himself and up to 500 pounds of materials per blink (or 'pop' after the noise) and do this a few dozen times per day. For most elves, this is the favored method of travel as it is quick, easy, requires low energy and not much attention to details when moving.

Dimensional Shifting; a genetically encoded Gift that allows the elves to magically -move- from one dimension or plane to the other at the speed they walk or blink while bringing up to 1,000 pounds of materials or two full grown adult humans with their camping kits. This power would, like the ward-tap and phase-shifting, mean the death of the elves if it were widely known. But the Originator wanted an easy and cheap way for himself to move to his research camps in the outer planes, then return without having to employ lengthy, cumbersome rituals that take days to power-up at megalithic sites. It wasn't all druids that let you use their cromlech to open gates into the ethers of the multiverse; most in fact were adverse to the idea and reacted violently. So the alchemist built the spell into his creations mostly for his own uses. Nobody amongst the sentient species has ever really used it since he died as he had ordered his creations to never speak of it, even if asked directly, for a t least 1,000 years after his death. By then, nobody took the elves as very serious magical creatures, so nobody asked, but Harry Potter did. He asked exhaustively, and learned in proportion the secrets that hundreds of species were too stupid to learn.

Dissipate Offal; this Talent might look like the wizards' basic 'vanishing dweomer' but it is in fact a far more dangerous and powerful effect. The dissipation is actually a banishment to the Border Ethereal connective plane. Yep, when an elf gets rid of something, it goes VERY far away and can't be brought back, unless you want to waste a 'Wish' or other karmic alterator to do it. Or you could open a Gate to the Border Ethereal and go fetch it manually, if you have a very good magical compass to guide you to your banished items. Of course, that means that since this effect is as quick as the elf's thoughts, requiring neither focus nor words, but merely a wiggle of fingers at the targeted zone, the elf could easily banish a wizard to the Border Ethereal, which would usually mean the death of said mage in a few hours unless he had experience at Plane-Walking. Because of how dangerous in combat the capacity is, and the elves know what the reactions of the human governments would be if they knew of it, the small folk have never told anybody about how it works, even when asked. Dryskholl trusts Harry, and honestly thinks it's time for his species to start fighting for their freedom and dignity at long last, something his human friend agrees with and promised to help make happen.

Disrupt All Powers; this Talent his a secondary function of the Power Metabolization explained above. The difference here is that the elf can voluntarily focus the sapping of energy to a short range around himself, thus causing a disruption in all stable energy matrices and modulated energy beams. This means that the elf can blockade magical transports, run interference in long range communications or saturate an area with 'white-noise' against divination tools like scrying mirrors and crystal balls. In a bad case, the elf could also brute-force a tunnel through a ward scheme that was trying to imprison him or keep him from rescuing his master, or property. The Originator genetically encoded this Talent into his servants because alchemy is costly and he sometimes got short on coin, so he needed his little minions to be able to penetrate an enemy's palace, laboratory or vault to steal tradable objects or livestock without being captured or seen. After the felon's death, only a handful of people have ever bothered to learn that house-elves had this capacity, or to use it for anything.

{ HP } - { Learning what an Arch-Lord is } - { HP }

After teaching the young Harry as much of house-elf magicks, history and cultural norms as he could, Dryskholl switched over to explaining more about the various 'classes' or training patterns that humans, higher elves, dwarves, gnomes, halflings, Fae and others preferred to follow. Like the mundanes with their apprenticeships, trade schools, technical colleges or universities, it was all about giving the students an established, proven route towards a fruitful career that would give them a revenue to feed their family.

Of prime importance for Harry to understand was the interpretation what Bishop Gloutnay had called him when he had first seen him; Arch-Lord of Gaia and Anti-Champion of Hades.

Dryskholl explained that both were considered war-faring classes, that is professional trained magical combatants who were much above the average wizard or priest, although it did take many decades of studies and work to reach such summits of Power and skill.

The Arch-Lord was essentially an archmage variant specialized in heavy warfare and sieges, but specifically the defense of a determined geographical area. He used mostly sorcery, mentalism and alchemy, but will often refer to Gods and Celestials in prayers to obtain favors or informations. The Arch-Lord bases most of his decisions and fighting style on sciences and solid facts to elaborate wide-ranging effects. This type of spell-user is most at ease working from behind fortifications or with a conclave of trained subordinates, usually his apprentices. The primary jobs of Arch-Lords are the mapping and real-time surveillance of a domain, the building & maintenance of fortresses and ward-lines, and insuring that extra-planar incursions are repelled. Occasionally, some Arch-Lords will manage to develop psionics when the person has the capacity to learn them. You need specific glands in your brain and spine to be able to use psionics, so the condition is purely biological, although a few people are simply not mentally agile enough to learn how to manifest the energies. The good news was that because Harry had managed to learn the house-elf skills and Talents inside of two weeks, it proved he had the system of glands in place and healthy so he could learn the wider range of psionic skills and rituals, if he wanted to put in the efforts.

The progression ladder of Powers when one compares the different classes subaltern to the Arch-Lord is (from lowest capacity to highest);

(semi-spell-user of 1 Realm) Siege engineer, Warrior mage

(semi-spell-user of multiple Realms) Dweomercrafter, Mechanomage, Overlord

(pure user of 1 Realm) Alchemist, Cleric, Magician (Hogwarts – OWL's), Mentalist, Royal Alchemist, Wizard (Hogwarts - NEWT's), War Priest, War Wizard

(Hybrid user of 2 Realms) Adept, Necromancer, Runemaster, Sorcerer, Warlock

(Pure user of multiple Realms) Archmage, Arch-priest, Crystal Mage, Engineer-Magus, Satrap, Transmutor/generic

(classes equal to Arch-Lord) Lord High Inquisitor, Thanatologue, Transmuter/mechanologist

{ HP } - { Learning what an Anti-Champion is } - { HP }

The Anti-Champion was another professionally trained magical combatant, but centering mostly on Faith and physical strength for one-to-one fights against monsters and high-powered Unique enemies rather than sorceries or sciences. The regular 'Champion' of a Faith will usually refer to a member of a Good-aligned Faith or Creed who fights only the overtly declared enemies of the Cause in noble combat, it the style of knights and courtiers. A 'Champion' does not normally lower himself to police work, investigations or interrogations, and especially not torture or executions as those imply that their counterpart would be bound and defenseless, thus making it dishonorable butchery. However, most 'Champions' face adversaries of such Power and Almight that are backed by nefarious Sects that they will rarely frown on using ranged weapons and prayers, firearms, poisons or summoned assistance.

In the reverse, the 'Anti-Champion' has a job mentality more in tune with the Asian Ronin, in that he fights ALL the enemies of his Faith & Creed, be they animals, monsters, menial knaves or titled nobility with a crown on their brow. This type of combatant is a dirty fighter who understands the truly ignoble nature of the warfare needed to defend a Cause from outside assaults or internal betrayals. They are at ease equally in formal tournaments, honor duels, bar brawls, street gang skirmishes, clanic vendettas, assassinations, ambushes, sabotage, bunker-busting, dungeon-crawling and open wide-area warfare between churches or countries. An 'Anti-Champion' puts much more emphasis on keeping his Faith, Creed and Cause-allies alive than on maintaining a façade of politeness or honor during his fights, or even in social events. Being what is deemed an 'irregular fighter' by most governing regimes, the 'Anti-Champions' rarely fare well in tightly regulated groups like sects or monarchies, preferring small farming villages or truly huge cities where they can disappear anonymously in the thronging hordes of sentients.

Because of their off-the-books and honor-be-damned approach to warfare and insuring the safety of their allies, these men are usually looked down upon by those who claim that the only worthy victory comes from tightly regulated and orchestrated fights, like Knights, Paladins and Inquisitors. A truly experienced 'Anti-Champion' will detect an enemy or traitor, investigate, interrogate & torture until he gets information that is proven reliable, then devise a plan that maximizes damages while reducing the exposure of allies. Since these men prefer secrecy, loyalty and hard results over the 'flash-bang - did-you-see-me?' type of magic or fights, they will often resort to bribing the enemy's men to make them betray each other, deploy false informations about the enemy's Creed and Cause to turn the people against them, use long-ranged curses to make them sick or insane, poison the wells & aqueducts, set fire to farmsteads and granaries, attack hospitals and sanitariums to cause terror, etc... In other words, whereas the regular 'Champion' is he shiny example of the anointed & titled knight that stands tall amongst the normal knights, paladins and banner-men of the king or pope, the 'Anti-Champion' prefers to stand with common soldiers, rangers, spies, anarchists, assassins and curse-masters to make certain the job is done once and the results are permanent. It's no wonder the cult of Hades has so many amongst its organized priesthood or just gravitating in its wider orbit, like Harry will do.

The progression ladder of Powers when one compares the different classes surrounding the Anti-Champion is (from lowest capacity to highest);

(Non-spell-user) Anarchist, Armsman, Burglar, Explorer, Fighter (generic), Inquisitor, Ninja, Rogue, Warlord

(semi-spell-user of 1 Realm) Beastmaster, Knight, Knight of the Elements, Nightblade, Noble Warrior, Paladin/anti-Hero, Ranger, Siege Engineer, Witch Hunter

(semi-spell-user of multiple Realms) Chaos Lord, Guild Geek, Overlord

(pure user of 1 Realm) Champion/anti-Champion, Interloper, Lord Inquisitor, War Priest

(Hybrid user of 2 Realms) Necromancer, Sorcerer, Warlock

(Pure user of multiple Realms) Lord High Inquisitor, Thanatologue,

Champions and Anti-Champions are rather low on the spell-usage ladder because they spend so much time in physical training as well as having to upkeep their skills at riding animals, driving carts or modern motorized vehicles, and practice firing recently developed weaponry that did not exist when the class patterns were designed. The concepts behind these fighters were forged in the Primordial Era, whence religious Powers and Magicks were the only standard by which the population could think. As sorcery, alchemy, mentalism and transmutation were developed and slowly normalized into societies, the class definitions of the (anti-)Champions were updated to include them – or not – according to the base Faith, Creed and Cause of each. The advent of Psionics and the control of these capacities through rituals, drugs, implants and surgeries to the brain that eventually led to DNA sequencing and editing at the hands of biomancers, transmuter/organologists or modern medical personnel, completed the frame of reference for how and why certain classes were at certain steps of the ladder.

Since Anti-Champions were fanatical devotees of a Cause that do not feel themselves to be bound to a Higher Power besides the living God that gives them their magick, they very easily slip away from all churches, monarchs and governments as they please, like Rangers. Living alone and unfettered is almost a must in their profession, given how many enemies they can see in the environment, and how many are left to kill to call the job finished. Since those enemies still alive will no doubt come for the person's allies, friends, family and livestock to wipe-out every last trace of their existence, these career guerilla fighters have no qualms about living meagerly, in a very mobile fashion like caravans, boats, trucks, or eventually in airplanes and shuttlecraft. Being experts at causing terror, shame and pain invisibly from a distance just as much as in-your-face contact, these soldiers are NEVER predictable, and always the cause of traitors and opposing sects' falling to ruination.

After having finished explaining the many concepts about classes, spell-capacity and styles of combat to Harry, the house-elf told a bit more about the Gods Gaia and Hades so that the child could see the global picture of what Bishop Gloutnay had perceived upon meeting him. From what Dryskholl could tell, it looked like Harry would follow both the paths of the Arch-Lord and the Anti-Champion for a bit in each, it simply wasn't clear which would be first. And being devoted to Hades didn't mean he had to become undead or die to receive the initiation into the Faith and church of the deity. Although, given the job description of the Anti-Champion, being already dead and beyond physical exertion, pain or needs would help to finish the job faster.

Harry for his part had an inkling that the vordak and elf had seen things in reverse. His life presently was composed solely of the ancestral informations from his family's Blood Compact, plus the legacies of Van Uttebatten and Dhennack, all of them dead. The only true teachers he had to date in this life were a skeleton, the ghosts, the imprints of his kin, and a dying house-elf whom he would need to bury without help from anybody despite still being only 6 years old.

No; Harry thought the adults had the order wrong. He would begin his life by being in the Faith of Hades so he could learn to fight dirty against Dumbledore's army of drug-zombies and cursed minions, aiming to not only kill the guilty willing supporters, but also to eradicate the entire defective culture that spawned the miserable cunt-dropping without ever realizing what happened. He would sweep the country clean of this purulence, then burn and salt the Earth.

After that, when the war was over and all enemies given to Hades for judgment, only then could he allow himself to cry, to grieve for his lost childhood and traumatized mind, and to mayhaps find a way to heal his damaged soul so he could have a life at last. In that period of his existence, when things were safe and stable, that would be when he turned to Gaia to become Arch-Lord, to learn how to protect his lands, livestock, family and allies that shared is territory. "Yes," the forlorn child thought as he caressed the top of the closed travel altar he had been gifted, "That is the schedule of how things will progress, from now on. War first, then living well."

As in all things in Life or Death, Time would tell, but do so only in due Time.

Harry's elementary mis-education, take II

(Harry Potter - theme)

1987

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

Managing to come out of the elementary schooling's first year with his limbs attached and most organs untouched was nothing short of a bloody miracle that almost managed to make Harry give Jesus and his Bible a new look, if he weren't provably dead already. There had been several occult, violent and strange events happening around him during the last six months of that fateful first year. That, and he had already found a True God months ago, when he accepted Hades in his soul as his patron, just as he had foreseen, so looking for another divinity wouldn't happen till he was ready for Gaia, much later.

Everything had begun by his Awakening Rite, which opened his eyes to a great any things that he had never seen or understood before. Then the small, sickly house-elf Dryskholl had entered his own menial, dismal life, upturning everything so bad that the contents of the mixing bowl of a blender looked orderly and linear. Not that he would ever blame the poor late elfling who had given him so much while he lived, but Harry couldn't help but think that even when things went well for him, it was catastrophic and exaggerated like nobody else.

After setting up their new shared abode under the elementary school and learning the basics of house-elf powers that humans could use, Dryskholl had begun teaching Harry most of the lores, legends, stories and general culture he should have received. Yes, the 'Blood Compact' his parents had implanted inside him held a lot, but it was knowledge centered on the House of Potter, which was definitely 'Light' oriented and almost never interacted with people outside of the Welsh Wiccan Wizards of Britannia, their small, isolationist sect based in Hogwarts. That meant the ancestral memories Harry inherited had been severely edited to demonstrate only those things that were important to the status, finances and Family Magicks of the house, excluding any other stuff. In fact, anything to do with the Elder Darkes, the Dark/Darkness in general, the Living Gods, the Old Ways and the Forest Dwellers, and most of the lore from the families the Potters had intermarried or held alliances with had been kept out.

The hypothesis Dryskholl had about the situation was that Harry's parents, grand-parents, and possibly great-grand-parents, had been cursed or drugged by Albus Dumbledore to ignore or actively delete such things that didn't support his Creed and Cause, even from their own Blood Gifts. That actually fit since many of the memories Harry could access when he concentrated showed an obvious positive spin on everything the bearded bastard did or said, even when it was crass, inept, immoral or utterly senseless. Plus, Dumbledore was a known Legilimencer, an adept of reading and modifying the minds of people, and not just humans. When his mind magicks failed, he resorted easily to the Imperius curse, or to alchemic unctions to anchor the program he wanted followed. It was a well documented fact among many magical cultures and sects that if a child was born when both genitors were under obedience or loyalty potions, then the 'benefactor' of the fake-loyalty could curse the child for twice longer than its parents on each casting. That meant that hidden tyrants like Dumbledore had a proven technical benefit at using alchemy or implanted foci to anchor their mind control over large groups of people, if they wanted to be able to unload the mental strain yet retain authority and obedience.

As such, Dryskholl was obliged to give little Harry a prolonged course of magical cultures, histories, geographies, Faiths, Creeds, organizations and basic laws that were currently practiced across most of the United Kingdom and its colonies plus the British Commonwealth. By extension, the elf also taught Harry a superficial basis of what was being done on the continent, in Europa, Slavia and around the Mediterranean Sea since the Latinate and Roman cultural basin had been so fundamental to how Britons developed magical & mundane societies. This was then supplemented with conversation courses in the Latin and Greek tongues which were the main languages used in England for modern magicks. Older spells and Rituals often needed Welsh, German, Russian or other tongues. Harry's parents had left him a good base of linguistics for use in every day spells, schooling and business relations, but not at a level that Dryskholl thought would be necessary for the human boy to function properly as a noble Scion.

As the elf taught the generic materials that magical children of the same age normally knew, he also used extended concepts or ideas to make the boy practice the diverse languages he had floating around his memories. The major concepts he needed to learn were about the Prime Material Plane where they lived, the connective planes or demi-planes, the elemental dimensions and the outer planes where most of the Divines had their main temples. Among the most fundamental concepts Harry needed to learn quickly were those relating to his own Talents and Gifts which were known since his parents had paid Gringotts to have his blood tested when he reached his First Life-Day. Harry had multiple capacities or Powers that had been blocked by Dumbledore who was clearly afraid that the boy would break his fetters before he even began elementary school, let alone the hormonal rush of puberty that would boost his mind and magic.

{ HP } - { Freedoms conquered } - { HP }

The Awakening had broken the binds on the following:

Potter Family 'Blood Compact'*; a prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that keeps the lawful successor of the bloodline from accessing the magical and spiritual inheritance accorded by Family Magicks, and can even distort 'Heritage Rituals' or 'Legacy Spells'. In this case, because Harry is the Lawful Heir and only living Potter, the Living Gods of Magyck have intervened to break the unlawful bindings so he could inherit normally at last.

Anti-Faith Channel-Blocker*; a fully mental block that programs Harry to never have Faith in any divinities, no matter what proofs of their Life or Powers he may witness or feel. This is normally used in prisons to keep the inmates from invoking help from their patrons to generate effects stronger than the ward scheme or the guard forces. In some cases, when a priest of an evil church has important skills like alchemy or healing, the community may decide to bind his Faith so he can still serve the 'Greater Good' of the group in some limited capacity. Inside the Welsh Wiccan sect for the last 80 years, since Dumbledore began to teach at Hogwarts, it has been the tradition of several 'Light' families to bind the Faith of newborn babes to keep them in the path of Pureblood wizardry and magicks. Since Albus had neither court order nor legal guardianship over the child as he is essentially a Line-Thief and Betrayer, then Mother Mystra has arbitrated that the boy may choose his own path in life, and broke the immoral binding.

Archmage-Class Restriction to Sorcery; a fully mental block that programs Harry to ignore or distrust all manifestations of Channeling and Mentalism so he would study only classic Roman inspired wizardry. This also had the side-effect of making him psychologically ill-suited towards the subjects that don't use a wand or other handheld focus like scriptworkes or potions. He would also have denigrated or fought against most forms of occultism and esoterism as his mind was wholly geared towards material and elemental effects. Paradoxically, this concentration of tangible and quantifiable magicks would have boosted his capacity to learn the transmutation sciences and combative arts.

Affinity for Parselmagick; this is a mental block that affects the Welsh Wiccan specific category that is a subjunct of 'Ophidiomancy' at large. Basically, Parselmagic was invented by Salazar Slytherin about two decades before the founding of Hogwarts in the Scottish Highlands as the heart of their sectarian movement. While the greater mancy looks over all snakes, drakes and reptiles or close relatives, Parselmagic is the -limited- study, devotion and exploitation of magical serpents, alive or dead. As such, Parselmagic is on a par with sauriomancy (crocodiles) or draconomancy (dragons). The language Parseltongue which is integral to this mancy is nothing more than a severely abstracted edition of Reptilian Common, and still much lesser than the Drakonic Dialect. Harry has an innate affinity for this type of magic because what he truly has is actually an affinity for Ophidiomancy at large, which will of course translate towards the smaller, more specific studies. While the greater mancy is still partially bound, this sectorial domain of studies has been opened for use, probably because an ancestor had it in the past.

Sense Enemies; A purely mental block that dampens Harry's capacity to instinctively perceive that an entity ( or inert object too) will cause him harm if allowed to continue or approach. Dumbledore of course wants everybody to obey him, which they would resist if they could feel his evil and manipulative nature on a basal level like this. Since the block was installed only with a legilimancy compulsion, the Awakening was enough to break it completely.

Hardened Soul; a purely mental binding that was supposed to make Harry incapable of feeling normal human emotions unless he received permission from any being that Dumbledore would clearly state was an 'Authority' over the child's life. The simplistic legilimancy compulsion was broken entirely by a variety of factors, including time, harsh living conditions, exposure to the media and school classes that taught what a normal person was supposed to do or feel, etc... The Awakening was simply the clean-up after everything else.

Combat Casting; the Talent to use specialized combat or warfare spells at quick speeds without burning out his nerves or mind. This would make the child a predetermined candidate for auror, hit wizard or (field) Unspeakable. Albus wanted none of that as the Child of Prophecy was to be weak, meek, pliable and predisposed towards suicide or self-sacrifice as his preferred method of solving grave issues of their society. Any combativeness had to be stamped out quickly. Therefore, a triple-bind composed of legilimancy, mind magicks and a potion was used to depolarize the boy's magical channels to deny the inbred specialization. However, as it was the type of magick that had been favored by many of the House Potter's highest lords and ladies over the centuries, the 'Blood Compact' and Awakening together had broken through completely.

Affinity to All Weaponry; a second Talent geared towards combat and warfare. this one allows the being to use any mundane or magical device during combat without seeing his spells weaken or be deviated or mis-aimed because he doesn't restrict himself to employing only a specific type of artifacts during his fights. This also means that Harry could inscribe runes or icons on any weapon or device then use it to channel his magicks through without penalties or limitations due to the bellicose or non-sorcerous nature of the item. Pushed to its end-logic, the Talent allows the person to create hybrid devices like a bow-caster or a gun-staff that serves as both firearm and wizard's staff simultaneously. The classic use is the runic shield & sword like Gryffindor had.

{ HP } - { Freedoms almost acquired } - { HP }

The Awakening had loosened the binds on the following:

Pain Tolerance Denial*; a prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that keeps the victim's pain threshold at a low level so that low-powered or idiotic guards can dominate the person more easily without casting pain curses near the strength of Unforgivables. Harry's innate pain reception and sensitivity was set back to half of its normal levels, and the rest will normalize with time and training.

Innate Inner-World Denial*; a prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that stops the victim from using or developing their Mindscape, Dreamscape and Identity layers to protect from the wards and coercion methods employed by carceral institutions. Likewise, it is a way to block a mentalist or natural telepath from using their powers nefariously so that they canbe released into the community to do penal work or just have a job without the society paying for their upkeep. That is the usual method put in place if the suspect is an alchemist or healer as those are rare and valuable to whichever village they are located. In this case, Harry's mindscape layers were forbidden from installing or developing until the Awakening put in place the 'Blood Compact' which also forced the simultaneous installation and configuration of the basics. Now though, he will have to work on making it better organized and defended as the system will not evolve past basics on its own.

Semi-Psionic Capacity Denial*; a prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that was designed to keep a victim's innate Gift for psionics dormant, possibly for life. This block is composed of an Imperius curse anchored to an alchemic obedience draught coded for loyalty to Dumbledore's view of the Welsh Wiccan society. It makes the victim think that all mind magicks and psionics are bad, dark and possibly evil, or will lead to serial mind-raping in untrained hands, which basically means anybody not Dumbledore himself or one of his declared lackeys. Harry was born with a natural Gift established at 'semi-psionic' that means roughly half of what a True Psionicist could learn and command. While he would never delve into the greater mysteries of the mind and soul, or go into mind-healing, he could still use several of the body-boosting skills and combat or warfare capacities. The bind is still partial though, thus cutting off about two thirds of what he could reach if he trained seriously and methodically, but at least he can now invest in a few skills and have a usable product at the end of the training period.

Battle Trance; this Talent is a well known trait of the House Potter's higher echelons, as they tend towards jobs like auror and hit wizard. It is the capacity to perceive the flow of Reality and battle at a slow, methodical pace while moving extremely fast, oftentimes faster than those around the user. This Talent also temporarily boosts the person's innate resistance to drugs, poisons and mind control efforts as long as they are in the throes of fighting actively. This capacity was a problem for Dumbledore like all those oriented towards violence and survival, plus the supplemental resistance against compulsions or loyalty unctions. Harry will now have the augmented speed and perceptions during battle, but the biological & mental defenses against mental intrusions have been eroded down to nothing. He will have to rebuild them as he mounts his mindscape and consume rare, expensive potions to remake the natural resistances of his body.

Affinity for Elder Darkes; this Gift means that Harry had a natural inclination towards understanding and using all of the Elder Darkes similar to the Childish Lists, Ancient Rituals, Family Magicks and the Traditions of the Old Ways. In many situations, this would also facilitate or boost the Faith based actions or effects like prayers to insure a healthy descendancy or divinations to survey the state of the Living Blood and estate. For very obvious reasons, Albus could never allow this to exist as it would unleash and bolster the Potter Blood Compact which could in turn process an automated Awakening even if the boy was beaten down to the point of brain damage, which it did do. While the binding was partially cracked, there are still many parts that are operative, and Harry will find it hard to study the more abstract or esoteric forms of the various Family Magicks he has inherited or connected with. Likewise, he will be able to cast Dark spells or effects at an alarming speed and efficiency, but suffer through long and fastidious periods of learning before being able to use those spells. The binding is melded as part of the apprenticeship limiter and others, thus can only be broken fully when Harry starts an official training program then, after reaching several success milestones, abandons it for another career.

Affinity for Ophidiomancy; as stated during Parselmagick, this is the greater mancy for all reptiles and serpent-kind but it is still partially blocked by a purely psychological curse. Albus was afraid that Harry could one day understand Dragons better than his own alchemic research into the uses of their blood, so he severely bound the greater mancy while letting the smaller one loose as a way to accuse the boy of being Dark and maybe Evil like Slytherin if needed. The bind is an Imperius curse that was cast directly into the boy's mind via legilimancy attack, and can be eventually broken when he develops his full innate resistance to enslavement and mind-rape.

Affinity for Necromancy; this Talent is a watered-down version of what those born directly into the House of Peverell received as an inborn Gift. As children of the House of Death and Holders of the Rituals of the Great Gate, the Peverell always had a very -loose- relationship with life, death, undeath, unlife, and The Beyond. This was in full demonstration by their command of Necromancy: the sciences, devotionals and magicks of the Life – Death cycle and the manipulation of mortal remains or artifacts. Because necromancer-class practitioners are hybrid spell-users of Faith and Sorcery together, and so are those lesser amateur mancers, Dumbledore absolutely could not let Harry develop this type of Talent as it could lead to a spiritual boost big enough to loosen or even fully break many of the bindings that were only psychological. Furthermore, Albus feared that if the child managed to get his hands on genuinely powerful tomes of necromancy, it could awaken the Peverell or Black 'Blood Compact' within him, despite that Albus had blocked them individually. Due to the sensitive nature of this Talent, it was blocked by an Imperius cast into the child's mind via legilimancy attack with a password set in ancient German language. While partially released, this binding will not let go until Harry gets rid of the Apprenticeship, Darkes and Faith limiters.

Black Family 'Blood Compact'*; a prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that keeps the lawful successor of the bloodline from accessing the magical and spiritual inheritance accorded by Family Magicks, and can even distort 'Heritage Rituals' or 'Legacy Spells'. In this case, because Sirius Orion Black III never broke his godfather blood-oath and he was never properly cast out of the family line and magicks, the House Black magick has managed to partially destroy the block, treating it as attempted Line-Theft against the Heir Presumptive. To release the rest, Harry would have to undergo the simple 'Confirmation Rite' at Gringotts during a visit to process the Heritage Ritual and Legacy Spell to settle all his outstanding affairs.

{ HP } - { Freedoms denied } - { HP }

The Awakening had not affected the binds or curses on the following:

Apprenticeship Power-Type limiter*; a prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that will keep Harry's first learned profession or career stunted at a low level of magical Power and prowess no matter how much he works to improve. Usually, the bind is placed with a ritual that needs three casters to enforce, a priest, a sorcerer and a mentalist or psychic. In this case, Albus Dumbledore did everything himself by emulating the effects of the three casters with alchemic tinctures and separate manatite pillars. This block is so deeply embedded in the genetics and mind of Harry that even killing Dumbledore will not release it. Only switching profession or training class when he reaches the allowed maximum level will bypass the block.

Peverell Family 'Blood Compact'*; a prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that keeps the lawful successor of the bloodline from accessing the magical and spiritual inheritance accorded by Family Magicks, and can even distort 'Heritage Rituals' or 'Legacy Spells'. In this case, Dumbledore used the Elder Wand which is in fact the Lord Peverell's Halberd in its idle format, when it is used by unworthy hands but was somehow conquered by that person. Due to using an heirloom that links directly to the Peverell Throne, Albus was able to bypass the wards that keep someone outside of the house hierarchy from committing just that crime. Harry would probably be able to break this binding if he unites all three Peverell Relics, but only after the Apprenticeship and Darkes Limiters have also been ridden of, otherwise he would lack power against Dumbledore's combined potion & curse stratagem.

Maternal Lineage Denial*; a prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that keeps the lawful successor of the bloodline from accessing the magical and spiritual inheritance accorded by Family Magicks. In reality, this is an old Roman curse that served for old rich men to have a harem of breeding stock from diverse ethnic groups while making certain the children produced all looked and acted exclusively according to their own family tradition. The best and most economical manner to achieve this was to biologically and psychically amputate the mother's contribution out of the child, like a 'Blood Disowning Ritual' but simpler, faster, and could also be reversed if the man discovered the child's mam had good magical ancestors or a fortune sleeping in a vault that only the heirs could access. In Harry's case, the Evans had no known magical ancestry for at least 21 generations, so no magical territorial or financial legacy was lost to him. However, the most pressing issue was that while the block was in effect, all of his mother's kin and kindred would consider him as a Line-Thief and hostile invader in their lives, even if they don't know about magic or ignore his identity, like after an 'Obliviate'. This is the basis of what Dumbledore did to make certain Harry was abused and violated by the Dursley's; he bound the boy then set a 'Bloodline Ward' on the house where he would live to anchor the cursed binding while boosting the aversive effects upon the entire household.

Enforced Bigotry*; a prison-grade block developed specifically in the Welsh Wiccan sect that is both mental and biological that makes the prisoners incapable of feeling sympathy or just working with other entities that fit the descriptions programmed into the list of exclusions. The base rite was too generic and too easy to remove, despite being a beast to cast, so the Purebloods paid for the Unspeakables to produce a modernized version. The unstated goal was for the Lords of Pureblood Houses to be able to mentally program their children to hate and dominate anything not a human pureblood wizard for the rest of their lives. This version of the binding is inflicted via a ritual circle that holds samples of the species genotypes or wizarding Bloodlines to repel while an Imperius anchored to a generic alchemic enchantment sustention oil is used to codify the list of beings the prisoner is to exclude from his few social or professional interactions when working in the prison's workshops or kitchens. This binding is normally applied to long-term convicts to keep them from fomenting escape plots or bribing the guards for such. In this case, Albus used it as the basis for how he would control Harry's relationships towards teachers, students and the wizarding world at large by making almost everybody 'out of bounds' for the boy, unless he told him to his face or during a media conference that a certain person was a desirable ally of his.

Enforced Self-Isolation*; a primitive prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that was actually the longer, more permanent version of the 'Enforced Bigotry'. It was designed for a judge to have the option of sentencing useful people like alchemists and healers to community work or prolonged probation at home so they could still work while being certain they wouldn't fall back into the criminal elements of the nation. Basically, it was a combination of enchanting oil put in the bloodstream via injection with a mental compulsion that would leach the magic of the oil to keep itself in place. The ritual part was to make the oil bio-compatible to the species put under penance, and then delve into the convict's mindscape to program the exclusion list directly into his Identity layer so it couldn't just be dispelled or broken by quick solutions. In the case of Dumbledore, he really wanted his Boy-Who-Lived to be a total recluse and troglodyte so he used this ancient version as the method by which he programmed the parameters on the previous binding, to add complexity and durability to the child's social withdrawal and imposed ineptitude. The problem of this binding is that the more a person knows their Inner-World, the higher the chance of them finding the program and destroying it from inside, without any visible symptoms on the outside. Harry will need the help of a mind-healer or several strong prayersof mental health to destroy this abomination and what it sustains above it.

Enforced Explosive Temper*; a prison-grade block that is both mental and biological that serves to make the prisoner unable to concentrate for prolonged periods on complex, demanding subjects like scriptworkes, enchanting, building foci or breaking ward schemes. It also has the benefit of making he victim short-tempered and prone to fits of rage, so planning escapes with a group or trying to bribe a suspicious guard become nigh on impossible. Dumbledore wanted this in Harry to make certain that the child's attention span was reduced to almost zero, thus scuttling his entire schooling and capacity to learn anything else than basal manual chores for his most immediate survival, like washing, cooking and crude repairs to his shelter. This binding is very easy to install and difficult for the person to remove or break, but it does have the weakness that it must be replenished every year as the increased adrenaline and endorphin in the body make the sustention oil metabolize far quicker, a situation that will weaken and endanger all the other bindings by rebound too. Albus was using Dryskholl to give the child the enchantment oil or new doses of alchemic unctions until he decided (arbitrarily) that the boy's body, brain and mind must be corroded enough by now that further dosing was no longer needed. This means that the binding is not sustained, but it can't break on its own anymore. Now that the psychological trigger is set in Harry's mind, he will need professional mind-healing or Divine miracles to set things back to normal as standard healing potions won't be sufficient to even help.

Harry's elementary schooling – for real this time

(Harry Potter - theme)

1986-87

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

The two accomplices had grossly misjudged the ineptitude of both the school employees and the local constabulary forces. It took all the way to the first day of school after that fateful Christmas break for anybody to find something amiss about the depraved pervert who had attacked Harry.

In fact, it was only passed noon meal when the principal was asked about the missing teacher due to the fact that all of his morning classes had been missed without any custodian being assigned to sit watch over the kids' study time. The principal saw the man's car in the parking lot, covered in snow as if it hadn't moved in weeks, which it hadn't. It was when he went to the dead man's office that he found the decomposed body whose odor hadn't moved around since the windows were closed and the door was so thick that it sealed completely when closed.

The policemen were called in, took one look and decided to write in the report that it was most likely a drug overdose, especially when they found the bottles of narcotics and drugged candies in his desk drawer. Or at least, that was the story made public for the kids' families and papers.

Barely a week after that and the county superintendent of schools was being made to retire after nearly sixty years on the job, soon followed by the principal of Van Uttebatten academy who was his favorite cousin, younger by three years. Without his elder relative to protect him from the consequences of his dereliction and complicity in crimes against the children by his staff, the old man preferred to leave quietly lest he be investigated. This gave way to a slew of transfers or retirements in the weeks after as the depraved or slovenly saw the tides changing around them.

Influenced by the Blessing put on the school campus, the county named far better teachers who also happened to be much more morally-minded than those they replaced. Children who were caned were no longer beaten so harshly they had bruised welts for weeks despite being hit over clothing as had been the previous norm. Rumors about the underground dungeon subconsciously adjusted to say that the outgoing director had scrubbed the entire academy clean of any traces of such barbaric practices before handing in his letter of resignation to make certain none of the things perpetrated therein would follow him through his retirement.

An added bonus for the kids was the revision of all nutritional plans and provisions for the meals fed to the students by their cafeteria. Yes, the admin building still had a few better items, but the disparity was more one of appearances than true quality or nutrition anymore. Also, the old students' library was cleaned, stocked up to date and finally reopened in for Easter of '87.

All in all, Harry Potter was getting to be happy in his regular neighborhood school, where people knew his name instead of calling him "Freak" and "Boy" all day. He was fed, exercised, taught things that mattered to British society just like all the other kids, and was marked fairly for his efforts since Dudley went to a private primary school elsewhere. Without the pressure from the Dursley adults to make him under-perform or threats from his jealous cousin, Harry was finally able to let his mind shine a small bit. The only real problem was that he couldn't perform to his true potential because Dumbledore might come to wipe his mind or dumb him down with potions if he scored too high too often. So, the system devised was to hand in average homework or tests on easy years, but give almost 90% of his potential on years with standard ministry tests at the end to insure his transcripts were close to reality but would not scare the Manipulator.

Harry learns about magical practices

(Harry Potter - theme)

1987

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

Among the first magical concepts that Dryskholl was able to teach Harry before he became too weak and senile were the diverse techniques for channeling Faith or casting spells outside of the person. These were the most commonly taught in schools or publicly available books in stores that weren't specific to professionals or mancers. The elf warned Harry that a focus could be anything that was crafted and prepared for the task, but most societies or sects had formalized a few specific devices to make teaching and using magic faster, and more reliable on each casting.

{ HP } - { Wands and other foci } - { HP }

The most basic and widely used focus for spell-users regardless of their Power or ability is the humble WAND, but it has its cousins; the rod, the scepter, the staff, the polearm and the siege-staff. In the same family but less respected were the wooden spoon of witches and the switch of hedge-wizards or beastmasters. All of these are basically a length of material for containment with a combination of magical reagents to serve as core where the actual conduction and regulation of magical energy happens. By their nature, the 'Bastonnis' foci are rather generic and suitable for pretty much any usage, although sometimes the core composition will give a slight boost or resistance to certain types of energies that pass through. It is possible to craft specialized wands, but rare due to difficulty and the fact that it cuts-off more than it gives. Among the few specialty wands that it is profitable to create are the alchemist and healer wands that are longer and thinner with a rune engraved precious jewel at the tip for smooth, micro management of fine reactions inside elixirs or living tissues.

The reason why wooden spoons and switches are not respected as true 'Bastonnis' is that they have no internal core, instead they are superficially engraved with scriptworkes and given a Blood Tithe from the person who will be the primary user. The benefit is a truly cheap yet functional, generic wand not penalized against any type of practice. The downside is that such wands are usually not able to cast dweomers above Power Type V and rarely channel any psionics at all. In the large and organized magical societies that claim to have modernized, these crude druid-era foci are reserved for teaching young children, equipping squibs or used as drop-wand by criminals who will use the blood of a magical animal to prime the focus for usage instead of their own fluids.

Before the batons came into generalized usage under Roman imposition, the Pagans and Druids preferred to use a Ritual Cauldron to activate or center spell effects. While the vessel can be made of metal, pottery, stone or crystal, it is really the fluid bubbling inside that decides what happens. The principle is just like a wand, except that the core is opened to the user and gets modified along the casting of the spell or ceremony, thus refining control over the result and allowing also for a greater power charge to push the effect farther away. Another direct benefit of using a cauldron is that many people can use the same cauldron together, thus making group castings, rituals and conclave spells much easier to harmonize, which explains the incredible power that witch covens of the distant past had wielded. Another advantage of cauldrons is that they are fully versatile unlike wands. Because the core is exposed, the user can empty the pot, wash it and prepare a new mixture specifically to fit the spell he's going to cast. Also unlike a wand, the vessel can be amplified by scriptworkes or by burning special fuels in the fire beneath to add extra magical Power to that generated by the spell. While the batons have replaced almost all other foci since the height of Rome, cauldrons will always be the chosen focus of witches, druids and hedge-wizards, and the icon used to represent potion brewers & alchemists.

The runestones were a normal method of using magic back when the religious classes like shaman, witch, druid and animist were still preeminent in the magical societies, and that mixing with squibs and mundanes was not frowned upon by the diverse sectarian governments that sprung up over the last 1,000 years due to the Christian Inquisition. A runestone is simply a piece of rock or crystal that has been ritually purified of foreign energies before having one or several runes or icons engraved into the sides to for a scriptworkes program. These small devices are usually looked upon as the domain of hedge-wizards or low-powered apprentices who are unsure of their grasp of the teachings they are practicing. Usually, a runestone will generate or anchor a single short-term effect because the engraver will not want to incur the burden of the monetary expenses to buy a precious stone capable of holding at most three spells or wards. Finding small but serviceable pieces of regular stone is as easy as walking through a forest or riverbed, neither of which costs anything but the time and effort of the craftsman.

This however means that a poor person who learns languages easily and has an affinity for scriptural magicks can in fact have a cheap and easy supply of tools and weapons right in their garden, if they make the effort. The uses of runestones are almost as varied as wands, if only that a maximum of 3 spells can be put on a stone small enough to fit in a belt purse or pocket. One easy way to create a runestone that can be triggered multiple times is to anoint it with blood or seep it in enchanting oil; both processes should make a stone that can trigger three times before disintegrating. Thus you can respell the item if you use it only twice, making for a good investment of time and skills.

Now, if you don't mind having a few tons of boulder sitting in your garden or your castle bailey, you can always hire a druid to engrave a menhir, dolmen or cromlech with a few dozen to a few hundred spell-effects. The techniques to inscribe menhirs are ancient, secret and normally known only to those who have taken the vows inside a druidic or witch coven. Certain churches of Living Gods have adapted these antiquated methods to produce manatite pillars that charge faster and sustain stronger wards or effects, but not always to better results or energy management.

Cards, or decks of cards, come in two varieties; those with only passive powers like the Tarot used in divinations, or those that store active spells in a manner that is the basis of how modern spell-scrolls are written to fill the armories of churches and monarchs. Cards were invented in an epoch were over 95% of the population was so illiterate that even pictographs and icons were too complicated for them to read, and this included the spell-users of the day. The solution was to create a series of standardized images on small pieces of tree bark that formed the first hand-held cards, then moving to leather strips, then treated parchment and finally paper. Initially, cards were one-trick devices that served to store attack dweomers to quick-cast multiple strikes at an opponent without tiring the caster. As a secondary concern, a mage or cleric could produce cards at his own level of Power then confide them to his apprentices for them to use in defense of their shared domain. This was a cheap and efficient way for an abbot or lord to mount a credible battle team when there weren't that many men available to bear arms, let alone learn magic. Eventually though, magic-users suffer from passing fashions like all other activities of sentient species, so cards were changed. Instead of storing attack spells, they began to carry summonings, banishment's, portals, gates and contact dweomers. Having become specific to certain types of magic, cards soon became seen as too rigid, too pre-set to be useful in a high-speed mess like war, so they were replaced.

Scrolls came about from the needs for more flexibility and on-the-fly customizing of resulting effects than what runestones or cards could produce. Wizards researched the problem until they had managed to convert the best versions of cards from a static image to a scriptural sequence that could be read aloud to activate. This was the first spell-scroll, but it was lacking. The solution was to create the text with blank spaces for 'variables' that the caster could decide on the spot according to what he needed to cover. These scrolls were the norm for a long period of time, then were slowly set aside too as the populations having several thousand mages or priests began to believe that only apprentices need to carry stored magic. The perception of the people changed to believe that only children should use scrolls, and only until they were adult enough to be able to cast actively through their focus. Scrolls became to be viewed as homework from teachers or a crutch for ailing casters whose magical core was unstable, and were eventually completely abandoned by most communities. By the time that Albus Dumbledore's parents were born such spell-scrolls were already a thing of the past, even though the technique is widely known by those who work in stationary shops or book editing & binding artisans.

Scriptworkes is the generic name that covers all forms of magicks that need a text, number or image to be anchored or trigger to activity. The many forms of this multivaried technique also depend quite heavily upon the erudition, linguistics and artistic skills or Talents of the caster. The most commonly seen form of this method is spell-books or grimoires, followed by the runes used to mark everything from potion bottles to money coins to calendars. The second most used version is employed by wardmasters to anchor the layers of energies around an object or estate. The third variant of scriptworkes is integral to alchemy's highest levels of performance, the Transmutation Circle and Transmogrification Figures. These drawings group truly complex arithmantic equations with textual phrases, astrological symbols and occult effigies to combine into a powerful effect that will permanently alter reality. When an expert of written magicks wants to truly excel, he can learn to write upon liquids, gasses, in empty air, in live flames or other medium to anchor his spells. Some spells, like mobile combat wards, will occasionally show in their energy field or on the object they affect the scriptures of their construction. These pure energy writings are called 'Mandala' and it takes a good occult erudition to be able to interpret the glyphs and calculations under fire so as to exploit the knowledge.

Lenses are a varied group that encompass all objects made of crafted glass. This technique was invented by poor wizards as a replacement for natural crystals and precious stones that were far out of reach due to rarity and pricing. Normally, the spell-user will commission a piece of glass for the specific use he has in mind, and will need one such item or device per 'category' of spell or ritual he uses. The three best known types of spell-lenses are in fact the mirror (scrying), the crystal orb (divinations) and optical prisms (eye-glasses & scopes). As an aside to these are the cheap colored glass beads that can hold low-powered spells for a few weeks before failing and are often sold as protection amulets for the poor. Good transparent glass panes can be engraved or acid-etched with scriptworkes to hold low-power but long-term wards for the average household or small boutique, making it a very cost-effective solution and cheap to replace when it brakes during a storm. The best glasswares are produced by crystallurgists or alchemists who will dweomercraft the base materials before melting them into glass, then shape the item with spells and runic tools. The piece is then engraved and etched, with a layer of enchanting oil used as polish to seal everything correctly. Such pieces are considered masterpieces and rarely come on the market for sale unless the owner is dead and the estate being liquidated. One practical way to bolster the magic in a glass device is to fill it with a magical reagent or potion, but again that means having a sealed artifact with a specialty potion in it for each 'category' of occultism used.

Living People, Animals and Plants can be used as foci for casting spells too, although the techniques for doing so are normally very old, and very secret. These techniques go beyond the spells or prayers of druids, witches, animists and rangers. They are the province of those who art in crafting flesh like biomancers or necromancers, and those who use sacrificial magicks to power their spells. Several divinations use a drop of blood to remotely link with the donor who then temporarily acts like a wand to emanate the perception spells from within, allowing the caster to experience the world from their senses or aura. Other fouler magicks allow a caster to pass through the mind or soul of a being to cast spells at enemies through their eyes or mouth, and sometimes move the body like a puppet in a way no simplistic Imperius curse would. Most of the lores, spells and rituals concerned are kept by specialist mancers, occultists and scholars of the esoteric who will never publicly admit to hoarding such forbidden crafts. In most countries that have been influenced by Rome and Christianity, possessing any physical text or device that permit to learn, teach or practice these foul things will get you inhumanly executed.

Harry's opening unto magical ecology

(Harry Potter - theme)

1987

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

During the later weeks of his life besides Harry, the young elfling Dryskholl explained to the human child about the important quirks and resources of Mother Nature that were not always hidden or out of reach from mundanes. A great deal of the impetus from the White Council and other groups to establish the Statute of Magical Secrecy in the late 1400's was mostly based on the desire to control access & usage of these precious materials or places by muggles and even squibs or muggle-born members of their communities. Of great concern was the appropriation of these inherently magical materials, arts and crafts by the muggle Monarchs who heavily taxed the work of spell-users and tried to regulate the sales of devices made with these resources. This led to a direct conflict of interests and dominance, which the wanded casters did not actually win as their response was to flee and hide until the mundane governments forgot about them.

Most of these natural resources are pretty easy to find and access, but large-scale exploitation will normally result in a guild, church or government sitting on top of the material to charge fees for obtaining any quantity of raw or processed resource. In some cases, the easy availability of some minerals, oils or gases has caused great concerns for everybody as they are toxic or mutate the lifeforms that are in proximity. The more radiant or poisonous, the more efforts the magical groups have made to secure exclusive usage of the mines or pools.

It was a great chagrin for Dryskholl that he couldn't teach Harry about plants and animals that are found in the magical world due to a lack of knowledge. He did tell him about those creatures that were found in every household like owls, cats, dogs and crows, but he knew very little of anything else, even just about farm animals or livestock. He had been born to a noble family who used their elves for valet and maid duties inside the manor but had no farm or greenhouses of their own, preferring to buy fresh as needed from reputable sources. His original owners had been Dark wizards who practiced the most esoteric of occultism, specifically the divinatory arts by way of animal or human sacrifices. Their rituals were deeply guarded secrets but they always produced accurate and usable answers for their rich clientele who wanted the information in a prompt and discrete manner to upstage their enemies. Because of this, the elfling had a clear deficit of knowledge when it came to lifeforms that weren't higher sentients capable of holding a Gringotts account or vault.

The magically, culturally and financially important resources of the magical worlds are:

{ HP } - { Ley lines } - { HP }

A Ley line is basically a naturally occurring current of raw energy that circulates in the crust of the Earth on a fixed path. The current can vary in density from fully immaterial to gaseous to liquid according to a plethora of factors, including the presence of other magical resources along its course. Having an active Ley line near the surface makes for much faster and easier charging of menhirs, manatite pillars and wardstones. It also makes the magical cores of living entities replenish faster and sometimes bigger than average if the young are exposed from an early age.

Hogwarts is deemed one of the premiere schools of magicks in the world despite what the Pureblood movement and Albus Dumbledore have inflicted bigotry, mismanagement and cut entire segments of knowledge for the last three hundred years, because it sits on the crossing point of 3 Ley lines. This means that despite all the crapulence and stupidity, the school normally turns out young adults whose magical cores are between 10% and 15% bigger and around 8% faster at replenishment versus the population educated elsewhere. An added side-effect noted is that people who studied at Hogwarts then took a job in the castle for a few years could see their life expectancy augment by 10% easily. It is widely suspected that if he hadn't lived the last 80 years on top of the Ley line junction, Dumbledore would be dead as a rock, or at least not as powerful as he seems to still be.

{ HP } - { Mana sources } - { HP }

A Mana source is what you get when one or several Ley lines break through the Earth's crust to interact with the open atmosphere; natural raw magick that can present as gas or liquid. Usually, a community will protect its active Mana sources with public buildings and severe laws to make certain that magic stays available for the whole county around the source. In a few cases, a mage or priest will manage to find and keep secret a Mana source until he has finished building his house on top of it to bolster his own occult practices and home defenses. While most villages would be loath to engage such a person in open battle for their source, they will most certainly tax them to very high levels in retaliation for what is seen as a 'theft' of public domain.

An active Mana source is a very generic descriptive that can refer to a stream or pool of Primal Essaence, Mythal, Mana or Energon, in order of strength. Each of the Power Realms have their own atomic and energetic properties, as well as different magical capacities when used for alchemy or enchantment. The most common uses for a Mana source are to infuse the liquid magicks into an elixir to bolster its effects, or burn it as fuel under a crucible for a variety of magical crafting techniques. A few farming communities have also created ingenious devices that infuse the liquid magick with the water from the aqueduct to fertilize their crops and livestock for better yield and to maintain their magical properties.

ALL magical arts, crafts and practices are increased positively when done within one kilometer or an active, freely flowing Mana source. However, it can also lead to Power burn, Essaence toxicity, Manaesh acidity, and with Energon in any forms, violent explosions of flames, radiation and pressure waves that devastate a wide area. Some villages had no choice but to cap and neuter their source to stay alive because the element being released was too volatile or poisonous.

{ HP } - { Spirit Wells } - { HP }

Similar to Mana sources but on a different order of thought. The Spirit Well is a sunken pit that reaches deep into the crust of the Earth where it encounters a naturally occurring Nepenthean Rift, a tear in the fabric of space, dimensions and realities, that leads directly to Hallowed Nepenthe, the City of Bones, Seat of the Grand Gate of Reality. In other words, the Realm of the Dead, capital of Hades, patron god of said dead.

A Spirit Well does for the Elder Darkes, Blood-law, necromancy, spiritism and psionics what the Mana source will do for all aspects of magick. The well gently radiates a mixture of negative energy and gaseous raw soul-stuff, called 'ectoplasm' when it condenses enough to become liquid or crystalline. The Spirit Well is usually employed by communities as the center of a graveyard or a place of pilgrimage to the ancestors, and multiple temples will be built nearby to facilitate communion with the Divines in their home planes. Some Spirit Wells have been dweomercrafted by ingenious beings into becoming Gates to access the planes and dimensions on a regular basis, although it usually limits the travel options to Hadenshire, the Border Ethereal, the Deep Ethereal, the Styx River, the Dreamscape, the Mirrorscape (King's Roads) and Neverland.

One of the manners in which an enterprising community can monetize its Spirit Well is by letting priests and alchemists condense the emanations into highly magical and spiritual fluid that then gets crafted into diverse healing potions or ink for medicinal scrolls. If the village has specific animals like thestrals they could benefit greatly from eating plants or meat that was raised on water that had a dilution of Spirit-stuff in it. Likewise, if higher sentients eat crops or livestock that had such fortified water in their diet, they in turn will have more stable tempers and better skills at mind magicks or psionics. Like the Mana source, the Spirit Well affects everything for one kilometer around it's opening, but it can also be capped by a warded building to staunch the flow and dike-up the effects.

{ HP } - { Floating Earth } - { HP }

Pretty much self-descriptive, it's a variant of dull brown rock that is naturally buoyant in the planetary environment, and perhaps in space as well. This material is low-powered, non-toxic and does not emit radiation that can harm or mutate anything. It just floats with a predetermined height and weight allowance. If you want to go higher you need a motor or balloon, and if you want to make the rock carry more weight then you need to get a bigger rock.

This very rigid, mathematically chart-able property has led to people making standard tables to calculate the size and number or rocks needed to make fly certain types of vehicles like ox carts or fishing boats. In some villages, they built low-lying bridges over their streams or rivers without setting pylons because they embedded floating earth into the wooden or metallic frame of the road deck to keep it at constant height, regardless of weather. Cunning artisans have put small amounts of this material into smelted alloys to render knight's armor lighter and easier to wield in battle, while a few rare criminals tried to use a floating stone arrowhead to snipe their target at much longer range than normal, with wildly varying results.

Being a very 'closed' type of resource, floating earth does not make a good wand core or tip, and has no use as part of runic crafting tools. Putting the earth in potions of flight or levitation will produce a ruined sludge that is not toxic but certainly useless. Honestly, the only way to use this material is to tie a raw boulder to something you want to make fly, or pulverize the stuff to mix it into a metal alloy or ceramic blend to nullify the weight of both container and contents.

Back before the founding of Hogwarts, in the years before the Romans came to Britain, the Potter family had a small workshop that made specialty earthenware from cut stone or dust mixed to clay for kiln baking. The clients usually wanted large stew pots or banquet platters that could be maneuvered without risk of spilling the extra-large load. This means that Harry's parents have put into their 'Blood Compact' some ancestral spells and techniques that nobody in their family has used in more than seven centuries, since wanded magick became so prevalent.

{ HP } - { Cloudia isotope } - { HP }

A close cousin of Floating Earth, the raw ore Cloudia is a glowing blue metallic isotope that has a neutral buoyancy in Earth gravity. Will Cloudia can be found in natural deposits here and there on the planet, it is actually an accidental product from another Dimension. The metal is normally a dull transparency similar to the lowest quality of Quartz crystal until it is exposed to radiation from the Neverland, the Spirit World or the Astral Plane, for a sufficient period. Because of this intimate relation with the home-worlds of the most populous Fae species, human alchemists have taken to naming the isotope "Pixie Dust" when it is refined because it has a magical signature similar to that of living pixies.

In raw form Cloudia has about the same uses and abilities as Floating Earth, but when it is processed alchemically it becomes a potent reagent for Gnomish levitation engines, Orc flying barges or dye for making Elvish flying carpets. Processed Cloudia is also bio-reactive in a safe way, therefore can be drunk/eaten as a short term flight elixir, although the effect will last barely a half hour for a tea spoon of dust. Given the price of raw Cloudia and what it sells for when processed, only those without an alternative would do this since it would be more profitable to sell the isotope then buy a cheap Flight Draught that can last three hours.

As for the inter-relation between Fae and Cloudia, it is suspected that several hundred millenia ago, in their home dimensions, the first Fae lived in an environment saturated by the isotope to such extent that it was present in plants, animals and themselves. This ecological happenstance is most likely why the majority of Higher Fae (Sidhe) of all species developed both physical wings and a natural Gift for levitation & flying unassisted. For trained explorers, the presence of glowing blue metal veins on an object signifies either Fae crafting or the recent presence of a living Fae as its innate energy would stimulate the isotope to glow if it were dormant.

{ HP } - { Ember crystals, Plugs & Sockets } - { HP }

One of the most sensitive subjects that Dryskholl saw fit to teach Harry was the existence and nature of Ember crystals, a form of magical precious jewels that was far different from Beljuril or other classic minerals. These naturally occurring crystals have diverse colors that show their inherent Power and capacities. The problem that societies like the Welsh Wiccan see with Ember was that absolutely ANYBODY could wield a fragment of Ember and benefit from its effects without needing any magical or occult training of any sort. Basically, Ember is a natural emitter that captures the ambient energy then mutates it through its isotopes to create elemental or force waves around itself.

The aura of natural Ember is TOXIC to the unshielded organics that are in the vicinity, thus meaning that extensive dweomercrafting is needed to make it safe for usage by the public. Untreated Ember radiation poisoning will cause severe mutations in all forms of life, no exceptions known, turning them to monsters with incredible magical capacities. Therefore the safe way to use Ember is to crush it to dust and mix it with stabilizing agents, then pressing the paste into a shape according to what is needed. The large-scale crafting and trading in Ember jewels between Dwarves and Gnomes caused for several societies to establish the Ember Guilds Treaty some 4,000 years ago to regulate the production of standardized Ember Plugs and artifact Sockets to clip them on. This means that a craftsman could build an item that was purely mundane but had one or several metal sockets set into the frame of the device to receive crafted Ember. This would allow the safe and regulated diffusion of the crystal's powers through the item without unleashing radiation or poison into the atmosphere.

However, this superb technique of mechanomagicks made the use by squibs, or even muggles, of powerful mystical weapons even more prevalent, and thusly dangerous for the positions those wizards or priests at the top of magical societies. In an act of collective madness, several sects and guilds of wanded casters banded with the White Council and Welsh Wiccan in the year 900 of the Christian calendar to attack the Ember Guilds, shutter the mines and expurgate anything but the most basal historical knowledge from public libraries.

The Founding of Hogwarts was a great source of controversy because Godric Gryffindor was an accomplished Ember-smith and Rowena Ravenclaw had written a treatise on the alchemic preparation of Ember Plugs & Sockets for those students that would study dweomercrafting, enchantment and warding. It took the intervention of the British Crown to stop a war against the newly built castle, which resulted in the Royal Edict of Ember Guilds, Trades, Crafts and Lores of 1002ad. The Crown made the public mining, trading, crafting or school-teaching of this science illegal and punishable, but only under the caveat that the Royal College of Magicks was exempted from this and so were the traditional master-apprentice teachings. Only the PUBLIC uses or works of Ember were now illegal, not the PRIVATE ones, and only in the UK and Commonwealth. To this date, even Dumbledore has never managed to convince the ICW members to vote for legal restrictions of Ember similar to Britain. In fact, every time a nation threatens to leave the ICW Assembly, it usually starts with a dispute over allowing Ember crafts to prosper and be taught in their public colleges or military academy.

It was still feasible to find an occasional Ember augmented device in England, as the masters and researchers continued to develop their crafts in secret, just like most alchemists tend to do anyways. The two most common techniques to make a truly capable item were to engrave scriptworkes inlaid with refined Ember that would capt and amplify the Ember Plug's effects beyond the usual aura or contact discharge. The second method was to use crafted Ember but shaped in forms different than the standard Plugs to fit at the tip of specialty wands or tools, to bolster and refine the caster's fine control over the elemental forces at use. This was a great way to improve runic tools for crafting guilds, or make basal devices like ever-cold cauldrons or ever-burning stoves. Still, due to the purges from a millenia ago, most people will avoid being seen in public in English jurisdictions with any type of Ember, and nobody will reveal a mine willingly.

{ HP } - { Tyberyum crystals } - { HP }

This mineral is a solid crystal that has the particularity that it grows at rapid speed on top of soil or rocks that are irrigated by the bleed from a Ley line after it traversed certain metal isotopes or highly magical crystals. The problem with Tyberyum is that it's a hot toxic mess. It doesn't matter what color or shape the Tyberyum is when you find it, it only serves a single purpose in existence: it combusts, and usually does so with great explosive displays.

The crystal in part of the magical world's important resources because an ingenious merchant discovered after many trials that pulverized Tyberyum dust can easily be mixed with oils or coal to produce a remarkably hot and long-lived flame. This enabled the smelting of magical alloys like adamantite or mithril by lowly human crafters, instead of limiting the possibility to elves, gnomes and dwarves whose innate magicks are more attuned to minerals than other species. The problem comes from the fact that ANY uses of Tyberyum as fuel in a burner will cause a lot of gaseous pollution and radiation waves that can damage the cellular structure of living entities. While it is possible to shield the oven or burner and direct the dejections outside the workshop to keep the crew safe, those dejections will eventually wound up somewhere and make the place into a hot, radiant, toxic dump.

One of the most damaging and illegal uses of this mineral is to create cheap knock-off Plugs to use on devices that are supposed to socket crafted Ember. The Tyberyum will perform poorly and unsteadily for a short time before the energies inside the device make it crack open and explode violently as is its basic function. There are NO known methods of stabilizing Tyberyum inside an alloy of either metals, crystals or ceramics that will not react badly to radiation or high energy frequencies.

Second problem the magicals faced with this mineral; the mundanes can use it for fuel in classic piston engines or as replacement isotope in their atomic reactors. Thusly, to prevent the spread of poisonous gas and tsunamis of radiation, the mining, refining and crafting of Tyberyum has been banned and added to the Statute of Magical Secrecy in 1507ad with the provision that any muggles who discover the substance must be obliviated or killed to prevent a planetary disaster.

Third and worse problem of Tyberyum that concerns the entire planet; the damned things grow and then grow back when they are harvested. In fact, a Tyberyum crystal that was removed from its vein can accidentally grow some more if it is exposed to several radiation frequencies or some select chemicals. Many a careless alchemist has seen his laboratory overgrown with crystals, or even explode violently, because they didn't treat the unstable, capricious mineral with due care.

{ HP } - { Promethium oil } - { HP }

Another one-hit wonder from Mother Nature; this is a variant of normal petroleum found in the Earth's crust, but at lower depths in the Underworld segment called "Upper Dark". It is more dense than crude oil and very slightly radioactive but not in a manner that is significant for the health of anything exposed to or using the fluid.

Promethium is dangerous because it self-ignites at regular temperatures, so from 15ºC above, when it is in contact with oxygen or water. It is a fossil fuel, can be pumped and refined like one, can be kept liquid or gasified like petrol, methane or butane, and has all the drawbacks and problems of petroleum oils. Promethium is used primarily in the confection of magical lamp oils, church incense, and fuel for certain burners in smelting crucibles or pottery kilns. If mundanes had access to this oil, they could easily refine it in petrochemical factories for use in regular piston engines, generators or home heating.

The Gnomes have normalized it as one of those things they employ in their maddening workshops, going so far as to devise a method of solidifying the oil into stable dry blocks of various sizes to use as safe portable fuel during exploration.

The Orcoid populations use Promethium as Holy Oil for their ritual fires, for the lamps at sentry posts, and on flaming arrows during war, because burning Promethium will disrupt or dispel magick within a radial distance proportional of the flame size.

Amongst the Faithful of the Living Gods, refined Promethium oil is blessed for use in burning undead or cursed objects due to the stated capacity to disrupt or dispel magick during combustion.

Raw Promethium oil is the principal liquid component in the confection of Squibbing Oil, a dangerous, volatile, anti-magick poison used to kill, maim or neutralize users of active magicks. The mixing recipe is so simple that even barely trained muggle cooks can brew it correctly. It is due to this great danger that muggles were forbidden from having access to this oil when the Statute of Magical Secrecy was signed by the nations and alliances in the late 1400's.

{ HP } - { Vespene gas } - { HP }

Is a fossil fuel parent to petroleum and Promethium except that it has three variants known and usable by sentient species advanced enough to master alchemy or petro-chemistry. The properties and uses are different according to the type of product found. Sometimes, Vespene can be so concentrated in the ground layer that it becomes liquid and stays that way when removed from the geological pocket where it formed. Because of its natural inclusion of Primal Essaence that gives it magical properties, muggles have been banned from knowing of the product at the same time as Promethium.

Inert and radioactive; this is the basic and most common form of Vespene to occur. It can usually be cleansed of its natural radiation then refined into combustible gas or liquid fuel. This is also the lowest quality and proper only for non-magical operations like home heating or cooking, and the manufacture of glues, paints or resin plastics. Muggles could use it in cars or factories to power the motors and electric generators just like petrol or propane if they were allowed to know of its existence.

Living and radioactive; this is the second most prevalent Vespene form. It is composed of biomass, countless bacterium and single-cell micro-organisms that grant it special properties when used for crop fertilizer, watering livestock, basis for healing potions or even just muggle medications. In either case, the product needs to be cleansed of its radiation to be usable, then the alchemist must decide if he keeps the biomass alive or boils it to death and sterility for the more conventional applications. Given the possibilities for food and drugs, burning it in factories or motors is a waste of potential that can be justified only in the absence of other fuel options.

Living and clean; the highest grade available of Vespene, and the only one that is usually found already liquid. Devoid of radiation or toxins common to fossil fuels, this fluid can be put directly into fertilizer or farming water, or transformed food like fruit juice, alcohol, mixed with milk for cheese, butter and cooking cream, and more. Master potioneer's will use this directly as the base for the highest curatives and restoratives, be they elixirs, balms or pills. In more modern epochs, the potion brewers and alchemist will use it as a base for living antibiotics or vaccines, rather than the chicken eggs normally employed in this task.

Even if the Vespene is boiled and sterilized, the resulting fluid is such high quality that it can still be used for a plethora of nutrients and medicines, including Dwarven Cram, their legendary Road Bread. Boiling until evaporation will leave a green powder that is highly nutritious and a good dry component to keep in an apothecary's travel kit or survival box to craft quick & dirty healing potions, or boost food that has low quality or not enough matter to fill the person eating. Nobody in their right mind ever uses this quality of Vespene for engines or manufacturing unless they have absolutely no other sources of fossil fuels in their sphere of control. Even then, it would be more profitable to learn how to boil down trees and farm wastes for synthetic petroleum than to waste this product on non-medicinal uses.

End of the first primary school year

(Harry Potter - theme)

July 1987

Dursley neighborhood

Little Whining, Surrey, England

Little Harry Potter had been out of school – officially – only since yesterday evening, but already the summer vacations were lining up to be messy and painful, if not dangerous.

Firstly, his poor maligned companion Dryskholl had died last week, after a quick descent into senility, loss of magic and a three day coma. The only comfort being that he died in his sleep without ever waking again, so he didn't suffer or realize how much he degenerated. Harry also had the pitiful satisfaction that he was present when the young house-elf had his last moment of lucidity, giving him a friend to hold onto as his diseased mind gave out at last.

Dryskholl had been buried in the cemetery at Godric's Hollow, in the House Potter sector, near other honored elves and human employees that had served his family in the small village over the centuries. The child had been able to attend the funeral because he had used one of the most basic and fundamental prayers of the Cult of Hades; the summoning of Tenebrous Pioneers.

They are quite an odd bunch, these short beings. Standing two feet tall and draped in black abbatial vestments so opaque they actually absorb light around them, the Tenebrous Pioneers were also called "Little Death" or "Spark of Darkness" by the diverse Faiths. The Pioneers are, as their name says, the basic and innumerable workmen of the Cult of Hades, responsible for landscaping and gardening of all church locations, tilling batches of fresh Nightsoil for rituals, ceremonially ferrying and burying the honored dead in the plots, crypts and mausoleums around Hadenshire, as well as the general maintenance and repairs of Nepenthe, the City of Bones. In a few cases they will also help to design and build new churches and abbeys in the mortal worlds if they were summoned properly for this task by a spell-user who knows the Old Rite for it.

While cute in a droll, cartoony way, Tenebrous Pioneers are actually the most respected and feared beings amongst all the Living Gods because they are classed as 'Minor God' for the weakest of the group, up to 'Major God' for the strongest. But, besides raw magic Power, that respect is given because these entities have lived and died, and gone back between, in such a fashion that they can take in the worst War Wards or Siege Spells invented by humans without flinching, and can usually deflect or dispel anything the Exalted and Celestials of any Faith can dish out. Being small autonomous incarnations of Death-made-material means that it is virtually impossible to destroy, kill, or render comatose a Pioneer. Plus, their large Cleaving Scythe and Lugubrious Lantern are powerful god-crafted relics that allow them to channel some of Hades' more primal powers right onto the fool who attacks or offends them.

However, in a comical twist of the multiverse, it has always been the immuable law of Yggdrasil that any being who can contact the church of Hades can negotiate to rent the services of the Tenebrous Pioneers. The price is fixed at no less, yet never more, than one platinum coin per year of the Hadean calendar, which is 17 months of 50 days at 36 hours per day, or converted to Earth time, some three and a half years. So, being recently anointed amongst the ranks of the Hadean Ecclesiastes as a novice, little Harry Potter made his first inter-dimensional contact with the Faith's home-base. He quickly rented himself a Tenebrous Pioneer to help carry and bury his late lamented friend with honor, despite being the only mortal present at the ceremony which he had to preside himself as well. The goblin account manager almost choked to death on his laughter when he heard why Harry wanted to convert ICW golden galleons over to the Galactic Standard of platinum coinage which were worth a lot each. When the banker realized that Harry, the Heir Presumptive of Houses Potter, Black and Peverell had successfully been anointed in the ranks of the Church of the Dead, he had a lucid dream of Dumbledore's head atop a mausoleum's ornately spiked roof line. Just for that, he gave the boy a permanent 1% discount when converting his Earth monies, magical or mundane, into platinum coins.

Harry held a small wake for a few hours in Lily's trunk, in the luxurious apartment he had shared with the elfling, the cold body laid near the small ecumenical shrine they had crafted to worship the many deities that had helped them. Using the travel altar he had been left by Bishop Gloutnay, Harry held a short grave-side service to consecrate the grave and bless the casket that had been crafted by him and Dryskholl months ago, when he was still sane and capable. The Pioneer had opened a Hadean Gate between the trunk and cemetery then floated the coffin at pompously slow pace, which was incidentally the only speed it could whelm. As the Faith declares "Death is never late nor early, it never waits, is never impatient, and will always be ready to receive you with open arms when you arrive to your appointed Time". That meant that Tenebrous Pioneers could never hurry for any activity or reason, but in the same way Time itself seemed to bend around them, flowing differently or not at all where they were involved.

So, the short darksome being respectfully floated the sculpted wooden casket in its natural, pompous pace while Harry tried to find where the sounds of the reed pipes and voices chanting the ancient funeral dirge were coming from. Realizing it was a magical projection and not actual ghosts or phantom musical instruments, the child let it go to concentrate on his walking through the mystic gateway, his first experience in using such transport without his former parents holding him as he moved. The grave-side prayers were mournful and lonely, but thankfully the Pioneer's presence helped stave off the onset of loneliness. At the end of service, it presented its Lugubrious Lantern over the grave, granting the deceased elfling a sure path into The Light and Judgment so he could be awarded his fair afterlife promptly.

After the pitifully stark ceremony was over, the diminutive deity used its long, curved scythe to move the dirt over the coffin, completing the burial correctly. Then it waved the scythe at the head of the plot, making a granite stele rise from the earth, the divine magick sculpting images and texts on all the surfaces as it emerged to stand guard over the honored dead. Finally done with the landscaping, Harry was able to place a small reef of hand-picked greenery and flowers at the foot of the headstone, and light a small blessed wax candle he had fashioned himself.

That was the end of his first year of living away from the Dursley's full time, and he had no idea what the coming year had in store for him.

Preview of chapter 2;

Harry's entire elementary schooling is glossed over quickly as most of it is unimportant.

The first year of Hogwarts is also glossed over, covering only the bare events of highlights, followed by the summer vacations back in Surrey.

It is at this point that Dobby makes his appearance, and things get dicey for everybody, especially those who don't know what the child and elf are planning.