Again, don't own Harry Potter. Enjoy the chapter!
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"…the cycle of life and rebirth is painful, but in these pains we make a mark upon the world. In time, these marks may fade and vanish to mortal eyes, but to the enlightened, those who walk with our kin of the soul, the Spirits? Our mortal works live on in the beyond, so long as these works are done with passion, with dedication, with calm, but most potent are the works of love, selfless and everlasting.
"They are treasured more than any gold or jewel, not just in the world, not just in tales; those who are not man yet come from [Gaia's] soul- the Spirits- they tend to the embers of our past lives… for they love us, their kin, who can touch another part of life's great circle. And we must love them, the Spirits, for what are they but the caretakers for our souls, who will ensure our rebirth so we might continue seeking Nirvana?
"So I say, without doubt or ego, the ultimate fact of life, the failure of despair, and the hope that gives all hearts wings: love prevails over all…"
-Siddattha Gotama
The Buddha
Student of Persephone and Sandalphon
The Enlightened One
Sermon in the Ganges Plain, c500 BCE
Declassified portion
(full copy of sermon is sealed in the Great Library's secure vaults)
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Cultivation
Cultivation of Natural Energy, or Chi, or Qi, or Chakra, is a method of creating a dense core of stored magical power within the body, usually attached to the soul. It is the oldest and most reliable way for most magical humans to use Sympathetic Magic - that is, the casting of large-scale spells using the body as a conduit, usually with specific gestures or movements, mainly ones that cause the body to exert itself in some way, either physically or magically.
Due to its difficulty and learning curve, Cultivation is a nearly dead Magical Art. Only two remaining institutes of learning, Glimmervale and the Tonga Tower, still teach Cultivation as a class; in both cases, it is an elective.
-from Encyclopedia of Magical Arts, 5th Edition (1977 CE)
published by Osmund and Son, LTD, Valencia, Spain
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Cultivation may be of use in proving Theory 22i. Talk to Rashka and Claude, other peers; maybe Guru M. or Master Aunt Phessy will have insight.
Addition: a Shaman doesn't need to Cultivate. They are Ascended by definition.
Reminder: ask H about CB, uses in PC and Rs
-scrawlings on the margins of a sheet of parchment
containing handwritten notes detailing the Paths of Cultivation
handwriting has been identified as Hermione Jean Granger's
presumably written between 1993 and 1995 CE
the final line has never been figured out, 'H' may refer to Harry Potter
Found in between the pages of an abridged verson of Tales of Beedle the Bard, Hogwarts Library, 2007 CE
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Chapter 13
Precious Gifts
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October and November rolled through Great Britain much as they had done in centuries past; leaves turned their colors, animals prepared their food caches for the coming winter, and humanity added more layers to their clothes as temperatures fell.
On the border between Britain proper and Wales, in a hidden vale that bordered the River Wye, the magical residents of Walnut Manor only felt the seasons' change in the slow retreat of the summer's sun, and the oncoming purples, browns and golds of the grounds' and gardens' manifold trees. This year, their leaves were more even and crisp in their change than in all the Manor's 230 years of playing host to a horde of Exiled Fae, each leaf falling to the ground around the trees where the Faeries made their home like a slow arboreal snow.
Naturally, said Fae were delighted by this, and collected what leaves fell so they might make artwork. Crushed-leaf mosaics were common gifts during the Yule season, after all, and it was rare to find any resident of the Manor or its grounds, be they Griffon, Faerie, Goblin or Merrow, who didn't appreciate amber baubles or leaf-made clothing.
The gardens' bounty was greater than previous years as well, much to the Occamy caretaker's delight, and that of his Faerie and Griffon apprentices too. Corn and fruit were coming out larger and plumper than in previous seasons, as were nearly every type of mushroom grown in the Manor's many grottos.
And amid it all, a silver sapling on an emerald green mound watched, the wind rustling her leaves sounding almost like the laughter of a babe… to those who could listen. Of course, in these lands, most couldn't hear her as she began to wonder at the world around her, singing quietly in awe at the tidings brought on the wind, or the sounds rumbling through the soil. Few could hear her giving voice to her many emotions, in many small ways.
Melfina, the Manor's Faerie Landlady, was one of those who could hear. She expressed the joy of hearing the small tree sing, by singing herself. For the first time in over two centuries, Melfina's voice was added to the songs that seemed to live in Walnut Manor, and her chiming voice made all the difference.
Wherever the Landlady walked and sang, she caused the roots, that her Court had long ago wound through the Manor's broken walls to hold them together, with Melfina's song they grew thick and glossy, their bark flattening and forming true halls of wood mixed with stone. In two months, Melfina endeavored to turn the ruin of her long-time home into a Manor worthy of a light she and all her Court had seen, at the end of summer; if asked, she would laugh, and say no work of hers or anyone's could ever do that sought-after light justice.
And she would be correct, for no work of Mundus or the Outer Realms can equal the light of Elysium; but the Manor's residents, to a one, would proudly declare their Landlady, with her assistants, came quite close to matching it.
The Caretaker of the Gardens, Gregory the Occamy, also delighted to hear the sapling he planted finally singing; but he was old, and knew his time would be soon, as Occamies count the years. Soon, for him, it would be time to name a new Gardener for Walnut Manor's lush and marvelous gardens, and the thought filled him not with dread, but anticipation and joy.
And the Librarian, Lisanna, too could hear the sapling, from her demesne above the Gardens, in the Library that she painstakingly restored over the centuries. She was glad for it, as with the sapling's swelling song, she was finally able to lay down her bident and turn her mind away from martial purposes, returning to studies long put off, and students long neglected, in the face of repelling the revenant's persistent rot; many Faerie, Griffon, and Merrow came to her for teaching, as the months rolled by, and, much like her three youngest students, all were in awe of the magical knowledge held by the former Unseelie Scribe.
The only remaining Seelie Scribe, Sir Cookie, could hear the sapling even from the kitchens, fifty meters and change from where that very remarkable tree was planted. Even as the days cooled, the moth-winged Faerie would push the painted windows of his kitchens open wide to let in the scents of the Gardens, and let out the aroma of the three meals prepared daily for every resident in the Manor; the many harmonious scents matched the colored tiles of the floors, the cabinets and counters painted and splattered in rainbow hues, and the flower garden Cookie kept just outside his sitting room, where a restored grand piano could be heard playing most nights; sometimes by the Scribe, but occasionally by a guest.
In the Manor's center, the colossal Walnut growing from a pool there had never been more luxurious; even as fall rolled on and winter threatened, the six-story-tall tree still held leaves of glossiest emerald, only beginning to turn gold at the edges when November began to close. In her shade, new songs were sung every Thursday, along with a reading from a book, The Silmarillion, which always drew a crowd; the tale was half the reason for the numbers crowding into the commons beneath the Walnut.
The other half was the readers, Shaman James Stormcaller and his Spirit-Familiar, Vera Stream-Strider.
It was these last two who were most credited with the new and beautiful changes that'd come over the Manor and the surrounding lands; one, the first Shaman in over 100 years, the other, the first kitsune to ever Bond with a British magical. Together, they had brought the Gaian Avatar called Yavanna into being, a Spirit of Compassion bound into the body of a 9-tailed fox, formed from soil and grass and wood and stone. Through her, the woods were healed of the rot brought by a vile undead, a revenant, that had long been tied to the grounds.
Through her, and Shaman, and Spirit, and the music of the Fae, that undead's soul was unbound from its shell and, seeing that it was made from the body of an innocent man, who'd once called the Manor home… James and Vera called out to Elysium, and gave the poor soul the release he had craved.
Because of this, Walnut Manor became even more unique, for its grounds bore witness to that most holy place, to the light of an Archon, not in evil or greed, but in benevolence.
Because of this, the pariah Selkie artisan Wyne, a young thing barely older than James himself, found no darkness in the place she was banished to. There was no prison, as she expected. Instead, she found flowers, and stones, and leaves, and many other materials to work her craft, free of the rigid traditions of her clan on the Isle of Man. But most precious of all was the friendship that bloomed between Wyne and James, and Vera with them; and the Faerie Scribes, all cursed by their former lieges to never bear children of their own, delighted to hear the trio's laughter as they played on meadows green, in the shade of the thousand trees that grew on the grounds.
With his coming, Remus Lupin, a Werewolf who long called the Manor his winter home, found his redoubt had become a home true. A pleasant surprise waited for him, however; for the Shaman James Stormcaller was actually Harry James Potter, the only living member of the Potter family, the Boy-Who-Lived… and the son of Remus' most cherished friend.
So, like any wayward uncle, Remus aided Lisanna and Melfina and Cookie in teaching the nine-year-old lad about magic, and things relating to magic. Though, with their quick closeness, both Vera and Wyne, and other Manor residents, quickly found themselves drawn into the lessons taught by Remus.
Of magical pests - complete with examples brought by the Faerie - and magical plants - the Gardens, as always, provided - and even meditative exercises in the form of Eastern Martial Arts; these James and Vera and Wyne all learned as readily as they could, and found they all excelled at each task.
This, of course, led to the present conundrum, as the days became shorter and colder and Remus scrambled to keep up with James' inquisitive mind and impressive talent for learning, prompting a visit to the young Shaman's willow treehouse - that being a literal small apartment within a tree, in the Manor wing opposite the kitchens - where Remus tried to present James with a more advanced set of lessons.
"No," Vera put her paw down on the most recent book Remus tried to give to her Shaman, pushing it back across the table while shaking her head definitively, "We don't need to learn Cultivation."
Nodding without looking up from carefully tying the malachite chunk to the head of his new staff, with Wyne's head on his shoulder as she watched, James continued to his clearly disappointed uncle, "Because we're Gaia's conduit on Earth, Vera and I can just draw natural energy from whatever source happens to be nearby; the only problem is, well," he shrugged the shoulder Wyne wasn't using and smiled ruefully at Remus, "I can't really do that without a working staff."
Letting out a foxy bark of agreement, Vera added, "Without one, James can't make his magical core breathe the energy of Gaia that, uh, is everywhere?" she glanced at James, who didn't noticeably react, but she nodded anyway as the feeling of confirmation flowed along their Bond. "Yeah. So long as we're not, like, in the middle of a mundane human city, we should be fine."
Humming, Remus picked the book back up and suggested, slowly, "With martial arts and Cultivation, you'd be able to make larger magic happen."
"We made Yavanna without it," James pointed out neutrally, though Vera shivered a little at the mention.
"You did… and there, I think, is when you two truly became Shaman and Familiar," Remus theorized, drawing all three young beings' attention, plus that of the Triplets, the three Faeries having kept to themselves on James' preserve shelf until that moment.
The Werewolf elaborated, "The process to becoming Shaman has always been, well, opaque, when it comes to scholarly pursuits; it can't be learned or taught, as it's considered a way of behaving that leads one down the path to becoming one with Gaia. What is known, however, is that just about every Shaman must go through a near-death experience - that is, Harry," he leaned forward as the child stiffened and Vera flowed into his arms, wrapping her three tails around his torso in comfort, "to touch the Fade with your soul, and commune with the Shamans who came before you. You did that, and again, with the Archon of Elysium; and now…"
He chuckled warmly, gesturing at the living tree growing around them, "And now, you are the voice of Gaia, Shaman true, the youngest anyone's ever heard of. Every druid in Britain would give both their hands to have your gift, dearly bought though it is."
"But James doesn't need to learn Cultivation," Wyne repeated her friend's earlier protests, clutching his bicep in comfort; clearly, his brushes with the Other Side had marked his soul, else his face wouldn't have become sad to her eyes. "Gaia will provide for him."
"Again, he has enemies, Wyne; you do have them, and sooner or later, they will likely try to get revenge on behalf of the Dark Lord. You need to have every advantage you can, for when that day comes." Remus insisted to James, who pursed his lips in thought. Happily, the older Wizard let him think.
James had, through Lady Lisanna, heard of Cultivation, but it was deemed too dangerous to learn for him; his age, for one thing, was a factor. Attempting to Cultivate might stunt his magical growth, and make him less powerful, rather than more; the Librarian of the Walnut Court cited his selfless nature, too. It was a good personality trait, but… that led to another problem.
The Path of Cultivation - or, the general principle behind it - hinged on taking from the world and giving nothing back, except in the spending of that stored magic through spellcasting. There were cases where that wasn't true, like druidism, but that was a pale shadow of what James and Vera could do with the art.
For they were Shaman; they could skip whole steps of the Path and turn their bodies into pure magical constructs… but the cost would be their humility and, possibly, their status as Shaman. It would mean taking everything they'd given to the Walnut Court, including Yavanna, and hoarding it within themselves.
'So we don't do it,' Vera thought at James, her mood stubborn as her sapphire eyes met his emerald greens, a paw set gently on his chest, 'That's not what we've set out to do.'
Nodding, but less sure, James thought back while stroking his fox-sister's side, 'I'll see if any of them are listening, and ask if there's a way we don't see; that way, we can be sure.'
Vera huffed, but relented with a smile, 'Fineeee, my silly Shaman. See what your past lives have to say about it.'
With that, and a smile of his own, James effortlessly let his mind and magic become one with the flowing ebb of Gaia, which ran from the ocean to the River Yew, like a liquid thread through the eye of a needle, and on to other places in the world…
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...and found himself seated cross-legged on the post of… a flying boat.
He was on the edge of it, the post one of many that jutted up along the sides of the gondola-like flying boat, its two triangular sails full of wind as it flew on a path; looking back and down, James spotted a long river in a field of green, and further away… mountains, capped with snow far as the eye could see.
Turning back around at the sound of a creaking board, James found himself face-to-face with a tan, sandy-haired teen who was smiling, "Finally got tired of Khepri's deserts, hmm?"
Smiling back, James replied, "I felt that the winds could tell me easier than the sun or the sands, you know?"
Nodding, the other Shaman stuck out a hand, "Jander the Sky-Sailor, at your service."
"James, Voice of Gaia, at yours," he replied, shaking the famous Shaman's hand; James then looked around, and asked, "Um, will Vera join us?"
Jander shook his head and leaned against the nearby mast, "Nah. You're just here to confirm something with us; lessons will come once you're both ready for it."
James nodded back, but his head felt fuzzy; maybe that confirmed it, that he wasn't completely in the Fade, like when he met Khepri. In that case, he decided to hurry up before his focus broke, "Cultivation: do we need it?"
"It's something we invented, actually, a long, long time ago," Jander waved a hand for emphasis, "back when ice still covered the lands, before the Tree was planted in Babylon. One of us, whose name was written but forgotten, taught it to mankind; it's actually kind of like what we do with our magic, breathing with the same breath as Gaia. Just remember to exhale when Spring begins," the elder Shaman winked, "or the seasons might go a little out of flux."
James blinked, "Can… that actually happen?"
"Yeah, but no; it's pretty rare," folding his arms as the light around them started to fade, Jander concluded, "Do you need Cultivation? No. Gaia's power lives in your every cell and hair, now that you're Shaman. To Cultivate would be to pervert your natural growth; to use an analogy, it'd be like shaping a mountain into a sword. Sure, it's impressive, and your foes will quake at the sight of such a marvel, but look how much you destroyed that will never be the same again, at least, not for eons unseen."
It was as James figured, then; smiling ruefully, he bowed to the Windborne Shaman, "Thank you, Jander. Oh! But if I could ask one last thing: do you know what, um," he felt the waking world coming closer as he blushed, "what would a Selkie like as a gift?"
Laughing as the lights dimmed, Shaman Jander's voice seemed to come from far off, "Haha! Why that's an easy one; here, this is what you'll need."
A light flared in James' dimming sight, and the spell appeared in his mind; well, it wasn't really a spell, but raw application of magic.
He did know one thing, though: Wyne would love it.
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James returned to his body… which was lying down, his head laid on the pillow he'd been using as a seat. Remus was next to the window smoking his pipe, Vera was lying nearby in a ray of sunlight, the Triplets had taken one of his sheets of paper and were sketching something on his desk…
And Wyne was kneeling at his side, her dark eyes fixed on his face. Smiling as his gaze found her perfect face, she greeted, "Welcome back, James. It's been about five minutes."
Pushing the new "spell" to a safe corner of his mind, James stretched and sat up to hug his friend, "Thanks for watching over me."
Tucking her head into his neck, Wyne tightened the embrace and murmured against his skin, "Of course."
Giving her one more squeeze, James released her and turned to Remus, who'd knocked out his pipe and was giving James a look of polite curiosity, "A Shaman doesn't need Cultivation. It would be like fashioning a sword out of a mountain; grand indeed, but far too destructive to the world's beauty to justify."
"Told you," Vera hummed smugly, tails swishing in victory.
Nodding in acquiescence, Remus thought for a moment before admitting, "Honestly, I'm a bit relieved; between Yavanna and the revenant, I think you're plenty powerful, magically anyway. Regardless, I reckon practicing your katas, and learning other martial arts, will only help you improve and refine your magic."
"I do like meditating with Tai Chi, Uncle Remus," James told him, feeling his face heat as he used the affectionate title, though that was tempered by the cool breeze that brushed through the Manor.
"Ooh, gettin more frequent, those," Breech remarked from her and her siblings' perch on James' desk, rubbing her upper arms with a shiver. "Might want to rustle up some curtains to keep the cold out, Shaman; this winter might be a chilly one, even with Yavanna runnin' around."
"Mmm, good point. I'll talk to Mr. Vileclaw, see if he has any fabric bolts in storage that he's willing to trade for," James hummed with a nod, running his fingers over the edges of the window that looked out onto the Manor's grounds, the Threstal Glade and its evergreen Firs in particular, "Or Vera and I could try a few things with Runes," his foxy sister perked up, tails wagging in eagerness, "We haven't used any Parsel-Runes in a while, and it'd be a shame if we got rusty..."
Remus cleared his throat pointedly, reminding the pair, without words, to take care when using magic.
"With the Librarian's approval, of course!" the boy added with a grin, while his friends giggled; but… James noticed something, a look of melancholy on his uncle's face. "Uncle Remus?"
"Harry…" the man winced, but quickly schooled his features, "Would you like to visit your parents, before it gets too cold to travel?"
James… or, Harry rather, was quite taken aback by the sudden offer, and quickly tried to find some excuse to avoid it; saying he wasn't ready felt, well, empty. He knew it was just his parents' bodies, that their souls had long ago gone to the Fade, to leave their memories behind and be reborn… but that didn't change the fact that those bodies held the souls of his parents, were the medium that brought him into the world… because they loved each other, and him, till their end.
And there wasn't any pressing business he needed to attend to; there were no classes with the Librarian or Landlady or Sir Cookie. His staff was, well, completed - James picked it up and rolled it around in his hands, getting a feel for the leather grips and… how it already thrummed and hummed with his magic.
Vera's tails wound around his ankles; their eyes met, and understanding flowed between them.
'You don't have to visit often, James. Those who go wouldn't want that; I know my Kaasan wouldn't want me pining. But…'
'...I can still see them, and talk to their echoes.' Vera nodded, verifying James' thought.
It was… still sudden, though; so, he looked at Remus and asked, "Can I think for a day?"
"Of course… James," Remus replied with an understanding smile, "Go, walk in the Gardens, explore the Manor, whatever you wish; I'll be ready for you tomorrow."
And so, James smiled, took Wyne's hand as Vera climbed onto his shoulder again, and said, "Let's go find another adventure!"
With laughter, the children ran off to do just that, and Wyne didn't mention the coming visit to James' parents' graves, where he and Vera would pay their respects and grieve properly; she much preferred her friends smiling and laughing, dancing and singing, and enjoyed joining them.
So she kept her silence, let herself be swept up into a game of hide-and-seek in the Gardens, and promised herself to be there for them when they returned.
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Apparation, James and Vera decided together, was for the birds!
Dry-heaving one last time, he wiped the tears from his eyes and shuddered, "That… was absolutely rotten! It didn't feel like that when I did it before!"
"You did that before?" croaked Vera inside his pack; James had gone all-out, just in case the unexpected happened, bringing the bottomless messenger bag Remus gave him a week after his uncle's arrival, the red/blue dragonhide vest Mr. Vileclaw gifted from his coffers ("For felling the revenant, and brightening Mel's heart, laddie."), and the gold-brown robes he'd been wearing since beginning his apprenticeship under Lady Lisanna, thought they were less threadbare than when he got them, the Triplets taking care to make sure "the Court's Shaman presents himself well in human company". The worn boots Cookie found in a closet somewhere were snug and warm, too, and very sturdy.
"Accidental magic, I take it?" Remus commented from the brick-wall alley's entrance, where he was keeping a lookout while James lost his lunch.
Nodding, James unshrunk his staff and tapped the dirt, letting his magic flow so he could roll the soil to hide the puke. Once done, he queasily plodded over to his uncle, Vera's head poking out of the bag as he walked and talked with returning strength, "Was getting chased by my cousin and his friends, and suddenly ended up on the school's roof. That's why I started looking into Power, and found magic by mistake."
Chuckling as they walked into the misty roads of Godric's Hollow, an Unseen cloak wrapped around them all, Vera piped up, "One of these days, James, we gotta make a picture book of our adventures."
"I think there's an arts and crafts store around here, actually," Remus hummed half to himself, stretching his neck to look around; tsking, he added, "I'll come back another day, during the Christmas rush, see if I can find it again; and… it's better to blend in on days like that."
"Did you just spoil our Yule present? For shame, Mr. Moony; no holiday spirit," James teased cheekily, the grinning Shaman and kitsune getting a mock glare before the Werewolf chuckled lowly.
"Why of course not, Mr. Littlefoot, Ms. Snowball," their laughter was quiet as they approached a monument… and beyond it, a ruined house, "No… that will be a gift from me to you; your Yule gifts will be far more special."
"As will yours," James said softly, coming to a halt next to the monument, looking with sadness and an inexplicable longing at the small cottage… with half its roof missing, the edges seared yet sharp, like someone cut a section away with a burning knife… and the opposite end of the first floor was twisted into shapes that made his head hurt to look at. Some of the angles folded into themselves, or kept going when his brain said they were supposed to stop; around them, the air occasionally twitched as though alive, and the smell of ozone was thick in the air.
"Wow," Vera summed it up with wide eyes, staring with open shock at the first floor; glancing at Remus, who was scratching at a scar and frowning, she asked, "Was that James' dad?"
"Yes," Remus sighed, a bone-deep sadness hiding behind that single, burdensome word, "Or, most of it is. Your father, my friend, was one of the youngest Transfiguration Adepts in history; only the current Head of Hogwarts' Transfiguration Department, Minerva McGonagall, attained that title earlier, getting hers at the age of 15. Could've surpassed Dumbledore, who's a Grand-Master of the art, but she decided to stop at Mastery. James… probably would've been the next Grand-Master." Remus sniffed, clearly fighting against scars not quite healed over, "They say you could hear their duel, short as it was, for miles."
James took Remus' hand, smiled at the Werewolf when he jerked and looked down, "And he won. He gave my mom time."
Vera yipped with a sharp nod, "Good riddance to awful corpse-humpers!" and blew a raspberry that set James to giggling.
"Language!" Remus barely got out through the bark of wet laughter that came out of him.
After a few chuckles, James looked up at the destroyed second floor, commenting quietly, "You miss them."
"They were the family I never really had," Remus agreed, though a touch of bitterness entered his voice next, "I will never forgive You-Kn… I will never forgive Voldemort, for taking them away from me, and even more, from you." The venom and disgust in that name was… sublime; it sounded like how the Faeries talked about the revenant, before it was banished.
"Me either," Vera grumbled, "They sound like they were awesome."
Thinking about the life he'd had, James still smiled, though it was a sad one, "I don't think I'll forgive him either, but it doesn't matter; he's dead as a doornail."
"...wait, but it's a nail. It wasn't alive to begin with!"
"It's an expression, Vera," James rubbed his sister's ears, "I'll explain back at the Manor."
Too soon, however, their steps turned to the nearby chapel, and the graveyard next to it.
As they walked, and Vera flowed into James' arms as his nerves reached a fever pitch, Remus quietly explained that it was one of the oldest remaining public magical graveyards in Britain. "Most magical families cremate or use hidden crypts these days, either in their estate or out in the country. V-Voldemort's minions, the Death Eaters, they destroyed your family's Manor early in the war."
"D'you know where it was?" James asked quietly, glancing at an ancient tombstone that radiated a certain amount of pure bliss: Ignotus Peverell.
To his disappointment, Remus shook his head, "No. Only…" his eyes closed, an angry expression flitting over his scarred features, "…only Sirius Black, your godfather, would know where it is."
Feeling it would be best not to press his uncle, James let it go… for the moment; between his desire, his yearning, to know about his parents, Vera's incessant curiosity about everything in Mundus, and that comment about his godfather, James would ask again… but not that day. Not then.
His feet stopped well before the gravestone; it was impossible to miss, a block of pure white marble on a wide base. Though it was plain in its construction, the way the marble shone in the foggy light… like it was being shone on, rather than giving off light of its own. Words were inscribed on the face… but James didn't read them, not yet.
Instead, he stooped and untied his boots; feeling his intent, Vera flowed out of his pack and helped him.
Barefoot, like when he approached the River Yew, James approached his parent's graves, Vera at his side and Remus at his back, the Werewolf only taking his eyes off James to cast a glaring look around the graveyard. Even nigh on ten years after the war's end, some things didn't change… and he wouldn't put it past some of Voldemort's supporters, to desecrate even this place.
It was likely they were only stopped by the threat of what Dumbledore would do to them, if Mad-Eye Moody, Cornelius Fudge or Amelia Bones didn't get them first.
James' feet halted before he could stand over where their coffins would lay, and, with Vera, he read the words carved onto the headstone:
IN LOVING MEMORY
of
JAMES POTTER ● LILY POTTER
Born -|- Born
27 March, 1960 -|- 30 January, 1960
Died -|- Died
31 October, 1981 -|- 31 October, 1981
And below this, James read their epitaph:
THE LAST ENEMY THAT SHALL BE DESTROYED IS DEATH
That… it felt wrong, to James; not in a, this is out of place, sort of wrong either. No, the words felt wrong in a different way, like… like a distant memory, barely remembered from his infancy. A shadow of terror, a shivering, twisting horror that couldn't be defined, it was almost as though the memory, if one could call it that, wasn't a memory. A dream, maybe? Or something stranger, from becoming Shaman?
James, Harry, didn't know…
Kneeling with a sniffle, James laid his staff on the ground and sat before his parents' headstone, hugging Vera tight as she flowed into his lap.
…and, right then, it didn't matter. Shamanism, magic, the Court and the Manor… even the Triplets, the Willow, Landlady, and Wyne.
Aside from Vera, in that moment, only two people mattered to Harry.
"Hi, mom… hi, dad…"
…
Behind Harry, trying to keep his own grief under control out of respect, Remus Lupin watched his friends' son talk to their souls; the lad, after a short, pitiful cry, introduced Vera, told them about the Court and the Manor where he was living now. When he was mentioned, the Werewolf stepped forward and, like Vera, promised he was watching out for Harry now.
The boy-Shaman told his mother of the Fade, of Shaman Khepri, the priestess of Egypt who humbled the Roman Legions before dying to preserve the Great Library. He told his father of Yavanna, and Remus' knew, even as it tugged his heart to think it, that James would've wept with pride to see his son's fantastic work.
In time, nearly an hour by his watch, Harry took up his staff and stood from his crouch, Vera draping herself over his shoulders like a scarf… and stood there for a long moment, staring at the headstone.
"Who made the epitaph?" Harry… no, Shaman James Stormcaller, asked Remus suddenly, his voice almost singing with the sound of distant rain and wind.
Mastering himself, Remus replied tersely, "It was Dumbledore." Personally, Remus didn't agree with the statement, and doubted most of the Order would've approved, if they'd been consulted; alas, too much else needed to be done at the time, so it ended up being one more regret Remus had to bear.
James only hummed… and then lifted his staff; placing the butt at one end of the epitaph, he swiped the magical tool across the stone, wiping it bare.
"Harry!" Remus may not have liked the words, but defiling a gravestone-
"How can death be an enemy, Remus?" James asked quietly, shaking his head slowly while Vera's bright blue eyes met Remus' yellows, warning him from approaching. "Even wizards and witches don't live forever. Sure, there's Nicolas Flamel and his Philosopher's Stone… but at what cost did he buy so much life? Eventually, like everyone else, his story has to end so a new one can begin; that's how life and death work, and trying to stop that…" he shook his head sharply, "I can't imagine wanting to live forever, and something doesn't feel right, talking about death like it's an enemy to defeat.
"Besides," the boy huffed, sticking his staff against the stone again, "I think my parents would want something more personal to eulogize them, than that weird quote."
Remus was fairly sure it was from the bible, the original quote, but didn't object further as James carved a new epitaph; after about three minutes of the quiet screech of magically-carved stone, the young Shaman stepped away, revealing the replacement quote:
THEIR LOVE PREVAILED
Giving a watery smile, Remus placed a hand on James' shoulder, Vera having moved to allow it, "Aye, lad. I think they'd prefer this."
Five minutes of respectful silence later, the trio left the graveyard, and the somber mood was broken soon after, as both Shaman and Spirit groaned piteously at the idea of Apparating all the way back to the Manor.
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[..|..]
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Winter came slowly to Walnut Manor and the lands under its wards' protection, more slowly than the mundane world surrounding it.
A few flakes at first, followed by the leaves falling off all trees that weren't evergreen; the Griffon herd took to staying closer to the Manor as the days grew colder, seeing the warmth of certain sections of the Gardens, when they weren't hunting of course.
It was this way that James and his friends learned of Nadira and Matthew finally marrying each other – or as near as; after all, Griffons mated for life – and that Nadira was expecting a child come spring! Happy for his friend and fellow lover of plants, as well as Matthew, who long guarded the stables the revenant used to haunt, James gave their union an announcement at the next reading of the Silmarillion, which, by a happy coincidence, was both the day before Christmas and the same day he read of Eärendil and Elwing's journey to the West; so, everyone went to bed happy and with high spirits.
For this, Wyne was glad more than ever to have met James; he was considerate, brave, true of heart, and so many more amazing adjectives she couldn't really think to articulate. It was no wonder Vera was so drawn to him, in Wyne's eyes; he was like a wide, implacable river. Stay on the shores, and one would know how calm he could be. But to venture his depths… oh, how the whirling, swirling currents of his life called to her, made Wyne want to spend more and more time in his and Vera's company!
And so, she did! Oh, the Triplets could tease and brag all they wished. The Shaman James was her friend; indeed, she cherished his friendship more dearly than her tools and crafts, both of which saw much use when they were together. Already, she was putting together an illuminated picture book of James and Vera's journeys and adventures with the Walnut Court, from the arrival at the River Yew Circle, to the summoning of Yavanna, to that fateful first trip to the Gardens…
Even the banishment of the revenant, and the visions of the Sunless Lands.
Wyne freely admitted she needed the help of the Court Scribes to do those scenes justice.
But that folio was a gift she would give to her cherished friend when he and Vera set out for that castle in the north, Hogwarts, the redoubt of the Four Founders. With it, he could not only show his fellow students the wonderful land of Rivendell – as the name of the lands the Manor sat on was voted for, shortly before Yule began – and not only would he have a reminder of the place he could always call home…
James, her dear friend, would have been given a gift from a Selkie; a Pariah, yes, but all the same.
Young though she was, Wyne knew the stories; to have a gift from a Selkie was a sign of greatness even among humans. Among the People it meant that person, whatever they were, were of the highest personal quality, and could very much be trusted by any clan.
Regardless, it wasn't finished, so she couldn't give it to James for Christmas.
Instead, Christmas morning saw Wyne climbing the newly-installed root stairs to James' room in the Manor; as it was too cold for sleeping in the Willow anymore, Wyne usually slept in the catacombs under the house with the Merrow and her uncle, Shepherd. To her chest, she held the precious gift she would soon give to James; it was after breakfast, of course, and Landlady had declared Christmas a day of rest. Therefore, Wyne could spend the whole day curled up at James' side!
She increased her pace, and only slowed when the door to James' room came into view; further down the oak-paneled hallway, Mr. Remus was just entering the Library. Wyne didn't think he saw her, so, after making sure her hair was presentable, knocked politely on James' door. Mere seconds later, he opened it.
"Oh! Merry Christmas, Wyne!" James greeted her; today, he was wearing a red sleeveless vest that presented his tanned, wiry arms quite well. In fact, Wyne had never seen him wear it before…
"Merry Christmas, James," she greeted him back, darting forward to give him a hug and nuzzle of friendly affection, which was graciously returned; parting reluctantly, she held out her gift, wrapped in dried seaweed, with a blush, "I have made you a gift!"
"Oh, Wyne, thank you!" entering his rooms properly, Wyne followed her friend to his couch, which had been moved in front of a fireplace; on the rug in front of it was some carefully folded squares of wrapping paper, and a few gifts, mostly books and clothes, though the young Selkie spotted what was clearly a carving kit.
Noticing her gaze, James smiled and helped her sit next to him and Vera, who was knocked out next to an open box of chocolates, "I'm… kinda surprised so many people got me gifts. I've never gotten any before."
"You will have some every year, now," Wyne nodded sharply to emphasize this fact of life, "even if I have to come to Hogwarts myself."
"That's what I told him, after we gave him another chime for his rattle," Breech stated from her perch on the mantle, where she was sorting what looked to be round obsidian pebbles. "We're still workin' out the particulars and all, but us Fae are resourceful; we'll find a way to get James' presents to him, no matter where he is, mark my words!"
Sighing happily, as this was just the best of news, Wyne thanked Breech before turning back to James…
Who was holding the pendant she'd carved for him by the seashell chain; the pendant was a scallop carved from a single piece of ocean blue opal.
She ducked her head and explained softly, "I chose it because it matches Vera's fur tips, a-and the color of your healing magic when you use water as a medium. I pray you like it."
"Wyne… this is wonderful," James said breathlessly, giving her another quick hug before, with her help, he clasped it around his neck; his smile warmed her soul as he promised, "I'll always hold it dear, just like you, my friend."
Wyne was too happy by this admission of friendship to care how loudly Breech went awwww.
"Oh, I have something for you, too!" James told her, starting to stand before smiling at her, "Close your eyes." Laughing lightly, Wyne did so; she heard his feet go pitter-patter across the apartment, and a box open and close. Returning to sit in front of her, James then said, "Hold out your hands."
Wyne did, and something wrapped in fabric was placed there; opening her eyes, she blinked at the piece of worn purple velvet hiding an orb-shape the size of an eye. Looking at James only revealed a light blush and a hopeful smile on his face.
So, rather than sit in suspense, Wyne unwrapped the gift- and gasped.
It looked like a pearl, but with clouds and blue sky swirling within; it shone like the sun, but not in a blinding way. The wondrous gem lit up the room like a lantern, bathing everything around them in the golden glow of morning. A slim ring of copper was looped around the pearl, and a chain of silver was attached.
Looking up at James with wondering eyes, Wyne felt her mouth moving in question, but no words came out; she had never seen such a stone before, or even heard of it in any of the songs or tales of the People!
"It's a Sky Pearl, a crystalized representation of Wind," James explained with a smile, silently offering to loop it around Wyne's neck; flattered beyond words, she acquiesced, and the Shaman did so while explaining further, "I learned how to make one in the Fade, from another Shaman who came before me. It's actually pretty easy: just take some water and mold it into a sphere, then apply magic and will some air to move into it."
Around Wyne's neck, it shone even brighter, the fluffy clouds within framing the blue core of the wonderful gem.
Her eyes burned, but she was smiling; even though she was a Pariah, never to walk with the People again… she was precious to someone, to many someones. From her aid in preparing fish in the kitchens, to her knowledge of water plants, even her singing voice.
"Wow," James' voice brought Wyne's gaze back to him; he was staring, "I didn't think you could be more, well, Elven and beautiful."
Wyne laughed and pulled her friend into the most tender and loving hug she'd ever given another, even among the People, "And I didn't think I would find such a wonderful friend away from the People. Oh, James," she kissed his cheek and pulled him to the rug, making him give a surprised oof as they laid down, "no gift, even one as beautiful as this, can replace how much I cherish you in my heart, my most precious friend."
Sighing in defeat, even as his heart hurt to hear how much Wyne cared for him, James embraced his friend and surrendered to the nuzzles he was in for.
Nearby, Breech landed quietly next to Vera, whose eye snapped open as she heard someone approaching her chocolate hoard. The Faerie, however, was more interested in gossip, "Five glazed acorns says they wed before James' twentieth year."
"Tch," Vera flicked an ear dismissively and got comfortable again, ignoring James levitating The Two Towers over to read with Wyne, instead answering the Fae's offer in a near-silent whisper, "Are you deaf? They're friends, Breech. They love each other, yeah, but it'll never be anything more."
"You're just scared to bet against a Faerie, fox."
"Nope, just wise enough to know better," the granddaughter of Tsunami-no-Miko intoned sagely, closing her eyes and blowing the Triplet away with a huff, "Now buzz off, I gotta digest this chocolate."
Rolling her eyes, Breech put the tiny fedora James gave her back on her head and flew away, leaving the children and the Spirit to their Christmas; it'd been a wild half a year, and she knew the next one might be even crazier, as Shaman and Fox learned and practiced more of their magic, found out more about the world…
But, for now, she was more concerned with roping her brothers into stealing some pumpkin pie from the kitchens. The future could wait a little longer…
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[.\|/.]
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A/N:
*fires a ballistic Vera missile to sink a ship before it can sail*
One more chapter until the Hogwarts arc, woo!
So, why did this take so long? Well, a lot of stuff has been going on IRL and, suffice to say, this has left me little time to write. I do what I can in my spare time, so the quality of my work might suffer as a result, but I'll keep trying to bring only the best writing I can muster to this, my favorite story to write.
It's so damn fluffy.
Again, I'll try to get the last chapter of this first arc out in a timely fashion; it'll mostly contain time-skips covering the next year and a half of life at the Manor, and also has the first Hermione scene!
REVIEWER RESPONSES, HUZZAH!
yonlionz: That's what reviews are for! Thank you for yours, and I'm glad you love it!
redmen6blight: Let me reiterate something: I am not bashing Dumbledore here. Yes, he is manipulative, that's part of his character (and his job as a politician), but when things don't go his way in this fic, it's because of things he's taken for granted – like the Faerie, and the heart of darkness that is man at his most base (the Dursleys and their… tendencies). Deep down, this Dumbledore is a good man, if one who has wasted his potential in the realm of politics – even if that was out of necessity, the man is a schoolteacher first and foremost; his neglect of the various positions he held cause half the problems in the Potterverse. That isn't exactly so here.
FriggleBerry: I almost want to re-shelve this as a crossover because of all the Tolkien influence, but it isn't really one. Thanks for the great review!
TheLostArchivist: Dumbledore, himself, isn't banned from Glimmervale per se; rather, he was denied entry by the school's "Board of Deans" for one very specific reason: he spared Grindelwald's life. That, and you can't just walk up and demand access to Glimmervale's library, even if you're a Grand Sorcerer. More on that later. The lack of said field of study is entirely due to lack of funding, a blight which many schools suffer from in these trying times.
RapidRotation: d'awww, thanks! I try my best. Thanks for the great review!
sensitivegore: Believe it or not, that's entirely coincidence. Chapter 4 was posted in the summer of 2018. I read Worm, featuring Taylor Hebert, in October of that same year – yes, I read the whole thing in less than a month; took me about 22 days and I was sleep-deprived for most of it, but I got through. The name choice and description of Khepri in this story, therefore, does not take from Worm at all (even if I found the similarities funny after the fact).
ILoveFanfic123: Neither. The Sapling will take a few centuries before it's mature enough to take a branch from. Harry will have to get a wand from Olivander just like everyone else.
Jargas-thelost: Anything's possible ;)
Kincaidence: What I meant was, once there are two chapters of the next arc posted here on FF, I'll crosspost everything to single threads on SpaceBattles (and QQ). They will be titled The Saga of James Stormcaller. Hope that clears things up a little.
Guest (who mentioned the lack of skunks in Europe): Please ignore this discrepancy, as it and any other inaccuracies were either made as comic relief or, rarely, out of my pitiful American ignorance.
Welp, that's all I have the time to answer at the moment.
Honestly, I should just crosspost this to QQ already, as responding to reviews here added a whole thousand words to the chapter. Eh, if I get some freetime, I'll get it done.
Thank you all for your words of encouragement, and I'll see you all next time for the conclusion of this arc!
~Baked