The stranger's eyes continued to bore straight into him, doing his best through sight alone to convey his sincerity and confusion.
Personally, Harry for his part believed him. Or rather his whole life up to now had been nothing but a series of weird events after weird events, so what was the revelation that he had, apparently, eaten a part of Voldemort at birth but merely the latest in said series of unlikely events.
The fact that while the two of them were talking, his body and nose, were doing their level best to bump uglies with the tiles of the abandoned classroom's floor had nothing to do with it, nor did the image, more like a nightmare, of Malfoy finding him in such a state and deciding to do things to his poor rear make him want to be done with the whole thing. No sir, definitely not.
"Ok, you are me, or part of me, or whatever." He said with a sigh, his tone indicating quite clearly that he was done, he barely even paid attention to the wave ofmagic he felt suddenly appear and reverberate throughout the whole space the two men found themselves in at his words. "I assume you aren't going anywhere so we can talk later, but I really need to be going back to the outside world, you see all my things are in it. So, if you could tell me how to fix whatever's wrong with me that would be great." Harry snapped his fingers, a sudden thought coming to mind. "Oh, and for that matter, what's your name?"
The translucent faced man nodded his head in response to the young wizard's words, listening aptly while his arms slowly lowered away from the retracted cowl and down by his sides.
"Indeed, we can and must talk later my friend. But fret not, you don't need to come back 'here'." He said, his see-through lips tugging upwards in a teasing smirk. "Not unless you need to, or know how." He said and Harry blinked, realizing that he, indeed knew not how to pull off that bit of magic. "Worry not, I will teach you." He said, preemptively voiding the youth's concern. "But that's indeed best left for later. As for your question…"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You just 'solved' it by yourself."
Harry tilted his head to the side in confusion.
"Eh?"
He just nodded again, "Your words just now?" he asked. "Accepting me, and whatever else you earned that night as part of your soul?" that was enough for the old magic to finish the integration and for your very magic to stop trying to tear itself apart.
"Just like that?" the bespectacled youth couldn't help but ask.
"Just like that." Agreed the man and Harry fought the urge to curse. What, he expected magic off all things to make sense? Foolish of him, really. "But we can discuss the specifics later. If you wish to."
At the man's excitement filled tone, his voice thick with wistfulness, Harry blanched. After all the tone was eerily familiar to him, a certain bushy haired girl's face springing to mind made him whimper and take an unconscious step back.
He had one would be professor hounding him in real life, he needed not one within his brain as well.
"M-maybe some other time!" he squeaked. Causing the translucent aspect to slump dejectedly and making a pang of guilt grow within Harry's heart. "But-"
At the sound of his voice the specter perked up, looking back at Harry again.
"You still haven't told me your name."
The spirit frowned at that, his lips pursing into a thin flat line.
"My name, huh?" he mumbled to himself, growing silent for a few moments seemingly warring with himself before nodding and once more looking back up and straight into Harry's own eyes. "Call me…call me Requiem. It's an apt enough name for me, I think."
Ignoring the now named Requiem's self-deprecating tone, Harry arched an eyebrow in response. "A tad pretentious don't you think?" he asked and before the spirit could respond he continued. "But still, it's your choice. Call yourself what you will." He said with a shrug.
Requiem flashed him a warm smile. "I appreciate this, Harry." He said and waved an arm. Due to a nagging in his head, the teen gazed downwards, goggling at the state of his arms and body.
"Morgana's tits!" he shouted, "what the hell is this?" he asked his voice coated thick with suspicion as he glared at Requiem and made to raise his, also see-through, wand.
The man by contrast was at ease and smiling. "Relax Harry, I am simply…sending you 'back' so to speak."
Harry opened his mouth, yet before he could reply, much less blink, his sight warped and he was back in the abandoned classroom. Silence once more caressing his ears and bits of dust dancing in his nostrils. Just as he thought that, the pain of his broken nose hit him like a flaming truck loaded with ghost peppers, its driver laughing as it careened straight into hell.
"Son of a-" he shouted, repressing the memories of the time the twins let him try the spicy muggle delicacy, one arm unconsciously rising, or rather sliding against the floor to reach and massage his broken cartilage. Something which he immediately regretted once his digits touched the bruised bit of meat. His fingers immediately retracting as a pained hiss left his lips.
"Great thinking there Potter." he mumbled with a pained groan, his normally blazing green eyes closing shut while he put his hands underneath and pushed himself upwards with a grunt. Only after coming to a stand on his feet realizing with a startling moment of clarity that the pain which had ravaged his body after his foolish stunt in the forest had vanished as if it had never existed. The feeling of each of his cells being poked by tiny burning needles and his very blood screaming as it alternated between feeling like a freezing river and slushing molten magma being no more. Broken nose excluded of course.
"Huh, guess he was speaking the truth. At least in that regard." He mumbled, or at least tried to, his voice sounding a bit off, courtesy of his aching snout. His eyes lowered, landing upon his hand and the piece of holy still clutched tightly between his fingers. Thankfully unbroken, in fact not as much as a blemish could be seen upon his old friend.
That is with the exception of a small layer of dust, the fine particles having gleefully taken the chance to land upon it and form a thin gray line upon the wood in the brief interval Harry spent inside his head.
Grumbling, he set about cleaning it, using the edges of his robe as a makeshift towel.
One last curse leaving his lips he eyed the now spotless bit of wood critically. Satisfied with it he gritted his teeth and set about what he knew he must do.
Carefully aiming the now glowing tip of his wand towards his nose he muttered softly one of the few healing incantations he knew and a small howl left his lips as the pain hit. Thankfully it didn't last long and with a loud 'crunch' his nose went back into its normal spot. Or at least an approximation of it. Further examination would have to wait until he was back in his dorm.
Once more muttering curses and lifting the dropped invisibility robe pooled around his feet, he proceeded to wrap it around himself. Disappearing from view and setting about doing just that. The call of his bed and a certain meeting in mind.
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x
With a breathy whisper, barely audible a hair's breath away from his lips, he uttered the password. Still hidden underneath his family heirloom's concealing magic. Yet thankfully, the words and the proximity, along with the familial magic tagging him as a lion was enough for the portrait of the Fat Lady. The sleeping woman stirring not one bit as the door, and thus her portrait's frame slid up and out of view.
Slipping in, his wits about him, Harry, seeing that the coast was clear, breathed a sigh of relief and allowed his taut limbs to relax at last.
Muttering a tired 'Tempus' his eyes glanced at the modified spell's display, a result of the many days spent making the library his second home. Said results hovering in front of his eyes, and his eyes alone. Invisible to anyone else.
His shoulders slumped, the nagging sense of worry departing from his mind. Good he still had time it would seem.
All but dragging his lead like feet, he slowly made his way towards one of the magnificent, and oh so soft couches — a fact he knew from first hand experience— right by the fireplace. In fact, during the winter months. The softness of said pieces of furniture coupled with their proximity to the cozy source of heat and merriment made them a prized spot, with many a battle having been fought for seating rights by more or less each and every lion at some point in time.
Rumor had it, that back when, in ages long ago, even the headmaster had done so as well.
Harry could believe it. For as another rumor had it. Quite a few of the seventh year Gryffindors, had over the years added their own bit of charm work to said couches, —or asked their significant other in Ranenclaw to help with the task.
Further adding to the softness and comfort experienced by the lucky future recipient. The many centuries of piled upon charm-work crafting a true, and very highly prized, temple to Sloth.
Whether this was done as a way to repay the couches for the comfort they provided over the years or to ensure that future generations would get to experience that bit of Gryfindor tradition…none but said alumni knew. And they sure as hell weren't telling.
Slumping into one of said pieces of furniture, all but sinking and being swallowed by its red velvety depths. Harry, letting out a tired groan of pleasure found that he cared little for all that.
Only belatedly realizing that he forgot to cast a silencing charm around himself.
Muttering things best left unsaid, he glanced warily around him. Thankfully it seemed that nobody had noticed, nor cared for his momentary lapse in caution. Opting instead to continue whatever it is they had been doing, most likely sleeping.
Rectifying the issue with a careless flick, the magic setting easily around him, followed right after by a monitoring and alarm charm both he set about waiting.
The soothing crackle of the fireplace and the smell of softly burning logs started to soothe and smoother the worries crowding his mind, causing his limbs to grow slack. And as the exhaustion of the day finally settled on his tired body coupled with the joyful dancing colors emanating from the hearth right in front of him, gently heating his face and body along with the smell of burning wood, caused his eyelids to grow heavy and slowly slide downwards.
x
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x
"Harry, psst! Harry!"
The insistent, yet trying to be quiet voice startled him awake, pulling him out his peaceful slumber and the relaxing, already half-forgotten dream.
Drowsily blinking his eyelids open he blearily glanced around himself. The mirthful, eyes of his godfather gazed back at him out of the center of the fire-pit in front of him. Most of the logs spent, leaving behind some smaller pieces surrounded by mounds of ash, the remnants having come together to form a pretty good approximation of Sirius's face. The bit of magic used by the man even managing to add a touch of color to his looks.
Not that said looks were much to speak off if either of the two were to be quite honest. Not anymore at least. But a decade spent in the living hell that was Azkaban would do that to anyone.
The unjust imprisonment had robbed the older man of his once roguish good looks. Where once a cheeky smirk and bubbly cheeks, which highlighted his aristocratic cheekbones could be found, covered by short trimmed hair and a pointy stub on the once young man's chin. Now…now only hollow, gaunt cheeks could be seen. Stretching taut weather beaten and leather-like pale skin, the salty air around the prison not having helped the man's complexion not one bit. As for his hair…a wild untruly mess that would put Harry's own to shame could be seen, and Sirius' beard looked like it had never known the loving touch of a razor, much less a barber.
Still, neither the Boy who Lived nor the escaped fugitive cared much for the other's looks, aside from what it hinted pertaining the other's health.
"Sirius?" croaked the youth in a raspy voice, still somewhat addled from his sleep and a tad irritated. For the half-forgotten dream was a good one dammit! At least the fading images of Greengrass and that French bird suggested it to be so.
The burning face gave a nod, or as much as it was able to at least.
"Aye. It's me." He said, and frowned. "Are you ok, Harry? I'm sorry to say it but you look like you've been snogging a dementor. If you would like we could reschedule for—"
"No need," said Harry with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm fine." At Sirius' raised eyebrow he amended. "Well, ok not 'fine' fine, but still. I'm up for this."
The dog animagus' eyes clearly said that he didn't believe him but he was also unlikely to press the issue.
"Well alright, as you wish." He said and grinned, a hint of boyhood returning to his face. "Far be it from me to dismay you from becoming a prim and proper rascal by flaunting rules and authority…Or experience the joys that lack of sleep brings the morning after."
Watching Sirius glimmering eyes, Harry had one thing to say. "Piss off you wanker," he said with a snort.
"Hey!" cried Sirius with faux irritation, the crinkles around his eyes showing it to be false. "I resent that! I'll have you know that girls love me."
"Yeah, maybe the furry and four-legged variant. Should I be worried, Sirius? Is the Most Ancient and Noble house of Black about to have a hairy heir?"
"Bite me, Harry. Methinks, you count already." His godfather snarked, and the youth was pretty sure if he could he would be showing him the finger. "Although… Maybe I should, I can only imagine the…joy it would bring my wonderful luss of a mother."
Harry shook his head with a grin, laughter bubbling out of him.
A soft smile spread across Sirius' lips. "So, how you've been, lad?"
Getting his laughter under control, the tired teen's eyes met those of his godfather and he begun to speak. The older man listening patiently, interjecting and adding his own ideas and warnings at points.
They spent quite a while like that. Sharing stuff and catching up, before inadvertently they circled back to the, no doubt, latest attempt on Harry's life, the tournament.
"Yes, I concur. It's most likely another such plot." Said Sirius, his tone…serious. "Still, I have to say I quite approve of what you've been up to so far. You even managed to snub that unwashed git, Snape. Even if you weren't the heir of Messier Prongs, that alone would ensure you were granted an honorary position in the Marauders."
"Gee, thanks, Sirius."
"Oi! Don't you sass me. Tis a great honor." He mock lectured. "But…" Sirius tone turned grave. "That mishap with the…kitchen-fire earlier?That was very stupid, Harry."
The teen opened his mouth to reply.
"Or at least, that's what I would like to say," continued the man and a bone-weary sigh escaped his smoldering lips. "I understand the need for an ace up your sleeve. For despite what the pillocks over at the ministry and even the old poof might say, this tournament is deadly. Hell, the Blacks of old even approved of it and thought it to be 'reasonably exciting'."
"Crap."
He nodded at his godson's words. "Quite so. Cause you know that if my family approves of something, then it would be wise of you to best steer clear of it...in most cases." Sirius pursed his lips. "Still, that doesn't the change the fact that you need to prepare. But that bit of magic is…special, trust me, I have some experience with it. Unfortunately though this isn't the place or time for that discussion, but I have an idea." He said. "Send Hedwig to me again, I think I have a solution to help with your training. In the meantime, do you have some parchment with you?"
Harry snorted. "I'm not 'Mione, Sirius" he said but still picked up his wand and with a series of flicks, conjured a bit of paper and an ink quill. Temporary, yes. But they would more than last until he copied their contents to a normal bit of parchment.
Sirius nodded at the boy's words. "Fair point, none of us used to carry the stuff either. Not even Remus. It was Lily who was the bookworm. So, and until, Hedwig returns I have two things for you." He said, eyeing the expectant youth, his hand clutching the conjured quill. "The first, and most useful for you is silent casting. But more about that in a bit, first, check those books out of the library. I do believe you will find them interesting." He said and in a quick barrage shared the names of books which Harry, from the titles alone, very much doubted he would find outside the Forbidden Section. Moody's permission slip proving its value once again. In fact, at this point it wouldn't be inaccurate to say it was worth its weight in gold.
With Sirius pausing and Harry finishing transcribing, he nodded and rolled the parchment up, setting it aside, before turning his eyes back to his godfather.
"You spoke of 'silent casting', what is that?" he asked, his curiosity pinged.
Sirius smiled and winked. "I think you'll quite like it. To put it in simple terms, haven't you wondered how Dumbledore and other adults, or hell, some of your fellow students, namely sixth and seventh years, cast so fast and without seeming to speak?"
At his words, gears begun to turn within Harry's head and his eyes widened. No way, could it be that something so obvious…
"Don't tell me…"
"Why yes, it's perfectly possible to cast without speaking. Out-loud that is." Sirius said and guffawed at Harry's expression. "Your father and I had the same expression when we first learnt of it, according to Remus at any rate."
"It is so bloody obvious…" muttered the youth, irritation filling his voice.
Sirius shrugged, the barest hints of his upper neck and shoulders flashing into view for an instant. "Well yeah, but don't beat yourself up, most wizards don't seem to think of it until they are told its possible. But," he added, a tone of warning to his voice. "It's not as easy as it sounds Harry. Try it of course, there's little harm in doing so, and some of the books I told you about will give you more details, but still, there's a reason why it's usually reserved for the sixth years and up.
"You see, it requires a great deal of focus and strength, on the other hand it's also a very good way to help build both of those qualities."
Harry nodded determinedly as he leaned forward. "Believe me, I will."
Sirius' lips quirked into a fond smile. "I had no doubt you would. It's clear that within you burns both Lily's fire and James' willpower." He said. "But if you find it overly hard don't fret. Just be patient and I'll help you."
Harry blinked and opened his mouth but Sirius just winked.
"Be patient, you'll see." He said and a teasing glint entered his eyes. "But enough about such dreary subjects, why don't you tell me more about those birds you are so fond off? That Frenchie and, Greengrass was it? Although your father would be torn between disappointment and pride with you over the Frenchie. On the one hand, she is a toad lover. On the other hand… A Veela! My boy you make me proud." Tears of pride welled up in the corners of the clearly senile man's eyes
The youth stared, his jaw hanging open. "T-The hell? First of all, I think you mean 'frog', not 'toad'—"
The man rolled his eyes, "Tomato, tomahto. Don't change the subject Harry."
"—and second, it's not like that, but even still. Daphne I could understand, I've told you about meeting her."
"Oh, Daphne, is it?"
Harry showed him the finger. "Bite me you mangy mutt."
"Oi! I'll have you know I wash on the regular! One time per decade, just as my healer ordered!"
"Must be one lousy healer then," snarked Harry, and Sirius waggled his eyebrows opening his mouth to speak. "I don't want to know!" he hastily interjected, intent on not hearing things man, and more importantly, Harry, was not meant to know. Sadly, the flea-bitten pain in his ass did not shut up immediately and thus Harry, caught words like: 'stacked', 'flexible', works for the ministry now, and could swallow a golf club through a straw. He valiantly ignored the implications…And the traumatizing mental images of a naked Sirius. "But how the hell do you know about the walking turkey?"
The escaped convict raised an eyebrow. "I have a subscription to the Prophet you know, I'm not a savage. And before you ask, a clever little bit of charm work and a wonderful muggle invention called the drop-box help with my status and thus the owl deliveries. Now, spill."
Harry threw his arms up into the air. "What's there to 'spill' you old codger?" he cried with irritation, still a fond smile was on his face as he gazed at his godfather. The man for his part chuckled and the duo continued to talk and needle one another for sometime yet before bidding each other farewell. And Harry, seeing his godfather face disappear from the fireplace decided that it was about time he hit the sack. Scooping up the parchment filled with the man's suggestions, he flew up the stairs, all but crushing into his bed.
Far away, between burned branches and resting next to a charred tree-trunk, a black, leather-bound book rested with not a scratch on its frame. A slim, pale hand reached down and scooped it up.
x
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Nothing much to say today, have a good one.