Act 3 Chapter 1: With a New Rising Sun

AN1: First real chapter of Act 3. With it we return to Harry's POV after a long absence. An interaction here is one I have been planning a long time and I think it turned out very well. The SNAFU fic will be reworked, I have gotten a beta for that in bluecookie420 and am excited to work with them.

AN2: All rights to JK Rowling and Warner.

Harry woke beneath a different ceiling. It was not the canvas of a tent, nor the wooden boards of his new home in France; not even the beautiful slabs from Hogwarts lay atop him. Instead, it was a plaster. The sounds of concrete nature had stirred him. Squealing tires and squeaking breaks played a loud chorus from beyond the small window which shared his dwelling. After a quick wash, he dressed in the new clothes he had gained just the day before.

The day had been exhausting. They had taken a train from Port de Honfleur, after spending the earlier night there, to Paris at the behest of his mother. His list, which strangely came delivered with Nic's name, had come to the ship while being in international waters just west of France, and thus he could shop. Regardless of ability, he had wished they hadn't gone to Paris, for he was looking forward to seeing Perenelle again. Alistair barely bothered him since leaving Atlantia, content to brood over how little he did in the fight against Balagos. Selphie was even worse than the depressed imp, however, both because of her self-inflicted punishment for not helping against the great drake and for the reality of a partial fey existence. As a being of nature and fire, the damp ocean and metal cities wore against her and her normally cheerful demeanor. The toll was less than being in the shadow of Balagos domain, but still a weariness clung to her as a wet cloak. She, as normal, had shared his room in the townhome they currently rested in. She still slept even with the loud noises from outside, even as the sun glared into their room.

After the long train ride, they had arrived in Paris and to a shopping district so large it rivaled Diagon Alley in size, making it smaller than Hogsmeade; but for a center that existed in a pocket dimension that still was an impressive feat. The Quartier des Sorciers were busier than he had ever remembered seeing the streets of Diagon in the month he lived there. There he saw Fleur again, who was strangely upset with him. In the past, it would have been easy to figure out why, but he had promised Albus to try not to look. Not looking was quiet. The packed streets had always held chatter and stray thoughts. The depravity of humanity often showed through in those places. But now, walking through the crowds had an uncomfortable edge, a way of never knowing whether the person beside you wished to mug you, or do terrible things to that woman, or was running late, or missed their wife. In the end, the lack of seeing brought with it less knowledge of how to live, something extremely unwanted. Optimal solutions no longer lay as a golden path at his feet. Fleur had asked him to go with her, and he gladly did. He remembered how soft she felt when she hugged him. How her smile looked so genuine when she asked him to be her friend. It was the first time someone had asked to be his friend. Not even Tracy did. When she had asked to spend the day with him, the only answer was yes.

After Paris, another long train ride brought them within broom range of his cottage. His mother stood waiting at the door for him as she brought him into a tight embrace. As she held him, it felt as if he stood over the balcony of the astronomy tower looking down, the unfamiliar sensation of a rushing background with no movement occurring. They had stayed in the place he hoped to call home only long enough to pack and rest one night. A dreamless sleep came easy. The next morning was more travel. A broom, a train, and a boat, followed by a train again. They had stopped in Kings Cross, ironic considering he would be back there the following day.

Nic owned property on the streets of London. The apartment was a quaint affair, with two bedrooms in an unassuming neighborhood. Sleep did not return as easy as it did in France, nor even Atlantia. Being back in England failed to entail exuberation like he expected. Instead, it was akin to returning to the Dursley's after a day of school. Dread was the lead emotion clutching him. He ignored it as Selphie's soft breaths lulled him to sleep.

Which returned his thoughts to the present. He was not the first to awaken that first September morning. His mother already had begun a simple breakfast to ready the long day for her adopted son. Her dress was a simple blouse and skirt, looking much a housewife from the Telly commercials, with her long hair pulled back in a neat bun. Her husband also was up, though he sat in a recess on a cozy-looking chair bringing warm tea up as he continued reading a book on integration of muggle science to aspects of transfiguration. He remembered how Nic laughed at the title, saying any book that still referred to the Thomson model of the atom as the most current was worthy of ridicule.

"Good morning, Harry," his mother began, dishing up a plate and pouring tea. "Sleep well?" She deposited the objects onto a preset table.

"Worse than yesterday, but not the worst ever." He answered as she brought her own set to the table. A third plate and fourth cup sat steaming near the preparation table. "What about Nic and yourself?"

She took a deep inhale of the tea. The blend was light despite the early serving, fitting more of a mid to late day setting. It also tasted half as bitter as a normal breakfast drink. "I was fine. I sometimes forget how the bed here is not up to the standards of the one back home." She took another sip and narrowed her glare across the room to a man pretending not to overhear their conversation. "But someone decided he didn't need to sleep last night." With a huff, she took a bite of her toast, the gaze still lingering on her husband. "Hmmm," she added.

"It couldn't wait, Pen. I already told you that."

She scoffed at him again and brushed away stray crumbs with a waiting napkin. "So, back to Hogwarts today. Are you excited?" She smiled with her entire face at him. It begged the question, was he? Did Harry look forward to seeing Hogwarts? Sure, he would love to see Albus again, perhaps sneak out to visit Abe. Would Tracy be glad he was back? Surely no other students would even care. Classes were a joke; he couldn't cast magic. Perhaps with the ritual Alistair performed, he might improve, but even then, excess magic only brought pain. A hand reached out for him. It brushed his own gently, the soft feeling lifted his eyes from the plate before and back to the caring ones of his mother. "It will be alright, Harry" Something in her smile was different. Her lips did not reach as high as before, and the wrinkles surrounding her eyes dropped. Still, this was a proper smile. Rather than excitement, it was in support.

"I think it will be," and Harry smiled back.

The rest of the morning went by easily. He penned quick letters to Cepheus and Charlie, explaining he was off to college. He knew the letter sent to Egypt would probably gain a response, but the one to Romania, that was less sure. Some wounds took longer to heal. He only hoped that Charlie would in time.

Selphie dressed in loose trousers and a thick long sleeve. She stumbled around the home like a drunkard and even more so as they came upon the car. The vehicle looked more expensive than any that Vernon had driven and easily fit the four of them. His mother was the one to drive, even yelling at Nic as he tried to relax by putting his feet on the dash. The entire ride Selphie spent dozing against his arm. She would attend Hogwarts that year as a first year. Nic had ways of messaging people through stones; one of which Harry carried after the debacle in the caverns of Atlantia, that he used to negotiate with the Headmaster. Through a combination of Elvan magic and alchemy, Nic and Selphie crafted a beautiful necklace of hemp rope and yew that changed her appearance to seem younger and hide her more standout features. Worn currently, she shrunk to a size smaller than him and looked as adorable as Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle.

Kings Cross at 9:30 was not the busiest of places. It saw more traffic than Number 4's streets, but compared to rush hour, the flow was manageable. Nic dragged Selphie's trunk and his mother, Harry's. He would have grabbed his own, except that Harry dragged Selphie to the station. When they approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Nic stopped without warning. He reached out an arm and leaned it against the solid wall, which resisted the movement. Digging through his bag, he lifted a scribing stone bearing Albus's name. After whispering a message, he focused on the wall. Around them passerbyers made no noticeable attempt to watch the quartet. The air changed; Selphie no longer leaned on him as the air swam in power. Nic's hand pressed against the wall directed the flow into the brick and mortar until it slipped through. The second it did, the swirling arcane might ceased, and he turned to the group. "Let's get you on the train."

Moving through the wall below the etched Hogwarts crest was as easy as moving through air. The other side of the platform had little in the way of people, as departure would not begin for another hour and a half. The train he had ridden twice before still was a marvel to behold. It sat in the old train yard hidden in a new train station and looked every bit to be from the 1800s. Looking now, the train reminded him of his rival house, Gryffindor, with the deep red paint and the golden fastenings. The warm air surrounding them was a dense magic, not so far as Atlantia, but deeper than any place he had been since, even shopping in Paris.

Penerelle stood before him as he continued to drink in the scenery. "Well, I guess this is goodbye for now." She said, her voice not holding its normal confidence.

"Ya," Harry added, lifting his hand to his neck and rubbing it slightly. He looked over to see what Selphie was doing, only to see her in conversation with Nic.

"Harry," she brought his attention back, "promise you will write." Her voice left no room to argue. Something in that statement, the absolute. The want of connection. It reminded him of something he saw in Fleur.

"Ya," he said with a slight blush. Stranger yet, he meant it.

Flashing her full smile at him, she ruffled his long hair, "good boy," before she brought him into a hug. It was soft. Her body was warm against his own. Holding him left him little choice but to wrap his arms back. His head fell into the crook of her neck as she rubbed soft circles on his back. Only then did he realize how hard he was breathing, how she whispered a soft hush into his ear, how the tears he didn't know he needed fell onto her. After spending less than one hundred hours with her, he was certain he was sad to leave his mother. "It's alright, Harry. I love you."

He held her a little longer after that.

With a new rising sun.

"This is for you." He handed Harry an ornate ring, bearing with it a familiar jewel with familiar runes etched into it.

"The eye of…"

"Balagos," Nic finished for him. "Such a powerful magic item should be able to handle the backlash of converting your inner energy into wand magic."

His mind flashed back to the fight against the vampire lord bringing his hand reflexively to the wound left by the Elven matriarch, "then that rock."

"A prototype. I had to be sure my array would work correctly."

"So, then. The reason we went to Atlantia…"

"Harry. I want you to be capable of casting magic." How many died? "In the end, Balagos needed to die. Think of what he was, remember his malice. Think of the elves. What could have happened to Selphie?" Nic said, as if reading his mind. "In the end, this is what we have. We cannot take the journey back."

"Thank you, Nic."

"No problem, kid." The ancient wizard tussled his adopted child's hair in the same way his wife did. "Keep him out of trouble, Alastair."

The toad on his shoulder smiled.

With a new rising sun.

He shared a compartment with Selphie, now more energized, who gripped on her new wand with wonder. They crafted the soft brown shaft from elm and the core was from a phoenix. Her father had been the one to craft the piece on her travels, saying he foresaw her needing it. The phoenix which gifted a feather from it was a family friend, he had said, one whom he knew when he was a child. The craftsmanship was wonderful. Despite being a piece of wood, the wand looked alive in her grasp. They sat in silence as the seconds passed. Neither dressed in their robes yet, but despite the heat, Harry still draped his worn travel cloak around him, hiding the sword sheathed for a back draw from his waist. Locked behind him, he could feel his other two foci, upset with lack of use. How long had it been since he derived his future? How long since he read from the knowledge of the gate? The time dilation of living on the fabled continent commonly known by muggles as Atlantis had made his monthly reading irregular. Arriving back, the full moon would not arrive for another couple of weeks.

He paged through his new Lockhart book as people filed into the express. The platform beyond his window grew crowded and noisy as hordes of students and weeping parents said goodbyes until December. He saw the familiar faces of his year mates, glanced orange hair that brought with it sorrow, and the twins Flora and Hestia.

This year would be different. This year, he would have friends. Maybe Tracy would speak with him again, or he could eat a meal or two with the Carrow Twins. What might have been wishful thinking he still hoped for, perhaps his reading would see happiness.

Harry breathed in deep, suddenly uncomfortable. His exhale brought with it a visible breath. He looked to Selphie, who glanced around, alarmed. Within a fire stirred, another was watching him now. The eyes of Erised peered from his own. As quickly as the chill appeared, it left again, though his guardian angel did not follow it. She stirred and warmed him. Her presence was as soothing and loving as his mothers.

"Strange." Alastair was the first to speak. "Something powerful is here." From the window a tall man with a gaunt face and hair so blonde it could be called white waved with an overenthusiastic smile to his child. The hair was not so different from Malfoy's, though direct relation was impossible as Draco was visiting with his parents already and his features were much that of his fathers. The strange man's eyes had no focus and his dress had various vegetables and colors that Albus would say mismatch tossed on him. Even the surrounding wizards judged him and deemed him different.

"Something in it was familiar," Selphie added to the imp's thought, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Harry gripped his yew wand tight. He watched the platform. Few people reacted to the magic that was wrought. He saw Amelia glancing around in fervor, confused as she did as she tried to play off the desperate search of the platform to his year mate, Susan. The Malfoy parents both reacted as well, though less visible than the Lady Bones.

He tried to again focus on his textbook, but his eyes continued to fall to the platform, searching for a sign of whatever had caused the magical flux. But as the train took off, none were revealed.

The countryside slowly passed. Unlike his last trip, with the train moving with the aid of magic, Harry could watch the scenery. So, watch it, he did. The feeling of wrong that associated with the magic he felt left his options for activity low, so he watched the flatlands turn into rolling hills as they went.

He saw every one of his year's housemates, already dressed in the mandatory Hogwarts robes, pass by his compartment once. In the case of seven, they made a few passes, each time confused. Nott traveled with Pansy. Goyle and Crabbe, his former roommate, flanked Malfoy. Tracy dragged Daphne around, looking frantic and afraid.

Then, the cold started. The window that sat flush with the hall had frost crawling up its translucent panel. Something shorter than the average first year gripped the handle and slid open the compartment door. It stepped in dressed in the standard robe. Its empty pale icy eyes matched to his. The skin it wore was the first covering of snow along the stones of his school. It had a pretty face, ruined by a smile impersonating friendliness, but worse than any Alastair had worn.

"Hello, Harry Potter," it spoke in the veneer of a little girl. The voice wondered from the dreamlands, light and uncaring as the gate. Everything about it was wrong. The way it stood slightly off balance, the head tilted and the body facing off her target. But the eyes, those eyes, lay watching his own, uncaring.

It took another step to him as Alastair stiffened on his shoulder. Its gait uncannily smooth like a figure skater gliding across glassy smooth ice. The frost crept up his arm, biting scar tissue and provoking long ignored pain of fire.

Another step.

He smelled bitter frost and hard pine. The world began to only hold the view of this thing before his gaze. Ice kissing the pain away. The wounds numbed as the soft touches of frost removed a constant source of agony. It was beautiful. It was kind to take away the burden of pain.

Wrong.

He should lie down. It will keep him safe and secure.

Wrong.

The cool touch gripped ever closer.

What did he care if people ignored him? It would not hurt.

WroNg.

What did he care if Tracy left him? He had no feelings.

Wrong.

WRoNg.

WRONG.

The soft patter of fresh show brushed against his nose. A soft brush of sharp cold. A promise that nothing could hurt.

Suddenly, fire.

She had always watched him, for she loved him. Warm passion flowed from the heart she had chosen, as the feeling of WRONG was eviscerated with ardent fury. With a flourish he stood, flipping up his coat and drawing, with his right hand, a blade which had slain the fire of an inhuman being.

The neck was well within the sword's reach. The blade hovered off the pristine skin halfway up the blade, the black crack wisping promises of flame.

What had been a smile turned into a sneer. Teeth that said they were square showed pointed fangs. "You dare!" the voice came as an echo. The forgery of being from the mouth lagging forgotten.

"Be glad you are still standing, winter trash," Harry responded, gripping the sword so tight his knuckles were white. "I could have finished the swing as easy as it started."

"You are foolish to follow that one," the girl (fey) spoke, remembering the performance. "She will take and take and take until there is nothing but empty. She will consume all of your feelings for her unending lust of warmth. Anything she asks will be a cost too high to bear."

"And cold and empty solitude is better?"

"It would be no solitude. We are a family. We ask for nothing beyond the cost." It said again, taking a step back.

He followed in kind, remembering Fanucci's teaching. The step brought a slide, and he led the blade nearer. "I have heard tales of the winter court. Of trickery bordering on lies which nearly break the olde laws."

"They biased you against us at the start."

"Tell me, why should I not kill you?" He twisted his head to level with hers.

The sneer left, it replaced itself with a smile. The grin was too large for the girl's face. "They invited me, same as you."

"No way could Dumbledore have known…"

"The old man knows," she quickly cut him off. "I had to sign a contract, even. One witness by a fire immortal of all things."

"Why would he even let something as vile as you into a school?" The sword gave more way to the frozen lie before him. It (she) was not lying. She (it) was incapable.

"My name is Luna Lovegood. I am a female." She grinned even larger, the corners of her lips nearing her ears, "and you are the reason I am here."

That was a lie. How could it not be a lie? Despite the lie. How could it not be true?

"You selfishly wished to bring your pet," she lectured him, moving out of the range of the sword. The step she made to Selphie's direction was immediately cut off. "You forget, the grounds of Hogwarts are sacredly neutral. The only reason they let the monster in last year was its promised unbreakable shackles." She tried to get closer, but stopped when he raised his sword once more. "To be fair, I was also invited, personally, by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."

"For the safety of the students, I should end you now."

"Eh, eh, eh," she chided him. "My life is contractually bonded to hers." She pointed an icicle finger behind him. "What would happen if her master ended me, do you think?"

"She signed nothing."

"But she did when she wrote 'I accept' in response to her Hogwarts's letter." Her cutting laugh echoed in the compartment.

"He would not let something like you to act like this with his students. No way."

"Of course not. I can only do this with someone who is knowledgeable about things best left forgotten." Despite never leaving his site she appeared inside his reach, nearly flush against him. Her piercing touch leaving a trail of frost along his cheek. "Lucky for me, that leaves one such as you." As suddenly as she appeared, she was outside the open doorway. "Goodbye Harry Potter. See you soon."

The door shut.

Alastair fell from his perch and scrambled away, muttering phrases of fear in the devil's tongue. He was less worried about his familiar than about the one he protected. "Selphie." he turned to her form. She was shivering. "Selphie, are you ok?" He asked, gripping her on her shoulders.

"I am so sorry, Harry." She whispered. "What have I done?"

Before he could answer, the door opened again.

"Harry?" a voice spoke behind him. With it came a flurry of feelings. Feelings he almost lost. Longing. Joy. Fear. Hope. Anger. Frustration. So many things that were important.

"Is it really you?" The voice came slightly cracked, as if it were crying.

It was Tracy.