The power to be strong
And the wisdom to be wise
All these things will come to you in time
On this journey that you're making
There'll be answers that you seek
And it's you who will climb the mountain
It's you who will reach the peak
-Son of Man, Phil Collins
***
Harry found himself in the garden. He blinked once, twice. Yes, it was the same garden where he'd…met Shiva and Quetzalcoatl. Only the moon overhead was different – it was a slightly fatter crescent than it had been when he had first come. Which brought up interesting questions – did time pass in this place? Was it even real? He walked towards the oak tree where Quetzalcoatl had been perching on the last time, but there was no one there. After walking around the garden once, checking the nooks and crannies for the two Aeons, Harry sat down on a nearby garden-bench to wait.
Almost as soon as he had, there was a flash of blindingly intense lightning, accompanied by a crack of thunder so deep it sent vibrations shuddering through his bones. The white-blue lightning slashed across a branch, which did not burn, but instead was suddenly supporting the weight of a huge gray raptor. Its dark eyes bored into him.
*There you are. Where have you been?*
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but before he could an icy wind buffeted him, ruffling the edge of the leather jacket which, curiously enough, he seemed to be sporting in the dream, even if he hadn't been wearing it when he'd gone to bed. The wind rushed past him, leaving several tiny snowflakes on his lashes and caught in his dark hair. It swirled in a miniature tornado of flashing ice before resolving into the pale form of Shiva.
*Be easy, Quetz. Yesterday was Harry's birthday.*
*Does that excuse him? We have so much to do… he has to learn what we are, what he is…*
*So,* Shiva sent impatiently, *let us begin instead of complaining. Harry,* she began, turning to the fifteen-year-old boy, *You must listen carefully. We are a form of magic.*
"Hmm…" Harry said musingly, not that surprised. What else could they be, after all? "I guess you'd fall under Defense Against The Dark Arts…"
*No, actually. Defense and all the rest are just forms of wizardry.*
Harry was drawn up short. "But didn't you just say…?"
*She said we were magic,* Quetzalcoatl sent. *That doesn't mean we're wizardry. That's only one form of magic.*
"I always thought wizardry was magic..." Harry said slowly.
*I have neither the time nor the slightest inclination to start discussing the true nature of magic,* sent Quetzalcoatl somewhat archly. *And really, I don't think you'd want to. Boring stuff. Right now, what you have to know is that we are magic, pure and simple. Simpler, in ways, than wizardry. How do we differ from wizardry? Well…what is wizardry?*
"Uh…" Freedom, savior, horror, duty… The words sprang into his mind, easy to grasp after long nights locked into rounds of reflection about his life. But he couldn't tell them that. And anyway, that wasn't anything but his own personal take about it. He rather thought they were looking for something more like a definition. But how did you define wizardry? It was everywhere…
*Exactly. Wizardry can be seen in almost every aspect of life. There are spells for battle – or dueling, which is what wizards call it – for execution, for cooking, for everything. On the other hand, Summoning magic is really used for only one purpose: battle.*
At the word 'battle' a peculiar feeling came over Harry, as if something cold and bright had run through his veins instead of blood.
Shiva's expression was absolutely serious, which – Harry realized suddenly – was something he hadn't yet seen. *Though both wizards and Summoners are born with innate strength, usually the difference is not enough to really matter. What really determines one's strength in wizardry is how well one studies the matter – how well one learns wand movements and spell words, or how to make Potions…wizardry is actually the scholar's art.
Quetzalcoatl began to send again. *Summoning, on the other hand, increases its strength not so much by studying but by the Summoner training himself. Learning how to fight, building power and speed and skill – that is what makes a Summoner rise. How strong you are in Summoning depends on how much you are prepared to withstand. We rely more on instincts and trained reactions than knowledge – more on strength of body and mind rather than memorization. In style, in purpose, in execution: Summoning is the warrior's art.*
Shiva took over. *Harry, you are a Summoner. The first to be born for two hundred years. It was not something you inherited – neither your mother nor your father was a Summoner. Still, it is your birthright. I…cannot explain it very well now. Your spirit has all the traits of a Summoner, and it has ever since you were born. Be satisfied with that.*
Harry was used to vague explanations. He didn't like them, but he was used to having half of what he was told kept back in secretive phrases. That didn't mean he would stop trying to get at the whole truth, though.
"Is that what Dumbledore wanted to tell me? I mean, is that why Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, and couldn't?" he asked curiously.
*No. They don't know of your Summoning magic; they only know you're a powerful wizard. It's actually quite odd – few Summoners are born with more than one type of magic. And I don't think those were as strong as you are in your other magic, in your wizardry. I suppose we should be happy for it – Summoners don't really come into their own until their teens, and if that Lord Voldemort had killed you, we wouldn't have had a master,* Quetzalcoatl explained.
Shiva grinned, a thoroughly unnerving expression that was as cold and as deadly as a northern storm. *You must master us quickly, Harry, so that when next you two meet, me and Quetzy can make his acquaintance.*
"Master you? How am I going to master you?" But even as he asked, he knew the answer.
*Why, training, of course.*