Beta: Digitize27
I'm glad the Worm Reference went over well.
I have made several changes to the Quirrell Scene most prominently and edited chapters one, two, and three.
If you enjoy this story, then you should re-read the very beginning of the first chapter.
But I got tired of editing, so I wanted to write this.
I answer questions about this story on by forum. Link in profile.
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"The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for."- The Odyssey Homer
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Tvashtri gathered the Apauruseya with the promise of fashioning mighty wands of great magic, and once convened he spoke and gave voice to their mutual animosity.
'How could Oceans fight the land? Would the shores be swallowed whole?' Tvashtri asked of them. 'Would fire consume all the winds?'
Tvashtri held up a single staff, expertly carved and refined from the cluster. He snapped it in two with ease; to the shock of the Apauruseya.
Wisps of spells never to be cast fell from the splintered ends. A fine wand, amongst the finest to ever be crafted fell to ruin in a heartbeat.
Tvashtri grabbed the remaining wands and, though he tried, he could not break them.
'Go now, and rec-'
Harry was drawn from his reading to look down at his right hand. His ring, the family ring, quivered softly against his skin, but it had stopped now.
Or perhaps it was just his imagination?
He turned back to the text and frowned.
When he had seen this text in Flamel's library, he had expected more about the Apauruseya and their magics. Instead he was left with the inane ramblings about this wand maker, Tvashtri. The translation was also frustrating, alternating between wands and staffs, for example, at seemingly random points.
It was also translated poetry – like all the other great Hindu works – so it was a step short of gibberish once translated to modern Hindi from Sanskrit, and to French from Hindi.
He set the work aside.
Though he had plucked it from the shelves, he had yet to truly reflect on the copy of 'Go I Know Not Whether and Fetch I Know Not What,' the text that Grindelwald had recommended to him.
A quick synopsis showed him that, inside, three wizards gave a man tremendous gifts each to complete tasks for a King or a Tzar, but he had yet to sit down and read it beyond the opening paragraphs.
Russian literature.
He mentally scoffed in frustration.
It wasn't related to magic beyond being a fairytale-esque work; only his gratitude and respect towards the former Dark Lord kept the book on the table when he would otherwise have already returned it.
Harry felt a familiar mind and he reached out and touched it, barely a passing graze but serving as a greeting.
Daphne shuddered, pausing mid-step as she crossed into the room in the library that Harry had pretty much claimed at this point.
"Is this Russian?" She pulled the fairytale in front of her.
Harry nodded. He glanced up after a beat to see an expectant look.
"Aren't we going to Hogsmeade?" She pressed. "You wanted to talk to Neville?"
She was right. He waved his wand and the mess of parchment sorted itself into neat, easily-carried stacks. "I'll drop this off and we'll get going."
It might take them an hour or more to get there. He had practiced imagining several locations he had seen along the trip in vivid detail to ensure their safe passage, but it may very well be exhausting, and he would then have to apparate them back.
He rendezvoused with her at the pier from which they could apparate, where she stood patiently waiting. She was smiling at him, that small mischievous grin plastered on her face with shining eyes.
She had the same look in her eyes when she stuck him to that desk in first-year, or whenever she made him try on some robes in Diagon Alley. She also wore it when she challenged him to a duel last year while he was still… ill.
He internally grimaced at the memory of that whole debacle.
He stepped up next to her and she intertwined her arm through one of his. He looked down at the contact, before looking back at her.
"We have to be in contact, don't we?" Her cheeks were rosy and, this close, he was acutely aware of how pink her lips were. He turned away to instead look out at the city. "I read that it's easier to sidelong apparate if we're closer. Unless it's distracting..."
He shook his head to the negative. He focused and cleared his mind of the heavy feelings that were encroaching on him.
He visualized a vineyard in southern France and exhaled.
With a crack they were standing amongst white grapes in a large field. From where they stood Harry could spot train rails. In the opposite direction of the rails was a chateau, or perhaps a farmhouse overlooking the fields.
"That wasn't so bad," he said.
Daphne huffed and blew some hair out of her face. She had nearly fallen and had lurched forward, but his arm had secured her.
Harry checked himself over for any missing body parts. Once he was assured that his extremities were still firmly attached and no sudden pain indicated missing organs, he turned to give Daphne a once-over.
She was looking herself over as well. She stared at her feet for a concerning amount of time. Eventually though, she nodded.
"I'm all here, I think," she affirmed. "Was that too tiring for you?" She smirked.
He realized he was breathing harder than normal and could feel sweat on his brow.
"It was more than I expected, but less than I was worried about," he considered, panting. "If it's just this than I should be good to go in a few minutes."
"How far did we apparate?" She gave a huff that blew more hair out of her face.
Harry hummed, considering it. "Perhaps a hundred fifty kilometers."
"And how far do we have to go?"
"You really should ask these things before the trip starts," he lightly admonished her.
"Oh, just tell me."
"Nearly two thousand." They had to follow the train lines, the places he had been, which didn't exactly form a geodesic, so it was farther than a straight trip.
"This is going to take all day, isn't it?" She grumbled.
He chuckled absently.
"I can probably double our distance, but that's still a few more jumps." He discarded some of the memories he was using to visualizing his destination and pondered for a moment longer. "Between four and six more."
"So, what? We would have had twelve jumps going by this distance?" She gestured in the general direction of the south, where they had come from.
"Something like that. Some jumps, like the one over the channel, are constant between my plans." It was just a matter of the geometry involved. Perhaps if he had jumped twice as far this time then he could shave one off but as it was he was still going to stop at some of the same places.
He hesitated. He had considered bringing Daphne to Number 4 Privet Drive in Surrey. The Geometry of their jumps and his familiarity with the location worked out and… he was curious. He wanted to know about their deaths and who had struck against him.
Not that the Dursleys had mattered to Harry, but Pettigrew had no way of knowing that. It was entirely possible that they were killed as a means to get to Harry, ineffective as it had been.
A few touches of the right objects and Daphne could discover what happened at the Dursleys'. Of course, on the other side of that coin, Daphne would discover what else happened at the Dursleys'.
He was closer to Daphne than anyone else. Shouldn't she know? Especially since he knew so much about her. Though he knew she was curious, she had never asked about his relatives with any vigor.
He had trusted her with nearly everything else, shouldn't he trust her with this? She certainly trusted him.
He would bring her there sometime and ask for her help. Not today though. He was going to be exhausted enough from apparating them so far, he justified.
"Ready?"
She nodded and took his arm.
They apparrated five more times to reach Hogsmeade, checking themselves over and giving Harry a moment to rest in-between.
Hogsmeade was chilly, autumn had come to Scotland and the sweat on Harry's back probably would have left anyone else feeling uncomfortable, but he had his advantages.
"I take it back. That was pretty bad." Harry sucked air in and groaned softly at the thought of apparating them back. "Next time you should make us a portkey."
"Daphne!" An enthusiastic shout rang out. The increase in pitch seemed to indicate the source was getting closer. Tracey slammed into Daphne with a hug. "It's been so long! And you kept me waiting! You said you were leaving like an hour ago and I just had to stand out in the cold! How's France, I bet it's warm down there. Met any cute French boys? Are there beaches? Did you check them out?" Her eyebrows gave a slight wobble as she said the last bit with a smirk.
Daphne was smiling and laughing during the entire greeting-turned-interrogation. "I saw you in the mirror today, plus Harry needed breaks between apparating. We left when I said we left."
"The mirror isn't the same." Tracey gave a dismissive gesture by flicking the back of her hand in Daphne's direction.
"I saw you less than a month ago."
"Practically forever!" Tracey swooned.
Harry didn't have to touch Tracey's mind to be infected by her happiness. He couldn't help but let his lips turn up in a smile. He looked away from the conversation taking place up at the castle. There was an itch to go inside and go to his room and never leave. The itch would have to be scratched another day.
"I don't know where Lisa and Neville are. They said they'd meet me here but they didn't turn up." Tracey turned away from Daphne and looked around Hogsmeade, they had gathered a little bit of attention from visiting students. His presence seemed to be enough to discourage anyone from getting closer.
Harry spotted Neville and Lisa coming their way at a brisk pace.
"Sorry we're late," Neville apologized.
"It's fine," Harry dismissed.
Tracey snorted. "They were late, you were late. Merlin, am I the only one who can be punctual around here? I swear…"
Harry zeroed in on Neville. He didn't look so off-balance, he was still pudgy and he looked well rested. Harry reached into Neville's head, and frustration and impotence burned against his touch, bitter and sour. Along with something sweeter, relief, perhaps?
He plunged into Neville's memories.
["It was too far, don't you think? Showing off those curses like that?" Hermione began. "He could have just explained the curses and their incantations. He made them look attractive to some students." She was carrying her books with both arms close to her chest, with her chin angled slightly upwards.
Neville could tell that she was thinking about Harry, but Harry undoubtedly knew about the Unforgivables.
"Yeah, maybe."
She must have been able to tell that he didn't fully agree because she turned around and looked at him. "What? Don- You're as white as a sheet! Are you cold? Running a fever?"
She extended a hand towards him and stopped walking. He batted the probing digits away from him, leaning back as she suddenly stopped walking. He narrowed his eyes.
"I'm fine, let's just get to Lunch, I'm hungry is all."]
Harry let the strand go and grabbed another.
["Neville you've hardly touched your potatoes," Hermione reprimanded him. "Are you sure you're not coming down with something? We could go to the Hospital Wing?"
"It's not my favorite," Neville excused himself, pushing his plate away from himself. "That's all."
"You've been like this all week! Ever since Defense you've been ill. I knew that he shouldn't have shown those spells, they're so dreadful!"
No, he needed to see them. He needed to know.
Neville felt hungry, but it wasn't for anything roasted. He burned in his stomach and chest.
"Come on, we'll take you to Madam Pomfrey."
"I'm fine Hermione."
"Ne-"
"Stop it!" Neville snapped.
He felt his ears flush as her face fell. She had only been trying to help, even if it was in a pushy way. Could he really be upset with her over that? Really?
"S-sorry," he stammered. "I-I-I just don't think she can help." His confidence buoyed by his anger sank.]
"Hey Harry, Daphne," Lisa said as she reached them. "How's France been?"
"It's been fun," Daphne responded. "The dueling classes are very interesting. Harry pretty much hasn't left their library. We also visited Cannes, Harry apparated me."
Harry shrugged.
"Did you sidelong apparate all the way here?" Lisa asked. "I thought you were joking."
He shook his head with a wan smile, "Why do you think it took so long? I had to recover between jumps."
"Wait but isn't tha-"
"He's Harry Potter," Daphne explained, rolling her eyes as she interrupted Tracey. "Things that would be difficult for other wizards are beneath him." She added a sardonic, faux pompous twist to her voice as she said that.
"To be fair, it was exhausting," Harry confessed. "I'm not looking forward to the return trip," He looked up at Neville. "The Beauxbatons Herbology Professor was impressed with our work."
"Was he?" Neville gave a small smile, genuinely curious.
"Professor Du'Mont can't stop gushing over Harry about it. Apparently, it's important for their economy," Daphne answered with a dainty shrug.
"Alexandre Du'Mont? He wrote the book on Aquatic Mediter-"
"Aside from boring plant stuff," Tracey cut in. "What's Beauxbatons like? What do you do there?"
"Daphne went out with some guy?" Harry informed them absently.
"What? Really?" Tracey predictably jumped on that while Daphne shot him some kind of betrayed look. "Where did you go? Was it fun? Is he hot? Did you kiss? Answer me! I live through you! Your romantic life is my romantic life!"
Harry stepped back. He had underestimated her verve.
"What's his name?" Lisa entered, much more level-headed and asking the more obvious question. When Daphne didn't respond Lisa looked at Harry.
"I never asked," Harry answered, placatingly.
"That's it!" Tracey announced, fed up with the slow progress she was making with getting her answers. "Girl talk. You two stay here or something." She pointed vaguely in Harry and Neville's general direction before she grabbed Daphne's hand and Lisa's shoulder and dragged them further down the street. She turned back and gave a circular gesture, "and don't listen!"
"What did Professor Du'Mont discover?" Harry asked Neville, putting the girls out of mind with practiced swiftness.
"He catalogued over a hundred Mediterranean species," Neville answered, still staring off at the retreating group. "He's the greatest living expert on European aquatic plants. His book is the benchmark."
"Lisa mentioned that you were feeling off," Harry informed him, gauging his reaction, changing the subject quickly to push him off balance. Neville was feeling pent up, he needed to let that out.
"Did she say why?" There was something sharp in Neville's tone, something familiar in his head.
Harry nodded slightly, "she said it was after Professor Lupin demonstrated the Unforgivable Curses in class."
"You told her!" Neville snarled his nostrils flared. He stepped up to Harry and Harry turned away from the staring at the backs of the group of girls to meet his friend's eye.
"No, I didn't," Harry replied calmly, holding his hands out in placation, almost radiating tranquility. "Why do you think I'm here?"
Neville looked away from him to glare furiously at the ground. "You wouldn't understand."
Harry asked, "out of everyone in the world?"
Neville's eyes flashed, "Your parents are only dead, Harry."
"You're right, I have no living family."
"That's not the point! You have Dumbledore looking out for you, what do I have?"
"A grandmother who loves you dearly." Harry raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "I don't want to have a pity party Neville, I want to help."
"Really? Can you help my parents!?" Neville accused.
"Your parents are strangers to you," Harry returned. "You wouldn't know them. You've never met them. You're an orphan, like me. I hope that one day you can let them go, as I have."
"I'm supposed to follow in your footsteps? You know what Hermione says about you?"
Harry stayed quiet. He could very well guess what Hermione had to say about him, but that wasn't the point.
"I'm done talking to you," Neville finished as he calmed down.
"Then listen," Harry said sharply, inflecting his voice harshly for the first time.
It was enough to give Neville pause, make him flinch when he made to leave.
"Did you know I studied the killing curse?" Harry asked. "Hours and hours. I even considered casting it."
Neville flinched again, "Hermione was right about you-"
"What would she say if she knew you wanted to know more about the Cruciatus curse?"
"H-h-how do you know about that?"
"I bet you know the wand movement. I bet you've practiced it, late at night, alone in your dormitory, when everyone who has families is sleeping." Harry didn't even need to read Neville's mind to know he had struck true. There was a pale shadow of himself within the Longbottom scion.
"You've done the same thing," Neville realized. His words were soft, and his hands were no longer clenched by his sides.
"What would Hermione say about that, huh? That it's evil? That it's wrong?"
"She wouldn't understand…"
"Hermione is an only child, doted on by her parents, the both of them, their attention devoted to her. What would she know about loneliness?" It's true. He didn't know enough to say that Hermione's life had been easy, but she'd never felt that howling dissociation. Except, perhaps, here at Hogwarts. Before the troll. Then she had tasted seclusion, had suffered under its weight.
Even had she been called a freak by her peers in other schools, she at least had family to fall back on.
Harry knew what it was like to be alone. In all the world he was the expert on solitude, he knew nothing but detachment until Hogwarts.
"That doesn't make her a bad person," Neville pointed out, but his focus was absent. It was as though he was saying for himself rather than for Harry.
"No, it doesn't," Harry agreed. "Do you want to cast the Cruciatus curse? Do you want to know what it feels like under it?"
Neville was silent for a long time, minutes.
"It's…" Neville trailed off.
Neville wanted to say it was wrong. That it was evil and repulsive… but he wasn't completely repulsed. He wanted to know.
"I want to know what the killing curse is like. I just haven't tried, for obvious reasons," Harry joked lightly.
Neville gave him a soft chuckle. "You survived it once."
"I don't think I'll get that lucky again. Could you imagine me walking away from it a second time?" He inserted more levity.
The only sound was that of shoppers further down, Tracey giggling distantly, the Scottish wind through crinkling leaves.
"Harry, I couldn't ask you for that."
"Why not?" Harry said shrugging, "I trust you."
"I-I just can't."
"Then don't ask. I'm offering."
"Maybe sometime. But not today." Neville breathed. He exhaled like he had been holding his breath for a week. "What would you do if you could get revenge on You-Know-Who?"
"If I had him at the wrong end of my wand?" Harry clarified. Neville gave a slow nod.
"I'm not sure. Dumbledore would say he deserves our pity."
"But what do you think he deserves?"
"He doesn't deserve to be here with us." Harry gave the question its due consideration. "There are things he can take from me. He's… dangerous. If I had him, I'd do away with him."
"He killed your parents," Neville reminded. "You don't want revenge?"
"Pettigrew…" Harry paused. "Both of them may also be responsible for the death of my relatives."
"Peter Pettigrew? What did he do?"
"He betrayed my parents to Voldemort."
Neville didn't flinch at the name. He was likely too emotionally exhausted.
"You don't sound upset."
"It's distant," Harry returned. "What about you? Bellatrix Lestrange or Barty Crouch Jr?"
Bellatrix Lestrange was… well she was a monster, but she was unique. She was an empath, as a convicted Death Eater knowledge about her life was a matter of public-record. She was a twisted empath.
Most empaths are able to feel the emotions around them with a sizeable range and not all of them could turn it off. The misery and conflicting emotions of others around them could drive them mad. Most of them avoided urban areas and other people in general in an effort to preserve their own sanity, but that solitude could also take a toll on their mental health.
There had been attempts by empaths to form colonies, but when a single member might start experiencing rage or depression it would bring the whole group down with it, a positive feedback loop poisoning the entire collective.
Bellatrix was unique in that she felt, perhaps not the opposite emotions from her target, but the inverse. Excruciating pain in those nearby supposedly sent her mind straight to nirvana.
"I'd kill them," Neville clenched his jaw. "They took everything from me. I know hurting them won't bring them back but..."
Harry nodded.
"About Hermione…"
Harry waved him off, "Hermione doesn't concern me."
"I thought you disliked her." Neville turned a curious eye at him.
"She dislikes me, but the feeling isn't mutual. I think she is a perfectly respectable witch who only has success ahead of her," Harry searched for the right word. "She's too…" Pristine? Trite? Singular? She had elements of all those things, but none were quite right.
"Naive? Innocent?" Neville tried to supply him with the right word.
Harry shook his head and they stood in silence.
"Are you okay?" Harry pressed lightly.
"I'll be alright."
Harry gave his friend a soft smile.
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"Hello, Harry."
Harry turned and saw one Ginevra Weasley, her face turning to the color of a raspberry under his attention. It made since that she would be around Hogsmeade, being a third-year probably meant that today was exciting for her.
Neville had made his way back up to the castle and Harry stood alone waiting for Tracey to finish with Daphne. He had no idea how long that was supposed to take.
"Ginny," he greeted politely before he very rudely reached out his mental fingers. There was something of a defense. At the very least she had likely been doing some basic mental exercises for a while now. "How are you liking Hogsmeade?" He continued as though he wasn't finger deep in her emotions.
"It's nice," she managed to squeak out. She was trying terribly hard to calm herself. Whoever she had been seeing obviously hadn't snipped whatever her obsession with him was.
"I see you've been recovering, practicing mind magic," he soldiered on, rooting around slightly to see what whoever she was seeing had done to her mind, hoping to glean some insight about mental healing.
"Is it that obvious?"
She was… focusing on important memories from before she was possessed. Major personality defining moments. Time spent with her family, flying a broomstick for the first time, running in a park with some childhood friend, and… himself handing her a cauldron in Diagon Alley?
Her instructor hadn't told her which memories to focus on, only to enrapture herself with some of them, she had chosen these ones herself. That was the point, though, to rebuild her thought patterns through the repetitive examination of her most important thoughts.
"It is to me." He shrugged.
This method was fascinating, he could only spot small instances where her mind had actually been touched by the professional, a woman named Madam Wheeler. It was allowing her mind to regrow and rebuild, using these points in her life as a trellis for the twisting vines to grow upon. Providing structure and foundation to her psyche.
His own method with Malachite had been to cut away the rot, exorcise the broken strands. More similar to deadheading roses and cutting away large parts to make way for the new.
I made a horrible mistake.
He hadn't healed Malachite, not really. She had no structure now, there was nothing to rebuild upon. There were no twisted strands, just surgically removed blocks, but they had nothing to stand on. Even if her memories had been damaged they could have still helped her. She was never going to have come out of what happened exactly the same anyway.
How many personality defining moments had he removed all traces of? Would she be sane if she awoke?
I've destroyed her.
Imagine if a person was shot and then you removed the bleeding arteries and veins. You just pulled out the damaged organs instead of repairing them. Of course the healer would call it miraculous. Like a doctor who opened up a person to operate and found no heart inside their chest, just clean-cut arteries.
Harry hadn't performed surgery. He had vivisected her.
"Shouldn't you be in France?" Ginny continued.
Harry cleared his throat and tried to wave away his complicated feelings. They were heavy and just… dense. "I just apparated up here to see my friends."
"Lisa?"
"Neville and Tracey too," Harry confirmed. He was trying not to choke.
"Where are they?"
"Tracey dragged Lisa and Daphne off somewhere and Neville already went back to the castle."
"That Slytherin girl?"
Harry nodded. As Ginny was getting more in control, mastering her emotions, his seemed to be flying off the handlebars.
Ginny wrinkled her nose and Harry attempted to detect whatever she did. The faint musk of ozone hit the back of his throat.
I need to deal with this later.
He snapped himself back into restraint as fast as he could. His abilities spilled from him enough even when he was focused.
"So what? You apparate her all the way up here and she just left you alone?"
She had originally planned on saying that Daphne had ditched him, but changed his mind.
"I suppose." He probably could be studying instead but this wasn't so much of a loss, just a few hours.
"I see…" She didn't at all. She was trying to drive the point home that she would give him attention even if Daphne wouldn't. She wanted to put his relationship with Daphne under some scrutiny in some attempt to make him want to spend time with her instead.
Was this obsession with him natural? He had thought it was a result of her ordeal, but if the mind healer hadn't removed it then was it a part of her personality? Or had she encouraged it anyway? A school girl crush to focus on. An attempt to normalize her.
"I mostly came to see Neville anyway," he dismissed.
"Harry?" Daphne was coming back, she looked around. "Where'd Neville go?"
"He went back to the castle."
"Yes I suppose it is nearly curfew for Hogwarts." Daphne nodded along.
"I'll see you later, Harry." Ginny stepped back and turned around to make her way back towards the castle. "Goodbye."
"Goodbye Ginny." Harry turned back to Daphne. "Time for us to leave?"
"Probably, I'm sorry we took so long. You know how Tracey is."
"I got what I came for anyway."
He offered her his arm and they apparated away.
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Harry visited the Malachite girl that night. He had to see what he had wrought. He had to.
Her mind looked like a quarry compared to the growing advancement of Ginny's. Stone blocks removed, clean cut rock and an empty pit. Clean cut, but not alive.
How old had Voldemort been when he had killed the girl in the bathroom?
Do you know anything about mind healing?
Harry wrote to Grindelwald.
It exists in an odd area. Do you know what mind magic is?
You could probably call it my forte, so yes.
Are you familiar with the anatomy of the human brain.
Harry wasn't. When he compared that knowledge with what he had just written it seemed very glaring.
Not very.
Tell me, do you know what happens physically when you use Legilimency on a person? What happens to their brain when you interact with the mind?
I'm not sure.
Neither am I. Thus, it exists an odd Twilight Zone. Somewhere between the physical and metaphysical. In a physical sense, you are reading the movements of signals both in the present and the past that are happening in their mind. From there you are implementing transfiguration. Physically changing their brain as you metaphysically adjust their mind.
It doesn't feel like that at all. How could I possibly process and understand that much movement, that much signal, and then precisely, on the cellular level, change it.
The modality is nothing familiar to the interpretation of signals is it? Yet you are doing so within your own mind right now, are you not?
That was an alarmingly good point. He was doing that in his brain right now when he rode his train of thought and changed his tracks. Assuming he was indeed his own conductor.
Assuming such a thing as free will.
Free will is a quaint notion for wizards like us.
Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that.
Why are some wizards more powerful than others?
You will hear, from the uneducated, that different people have different sized magical cores with their own consistencies and textures. You will hear that this is source of all differences in magical might.
This is a common misconception which arises when amateurs first begin learning about soul magic. They mistake the soul, the source of a person, for the source of magic, though the soul is inherently magical.
This is not the case. Magical creatures are permeated with magic while wizards pull magic through them, they are merely the catalyst for a reaction, not the source of the energy for it.
Wizards of the greatest power are the beings with the greatest impetus. More impulse occurs within their bodies than that of lesser individuals.
Harry processed that, evaluating it against his existing body of knowledge. It reminded him a little about his discussion with Professor Snape above a cauldron of Wolfsbane potion.
How much magic can be excited to perform work in this way?
As much as one can handle, if they can survive the wear that it puts on their bodies. You are likely already familiar with the exertion one puts themselves through by channeling arcane flux.
Harry thought immediately about apparating all the way to Scotland, or when he used his putrescence curse.
Theoretically, how much can a person withstand?
Which person and when? Again with the witless questions. I expect you to know enough about magic to understand why it is so varied?
But surely we have limits.
There could only be so much, right? How much until a person just burst into flames or turned to stone or a million other things that could go wrong, did? They could only channel so much until their heart simply stopped and they couldn't handle it. A human was just flesh and blood, and mere flesh and blood is all the same person-to-person.
As a conductor, it could only be stretched so far.
And who could impose them? You forget the intertwined nature of will and magic. I should not have to spend time lecturing you regarding intent.
Grindelwald had a fairly good point. It wasn't the body that held magic, though magic could be applied to it. It was the mind and, it would seem, the soul. A wand was little more than an antenna from this perspective, though, a sufficiently puissant wizard could be their own focus, a wand was a better conductor.
Are some wands greater conductors than others?
A far better question. Read what I have recommended to you.
Did all great wizards have to be so enigmatic? Harry desperately hoped that he wasn't so transcendent when he spoke.
That aside, it was fairly obvious that Grindelwald wanted him to reach some conclusion based on the story he gave Harry. The only question then was what could possibly be so important that the former Dark Lord wouldn't just spill the secrets?
Wasn't that the point of having a mentor? To easily gain what others had worked hard to achieve?
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Harry's was woken up by a vibration on the knuckles of his hand. He woke up quickly and looked down at the metal that made up his family ring. It was vibrating, just softly.
He took it off and examined it slowly. He set it on his nightstand where it shook gently. Making a low hum against the wood.
He picked it up and turned it over in his fingers.
Ernie was also awake, though he looked considerably groggier.
"Wha's go'n on?" Ernie asked. "Is that your ring?"
Harry nodded.
"Is yours doing it too?"
"Rattling?" Harry asked, nodding as he said it.
"Why are we awake?" Michael demanded from his bed, evidently woken up by Harry and Ernie talking. "Its-" he paused to find his clock on his nightstand, knocking it to the ground before grabbing it. "Its six o'clock on a Saturday-Sunday," he corrected, holding his clock in both hands. "Why is my clock humming at me."
"My ring is vibrating," Harry said.
"Mine too." Ernie confirmed.
"Is it metals?" Harry reached for the metal clasps on the trunk. "It's doing it too. The whole train is shaking."
"It's singing to me," Ernie said softly. He was holding his ring up to his ear, he began to hum softly. "I can hear it singing. If I listen closer maybe I can hear the words..."
"Ernie!" Harry snapped. His dormmate's eyes snapped up to him. "Put it down."
The boy almost tossed the ring away from him. "You think it's dangerous."
"Do you know what song you were humming?" Harry pressed.
Ernie shook his head looking nervous.
"Is it… mind magic?" Michael asked.
Harry shook his head before giving a tentative shrug. "Maybe, I don't think so, but I don't recognize this spell. It could have aspects of mind magic, a lot of songs can do horrible things."
"You mean like get stuck in our heads or…" Michael pushed.
"Something like that, but magic. Not a regular song."
"It feels like a heartbeat." Michael looked down at the clock in his hands. "It's warm."
"Drop it!" Ernie warned.
"Don't listen, don't interact with anything metal," Harry suggested.
"Harry the whole train is metal," Ernie countered.
"Then we need to get off the train." Harry realized he could hear it too. Almost whispering at him.
He stood up and felt Dumbledore approaching. Harry stepped out into the corridor, transfiguring clothes onto himself.
"Sir."
"Harry, I see you are already on top of things."
"Sir what is happening, is the song dangerous?"
"Afraid of the infectious power of music?" Dumbledore hmed at him. "Ah I see your roommates are awake as well, Please, Mr. Corner, Mr. Macmillan, don't let us disturb your sleep any longer, I need to borrow Mr. Potter.
"But the song, Sir?" Michael pushed.
"It's a lullabye, one of Tanyushka Malachite's favorites, according to her mother. Something about a child being too close to the edge of the bed and being dragged off into the forest and killed by wolves. On that note I bid you a good morning. Follow me, won't you Harry?"
Harry followed his professor down the corridor to a door and out into the early French mourning.
"It was wise of you to be concerned about music."
"I have heard of 'Sonnets of the Sorcerer,' Sir." Harry waited for Dumbledore to reach the point.
"Madam Malachite arrived yesterday but only for a moment, perhaps you were in Scotland at the time? An impressive feat of apparition for your age, carrying yourself and Ms. Greengrass so far. Ah, visiting friends is important. It should not be forgotten. Once I traveled all the way to Germany just to visit a penpal."
Was it Grindelwald?
Harry didn't ask that, instead he walked in silence.
"That's a story for another time, I'm afraid. For now Madam Malachite has made the time in her busy schedule to remain by her daughter's side. She is a fairly busy woman."
Too busy to see her mostly dead daughter?
"Do you know her Professor?"
"We've met once alone. We fought in the Great War, however."
"On which side?"
"We fought together." Dumbledore pushed past the treeline to a rocky beach where he stopped.
"Someone mentioned to me that she was powerful."
"Had a run in with a handful of rowdy Durmstrang students, then? It's not like you to listen to rumors." Dumbledore marched on. "She is fantastically wealthy, so there is some power in that. Magically speaking, however, I won't lie to you. She is a Metallokinetic and a Shapeshifter, Harry."
That stole Harry's breath. "Both?"
Dumbledore gave a solemn nod.
Animagi could change from man to animal but a shapeshifter, a real one, wasn't limited by much of anything.
"I wished to warn you, Harry. The girl who cast the memory charm, Ms. Faere has left the Island and hasn't returned. Her family likely fled to avoid the ire of Madam Malachite. If she believes you are culpable for her Daughter's state, then there is no telling what she may do. I had hoped that her daughter would start to recover with your intervention, but there has no sign of any such progress."
With my intervention she is even less likely to recover.
"I want you to avoid her, whenever possible. Carry your cloak with you at all times, just to be cautious. I want your word."
"You're afraid of her," Harry realized.
"I do not relish the thought of her as an enemy. Your word, young man."
"You have it," Harry agreed.
"Then I shan't keep you any longer. Have a pleasant Sunday." Dumbledore departed with that, old legs carrying him much more quickly back to the school than the rate they had brought him here.
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"Cognitive psychology tells us that the unaided human mind is vulnerable to many fallacies and illusions because of its reliance on its memory for vivid anecdotes rather than systematic statistics." – Steven Pinker
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-WG