Harry Potter and the Inferi Complex
A Fantastic Beasts/Harry Potter Crossover by
Nate Grey (xman0123-at-aol-dot-com)
Chapter 3: SAHARA - Sand Dancer

from The New Astute's Handbook, by Opan Dor

The Astute and Wizardkind

An Astute is not a wizard or witch.

A wizard or witch, ideally, should not become an Astute.

And yet, we are all blessed, or cursed, to wield magic.

These are ironclad truths, even if only we, as Astutes, are aware of them.

The existence of Obscurials, for several reasons, have been hidden from the wizarding world. And I need not stress that it was not our idea to do so. The act of even stating the word "Obscurial" aloud is an offense punishable by jail time in some regions.

No one likes to be reminded of their greater failures. Least of all those who are accustomed to fixing or erasing mistakes with magic.

Consequently, the existence of Astutes is an even greater secret from the wizarding world. And yet, I cannot truthfully state that we are entirely self-reliant. Through the years, we have benefited from the aid of particularly skilled wizards and witches, who have either helped conceal our existence, or participated in the locating and capture of Obscurials, often at great personal risk.

To our magical brethren, I express the following. We humbly and sincerely thank you.

I would also like to offer a message to two wizards in particular.

To Albus Dumbledore and Newt Scamander: you remain two of the most infuriating wizards I have ever had the displeasure to meet, and I would greatly appreciate it if, should we happen to meet in the next life, you simply crossed the street without speaking, and pretended not to know me. Also, thank you very much. But again, please remember the bit about not knowing me.

THEN

"I don't understand," Ariana said, pouting. "Why can't I have a wand?"

"I did not say that you could not have a wand," her teacher said patiently. "I said that it was unnecessary."

"But why?" Ariana asked.

"What is the first thing that I told you, after I Refined you?"

"That I had a beautiful smile," Ariana replied at once with a big grin.

He chuckled. "True. The second thing, then."

"That I was safe."

"Do you know why I said that?"

"Because I was an Obscurial," Ariana stated softly. "And they always die before or at ten years old. I was nine and a half."

"And now you're older than ten," her teacher said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Because you are no longer an Obscurial. And it's time that you understood: you are no longer a witch, either. That path was closed to you the moment your Obscurus first emerged. Just as the path to you dying as an Obscurial was closed the moment you were Refined. That is why I said you were safe."

"So I can't have a wand, because I'm not a witch anymore?"

"You don't need a wand, because you aren't a witch anymore," he corrected. "And it would be counterproductive. As an Astute, you will learn to control your magic without an instrument. A wand would only be an obstacle to that. And it might even be impossible. I last held a wand when I was eleven years old. It exploded seconds after I touched it. As I grew in power, wands would explode just from my intent to touch them. Astutes are not meant to carry wands, and I have never known one who could. You may try some day, if you like, but don't get your hopes up."

Ariana nodded. "I see. So Astutes can't do what wizards and witches do?"

"It's more accurate to say that we have other ways of doing what they do. For example, we cannot Apparate, but instead we can Weave, which is-"

"Astute Hermes, please report to the Scanning Room immediately," said a polite but clearly stressed male voice through the intercom. "You have a visitor."

Ariana blinked. "I didn't think we ever got visitors here."

"We really don't," Hermes confirmed. "Whoever is visiting, is likely extremely determined and largely unwelcome." He paused. "Actually, you should come along. This could get messy."

"But what if I'm not ready?" Ariana asked anxiously.

Hermes gave her an imperious stare. "You are my student. If you do not trust your own abilities, then at least trust my ability to accurately judge them."

When they arrived, the Scanning Room was more hectic than Ariana had ever seen it. The reason for this was both clear, and yet not quite obvious: a rather skinny, harmless looking man was standing in the center of the room, surrounded by Astutes. His clothes were torn and dirty, and most of him was stained with blood that looked to be his own. Despite this, and the chaos his presence was causing, he appeared rather calm and somewhat upbeat.

"You're a Hufflepuff," Ariana stated with certainty, before she could stop herself.

The man blinked, looked at her, and smiled. "You're a Dumbledore," he replied with equal firmness. "I have a message from your brother." He produced a small envelope and tried to hand it to her, but several Astutes instantly moved to stop him.

The letter, perhaps sensing the obstacle, flew from his hand, darted back and forth across the room, swiftly avoiding all attempts to capture it, and zoomed neatly into Ariana's hand when she finally reached for it.

"It's definitely from one of my brothers," Ariana laughed, "and clearly for me. I think you guys can relax."

There was much grumbling at this, since outsiders were not supposed to just hand post that had not been checked thoroughly to Astutes, but Ariana had already opened the letter and seemed perfectly safe. It was a short letter.

My Dearest Ari,

I apologize for interrupting your training, and trust you are working hard to master your powers. However, I must ask a favor of you. The girl accompanying Mr. Scamander has had an extremely hard life, and I fear the new environment may prove troubling for her. She will desperately need a friend, and I am hopeful that it can be you.

Forever Yours,
Al

Ariana blinked, lifted her head, and stared. There was no girl. Not a visible one, anyway.

"I couldn't read the letter, but I trust it mentioned the girl?" the man, apparently Mr. Scamander, asked.

"Yes," Ariana said slowly.

Mr. Scamander pulled at his coat pocket, which seemed especially tattered, and murmured loudly, "You can come out now, it's quite safe."

More dirt than Ariana had ever seen a single person generate suddenly flowed out of every inch of Mr. Scamander's clothing, forming a large pile directly in front of him. By the time the glittering quality of it made Ariana realize that it was actually sand, it had formed a humanoid shape, and then, with a twirl, it actually became a human: a very brown, very scarred, very bald, very short girl with yellow eyes. She immediately took a step back and clutched Mr. Scamander's leg with one hand.

Mr. Scamander cleared his throat and placed a calming hand on the girl's head. "This is Sahara. She's why I dropped by. I trust this explains that I didn't just wander in, or break in out of curiosity?"

"You still shouldn't know how to get in here, unless one of us told you," Hermes pointed out.

Mr. Scamander blinked. "When you say 'one of us', would that happen to include Albus-?"

"No," Hermes said firmly, and with growing annoyance.

"I'm sure he meant well," Ariana added.

"You are hardly unbiased," Hermes replied. "The rules are partially to protect you, as well."

"It's not much good protecting me if people like her don't know where to go for help, is it?" Ariana protested.

"She wouldn't have to know where to go, if an Astute had been the one to bring her in," Hermes said. "Which is how it's supposed to work."

"If it matters," Mr. Scamander said pointedly, "it took me six hours to get Sahara to calm down, and I had never even heard of an Astute until Albus told me about them later."

Every Astute in the room froze.

"You... calmed her down?" Hermes said, his voice unusually high. "How?"

"Talked to her, of course." Mr. Scamander patted Sahara's head, and she clung to him a bit tighter. "Is that not done here? Perhaps it's best that one of you didn't show up, then."

"She... hasn't been Refined?" Hermes demanded.

"I don't know what that is," Mr. Scamander said helpfully.

"She hasn't been touched by an Astute?"

"No, she would have reacted rather badly to that," Mr. Scamander assured him. "Would have been downright noticeable, sandstorming all over the place-"

"You are saying that you managed to transport a raw Obscurial from... where did you find her?"

"Sudan."

"From Sudan to London-"

"We stopped at Hogwarts first. Needed to be told you existed, and then given directions, as you lot aren't in any directory. Not in any way that's even remotely helpful, at least."

"Surely you can understand the need for-"

"She needs a hug," Ariana interrupted loudly.

Mr. Scamander frowned. "I did hug her. Many times."

"You're not a girl." Ariana smiled at Sahara, who stared at her.

"But you are an Astute," Hermes said to Ariana, "and she is an Obscurial. This is not your duty. Not yet."

"You said I was ready," Ariana responded at once.

"For the fight that I was expecting. Not for this. I know we've reviewed the cost of Refining. You aren't prepared-"

"You don't want me to be prepared yet."

"You're too young."

"Won't be forever."

"Especially not if you do this."

"What's the issue, exactly?" Mr. Scamander asked.

Hermes frowned at him. "Refining is the process that begins when an Astute makes physical contact with an Obscurial. It's sort of a restart button. It leaves the former Obscurial with control over their power. Not total, but certainly greater than they had before."

"That sounds like a good thing," Mr. Scamander offered.

"It is. For the Obscurial. But there is a significant cost, to the Astute. We come into a great deal of power as we grow and learn. So much so that our existence actually warps the world around us to varying degrees. That's where the name Astute comes from. We can learn to manipulate our surroundings to our advantage. We can even greatly decrease the rate at which we age." Hermes paused. "What year were you born in, sir?"

Mr. Scamander frowned, as if he considered this question rather rude, but still answered, "1897."

"To you, Ariana probably appears no older than eleven. She was born in 1885, came to us in 1894, and has spent your entire life here. And she is not even considered a fairly experienced Astute by our standards. But there is one thing that ensures we do not live forever. That is Refining. It drains us, our magic, our lifespan. That is why it is a task typically reserved for older Astutes, or those prepared to expire. If we allowed the young ones to recklessly Refine, there would be little point in teaching them, as they wouldn't survive long enough to make use of those teachings."

Mr. Scamander stared at Ariana. "And knowing all of that, you still want to hug Sahara?"

"Yes," Ariana said firmly.

Mr. Scamander knelt down and placed his hands on Sahara's shoulders. She turned to him at once. "This girl is someone that you can trust with your life," he said to her softly. "Because she is willing to trust you with hers."

"I hurt," Sahara muttered, plucking at Mr. Scamander's bloody sleeve, guilt shining in her eyes.

"I forgive," Mr. Scamander insisted, placing a kiss on her head.

"I stay Newt?" Sahara asked hopefully.

Mr. Scamander shook his head. "We talked about this, Sahara. If I could teach you everything that you need to know, I'd be glad to have you stay with me. But I think this is the best place for you to learn those things. And once you have, I would love for you to come and show me what you've learned. So why don't we make that our promise?"

Sahara grimaced. "I study. Newt go."

"For a while," he agreed. "And then?"

"I show Newt."

Mr. Scamander took off his scarf, which had certainly seen better days, and draped it around Sahara's neck. "I'm going to want this back at some point. I expect you to have it the next time I see you."

It was an odd thing to say, but Ariana understood. It was his way of saying that he was not abandoning Sahara, and that he fully intended to see her again. Sahara must have understood, too, because she nodded gravely, then leaned in and kissed Mr. Scamander on the nose. Instead of smiling or returning the gesture, Mr. Scamander actually blushed, which Ariana thought was adorable.

And the next time that Ariana smiled at her, Sahara shyly smiled back, and took a slow step toward her.

NOW

"Time to wake up, Harry Potter."

It was cold, dark, and cramped, but Harry was used to those conditions, thanks to the cupboard.

What he was not used to was being in such a space with what was clearly an older version of himself. About the only comfort Harry could see was that at least he wasn't being stared in the face: the older Harry had his eyes firmly shut. Thinking of his own recent mishap, Harry decided there was probably a good reason for that.

"What do you want?" Harry asked. "And are you really me?"

"I want to talk. And I'm not you. Not in the way you're thinking, anyway. This is just the form that's simplest for me to take. You can call me whatever you like."

Harry frowned. The other Harry was wearing a shapeless black robe, but it was too short, and revealed that he was painfully, abnormally thin. Not even the limited diet the Dursleys provided could have possibly been responsible. The man almost had to be sick, dying, or both.

"Bones," Harry blurted out.

"As good a name as any," was the immediate, bland reply.

"What?" Harry asked in alarm. "No, wait! I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter, Harry," Bones interrupted. "You can't offend me, and we won't ever speak this way again. Don't concern yourself with my feelings. What we need to discuss is far more important, and our time is limited."

"Okay," Harry muttered, still feeling a bit guilty.

"Why do you want to die, Harry?" Bones asked outright.

"It's not that I want to. But there's no point in me living, if this is all there will ever be. If you were my future self, and you came here to say that I would live with the Dursleys for the rest of my life, d'you think I'd look forward to that? If I'm never going to be happy, and this is the only way out, why not? I don't know what there is when you die, but if there's any chance I could be with my parents now, why wait?"

Bones nodded. "Those aren't bad reasons, Harry. You don't have to defend yourself to me. And if you were someone else, I would say no more about it."

"But I am me, so you are going to say more," Harry guessed.

Bones grinned. "You know what the Dursleys have said about your parents. Now, given everything you know about the Dursleys, and how they feel about you, do you actually believe what they've said?"

"I know there's plenty they won't tell me," Harry admitted. "You can't be sisters as long as my mother and Aunt Petunia were, and only know how she died. And I wouldn't put it past them to lie to me."

"What do you think it is about your parents, that the Dursleys don't want you to turn out like your mother and father?"

Harry smirked. "Maybe the Dursleys are allergic to decency?"

Bones didn't smile. "How did Mauler die?"

Harry hesitated. "They say I did it, but... I-I didn't do anything. I just stood there and let him bite me."

"Again, Harry: you don't need to defend yourself to me," Bones reminded him. "I'm not you, but if we're taking sides, I'm not on theirs."

Harry would have been more relieved if Bones had said he was on Harry's side, but he nodded. "I think there's something you're trying to tell me, or get me to realize."

"Your memory is selective," Bones said. "Not your fault. You might not have even noticed. Or maybe you just didn't want to think about those times. But you need to see them."

"Bad memories, I assume," Harry muttered.

"I won't lie to you, Harry. I will say that I think doing this is worth any pain you may have forgotten. You feel you have no options. I'm saying there's at least one you can't have considered, because you didn't know it was possible. But you won't believe until you understand. And for that to happen, you need to watch."

"Are they really bad?" Harry asked.

"From my perspective, they're nothing compared to the beatings you've endured," Bones answered.

"Then show me."

"Remember the stick."

And Harry suddenly did, as clearly as if it were happening to him right then.

He'd been three years old. Petunia had taken he and Dudley to a park to play while she chatted with her friends. Dudley got to play in the sandbox with the other kids. Harry was told to play alone near the bushes.

So Harry sat there, alone, watching the other kids play and quickly growing bored. To entertain himself, he picked up a stick and pretended it was a sword.

Without warning, it was ripped out of his hand, and then Harry was howling as Petuna smacked the back of his legs with the stick, over and over again.

He never did find out what he'd done wrong.

"Remember the mud."

Harry was six years old, and face-down in a huge puddle of mud.

Dudley and his friends stood nearby, laughing and pointing.

Harry was crying.

The puddle began to steam.

Dudley was still laughing when the first ball of mud just barely clipped his ear, hard enough to leave a scrape that slowly began to bleed.

The next boy got the mud full in the face and went down at once. Then he began to scream as he discovered that the mud was far too hot.

Then a large, meaty hand was yanking Harry up roughly, and he was staring into the furious face of his uncle.

"Remember me."

And Harry did.

He remembered every beating, every wound he'd been dealt by a Dursley, including Mauler. But now, instead of merely seeing them, he could also see something that hadn't been there before. He could see Bones, carefully and faithfully tending to every single one: dulling pain, healing what he could and closing what he couldn't. All this he did with his hands, which occasionally took on a sickly, green glow.

He saw Bones standing in the front yard, that same glow pouring from his body, bathing everything that lived in that eerie light, smiling grimly as it all began to die.

He saw Bones in the cupboard, stretching out those glowing hands and laying them on Mauler.

And he saw Bones, silently standing guard over Harry's crib, his head bowed in reverence to the fallen, red-haired form at his feet.

"NO!" Harry yelled, jerking back, only to gasp as a long-fingered hand seized his shoulder firmly. "Get off, don't you dare touch me!"

"I swear that I didn't kill her, Harry," Bones said. "I didn't have the power to do anything like that yet. I was born that night. In that moment. And by the time I was, she was already dead. I couldn't have killed her even if I'd wanted to. And why would I ever? She was my mother, too."

Harry froze. "But... you said you weren't-"

"I'm not you." Bones smiled. "I'm your magic, Harry. I came from your parents, just like you did. Most of me did, anyway. But I'm sorry to say, you won't like where the rest of me came from. I've tried to make up for it. I've done my best to protect you while staying hidden at the same time, so the Dursleys couldn't blame anything else on you. I hate them so much, I wanted to hurt them. I should have. But it would have made things worse for you, if you can believe that. Without me, you'd already be dead. And our parents wouldn't want that, I know they wouldn't. If you can't forgive my existence, I'll understand. But I was only in control because you didn't know about me. And now that you do, I can leave it all to you. You won't ever have to see me again, if you don't want to. But you need to be ready. There are far worse things than the Dursleys in our world. I'm proof enough of that."

Bones finally opened his eyes. The right eye was the same faded, milky color that Harry had begun to see in the mirror. But the left eye was a burning crimson that seemed to stare directly through him.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I know you're confused. I wish I had more time to explain. There's someone who can. Maybe you remember that tiny old man who bowed to you in a shop. If you pay close attention, you'll realize that he's in almost every shop you've ever been to. He won't know everything, but he knows enough. Tell him the Dursleys have kept you in the dark, in every sense of the phrase, and that you're ready for the truth. About our world, and yourself." Bones turned his back on Harry. "Always remember, Harry. Death isn't your only option. But it is your power."

Before Albus Dumbledore entered his office, he could feel the familiar presence within, as well as hear the hoarse croaks of his phoenix, Fawkes. The latter did not surprise him: Fawkes was very close to a Burning Day, so he would both look and sound quite awful. The former, however...

It was very difficult to define the relationship between Albus and either of his siblings in a positive light, but this was especially the case with Ariana. It was even more difficult, in light of how far their parents and Aberforth had gone to protect Ariana. Which meant that everyone in their family, except Albus, had done so, whatever their feelings on it were. And if Albus had simply not loved his sister at all, his callousness would have been more easily understood, if not accepted.

But it was impossible to know Ariana, so well and so closely, and not love her. And Albus had apologized in every way he knew how, just as Ariana had forgiven him in every way she could.

It fixed nothing.

They were friendly, even overly affectionate around each other. But Ariana could never forget that Albus had viewed her as more a burden than a sister, and Albus could never let himself forget it, either. They were not blatant or mean-spirited about it, the way Aberforth tended to be with Albus. But even that strained relationship between the brothers was proof that what was broken would not be repaired. Ariana could say nothing to Aberforth, who had always been devoted to her, and who loathed their brother out of fierce love for her.

Ariana was standing in front of the window as Albus entered. Fawkes was perched on her shoulder, croaking softly, and she was gently stroking his beak with a finger. She quickly turned to face Albus as he approached, and a warm smile spread across her pretty face. "Hi, Al." She walked over to give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.

His hand briefly squeezed her shoulder. "Hello, Ari."

"Sorry I didn't warn you I'd be coming. It's a delicate situation, and I knew you'd prefer to get the details from me in person. I didn't want to put any of this in a letter that could be intercepted, and I knew Fawkes wasn't up to delivering post just now." Fawkes let out a pathetic croak, as if to apologize, and Ariana paused to croon softly at him before turning back to Albus. "Not that I wouldn't visit if I didn't have business-"

"You never need to explain yourself to me," Albus said gently.

Her face fell. "Oh, please don't do that, Al. Especially not now. You're a good man who is, as it turns out, human. It's not an unforgivable offense, not to me. This is bigger and more urgent than our old issues."

He nodded and gestured for her to sit. "Can I tempt you with some refreshments?"

"No, I'm feeling too anxious to eat right now," Ariana confessed as she took a chair in front of his desk. "This is bad, really bad."

"Perhaps you should just tell me what troubles you so?" Albus suggested, sitting behind his desk. "The sooner you do, the sooner we can discuss possible solutions."

Ariana nodded. "There's no delicate way to say it. Harry Potter is now an Obscurial."

Albus stared at her for a long moment. Then, he closed his eyes and lowered his head slightly.

"Al?" Ariana asked worriedly.

"I am... thinking," Albus said slowly. "I knew this was a possibility, but I assumed the chances were remote enough where... no. That isn't important now. You are actively tracking him, I assume?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, Sahara noticed his Emergence first and deployed on her own."

"Exactly how problematic is that? From your letters, I was under the impression that she has improved greatly since I met her."

"She has, and it's not as if she can't Refine him. It's mostly automatic, the moment we make direct contact. The bigger issue is that she may not tell him all that he needs to know, or that he may not take her seriously because of her youth. Sahara just isn't the best person to make a first impression for us."

"But perhaps she is the best person to become Harry's friend."

Ariana sighed. "Maybe. But it often takes much more than that, when facing someone who has been through years of abuse. She may have to fight him, and fortunately, her powers are more than a match for his. Which brings me to another issue. There's a very real possibility that Harry's Obscurus will be incredibly lethal. Al, this is just a theory, but based on the data, I believe that Harry absorbed the properties of that rebounded Killing Curse as a baby, and his Obscurus now carries them. He's already killing post owls accidentally. With or without proper control, he could easily be the most deadly Obscurial we've seen... ever."

Albus shook his head. "Leave it to James and Lily Potter to produce such an amazing child. And leave it to myself and Petunia Dursley to completely ruin him."

"Al, this is no time for the blame game-"

"Surely you've realized the ramifications already, Ari. Harry Potter is no longer a wizard. People will want answers when he doesn't show up in any wizarding school. They cannot be told the truth. We also can't reveal the existence of the Astutes. There are only two possible outcomes, and neither of them will be accepted very well. Either we tell the world that Harry is dead, or give the impression that he simply vanished. His death would be completely demoralizing, but his going missing would prompt searches which we can ill afford."

"It's not that I don't appreciate you trying to protect us, but if we can convince Harry to join us, this might be one time when breaking our silence is a good thing."

"No," Albus said firmly. "I appreciate your willingness to undergo scrutiny. But you underestimate what that would be like. The reason Obscurials are still mentioned in whispers, like boogeymen, is because the world still can't accept their existence. Even if you can prove that Astutes are totally stable and on the side of angels, which will be a tough sell in some cases, the world will never agree to the Ministry having control over such powerful magic users. Even if they only control Astutes in the vaguest sense."

Ariana frowned at him. "Just promise me that you aren't sacrificing Harry in order to protect me."

Albus sighed. "That is a reasonable accusation, and I cannot deny having given it some thought. But as you have reminded me many times, you are very capable of defending yourself, and I am sure the Astute Office would protect its own. No, this is not about me protecting you. This is about making sure that the Astutes remain free to do what they need to do, without the public prying into their affairs. If Harry is exposed as one of you, those days will come to an end. The sheer enormity of his fame alone would make it nearly impossible for him to be an effective part of any secret group. I will find a way to protect both Harry and the Astutes."

"Unless this is the part where you tell me that you can conjure up a convincing corpse..."

"I have not dismissed that option. I have it on good authority that my skill in Transfiguration remains unmatched. And I am equally certain that no Auror currently in the Ministry's employ even comes close in that area. The problem being that it will not just be Aurors who take an interest in Harry's demise. Such a ruse would need to fool everyone who questions the body's authenticity."

"I wasn't serious," Ariana muttered uncomfortably.

Albus simply stared at her. "A pity. I was."

Continued in Chapter 4: Friendly Truths

Harry encounters Dedalus Diggle and Sahara. Astutes are tested.

Endnotes:

In this version, Newt saves the Sudanese Obscurial, in unconventional fashion, and leaves quite an impression on her in the process.

I did not know that Newt was a Hufflepuff just by looking at him. But I was pretty sure he wasn't a Slytherin or Gryffindor. So maybe some people can tell.

Bones is not meant to represent what Harry might look like in the future. He's a form that Harry's magic assumes for the purposes of conversation. Though the state of Harry's magic is meant to be reflected in his appearance. And while he says his feelings aren't important, they are. Or were.

I kept the Dumbledore family issues, despite Ariana's instant fix, because magic shouldn't fix everything. And having his sister alive and well, with their history, should impact some of the judgment calls that Albus makes.