Chapter 3. Father

The fat man next to Harry was hit by the green light of the Dark Lord and fell down. Five-year-old Harry recognized the green light and recalled the snowy night not long ago. Harry held his breath and couldn't help staring at the man lying on the ground. Is he dead? The child's vocabulary is not yet sufficient to accurately describe his feelings. He has experienced death and knows that it is a very uncomfortable feeling. He also knows how much people want to live when they are dying, so he can't help but feel sad for the dead man.

They are still in Lord Voldemort's study, and the owner of the study has put away his wand. He has obtained the information he wants, and this useless member of the Ministry of Magic no longer needs his attention. He calls a house elf to drag away the man's body for disposal.

"By the way, Harry, you've learned the basic principles, now try it," the dead man's wand was handed to Harry. "Guide your magical power with the wand, feel it, and control it."

The child grabbed the wand that still had the dead man's body temperature on it. He couldn't let the fact that someone had just died affect him, he had to concentrate on the next lesson. If he didn't do well, his father would always be very harsh and sometimes even use the extremely painful spell (now Harry knows it's called the Cruciatus Curse) to punish him. Harry didn't want to experience that again. He carefully looked at the book in front of him. "Basic Magic," according to his father, this is an old version of a textbook, with wand movements and spells written on the pages, and a detailed description of the feeling and trend of magic flowing in the body.

Harry concentrated and tried to find that feeling. He had experience using magic to protect himself when he was wandering. He had even been in a crisis situation where a group of thugs were bothering him and they even had guns. In that critical moment, Harry's initial magical outburst saved him, and all the people fell to the ground asleep. Harry felt the flow of that power very clearly, very fascinating, it was the best feeling he had ever experienced. But afterwards, he could never do it again. He was even ridiculed by other wandering companions for repeatedly dwelling on this matter.

Now, under his father's guidance, he knew the basic method of controlling magic, and he had a wand to assist him. Harry carefully recalled the feeling from that time, as if the power was rushing in his veins, from his body to his arms, to his fingertips. So, let's try it according to the orthodox method.

As preparation, he repeated the incantation, "Wingardium Leviosa," a few more times to make sure he was familiar with the pronunciation. He also waved the wand back and forth. Then, he solemnly prepared himself.

"Wingardium Leviosa." The soft childish voice pronounced each syllable of the spell clearly, and with the wand movement, he used all his attention to actively mobilize the magic power in his body. The glass in front of him slammed into the ceiling and shattered into pieces.

"Ah..." Harry let out a short exclamation, wondering if he had done something wrong. When he was living with his aunt and uncle, he couldn't even imagine the punishment for breaking a cup. He looked at his father carefully, afraid and anxious, and their eyes met.

"Not bad," Voldemort unexpectedly praised him.

Harry's eyes immediately brightened, and his heart was full of joy. He didn't cause trouble, and he even received praise from his father! He was so happy!

Voldemort waved his hand and cleared the broken glass from the floor. He continued, "But you still lack control. Remember, you need to control every detail of magic in your hand. It's you to use magic, but not letting magic express itself." He gestured to the cotton cushion on the sofa, "Practice again."

"Yes, Father," Harry obediently replied and ran to the sofa. He would try his best to achieve control. He also wanted to hear his father praise him again. "Wingardium Leviosa." After several attempts, Harry could control the cushion to float up and down, flying around the room. Harry had never been so happy before. His soul was filled with joy. This power, this feeling, was the world he belonged to. He wanted to declare loudly that he loved magic.

He also loved his father, who taught him magic. He loved everything.

"Harry." Voldemort suddenly called his name.

Harry's attention immediately turned to his father, and he turned to look at him. "Yes?"

The cushion was still floating motionlessly in midair, undisturbed by Voldemort's interruption. Voldemort nodded in satisfaction. Even the Dark Lord acknowledged that Harry had a good talent for magic.

Fate was truly interesting. Why not give it a try?

"Father?" Harry spoke softly.

"You did it well. Practice the next spell."

Little Harry drank some Aging Potion, to disguised himself as an age that can hold a wand, to avoid Ollivander's suspicion. He suddenly grew taller, excited and curious as he observed his grown body and expanded field of vision. But there was something even more exciting for him today — His father will take him to Diagon Alley, where he can have his own wand!

Due to Ollivander's excellent memory and Voldemort's desire not to be recognized, they both changed their appearances to look like members of a reclusive wizarding family. Ollivander's wand shop still looked the same as Voldemort remembered it, with stacks of wand boxes piled up to the ceiling and some of them covered in thick dust. Wands choose wizards, so these Cinderella must be very picky.

Harry tried wand after wand in the shop, opening more and more boxes, but Mr. Ollivander kept shaking his head and saying "no" to each one. Harry didn't know how to choose the right wand and secretly glanced at his father to see if he was getting impatient.

Until...

When he touched this wand, he felt a warm current flow through his body. He could feel the wand vibrating in his palm, resonating with the magic inside him. Harry took a deep breath, his eyes widening in amazement.

Mr. Ollivander was equally surprised: "It's actually this one, I never would have thought, the answer is actually this one." He was excited, as if he had found the answer to a mystery. "Holly wood, phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches. This wand has a story." Mr. Ollivander deliberately paused, as if waiting for Harry to ask what the story was.

"What's special about it?" Voldemort asked.

"Two tail feathers of a phoenix, made into two wands. One is this one... the other one, made of yew wood, thirteen inches, but it's in the hands of a terrible person."

Voldemort's face changed.

But Mr. Ollivander didn't notice. He was still absorbed in the shock and joy of this special wand finally finding its owner. He even remembered to write a letter to Dumbledore: "The twin wands of You-Know-Who have chosen you, you will accomplish great things, my boy. The owner of the other wand... although terrible, has also achieved great things."

Later, Ollivander was pointed at by the wand made of yew wood, and of course, he recognized it. "You are..." His memory was too good, he remembered every wand he had sold. The most terrible guess had been confirmed. He thought he would die here, but what he heard was not the killing curse.

"Obliviate."

Voldemort was playing with his two wands. It seemed that after Ollivander obtained two phoenix tail feathers, he deliberately made these two wands into a pair with design elements that echoed each other, not to mention the use of opposing wand woods.

Holly wood contained the power of life, while yew wood represented the power of death. Apart from the twin wand cores, this wonderful connection of opposing forces of life and death also greatly concerned Voldemort. Taking Hegel's words, this is where things will take the next step.

Voldemort casually flipped through the reports submitted by the Death Eaters, but his thoughts were on Harry. He once again thought of that prophecy.

He hated it when someone challenged him, even if that someone was the goddess of fate. He wanted to have a grand gamble with fate, and he would be the winner.

This boy, Harry, He'd better make himself to be useful.

That year, Harry was only seven years old, wearing a little robe with a hood, and following his father's side, his height not even up to the waist of the tall man. The two figures, big and small, came to the green grass lawn of the castle field. Today, his father was going to teach Harry flying magic. "How much do you know about flying magic?" Voldemort asked.

"You don't need a broom, you don't need to rely on any external object, wizards can fly directly in the air," little Harry answered seriously in his soft childish voice.

Voldemort nodded.

Little Harry couldn't help but continue, his voice full of admiration: "I've seen my father fly, and it's really cool!" Harry has always longed for that kind of freedom in flying. Today, it's not the boring basic exercises, or endless reading of "Basic Spells 1-7" textbooks day and night. Can he finally learn how to fly? The little child's face was flushed, and there seemed to be stars twinkling in his eyes.

"So grip your wand tight, and you need to use the air element to control your body," Voldemort briefly explained the incantation and essentials of the magic.

Harry listened carefully. He was always particularly focused when learning magic. He loved magic. And if he learned magic well, he would be praised by his father. If you asked little Harry what his favorite thing was, it would definitely be his father's praise; his favorite person would be his father.

Later, little Harry held his breath, gripped his wand, and chanted the spell. With the sound of air flowing in his ears, his feet suddenly left the ground. Harry felt his heart pounding, nervous because of the tension of losing the support of his feet, and excited because of the success of the magic.

"Then you need to concentrate on controlling the air elements, imagine that you are blending into them, and they are holding you up... Now try to move freely," Voldemort was indeed a competent teacher.

Harry felt himself rising higher and higher, one foot, two feet, completely leaving the ground. Harry tried to make himself feel as if he had melted into the air, becoming a part of it. He wanted to move, imagining himself as a gust of wind blowing forward.

Later, Voldemort watched the little child fly freely in the air, flipping and tumbling. Finally, he nodded approvingly, "Not bad." Excited to receive praise, Harry dropped one foot. Of course, he quickly stabilized himself, awkwardly scratching his hair, and pretending that nothing had happened.

"You learn quickly," his father's approving praise really made Harry happy.

"Um...I've always tried to practice controlling my magical power and other basic skills as my father said."

"If you have a solid foundation in those basic skills, advanced magic will be easier to learn. Fortunately, you do have some talent."

"Thank you, Father!" Harry smiled excitedly, he was praised! He could now happily run around the castle two laps- oh no, fly around.

After being able to fly, the boundary of the ward of Slytherin castle, even including the forest and the lake, wasn't very large. Harry always liked to fly around the edge of the boundary, circling it. Sometimes he would think, if only he could go outside to play, the only humans he could see here every day were his father... well, maybe occasionally he would also see some Death Eaters in robes and masks, but his father always forbade Harry from contacting them or letting them know of his existence.

His father also forbade Harry from going out. Harry had hinted at his desire to go out and play before, but his father ignored it and gave him another book to read instead.

When Harry was young, he had heard adults talking about a place called an amusement park, which was a very fun place. One adult even said he would take Harry there, but Harry never saw him again. Harry dreamed about that man again last night and when he woke up, he began to be curious about what the amusement park was like. He wanted to go, but he didn't dare mention it to his father. His father had already been very good to him and was the best person he had ever met. He should be a good child and not push his luck. Harry turned over a page of his book and reminded himself of this.

"Patronus is a part of the etheric body, a pure protective force that is inherently incompatible with dark magic. It can protect humans from the harm of dark forces in nature. However, if humans want to use dark magic, they will inevitably conflict with their own Patronus, causing serious backlash and loss of control of magic. Loss of control of magic can cause even more serious consequences. So, to gain the right to use dark magic..." Harry read the words from the book in a childish voice, then looked up at the older person next to him. "Is that why dark wizards don't have a Patronus?"

As years passed by, Harry was seven years old now. At this moment, he was in his father's study. His father had said that today's lesson was very important. Only these important lessons required Voldemort to teach personally, while for other less important ones, young Harry would study on his own.

"Anything that hinders progress must be eliminated," the handsome black-haired man leaned back in his ornate armchair, reading a medieval book on dark wizards. "For greatness, we must always pay a small price."

"But the three pillars of life would be Patronus, Libido and Magic Core. Patronus should be quite important, so the cost is actually physical health and even some lifespan?" Little Harry tilted his head.

"For ordinary people, yes. They covet the glory of dark magic but cannot control it, losing their Patronus and gaining nothing." Voldemort's tone carried a hint of sarcasm, then he changed the subject, "But for geniuses, dark magic is so versatile and powerful. Powerful wizards can maximize their gains and what does that small loss matter?"

"Can you even use dark magic to become healthier and live longer?"

"As long as you have the ability to do so." Voldemort expressed his agreement with deep meaning.

"You humans are really complicated~" the large snake coiled on the sofa took the opportunity to comment.

—

"Patronum Vacuo." The final step of the magic ritual, Harry raised his wand high and uttered the curse.

The holly wand tip emitted a deep purple smoke, enveloping the silver-white mist that was suspended in the air. The unformed silver-white struggled within it, as if trying to escape but was unable to. After all, this was the will of the owner, the owner of this body who decided to get rid of the Patronus.

The silver-white finally turned into another mist and intertwined with the purple, then became increasingly lighter. Harry trembled all over, his heart pounding. He felt the warmth in his body cruelly stripped away, leaving only a cold and weak feeling. It wasn't very painful, but it felt empty in his heart. The Patronus was a part of his life, like a friend who had always been protecting him, had left forever.

He thought of the hardships he had experienced before he was taken in by his father, the torture he had endured by the bad guys, and the many times he had walked the line between life and death. During those times, his Patronus had always been protecting him, right?

Seven-year-old Harry clenched his wand tightly. From now on, he was on his own, but he would become a powerful wizard and he would be able to protect himself.

Suddenly, the entire room began to spin before his eyes, cold sweat instantly soaking his back. His father was right next to him and he struggled to ask for help, but he couldn't even speak.

His next thought was, did his father also suffer this when he performed the ritual?

Then suddenly the entire world dissolved into black dots. Harry fell to the ground and his consciousness gradually faded away. The last words he heard were Voldemort's contemptuous voice: "Trashiness." It seemed to come from a faraway place.