Disclaimer: As you're (hopefully) well aware, I don't own anything I write. I'm just playing around in someone else's sandbox. I'd like to think I make some pretty killer sand castles occasionally.
AN: Before we get started, yes, this is yet another attempt of mine to write a Harry Potter story that takes flight and reaches cruising altitude instead of crashing and burning on takeoff. Unfortunately, Odyssey will be on the back burner for a while. I might get around to it at some point, but I don't want to lie and say that it's likely, so I apologize to any fans of that story.
Also, I understand that the bio for this story is vague, and I did that on purpose, but to put it simply; this is my take on one of those stories where Harry changes drastically due to some external factor in his fourth year, becomes handsome, and blah, blah, blah. I greatly admire stories that do this correctly, like A Cadmean Victory by DarknessEnthroned and Harry Potter and the International Triwizard Tournament by Saliient91.
I'm very liberal with canon knowledge, and I love overhauling how magic works, so if you're looking for a very canon-derivative story, this isn't it. Also, this first chapter may require some suspension of disbelief on your part due to some, er, coincidences, but sometimes that's just the name of the game, isn't it? Thanks in advance!
I plan to rework and reimagine a few of the tropes consistent with this genre of story, and include some of the other ones. The final pairing I have in mind is [Harry/Fleur] but as some of you might know, I firmly believe that a story should have more than one pairing. People don't always marry their first significant other, after all. So, if there's any pairing you're dying to see before that, please let me know, and if it makes sense, we'll see about adding it in.
I just wanted to also give a shoutout to luna_dragneel0928 for helping me with the liftoff! I really appreciated all of your help!
If you would like to support me or talk about this story or any of my other stories, please feel free to join this discord. You'll have to take out the spaces since the website hates links for one reason or another:
Discord. gg/ elibrary
Without further adieu, let's get started.
Fifty rows of bookshelves. Three floors. At least a dozen sections.
According to Hermione, or, more specifically, Hogwarts, A History: The 25th Anniversary Edition with author's notes included, the library at Hogwarts was an everchanging, constantly shifting amalgamation of fifty rows, three floors, and at least a dozen sections.
Sure, certain sections of the library were charmed to stay in place. The references section, for one, had been charmed into place for the better part of the last two centuries to allow for easy access when writing research papers. The legal section and the poetry section followed suit, being forced into place to the right of the direct entrance.
It was one of the paramount duties of the librarian, after all. Every morning, it was Madam Pince's responsibility to ensure that the magic that held the library in place was still performing to the top of its capability. It was also one of the reasons she was such a stickler for the rules; the deeper parts of the library were a place of wild magic. The kind of place an inexperienced wizard or witch could get lost in, or worse.
Most students never strayed too far past the first few sections—not that they could. Most of them contained elaborate puzzles, difficult methods of access, and were armed to the teeth with security measures that could sniff out intruders like nobody's business; intentionally so, of course.
The more esoteric sections of the library were reserved for older students, or younger students who had expressly written permission from a professor, so it wasn't surprising.
Harry certainly didn't fall into either of those categories. He barely even went to part of the library everyone went to during the daytime, let alone at night, without the careful supervision of Madam Pince.
Another reason for the strictness involving access to the library was that the vast majority of the library beyond what most Hogwarts students knew was a realm of unpredictability. Books and sections wandered and shifted, lanterns swayed restlessly in the dead of the night, as if propelled by some unseen force, and ghostly specters rose from the walls, sometimes eager to guide the minds of the curious, other times intent on leading wandering children awry.
Harry tried not to think about that part too much. He'd just stepped through the sections of the library he was used to, and he could hear the grinding and whirring of bookshelves in front of him.
Legend had it that if you truly grasped the library's secrets, you'd begin to decipher the intricate dance of displacement. But Harry hadn't dared venture deeper than necessary since his harrowing encounter with a shrieking book back in his first year. He'd much rather get supplemental knowledge from his professors and textbooks from Diagon Alley. Or Hermione.
Truth be told, Hermione was his version of a library. Whenever he needed help with a subject, or had questions that extended beyond the scope of one of his classes, his bushy-haired best friend was the perfect liaison of knowledge.
Though, now since he thought about it, even she had confessed to not knowing much about the other sections of the library. Normally, that would've deterred Harry.
But now, a newfound purpose tugged at his curiosity like a magnet. Revenge—a potent elixir that fueled his resolve. Recent events weighed heavily on his mind, replaying like a broken movie reel in the chambers of his consciousness. Pettigrew's vile betrayal, Lupin's haunting transformation under the full moon, and the chilling horrors of the Forbidden Forest at night—they haunted his waking thoughts and infiltrated his dreams.
Somehow, despite all of that, the feeling of powerlessness was what haunted Harry the most. It was a feeling he sought to remedy as quickly as possible. And, he wagered, a library was old as Hogwarts' library was bound to have some good books to aid him in his journey.
Under his cloak, Harry trembled slightly, the chilling ambiance of the library seeming to seep through the fabric. The shadows, no longer inanimate, writhed with a life of their own, an eerie dance of darkness that stretched from walls to floors, seemingly reaching for the towering heights of the vaulted ceiling.
He took a hesitant step forward, the soft rustling of his robes adding to the symphony of mysterious sounds surrounding him. Harry instinctively palmed his wand.
Think, Harry, think. If you were a book of defense curses, where would you be?
As Harry began striding toward where he remembered the Restricted Section to be from the last time was here, he lamented the fact that he couldn't bring his friends with him.
Hermione wouldn't approve of sneaking into the Restricted Section. On the off chance she did approve, there was no way she'd join him on his escapade. The library was like a second home to her, and risking being caught breaking the rules like this was second only to death for her. There had been that one incident last year where, after finding out Hermione ripped a page out of one of the books, Madam Pince had banned her for a week, and Harry had truly been convinced his friend was going to lose her mind. She'd acted like a zombie for that week—communicating only in grunts, groans, and occasional one and two-word replies.
As for Ron, well, he couldn't be trusted to come into the library during the best of times. Harry wagered he'd be interested in a late-night adventure, but swiftly lose said interest once he found out where exactly that adventure would take place.
Besides, Harry knew they wouldn't understand his obsession, even if they tried. How could they? Both of them had loving families to go home to. Mothers and fathers, and in Ron's case, a whole house full of siblings who cared for them and wanted to spend time with them.
They couldn't fathom a life without that warmth. And, in turn, they couldn't begin to understand the full gravity of what Harry had lost that night. Nor could they understand his desire to get it back.
"Who's there?" A voice jarred Harry out of his stupor, and he immediately tried to flush against a bookshelf. Footsteps echoed throughout the otherwise silent library, and the telltale meowing of Mrs. Norris directed them toward Harry. "Over here, hmm? Is someone out later than they should be, dearie?"
Harry's heart hammered in his chest. If he made a break for it now, he could probably sneak past Filch somehow. Just like his first year, he could find a way to circumvent the punishment by breaking away from the library. If he stayed in place, even though Filch couldn't see him, Harry couldn't guarantee that Mrs. Norris wouldn't be able to sniff him out.
Just as Harry began to tense and leave, Pettigrew's rat-like visage flashed in his head. His resolve strengthened. He couldn't let Filch get in the way.
"Flipendo!" Harry whispered, brandishing his wand at one of the tables behind Filch. A silver jet of light erupted from the tip of his wand and collided with the wooden structure, sending it crashing into a wall.
"Hey!" Filch yelled, scooping up Mrs. Norris and running toward the sound. "Watch it!"
Harry took the opportunity and began sprinting, hustling through the bookshelves and delving deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of books.
The library seemed to stretch infinitely before him, an endless sea of knowledge and forgotten tales. His breath came in labored gasps, the rhythmic pounding of his footsteps echoing through the silent corridors.
"I still hear you!" Filch's voice thundered behind him, a relentless pursuit that seemed to reverberate off the very walls. "You can't hide forever! And when Headmaster Dumbledore hears about this, you'll be sorry!"
Harry's heart pounded in his chest, and beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. His legs burned with exhaustion, and his muscles screamed for respite, but he knew he couldn't stop.
The books whispered ominously as he passed, their ancient pages rustling with secrets long kept, as though sensing someone intruding where they shouldn't be. Shadows played tricks on his senses, the library transforming into a surreal landscape that tested his resolve and bravery.
It was a maze of spinning bookshelves that had no business moving as fast as they did. Harry's blood roared in his ears as he was forced to dodge, dive, and jump over collections of books that almost seemed intent on crashing into him.
He was forced to skid past tables and scrolls that shot out from the shelves, sprint past gigantic statues that yelled incoherently, and moved, trying to scoop him off the ground. Paintings yelled, piercing through the silence of the night with cries about an intruder in the library.
After a few minutes of evading the obstacles in the library, Harry noticed that the bookshelves began to grow smaller and smaller and slow down. Eventually, they dissolved into a section of the library that looked so old, Harry could hardly believe it was still operational. The shelves were covered in dust and cobwebs. The wooden bookshelves cracked and splintered with age.
Finally, when he was sure he'd put enough distance between himself and Filch, he pressed his back against one of the bookshelves, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. The library seemed to pulse with eerie energy, as if it had a life of its own, observing his every move with silent judgment.
Surely, the library couldn't truly sense him under his cloak of invisibility, right?
"Do you hear that?" A ghost materialized out of thin air, its translucent figure hovering in front of him. Harry's heart skipped a beat as he suppressed the urge to yelp. The bookshelf on the other side looked clouded through the ghost's ethereal form. "It seems as though the housekeeper is making his rounds again."
"That pest," Another ghost emerged from the ground, its appearance more menacing and unsettling. It floated with an air of malevolence. "With his damned cat. Must they do this charade when we're trying to rest?"
"How many times must we go over this, dear friend?" The first ghost reminded the other one pleasantly. "We do not need rest."
"Be that as it may, it does not excuse this…intrusion. It's recklessly loud and completely unbecoming. You know how the library gets when animals are involved."
"Then let us find this intruder so we can send him on his way," The first ghost suggested, and the two floated toward Flich.
Harry's fatigue weighed heavily upon him, his body yearning for rest, but there was no time to rest in this haunted realm. He was convinced that the ghosts and the ancient books were somehow conspiring against him. Their bizarre presence served as a constant reminder that he was treading forbidden ground.
He turned and rested a hand against one of the books, hoping to center himself for a moment. His heart skipped a beat as he turned to see the towering bookshelf he had leaned on suddenly glowing with light. Astonishment mingled with fear as the massive bookshelf began to lean, its old wooden joints creaking in protest, threatening to topple over.
Harry's instincts kicked in, and he tried to scramble away, but it was too late. The shelf gave way with a deafening crash, pulling him down into an abyss.
The world seemed to spin around him as Harry descended into darkness. He could feel his body tumbling uncontrollably, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and terror.
Just when he thought he would never stop falling, a jolt of impact signaled his arrival at the bottom of the hole.
Blinking rapidly, Harry tried to make sense of his surroundings. Before him stood an ancient-looking archway, its stone carvings adorned with mysterious symbols and arcane runes.
With his heart still racing, Harry staggered to his feet and scooped up the invisibility cloak, which had fallen off during his tumble.
His eyes were transfixed on what lay beyond the archway. An ornate picture frame, black and empty, hung suspended in the air, seemingly floating with ethereal grace. It exuded an aura of intrigue and danger as if daring him to approach.
The archway glowed brightly as Harry stepped through, and a wave of exhaustion passed through Harry, forcing his eyes to droop.
And then, suddenly, the picture frame rippled. A woman stepped into the frame. Her eyes, as blue as the clearest summer sky, sparkled with intelligence as they scanned her surroundings, taking in the unfamiliar setting of the hidden chamber. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her back like a shimmering waterfall, lending an air of regal elegance to her presence.
With a serene smile, she turned her gaze toward the frame's border, as though acknowledging the existence of the enchanted portal. Her voice was kind, yet stern. "Ah, a wanderer has found the way to my realm. Welcome, seeker of knowledge and secrets long buried. May I ask which method you used to locate me?"
Harry blinked a few times at the portrait. Seeker of knowledge and secrets? The only kind of seeker Harry knew of had to do with Quidditch, and he was certain that wasn't what the woman in the picture frame was talking about.
"You seem rather young; I'm very impressed," The woman continued with the same smile. "Alas, knowledge is not limited to age, so perhaps my praise means nothing to you. Well then, dear boy; how did you find me?"
"Um," Harry swallowed. His heart was still hammering away in his chest. His voice came out between deep breaths, "I was running, and I accidentally hit a bookcase, and it opened up and dropped me down here, and then the archway was glowing, and, um, you were here."
The woman's smile dropped. "You mean to say…you didn't seek me out?"
Harry felt bad for disappointing the woman in the portrait, but he shook his head, "No."
"Oh. You…I see. You're a very lucky boy, then," The woman recovered admirably. Her nostrils flared for a moment. "The chances of you stumbling into here are next to none. I must confess; I was sure you'd followed the string of clues I'd precariously left behind. Tell me, do you know who I am?"
Once again, Harry shook his head, his mind still reeling from the extraordinary encounter.
"My name is Rowena Ravenclaw," she introduced herself primly, her expression expectant. "And your name?"
"Harry Potter," he replied, his voice tinged with awe and bewilderment. "Do you mean... like one of the founders of the school?"
"Yes, precisely," Rowena affirmed with a nod. "I was indeed one of the four main founders of Hogwarts. Of course, there were dozens of smaller, less important ones...nonetheless, each of the four of us left behind a legacy that we hoped would shape the school for centuries. Salazar left behind his chamber, Godric left behind his sword, and Helga left behind the original dorms."
"What was your legacy, ma'am?" Harry asked. It was kind of hard to get the words out, now since he knew he was talking to one of the founders of Hogwarts itself. It added an overwhelming weight to the situation.
"Many things. Notably, this," Rowena gestured to the frame. Harry looked at the frame, wondering what made it so valuable. "Again, I must remind you of your luck. For a normal person to find this chamber, they would have to undergo a series of tasks that would test their proficiency in a number of subjects. For example, this chamber only opens during the first quarter phase of the lunar cycle. To find the specific book one must touch to open this chamber, one would have to translate runes typically found in the Egyptian magical community. It's truly an ingenious blend of clues that only the most academically gifted would be able to find."
"Why would you set up all of that work just for someone to come find your portrait?" Harry couldn't stop himself from asking. Was the frame made of precious metal or something? The tips of his ears burned red as Rowena frowned.
"Well, I suppose I thought the pleasure of solving the puzzle itself would be enough for someone who possessed the knowledge to follow each clue. Secondarily, I was under the impression they would want to have an intellectual conversation of sorts. This was meant to be mainly academic. I built in a way for this painting to change form, so I could act as an advisor to whoever was intelligent enough to find me, to aid them in their future endeavors and hopefully discover the many ways in which magic has grown," Rowena's frown deepened. "Though, my efforts seem to be in vain, as you are the first to find me—through sheer dumb luck, no less. Tell me, boy, what do you desire?"
"To be powerful," Harry replied instantly. The image of Sirius escaping on the hippogriff flashed through his mind.
"That's a very basic goal," Rowena said in a neutral tone. She scrunched her nose and waved her hand, "To be powerful. What, like a brute? Do you wish to have bulging muscles? Or perhaps you mean emotional strength. No, the look in your eyes is very telling—you seek magical power. The kind that allows you to bend others to your will, yes?"
Harry nodded. Hope bloomed in his chest—maybe finding this portrait was better than finding a book.
"In the shape you're currently in, power of that caliber isn't attainable," Rowena said bluntly. The hope that had slowly built up in Harry's chest throughout the encounter spilled out, like a glass of water that had been shattered. "Your magical stores appear to be pitiful, you haven't reached your magical majority, and your physical stature is lacking."
"Magical strength is correlated to physical strength?"
"Have the standards of Hogwarts truly dwindled this poorly? All first years are required to learn this," Rowena's face fell. "Be that as it may, allow this to be your first lesson. The body serves as a conduit for magical energy, much like an instrument through which a musician channels their artistry. A wizard or witch with a robust physique and well-honed physical abilities has a greater capacity to harness and control magical energies. Just as a strong foundation is essential for a stable structure, physical strength provides a solid basis for powerful magic. A wizard with precise and controlled physical gestures can direct their magic with accuracy and efficiency, maximizing its potential impact. Fluid and agile movements, achieved through physical training, translate into graceful spellcasting and heightened magical potency, as well."
Harry licked his dry lips. "So, I should begin lifting weights?"
"Not exclusively. You should improve your cardiovascular health and build muscle," Rowena amended. "That's neither here nor there. You need not worry about that. My presence will serve as a reminder. I simply pray you have enough magical power left to begin the transfer."
"The transfer?" Harry repeated, before remembering what Rowena said earlier. "Right. Your consciousness."
"Precisely. I will not risk lying dormant for hundreds of years again. And, through your own admission, you have a goal in mind. I can help you reach that goal. Besides, though your incompetencies annoyed me greatly earlier, I now see the great promise of an unblemished mind. I can teach you to see the world the way I see it, master magic in a way few have before you and few will after," Rowena said, leaving no room for argument in her tone. Runes glowed on the picture frame, and Rowena muttered to herself for a bit, before saying, "I believe a watch would work best. Are you familiar with runes?"
"No."
"No matter," Rowena huffed. "Then, welcome to your second lesson. This is very basic, but to power a rune, you simply need to touch it and let it siphon your magic. All runes require different activation costs, so you need to be careful when creating sequences. Now, since your knowledge is lacking, I've created the sequence for you, you just need to touch the corresponding runes. Okay?"
Harry nodded. He could do that.
"Tremendous," Rowena said. One of the runes on the picture frame glowed. "The first rune is Awen (ᚨ). The Awen Rune represents inspiration and creativity. When used in transformation spells, it enhances the wizard's ability to envision and shape the desired change. The second rune is Draig (ᛞ). The Draig Rune symbolizes the dragon, a powerful creature in Welsh mythology. When incorporated into transformation spells, it grants strength and determination to bring about significant changes. And the final rune is Tylwyth (ᛏ). The Tylwyth Rune embodies the spirit of the fairy folk, known for their transformative powers. Including this rune in spells allows for subtle and graceful changes. The combination of the three of these runes denotes transformation, and invoking the name of other beings lessens the magical load you'll have to bear. Now, please identify these runes and press them in order."
Harry reached forward to the frame, and his fingers sought out Awen first. The rune glowed when he pressed his fingers to it, and the exhaustion from before doubled.
"Don't fret; if you aren't experienced with magical control, powering runes can be very tiring," Rowena said from the frame, in a soft tone. "Continue."
Draig siphoned even more magic out of Harry's system, and he felt himself get a bit lightheaded. Once Tylwyth was pressed, Harry felt a binding feeling on his left wrist, but it didn't end up mattering, since his world went dark just a moment later.