Of Using Lies (and cool magic shit)

Book 2

Magical theory states that a magical signature is the unique combination of energy and intent that is cast when a spell is performed. By using the concept of misdirection, a magical signature can be hidden by imbuing a spell with the intent of a third party, effectively masking your identity to the trained eye of another witch or wizard. By focusing on a third party and imagining their energy instead of your own, it is possible to trick the listener into believing that the spell was cast by someone else. With enough dedication and focus, it is possible to become completely undetectable to those using magical signature detection.

Every magical being or practitioner has a unique magical signature, akin to a fingerprint. This signature is the energetic imprint left behind when casting spells, performing rituals, or using magical abilities.

Concealing one's magical signature is essential for various reasons. It can help maintain anonymity, protect against detection by magical foes, and prevent unauthorised use of one's magic.

There are three main ways to hide one's magical signature. The most popular being Energetic Camfolauge. This method involves masking your magical essence with a mundane energy. By blending your magical energy with natural or everyday energies, like sunlight, wind, or ambient sounds, you can make it challenging to distinguish your magical signature from the background. While it is the most popular, it is also the hardest to amount to.

Instead of hiding your signature completely, this technique involves altering it. You can manipulate the frequency, colour, or intensity of your magical energy, making it unrecognizable to anyone attempting to trace it. This method is called Signature Distortion.

The most complicated, but certainly most powerful, way to hide your signature is Encryption. Advanced practitioners can use magical scripts, runes, or sigils to encapsulate their magical signature. These symbols act as a protective layer, obscuring the true essence of the magic at work.

Some practitioners utilize temporal magic to displace their magical signature in time. This means that the energetic imprint is left in a different moment, making it nearly impossible to trace back to the caster in the present. Be aware that skilled magical beings or practitioners may attempt to uncover hidden magical signatures. Therefore, it's essential to have counter-detection spells and wards in place to defend against such attempts.

Some practitioners utilize temporal magic to displace their magical signature in time. This means that the energetic imprint is left in a different moment, making it nearly impossible to trace back to the caster in the present. Achieving proficiency in concealing your magical signature requires practice and patience. Continuously refine your techniques and adapt them to different situations to become a master of this art.

Concealing one's magical signature should be used responsibly, and only used by wizards of age. It is generally considered unethical to use these techniques for malicious purposes, to avoid accountability for the use of harmful magic, or as an excuse for underage magic.

Harry scratched his head, jotting down notes on a piece of lined paper he stole from his aunt. He had read this chapter over twelve times already! He had been stuck at his aunt and uncles for two weeks already, and the only way he had kept his sanity was the daily notes from Neville and Ron. Sometimes they were long, other days they were just simple sentences. Harry wrote back every time saying how grateful he was for them. Still, he needed to focus.

Closing his book, Harry took a deep breath. Seriously, he needed to focus. Fred had snuck him a list of the people guarding him, and he knew Mad-eye would be on guard in a few nights. If he didn't figure out how to get out of here before that, he would be stuck here until Mad-Eye's evening shifts were over. Who knew how long it would last?

Tapping on the window alerted Harry to another letter being delivered, which was odd since it was still the middle of the day. He greeted Hedwig with a soft head rub, paying attention to her soft feathers. After Neville had decided to let her spend most of her time with him over the summer, Hedwig maintained the healthy glow she normally had during the school year. Living with the Dursleys left her skinnier than any owl should be, even with Harry giving the poor owl his meals. He took the letter, opening it carefully. Oh, it was from Neville!

Harry!

So glad to write to you, I remember you asking me about rituals last year, so I thought I should tell you about the next upcoming one! On July 3rd, there is a summer ritual called Soruzen, a summer ritual meant to remember happy times. I wish you were here to celebrate it with me! Sadly, I'll have the house to myself those few days, so I'll be alone during the ritual.

Wish you were here!

Neville.

"Neville, you bloody genius you!" Harry exclaimed, jittery with laughter. Finally! A way out of this hell hole and into the arms of his best friend! Quickly, he jotted down a quick 'I'll see you soon!' and gave it to Hedwig to pass along. Harry stroked her feathers more, and the snowy owl took off. Finally.

Opening his bedroom door, Harry stuck his head out. He heard movement in the kitchen. It was a Monday, July 1st, So that meant Vernon was out. If Dudley was home, he was quiet, which meant Harry could go down in the kitchen without being bothered. Well, until he faces Petunia that is.

"Aunt Petunia?" He asked her, tacking on the 'Aunt' to seem more respectful.

"What did I tell you about being down here, boy-"

"I'm leaving, can you unlock the cupboard so I can get my things?" It was a request, sure, but if she refused he would be able to get it himself.

"Where are you going?" She hissed. "You don't have that godfather of yours anymore, who will take you in?" Harry's heart panged, another reminder of Sirius being gone. Of him having killed his own godfather.

"My friend Hermione offered to take me in, so I'll be staying with her." He lied, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. What good would it be to her if she knew he was with Neville, anyway? His aunt clicked her tongue before grabbing a key off the top of the refrigerator and handing it to him quickly. He made quick work, unlocking the cupboard and moving his trunk to the door. Thank Merlin for the easy wheels.

Quickly, he headed upstairs, bringing down the books and other items he had smuggled up there. Petunia paid him no mind, resuming whatever activity she had started before Harry had interrupted her.

He was packed and ready to go in less than five minutes.

Now, how could he get to Neville?

Harry took a deep breath, taking in the hot humid air as he walked to the curb. No muggles were out in the heat of the day. However, he also couldn't sense any other magic users nearby either. Chapter 17 of his Magical Signatures book had taught him the process of noticing others' magical signatures, and while he hadn't managed to hide his own in those two weeks, he had learned how to spot others. He had grown used to seeing, or rather feeling, Remus' magical signature outside, as well as a few others he didn't recognise. Today, no one was here.

Oh well, best to not look a hippogriff in the mouth then. He raised his wand, a silent Lumos lighting the tip of it.

Then he felt his naval pull.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, the familiar feeling reminding him too much of the graveyard, of the ministry. Every fibre in his being tensed, and his vision blurred whenever he tried to open his eyes. The air shifted around him, and the world seemed to spin, colours dancing and bleeding together like a colourful cloud. It was a violent feeling like being torn from his body. Air rushed past Harry's clothes, whipping at him as if the air was shot out of a canon. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. His feet touched the ground, and suddenly Harry collapsed to his knees, trying to maintain every bit of what sense of balance he once had. Even after the sensation subsided, a feeling of queasiness and dizziness was left in its wake, like having gone on a particularly fast roller coaster ride. He opened his eyes, pushing his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose.

And there Harry was, in Grimauld place, the ancestry home of Sirius Black.

A surge of emotions shot into his throat, choking him as tears threatened to fall. This would have been their house, their place of mystery and danger. Harry had thrown that all away in a fit of panic.

He was pathetic.

He looked, around, noting his trunk was still right with him. But how had he apparrated? He wasn't of age, nor had he any training in doing so. This was odd, but Harry wasn't going to complain. It had gotten him away from the Dursleys, that was all that mattered.

"What is a nasty mudblood doing in the house of black?" A hoarse voice said from the shadows. Harry instantly recognised it as Kreacher, and anger flooded his veins, boiling hot.

"Kreacher." He spat. "Come here." The elf bared his teeth but hobbled forward. Harry's hand struck the house-elves head, fast and hard, knocking the little creature to the floor.

"That," Harry seethed, malice and the overbearing intent to harm filling his voice. "Was for your disrespect. Now, I need you to go alert Neville Longbottom I arrived here. And if you don't, I will not hesitate to end you." Kreacher said nothing, teeth still bared at the fifteen-year-old. Harry went to strike him again, and the elf popped away, taking some of Harry's anger with him.

What else was he to do but look around?

As Harry ventured deeper into the house, he couldn't help but recall the stories he had heard about Grimmauld Place. It was Sirius's childhood home, but it had been a place of cruelty and intolerance. The Black family had been known for their pure-blood fanaticism, and their dark history was well-documented. Now, it was also the meeting place for the "Order of the Phoenix".

The creaking wooden floorboards echoed beneath his feet as he cautiously made his way through the dusty corridor. The portraits of grim-faced Black ancestors lined the walls, their disapproving eyes following his every step. The house seemed to resent his presence, as if it knew he was there to dismantle its darkest secrets. He wasn't, not today, at least. Perhaps when he was older.

He entered a cluttered room that appeared to be a study, with books and scrolls scattered haphazardly on every surface. The air was thick with the smell of ageing parchment. He began to search methodically, examining every nook and cranny, trying to find something useful in this house.

Although he tried to ignore it, the familiar feeling of dark magic caressed his skin, making him shiver. In delight or disgust, even Harry didn't know. That's when he felt it. The magic of Lord Voldemort. A Horcrux.

Minutes felt like hours as Harry meticulously sifted through the room's contents, looking for any signs of the Horcrux. His heart raced with anticipation and frustration. He knew this locket was in here, he could feel it. He had grown used to the feeling, of feeling it inside his head.

Just as he was beginning to feel agitated, his fingers brushed against something cold and metallic hidden beneath a stack of old books. Carefully, he withdrew his hand, revealing a locket. It was an ornate piece of jewellery, tarnished with age and neglect. Its intricate design depicted a serpent twisted around a skull, a chilling symbol of Voldemort's dark allegiance.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he realized he had found it—the Horcrux they had been searching for. The locket seemed to emanate malevolent energy, as if it were aware of Harry's presence. With great care, he stowed the locket around his neck, vowing to keep it safe until they (Ron, Neville, and himself) could figure out what to do with it.

"Out! Out of here!" Harry heard a screech. He wiped around, wand in hand, staring at the nasty elf in front of him.

"Why? Are you trying to hide something for your precious Dark Lord?" Harry sneered. The elf just bared its nasty teeth. "Trying to hide this?" He asked, pulling the locker back out from underneath his shirt. The elf screeched, lunging at him, hands aiming around his neck.

"Give it back! That locket belongs to master Regulus!" Kreacher screamed. Harry pushed the elf off, throwing him to the floor. He clattered into a pair of stacked books, toppling them over on top of him. Kreacher's breathing was ragged, and his eyes staring up at Harry were full of hate.

"What did Neville say?" Harry asked, his wand pointed right at the creature. Kreacher snarled at him.

"Little meek pureblood said to wait for him and the grandmother."

"Good." Previous anger filled Harry, this time his own. Kreacher had told him that Sirius wasn't home, thus resulting in Sirius going to look for Harry. Kreacher had killed Sirius!

"Why did you tell me that Sirius wasn't home?" Harry demanded, shoving the point of his wand at Kreacher's neck. The elf just laughed, maniacal and dark.

"Kreacher was messing with the mud-blood heir." Heir? Whatever.

"Sirius died because of that, Kreacher." Harry was raging with fury, his magic whipping around inside him. Harry wanted to torture this elf, to end his life. With dawning horror, he realised it was his own feelings. Voldemort hadn't been in his head since the attack of the Ministry. Kreacher just laughed more, leaning onto the fallen stack of books. Fine, if that's how he was going to be!

"Avada Kedevra!"

A flashing green light edited his wand, going straight for the elf's throat. Its eyes rolled back, white as a sheet of muggle paper. Horror filled Harry as he stared at what he had just done. How would Neville react? How would Ron react? He staggered back, falling onto his butt as he slowly backed away. No, no, no, no, no! Maybe he was becoming Voldemort? And wasn't that a horrifying thought?

He had to get rid of the body.

"Harry?" Harry heard from his place in the kitchen. He jumped up, cups clattering as he ran to see his friend.

"Neville!"

"Harry!"

The two boys hugged each other tight, missing the thrill of being with each other. It had only been a few weeks since they last saw each other, but it had still felt like too long.

"Where is your grandmother?" Harry asked his friend. Neville pointed outside, but the front door had already closed.

"She doesn't know how to get in like you and I do, so she's still waiting out there." He paused for a second, staring at Harry's face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm great actually," Harry admitted, a large smile on his face. Neville just smiled back, oblivious to the darker nature of his friend's happiness. "Just happy to see you."

"I'm glad, come on, and I don't wanna leave Gran waiting." Harry followed, trunk in hand.

Neville's grandmother was a tall, regal woman who demanded respect. Her grey hair was swept up in an elegant bun, held together with a diamond pin. She wore a pristine dress of silver silk, with delicate lace trim along the neck, the sleeves, and the hem of the skirt. She had a matching hat on top, adorned with a multitude of feathers. Despite her years of experience and wisdom, there was a certain lightness to her stance, as if she could dance and soar with the very wind. Neville's grandmother was a sight to behold, her dignity and beauty unmatched, and Harry knew exactly where Neville got his charms from.

"Heir Potter."

"Matron Longbottom." He greeted. Her face broke into a small smile, and she opened her arms to give Harry a large hug. Harry accepted it with a grin. Soon they were off to Longbottom Manor.

Once they arrived, and Harry had gotten over his nausea, Agusta had shooed them off to their rooms. The two boys agreed without fuss, letting the old woman do whatever it was she needed to do.

Neville's room was filled with the rich, warm smell of the earth. Green plants grew in pots along the walls, taking in the sunlight that poured through the windows and doors. The windowsill itself was lined with all kinds of plants, some of which sprouted flowers made of the prettiest petals. The rug underfoot was soft and cosy, the material feeling comfortable on the feet. The walls were covered in artwork of every shape, size, and style, all of it showing moments from Neville's past. Fancy vases and furniture covered every surface, adding to the warmth and comfort of the room. Though Neville had no real use for the extra furniture, Harry enjoyed lounging over every piece, so he never brought up getting rid of them.

"So, gonna tell me how you got out? I know you got my letter and then sent Kreacher, but how did you even get to Si- that house?" Neville asked, turning his head to look at Harry. Harry opened one eye, his gaze roaming over his friend's face, before closing it again.

"I apparated."

"Bullshit." That startled a laugh out of Harry.

"I'm serious! I didn't know if there was like, a day version of the night bus, and then I started getting freaked out and stuff and ended up in the middle of the entryway."

"What freaked you out?" Neville asked, worried.

"Well, I guess freaked out isn't the right word, but I just wanted to get to you as fast as possible, and I couldn't sense any other wizards around either. Then I felt that awful pull in my gut. Poof."

"I'm glad you are safe at least," Neville said, beginning to braid one of the longer sections of Harry's hair in his boredom. Luna had taught him how to braid during one of their study sessions last year, and it was quickly becoming one of Neville's favourite things to do.

"Neville.." Harry spoke, voice muffled by the comforter. "Can I-" Harry shut his mouth

"Harry? Are you okay?" His friend quickly asked.

"No-I, I don't know maybe I'm overthinking this, Merlin, I-"

"Harry, it's okay, you know?" His hands had stopped braiding Harry's long hair. "If it isn't life or death, I'm okay waiting for you to tell me."

Harry sat up, softly pulling his hair from Neville's hands and undoing the braid. Just in case…

"I committed murder," Neville said nothing for a second, a quick intake of air, then-

"Was it your aunt? Or maybe that fat cow of a cousin. Now don't get me wrong I'm pretty big myself, but nothing tops that great oaf, or his father, Oh Harry please say it was his father?"

"What? Neville, my God no, that's not-" Harry took a deep breath. "Kreacher. I killed kreacher."

"Can I ask why Harry?" Neville softly thumbed Harry's hands.

"He was the one who lied to me, y'know? With, with Sirius. Said he wasn't there. And I believed him like a fool."

"I can understand that. Thank you for telling me, Harry."

"That's not all." Harry quickly pulled out a large chain, rumpling his shirt in the process. "I found this."

"A Slytherin locket?" Neville was confused.

"A Horcrux, Nev."

"Oh." Neville was no longer confused.