Key:
"Words."
Thoughts / "emphasis" / Title of Books or spells used
~~Parseltongue~~
¬¬Foreign Language¬¬
"Magical language."
Calm Before the Storm
31st December 1993
Harry enjoyed the rest of his holiday away from Hogwarts. The last few days were peaceful, letting him unwind and spend time with his extended family with no thoughts of enemies – known or otherwise – or training. Both Remus and Severus had slipped out of the castle, although not together, and Harry got to watch Sirius reconnect with his friends.
Sirius and Bella were improving, albeit too slow for their liking. But as Andi kept telling them, better to heal properly the first time than relapse. But patience was a challenge for those with Black blood, and the family had many moments when it felt more akin to managing sick pre-teens than grown-ups.
The Express ride to Hogwarts had near enough the entire complement of returning students wanting to congratulate him on his victories during the duelling convention. One face was notable for her absence. Harry found Hermione alone in a compartment with her face buried in a book, and his attempt to speak to her failed before it got started.
"Go away." She demanded with an intensity Harry had never seen the girl possess. He saw something in her brown eyes he couldn't name, something his instincts wished to never see again, but her follow up words kept him from learning what was going on with her. "I don't want to talk to you again, Harry. Go away."
"If that's what you want, Hermione."
Harry left her to be alone. It would be the last time he spoke to his former friend for a long time.
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OoOoO
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As Harry and his friends were racing up north to Hogwarts, Apolline Delacour took her husband Gabriel and Patricia Rakepick to the magical side of Malta.
"I don't know whether to feel honoured or scared," Trish remarked as she stared at a sight few, if any, human mages had seen. Black Gate wasn't a school, it was a magical society!
The trio stood on a peak, looking down at a squarish-shaped sprawling city that Trish guessed covered several miles and protected by tall black walls. Even from their height, she could see a bustling community and mercantile system in place. There was even a harbour, and what she was guessing was some type of fish market near the coastline.
"We have everything here," Apolline explained as she led the pair down a path to the city. "Even brothels for those who need sexual release, and arenas for those who need something more visceral. That's Black Gate and Slytherin Keep beside it."
Black Gate was a massive castle that dominated the city and was the obvious epicentre of the community. Slytherin Keep was a dark green tower built either into the side of Black Gate or next to it. Trish couldn't tell from the distance.
"You went to school here, ma cherie?" Gabriel gaped, his eyes bouncing from one sight to another as he tried taking everything in.
"Black Gate is more than a school, Gabriel Delacour," a sharp voice declared, causing the trio to turn. A man in what appeared to be a variation of a butler's uniform was leaning against a tree, smoking a thick cigar. His face was hidden in shadow by a pulled-down driver's cap, but when he raised his head, Trish realised he was far from human. Where the eyes should have been were two white voids.
"Master Nurari," Apolline curtsied low, giving the being a submissive bow of the head.
Nurari, whatever he was, pushed himself off the tree and approached, flicking black ash off the tip of his cigar. Apolline had yet to stand, waiting to be given leave.
"I am Nurari, Keeper of the Keys of Black Gate. What I am is none of your business," the being took a deep drag of his cigar while staring at Trish and then frowned. "Or perhaps it will be. Regardless, you two are here at our whims. And I'd rather you don't upset the town."
The being flicked his cigar again, and the world changed between heartbeats. Where the quartet was standing out in open still miles from the city, they were now in a massive marble room that could have fitted the Hogwarts' Great Hall twice over. And in the very centre of the room was a large oval, white stone table with nine beings watched them. A tenth high-backed seat was empty, waiting for the approaching Nurari.
"I am Paul Slavens and the headmaster of Black Gate," the central figure and most human seeming of the ten said. He wore a black suit with a black silk shirt, and a fedora resting at an angle on his bald head. He looked like he belonged in a Jazz club playing for an audience, if one were to ignore the power in his pale grey eyes. "Rise Matriarch Apolline."
"And I am Salazar Slytherin," a voice to the side and above them announced, causing Trish and Gabriel to look up at a portrait of the imperious Founder. "And you two are here to learn."
"Master Sal," Trish gave the Snake Lord a respectful nod for all he had done for Lily and Harry. The portrait returned the gesture and the Curse-breaker turned to the unique group. Her trained senses picked out that at least half of the group were vampires – she was almost certain that one woman was from House Sanguini – and the male on the side closest to Salazar's portrait was a Naga or she'd eat her pet Niffler. She blinked as a forgotten memory came loose and stepped away from the group. "Fucking hells!"
"The chick-a-dee knows what we are," the male dressed as a riverboat gambler grinned, flashing fangs.
"Trish?" Gabriel asked. The experienced Auror was so far out of his element that he was frozen with indecision. Mostly because of how submissive his usually assertive wife was acting.
"I thought it was a myth," she mumbled, eyes bouncing across the ten faces who stared like statues back at her. "The High Table. The hidden ICW of the magical races. The most powerful non-humans in the world."
"She shoots, she scores," the riverboat gambler chuckled, drawing a blade from somewhere to clean beneath his razor-sharp nails. Although when the humans blinked, the blade had become a cigarette he was lighting, only for a second blink to have the knife back in his grip and the lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his serial-killer smile.
"Why are we here?" Gabriel asked. He had taken a step back at Trish's words, and a frown marred his features as he tried to take in the large group.
"It won't work," the Naga told him, a hiss underlying the words. The man's skin had a patch-work design of scales from what the Frenchman could see and curved snake fangs for canines. "The magic will keep our features from your mind unless we wish you to know us."
"You are here to learn, Monsieur Delacour," Slavens told them. "And prepare for what Lord Slytherin believes will come. What do you know of the Predictions of Tycho Dodonus?"
"A pen name of Nostradamus for his predictions relating to magic," Gabriel frowned at the question. "They are as vague as his non-magical ones. I was told that one of his predictions heralded Grindelwald's war."
"That is what humans are meant to think," Apolline corrected after getting a look from the headmaster. "In truth, the book is a collection of prophecies relating to Magical Beings. That is why the 'poetry' doesn't have a consistent structure. Prophecy 20 was about a banished Siren prince riding a hippocampus to free his captured sister from those who had taken over their kingdom. It came true two centuries ago."
"And we are here because of Prophecy 41," Slavens declared.
The ten beings spoke in perfect symmetry, their voices merging rather than overlapping. "When a Lord of Magic frees the eternal slave, unleashes the Siren's Song, and makes a man from a wolf, the world will feel their steps, everlong. The hidden, the High Fae. House Danu is reborn, Lo, the return of Tuatha De."
And if Salazar kept silent about the truth that Prophecy 41 was nothing more than a bastardisation of an interpretation of the signs the last Lord Danu had left his descendants, that was his business.
"Merde," Gabriel gasped. "Harry will bring back the High Fae?"
"He's already used the old Roman Oath for two house-elves," Trish revealed with a wince. "He created the ritual that'll give Veela better control of their allures, and I saw him messing around with the start of a ritual to help werewolves yesterday. Sal, you bloody know the kid's under another prophecy. How much more can he take?"
"Prophecies are mortal minds attempting to interpret the flow of time and Fate, Patricia," the Snake Lord told her. "You know this. Your sister could see every moment as a Vision should she lose control of her ability."
Trish gave the portrait a two-fingered salute before turning to the High Table. "So, what's the problem?"
"The problem, Miss Rakepick," Slavens said, obviously the spokesman for the group. "Is that our Seers all agree that something dangerous is coming. Should that new Lord of Magic bring Prophecy 41 to reality, our world may very well drown in blood."
The declaration hung heavy in the air before the man continued. "Are you familiar with the legend of the Beast of Gevaudan?
"Vaguely," she frowned, thrown by the apparent non sequitur. Gabriel gave a similar answer.
"It is a story we tell all our students. A story of caution they must learn. Between 1764 and 67 the Beast slaughtered humans and animals alike. Some suspected a werewolf, but a daytime attack quickly disproved this. The French Ministry knew it was a magical beast, though. They ultimately called in some Black Gate experts in hunting dangerous creatures, one of whom just was a werewolf."
"I can understand that," Gabriel said. The man had pulled himself together from the many shocks and continued to eye the High Table, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "A werewolf would be interested in what kind of creature was behind it."
"Our team found the Beasts – plural - and were about to kill them when the French Unspeakables took over and whisked the creatures away. The werewolf was one of our top Alchemy graduates that century and had collected some of the alpha Beast's blood during the skirmish without the Unspeakables knowing. She sent us a report describing how the blood was a mass of alchemical elixirs."
"Someone created them," Trish guessed, getting nods of agreement.
"The Unspeakables promised they would destroy these 'demon wolves' once they learned everything they could from them. And then we found the werewolf dead. Our investigators worked out someone had killed her mere hours after sending the report. The next month saw every member of the hunting team killed, with neither the French Ministry nor their Unspeakables interested."
"They did not see your people as human," Gabriel growled, eyeing his wife. He had faced more than enough words disparaging his Apolline and their beautiful daughters in his rise through the French Ministry.
"Exactly," Slavens said, his pale eyes swirling unnaturally with anger. "We have never trusted your Ministry nor their Unspeakables since."
"Rowena created the first Unspeakables," Salazar informed the pair. "They are called Unspeakables because they cannot reveal the truth of their origins. She charged them to protect all magical knowledge and all magical people, regardless of race. When the Ministries formed and absorbed the groups, they created a clandestine counter to work outside of the authorities. A group you are familiar with, Patricia Rakepick."
"R?" the brash Curse-breaker whispered with a shiver. Her experiences dealing with the group still haunted her.
"They have lost their way, but yes. 'R' for Rowena, for they were supposed to continue her mission of saving knowledge. At first, the two groups worked together. Until the Unspeakables began cutting 'R' off from their official sisters. A disconnection that began in France."
"France is the key," Trish quoted, remembering her sister's words almost two months before. "For both allies and enemies. The Beasts were alchemical creations, Dumbledore has a secret protector. The Flamels are the hidden threat?"
While the High Table all nodded, Salazar breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. Dumbledore had declared anything to do with the alchemist to be a secret. The man was abusing Hogwarts' security feature, and this was all the Snake Lord could do about it.
While the unusual meeting of humans and other would soon peter out, the High Table and Salazar had spread the information they needed. The game for the fate of the world had just had its latest move.
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OoOoO
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7th January 1994 – Hogwarts (4 years, 116 days diluted)
"Potter, stay behind," Snape snarled, causing Harry to blink. It was Friday's first lesson and the second Potions class of the new term, and the teen couldn't think of what might have caused Severus to keep him behind. Harry cleaned up his work area and approached the man's desk, who threw his winter assignment at him. "What in Merlin's name is that supposed to be?"
Harry took the parchment and made a low 'oh' sound as he saw the issue. He hadn't noticed that he had written it in his own private code of Parsel runes mixed with some Old Norse, Mayan, Latin, and random Japanese script. "I'll get it rewritten by lunch."
"That would be helpful, yes," the man snarked.
"Did you know Parselmouths don't actually speak true Parseltongue?"
"Excuse me?"
"It's true," Harry promised as he threw the coded homework into his bag. "We speak a weird version of our own speech intertwined with Parsel Magic. It's why if you were a Speaker, I could ask you questions, use non-English words and you'd know what I meant. Most spells cast in Parsel are just what we speak naturally, but intertwined with Parsel Magic. It's how non-Speakers can understand it and even replicate it to limited degrees. True Parseltongue is vastly different."
Severus stared at Harry, dark eyes unblinking as the man recovered from the information splurge. "What's it like?"
"Like trying to reign herd over seamlessly merging all the Japanese and Chinese dialects into one insane system. And Parsel runes are the squiggling version of Cuniform. The slightest change can twist the meaning. And don't get me started on the counting system."
"I wish you hadn't hadn't started on this topic at all," the man snapped. "Would the Dark Lord know it?"
"No," Harry promised. "It's not instinctive knowledge and there's no way he would have been able to convince a Naga to teach him. That's who came up with the language. It's theirs and they hold it jealousy from outsiders."
"Then how do you -"
"Grandfather was born to a Naga Prince who taught him. As I'm his family, he's taught me."
Severus stared at Harry. "Sa... He was part-human?"
"You do know why the whole pure-blood and Family Magic and long bloodlines matters, right?" Harry frowned. "It's because the very oldest families were born to non-human parents. Magical animals who gained a human form in a reversal of our Animagus changes. And that's without the humanoid races breeding with humans. The Peverells were born to Death – I'm still not sure whether that was a literal embodiment of the concept or one of its avatar beings – and the very first Potter was the product of a rape from a human-formed Manticore that was moonlighting as a Roman Gladiator. The Potter killed his father once he became a free man, incidentally. If Hagrid was to settle down and have a family, they'd eventually become human sized but known for their ability to withstand greater magical and physical damage."
"Aetius," Severus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why are you babbling?"
Harry sighed, twisting his neck back and forth to ease out the tension. Only then did the professor notice the teen's tense posture. "You heard Trish's warning."
"Surely he can help you work out a plan against Flamel?"
"The old man has made everything about the Flamels a Headmaster's secret," Harry growled, fingers clenching and releasing as though imagining they were strangling Dumbledore. "It makes me think they're far more active than we can guess and we just haven't seen the results yet."
"A reasonable conclusion," Severus agreed, undoing the button on his sleeve to roll it back. "So, here is something we know you can work with."
Harry's hand struck like lightning, gripping the man's pale arm to inspect the Dark Mark. "Damn, it's gotten clearer."
"The Dark Lord grows in power, Aetius. It will not be long before he has returned."
Harry released the arm and closed his eyes, using his Mind Arts to skim through the monster's memories. "He had a few rituals pre-planned for when he lost his body. Some have to be done on certain days, but he could do three whenever he gets the ingredients."
"Any suspicion which he would choose?"
"Yeah, but it won't work. It requires the 'blood of his enemy' and he'd only consider mine. Something he can't use. Best case, he has one of his followers kidnap me to use me in the ritual and my blood destroys his new body."
"Then it is only a matter of time before he is active," Severus concluded, rolling down his sleeve to hide the Mark. "However, this change has pushed several Death Eaters to agree to Lucius' plan. I suspect he will need you before the end of the month to relieve them of their Marks."
"How's he been doing that, anyway?" Harry frowned, scooping his bag up and throwing it over his shoulder.
"By using your trick," the professor snorted. "Merlin's Redoubt and a redundant amount of security wards."
"Huh. Smart idea."
"Get out of here, brat."
"Sir! Yes, sir!"
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OoOoO
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11th January 1994 – Gringotts London, prisoner mines
Algriff was not a happy goblin. To the prisoners working in Gringotts' mines, it might have been difficult to tell compared to his usual temperament, but his fellow guards spotted it with ease. He had reached the end of the day and the prisoners were to be locked up. Only five of the criminals had not returned from the newest mine.
Although a warrior race, the goblins were not stupid, nor were they eager for death. Standard mine protocol meant that there had to be five guards for each human prisoner – the ratio changed on the species – to counter the taller race's longer reach. Algriff bellowed out a command, and it took no time for twenty-four of his fellows to join him in collecting the useless humans. As the highest ranking goblin on duty, he was the one to lead the grumbling group to the mine tunnel, only to frown when he found only the closest of torches were still lit. The rest of the tunnel was nothing more than the darkness of the pit.
Algriff's fingers clenched around the shaft of his war-axe. He was a veteran in three wars with other goblin clans and two conflicts with the dwarves, and his experienced instincts were screaming at him. Although humans denied his race the right of wands, they were not without their own magic and his empty clawed hand twisted and spun, drawing on the power of the Mother until he had formed a glowing ball of white light. A thrust forward of the hand sent the ball hurling down the tunnel. And Algriff had a moment of wishing he hadn't done so.
The five missing slaves glared at the warriors from their crouched position, but they were no longer human. Pale as rock worms but with blotchy patches of diseased skin, the creatures snarled at the ball and shifted positions in ways no human could move. Their bodies had swollen bulges that didn't hamper their movements despite all logic saying they should, and things moved beneath the bloated skin. Around them were giant rats and other mine creatures, each mutated in their own way. Some bulges of the non-humans had burst, releasing black maggot-like monstrosities with teeth-filled mouths that spoke in the natural tongue of whatever being heard their terrible words.
"Stalkers!" Algriff growled. The goblin commander turned to his nearest fellow and forced the warrior to look at him. "Go! Warn our people that the Ashblight has returned!"
The goblin, whose name Algriff had never bothered learning, nodded. "Die with honour."
The crowd parted as the lone messenger ran as fast as he could. Algriff steadied himself and took his war-axe in both hands as the terrifying sound of scratching came from behind the mutated beings. The former humans chuckled with a monstrous rasp and charged, bounding towards the goblin in a mockery of human movement. The warriors roared their war cries and met the scourge of all things sane.
Some of the twenty-four goblins might have survived the Stalkers were it not for the hidden things crawling on the ceiling waiting to drop upon their prey. Even then, some might have been alive by the time aid came. But the goblins had long ago learned that not dying was not the same as surviving the infectious Ashblight. Goblin-created flames cleansed the entire mine section, a raging inferno that the race's mage-warriors called up the moment they were in range. Chosen few would walk the tunnels, their sun-fire scorching clean everything in front of them in the faint hope of eliminating every trace of the new Ashblight source.
It would prove to be a fool's hope for the goblin Nation. The following months would see more cases of Ashblight infected creatures and prisoners until the goblins could make only one conclusion.
The Darkspawn had returned.
May Magic have mercy on their souls.
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OoOoO
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17th January 1994 (4 years, 198 days diluted)
"You should be proud of yourself, Apprentice," Salazar declared. The pair stood in a copy of Hogwarts' grounds as it had been when the Founder lived. Harry had spent so many hours training there that seeing the Quidditch pitch or Hagrid's hut in their modern places felt strange. "You have been my apprentice for four and a half years, and have pushed yourself to your limits. A Lord of Magic three times over. And using today's... methods... of grading, a high NEWT student in Astronomy, History, and Arithmancy, and either already Mastery level in your other subjects or about to become one. Once I teach you the skill of Apparition, no one would fault you for asking me to release you to live your life."
Harry snorted, getting a smirk from his ancestor.
"You are growing as a teacher and have proven yourself capable of opening the minds of your students."
Harry nodded. It had taken only his second private lesson with the others after coming back to Hogwarts for the more politically Light students to make noises about not wanting to do any rituals or blood magic. Harry remembered his lesson well.
"There's an old divination trick to find close members of your family," he'd told the group. "All you need is a bit of blood, a scrying spell, and a map or other object to use as physical 'they are this way' marker. You don't need any talent in divination to do it, but the more you have, the more detailed the directions will be. Do you know why I'm telling you this?"
"Kidnappings," Daphne answered, taking hold of her sister's hand.
"If someone attacked Fred and took him, it would be nothing for the rest of you Weasleys to use that spell to find him. It should be nothing for you to do it. But it's banned. It's a blood ritual, albeit a small one, and it's Dark as it works best if the caster is not the same person who provides the blood.
"I've told you all before that I won't force you to learn anything you aren't comfortable with." He finished once he was sure the lesson had sunk in. "But I want you to put aside your opinions on entire subjects of magic. The Unforgiveables are curses, yet that doesn't stop us from learning other curses. There are countless potions that can kill us, but just as many that heal. It is not what the magic is, but how it's used. Not the subject you should worry about, but what each piece of magic does and costs. After all, my Patronus killed the Dementors."
His words had opened the door for them to think more critically about magic. It wasn't the first time Harry had given a lesson like that, nor would it be the last. It took time to shift a worldview, but his Apprentices were heading in the right direction.
"You are an adult in everything but law, and it is time to teach you Apparition," Salazar continued, refocusing Harry's thoughts. "Those Ministry idiots will tell students about the three Ds. Destination. Determination. Deliberation. That you must fix in your mind your destination, that your determination to be there must consume your every being, and then you must spin on the spot to push yourself into 'nothingness' with deliberation."
"Well, that's bloody helpful," he grumbled. "What's with the spinning, anyway?"
"I want this," Sal held out his hand, and a small child's spinning top was between his fingers. "To go over there. Like so."
The Founder had pointed to Harry's right and twisted the bottom of the spinning top. The object flew off in the direction Salazar wanted, although in a wobbly and disorganised path. Harry knew the man had used magic to control the toy, but it made it easier to understand what was being taught.
"Apparition - in fact, any ability that teleports something to somewhere it wasn't - does so by sending that object through magic itself."
"But what about magical null areas?"
Salazar nodded, pleased at the question. Although a rare natural phenomenon, null zones were common creations by those who used magic. They were extremely unstable environments that wanted to cease existing from the moment of their formation, but were undeniably useful. "The teleportation will then use the subject's magic. And if it has none, it won't work."
"If I put a Portkey on a magical animal in a null zone," Harry mused with a frown. "It could kill the animal."
"Are you asking or telling me?"
"Telling you, Sir. Portkeys don't feel like the most energy efficient of transport."
"Correct, Apprentice," Salazar nodded with pride, giving Harry a quick smile before continuing the lesson. "It is possible to overpower an anti-Portkey ward, but the user will either be dead or dying by the time they reach their destination. Thankfully, the spell to create a Portkey has an inbuilt shut-off to prevent such a thing."
"I don't see how Apparition could have the same shut-off."
"It doesn't," the Founder answered. Salazar's heart clenched at how much Harry had grown. As their time together continued, the Snake Lord felt more like he was discussing magical theory with one of his Peverell relatives than teaching a student. "Anti-Apparition Jinxes pit the caster's magical strength against the one trying to Apparate in or out. Wards, however, saturate the area with a type of magical blanket. Consider the Vernaculi radio. An Apparition attempt is sending out the signal while the ward looks to block it."
"Is that what you put on Hogwarts?"
"In a fashion. Common belief is that our anti-Apparition ward covers all of Cassie and yet the headmaster can lower it for the Great Hall for students to learn the skill."
"How, Master?" Harry frowned, crossing his arms as he thought through what he had heard. "I know you've told me that a Ward Smith can make pockets in their wards, but I doubt every headmaster since your time has been that talented."
To Harry's surprise, warding was akin to transfiguration. While most people created wards and let them be, in the same way that someone might transfigure or conjure an animal and let it loose, Ward Smiths were those who kept a deeper connection to their creations. This allowed them to adjust the wards on the fly, even opening holes in them or increasing their effect in one area without impacting the integrity of the rest of the ward.
"And one cannot pass such control on, even between Ward Smiths," Sal confirmed. "No, we instead filled Cassie with individual anti-Apparition wards. Every room, corridor, even the temporary Parsel tunnels you use have their own ward powered by the Ley Lines beneath her. And while our bloodlines have permission to bypass them, that can only happen once they are keyed into the wards. Something I will do for you once you learn the skill."
"I'm listening."
"Teleportation, Apparition, is putting yourself within Magic and either pulling yourself towards your destination or having your destination pull you to it."
Harry blinked at the description. Master Sal was smirking. The Founder knew what his words had sounded like, and the younger Lord of Magic could only give one reply. "What?"
"If you were to cast a Summoning Charm at Cassie, what would be the result? Assuming you don't believe you're powerful enough to rip her out of the ground."
"Not bloody likely," he snorted. "It would drag me to her."
"And if you shot an overpowered Banishing Charm at the ground behind you when you were facing her?"
"I'd be..." Harry trailed off, staring at his nodding mentor. "It's the same result."
"I know of no explanation why some people's magic has them doing the former while others do the latter, but it matters not. How the three Ds are taught may be asinine, but their core meaning remains. You fix the location where you wish to be in your mind – and no, Apprentice, you don't need to know exactly where it is. The better you became at teleporting, the more you will find you can do so with less mental imagery than is believed. Because it is the second and third process that matters. You call upon your magic, declare that 'there' is where you wish to be, and then release it and yourself into the aether. Your magic will do the rest."
Harry listened to his Master's words and what wasn't said. He was long past the need to have every little detail explained to him, and he could fill in the blanks of the instructions. "The Animagus shift. The first time we control the change. We call up the animal within, fill out bodies with the desire to shift, and give ourselves to the magic of the change."
Salazar nodded, but Harry wasn't done. The Founder was smiling as the teen worked through his thoughts. "But the merging with our animals we do before that forces a change that we have to come back from. We have to learn how to go back to that state. Apparition is taking me somewhere new. If I know what it's like to be where I wish to go, then it acts as a guide to my magic. If I learn another Animagus form, I don't have to relearn how to shift. Once I know how to Apparate, I don't need to know what it's like to be somewhere for my magic to know to take me there."
"Excellent. You may begin your attempts when you're ready."
Harry was about to start when he got a mischievous look that had Salazar's eyebrows raising. The younger Slytherin just smirked and then erupted in a lightning flash, appearing in a second one near the Forbidden Forest. The Founder laughed as his Apprentice used his Thunderbird's ability to flash across the open land. Salazar was even more impressed when the teen worked out how to silence the thunderclaps to leave only the sound of a giant electrical spark to show a change of location.
Brilliant, Apprentice, brilliant. Sal thought. Tapping into the Thunderbird's version of a Phoenix flash wouldn't just give Harry the means to bypass the strongest of Apparition wards, but it also taught his magic that it could move locations on command.
It took a little less than an hour for Harry to perfect Apparition. Through a mix of Riddle's memories of doing it the 'normal' way and channelling his Thunderbird's ability, he had side-stepped the usual mental blocks to learning the skill. The pair were back in Sal's study, sitting in the chairs with warm cups of tea ready to be drunk.
"Sentient races have a natural tendency to label things," the Founder began, fingers templed so that his touching forefingers tapped against his lips. Harry had only seen his ancestor like this a handful of times. It meant the man was considering multiple things at once, like an overly complicated elixir made up of complicated potions. "It is the way of things. As is the truth that these labels often shift over time, and they are never as rigid as those who use them would like to believe. Thus, mages have created labels for magic, labels that have fallen out of favour in the modern era beyond the Light, Dark, and Grey/Neutral terms so often bounded about to control the thinking of others. Mages once labelled magic for both its range and depth. The label for its depth was sometimes called the classes of magic, but I am sure you can see a problem with this label."
"You're obviously not talking about the classes we're taught in school."
"Those are the subjects of magic, Apprentice, but you see why the distinction has blurred," Salazar confirmed with a snort. "You take a class to learn a subject of magic, so it must be a class of magic you're learning. As I said, shifting labels and fluidity in meaning. Let us call what I am speaking of by their original name. A name far more appropriate to use. The tiers of magic."
Harry stared at his mentor and felt like he was the Harry who first walked into the Chamber to find his world was not as he once believed. "This goes beyond what you've taught me, doesn't it?"
"You know we could easily have called our school Hogwarts Academy of Mage-craft," the Founder continued without answering him. "Mage-craft is the lowest tier. Both the foundation and basics of future learning. It is what all other magics are based on, but rarely reach those heights itself. Yes, the other tiers use mage-craft subjects, but they do so in such a way that makes the mage-craft variation plebeian. The next tier up are the Higher Arts, and you have already experienced and mastered some."
Harry was about to question his ancestor but paused, considering his education so far. "The Mind Arts?"
"Are a branch of magic, yes. Branches – once known as the schools of magic - are the width of magical learning. To summarise, a branch of magic is a collection of all magic, regardless of subject, that covers or focuses on the same concept."
"By that definition, a lot of what you've taught me are branches of magic," he frowned.
"Indeed," Salazar nodded. The Founder's voice had kept its neutral tone, emphasising the importance of the lesson. "Mind Arts, Runic Magic, Combat Magic, and even Enchanting are branches of magic. As are Family Magic, Necromancy, Blood Magic, true Elemental Magic, along with others I've yet introduced to you. As a Lord of Rituals and someone who could easily become a Lord of Runic Magic, I don't believe I need to tell you how intertwined those two branches are with various subjects."
"Definitely not," he snorted. Even his secret slow attempts at creating runes of pure magic that he could manipulate had roots in transfiguration. It took practice to learn how to control a conjured or transfigured animal beyond just setting it upon a target, and that was the skill Harry needed to control his runes. Runes he was conjuring from his own magic. As for rituals, mastery of that subject only came with proper understanding of manipulating something the way charms and transfiguration did.
"Good. The highest tier is Thaumaturgy, a somewhat passable translation of the word is 'wonderworking.' You have reached a level of using magic akin to what ancient societies would believe you to be a god. Or a demigod, at the very least. A Thaumaturge can influence the very laws of magic itself to reshape the world to their whims. While not every Thaumaturge is a Lord of Magic, all Lords of Magic are Thaumaturges."
The Founder shifted a hand to have its palm face Harry when he was about to speak, and the student closed his mouth. The limb shifted back to its original position while Salazar's gaze seemed to intensify.
"Do not misunderstand me. These tier labels are not some secret powers to be unlocked, but are akin to how the Ministry layers your subjects. OWLs, NEWTs, Mastery – Mage-craft, Higher Arts, and Thaumaturgy. It is through the branches of magic that the mage manipulates reality. While the Mind Arts are only a Higher Art, what you did to Riddle during your ritual goes beyond that. Its potential goes beyond that."
Harry winced. He knew what his Master was talking about. If he was of a different persuasion, it would be too easy for the young Lord of Magic to weaponise the technique into a psychic version of the Dementor's Kiss. All Harry would have to do was use his magic to create a deep enough tie to another mind and repeat what he did to Riddle. As long as his victim couldn't break the connection, it would suck them dry of knowledge and magic.
He had vowed to never use or record what had made him a Lord of Magic. Harry had even removed his method of taking Riddle's knowledge from his grimoire, refusing to give future Potters such a temptation.
"You might find it distasteful, Harry, but you cannot deny that even a judicial use of such magic would put you on a road to such 'divine' status."
"A road I will never go down," the teen declared with a snarl, getting an infuriating smirk in response.
"I never thought you would. I will teach you every branch of magic I know, Apprentice. You will learn the theory of even those that you might not be interested in or even capable of performing. Just because you cannot use such magic -"
"Doesn't mean I cannot teach another to," Harry finished, showing he understood. He agreed with the sentiment and had no issues with learning something to teach others.
"We will focus almost entirely on a singular branch of magic from now on. Only your evening sessions on non-magical combat will continue. With some of your free time outside of the Room, I suspect we'll work through each branch between one and two months in real time. Depending on how long you take to master what I'll be teaching."
The Founder relaxed, stretching his legs out and lowering his hands for the first time since the lesson started. The man continued to smirk, causing Harry to wonder what he was in for.
"And our first branch of magic will be almost all theory for you. Shapeshifting!"
Harry blinked owlishly. "You mean Metamorphmagi and Animagi?"
"The exact opposite, descendant. Do you wish for wings? Perhaps the eyes of a hawk? Maybe you wish to become a dragon? Or even a different animal every day? Or even turn yourself into an inanimate object. A Shapeshifter can do all of those things or do them to another with no fear of a loss of sanity or their original form."
"You didn't touch on this with my Transfiguration lessons."
"Because it is a Higher Art. You know the risk of human transfiguration."
"The target of the spell can get stuck in the new form, to where even reversal spells can't change them back," Harry answered.
"And forcing someone into the form of an animal?"
"The animal's thoughts consume them. It's the key difference between human-to-animal transfiguration and an Animagus change."
"Excellent," Salazar praised. "Shapeshifting is a Higher Art because it uses a combination of transfiguration and charms to get past these dangers. A Shapeshifter can turn themselves into anything and stay that way for years without losing their mind or magic."
Harry wasn't ashamed of gaping at the information, and the Founder's smirk only grew at his reaction. Only for it to vanish as Salazar raised a hand. "But. Certain people are literally incapable of mastering Shapeshifting. Oh, they can learn the magic, but it will never work for them. You and I, and Nymphadora Tonks, are three such people."
The teen almost laughed at the idea of his ancestor being unable to perform any type of magic, and then he remembered his initial question. "Because we're Animagi and she's a Metamorphmagus?"
"Shapeshifting is the antithesis to those talents," Salazar confirmed. "Whether through our animal forms or young Nymphadora's talents, the three of us have a sense of self greater than most can imagine. Her very ability to change herself grants her an exceptional self identity, whereas our animals would rebel should we be turned into another form. Outside of being curses, it is impossible for a mage to be trapped in a different animal than their Animagus form. The transfiguration magic clashes and our inner animal will always win, forcing us to either revert to our human forms or into our animal's.
"Then why isn't Shapeshifting..." Harry began, only to pause and consider his question. "It's a Higher Art, and you said it requires a mix of charms and transfiguration to work. A mage must learn the rules before they break them, but that's just it. After learning the rules, they don't think they can break them."
"A wonderful summation of today's situation."
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OoOoO
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31st January 1994 – Merlin's Redoubt (4 years, 311 days diluted)
In a reverse of what happened over the summer, a hooded Narcissa Malfoy led an equally covered Harry Potter through Merlin's Redoubt to a meeting that would reshape his political world. The protected door opened without showing Lucius's face and the pair stepped into the meeting room. The sheer weight of the protections put in place had Harry rolling his shoulders as the pair threw back their hoods.
"A lot more than I expected," Harry confessed, gazing at the group sitting at a round table staring in open shock back at him.
"Potter is who we're supposed to put our faith in?" A blonde sneered, getting an actual eye roll from the usually composed Narcissa.
"You're supposed to be a Slytherin, Selina."
"Perhaps introductions are in order," Lucius said diplomatically. "I'm sure it would be of help."
He aimed the second part at Harry, who nodded. They both ignored the scoffs from those watching. "This is Selina Rosier, a cousin-in-law through Cissa's mother. Beside her is Lord Horatio Burke, with Ares and Nerys Carrow, parents to Hestia and Flora."
Harry gave the Lord a small bow while the others got head nods.
"Continuing clockwise are Duncan and Archana Lee, Lord Xander Warrington, Lord Darius Bulstrode and his Lady Priscilla, Lord Maxwell Parkinson and his Lady Lucretia, Lord Thadeus Nott, Corvinus Greengrass, and finally Verucca Buckthorn-Snyde."
Harry gave each the socially correct greeting and then winced at the last name. "That's going to make my next talk with Trish interesting."
"How is Miss Rakepick?" the older woman asked with a wicked smirk. The Metamorphmagus had been a key player in the catastrophe that was Trish's experience with the Cursed Vaults.
"Declared your name banned from any conversation she has with Nymphadora," Harry remarked as he sat after the Malfoys had taken their seats.
"Little Nymphie?" the woman chuckled, cutting eyes to Narcissa at the mention of a niece that the Lady Malfoy was supposed to hate. The older woman had been Dora's mentor in all things to do with their shared ability. "I haven't seen her in years. I should pop by and say hello."
"Are we just supposed to ignore the fact that the Boy Who Lived is the one Lucius Malfoy has brought to help us?" Ares Carrow demanded.
A hiss filled the room and from seemingly nowhere, a now fourteen-foot-long Cadwaladr wrapped himself around a glaring Harry. "That would be Lord Malfoy to you, Mr Carrow."
Most of the group shuffled away from the terrifying sight, while some even jumped off their chairs. Narcissa sighed, reaching out to stroke the snake's head. "Perhaps try a little less of an impression of the Dark Lord, Harry?"
"We all know why we are here," Lucius said in an imperious tone, that declared he was taking control of the conversation. "The Dark Mark is growing, the Dark Lord is getting stronger, and we do not believe that following him once more would be the correct choice."
"And you told us that there was someone better to follow," Lord Burke added, dark eyes bouncing between Lucius and the rigid Harry.
Harry had locked up Riddle's memories to keep his first impression of the group from being tainted, but now he released them to learn who he was dealing with. None of these people were innocent. All had murdered at least once, but they also weren't blind fanatics. They were true believers in their history, and most of them were bigots, yet he could see himself working with any of them. As he told Lucius all that time ago, the old war was over and it wasn't Harry's place to make these people his enemies if they wanted to walk away from Riddle. And yet...
"You don't have the Mark," he said to Verucca, who smirked at the accusation. "Why are you here?"
"My niece needs someone to follow. Someone who will treat her the way she needs treating. I'm here to see if you're that person."
Harry grunted at the answer before turning his attention back to the Death Eaters. "You all believe in our traditions and remembering our history. While I don't see a problem with 'muggle-borns' or even 'muggles'' in general -"
"Of course you don't," Ares Carrow snorted, only to get slapped on the arm by his wife, who hissed at him to shut up.
"I am a traditionist at heart," Harry continued after staring the man down. "You can consider me dark-Grey on the Wizengamot. Those coming into our society need to learn our ways, but at the same time we cannot ignore the outside world."
"A compromise," Corvinus Greengrass, an uncle to Daphne and Astoria, summarised.
"Correct. One reason you all followed your Dark Lord is because he declared himself the Heir of Slytherin." Harry lifted his hand up and smirked at their reactions from seeing his Slytherin ring. "He isn't. I am. Through my mother's blood."
"The Lady Potter was a Slytherin?" Lord Burke pushed. Harry was glad the man had used his mother's title rather than the slur he knew many would have.
"She was, Horatio," Lucius confirmed to the older man. Both Lords Burke and Nott were younger contemporaries to his father rather than his own associates, and the Malfoy Lord had grown close to both upon Abraxas' death. "She could have become Lady Slytherin if she had the chance."
"Anyone looking at the Dark Mark would say it was a modified Protean Charm," Harry explained. Lucius began rolling his sleeve up in readiness for what was to come. "That's false. It's an old Sumerian slave brand encased in a Protean shell. That is why he can make you feel pain through the Mark, why he can find you through it, call you to him, and why the stronger it and he gets, the more loyal to him your thoughts become. I won't say it would be impossible to betray him once he returns to full power, but the thoughts you've had of there being a better way will be heavily suppressed. In effect, he has turned you into his house-elves."
The noise the group made at that declaration would have suited the Gryffindor Common Room after losing the Quidditch Cup. Some wanted to deny his words, others wanted the Mark removed even if it meant cutting off their own limb. Harry waited them out. He hadn't been lying, but the truth was more nuanced than he said. After all, Dobby had proven that even the magic of a house-elf couldn't force the bonded to be completely loyal. Just obedient.
The snapping and snarling adults grew silent when they realised Harry wasn't replying to any of their demands, and that was when Lucius acted. "Darling?"
Narcissa drew a knife from someone in her dress and cut his fingertips. Lucius smeared the blood across his Dark Mark and the arm twitched once in obvious pain before the brand faded.
"I'm a Parselmouth. I manipulated Lucius' mark and freed him. We left it there for you to see the truth. I can free you all, should you want it."
"You might be an under-17s duelling champion, the true Slytherin Heir, and have a Patronus that can kill Dementors," Lord Nott said in the same deep voice his son possessed. "But the Dark Lord is still a Dark Lord."
Harry sighed and turned to an already smirking Narcissa, releasing his soul aura as he spoke. "So much for this being a damn secret."
No one had any more complaints.
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OoOoO
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Removing thirteen Dark Marks and agreeing to meet an old witch's nieces wasn't the only thing that Harry had to do that day.
The first day of February was Imbolc, the Solstice of Cleansing for the new year, and Harry had a duty as the future Lord Slytherin to use the date to help heal the Forbidden Forest. He stood naked in the clearing that once housed the Acromantula nest and waited with closed eyes. He felt Dobby nudge him through their bond to signal the passing of midnight and began chanting. The language was ancient, pre-dating the introduction of writing to Albion, and mages had continued to speak it long after Vernaculi historians thought it had become extinct. The language of the Druids filled the woods, and the land responded, remembering a time when the Founders had used the same words to prepare it for their building of Hogwarts.
The power flowed through the clearing and through Harry in time with the rise and fall of his chanting. No flashing lights drew the attention of those in the castle. No grand ripples of magic showcased what Harry was doing, but the land knew. The animals knew. And the centaurs knew. They came to witness something that had faded into myth even to their Seeing gazes. The first hour passed and Harry's chanting shifted, moving from a call of cleansing to a call of protection. Power thrummed through the Forest. Magic, that was both more and less than what mages called a ward, awoke from its deep slumber and drew on the power of the Lord of Magic.
The power Harry called upon that night would be the final nail in the career of Hagrid. The half-giant had been despondent at the vanishing of the Acromantula colony, and only Dumbledore's quick words kept him from retiring from his position as COMC Professor. Quick words that could not perform the same trick twice when Hagrid found himself uneasy in entering the Forest.
The land remembered. For all that Hagrid was a gentle soul, he had been the architect of the Forest's corruption. The land remembered, and it did not forgive.
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OoOoO
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20th February 1994 (5 years, 109 days)
"You've done excellent in mastering Shapeshifting," Salazar praised, not bothering to hide his smirk at Harry's huge grin.
Although Animagi couldn't use Shapeshifting spells on themselves, they could still cast them on others. Dobby had provided Harry with a living test dummy, one Gilderoy Lockhart. Harry had debated using the invalid, but it was more about how he didn't feel guilty about the idea. And then he thought of Ginny dying as a teenage Tom Riddle gained life, and he went to work on the Obliviating bastard.
Harry's Time-Turner and practicing his Memory Charms meant the celebrity was neither missed from St Mungo's, nor was Lockhart capable of telling anyone what Harry had done to him over the thirty-nine weeks of time dilation.
"Now we will work on Arcane Magic, also known as the Primal Arts. It is the manipulation of magic in its rawest form." The Founder opened his palm and a glowing dagger appeared above it, rotating even as it shifted form. "This is not a dagger, nor is it an arrow, nor is it a mace. This is raw magic shaped by my will into a representation of those things."
The magical construct had reverted back to the form of a dagger after switching between the other shapes, and a flick of the arm had it flying at the training dummy. The construct buried itself in the target with enough force to push it back.
"These constructs can inflict the damage of what shape I have willed them, but that is not their primary damage." Salazar held out his palm again, only now the magic sparked and sizzles in a barely solid cylindrical shape. "This is the basic Arcane Bolt and the first step to mastering the skill and using the Arcane Arts."
Another flick had the bolt hit the dummy, knocking it back the same distance the dagger had. "Each direct hit will cause a being's magic to hiccup. A 'short-circuit' as Vernaculi say today. Enough blasts or powerful enough blasts can cause them to suffer magical exhaustion. Listen to me, Apprentice. You are not to use these bolts for that purpose unless you are facing an enemy you do not need alive. A miscalculation on your part, a weakness on theirs, or any number of other variables could cause an overload of bolts to kill rather than incapacitate. Arcane bolts are shield or ward busters, or weapons to use against powerful magical creatures when you need rapid spell-fire. I was famed for creating unbreakable wards, yet Godric could draw upon the ambient magic and smash those same wards with but a handful of Arcane Bolts. That is the level of power you are learning to harness. Now, draw upon the magic around you and see what you can do."
It took Harry almost half an hour and guidance from Salazar to draw the magic of the room into an Arcane Bolt. Only when the Founder nodded did he release it at the target, and then winced when the dummy exploded.
"A little less oomph, Apprentice."
"Yes, Master."
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OoOoO
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5th March 1994 (5 years, 214 days diluted)
The student children of the Death Eaters he had freed from the Dark Mark had started to attend the Magic Club. They were sworn to secrecy, but Harry and his family were well aware that he was on borrowed time in keeping his nature as a Lord of Magic hidden from his enemies and the wider magical world.
Even without that worry, Harry's influence on the student population was impossible to miss. While those who attended the Magic Club continued to improve in both their grades and magical understanding, Harry's apprentices were advancing in leaps and bounds. Everyone could see that the students he spent most of his time around were now dominating the wanded subjects, and even some of the theoretical ones, too.
Astoria had raced ahead of her peers, pushing into an early second-year understanding of magic and even beyond that from Harry's personal tutoring and learning through watching him with the others. Ginny's advancement was even more startling, and the youngest Weasley had reached the level that Harry's year group was officially at. It was only Luna's position as a strange outcast that had her matching Ginny's improvement go unnoticed by most. The Weasley twins and Cedric were the slowest to improve, given it was their OWL year, but the trio knew they would smash the tests once those came around. And those in Harry's year were all advancing to a noticeable, if varied, extent. His students' confidence grew as their knowledge and skills did, and the school often saw the Gryffindors and Slytherins discussing topics with no care for the perceived rivalry between the two Houses.
One academic argument between Ron and Draco had even seen the pair separated by their respective House mates and dragged to Madame Pomfrey to be checked over for outside influences.
Severus had reported that Dumbledore and McGonagall were pulling their hair out in confusion and worry over the rapid shift in social dynamics. But that was a concern for another day.
"I don't get it," Justin confessed as the group finished up their latest training. "If Lords of Magic are so powerful, why hasn't one taken over the world yet?"
Harry's students had learned that questions weren't just okay, but he wanted them to question him. It had been a difficult thing for those steeped in the old ways to wrap their heads around, but they'd managed it. Which meant the others waited on hearing the answer to Justin's question rather than jumping on him for asking it.
"Because a Lord of Magic is still a single individual," Harry explained. "They have to sleep, to eat, to rest. A Lord of Magic might be an army, but even the largest armies aren't undefeatable. All it would take is a lucky shot, overwhelming forces, leading them into a trap, or fighting against another Lord of Magic."
"I tried looking into historical Lords of Magic," Susan explained with a frown. "I could only find one story of two Lords of Magic fighting: Merlin and Morgana."
"I'm not surprised," Harry answered. The group was ready to leave the Room, but had stopped to listen to him speak. Even Filius stood entranced at the lesson. "Remember what I've taught you. Lords of Magic have a connection with magic. We understand it, even if it's only one aspect of it, in ways that others haven't before. Our soul aura then opens us up to potentially understanding more. We see the impossible, and turn that into the difficult, for the world to then turn it into the mundane."
"What Mister Potter is saying is that Lords of Magic are meant to become rarer as time moves on. The more we learn, the less we need them to guide us."
"Correct, sir. But remember, it isn't just inventing something, or pushing the boundaries of magical research. It's a unique understanding. I'm sure there have been many throughout history who had the potential to be a Lord of Magic, but never had their soul aura unlocked. And that takes us back to Susan's point. A Lord of Magic might be a teacher at heart, but they wouldn't open the soul aura of someone they could tell was Evil."
"You police yourselves," Hannah summed. "Auror yourselves."
"We do."
"Is You-Know-Who a Lord of Magic?" Astoria asked, her voice low from the fear at such a thought.
"No, and he isn't even a potential one," Harry promised. While he had told the group of Riddle's origins and real identity, he couldn't blame old habits for dying hard. Nor would he force them to change how they addressed the monster. "For all Tom's brilliance and pushing of boundaries, for all the terrible things he has created, he has fallen short every time he approached becoming one. From everything I've read, Grindelwald was the Dark Lord who could have been a Lord of Magic."
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OoOoO
SN:
Last Edited - 12th October 2023
Word Count – 10,167
Previous Word Count - 10,112