Key:
"Words."
Thoughts / "emphasis" / Title of Books or spells used
~~Parseltongue~~
¬¬Foreign Language¬¬
"Magical language."
New Family
16th July 1993 (325 days diluted) - Wales
With Harry's summer homework finished, his time outside of the Room was his own to do with as pleased. Salazar once again gave him advice to explore and enjoy the world he lived in, and Harry took the opportunity with both hands. Alongside a glamoured Dobby looking like an adult human, the pre-teen travelled up and down the country to sample everything he had missed out on with living with the Dursleys. He delved into galleries, museums, and famous landmarks to take in the history of his country, with even Dobby finding things to be captivated by. And Harry explored more than just the culture of his homeland. He also widened his reading and other media tastes, picking up an eclectic mix of classics and modern works to find out what he liked, as well as plenty of non-fiction material. Harry would leave the books in the Room, giving his ancestor the opportunity to read copies of whatever took his fancy.
And when Harry had enough of the mundane world, the duo moved on the magical one. Diagon Alley had such a monopoly on Hogwarts material that the teachers who introduced first-generation mages didn't even show them the Alley's branching shopping areas, let alone tell them that every major city, and some of the non-major ones, had their own areas. These streets were smaller, acting more akin to local hideaways that tourists missed than key parts of the country's economy, and yet held treasures galore. Bookshops that sold things Flourish and Blotts never would, and sellers of high quality enchanted objects were just two of the things they found in their wanderings. One could even find other wand crafters for those who didn't want to visit Ollivander, although the Ministry only provided subsidises to the creepy old man, forcing them to sell the wands at far higher prices.
It surprised Harry to discover that nobody blamed Diagon Alley's shops for the situation, instead pointing the finger of blame at the right target. The Ministry and its blatant favouritism. It took him some digging to find out that the situation was down to a collection of Pure-bloods who had wanted their businesses to be the only ones that mattered. A multi-House Blood Feud in the early 1800s resulted in the death of those same Pure-bloods. However, the Ministry did not consider reversing the situation even after the beneficiaries were no longer available to provide kickbacks for the favour.
While Harry had been stunned that the corruption had been a central part of a history book's chapter about Diagon Alley, this surprise didn't expand to learning the Ministry had banned the book from being sold in Diagon.
He had lived four months since the ritual at the end of June, and had performed the other two in his designed healing set, jump-starting his puberty. Harry had already grown over an inch, and Salazar estimated he would reach around 6'5. A clear four inches taller than the Founder's medical scan had said would have been his natural final height. Proof positive beyond not dying during the rituals that Harry's created array sequences were a success.
Dobby had made sure his clothes came with specialised tailoring resizing charms, and had added the same to his non-magical clothing. Both would last until he hit the six-foot mark, whereby the trusty house-elf would have them replaced or re-tailored, depending on how much Harry liked the clothes.
Harry now wore glasses only for show, as his eyesight was now perfect. The glamour he near-constantly wore hid the frames, but that hadn't stopped Harry from getting pairs he liked for once in his life. Small rectangular frames and Windsors – round frames that were miles better than the large coke-lenses he had been stuck with – filled out half of his collection. The other half were all teashade sunglasses. The 'John Lennon' look might have been made popular with the Beetle, but it was a British 'give no fucks' pop group Harry had seen Dudley get into two years ago that had brought the glasses to his attention. Harry didn't care for the band's music, but he had become fascinated by the many coloured lens one member had worn.
Salazar had warned Harry that his eyesight could become hypersensitive, especially once he merged with his Animagus animals, and that the coloured lenses would aid him until he gained the ability to deliberately manipulate his vision. He also wanted to see how many times he could change glasses before it drove everyone mad.
Harry's height and vision weren't the only things to change. He found himself with more energy, especially the mental kind, had years old aches and pains he hadn't even registered ease away to make moving far more comfortable, and his magic was already flowing far more freely through his body. The last change had been another reason for his journey across the country. He needed to learn how to be around magical places and not feel like he was jumping out of his skin, as well as learn how to understand what his clearer magical senses were telling him. He struggled to deal with the magical intensity of Diagon Alley.
He was more than glad that the changes had happened slowly from his perspective. Harry had thought he was going crazy when he first felt the Room's magic running over his skin. It had taken reworking some of his Occlumency to block out the physical sensations while still letting him know what his senses were picking up. Salazar had needed Rowena's gifted knowledge to know how to help his apprentice and had confessed he'd never have known the right technique otherwise. It hadn't been part of Sebastian's understanding of the Mind Arts either.
Those said new senses were declaring the new twist to his life was about to happen. He had done his magical tour of the lands in a counter-clockwise route, travelling up England, across Scotland, popping over to the Emerald Isle, and then down through Wales. The magical shopping area of Caerphilly – a place whose name Harry refused to even attempt to pronounce while there – was to be his last stop before he took on Diagon and her sister Alleys, and now his senses were screaming to enter one specific shop. He released a heavy sigh the moment he realised what the place was selling.
He had been contemplating something for weeks now. Harry was a proud child of Slytherin, and had grown even more disgusted by the school's reaction to him being a Parselmouth than he had been during the school year. The feeling intensified when he considered how the wider community would respond when they inevitably found out. Perhaps it was a pique of teenage rebellion, but Harry had been seriously considering getting himself a snake familiar.
It now seemed like the decision was out of his hands as his magic pulled him towards a reptile emporium. "Looks like I'm getting a snake after all, Dobs."
"As Master Harry wishes," the human-looking elf declared, getting a snort from the young man in question.
"Master Harry doesn't think he's got a choice in the matter," Harry snarked, already walking towards the dingy door. He still had no answer why most Wizarding businesses preferred making the outside of their premises as off-putting as possible. Even the legendary Salazar Slytherin lacked this knowledge, as it hadn't been the case during his lifetime.
"Master Harry is wise to know when to listen," was the elf's dry response, getting an eye roll as Harry opened the door. The pair were friends, despite their bond, and that friendship meant that Dobby was even more determined that he shouldn't overwork himself. Harry had even watched as the house-elf argued with Salazar over his Good Master's schedule.
Harry and Sebastian speculated that the Snake Lord was manipulating the arguments to bolster Dobby's snark and sarcasm, as the more the elf exercised either, the more the Founder paid attention to the points raised. Not that Dobby had won any of the arguments.
Harry felt it the moment he entered the shop. A new whisper at the back of his mind next to the bonds linking him to Dobby and Hedwig. A winding, dare he say slithering, connection that seemed to be tentatively exploring his mind. Harry's glamoured eyes scanned the low-lit interior, seeing with more than his vision. He ignored the grouchy man sneering at him from behind the counter. Instead, Harry let his senses guide him towards one of the smallest vivarium. While many others contained a multitude of snakes, even of various species, this one held only a single specimen.
If colour experts would describe his eyes as being electric green, then he would guess this snake would be called electric crimson. The blood-red colouring shone with an intensity that almost made it difficult to keep looking at the snake, and Harry suspected that was why that part of the shop was even gloomier than the rest.
The snake itself had what appeared to be smooth scales, small ridges ran down the first quarter of its neck, and its tail ended in what seemed like a spear-point. Its dark purple eyes held an immense intelligence that Harry could feel behind their escalating bond.
"Hey, kid! Get away from that one. It's not for sale!"
"I'm taking it," Harry declared, ignoring the sound of the approaching clerk. Dobby's bond flared, and Harry knew his friend was ready for trouble.
"I don't think so," came the gruff snarl. "I don't care who you think you are, boy, but you ain't taking that bloody snake."
The man's weathered hand took hold of Harry's arm and spun him around, an action that caused four things to happen. Dobby stepped forward to pull the clerk off his Maser Harry, Harry's temper flared at being denied his magic-chosen familiar, his magic responding in an echo of two years prior to cause the entire vivarium to vanish, and the three-foot snake in question launched itself to wrap around Harry's body, neck leaning over his shoulder with fangs bared.
"I'm taking him," Harry repeated, not even twitching at having the deadly creature wrapped around him.
"Yeah... yeah... sure, buddy..." the man stammered, almost falling in his desperate backward, staggering away from the trio.
'I have attacked all other humans,' the snake explained through their mental bond. 'And killed any snake they put with me.'
The clerk's attitude made sense and Harry nodded, reaching up to scratch under the snake's jaw as Dobby went about paying for the animal along with anything else they would need. Dobby's impressive glare had Harry suspecting the clerk was attempting to overcharge them. A suspicion confirmed when the house-elf snapped his fingers. The idiot collapsed unconscious, hitting his head on the counter as he went down.
"It appears we have been graciously given everything for free in their joy of getting your familiar out of the store, Master," Dobby declared, causing teen and snake to grin at the elf's antics.
"Then we'd best get back to the Room."
"As you say, Sir."
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OoOoO
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Salazar's smirk when Harry turned up with his latest familiar was full of amusement, but the living Slytherin saw something he couldn't name in the man's eyes.
~~ Do you know what species Cadwaladr is? ~~ Harry asked, after explaining when and how he had found the snake.
~~ Cadwaladr? ~~ The name increased the Founder's amusement three-fold, if the sparkling eyes were any indication.
~~ It seemed appropriate. He doesn't know what he is. ~~
~~The species won't mean anything to either of you. What I will say is that he has the unique ability to always be with you. ~~
~~ How, son of Naga? ~~ Cadwaladr demanded, lifting his head from Harry's lap to stare into Salazar's eyes. Despite the man only being an echo of his living self, the snake had known Sal's legacy without needing to pick it out from his bond with Harry. Something all reptiles instinctively understood.
~~ Feel his magic and pull yourself to it. Imagine yourself sinking deep inside and being with him always. ~~
Cadwaladr did so. The snake obviously got the process right as he began to glow before sinking into Harry's body. The teen pulled off his top to reveal what a shifting tattoo of his familiar moving across his chest, shrinking until the snake finally settled into a hand-sized ouroboros symbol over Harry's heart.
"He will grow alongside you," Salazar explained, switching back to English. "As he is, he will feed off your excess magic. The magic you release through living your life. It will be as nutritious to him as physical food will be, and I suggest he spend most of his time like that for the summer. It will reinforce your bond."
"Can he be hurt like this?" Harry could feel the panic trying to rise at the idea of the snake getting caught by a spell.
"For now, yes. His scales will grow in their ability to resist magic, and this will help, but the key factor is that his mark will eventually stop being him." Salazar chuckled at his Apprentice's blank look. "Right now, that mark is Cadwaladr, but it will eventually become only a representation of him immersed in your magic. When that happens, the mark will be akin to our Blood Runes."
"And you won't tell me what species he is?" Harry got a grin with far too many teeth for the question.
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OoOoO
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19th July 1993 (349 days diluted)
Hedwig had accepted Cadwaladr with little fuss, her own bond with Harry making it easier than he had feared for the two to be at ease with the other. He suspected her acceptance came from how he found the snake and bonded with him, given the vague impressions of violence from his beloved owl at the thought of him deciding to bring home random strays. Although Hogwarts had no rule against a student possessing an enormous number of familiars, should they get enough animals to agree, Harry refused to antagonise the one being who had been with him every step of his journey since his reintroduction to the magical world.
Even with a glamoured Dobby and Cadwaladr, Harry continued to avoid Knockturn. While he was curious over the things hidden in the street, he felt no rush, given the sheer number of other places branching off Diagon Alley. Restaurants and pubs abounded, each catering to a different crowd, a whole Alley devoted to night life, both the supernatural and recreational, and a multitude of other interesting things. One place that caught his attention almost immediately was place named Sight UnSeen, an obviously Divination-focused shop given what the objects filled its two windows.
The shop's design took aback Harry. He had long grown familiar with the tingle along his senses that indicated he had crossed into an area heavy in space expansion charms, and he couldn't blame the mages for being obsessed with the 'bigger on the inside' trick. The fantastic magic meant floor space was far less valuable than in the Vernacular world. No, what caught Harry's attention was the very methodical way someone had organised the shop, including having signs near most shelves that detailed what each item could and couldn't be used for.
Harry had not yet seen such a level of organisation in his travels, so he drifted towards the one corner that lacked it. He paid no attention to the beaded curtain leading into the back as he walked through the shop, curious over what items the meticulous owner had stuffed to the side without the neatly written plaques.
"Welcome to Sight UnSeen, luv. I'll be with you in a sec," came a female voice from the back of the shop. It was melodic, yet with a tinge of airiness, as though the owner was about to burst into singing a song they only vaguely knew the words to. Harry's senses tingled the closer he got to the messy area, and he realised he shouldn't touch any of the unlabelled items. "I'm Cassandra, but not that one. What my parents were Seeing when they named me, I'll never know."
The woman said the words with such smoothness that an insight hit Harry. The woman had no doubt got so many questions or jokes over the name that she turned it into an open shtick to break the ice. He heard the beads shift as the woman stepped through and began turning as she spoke again.
"I wouldn't mess with that stuff, luv. That's for those who know what they're looking for or..." the woman trailed off, bright sapphire blue eyes widening as she caught sight of Harry's glamoured face.
While most of Harry's instincts rose in case of trouble, a part of his mind calmly took the woman's features in. Some might have thought she looked like his mother, but Harry had spent enough time basking in his baby memories that he was well past the stage of saying that with every red-headed woman he met. Where Lily's hair had been almost caricaturish in how simply red her hair was, just missing out on matching Cadwaladr's colouring through her locks' lack of natural shine, this woman's hair was a sea of copper tones. Her features were sharp, bordering on Fae-like, and she dressed in what appeared to be countless layers of see-through silk. The perfectly layered material kept her private parts hidden while still allowing the woman's slender frame to be seen.
The woman stumbled forward, grabbing hold of the counter with both hands, and then staggered around it. She was looking at him as though she'd seen a ghost, her mouth working without making a sound. And then it was Harry's turn to freeze as parts of his mother's journal came to mind.
While a large part of the journal focused on Lily's education and being her first – and only – grimoire, the book was still a diary written by a young girl-turned-woman living in a boarding school. As such, many of the entries had mortified her young son to read. The top of that list had been Lily's forays into experimental lesbianism with her best friends. Two sisters, one of whom being the reason she never called Hogwarts 'Cassie' as Salazar was wont to do.
"Cassie Rakepick..." Harry croaked, blushing hard enough to cook an egg on his cheeks. Lily had described everything, and his teenage mind struggled to avoid imagining the explicit depictions of what the woman's body had been like as a youth.
"Little Eagle!" Cassie exclaimed with delight, racing the narrowed distance to run her hands over his face like a blind woman, despite her vivid orbs darting back and forth as though reading words only she could see. Harry had the feeling that she could see the real him. Something confirmed at her next words. "No glamour can fool these eyes, luv. Don't be worrying your darling head over it. You're a sight to See, I tell you. Trish and I have been worried sick over you and here you are! You found her granddad. Of course you did. No son of Lils wouldn't find that old snake. Come, come, I've got the perfect tea on the boil!"
The ramble bemused Harry enough to let the woman take hold of his wrist and drag him into the back of the shop, her other hand waving toward the door to wandlessly lock the shop up. The first room they passed through was a stereotypical fortune teller's abode, complete with a crystal ball and tarot deck sitting on a circular table. Cassie never gave him a chance to take the room in, instead continuing to pull him through a wooden door that opened to a normal-looking kitchen.
"Sit, sit," she demanded, finally releasing his wrist to set about making their tea by hand. Harry did so, having used the brief walk to gain control over his adolescent mind. The kitchen looked lived in, with enough items lying around to suggest Cassandra wasn't living alone. "And don't mind me, luv, you'll get used to me. I'm sure darling Lils explained it all in that book of hers."
"Actually..." he began saying, his tone catching the woman's attention enough to cause her head to snap up. Once again, her irises widened and then narrowed. Harry was suspecting was a sign of her using a magical ability.
"Bless that girl's heart," Cassie sighed, her enthusiasm gone in an instant. "Always looking after others, even in her most private of records. I'm not a Seer or Oracle, as most would call it, luv. I See the Past and Present as interchangeable things, but never the future. I don't know where you're going, Little Eagle, but I know the broad strokes of how you got here. That's how I instantly knew Lils had found her grandfather."
"She said she trusted you like she trusted some others, but she never wrote why."
Cassie's smile was one of sadness, her eyes dimming as she became lost in her memories. Harry could understand why his mother hadn't explained what had led to her secret being known by her dorm mate. Any type of proven divination talent was a prized commodity in a society that had no compunction about the subjugation of others.
"Take your ring off, luv, you're with family now," she declared from nowhere, a split second before the sound of an irate female voice boomed from further in the building. He realised then that Cassie had been making three cups of tea the entire time. Harry couldn't claim to know why he did as she asked, but it was the real Harry Potter who took the cup she brought over. Just in time for a force of nature to storm into the kitchen.
"Of all the moronic things! How can those grouchy fucks expect me to work with that smegheaded, twat-faced, bastard son of Dionysus? The next time a Weasley looks at me like I'm Emeric the Evil reborn, I'm going to shove them back up Molly Prewett's..."
She had hair like her sister, but with sharper features that made some think of Old Money aristocracy. Whereas Cassandra's sapphire eyes were pale, hers were so dark they almost brushed purple in some light. She was blood-red from the lipstick bringing out her full lips, to the tight top emphasising her buxom figure, skin-tight trousers, and her open robes, while her large leather belt and thigh-high dragon-skin boots were pitch black. Harry had just discovered the term 'femme fatale,' and he was positive this woman matched the description. And he knew precisely who she was, thanks to his mother's vivid description. Patricia Rakepick. A Gryffindor four years Lily's senior, a woman who both inspired and brought terror to the Marauders, and Cassandra's older sister.
"Well, fuck me with a Hippogriff and call me sated. It's Lily's little Harold! How in Horus' name did you escape whatever hole Old Man Dumbles had you buried in?"
"Trish. Language," Cassie scolded in such a dry tone that Harry broke out into giggles. He hastily put his tea down before he spilt it as the laughter overtook him. It was obvious that she wasn't even attempting to keep her sister controlled.
Patricia didn't even respond to the words. She boneless dropped into the chair between the two and stretched her legs out. Harry realised the position would have given him a perfect view of looking up her skirt if she had been wearing one, and the smirk of the woman's lips meant she knew it, too.
"He found Lily's Sal."
All humour died from Patricia's features. The woman straightened and turned to Cassie. The sisters shared a single look and nodded. Harry was just getting himself under control when their wands appeared in their hands and the pair swore magical oaths to keep his secrets as long as they didn't endanger either woman. Harry felt the Vows settle into his magic and was speechless. The sisters didn't wait for him to recover, with Patricia sliding back down the chair with a heavy sigh and Cassie taking a sip from her cup.
"What did Weasley do this time?" Cassie asked, acting as though she hadn't promised herself to be an ally of Harry's.
"Not enough to have his arse thrown out," Patricia grumbled, scooping up her cup with such force it was a miracle no tea spilt. "He's so afraid of me he keeps missing his timing. He's more focused on worrying about if I'm going to curse him and isn't paying attention to his surroundings. The goblins refuse to give him to another trainer. They say he has to work through his issues, and I have to make sure his issues don't get me or my team killed."
Harry had realised they were talking about the one Weasley he hadn't met yet. The oldest son. "Why doesn't Bill like you?"
Patricia snorted at the question, although Harry noticed both women picking up on his familiarity with the man in question. "I was the Defence teacher in his sixth year. Lils had told me of a worry her granddad had over some hidden vaults in the school. They were supposed to be repositories for powerful magics that would protect the school if the place ever got attacked-"
"Like the Chamber of Secrets," Harry pointed out, taking up his own tea. He wasn't familiar with the blend that was more herbal than he was used to, but he felt he could grow to enjoy it. The foul-mouthed woman toasted him with her own cup.
"Only previous Headmasters had raided the damn things and corrupted the magics within," she sneered, disgust radiating off her beautiful features. "Your dear mum never had the chance to inspect them. When Old Dumbles offered me the job during a holiday year from Gringotts, I accepted. Not to fucking teach. I've got less patience than Severus for that. But I blagged it enough to get decent grades from the little twats who took their OWLs and NEWTs. I was only there to hunt the vaults down and check how twisted their magic had become. Turns out, it was a lot."
"I'm guessing Dumbledore didn't like you looking into things."
"The goat fucker called in his pet Auror Alastor Moody to treat me as the next Morgan Le Fey," Patricia sneered, showing Harry what a good-looking female version of Snape would be like. He banished that thought to the very depths of his memory vault. "Weasley got involved in a lot of the crap between me and those geriatric arse-wipes, and believes everything the bastards claimed about me."
"We've been looking everywhere for you, Little Eagle," Cassie told him when the silence dragged on. "A lot of friends of Lily have."
"But Albus Dumbledore wouldn't piss on a Rakepick if her crotch was on fire, and cared even less for the rest of your mum's circle of friends. They weren't the right fucking sort, according to him."
He didn't doubt their words. Cassie's voice was full of pain and anguish over not being able to find him, while Patricia's burned with a rage that he was well familiar with. The same rage he felt every time he looked up at the teacher's table during meal times after finding out what Dumbledore had done to his mother and Sirius.
That moment proved Salazar was right yet again. Despite having two bonded familiars, a trusty elf who could hold many interesting conversations, and a mentor in the most infamous Founder of the lot, Harry had been lacking in real human connections since the moment he first picked up his mother's journal.
He started slow at first, his words gaining speed as Harry spoke of his life with the Dursleys – making it Cassie's turn to be the foul-mouth - his introduction to the magical world, and a quick overview of everything that had happened to him since he first met Hagrid. The sisters listened, making comments and asking questions throughout, but also respecting his pace and silences. Cassie stood and left the room as he was winding down, coming back with a small wooden box in her hand. "Lils left this with me, but it should be yours."
The box had a familiar carving on it. That of the same Grim and lily image as what his mother had created to gain access to Salazar's study. He knew this box. His mother's journal had entire pages detailing her designing and creation of a special container for all her divination equipment. Rune dice, tarot cards, even a divining rod, and everything else she had ever used had its own small compartment. The box thrummed with how much of his mother's magic she had infused into it.
"Thank you," he croaked. The emotions ran free. Free enough that his hair unconsciously grew below his shoulders and shifted to Lily's colouring.
"Metamorphmagus?" Patricia exclaimed with a grin. "Must be from Dorea's blood. Are you a full one?"
"Not yet," Harry mumbled, getting eyebrows raised in reply.
He nervously mentioned his training in Blood Magic, getting a knowing smirk from Patricia before her skin glowed. He couldn't see many runes, but it made her point.
"The goblins don't care about what's classed as Dark," she informed him. "And I've travelled the world enough to pick up some things."
That made it easier for Harry to explain how he'd built his own set of rituals to combine all the health improvement arrays. He hadn't known he was a Metamorphmagus as he'd classed the incident with his hair growing back over night as accidental magic, but the power had passed down to him through his grandmother Dorea Black. If he had stuck to the first ritual, he would have only been able to change his hair and eyes, but the second came with extra consequences. He had created the rune arrays to augment his magic, as if he had spent his whole life perfecting it, and that gave him the power to shape-shift. He may not have been born a natural full Metamorph, but it's what he had become.
The sisters made a comment about someone named 'Nymphie' being delighted to learn about it, but Harry got distracted when Patricia drilled him on his ritual scheme, eventually admitting he had created it himself and was an ignorant savant.
"Do yourself a favour, kid," she told him, leaning forward with the same force of nature focus that Salazar possessed when teaching something important. "Make sure I'm with you when you get your rings on your birthday. The goblins will pay a fortune for what you've created. The residual income from every time that a Gringotts employee uses the rituals would set you up for life. Forget anything else you come up with. Their current set takes years to put together, and that delays profits."
"I think it's settled then," Cassie declared, breaking the pair from the staring match. "You'll be moving in with us. There's no need for you to slum it at the Leaky with that glamour when you can live here. We know where you're vanishing to, so there's no need to come up with any lies about your weird schedule, and we can tell you stories of Lils until you get bored with them."
Patricia's feral grin promised little luck for Harry's attempts at persuading the pair against the plan.
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OoOoO
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23rd July 1993
Harry failed arguing with the Rakepick sisters that he was fine living out of the Leaky Cauldron. Their pushing differed from his experiences with other adults. Harry had the sense that the pair would have grudgingly accepted his refusal if he absolutely demanded they leave him be, but they wouldn't give up unless he did so. They saw Lily as family, and himself as someone whose life they should have been involved in for years. Harry realised a lot of their urgency was to honour his mother, with the rest wanting to know their best friend's son.
Salazar had been so delighted by his apprentice finding actual people to confide in and befriend, that the Founder gave Harry that week off from his hectic schedule to let him focus on getting comfortable around the women. Sometimes, Harry wondered just how much his master was aware of.
Harry had long grown comfortable in his own nakedness, and living in a dorm with other boys meant any squeamishness about seeing other males naked didn't last long. His exposure to the female form was the embarrassing baby memories of seeing Lily naked (especially when she was cleaning him in a shared bath or worse, breast feeding him), and an even more embarrassing sex Talk that Sebastian had given him along with detailed images of long dead female professors. Including those of Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw. And then there were the Rakepick sisters.
Cassie might be the more 'refined' of the two, but that wasn't saying much. They saw nothing wrong with parading around in old worn t-shirts and panties, and Harry saw more movement of free breasts beneath tops in the first few days of living with them than he had in the past two years of being on the Gryffindor Quidditch team! The pair weren't flaunting themselves, but they felt secure in their own skin. Although, Harry suspected Patricia of attempting such a thing occasionally, just to get a rise – in both senses of the word – out of him.
Even introducing the pair to his familiars and Dobby didn't help the mortified teen. They gushed over the beautiful Hedwig, told his house-elf far too many details about where and what needed to be bought once Harry got involved in girls, and enjoyed pointing out their first-hand experiences to the sexual pleasures being a Parselmouth could bring women. Experiences they had gained with his mother!
It didn't all revolve around sexual innuendos and teasing. The pair spent their time teaching Harry what it meant to live an everyday existence with magic. Simple things like where people would shop for food, what was considered normal to use magic to do, and what was 'quaint' when done by hand. They taught him how social perception was borderline king in their society. An example being wearing clothes with an open robe was seen as a modern look but still appropriate in important situations, while not wearing the robe at all would mark someone out as 'going Muggle.' Society saw someone who never wore open robes as a hardline Traditionalist at the very least, no matter their actual politics, while the more decorated the Muggle clothes worn under an open robe were, the less serious the wearer was taken. Even if that person's opinions were deeply entrenched in the conservative side of politics.
What made everything even more complicated was the hazy line between what society considered magical and 'Muggle' clothing. Aside from the cuts and materials used, the magical versions were more sedate, with the only markings generally being House or organisation affiliations. Harry could get away with wearing a t-shirt or shirt with a snake motif, but only once his link to the Slytherin name became public. Sports team's jerseys were only acceptable at sporting events, while there would be some who looked down on a person for wearing a top with a famous magical singer's name on it outside of Festive Alley.
The trio were enjoying the breakfast Harry had cooked on his last day of normalcy before going back to using his Time-Turner when the sisters' copies of the Daily Prophet and Quibbler arrived. Patricia's pet Niffler Sickleworth was in a corner, constantly rearranging his collection of shiny objects. Harry hadn't yet set up his own subscription to the newspaper, but he had been told by both ladies that he should read it. If only to know what the sheep were being fed that week. The Quibbler was a fringe paper published by a man named Xenophilius Lovegood that Cassie enjoyed reading. The man was also the widower of a cousin of theirs, and Harry had promised to look in on his daughter Luna when he returned to Hogwarts.
"That explains why I got told not to bother returning to Egypt until September," Patricia declared with an unimpressed sniff. Harry glanced up from his Gringotts correspondences to see an animated picture of the Weasley clan dressed somewhat questionably with the Pyramids of Giza behind them. Harry blinked at the photo, realising that he hadn't thought of the family since the summer had started, and hadn't missed them, or even Hermione. Patricia took his reaction as confusion. "The Daily Prophet has an annual draw on the 21st. It's mostly legit, but everyone knows that some years have pre-selected winners."
"Mister Weasley paid to win the draw?" Harry frowned. It didn't seem to be typical of the man he had met the previous summer.
"Definitely not," Patricia snorted, getting a 'be nice' from Cassie to keep her anti-Weasley ranting to a minimum. "Someone did though. You know the goblins called me in to improve Weasley's skills. My services don't come cheap, and everyone knows I don't enjoy being messed around. Yet, the foreman running that team told me on Tuesday that I should think of taking a break. Two days after I started my job. For some reason, someone wanted the Weasleys out of the country this summer, and they weren't afraid of pissing the goblins off."
"Are they going to demote him, or will they will outright fire him?" Cassie asked without looking up from her upside-down Quibbler as she attempted a runic crossword puzzle.
"The twat will be lucky to be fired," Patricia sneered, and Harry realised they were talking about the foreman who had dismissed her. "The goblins don't take kindly to their orders being countermanded when it comes to business, and they're going to still have to pay me for the job. A month's worth of my cost with nothing to show for it? The Flobberworm will be paying that out of his personal vault. And then they'll hit him with every penalty in his contract. Useless idiot."
"Don't worry about it, luv," Cassie told Harry, turning her Quibbler sixty-degrees to read something only those with the Sight could See. "It's nothing to worry about."
"True," Patricia agreed, sipping from her black tea. "No one bothers using the draw for assassinations. It's not cost effective enough. And despite how the man likes to portray himself, Arthur Weasley is one of the most politically connected individuals in the Ministry. Given how he chased Lucius' arse last year like a Hogwarts student's first time on a beach full of Veela, it could simply be getting the pillock out of the country before next month's Wizengamot session."
Harry accepted the explanation while taking in the information about Arthur Weasley. Her name-calling didn't bother him. That was just Patricia's way. He returned to his letters and put the entire thing out of his mind.
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OoOoO
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31st July 1993 (1 year, 49 days diluted)
Harry's felt strange celebrating his birthday. Not only had he already lived past his thirteenth, but he was chronologically beyond his fourteenth when including the non-Room lived days. His body was fully on the high-speed puberty express, and his schedule with his ancestor meant he had visible, if faint, physical changes between the teen who ate breakfast with the Rakepick sisters, and the one who said goodnight to them.
Despite his mental healing, he still had no real emotional attachment to his birthday. The sisters had understood. They let it go for this year, but promised that they'd do something small for the next ones. Of course, his detachment to the date of his birth didn't remove any happiness he got from receiving gifts.
"Happy birthday, Master. Master's Hedwig had to rescue Mister Weasley's owl," Dobby informed him while handing over a collection of letters and parcels. "The bird was ordered to reach Master on his birthday."
It took Harry a moment to realise why that might be a problem, and he gaped at his mate's lack of thinking. Because he didn't imagine Ron sending Errol on the first day of the family's holiday. Or even on the third. "From Egypt?"
Everyone ignored Patricia's detailed commentary on the lack of brain cells it took to make such a decision. Harry ripped off the brown paper Ron had wrapped his letter in, only to blink at what he found.
"Everything okay, Little Eagle?"
"I've never got a birthday card before," Harry explained, quietly.
"Preserve it," Patricia suggested, without her usual snark. "Whatever time does to your friendship, you don't want to lose something like that."
Dobby's snap did exactly that, and the trio waited patiently for Harry to open the card. The contents were simple, containing just a 'Happy Birthday' inside, but its significance to the teen made it special. Harry discarded the Daily Prophet cut-out that showed the Weasleys in Egypt, and begin reading the accompanying letter. The sisters shared a concerned look when he frowned.
"They're having fun, although Molly is keeping Ginny out of the tombs with mutant skeletons, and Percy's Head Boy."
"Then why the long face, luv?" Cassie asked, watching as Harry unwrapped a Pocket Sneakoscope that the Weasley boy had got him for a present. His fingers had barely lifted from the glass top when Trish snatched it up to run a serious of diagnostics. The elder sister was apparently dissatisfied with the quality of the work and began stripping away the gift's spells to layer her own in their place.
"Just something he said about the prize money. It's almost all gone already, but there should be enough to get him a wand before Hogwarts."
Even Patricia stopped her work as the sisters blinked at his news. "Are you telling me the twats didn't bother getting their soon-to-be third year son a new wand before they let him wander around cursed tombs? I'm going to run that fucking Weasley into the ground when I get back there. Bloody freckled wanker putting the site at risk by having an unarmed magical running around in the tombs. Who does he think he is? It doesn't matter if the place has been stripped more times than a Knockturn whore during the busy season! Just wait until I tell Gormnoth. The viscous midget is going to have him on shit duty for..."
The other two zoned her rant out. The woman was back to working on his Sneakoscope and was in her own world about what terrors she'd put Bill Weasley through, and they left her to it.
Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh or roll his eyes at Hermione's letter. He settled for an exasperated sigh, not saying a word as he passed it to Cassie and opened his female friend's present. He expected an interesting book of spells that she had found in a French bookshop, only to be surprised at revealing a good quality Broomstick Servicing Kit.
"Thank you, Hermione," he whispered, running his fingers over the box's silver lettering. While Harry hadn't ignored flying during his downtime in the Room, he hadn't engaged in one of his favourite activities as much as he liked. The year he'd lived since his last Quidditch game had granted him the realisation that flying was what he loved, rather than the game, but that didn't mean he didn't also miss the thrill of competition.
"She increased her homework by two rolls of parchment?" Cassie somehow pulled a face that was half-way between a Snape sneer and a McGonagall lip-purse. "The Professors must hate grading her work."
"I'd have given the egotistical swot an automatic fail," Patricia declared, having run out of anatomically impossible-without-magic things to describe that she wanted to do to Bill Weasley. "A girl like that needs to learn how to be bloody concise. Time can cost lives and - Stupefy!"
The spell hit its target and Harry had still not moved, too shocked with Hagrid's gift having teeth and attempting to escape. Well, no, Harry wasn't in shock over that part. His shock came from the fact the gift was also a book. Dobby was just glaring at the green covered reading material.
"I'm not sure the Good Master's familiars would appreciate such a pet," the elf pointed out with an impressive frown.
"What crazy idiot sent you that?" Patricia's demand bordered on a screech, causing three winces at the pitch she reached.
"Hagrid...?" Harry gazed down at the slightly chewed note in the half-giant's familiar script. "He said I might find it useful for this coming year's class."
She grunted, not taking her eyes off the now stunned book. "That useless idiot Kettleburn must have retired as Care Professor. He wouldn't have suggested that book for your class."
"And what is that book, Trish?" Cassie's tone demanded answers, proving she was Patricia's sister with her fierce glare.
"You know what a mimic is, kid? No, right, well, it's a creature that uses self-transfiguration to make itself appear as inanimate objects. Usually chest, urns, or any other storage equipment. They're the Venus flytraps for overeager, useless adventurers. About 150 years back, some fucking smeghead got an idea in their heads to meddle with some questionable alchemy to create a Care of Magical Creatures book that used the mimic's shifting ability to show readers what facing the creatures was really like. That is the Monster Book of Monsters. A failed experiment that should never have been created, and now must continue to be made as it somehow created a weird version of the Knowledge Fidelius on some of its information."
Both Harry and Dobby just stared at the redhead, stereo blinking at the information passed. They had the same question. "How did that happen?"
"No one knows," Patricia shrugged, turning back to the Sneakoscope once she was sure the book wouldn't move again. "The creator put some brand new information into the book. Once everyone not clinically dead realised the stupidity of the book's creation, people tried to copy the information into books that wouldn't try eating your ankles for ignoring it. It's not quite a Fidelius Charm, really, more like a fucking really weird curse. Any printed book with the propriety information will end up mutating into a Monster Book of Monsters given enough time. The ICW even tried using Muggle printing tech, and it still happened. Merlin, that situation almost caused the collapse of the Statute. The really stupid thing is that the information isn't even that important, just one of those unique facts experts end up learning. All someone had to do is to make the book without that information and have the Monster Book of Monsters be a Professor-specific tool."
Harry put the insanity of the Wizarding World behind and focused on his last letter. The annual one from Hogwarts. Dobby was already handing over the parchment containing Vernon's signature as Harry focused on the Hogsmeade permission slip. He didn't worry when Cassie took the rest of the package, assuming she was curious about his book list.
The teen placed the parchment over the permission slip to line up the signature to where it should go on the piece beneath. When he was happy with the placement, he placed his wand on his special parchment and then pushed his magic into both sheets.
The key reason people still used quills wasn't some misguided adherence to the past, as most first-generations might believe. Quills allowed a tiny trace of someone's magic – their magical signature – to bleed into the words written. This echo identified who wrote or signed official documents. Or not, in the case of forgeries. Yet, they were only a few centuries from rich or important magical people having secretaries who wrote out missives for their masters. Missives that needed the master's signature. The ICW and Ministries still had hundreds of daily messages containing someone's name scrawled on the bottom. Where the mundane world used printed copies, the Wizarding World used enchanted quills that were programmed to copy a person's script without mirroring their magical signature.
Salazar had given Harry a type of parchment that people used before the invention of programmed quills, and Vernon's messy scrawl was being imprinted from the top parchment onto the bottom one. It was the Wizarding World's version of tracing paper, with the parchment's magic wiping any magical signature. A perfect took for getting permission to visit Hogsmeade when Harry's known guardians were magic-hating Vernaculi. The glow faded, and Harry lifted his parchment to grin at the perfect results.
"Horseshit," Cassie spat, causing Harry to look up from his successful work.
"What is?" He asked, not noticing when Dobby took the two parchments out of his hands. The elf dutifully kept the first. He could think of a few things to use the nasty man's signature on to gain revenge for his Good Master, and packed the second in the envelope provided to send back to Hogwarts.
Rather than answer, the younger Rakepick sister put on a false McGonagall voice and read out a letter the Deputy Headmistress had apparently sent. "Dear Mr Potter, please note the new school year will...' blah, blah, blah. Really, luv, the last time the Hogwarts Express didn't leave on September first was in the 1500s when someone accidentally caused the magical world to stop working the first week of every month in a failed attempt to get more holiday off work. 'Third-years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade...' blah, blah, and let's ignore how there's nothing to explain to Muggle parents what that means. 'I am informing you that it is not possible for you to take all classes you requested. I have put you down for both Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. You have the option of taking only one of Ancient Runes or Arithmancy as a third elective. A list of books for next year is enclosed, including introductory ones for both classes to aid in your decisions. Yours sincerely...'"
Cassie threw the letter away with palpable disgust, while Patricia glared at the parchment as though attempting to burn it through sheer mental spite. Harry was pretty sure the woman could actually do it if she had enough time. They all knew the letter was a lie. The older pair had shared conversations they had with their joint Head of House while in Hogwarts about the opportunity of using a Time-turner to do all the classes, and Salazar had already told Harry of the faculty's habit of letting students use one to attend everything.
"Want to bet little Harold's book worm doesn't get the same letter? Here, I've finished," Patricia threw the Sneakoscope at Harry, who instinctively caught it, only for the warning device to explode in a deafening whistle while releasing a painful flash. Harry dropped the offending object and rushed back from the kitchen table until the thing stopped reacting to him. "I might have made it a smidgen too sensitive."
"You made it think he was untrustworthy to himself!"
Patricia considered her sister's words, glancing between the mutilated present and the teen who eyed the object as though it would grow legs and attack him. "Are you planning any rituals today, kid?"
"I've got the one that'll absorb all the foreign magic on me later," Harry explained, green eyes bouncing between insane Curse Breaker and her creation. "It'll also let me reclaim mum's protection magic from whatever Dumbledore did to mutilate it."
"There you go, sis, he's planning on hurting himself," Patricia waved at Harry while grinning at a glaring Cassie. "It works perfectly."
A sniff of disapproval was all the warning the trio had before Dobby's snap encased the gift in a glass box. "I'll put it in storage alongside Mister Weasley's card for Master's memories."
"Thanks, Dobs, you're a lifesaver."
The elf bowed and then vanished, taking the manipulated gift with him. Patricia grumbled for a moment about people not appreciating her hard work. "I suggest don't pick either class. It's not like you actually need them. You're at mastery level for both now, aren't you?"
"Mastery for Runes," Harry beamed proudly, retaking his seat and claiming his forgotten cup of tea. Dobby popped back in long enough to warm the cup before vanishing again. "It's now more about expanding my mental library than actually learning new techniques. I'm NEWT at Arithmancy, if you ignore the divination side. I can break down spells easily enough, but there's a block if I want to create one. I can only go so far with the maths before my instincts take over to bridge the gap from theoretical to casting. At that point, I've got a half-complete formula and a spell that works without me able to explain how."
Cassie reached over to squeeze his free hand, and they shared a smile. His mother's best female friend had been giving him introduction lessons on divination, and he had enjoyed every moment. He also had proof of Salazar being right yet again, as her teaching method had been nothing like he had experienced before.
"That's pretty typical, kid," Patricia promised him, sipping from her own cup. She pulled a face at the taste of lukewarm tea and used a blood boiling hex to warm the liquid. "Not the being able to cast it part, but the knowing something works without ironing out the kinks. You're at the point that all Spell-Crafters have to work past.
"My WEA credentials are still valid," she continued, sending another glare at McGonagall's letter. "I can get you the coursework and past exams for both classes. I say show up to either one whenever you fancy it, keep handing in the work to rub it their faces, and enjoy your extra free time. Use it to seduce some of those sexy witches I know are crawling around the castle."
Cassie and Harry rolled their eyes are the last remark. The latter agreed to the rest of it, while the former shifted the subject. "Are you still having Cadwaladr on you when you take up your rings?"
"Master Sal was insistent," Harry groaned, bashing his head against the back of his chair. "Having him merged with my magic when I accept my Houses will do him a lot of magical good."
"Snake loving bastard loves fucking with ya, eh?" Patricia pointed out.
"He knows how to give me options, and then describe the choice he wants me to take in the best light. I know he does he. He knows I know he does it. I know he knows, I know he does it. And I still do his recommendations, anyway.
The two women smirked, causing Harry to sigh before the trio spoke the single word that described Harry's predicament.
"Slytherins."
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OoOoO
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Harry ended up not needing to call Patricia into his meeting with the goblins for the simple reason she took him to Gringotts as soon as they finished breakfast. He allowed her as an advocate for taking up his mantle of heir of his Houses, with many eyebrows raised at the ones he was eligible for. Those same surprising names were in a good enough standing with the goblin nation that Harry didn't need to worry about leaks to the outside world.
Negotiating the sale of his ritual set went far less smoothly. Selling something to or through the goblins was a tricky process at the best of times. The more important and earth shaking the proprietary information or object to be sold was, the more the goblins would financially damage the person if the result wasn't what was being promised. Harry's blood arrays were game changers for the entire world.
Patricia had explained that many magical societies and groups practised some type of Blood Magic without using knives like what Salazar had shown him. Each organisation had its own method of someone else putting the runes on the person being marked, a dangerous act that would create a bond between the individuals that required ironclad contracts to keep from being abused. Those who used Blood Magic were aware of such daggers, but the making process was lost to time. Harry's arrays would not only speed up the current process of perfecting the subject's body, but cut back on the depth of that connection by at least three-fifths from her quick calculation.
Harry made a mental note to speak to Sal about later selling the knowledge of making blood daggers.
The impact of Harry's arrays had the goblins threatening half of House Potter's excessive wealth if his promise was full of shit, something the goblin expert on Blood Magic claimed. The only way to prove his claim was to show the goblins his blood runes and then let the nameless goblin examine them. Something Harry had laughed at when told. Not even a magical NDA signed by the goblin in question was enough to have Harry take his top off. Not when the other goblins hadn't left the room, and he knew at least three different ways for a memory to be examined.
Patricia had fallen out of her chair with laughter when he pointed this out. The goblins had increased his residual income for each use of the arrays by an extra three per cent for realising something almost every other mage missed.
With Cadwaladr safely hidden on Harry's calf, he spent ten minutes getting the runes on his back examined. The result was a haggling between the Blood Magic expert goblin – Farchoke, he finally learnt – and his account managers in having him on retainer for the bank's rune work. Harry left the bank promising to consider it, and Gringotts having the sole rights to use his arrays. They assured Harry that those from outside would eagerly pay for the privilege once they found out how much his system improved on the current system.
Harry waited until that evening when he pointed out to the sisters that there had been nothing in the contracts he had signed that kept him from sharing the method with others. A minor fact that sent Patricia into another fit of laughter.
But all of that was an appetiser for his latest non-Inner Blood ritual within the Room. He was using a copy of one of Durmstrang's rooms and was receiving a last-minute lesson from his Master. By this point it was old hat to stand naked in front of Salazar, with runes drawn in his own blood over his body.
"Herpo the Foul."
"Herpo Ebonstone, one of the original magical mad scientists," Harry said after a thoughtful pause, bringing to mind the basics Sal had taught him. "He believe that in magical research, there was nothing that should not be done, and he would create the very first basilisk to prove it. It's believed he also either created or mutated other magical creatures. He didn't like the effects of using phylacteries, and looked to creating what he considered a better option."
"Good. What is the issue with phylacteries that Herpo objected to?"
"Two things," Harry answered, reciting the only things he currently knew of the practice. "Storing your soul in an object creates a disconnect between the mind, magic, and soul. Magic that uses the soul like the Animagus transformation is almost impossible when you have a phylactery, and it also greatly impacts emotional magic. Emotions grow faded, making the person far less than they were before. And there is a risk of someone finding your phylactery. Any magic done on it will affect the owner, no matter the distance. They literally have command of your soul."
"Good. Understanding without regurgitation," Salazar said, pleased at hearing Harry's answer in his own words rather than the lengthy way the Founder had taught the subject. "Herpo came up with the process of creating what is called Horcruxes. He reasoned that a sort of compromise could be reached between the concept and reality of phylacteries, and so looked for a means of splintering the soul to leave fragments in containers."
"The diary," Harry gasped, immediately putting the pieces together. He had asked Salazar if the diary was a phylactery as soon as he had been told of the objects, with his mentor pointing out it couldn't have been if Riddle's spirit possessed Quirrell.
"No doubt the first," Salazar nodded, his face grim with the seriousness of the topic. "Just like with phylacteries, the container must be heavily modified with magic before it can store the soul shard. Unlike phylacteries, there is still the main soul within the body. No control over the mage should an enemy find the Horcrux, nor any loss of connection with emotion and spirit related magic."
"What's the catch?"
"There are some Light rituals that can force a soul from its body to create phylacteries," by which Salazar meant the sacrifice and suffering was on the caster, not a victim. "There is no such option for splintering the soul. It is an Evil act creating a Horcrux, Apprentice. And while the connection between shard and main soul is there, it becomes damaged by distance. Imagine it. You have forever locked a piece of yourself within an object. No sensory input at all. You saw that the Horcrux's projection wasn't affected, but that is because the connected passes the experience of existing in a void onto the core soul. This will have a terrible affect the creator of the Horcrux."
Harry shuddered at the thought. He could well imagine how he would feel if parts of his soul was trapped in the Dursley's cupboard. Salazar's eyes softened as the Snake Lord worked out his thoughts.
"If the foolish mage makes more than one Horcrux, then it compounds this impact. Insanity is guaranteed to follow should the mage create enough of the disgusting items. It is erroneously thought that destroying the object destroys the shard. That is false. The shard will rejoin with its primary piece."
"Riddle knows I destroyed the diary?"
"I do not believe so. It was found that a Horcrux had to be prepared to allow the primary piece to be aware of the shard's reabsorption. With such preparation, it is theoretically possible to heal any weaknesses that came about from creating the Horcrux - insanity, magical weakness, emotional instability, being the main ones. But those weaknesses are guaranteed to be magnified should there be no such preparation."
"I doubt Horcruxes are easy to find in a reference book," Harry pointed out.
"They aren't."
"And the means of creating them would be even harder to find."
"True."
"Riddle was apparently incredibly smart. What are the odds he either found something about that, or worked it out for himself?"
"One-hundred per cent," Salazar grimly confirmed. "I know he prepared his Horcruxes for such a danger."
"Then why...?"
"And herein lies part of what I believe has driven Dumbledore's actions regarding you since that Halloween. The maximum number of parts a soul can be 'safely' split, and I use that term in its loosest sense, is five. Four Horcruxes and the primary piece. In making a fifth Horcrux, a mage destroys their main soul's integrity, and it can randomly splinter if it goes through a traumatic experience."
In a mirror of when Harry was in the Hospital Wing after facing Quirrell, his hand snapped up to cover the scar that defined his life. Salazar bowed his head in a solemn nod.
"'You can speak Parseltongue, Harry, because Lord Voldemort can speak Parseltongue,'" Harry quoted, mimicking Dumbledore's voice from before he had freed Dobby from Lucius Malfoy. "'Unless I'm mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar.' That bastard knows!"
"He also doesn't know it's useless as a Horcrux," Salazar interrupted Harry before the teen could begin ranting. The young man froze, fury radiating from his body while his eyes demanded the Founder explain himself. "It doesn't matter how many an idiot thinks they make, only the first four Horcruxes will work as intended. The breaking of the soul's integrity from attempting to make a fifth Horcrux destroys its ability to hold the soul to this plain of existence. Destroy the original four, and a hundred 'Horcruxes' won't keep you from killing Riddle. All those other shards will slowly fade away after his death. And even if this was not the case, you forget yourself, Harry. What is the one thing I've explained about the container of a phylactery or Horcrux?"
"That they must..." Harry trailed off, realisation dawning as his fury settled back inside to where he kept it contained. "The mage must put the container through heavy preparation before it can house the soul."
"And this is doubly true when the container is a living thing to avoid any threat of possession. Something that is not possible in this case, as the shard in your scar is not one of the original four pieces."
"There's a reason you brought this up now," Harry accused.
"The ritual you are about to perform allows you to take in every foreign magic tainting you and make it your own, whether that is physically, magically, or spiritually. You will be faced with a choice to leave the shard where it is, to release it from its prison behind your scar, or absorb it and Riddle's knowledge and memories."
"Consequences?"
"Should you keep it, Riddle will never know you are destroying his Horcruxes. It is a pseudo Horcrux that hasn't been prepared for reabsorption, keeping him from feeling the actual ones returning to him. But Dumbledore is aware of the shard, and there is no telling who he told, nor what they believe must happen. Many would not believe it will fade once Riddle dies. Should you release it, that protection will no longer exist. Riddle will know each time you destroy one of his trinkets, and will grow smarter and deadlier for each one you claim. Should you absorb it, you have the opportunity to pull on its link to the main soul until that tie snaps, claiming your enemy's power for your own. He will feel it, work out what is happening, and try fighting you. You will need to sleep here with Sebastian on your head to help you sort the memories so they don't overwhelm you. And both those options will also let him feel the diary's shard reintegration."
Harry nodded his understanding and looked down at the stone floor as he considered Salazar's words.
"Your choice doesn't affect the ritual," the Founder added in the same level tone he had been using the entire discussion. "You will get to where you will feel the shard's presence, and that will be when you must make your choice."
Harry took a steadying breath and stepped into the ritual room that he had already prepared with his blood runes. As usual, only the last few were missing to allow a clear pathway from the door to the centre circle. Salazar had told him that many Blood Mages stepped around the runes, but Harry refused the risk. The Founder had drilled him on the dire results of poorly drawn runes and saw no point in risking a misstep causing any smears.
Salazar watched his Apprentice work. He knew which option he wanted Harry to pick, but he had plans for all of them. This was one of those steps Lily's son had to take on his own. It was why the Snake Lord didn't add that stealing Riddle's power would go a long way in healing Harry's Parsel Magic. He observed Harry perfectly painting the last of the runes, and then kneel inside the circle, sitting back on his ankles as Salazar had taught him. The teen took measured breaths that showed the beginning of his meditation. One. Two. Three. A fourth and then his magic activated the runes on his body.
The hours bled into each other as Salazar stood unmoving. The ritual was designed to go slow so that the one going through it could safely make every piece of magic a part of themselves. It would even influence the basilisk venom and phoenix tears, making them a part of Harry's natural blood work rather than invasive substances. The only thing the ritual wouldn't change was Lily's protections as the genius woman had used her son's own magic as their base. Salazar watched as various coloured magics spark across his Apprentice's skin, looking very much like static electricity as it arced up and down the boy's body. The colours would eventually shift, taking on the familiar colour of their shared eyes and then the magic would sink into Harry to add to his already incredible levels of power. As the ritual got to its finale, the echo of a man learnt what his descendant had chosen.
The famous lightning bolt scar burst open, almost spitting out the dark mist that was a soul shard. It never had the chance to escape. Magical tendrils shot out from Harry's body to capture the shard, and then screams of untold pain filled the air as Harry's magic ripped the piece of his enemy's soul apart, one agonising fragment at a time. Minutes stretched out. An hour passed. And still Harry tortured his parents' killer, taking power and knowledge from Riddle's very being.
Salazar did not know where on Earth the main wraith was, or even if it had claimed another victim, but he knew it would feel as though someone had dropped it into the fires of hell. The torture of the soul shard took as long as the rest of the ritual had before it, and it would be the next morning that Salazar would learn why. Harry had drawn it out in order to use his own Mastery of the Mind Arts to take in every scrap of information he could access from the shard. Sebastian had double-checked the boy's mind, confirming that none of Riddle's emotions or personality had transferred with the memories. Harry had filtered the facts from the monster while the ritual was ongoing.
Such an act was unheard of, leading Salazar to proclaim his Apprentice as a Lord of Magic in the branch of the Mind Arts.
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OoOoO
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While Harry was torturing the Dark Lord Voldemort in a manner his many victims would approve, the world outside the Room changed. Both Dumbledore and the Ministry had placed their own wards in the area surrounding Number Four Privet Drive. The former tied all of his into the botched blood wards he had built his many plans on, while the latter had lazily anchored theirs to the Headmaster's.
They were all nothing but more foreign magic for the ritual to absorb. Dumbledore would jolt awake, gasping from the pain of his lingering connection with the wards shattering. The old man would find every monitoring device he had that tracked Harry was not just broken, but melted, the ritual having sucked away their magic. The Ministry would be in uproar when the monitoring system linked to their wards turned to dust. They were centuries old devices commandeered by Fudge's illegal command to watch over the Boy Who Lived's residence, and no one knew how good any replacements would be.
The real destruction was Number Four itself. The ritual had healed the connection between the protections within Harry's blood and magic to the blood Dumbledore used to create the wards, and those protections were not happy with the life the one they protected had suffered inside the home. In a borderline sentient vindictiveness that some would say reminded them of a red-headed, green-eyed, female Gryffindor of old, the wards used the dried blood inside the cupboard under the stairs as an anchor point to cause the home to collapse in on itself.
Emergency services would find the family of three, their visiting relative, and even her annoying dog dead. It would be determined that Dudley Dursley died instantly when a wooden beam from the ceiling crushed his head. The responders knew the boy got off easy. Vernon, Petunia, Marge Dursley, and Ripper the dog all died in slow agony with limbs crushed, organs penetrated, and each buried in their own dark pockets of rubble. No one could work out how the husband and wife had ended up in their own tombs when they were sleeping in the same bed.
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OoOoO
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1st August 1993 – Hogwarts
Severus Snape was even less of a cheerful man than usual. Were the brats who attended the school to ever consider things beyond their own meagre existence, he had no doubt they believed the staff to spend the summer either touring the world to discover yet more fantastical magic they refused to pass on to ignoramuses who could barely put quill to parchment in a vaguely legal definition of neatly. Or that the same staff spent the two-plus months cackling over a table as they plotted how to torture those innocent young minds with knowledge they were being unfairly forced to learn. The unholy terrors had magic and a wand, why in Merlin's name should they be forced to actually know how to use such things when there were gobstones to play, chess matches to win, and another brat's body parts to discover beneath the unflattering Hogwarts robes?
Perish the perception that the staff had lives outside of the classroom. What truly irked Severus Snape about the summer was Albus Dumbledore's refusal to contemplate such a shocking concept. The wizened wanker forced the staff to be back at school for the last week of July, ostensibly to meet any new colleagues and to finalise their curriculum. For some witless reason, the Order of Merlin holder, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, keeper of the 'freedom chains' around Severus' neck, the man who committed Line Theft that involved his best friend, the potential (and likely) murderer of the Head of House Potter and the man's infamous wife from the even more infamous House Black, had long ago ignored the very real fact that any curriculum changes were made well before the bloody summer. Any book that might have the potential to affect teaching were either released over Yule, Beltane, or had their advanced copies sent to educators at those times for the express reason of making sure they could plan any potential changes to lessons well in advance.
All of this meant that Hogwarts staff lost out on a week in their only respite from dealing with the next generation of moronic egotistical shits that filled out their society - and Severus was most certainly putting his close acquaintance (never friend, he hadn't done 'friends' since Lily) Lucius Malfoy in that group, although not his dangerous and homicidally inclined, wonderful wife. No, never Narcissa Black – to come back to the school and dance to Albus' poorly orchestrated music.
To add to Severus' woes, the school's latest in a long line of disappointing and exasperating sacrifices to hungry DADA gods had been announced as none other than Remus Lupin, werewolf non-extraordinaire, bookworm, and former utterly useless Gryffindor Prefect. A man who would no doubt be constantly encouraging the moronic, and frankly dangerous, pranks played by the Weasley twins, pine uselessly in the vague direction of his best friend's spawn who was not even supposed to be bloody aware who the man his father's age staring longingly at him even was. And the fact that this would still be the 'best' teacher Lily's son would officially have in the subject was just pitiful. All the while, it would be down to Severus to brew the mangy mutt's Wolfsbane Potion so no other student would suffer the near-death experience he had at the jaws of 'Moony.'
Only two things kept Severus in some type of quasi-pleasant mood after hearing of Lupin's return. The man was out of the country and would ride the Express. That gave Severus another thirty days plus the current one before he had to face the cause of his Boggart's form. Second, despite apparently becoming friends with Lily after Hogwarts, Severus' best friend had possessed a dim view of the quiet Marauder through most of their time as students. A dim view she no doubt often, and with delicious creativity, expressed in her journal. A journal her son had absorbed so much he was willing to befriend the Dungeon Bat, and go on a murder spree over the illegal incarceration of the man who should have been the boy's father.
It was a close-run thing, but Severus kept himself from mentally cackling over the thought of Lily's boy tearing strips off the wolf. And Severus wasn't even sure if he meant metaphorical strips given the boy had inherited his mother's temper.
Despite these small silver linings to an otherwise dark and gloomy existence, Severus found himself equally exasperated and irate. Dumbledore had sent a Patronus demanding he get post-haste to the old man's office before Severus had even touched his morning ambrosia that masqueraded as coffee. Whatever the problem, and considering whose bloody birthday it was the day prior and what becoming thirteen meant for those eligible for Lordships, Severus Snape was sure the Brat King was behind whatever was about to further ruin his day. After all, no cup of coffee ever tasted as good as that first morning cup.
"What do you want, Albus?" He demanded as he stepped into the office, only to freeze at what he saw.
Dumbledore looked haggard. And given the fact he barely had a hair out of place during the previous year's events, seeing the far-too long beard frizzing at its edges certainly suggested something was greatly amiss in the world. The old man looked grey and exhausted, as though having managed no sleep the night before. And then there were the two shelves in the corner that usually contained the man's fantastical spinning widgets Severus had been sure were for nothing more than to appear mysterious. The widgets were molten slag, appearing to have melted from the inside as the metal had caved in on itself, and the shelves themselves looked as though something had sucked them empty of life. Black, brittle, and more cracks than wood, the only thing keeping them together were the obvious spells that were breaking down even as Severus watched.
What the buggering shite has that brat done? He mentally screamed.
Dumbledore was slumped in his chair, eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose. Those oft twinkling eyes opened to reveal fury, power, and a horrifyingly tint of madness. Severus realised he was seeing beneath the surface and reminded himself that this was the man who matched the Dark Lord at the monster's height.
"Harry Potter has vanished," the Headmaster announced, with no preamble. His usually smooth voice was gruff, as though sore from too much shouting. Severus moved into the office as though he was facing one of Hagrid's dangerous pets and claimed a chair. "His home magically imploded. His relatives are dead, and the Ministry is in uproar. Fudge is near-catatonic over young Harry's safety."
"You let the Ministry know where the brat lived?" Severus wasn't sure why that was his first question.
"Lily's protection kept him safe from Voldemort's forces."
The Potion Master questioned that. Unless those protections were also keyed to the Dark Mark, Dumbledore's answer made little sense. And even then, the man was an idiot. He'd told Dumbledore of at least a dozen un-Marked individuals who were insanely loyal to the Dark Lord. "Obviously not safe enough, Albus."
"It wasn't an attack, Severus," the old man sighed, giving Snape the impression it was something he had been repeating often and loudly. "The DMLE isn't exactly sure what it was, but all magical wards in the area failed. And failed in such a way that they collapsed on Harry's home with a vengeance."
"I know little about wards," Severus admitted, crossing his legs to rest his interlocked hands on one knee. Although Severus' level of 'not much knowledge' would be someone else's three-quarter Mastery knowledge. "But that sounds like a cascade failure because of an internal error."
"That is my conjecture, and Amelia's Curse-breakers agree. It appears young Harry's misadventure last summer pushed Cornelius into adding more monitoring wards to the area."
"Then I suppose we must all jump for joy that the brat wasn't home when it happened," Severus rolled his eyes, playing up his hate for all things Potter.
"It happened at two o'clock this morning-"
"Then your Golden Boy was having some teenage rebellion by staying out late. Honestly, Albus, I don't see what the deal is."
"Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange have escaped Azkaban."
A silent thunderclap filled the room. Severus' mask broke for an instant, allowing Dumbledore to continue. "They escaped last week, killing the Lestrange brothers on their way out. Cornelius had been hoping to find them before the public became aware. I hadn't even been told. But with them free and Harry missing..."
The old man didn't need to finish the thought. Despite knowing Sirius hadn't betrayed the Potters, Severus was worried. Who knew how badly Azkaban had affected the mutt? And then there was the second escapee. "You wish me to speak to my contacts?"
"No, not yet," Dumbledore seemed to shake himself down and pull himself together, sitting upright in a commanding position that Severus knew oh so well. The walls were back, but Severus had seen beneath them, and would tread lightly when it came to the older man. "I have to admit, Severus, that young Harry has not had the best of childhoods. You know the Muggle world, and you know what a young man free from such a home life would look to do. I've informed Tom at the Leaky Cauldron, and others in Diagon Alley, to keep an eye open for Harry, but we need to find him before Sirius and Bellatrix do. The Daily Prophet will report their escape in tomorrow's issue. We have a day before the country panics, especially should Harry not be found."
Severus wanted to snarl at the insinuation towards Lily's boy's childhood. He kept himself controlled and distracted by imagining all the different ways he could painfully poison the puppeteer in front of him. Having nothing safe to say, he gave a stiff nod, and got his billing robed arse out of the office before he tried cursing someone who could wipe the floor with him magically.
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SN:
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Last Edited – 11th September 2023
Word Count – 13,962
Previous Word Count - 13,957
