Key:
"Words."
Thoughts / "emphasis" / Title of Books or spells used
~~Parseltongue~~
¬¬Foreign Language¬¬
"Magical language."
Walking in Another's Shoes
Salazar Slytherin
The spirit of the infamous Founder stood in the copy of his Chambers' quarters and stared out of the window his child had created for him. Cassie had loved her four parents equally, but in tying himself to her, the spirit of Hogwarts became as attached to him as he was to her. But the famous school did not consume his thoughts, rather of times long past and times yet to come.
Salazar had always been a believer in legacy, both living up to one and leaving one for future generations. Perhaps it came from being born to both a Naga Prince and the Peverell bloodline. His father taught him that a leader's role was the safety and prosperity of their people. Not to be worshipped or followed through fear, but to be followed because they refused to let their people suffer. Or they would avenge those people should it happen. His mother's brothers were walking legends, men powerful enough to make the world tremble with their footsteps, but they too focused on protecting and uplifting those weaker than them. Whatever the twisted tale of his uncles had become, Antioch and Cadmus were great men, undone only through the influence of their patron. For Death was fickle with Her favour, often using the deaths of Her champions as lessons as much as She had their lives be the same.
To anyone who knew him then, it was no surprise that he imprinted his soul upon the legacy he and his fellow Founders had built. It had upset his friends. There was no doubt about that. Sal had used his Peverell legacy to speak with Death to understand the true cost of his plan, and he had not balked at sharing it when the other three demanded their answers. For as long as his spirit was tied to Hogwarts and his blood knife remained undamaged, Salazar Slytherin's spirit in Death's Realm would be only a copy of itself. An afterlife magical portrait when his true core remained on the earthy realm.
Salazar would have it no other way. Despite the pain it would cause his loved ones who had passed, he had a duty to watch over their legacy. But Salazar was not a bastard, and that same cost had been his reason to refuse to let his friends follow his path. No. His best friend, his sister, and the love of his life, despite his wonderful marriage to another, deserved the chance to rest. This would be his burden alone. Salazar had not cursed his spirit to such an existence out of fancy or ego. No. Something else drove his actions. Something that even his family had not known.
Those of Peverell blood had often made pilgrimages to Greece to visit the location of Herpo the Foul's ultimate defeat. The mad Grecian's creation of the first Horcrux had been the catalyst for Death to find the man to father Her children. She tasked them with destroying the Dark Lord, and those of Peverell blood who remembered their origins would visit the site of their first successful mission to reaffirm their pledge to the being that was their mother, father, and patron. Despite founding his own House, Salazar never missed visiting the location each time he visited his father and returned to the land of his birth.
It had been on one such visit that he found the Oracle of Delphi waiting for him. The vessel of Fate had given him a half-visions, half-prophecy. A promise of a chance of doing the impossible. For a Lord of Magic, it was a bait all of its own. But for someone of Peverell blood, it was a mission.
Death had not picked randomly when She chose the father of Salazar's maternal line. Far from it. For the Peverells had been friends with, and then interbred with, an even more important bloodline. For who could ever hope to have helped birth the children of Death than the children of Life and Magic? The children who had carried Life's name for centuries before the Romans came.
Danu.
A simple word for such a powerful force behind it.
Originally called the Tuatha De Danann with their Indian relatives known as the Danava, they simply became known as House Danu for the being that birthed them. Birthed them to be the rivers that both separated and joined the worlds of mages and magical races. Never fully human nor other, but a bridge between the worlds. Warriors and poets, heroes, villains, or tricksters. The blood of Danu embodied everything life did, but always with a drive to see prosperity and progress. They stood shoulder to shoulder with the High Elves, sat at tables with the lowliest of beings, and considered by all to be the ultimate advisers. While some had become rulers, their true roles were King Makers (or Killers, depending on the king), politicians, and military generals. To bring peace or war where their instincts and legacy demanded.
Until the Roman mages came riding their never ending waves of pale beasts of war. The land of Albion remained magically unconquered, the Romans having been driven back with such a bloody nose they had to resort to diplomacy and immigration to gain influence over Salazar's home. But such a victory came at a terrible cost. House Danu.
Salazar knew not what happened to the Dannavas. Even his father's extensive records held no clue as to his maternal ancestors' cousins, but he knew what happened to the original branch. The war broke house Danu in their defence of the land, the symbols of their power near hunted to destruction by the Romans in a silent continuation of the war. The family decided enough was enough, and the last Lord Danu hid his family's powers and legacy within the bloodlines of two of his sons, telling them the signs needed for Danu to rise again. He then left their world with the High Elves. Neither would ever been seen again.
And yet. The Oracle had given him a possibility. A chance that House Danu could rise once more. Fate's vessel had warned him it would be centuries in the future, along with events that might never come to pass. But should they occur, then it would be he who would need to guide the new Lord on his journey. For should Danu rise, a darkness more terrible than any had seen before would come forth. Salazar had known what he needed to do from the moment the Oracle had finished speaking. To be part of bringing Danu back to the world and everything that meant would have been enough, but he could not let such an event come about knowing such a threat would follow. Not if he could do anything about it. Salazar refused to spit on his blood's legacy with such inaction.
At first, the Founder had believed Lily was whom the Oracle had spoken of. A new mother to herald in a new tribe of Danu. But the more he spoke to the girl and taught her, the more he realised she would be the literal mother. Too much was leading her to birth Harry, too many forces at play to bring her son into the world.
The years of waiting had been hard for Salazar. Harder still when Cassie told him of the boy's entrance into her loving embrace and the horrors of his stay within her walls. He had to remind himself more times than he cared to of the Oracle's words. That even if Harry was the one she spoke of, it did not mean he would achieve the impossible. And then the boy found him, learnt the truth of Lily's life, and became his Apprentice.
The boy never wavered. No matter what Salazar brought to him to learn, nor how hard he pushed the lad, Harry continued to grow and develop. Salazar had developed and invented most of the Mind Arts, and yet Harry had done what even he thought was impossible by claiming Riddle's power and knowledge without drowning in the monster's evil. And Harry's actions were just as impressive as his talents. The boy was a living example of House Danu through his own nature. And Salazar knew what this meant. With the reintroduction of the Triwizard Tournament, with the machinations of the hidden hand protecting Dumbledore within the Ministry and Wizengamot, Salazar became ever surer that the darkness was rising to respond to Harry's growth.
Harry represented Salazar's legacy in both past and future, and the Founder would not let either down. When the terrible darkness revealed itself, it would not find a teenage boy as its target, but the most powerful and deadly Lord of Magic the Founders had ever produced. Including themselves.
Salazar refused to accept anything less.
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Albus Dumbledore
Albus didn't see himself as an evil man. But then, he knew from personal experience that evil men rarely did. Everyone was the hero of their own story, after all. He had always been a precocious talent, far above his peers in raw power and natural skill, with a keen mind able to grasp complex topics faster than even some of his professors. So much so that he won a global award for his work in alchemy at just fifteen. The Cairo presentation of his award marked his fateful encounter with Nicolas Flamel, who would take him on as the Immortal Alchemist's Apprentice. His Master allowed him to research everything, even the most terrifying magics. Better to understand it, Wulfric, Nicolas had always said. And along with such learning came stories, terrible stories of those who walked such paths without proper oversight and aid. Each story summed up as 'power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.' Something Albus took to heart. It took his best friend and lover Gellert Grindelwald to teach him another lesson - the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Both lessons were why Albus had stood back when Gellert began their plan of world domination. Were why he would manipulate and work through others to foil the man he still loved rather than do so himself. Oh, they had the blood pact keeping Albus away from confronting Gellert, but a man of Albus' genius, with access to Nicolas Flamel, could have found a way round the trinket. In fact, both Albus and Gellert had weakened its effects by the time it was destroyed in 1932. That was why it broke when their spells collided, rather than the excuse he had given Newt Scamander.
No, Albus held back and used others because of one reason only. So he would not become consumed by his own power and brilliance. He hated what happened to Leta Lestrange and the others, but his first Order of the Phoenix did a remarkable job of keeping Gellert from taking the position of Supreme Mugwump.
Gellert was the personal murderer of tens of thousands of magicals in the next seven years. The numbers slaughtered by the man's acolytes far outstripped that figure. And that was without his larger group of followers known as the Alliance, or his military forces. It mattered not how many people the ICW sent against him. They were just more bodies to add to the tally as he worked towards the Greater Good.
It was Nicolas who finally convinced him to face his former lover. With a second Order, some of whom his Master had suggested, Albus had raced across the claimed Europe countries like a force of nature. He hadn't wanted to show the world what he was capable of, but Nicolas was right. He needed to make a statement. To those who doubted him in England, to Gellert's forces, and to Gellert himself.
Albus reached into a bag of tricks that no one bar Nicolas knew he possessed. Oh, he never touched upon Dark magic, but he didn't have to. The world was an orchestra to his wand as he brought Gellert's allies down one by one, keeping as many alive as was possible no matter how many of Albus' Order died. Albus didn't want to. He had to. He could not begin slaughtering like his lover, for that was a slippery slope he refused to step onto. It saddened Albus' heart to see his friends and allies fall, but he had to keep himself from stepping into the abyss. He had to. And then only Gellert and he remained. The few Order members who had survived were the only ones who saw the legendary duel. One might curiously note they were all Nicolas' choices, but Albus saw that as just another sign he still had much to learn from his Master.
Only they, Gellert, and Nicolas, of course, knew what the wand was that Albus claimed that day. He returned to a country that viewed him as a mix of saviour and their own in-house Grindelwald-in-waiting. And that was when Albus stepped deeper into the shadows. Despite his growing list of accolades and positions, he worked harder than ever in creating a network of people who would be there should something else happen. Who would take up the fight so that he did not have too.
That was why the British Ministry began its heavier clamp down on Dark magic. To keep Albus from having to step in the way he had with Gellert. For surely, with as much magic as was being restricted, the next Dark Lord would not be of a power that needed him to do anything. Only someone had fallen through the cracks.
Tom Riddle. A boy Albus had been watching with a worried eye graduated the year Albus defeated Gellert and vanished, building both his power and influence base over the next twenty years until the mid-60s where high society ripples Tom had been making began clashing with Albus' push for better Muggle-born rights. The man had even had the temerity to interview for the DADA position, an act that gave Albus an insight to the monster his former student was becoming. He could see the depths Tom was falling into the Dark Arts and could feel the power the now man possessed.
Albus had been afraid. While none of Tom's followers would be that dangerous, the new Dark Lord was another story. Albus had gone cap-in-hand to his Master for aid. While he was not ancient by wizard standards, he was close to 80 at the time of Tom's interview. The new Dark Lord was half his age and potentially a close equal in power and knowledge already. And this was with no new monstrous rituals the man would no doubt put himself through. Albus needed help. Nicolas understood. And between the two of them, Albus went through his own, more benign rituals that boosted his power to prepare for his former student's declaration of war.
Tom began his public life as an extreme political activist, a shadowy Parselmouth voice everyone declared of the Slytherin line. A voice proclaiming that all Mudbloods should die and any pure-blood who refused his worldview was now 'Blood Traitor.'
And then the Blood War began. Or, as the British historians would call it, the Wizarding War. As though Gellert bathing Europe in magical blood meant nothing.
And as Albus brought together a new Order of the Phoenix, Lily Evans began her Hogwarts years. A precocious girl of high intelligence and an uncaring attitude towards blood status. Albus might have been the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, and leader of the Order, but even that couldn't keep him from noticing Lily's immense strides in skill and knowledge as the years passed. Strides no normal student could take. Strides that included a clandestine friendship with both Narcissa and Sirius Black, despite her refusal to acquiesce to the desires of James Potter. With Albus' thoughts near constantly obsessing over Tom Riddle - now calling himself Lord Voldemort – he couldn't fail to notice the similarities between the pair. Oh, Lily showed none of the cruelty and manipulations Tom had during his Hogwarts years, but Albus needed to be sure.
He couldn't say what had him doing it. Perhaps it was a passing comment during one of his talks with Nicolas that he used to unload himself of his fears. Albus didn't believe it mattered why, only that he felt the need to check on the talented Muggle-born's heritage. While she looked nothing like Tom, he needed to be sure there was no connection between the two.
His schedule had been tight during that period, and Albus had found an Evans home devoid of mother and sister. Albus took a sample of Mr Evans' blood and tested it. He had been planning on going back to test the mother's, but he never did. Albus never had to. He had his answer, and he was right to be afraid. But for a very different reason.
Lily Evans wasn't a child of Tom Riddle. She was a descendant of the Ebonstones.
The monsters in the dark. The nightmares of Dark Lords. Gellert had boasted of his own Ebonstone connections, although distant enough to not show up on a heritage test. Yet here was a test that showed the dreaded family name.
Albus was not ashamed to admit he panicked. It took Nicolas to calm him down and point out something he had missed. For all Lily's talents were growing in leaps and bounds, for all she was proving to be one of, if not the smartest of her generation, she was in a romantic relationship with the Black heir.
It could not be!
Even if Tom Riddle killed him and took over the country, Albus' last successful act would keep Lily and Sirius apart.
Nicolas had told him the horror stories of the Ebonstones. He could not fathom what a union between it and House Black could become. No. Better Lily get with a Light family like the Potters. But for all Albus' genius, he was still a man pulled in too many directions. For while he had used legal and illegal means to get Lily and James together, he had missed a key piece of knowledge. A simple fact he had forgotten. James' mother was born Dorea Black!
The mistake was irreversible at that point. Even while Albus fought against Tom time and time again, he swore to himself to monitor the union. And then came the prophecy that promised an end to Tom's reign as a Dark Lord. A prophecy with two babies as it's chosen, with one of those being the Potters' babe.
Neither could live while the other survives.
A terrible line, yet one that provided a silver lining. The fall of the Dark Lord and death of the threat of a new Ebonstone rising. Albus wouldn't claim he manipulated the events leading up to Halloween 1981, but he did not keep them from happening either. He should have expected the results. Of course, someone of Ebonstone blood could stop their child from dying to a Killing Curse. Albus was only grateful Lily hadn't called upon a Greater Old One to protect Harry.
Albus knew what was in the Sowilo scar. Knew that Tom was out there and would eventually return. But he also knew that the mark and what it held was the boy's death sentence. Albus did the only thing he could. He tied the boy to his Muggle relatives A safe, if not loved-filled home to grow up in before Hogwarts. Before Harry Potter could learn the wonders of magic, hear stories of his parents, make friends, and be happy until the prophecy came to fruition to claim both Harry and Tom.
A peaceful and elegant solution for Albus.
A solution that only worked for the first two years. Harry even came across and destroyed another of Tom's Horcruxes, making Albus wonder if the boy would be drawn to them and destroy as many as Tom had made before their eventual last confrontation. And then Harry's birthday came and the implosion of Privet Drive, the revelations of Harry's advanced maturity and of whom he was staying with over the summer. Rakepicks. Both sisters were dangerous in their own way and equally knowledgeable. Knowledge they had obviously been shovelling into Harry's head from morning to dusk.
The boy had grown in far more ways that physical. His aura had taken gigantic leaps, his power equally so, and his knowledge and the way he carried himself were that of a young Lord rather than a third-year student.
While he had sent a letter to Nicolas after meeting Harry in the Leaky Cauldron, he had visited his Master the first night of term to explain what he had seen from the boy. Both with the multiple Patroni and in the meeting after dinner.
It was the early 70s all over again. Tom was close to waging war on the country while someone with Ebonstone blood was showing power and abilities that should be beyond them. Albus might be terrified of what it meant, but he would not give into his fear. He would keep the Dark from swallowing the country. No matter the cost.
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Tom Riddle
Tom Riddle, for that was who he was now, waited for his useless servant to return. The spirit that had been Lord Voldemort had been furious at losing out on the Philosopher's Stone. More so as the Potter boy had caused his failure. Him and his Mudblood mother. Not content with stopping his victory in '81, the bitch had somehow imbued her protection into the boy's very body. Dangerous Blood Magic to cast and dangerous to him to face.
Lord Voldemort had decided that escaping to the continent was his best plan. He didn't go far, drifting between the most western European countries as he possessed animals and people both to regain his strength. The old fool Dumbledore hadn't chased him, something any competent enemy should have done. Voldemort knew that should someone to trap his soul while he was without a proper body, then all his Horcruxes would be for naught. Yet the old man had let him disappear. No doubt in some misguided attempt to have him rethink his life and look for redemption.
He hadn't taken notice of the date, not really. Oh, he knew the Potter boy's birthday was coming up, but he was too busy draining the life forces of squibs and weak witches and wizards to care. At least for this year. But the boy made sure he knew what the date was. The agony was worse than when the Mudblood had saved her son's life and destroyed his body. That night, it had felt as though every cell of his body was hit with his own full-powered Crucios.
Tom Riddle knew what had happened. Well, he did once he recovered from the seemingly endless agony. His then host body had burned up through magical backlash and it had taken all his intelligence to avoid the investigating Spanish Aurors. An impossibility had occurred that Halloween. He had already prepared himself for making a new Horcrux prior to attacking Godric's Hollow, and the destruction of his body had torn the soul piece loose. The Potter boy had become one of his Horcruxes! Worse still, the boy had not only worked this out, but used a ritual to attack him through it.
Tom would never admit how long it took him to recover from the boy's ritual that stole his power and knowledge. Nor would he ever admit the fear that had eaten at his non-existent stomach at the level of skill and power the boy would have needed to do what he did. That soul fragment had returned to Tom, weak and with just enough magic and strength to help him recover. But within an hour, the return of the second soul piece vanquished Lord Voldemort forever. His diary! The boy had destroyed his diary Horcrux, and forced it to merge back with his main soul. And with it came the diary's memories of the Chamber and Potter's success in killing Salazar's basilisk.
Tom could feel the scars on his soul from the merging of his pieces. The scars and parts of his mind he hadn't even known he was missing. While everything he had read about Horcruxes explained that there would be a loss of some parts of the psyche, he hadn't realised just how much until those parts began returning to him. And return they did. Because Potter was systematically hunting them down and destroying them!
First came the piece from his locket, and then the one from his family's ring. Two items of Slytherin that belonged to Tom destroyed by Potter in his hunt to finish him. Tom knew the boy's ritual had taken some of his memories and knowledge, and he feared the boy knew where he had hidden his other Horcruxes. But despite waiting and even fearing, the one housed within the Ravenclaw's Diadem had not returned. The boy's skill was lacking, and Tom was sure he had failed to take everything from Tom's soul shard before it returned to him.
It was a sign of his future greatness that one of his servants had found him in his moment of need. While Tom would have preferred it to be almost anyone but the snivelling little shit that was Wormtail, he was still aid. The Animagus had helped Tom find a pregnant woman to perform a ritual he had long ago memorised, allowing his soul to possess her unborn babe as Wormtail forced potion after potion down her throat until Tom grew strong enough to tear his way free of the female. The ritual and potions had created a powerful vessel, one that would match Tom's greatness should he spend the next two decades growing up. But even now, when he was Tom rather than the volatile and psychotic Voldemort, he had no patience to let time run its course.
No. He would use another ritual to break his vessel down and rebuild it in an adult form. That was why they had come back to Britain and were staying in his father's manor. That was when he had felt Potter destroy his ring Horcrux that Halloween. Oh, how Tom wished his body was stronger so he could have gone down to destroy the boy. But he wasn't, and revenge would come soon enough.
He had everything he needed for his ritual. Everything but the blood of an enemy. And that was why Tom Riddle waited for the return of Wormtail. The pair had been keeping a close eye on the Prophet, and its articles only stoked the fires of rage within Tom Riddle. Potter wasn't content with killing Slytherin's basilisk. The boy had embraced his Parseltongue abilities and gotten himself a Gryffindor coloured snake familiar! Tom would destroy the beast in front of Potter's eyes if it was the last thing he did. Unfortunately, it meant he had to use his limited energy to create an amulet for Wormtail that would hide him from not just magical senses but those of snakes as well, so that the traitor could gain the boy's blood with no one or nothing aware. Wormtail's uselessness knew no bounds, and Tom had even had to teach the man the medical spell that would draw out Potter's blood without leaving a scar.
Tom expected the man any moment, a welcome result given he had felt his Hufflepuff's Cup's soul piece return to him days after feeling his connection to Bellatrix's Dark Mark snap. Dumbledore had done it again! The old fool had allowed something dangerous to grow within Hogwarts' walls under his crooked nose and done nothing about it. The boy was obviously doing rituals. Powerful ones too, if his slaughter of the believed unkillable Dementors was any sign. Tom had not known who the Rakepicks were, but Wormtail had proven useful in filling him in on the eldest sister. Patricia Rakepick would die a most painful death for being Potter's mentor and raising him from a useless brat that Voldemort had seen in 1991 to a teen ruthless enough to have tortured Bellatrix Lestrange into revealing where she had hidden the Cup. That Potter had then killed Tom's right-hand woman only painted an even larger target on her back.
A hiss from his ever loyal Nagini had Tom's eyes jump to the room's doorway where a rat missing a toe scampered in. His companion did not enjoy being unable to sense the creature. The wretched man transformed and was in an instant bow.
"Did you get it?" Tom demanded, his tone promising untold pain if the mission had failed.
"Yes, Master." Wormtail whimpered. Tom's wand lashed out and pulled his creation off his servant, a spell destroying the thing before the powerful Summoning Charm had it cross the distance between them. He would not allow someone to have a means to hide from himself or Nagini. Wormtail twitched and hunched over, a shaking hand taking a vial of blood from his pocket. "Here, Master."
"Exce..."
Even before Tom could reach for the vial, an aura of magic flared around it. A trick of the light had it appear as though the vial contained lightning and flames rather than blood, and then the bottom of the vial broke open. The vial slipped from Wormtail's grasp as he let out a piercing scream, but it no longer mattered. Not when Potter's blood sizzled and popped as it ate through everything it touched.
"Potter," Tom snarled in fury. He knew what had happened. The boy had weaponised his blood. It was the conclusive proof Tom needed to understand that it would not be a Dumbledore disciple he would face, but a fellow Dark Wizard steeped in rituals and knowledge. Not powerful enough, nor knowledgeable enough to defeat him, but enough to provide a challenge. "If I cannot have the blood of one enemy, then I will have the blood of two. Go to St. Mungo's Wormtail and get me the blood of the Longbottoms. Do not let anyone see you and do not kill them. No one must know of my return until I have my new body. Fail me, and I will find you, even if you remain as the rat you are."
The man was wide-eyed, staring between Tom and the corrosive blood. It took a hiss and snap of Nagini's jaws to get him moving. Tom closed his eyes and meditated on the Potter boy. Voldemort had been right to go after the babe that Halloween. But that insane, twisted creature was under Tom's control now. His Horcruxes had given him back control over his impulses and desires, tempering him into a more experienced version of the half-blood teen who had united all of Slytherin under his banner. While he might allow his darker Voldemort impulses out to play at some point, he knew how imperative keeping this re-found clarity was if he was to accomplish his goals. And as for immortality... well, there was more than one way to achieve that.
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Weasleys
Ron had long suspected something more was going on with Harry - it seemed like something was always something going on with Harry – but to learn that his best friend was a Lord of Magic? It was insane. A joke. And yet he had seen the aura. Like most raised in the magical world, Ron had heard all about Lords of Magic. Merlin, Morgana, the Founders, and others. Each affected their world in momentous ways that continued down to the present day. Many dreamed of seeing a new Lord of Magic rise to help guide their world after Grindelwald's War and then You-Know-Who's. He's even heard some people in Diagon say they were praying to Magic itself for a Lord of Magic to show up, although his mum and dad had waved that off. The Weasley parents said no amount of praying could bring about a Lord of Magic, not if Albus Dumbledore hadn't become one. Yet Harry had somehow become one. While Ron knew he would normally be jealous, one thing kept bouncing through his head. Harry had told them he came back for his friends. Ron knew the truth. Before the end of summer, that had only been himself and Hermione. Hermione might have walked away from Harry, but Ron wouldn't. A Lord of Magic was putting himself through school when he didn't need to be there just to be with Ron, and Ron wouldn't throw that type of loyal away.
Ginny would admit she had a crush on Harry before Hogwarts, but she was long over it now. While most might say she wasn't and point to a lot of her blushing and giggling around her brother's friend, she knew the truth. She knew the difference. Harry had saved her life in the Chamber. He had defeated Tom and almost died to the basilisk Tom had possessed her to release on the students. Ginny struggled to be around Harry because of who he was, not what those books and her mother had made him out to be. And the littlest Weasley might not be in his classes, but she'd seen him do enough. The Patronus class, the Dementors, hearing him teach in the Common Room or the studying group alongside Professor Flitwick. Heck, even the flying lessons had let her see the man Harry was becoming. And she knew what he wasn't saying. Harry could and would teach her to never be taken advantage of by Tom, or anyone else ever again. And if she had to learn some things she wasn't comfortable with, then she's do it. She would not fail Harry.
Ginny would show the world her private oath the next time someone bad mouthed him in the corridor as she was walking past. Her bat-bogey Hex was so overpowered by her rage at the idiot that the bogeys ripped open the boy's blood vessels when they crawled out of his nostrils. A month's detention was worth it to put the boy in his place, even if she had wanted to do more.
She would not fail Harry.
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Slytherins
Daphne Greengrass had known Potter was up to something with the selective meeting, but she'd never in her wildest dreams expected something like this. The power. The knowledge. Even if she never learnt it all, what she and her sister could learn from Potter would help her shape House Greengrass for hundreds of years. Even if Potter pulled off a miracle and his status as a Lord of Magic never got revealed, the legacy the sisters would leave their family would cement them as the most important names in Greengrass history. To be taught by a Lord of Magic would grant them the ability to write their own ticket for the future, and future generations would forever look up to Daphne and Astoria. And she knew with the way events were unfolding, Potter's miracle had no chance of happening.
Blaise Zabini wondered if the others realised it. Probably not. Blaise had known the colour of the Killing Curse since before he got his Hogwarts letter. His father had only just avoided getting hit by one when he had taken Blaise for one of their father-son visits to a magical historical site in Italy. His father had killed the would-be assassin, but others had gotten to him the next week. Belladonna Zabini had gained her Black Widow moniker by hunting down those behind the hit to get her revenge in her own way. Up close and personal. She had left Blaise to be protected by her family, and Blaise had delved deep into the Zabini history all the way back to where they were still part of Clan Innocenti. Not like that had been difficult. The Zabini main library still had a non-magical painting of Belladonna Innocenti, his mother's namesake, and her husband, one Salazar Slytherin. His family's records told tales of how the man had loved another, but had put that love aside to marry Belladonna after saving Lord Innocenti's life from an assassination attempt. Slytherin had given up his love rather than refuse the Lord's daughter as payment for the life debt between them and thus dishonouring both families.
Blaise had known Salazar's eye colour. Knew it was the same colour as the light that had almost taken his father's life. The same colour as Harry Potter's eyes. Harry Potter, a Parselmouth whose mother had the same eyes and who created a means of saving her son from that same curse. A woman who had found a Lord of Magic when none had been heard of in centuries. A Lord of Magic who had agreed to take her son on and make him a Lord of Magic. A Lord of Magic who used Time Magic for Potter's training. My friends are here and this is my home. It might have been a Hufflepuff reply, but not for Blaise. The pieces were all there for him, despite the insane picture they were revealing. Blaise saw the truth and would show the disciple of Slytherin that Clan Innocenti – House Zabini – remembered the price his ancestor had paid to tie their families together.
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Sue Li
The world thought that the Lords of Magic were extinct. She knew of two; one stayed deep within her home of India to care for the mages there, while the other worked behind the scenes to keep the peace between China, Japan, and the Koreas. Both were over two-hundred, neither had taken an apprentice in the pasty fifty years, nor had either found anyone to grant the title of Lord of Magic to. And her family would have heard if either had left their territory to visit England. To visit Harry Potter. No matter how brief an excursion, their people venerated them too much for them to have done so. No, something more was going on, but it didn't matter to the Chinese witch. Harry Potter was a son of Naga, a Lord of Magic, and while she could not outright reveal the truth to her family, she could hint at things enough for them to pick up what was happening. For her to learn from one would bring honour and prestige to her and her family. Yet Potter was both, and there was no greater blessing in their culture than to have such a person offer herself and the Patils the chance to hear his wisdom and learn his ways. Sue shared a look with the twins and knew they felt the same as her. Potter would be their guru and her shifu – their mentor and spiritual guide – and they would allow no dishonour nor attack to fall upon him for as long they drew breath.
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Last Edited - 18th September 2023
Word Count – 6,525
Previous Word Count - 6,548
