Albus walked into the room as Neville Longbottom left, pulling up a seat and sitting across from Harry as the man sat on the bed. He was wearing an outfit that beared a passing resemblance to a Muggle doctor, but with a visor over his eyes and the four crystals he had noticed at the Great Hall. A tap on the visor's side caused it to raise, revealing his green eyes to the world.
"I feel," Albus said softly, "that I must apologize to you, Harry. Both for what you have rightly called a kidnapping, and an invasion of privacy that happened that same night."
"Invasion of privacy?" Harry said, sharply.
"Professor McGonagall, in her curiosity, cast a remote viewing charm on your room and saw your conversation with the young woman you somehow summoned. Alisaie, I believe her name was?"
"That was supposed to be private," Harry gritted out.
"Yes, which is why I feel the need to apologize for anyone, let alone my own deputy headmistress, intruding on the moment. May I ask, if it doesn't offend you too much, are you in a relationship with her?"
"Yes," Harry said.
"Then let me offer you my congratulations, from McGonagall's memories, she was a very pretty young woman. Do you have other friends?
"Yes," Harry said again.
Albus let out a sigh, "Well then, I can firmly say I made a mistake. When you disappeared from your aunt and uncle's house, I feared you were, perhaps, kidnapped by a Dark Wizard or else stuck somewhere where you were unsafe and unhappy. My fear grew worse when you weren't answering your letters until, in my desperation, I used the portkey as a last resort. I can see, now, that while things weren't safe, you were happy. And I ruined that."
Albus gestured to Harry, the thin scar across his throat, the dark patch of skin where his neck had clearly been burned by something, the light gash across his nose. He was undeniably handsome, in a rugged way, but it was equally undeniable that wherever he had been had a story.
"I chose my career," Harry said, "I knew it wasn't safe or easy, but it's the career I picked."
"Yes. I'm sorry to say portkey only works if you know where it leads, and I don't know where you were. Is there any way-?
"My friends are working on it," Harry said with a shrug.
"I'm glad to hear that," Albus said sincerely, "Now, we have a couple more things to discuss. You used the term Source while talking to me, and Shard while talking to Alisaie. What do they mean?"
"A long time ago, we're talking millions of years ago, there was one world, Etheyis, until a calamity came to end it. To stop this end, the god Zodiark was created. Then, to stop to Ancients from destroying the world by sacrificing ever more to Zodiark, the Ancient Venat did the only thing she could."
"Which was?" Albus prompted. Even if this story wasn't true, it was fascinating.
"Declare that there would be no way back, became the goddess Hydaelyn and sundered Zodiark. But because Zodiark was the heart of the world, to sunder him was to sunder the world. And so she did, into fourteen separate worlds divided by the dimensional rift. My world, that is, the world I grew up on, is the Source, the world least affected by the Sundering. This is one of the Shards."
"Fascinating, and you're sure of this? How?
"I met them both," Harry said, no boast in his voice, "fought them both. Hydaelyn gave me this scar."
He ran his finger across his nose.
"I see," Albus said, "next, that artifact you gave Neville. What is is?"
"It's a Soul Crystal," Harry said, "it's how we pass down knowledge of fighting styles on the Source. I was just as surprised as anyone that one chose him, but I couldn't use it so I didn't see any harm in giving it to Neville."
"And finally, Professor Snape. I must insist you continue going to his class-"
"No. As I said to him, you're all lucky I'm humoring this at all, if he wants to take snipes at me, I have no interest in learning from him."
Albus signed, "Very well, then I'll insist you at least self study to topic, and hand the results to me."
"I'm taking Neville with me. He doesn't need to be in that kind of environment."
—
Neville walked towards Harry's room, knocking on it before trying the handle. It was unlocked, and he stepped in to see Harry with his robes off and a long sleeved shirt and apron sitting in front of an anvil, hammering away at a large rod of metal, shaping it into a pole. Neville watched for a minute, before coughing, "Harry? It's, uh, it's dinner time. I thought you'd want something to eat, so- I just- I figured I'd come get you."
"Sure," Harry said, letting the half-rod half-pole sit on the anvil. And putting down his hammer. In a flash of light, he was back in his Hogwarts robes and walked along with Neville.
"So, uh, how'd you change clothes so fast?" Neville asked, not really sure what to talk about.
"It's possible to Atherically bind weapons and armor to yourself," Harry explained, "I'll teach you how once we can get Reaper garb made for you."
"I-I'm not sure my Gran will pay for that," Neville admitted reluctantly.
"Then I will," Harry said matter-of-factly, "You don't want to fight without proper garb, trust me."
"So, what were you working on in there?" Neville asked, a bit more excitedly as he came to realize Harry was everything a lot of his classmates didn't feel to him. Open, friendly, nonjudgmental.
"The haft of your scythe. Reapers use them, of course, and you'll need one to be one. We'll probably train on the weekends, only time both of us are free."
"What if I mess up?" Neville asked.
"Neville, we all make mistakes in training. You see this?" Harry pointed at the burn scar on his neck with his thumb, "I did this to myself. First time I cast Fire, I launched it in the wrong direction and hit myself. The Thaumaturgy Guild leaders hasn't let me hear the end of it to this day."
"And you let them?"
"Course I do, they're the ones that let me join and get off the streets, probably would have starved to death if it wasn't for them."
They entered the Great Hall then, walking to the Gryffindor table and sitting across from each other. Harry summoned a bottle in a flash of light and poured it into his goblet, before carefully corking it and setting it to the side. Harry grabbed several pieces of meat, chicken, steak, alongside some carrots. Neville went for mashed potatoes, a steak and, after a moments hesitation, picked up an apple.
He watched in fascination as it turned pure white, and then shrank down in his hand until there was nothing. He grabbed another, and watched the process repeat itself.
"See, told you it'd be happy with plants," Harry said around a bite of steak. Then he seemed to notice something out of the corner of his eye and grabbed a small Treacle Tart. Taking a bite, his eyes widened dramatically and he shoveled the whole thing into his mouth, "Blessed Hydaelyn, what is that?"
"A treacle tart," Neville said.
"I gotta get the recipe for that," Harry said, before going back to his meal, "So, you don't like Potions, not that we're ever going back, already talked it over with Dumbledore, what classes do you like?"
"Oh, Herbology! Study of magical plants. It's really fascinating! We're currently working on bouncing bulbs. They're exactly what they sound like."
Harry nodded along, "Wish I could show you my home then, Nev, We've got some crazy plants there."
"Potter," Professor McGonagall said as she walked towards them, "It's time for your lesson. I hope Longbottom hasn't been too much trouble."
"Not at all," Harry said, clasping his hand on Neville's shoulder and giving it what Neville suspected was supposed to be a friendly shake, "Neville was just telling me how we're working with Bouncing Bulbs in Herbology. Which is good to know, since I'm supposed to be joining them for that class."
—
"If Longbottom is bothering you, just tell me and I'll have a talk with him," Harry rolled his eyes at McGonagall's words.
"I'm fine. I know his type, they need someone to support them to get great results, and I'm happy to volunteer as that support," Harry said, thinking of Arya.
"Hm… He isn't very magical adept, you know?"
"At 11? I wouldn't expect him to be. Different people take different amounts of time to come into their power. Small things like that won't stop me from helping Neville."
"Very well, Potter, if you're insistent," McGonagall said, and they lapsed into silence as they walked to her office. Harry took the time to look Hogwarts over, the grand, moving stairs, the living paintings on the wall. Then something jogged in his memory and he asked
"Professor, Dumbledore said he saw your memory of me and Alisaie, which I'm not happy about, by the way, how?"
"Professor Dumbledore owns a device called a Pensive. It allows the user to extract their memories and others to watch them," McGonagall explained, but didn't apologize for her actions. They walked down a hallway that seemed to stretch much too far. Stopping halfway through, they entered what must be McGonagall's office. On her desk sat a matchbox, "Today, Mr. Potter, you will be attempting to turn matches into needles. The incantation is Flintfors. You may begin when ready."
"Flintfors!" Harry said sharply, pushing his Aether down his arm and into the wand. The match, unexpectedly, exploded, sending sharps of metal flying in every direction and causing a few nicks on McGonagall and Harry. McGonagall coughed and said.
"Next time, try and keep the needle intact, Mr. Potter. You definitely turned it to metal, but no points for blowing it up. We already have enough problems with that with Mr. Finnegan."
Harry wondered who Finnegan was and what his story was, before repeating the wand motion and repeating, "Flintfors!" pouring less Aether into the spell, he watched the matchstick become a needle.
"Two attempts? Goodness, you're like your father. He was a genius at Transfiguration, James."
It was… Strange, hearing about his parents. He had grown up assuming they had abandoned him on the streets of Ul'dah because they couldn't pay for another mouth to feed. Hadn't really been mothered until he met Tataru
"What did he look like, Dad, I mean?" Harry asked.
"He looked a lot like you. Not with the scars, of course, but you have his hair and his face, except your eyes. You have your mother's eyes."
"What happened to them?" Harry asked.
"They were… Killed, by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And then he tried to kill you, and something happened causing the spell to backfire, killing him."
"I wish someone would tell me what his name was, I forgot to ask Dumbledore."
"I- oh, all right, his name was Voldemort," a shudder passed over McGonagall, "don't make me say it again. Anyways, back to your lesson, I want to make sure it wasn't a fluke.