The ancient castle felt different, covered with a blanket of snow. Harry walked slowly down the sloping grounds away from the school, enjoying the muffled silence of the frozen forest. The winter holidays had started two days ago, and he was already restless. He didn't realize how much he had come to rely on Hermione's companionship to stave off the melancholy. Without her, he found himself slipping into the background like he had before coming to Hogwarts.
Barely any of the students had stayed for Christmas. The Weasley's had stayed, but Harry found himself feeling disconnected from Ron recently. While they had been friendly on the train and he still talked to the redhead occasionally, Harry's friendship with Hermione and the incident with the troll had been an awkward barrier for him. He had trouble relaxing around Ron without seeing Hermione's face as she bolted from the Charms classroom in tears, and Ron didn't know his secrets the way she did. He was friendly, but he wouldn't call them friends.
Still, there were silver linings to the solitude. It was early in the morning and Harry was determined to start proactively improving himself, the way that he told Hermione he would weeks ago. It was too easy, ensconced in the safety of the castle's walls, to become complacent and lose his edge. The monsters were still out there, not to mention Quirrell and anyone else that may threaten them. Harry could not allow himself to slip back into his pre-Hogwarts mindset of survival without progress. He had promised himself that he would break the cycle, and this was a step in the right direction.
Harry wore casual clothes, a scarf over his face and a beanie pulled down low on his head. He knew it wouldn't disguise him completely, but hopefully it would at least give him some plausible deniability if anyone happened to look out the window and catch a glimpse of him.
He stopped at the edge of the forest, just out of sight of the castle. He looked around and extended his magic but felt nothing except the subtle magic of the ancient trees. He breathed deeply and started to pull on his power, calling it to him and infusing it into himself. He shook out his arms and legs before taking a runner's starting position. He felt a bit silly.
He pushed his magic into his legs and let it flow through the soles of his feet, exploding forward and taking off at a sprint. He grasped more power with his will and channeled it into his mind and senses, the snowflakes slowing to a frozen crawl through the air as he rocketed through the undergrowth. He let more power flow through his bones while pumping his arms, each step carrying him 10 feet, then 15 feet, then 20 feet as he hit his stride and accelerated across the cold ground. He saw the crackles of green energy start to wick down his legs and jump from his arms as he ran.
He let his instincts and magic take over as he sped up even more, leaping and pushing off of an ancient, sturdy tree trunk and angling himself into the canopy. It was easier than it should have been to sprint through the tops of the trees, his feet finding branches and infusing them with his power as he pushed off and forward. He kept his power flowing, getting comfortable with moving at this speed, marveling at the falling leaves frozen in time around him as he alternated between the forest floor and bouncing off the trunks and branches of the snowy trees.
His speed should have turned the forest into an incomprehensible blur around him, but it didn't. The combination of his magically infused mind and his power buzzing around him made him aware of every detail of his surroundings, which is why he stopped immediately when he noticed something out of place.
The pale white body of a unicorn lay on the forest floor, its silver blood staining the snow. Harry approached it carefully, but his magic and enhanced senses told him that he was quite alone. He felt a weird and instinctive wave of sadness, like the magic of the world itself was mourning the loss of one of its purest creatures. Harry extended his magic further, looking for any traces of the culprit. The wound in the unicorn's chest was deep and radiated with a sense of wrongness to his power. He dug deeper with his magic, infusing it into the tainted magic even while part of him retched at the horrible feeling of dark and decay that permeated the residual magic. He realized that he had felt this same sense of wrongness in magic before.
Quirrell. Again.
The professor hadn't treated Harry any differently since the Quidditch game, continuing his stuttering charade even while Harry carefully avoided his foul magic. He considered telling the headmaster what happened, but he knew that it wouldn't do any good. Snape knew and must have told Dumbledore. Dumbledore was both more powerful and more magically aware than Harry, so he must know what Quirrell is. There was something else at play here, something that Harry wasn't seeing.
He was definitely going to tell Hermione this time though.
He left the unicorn and retreated to the part of the forest closer to the castle, near the lake. He took off again and circled the lake in minutes, trying to stay close without being in sight of the castle for too long. He ran another lap, then another, his speed increasing as he grew more accustomed to using his enhanced strength outside of combat. Part of his mind kept looking for threats, assuming that he was being hunted, but he managed to find a good balance between instinctive control of his magic and conscious attention. It wasn't as good as flying, but after an hour of intentioned channeling he started to feel content and comfortable using his power like this.
He stopped on the far side of the lake to catch his breath. He had never infused his power into his body for such a sustained length of time before, and after an hour he was feeling winded and worn out. Not necessarily tired, his magic healed his muscles as he ran, but wrung out and stretched. Like a sponge that had been soaked and emptied too many times. Definitely an indication that he needed to actually practice, rather than just throwing everything he had into any fights that found him and hoping for the best.
He started to feel more like his normal self after a couple minutes of calm, looking out over the lake towards the distant castle. He was definitely ready for a warm breakfast.
He eyed the lake and couldn't help but grin as he got a crazy idea. It was stupid, but now that he had thought of it, he had to try. He jogged backwards away from the shore as far as he could while still having a straight shot and crouched again. He pulled as much of his power as he could into his body, letting it flow down his legs and condensing it into his bones as he took off towards the shore at a dead sprint. He gathered and held a huge burst of magic under tension in his core as he approached the water, and at the last second let it pulse down his leg just as he planted it on a sturdy boulder on the shore.
He whooped involuntarily as he threw himself into the air, trying to stay in control of his flight as his momentum carried him high above the lake. For a brief moment, he felt the same sense of freedom he always did while flying, the gray water far away as he reached the apex of his arc.
Hmmm. Maybe the lake is a bit wider than I thought.
...
Harry sat in an armchair by one the fireplaces in the library, blessedly warm and dry after his impromptu polar plunge earlier. Luckily, it didn't seem like anyone had seen his unexpected cannonball or when he dragged himself out of the frigid water like a drowned rat.
Hermione must never know.
In front of him sat piles of books that he thought may include information about uses for unicorn's blood. It was tough to find, most books that even mentioned it simply stated that it was abhorrent to kill a unicorn and any who did so would be cursed. Which was interesting, but not exactly helpful besides indicating that Quirrell wasn't worried about any potential consequences or had ways to mitigate them that Harry didn't know about.
He picked up the next book in the stack and checked the index for unicorns. As he flipped through the pages and skimmed the indicated section a sentence caught his eye.
While rarely the most advantageous solution, consumption of fresh unicorn blood by the individual who slayed the beast will allow a person's body to remain alive in their current state from the moment that the blood first touches their lips until such a time that they are unable to procure more fresh blood, at which point their body will begin to rapidly deteriorate until death.
Harry put the book down. That had to be it. Quirrell was drinking the blood to buy himself time for something. Something that Dumbledore must already be aware of. Had Quirrell come to the school just for the most available unicorn herd? If that was the case, why would he blow his cover trying to kill Harry? If his purpose was to kill Harry, then why was Dumbledore allowing him to stay?
The conclusions that Harry could draw were vague at best. Maybe Quirrell was here for some other reason and just decided to take a shot at Harry because he could. An old supporter of the Dark Lord hoping for revenge? If Quirrell really was here for another reason, and the unicorns were also just a target of opportunity, then Dumbledore must be planning around that. Maybe a trap for Quirrell? But if that was the case, why didn't Dumbledore just act now? Maybe Quirrell was the bait for someone else?
Harry's head started to hurt. There were motives at play that he could not fully understand, and moves being made that were outside of his sight. For now, he would just have to keep his eyes open, and hope that he was prepared to defeat Quirrell if he tried to take another shot at killing him. And talk to Hermione of course.
...
Harry woke up slowly on Christmas morning, the cold light from outside just starting to filter through the dormitory window. He heard the rustling of wrapping paper and threw a "Happy Christmas" in Ron's direction as the redhead opened his presents on the other side of the room.
Looking around, Harry was surprised to see a small pile of brightly wrapped packages at the foot of his bed. He picked up the red and gold box on top with a knot in his stomach and a weird prickling at the corner of his eyes.
He had never gotten any presents before.
Taking a couple deep breaths to steady the conflicting sense of happiness and melancholy bubbling up inside him, Harry allowed some magic to infuse his mind and he focused on the feeling of his power to center himself again. He checked the name and saw that the package on top was from Hagrid. He opened it to find a hand carved wooden flute, which he placed on his bedside table with a grin. He may not know the kindly groundskeeper as well as he should, but he liked him and enjoyed having someone other than Hermione to wave at in the Great Hall. Looking at the flute brought the knot in his stomach back, so he moved on to the next one.
The next brightly colored box was from Hermione. Harry opened it and found a variety of wizarding snacks like the ones they had shared on the train, some sugar-free mundane candy, and a book titled An Auror's Guide to Aerial Combat Magic which made him smile widely for a moment.
Until he realized that he hadn't gotten Hermione a present.
He took another deep breath. He had never had anyone to buy presents for before. It hadn't even occurred to him. He frantically tried to think of ways to get something to her, but at this point he would just have to wait until she got back and apologize. She would understand, but he still felt like he had missed an opportunity.
He reached for the last present with a heavy feeling in his chest. It felt like clothing and didn't have a card or tag. He opened it carefully, letting the contents spill across his bed. It was a cloak, made of a glistening silvery fabric that seemed to shift and shimmer before his eyes. He let his magic flow over it before trying to touch it.
He recoiled as he sensed the cloak through his magic. It was strange, an empty void where his eyes were telling him the cloak sat on the bed. Even as he poked at it more with his power, his magical senses stubbornly told him that there was an empty hole in space on his bed. To his magic, the cloak simply didn't exist at all. It could not be infused or changed since it did not exist. Harry felt disoriented, like he had missed a step going down the stairs. A disconnect between his magical and physical senses that he had never felt before.
He cautiously picked up the cloak and examined it further. He glanced around and was relieved that Ron had gone down to the common room. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he didn't want to give anything away if he could help it. A note fell out of the folds of the cloak as he moved it, and Harry read it curiously.
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.
Harry stared at the note. His father's cloak? His mind raced but he got nowhere. He knew little about his parents' friends aside from Hagrid, and this certainly wasn't from him. Harry didn't recognize the elegant handwriting, and it wasn't signed. Harry put the note down and picked up the cloak again. He hesitantly put it on and pulled the hood up.
Harry gasped as his magical awareness returned, automatically being drawn to and connecting with the cloak. He marveled at the artifact's magic with his power, speechless as the connection snapped into place. The cloak felt similar to his broom or his wand, but ancient, deep and powerful beyond Harry's comprehension. It was like standing on the edge of a precipice looking out over an endless black lake with no idea of how deep it was. Harry felt the bond strengthen as he poured magic into it, the cloak singing a slow, peaceful song in his magic as it wrapped around him. Harry got the distinct impression that the cloak was his, in a way that only his wand compared.
Feeling reassured by the cloak's aura of peaceful acceptance and its bond with him, Harry allowed himself to sink deeper into the magical connection. He pulled on more and more of his magic and fed it into the void within the cloak the same way that he did with his broom. The feeling of becoming one with the magical focus was a thousand times stronger with the eldritch artifact than it ever was with the mere sticks and twigs of his Nimbus. For a time, Harry lost himself in the cloak, its presence overwhelming even his potent power.
He sighed and pulled his power back to himself as he resurfaced, feeling more centered and content than he had in a long time. Maybe ever. The cloak continued to radiate its aura of peaceful dark that he knew no one else could feel. Harry gathered his magic and pulled on the bond between them, trying to draw the cloak's magic to him as he was just drawn to it.
He then greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly.
Harry didn't know where the words came from, but he could feel the importance and inevitability through the bond with the cloak. He shook off the foreign feeling and took a deep breath, opening his eyes for the first time in a while.
He looked down and realized that he was invisible. He chuckled to himself at the idea that the cloak making him invisible felt like an afterthought compared to its true potential. He pulled the hood down and partially reappeared, although the parts of him behind the cloak still flickered in and out of sight as it moved. He tugged on the connection with the cloak and focused, concentrating his will until he became visible again. The cloak returned to its silver silken form and seemed to ripple about his shoulders.
Harry looked in the mirror and considered his options. He could start wearing the cloak around in its current form, but it was a bit obvious. He wasn't sure that he wanted anyone besides Hermione to know that he had it. On the other hand, having an invisibility cloak wouldn't do him much good when he was attacked if he wasn't wearing it. For now, he reluctantly shrugged the cloak off and folded it, carefully stowing it in the bottom of his trunk. He would think about all of the implications more after breakfast.
...
Harry stepped through the portrait hole and ignored the Fat Lady's "who's there?" as he stalked invisibly away from the common room. It was late, past midnight, and being invisible gave Harry a new kind of freedom.
He had always loved feeling the endless magic of the ancient castle, exploring and examining the layered enchantments and deep imprints left by centuries of witches and wizards. Now, he could do so at his leisure without observers or interruption.
The stone corridors took on a new life in the dark of night. Harry carried no lamp, using only his magic to navigate the many hallways and staircases. He worked his way across the castle, mentally cataloging the secret passages and the different spells and enchantments that he ran across. The castle was an endless treasure trove of secrets, invisible doors and hidden mysteries. He let his magic free to roam, carefully looking for any other wandering sparks just in case.
He was just about to head to the library when he felt something unusual. A strong source of magic unlike anything he had felt before. Not just enchantments, but a window into something… more. He turned almost involuntarily and headed towards the strange feeling. After several turns and a secret staircase to the next floor, he found the empty classroom that he was looking for and stepped inside.
The source of the powerful magic was a mirror. Large and ornate, it radiated entrancing power like few other artifacts Harry had experienced. Second only to the cloak, now that he thought about it. He moved on instinct, the magic of the mirror guiding him more than his own intentions. He lowered his hood and faded back into view, the cloak once again silver and shining on his shoulders.
He stepped in front of the mirror and stared, transfixed. It did not reflect him as he was now. He saw himself shining with silver light, his face older and grinning down at him with a crooked smile. He floated high above the ground, held aloft by massive, glorious wings with silver feathers. He radiated power and freedom, indomitable and indestructible. Hermione flew beside him, her smile blinding and beautiful. She too radiated unstoppable and entrancing power, gliding on gilded wings of gold. They spiraled together through the heavens, brilliant and divine.
Harry wrenched his gaze from the mirror. He stumbled backwards wildly and forced himself to turn away, panting for breath as he tried to calm the churning storm of emotions running through him. The vision felt perfect and real, far too real, but also horrendously twisted and wrong at the same time. He both loved and hated it on a visceral level in equal measure, with no idea why.
He pulled the hood of the cloak up and drowned himself in the dark. He allowed his mind and magic to float in the endless void while the innate magic of the artifact saturated him, driving out the magic of the mirror. The calm acceptance of the cloak's infinite waters soothed his ragged nerves, and he allowed himself a few more moments of peaceful dark before coming back to himself. He stood and took a deep breath.
He became invisible once more and strode from the room, determined never to return.
...
Despite his unsettling experience with the mirror, Harry continued his nightly walkabouts. Tonight, he wandered aimlessly, just enjoying the quiet solitude of the empty castle. Classes would start again soon, and even at night the castle would feel more crowded. He had visited the library and explored the restricted section, had made his way to the top of the astronomy tower and enjoyed the winter wind at its summit, and much more. The cloak had opened a new world to him, and he planned to enjoy it.
As he walked, he felt a vague sense of malaise, like there was something he was missing. He turned to get his bearings and realized what it was. He was on the third floor, and the door directly to his right led to the forbidden corridor. Part of him knew that it was an obviously stupid idea to purposely go somewhere that could cause a "very painful death", but he was curious. Even if it was dangerous to most of the students, he should be alright, or at least able to escape.
He let his power reach out for the door and heard the lock click as he eased it open and stepped through. He just had time to scan the large room on the other side before a great growl shook the floor. Harry immediately jumped to high alert as he took in the massive creature, somehow hidden from his senses until after he entered the room. He tried to jump backwards but the door slammed magically shut behind him as the beast began to rise.
Three sets of crimson eyes glowed at him from the darkness.
Notes:
First cliffhanger so far! No dialogue this time, but we get to spend a while in Harry's head while Hermione is away. We'll kick off with another combat scene next time, as always feedback and criticism is welcome and encouraged. I don't own Harry Potter.
