A/N: My wife hasn't had a chance to finish beta-reading this chapter yet. I will remove this author's note once she has, but there won't be any major changes, just small editing to make it sound better and fix any mistakes I may have missed on my three rounds of editing. Enjoy!
Harry sat on the edge of his bed, the room around him quiet and still. He reflected on the past year, nearly an additional year of living in the luxurious two-story apartment with the mysterious cloaked figure. The figure had taught him many things, and despite the strange circumstances, Harry had grown fond of the only person he now knew in life. Yet, a longing for freedom gnawed at him, an unquenchable desire to escape and see the world beyond the confines of this existence.
His first escape attempt was on a crisp, late autumn evening. Harry had planned meticulously, waiting for the perfect moment when his guardian seemed preoccupied. As soon as he had the chance, he slipped out of the apartment and into the street in front of the apartment. It was a large, vibrant city, full of life even as night fell. People moved about, cars honked, and shop windows glowed warmly, creating a maze of light and sound.
Almost immediately, Harry noticed he was being followed. Cloaked figures flickered in and out of sight behind shop windows, in side streets, and among the crowds. His heart raced as he darted through the city, the figures always at the edge of his vision, never close enough to confront but always there, shadowing his every move.
Determined, Harry pushed forward. The cold night air bit into his skin, bearable but uncomfortable compared to the warmer daytime temperatures of this season. He navigated through the maze of streets, his eyes constantly scanning for an escape route. He had to get out of the city, away from the cloaked figures that seemed to multiply with each passing block.
Eventually, Harry found himself on the outskirts of the city, where the bright lights gradually dimmed and disappeared behind him. The air grew colder and quieter, and the distant hum of traffic faded into an eerie silence. He trudged along a deserted road, the darkness deepening with each step. His eyes scanned the area for any sign of shelter, and soon he spotted an old, abandoned highway bridge. The concrete structure, weathered and cracked, loomed above him like a giant sentry, its shadows stretching out across the ground. Despite its intimidating appearance, it offered a semblance of safety in an otherwise bleak landscape.
Exhausted from his long journey, Harry approached the bridge and found a small, sheltered spot beneath its massive pillars. The ground was cold and hard, a stark contrast to the warmth he had left behind, but he had no choice. He lay down, curling up tightly to preserve his body heat. The rough surface pressed against him, making sleep difficult, but his weariness soon overtook the discomfort. He closed his eyes, hoping to steal a few hours of rest before the dawn broke and he had to continue his escape. The bridge, silent and still, stood guard over him as he attempted to fall asleep.
As he lay there, moving in and out of sleep, fatigue weighed heavily on him, and he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Shadows danced in the moonlight, their shapes shifting and merging in eerie patterns. In the distance, cloaked figures seemed to materialize from the darkness, their presence a constant reminder of his pursuers. His heart pounded with fear, each rustle of leaves and distant sound amplifying his paranoia. His eyelids grew heavy, the weight of exhaustion finally overcoming him. Despite his fear and the unsettling sensation of eyes upon him, sleep claimed him, pulling him into a restless and uneasy slumber.
When he woke up, he was back in his room, the familiar surroundings closing in around him. It was as if he had never left. There were no signs of struggle, no marks to indicate he had been caught. The most unsettling part was that he had no memory of being found or brought back. It was as if the night had been a dream, a cruel illusion.
The cloaked figure, his silent guardian, showed no reaction to his escape attempt. His behavior remained unchanged, the same daily routines and lessons. Harry searched for any sign of acknowledgment, but there was none.
Days turned into weeks, and Harry's resolve grew stronger. He had to escape, to break free from the invisible chains that bound him. But the memory of that first failed attempt lingered, a haunting reminder of the unseen force that kept him captive.
Harry wondered who the other cloaked figures were that had followed and presumably captured him. Was his host part of a secret group of superheroes? Why did they want him? Why were they teaching, feeding, and helping him while keeping him in their possession?
Harry tried again a few weeks later. This time, he was more cautious, waiting until the cloaked figure was completely occupied before making his move. He bided his time, carefully observing his guardian's routines, and when the moment came, he slipped out unnoticed. The busy streets of the city greeted him, a mix of excitement and nerves coursing through him. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, bathing the city in a warm, golden glow as Harry moved through the throngs of people.
Tall buildings towered above, their facades reflecting the setting sun's light. Cafés and small shops lined the streets, with baristas serving the last coffees of the day and shopkeepers tidying up their displays. The aroma of freshly baked goods wafted through the air. Children played in urban parks, their laughter blending with the hum of conversation and the occasional ring of a bicycle bell. Harry moved quickly but carefully, weaving through the crowds, his heart racing with the thrill of his temporary freedom. He marveled at the sights and sounds of the city, absorbing every detail while remaining vigilant. Despite the allure of his surroundings, a sense of urgency propelled him forward, knowing he had to remain cautious and aware of any potential threats lurking in the vibrant chaos around him.
As Harry walked, he once again noticed cloaked figures vanishing behind cars and shadowing him from a distance. His eyes darted around nervously, catching glimpses of their dark forms slipping into alleys and behind parked vehicles. The metropolis around him was alive with everyday activities: families shopping, couples strolling hand in hand, and children playing, all blissfully oblivious to the silent chase unfolding among them.
The cloaked figures never drew too close, always maintaining a calculated distance that kept Harry on edge. Every time he thought he might have lost them, he would spot another figure out of the corner of his eye, slipping through the crowd with unsettling ease. His heart pounded as he tried to blend in, his mind racing with plans and contingencies.
Near an ice cream parlor called "Kiwi Cones," Harry's eyes landed on a sweet old lady with her grandchildren. The parlor had a welcoming neon sign, with pictures of their treats plastered all over the windows. The old lady sat serenely at a small table with two little grandchildren, her silver hair neatly pinned back and wearing a floral dress. Her eyes twinkled with joy as she watched her grandchildren, two lively kids, enjoying their ice cream.
The grandchildren, a boy, and a girl, were a picture of innocent delight. The boy, with tousled brown hair and freckles splattered across his cheeks, eagerly licked a cone piled high with chocolate ice cream, which had already begun to drip down his fingers. The girl, slightly younger, had pigtails and bright blue eyes that sparkled with excitement as she savored her vanilla cone, her face smeared with evidence of her treat.
Harry wondered if he could trust this grandmother. Desperate, he approached the old lady, his voice trembling as he spoke. Her warm, kind eyes met his, and for a moment, he felt a flicker of hope.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said in a hushed tone, glancing over his shoulder to see if the figures were still there. They were, lingering at the periphery, watching. "I'm being followed. Those people... they're after me."
The old lady looked up, her kind eyes widening with concern as she took in the sight of the disheveled boy before her. She glanced around, trying to spot the threat, and then looked back at Harry. "Oh dear, are you alright? Who's following you?"
Harry nodded frantically, his eyes darting around. "I don't know who they are, but they've been following me since I left home. Please, I need help."
She hesitated for a moment, glancing at her grandchildren who were now watching with wide, curious eyes. The little boy looked up from his ice cream cone, while his sister clutched her cone tightly, her eyes wide with concern. "Stay right here," the lady said, "They have a landline inside". She called the police, her voice calm but urgent as she explained the situation. Harry stood by, feeling both a sense of relief and rising panic as he noticed the cloaked figures fading back into the crowd.
When the police arrived, they took Harry to the station. The journey was a blur, the flashing lights of the patrol car and the soft murmur of the radio adding to the surreal quality of the experience. The officers who escorted him were a contrast to each other; one was a tall man with a stern face and neatly trimmed beard, while the other was a shorter woman with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. At the station, the officers asked him a barrage of questions. Their faces showed a mixture of concern and skepticism.
"What's your name, son?" the male officer asked, his voice gentle but firm.
"Harry," he replied, fidgeting in his seat.
"Harry, can you tell us where your parents are? Why are you alone in the city?" the female officer inquired, her tone more soothing.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to explain. "I don't have any parents. I've been living with someone... a man with a cloak and a weird voice. I don't know what he looks like. He's been teaching me things, but I needed to get away. I wanted to be free."
The officers exchanged glances. "And who is this person? Why do you need to get away?" the male officer pressed.
Harry's words spilled out in a rush. "They follow me everywhere. There are others like him, always watching. I tried to run away before, but they caught me. I don't even remember how. And... and they can do things, strange things. I think they can teleport."
The male officer raised an eyebrow. "Teleport? Like, disappear and reappear somewhere else?"
"Yes!" Harry said, his frustration mounting. "You have to believe me. They're dangerous."
The officers looked at each other again, their skepticism clear. "Harry, it sounds like you're in a difficult situation, but teleportation isn't real. Maybe you're just scared and confused," the female officer suggested gently.
Harry shook his head, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. "I'm not confused. I'm telling the truth."
Despite his protests, the officers continued to ask about his background, whether he had been abused, trying to piece together a more conventional story. As the hours dragged on, Harry felt a growing sense of despair. They didn't believe him, and without proof, he knew he couldn't convince them. The station, with its harsh fluorescent lights and the constant buzz of activity, felt increasingly like a dead end. Harry could tell that the police officers were planning something and that they genuinely seemed to care, but he did not know if he could trust them if they didn't believe his story.
Night fell, and Harry's energy waned. He slumped in his chair, the questions blurring into an incomprehensible drone. He fought to stay awake, but exhaustion finally overcame him.
The next morning, Harry woke up back in his room, with no memory of how he got there. The familiar surroundings felt oppressive, the mystery of his recapture weighing heavily on him. The cloaked figure continued their routine as if nothing had happened, not acknowledging Harry's second failed attempt to escape.
Harry began to wonder if he had some kind of "mental problem." He was just a kid, but even he knew that forgetting things wasn't normal. There was no way he could stay asleep while being carried back to the apartment from the police station without waking up at any point during the journey.
Harry waited months before trying a third time. During this period, he buried himself in books, absorbing every bit of knowledge he could. He enjoyed the wait, finding solace in the stories and information while plotting his next escape with meticulous care. He was determined not to get caught a third time.
The attempt came around May, as the temperature dropped and fall slid into winter on this side of the globe. The days grew shorter, the nights colder, and Harry's sense of urgency grew with the changing season. He could not wait any longer; he needed to get out. Something had shifted in the energy around his host, the cloaked figure. There was a darkness to their mood that hadn't been there before, an aura of anger and frustration that made Harry uneasy.
The figure's once calm and enigmatic presence had become more volatile. He moved with a restless energy, his silence now heavy with an undercurrent of tension. Harry was fairly certain it had nothing to do with him, but the intensity of the figure's emotions was palpable, and it filled the apartment with a stifling atmosphere that Harry could no longer bear.
He prepared carefully for his third escape. He had managed to acquire a map, a small, detailed piece of paper that had taken days of careful planning and a bit of sleight of hand to steal. This time, he would use the map to navigate out of the city quickly and efficiently, avoiding the mistakes of his previous attempts.
On the night he decided to leave, Harry felt a mixture of excitement and fear. He waited until the figure went to bed, then waited an additional two hours, just in case. Finally, when Harry was certain his host was sleeping, he made his escape, grabbing a backpack he had prepared and hidden for weeks.
Harry stepped out of the apartment, determined to succeed this time. The air was crisp as he slipped out of the apartment, the city lights flickering in the cool evening air.
The night was alive with activity; bars and late-night eateries were open, casting warm, inviting glows onto the sidewalks. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and music spilling out from taverns, and the occasional clink of glasses. Harry moved through the throngs of night owls, blending into the small crowds with ease. He marveled at the city's nocturnal vibrancy, the neon signs flickering in the darkness, and the steady stream of people enjoying the cold night. Despite the excitement of his newfound freedom, he remained vigilant, his eyes constantly darting around, both to soak in the atmosphere and to ensure he wasn't being followed.
Harry moved quickly, the map clutched tightly in his hand. He kept to the shadows, avoiding the well-lit areas where he might be seen. The city was a labyrinth, but the map guided him through the maze of streets and alleyways. He could feel the eyes of the silent watchers on him, but he was prepared this time. He took unexpected turns, doubled back, and used the crowds to his advantage, slipping through unnoticed.
As he strode farther into the city, the sounds of distant car horns, murmured conversations, and the occasional shout began to fade. He entered quieter streets, leaving the popular areas behind as he headed toward the outskirts where his map led him to the edge of the city.
Hours passed, and Harry's legs ached from the constant movement, but he pushed on, driven by the determination to finally break free. The temperature dropped further as the night deepened, the cold biting at his skin through his thin jacket. His small backpack bounced on his shoulders as he maintained a firm stride. He kept glancing at the map, ensuring he was on the right path, each step taking him further away from the city and the cloaked figure.
By dawn, he had managed to elude his followers. The cityscape gave way to open fields and sparse woods, the concrete and steel replaced by dirt paths and wild terrain. Harry's breath came in puffs of white mist in the chilly morning air. He looked around, realizing he had made it. He was outside the city, on a dirt path that led into the unknown.
The path was narrow and uneven, bordered by tall grass that swayed gently in the breeze. Trees lined the horizon, their bare branches stark against the grey sky. Harry felt a surge of exhilaration and relief wash over him. He was finally alone, unwatched, and free from the oppressive presence of his host.
The landscape was unfamiliar, but Harry didn't mind. The sense of freedom was intoxicating. He walked down the dirt path, his steps lighter despite the exhaustion that weighed on him. The air smelled fresh, a mix of earth and fallen leaves, a stark contrast to the city's polluted scent.
As he moved further along the path, he could hear the distant sounds of nature – rooks cawing, the rustle of leaves, the occasional snap of a twig. It was calming, a far cry from the constant noise and surveillance he had grown accustomed to. Harry allowed himself a moment to savor the tranquility, his mind racing with possibilities of what lay ahead.
Despite the uncertainty of his situation, Harry felt a newfound sense of hope. He had made it this far, and he was determined to keep going. The map had served its purpose, guiding him out of the city, but now he was on his own. He folded it carefully and tucked it into his jacket, knowing it might still be useful.
Harry continued down the path, the early morning light gradually brightening the world around him. He didn't know where he was going, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was heading in the right direction. He was free, and that was all that mattered.
It turned out that escaping wasn't all that mattered. Harry wandered for days, living off the water and snacks he had packed in the small backpack he had run away with. It wasn't enough, not nearly enough.
At first, Harry had stayed close to roads and towns, refilling his water dozens of times in rest stops and shop bathrooms along the way. He hadn't gotten very far those first few days, moving cautiously and always on the lookout for signs of his silent watchers. But as he ventured into more remote areas, the refills became rare, and he began to second guess his traveling.
The truth was, a part of him had hoped he would be found by the cloaked figure by now. He had wanted to run away, taste freedom, and then be found later, maybe gain a little more transparency from his host. It was a silly, childish plan, but a part of him had hoped that his host cared about him as much as he had started to care about his host.
Yet now that Harry was truly alone again, he was terrified. He had been in comfort for a long time, living off the luxuries of his kidnapper, enjoying the amenities of the city. Now, he found himself in a large valley, surrounded by low mountains, with nobody around to steal from and no places to refill water.
The valley was vast, the ground covered in a thick layer of fallen leaves that crunched under Harry's boots. The trees were tall and bare, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers towards the overcast sky. The air was crisp, carrying a hint of moisture that promised rain. Harry shivered despite his layers, gloves, and boots, his breath visible in the cold air.
During the day, he kept moving, the rhythm of walking keeping him warm and his mind occupied. But the nights were terrible, the cold seeping through his clothes and into his bones. He found a sheltered spot, huddled under his jacket, and tried to sleep. However, he spent the night tossing and turning, his paranoia waking him every hour to look around and listen for any signs of danger.
He remembered the first few nights after he had been taken in by the cloaked figure, the warmth of the apartment, the soft bed, and the feeling of safety despite the strangeness of his situation. He had figured out that his host was a man pretty quickly, despite the voice having a strange, subtle buzz to it, and despite the efforts the figure had taken to hide his identity. Harry had heard the man's real voice on a few occasions when the man had either slipped or perhaps revealed it on purpose. It was a deep voice, with a gentle tone, subtly different from the artificial-sounding regular voice he usually used. Harry wasn't sure how he faked his voice, but knowing his host was a man with a deep voice had been comforting. Any information he gathered made him feel closer to the man.
Now, he was far from that comfort, and the wilderness felt vast and unforgiving. The valley stretched out before him, surrounded by low mountains that seemed to close in as the days passed. The terrain was rough, and Harry's progress was slow. His supplies dwindled, and he began to feel the sharp pangs of hunger. The streams he found were infrequent, and he had to ration his water carefully.
He stumbled upon a small clearing one afternoon, the weak sun filtering through the clouds and casting a pale light on the landscape. In the middle of the clearing was an old, abandoned cabin. It looked weathered and worn, with vines crawling up its sides and the roof partially caved in, but it was shelter. Harry approached cautiously, pushing open the creaking door and peering inside. The interior was dark and musty, with broken furniture and a dirt-covered floor, but it was better than nothing. It was certainly preferable to spending another night curled up and fully exposed to the harsh elements.
Harry spent the night in the cabin, huddled in a corner with his backpack as a makeshift pillow. The wind howled outside, rattling the loose shutters and making the old wood groan. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but his mind was restless. The fear of being truly alone gnawed at him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a terrible mistake.
The days turned into a blur of survival, each one blending into the next. Harry's energy waned, and the isolation took its toll. He found himself talking to the trees, the birds, and even the rocks, just to hear a voice, even if it was his own. The sense of freedom he had longed for was overshadowed by the stark reality of his situation. He was alone, lost, and running out of time.
One cold, clear morning, Harry stood at the edge of the valley, looking out over the expanse of wilderness. His breath came in slow, visible puffs, and his body ached from the days of travel and lack of food. He felt a wave of despair wash over him. The vastness of the world seemed to mock his efforts, reminding him of how small and insignificant he was.
As he stood there, he thought about the cloaked figure, the man who had taken him in, taught him, and cared for him in his own strange way. He had left to find freedom, but now he realized that freedom came with a price. He had traded comfort for uncertainty, and he wasn't sure if he had made the right choice.
Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. He was determined to survive, to find his way, and to prove that he could make it on his own. He turned away from the valley, the mountains looming in the distance, and began to walk. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stop. Not now, not ever.
Albus Dumbledore and Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody found Harry Potter in a remote part of New Zealand, about 30 miles from the nearest town. Their search had been arduous, guided by the steady determination of an owl that Dumbledore had sent out with a fake letter to locate the boy. As they zeroed in on the missing child, they hadn't seen him at first, concealed among the dense foliage and natural camouflage of the wilderness.
When they did see him, both of their breaths hitched in their throats, and both men choked up at the sight before them. A small ten-year-old boy lay motionless in a pile of leaves, dressed in tattered rags and surrounded by a nest-like structure he had fashioned from debris and whatever materials he could scavenge. His frail body was curled up inside, looking severely malnourished and shockingly thin.
Albus Dumbledore rushed over, tears spilling from his old, wizened face. His heart ached with a sorrow he hadn't felt in years. A sob escaped him as he gently picked up the boy, Harry not stirring from the touch, his body limp and unresponsive.
"I have failed you, Harry Potter. I have failed you beyond measure. I am the biggest fool in all of the world. I have failed you, your parents, and the entire magical world," Dumbledore whispered, his voice breaking with emotion.
Moody, ever vigilant and usually stoic, felt a lump form in his throat. His magical eye whirred as he surveyed the boy's condition, a deep sense of pain and sadness washing over him. He knelt beside Dumbledore, his gruff exterior softened by the scene before him. Together, they began casting diagnostic and healing spells on Harry, their wands glowing with gentle light as they worked.
Dozens of scratches, some infected, began to heal under their care. Moody detected two major parasites and immediately worked to eradicate them, while Dumbledore focused on replenishing Harry's severely depleted physical energy and electrolytes. The boy's malnutrition was at life-ending levels; it was a miracle he was even alive.
"Let's get him to Saint Mungo's," Moody said, his gruff voice deeper than usual, betraying the depth of his emotions.
"I know of a better place to take him," Dumbledore replied, tears still streaming down his face. "Nicolas Flamel can heal him even better than Saint Mungo's. He should have plenty of Elixir stocked up for emergencies."
As they prepared to transport Harry, Moody's mind raced with questions. 'How in the world did this happen? How had he stayed hidden for so many years?' Questions and confusion filled his mind, mingling with a profound sense of guilt for not finding Harry sooner.
Dumbledore conjured a portkey, a small, inconspicuous corkscrew that would take them back to Europe. With Harry securely in his arms, they activated the portkey, the familiar pull at their navels transporting them through space in a whirlwind of color and sound. They made several jumps, each one bringing them closer to their destination.
Finally, they arrived on the outskirts of the largest mansion in the world, nestled near a large mountain in France. The property was hidden from almost all of humanity by some of the most powerful magic available, coupled with secrets known only to the owners of the ancient home. Shielded by potent protection enchantments and a Fidelius Charm, the mansion stood as a bastion of magical knowledge and power. Dumbledore approached the grand entrance, his heart heavy with the weight of his failure but hopeful for Harry's recovery.
Nicolas Flamel, the legendary alchemist, and his wife Perenelle appeared at the doorway, their expressions a mix of concern and readiness. Nicolas was a striking man, with handsome long wavy brown hair that fell to his shoulders and deep golden eyes that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom. He looked like he was in his prime—lanky and tall, somewhat muscled, and full of energy. Perenelle, standing beside him with her light blonde hair cascading in waves down her back, was intoxicatingly beautiful, moving with grace and poise. She looked not a day over thirty, her youthful appearance belying the centuries she had lived.
Nicolas took one look at Harry and immediately ushered them inside. "We need to act quickly," he said, his voice calm but urgent.
Dumbledore and Moody followed Nicolas and Perenelle into a large, well-lit room that smelled faintly of herbs and potions. The room was filled with shelves of ancient tomes, alchemical equipment, and vials of brightly colored liquids. Perenelle moved with swift efficiency, her movements a ballet of grace as she prepared the space for Harry.
Dumbledore laid Harry gently on a soft, cushioned bed. The boy looked so small and vulnerable, his face pale and his body painfully thin. Nicolas and Perenelle stood over him, their expressions determined and compassionate.
"Nicolas, Perenelle," Dumbledore began, his voice thick with emotion, "can you help him? Will you make an exception?"
"Of course, Albus," Nicolas replied, placing a reassuring hand on Dumbledore's shoulder. "Harry is in good hands. We have the Elixir ready and other remedies to ensure his recovery. You know the rule, you must go."
Perenelle nodded, her eyes softening as she looked at the boy. "We will take care of him, Albus. You have our word."
Dumbledore looked relieved at their words, but he added, "Don't question the boy about his story yet. Let him heal and relax; we will figure out what happened later."
As the Flamels began their work, Dumbledore and Moody left the mansion, their hearts heavy with a mixture of hope and fear. The worst of the malnutrition was being addressed, and the parasites were eradicated, and nobody else had the power and abilities that the Flamels possessed.
Dumbledore knew that physical healing was just the first step. The psychological scars of Harry's ordeal would take time to mend. He wondered how the boy would cope with the trauma he had endured and whether he would ever be the same.
Harry would stay with the Flamels for as long as necessary, nurtured back to health and normalcy. The mansion, with its warmth and magic, would be a sanctuary where he could recover both body and mind. Dumbledore vowed to visit regularly, to be there for Harry in a way he hadn't been before.
As night fell, the mansion's lights cast a comforting glow through the large windows as the Flamels worked their magic. The first stars began to twinkle in the sky as Harry was brought back from the brink of death.
Neither Dumbledore nor Moody had noticed the raccoon near Harry's location when they arrived by the child's side. They hadn't noticed when the raccoon transformed into its true, human shape, watching and hidden.
They didn't notice the person using complex magic to follow them through the portkey, nor the person transforming back into a raccoon and watching them disappear into the space where the Flamels' mansion was hidden.
When Harry awoke, he found himself in a large, beautiful bedroom. The bed he lay in was king-sized, draped with white sheets that had delicate pink-gold flower patterns etched into the silky fabric. The pillows were soft and inviting, and the blanket felt like a warm embrace.
The room itself was a sight to behold. The cream-white walls were adorned with raised panel wainscoting every two feet or so, each panel intricately patterned and finely crafted. Sunlight streamed in through large windows, casting a gentle glow on the room's elegant furnishings. The room was undoubtedly a master bedroom, given its expansive size and luxurious decor. It was clearly a wealthy home, but Harry found that he liked the style. It reminded him somewhat of where he lived with the cloaked figure, but with a touch more elegance and an older, more refined charm.
Harry felt refreshed, revitalized, and strong. He couldn't remember ever feeling this good. It was as though he had slept for months without the grogginess that usually accompanied such a long rest. He felt strong and nimble like he could run a marathon and barely break a sweat.
"Where am I?" he wondered aloud, his voice barely a whisper.
The last thing Harry remembered was eating a small batch of blackberries he had found near his makeshift nest. The berries had been few in number and dying from the cold, but he had been shocked to find any at all, considering the season. He had gone to sleep shaking, with the coldest, darkest feeling he had ever experienced. He knew he was in deep trouble, and a part of him wasn't sure if he would wake up from his sleep in the morning. He had felt worn out, weak, confused, and hopeless.
Had the cloaked figure saved him? Was this his second home? The figure had certainly appeared to have money, but this was a significant step up in luxury and elegance.
Harry tried to sit up in the fancy, warm, comforting bed, but a soft chiming sound seemed to be set off by his motion. The door to the room opened, and two people strode in. They were both beautiful, glowing with health and vitality, and Harry couldn't help but gawk at the woman.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her light-blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, and her vibrant green eyes sparkled with mischief and life. Her skin was flawless, and her nails glistened as if polished by sunlight. Harry felt as though she was an angel, glowing with life and energy.
The man beside her was equally striking. He had long wavy brown hair that fell to his shoulders and deep golden eyes that held a warmth and wisdom far beyond his apparent years. He looked like he was in his prime, lanky and tall, with a lean musculature that suggested both strength and grace.
Harry gawked at the couple, wondering who they were and how they had brought him here.
The woman smiled warmly, her eyes twinkling as she spoke. "Hello, Mr. Potter. My name is Perenelle, and this is my husband, Nicolas. You are safe here." Her voice was smooth and soft, with a gentle singsong lilt that Harry found pleasant to listen to.
Nicolas stepped forward, his golden eyes meeting Harry's with a reassuring gaze. "We found you just in time, Harry. You were in a very dire state, but you're going to be alright now. You're in our home, and we will take care of you."
Harry's mind raced with questions, but he felt awkward in their presence and wasn't sure what to say to them. "Thank you," he managed to say eventually, his voice shaky, "But how did I get here? Where am I?"
Harry spent over a month at the Flamel residence, even though he felt healed almost right away. The mansion was a marvel, filled with wonders that both fascinated and comforted him. Each room was massive and held secrets and stories of a world Harry had never known but was now slowly discovering.
From the moment he had awoken in that luxurious bedroom, Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel had been nothing but kind and patient. They ensured Harry had everything he needed, from nutritious meals to engaging books and comfortable clothing. Despite his rapid physical recovery, they insisted he stay, wanting to ensure he was truly well in body and spirit.
It was on his second day there that the Flamels decided to tell Harry about the magical world. They had led him to a grand sitting room, its walls lined with ancient tomes and magical artifacts. A fire crackled brightly in the hearth, casting a warm light across the room.
"Harry," Nicolas began, his deep golden eyes serious yet kind, "there is something important we need to tell you about your heritage."
Harry had listened with wide, disbelieving eyes as the Flamels unfolded the story of his life. They spoke of his parents, James and Lily Potter, who had been remarkable wizards. They told him about Voldemort, the dark wizard who had caused so much pain and suffering, and how his parents had died protecting him. They explained the scar on his forehead, a mark of the deadly curse that had miraculously rebounded, making Harry famous in the wizarding world.
"And there's more, Harry," Perenelle added, her vibrant green eyes sparkling with both excitement and sorrow. "You are a wizard, just like your parents. You have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where you will learn to harness your magical abilities."
Harry wanted to laugh at the insanity of what they were saying. It sounded like something his imagination would come up with. Magic, wizards, a school for witchcraft and wizardry—it all seemed too fantastical to be real. Yet, as he looked into the earnest faces of Nicolas and Perenelle, he found that he readily believed every word.
"How can this be?" Harry asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and wonder. "Magic... wizards... It's all real?"
Nicolas nodded, his expression gentle. "Yes, Harry. It's all real. And you are a very special part of that world."
Perenelle smiled at his eagerness, noticing how he had let his guard down while he was distracted. He seemed so much older than ten years old, yet when he wasn't paying attention, the child in him became visible again.
"We know this is a lot to take in, but you have a great destiny ahead of you Harry. Hogwarts will be a place where you can learn and grow, surrounded by people who will care for you."
Finally, Nicolas pulled out a long, thin wand and whispered a word that Harry couldn't make out. A beautiful ball of blue fire flared to life, floating between Harry and the couple.
Harry gasped despite himself, marveling at the beautiful blue flames that had roared to life in front of him. He found himself wishing he could cast balls of fire from a wooden stick, just like that. Realizing that he might indeed have that type of superpower after all filled him with wonder and excitement, the blue flames reflecting in his sparkling eyes.
Harry had begun to daydream about the magical school he would attend, imagining what Hogwarts would be like. Perenelle had given Harry books with moving pictures of Hogwarts, and he absorbed the new information like a man dying of thirst in the desert. Each page was a portal to a new world, filled with enchanted castles, secret passages, and moving images of students casting spells, flying on broomsticks, and brewing potions.
One afternoon, Perenelle had placed a book on Harry's lap titled "Hogwarts: A History," and he had been captivated by the animated images of the grand castle, its towering spires, and the lush grounds. He watched in awe as students in robes walked through the halls, the staircases shifting beneath their feet, and ghosts floated serenely through the corridors. His mind was filled with wonder and excitement, eager to experience it all for himself.
Harry was told he was allowed to explore any part of the Flamel estate, and he was shocked by the sheer size and scope of the property.
The mansion itself was the biggest home he had ever seen, with hundreds of rooms, each more magnificent than the last. It was larger than any medieval castle, a magnificent wonderland filled with ancient rooms that seemed to stretch on forever. Enchanted statues stood in every hallway, striking playful poses and winking or dancing as he passed. Hidden trapdoors added an element of surprise and adventure, ready to whisk curious explorers off to secret chambers and hallways filled with delightful mysteries. Magical moving pictures adorned most walls, their subjects bursting with personality and life. The pictures talked to him, offering cheerful greetings, sharing hilarious anecdotes, and engaging in lively, animated discussions that filled the air with laughter and excitement. Every corner of this enchanted place was alive with magic, creating an atmosphere of perpetual fun and wonder that made each moment an exhilarating adventure.
'The pictures talk!' Harry had thought in wonder and surprise at the first painting he had seen that first day.
He had spent hours listening to the portraits, rarely interrupting and mostly prompting and redirecting them when they went too far off-topic. He wanted to hear as much as possible about the magical world, and the portraits were more than happy to overshare with a captivated audience.
The Flamels' home was a dream come true for any child with a sense of adventure, and Harry, in particular, relished his newfound independence. He thoroughly enjoyed his stay, with unlimited tasty food, clean fresh drinking water, a warm, comfortable bed, and the freedom to do as he pleased without anyone forcing him to do anything.
The land around the mansion held many wonderful treasures as well. The Flamel's home sat on a sloping hill, with a large forest behind the towering home and a lake near the front. On both sides, fields of grass and flowers stretched out as far as the eye could see.
One of the most fascinating areas was the large stables filled with magical creatures. Harry had never seen anything like it. Thestrals, Hippogriffs, unicorns, and pearly white Pegasi wandered in and out of the stables. Each creature was more astonishing than the last. The Paranels had endless food and drink for the animals, magically refilling without any visible source. Harry marveled at this, guessing it was just another wonder of magic.
The Thestrals had been particularly fascinating to Harry. Perenelle, who had taken him on a tour of the property, explained that only those who had seen death could see the beautiful leathery black-winged horses. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched the Thestrals, their eerie beauty captivating him.
The mansion also boasted two indoor pools and one large outdoor pool, each more luxurious than the last. Harry found himself drawn to the large outdoor pool, which was decorated with intricate designs and surrounded by exotic magical plants. The air around the pool was filled with an intoxicating scent, a blend of citrus and a sweet, indescribable aroma that was easily the most wonderful smell he had ever encountered. The scent gave him energy and invigorated him almost instantly.
Perenelle had pointed to a bright orange plant near the pool that curled and uncurled every few seconds. "That plant," she had explained, "releases a calming magical mist. It smells like heaven, doesn't it?"
Harry nodded without saying anything, inhaling deeply. He felt an immediate burst of energy and clarity fill his mind. The worries of his past and the anxieties of his future seemed to melt away, replaced with a sharp, fresh focus.
Every day, Harry discovered something new on the expansive Flamel estate. One of his favorite spots was the lake. It was vast and clear, its surface reflecting the sky like a giant mirror. On sunny days, the water sparkled with a dazzling array of colors, creating a mesmerizing mosaic of light. The lake seemed to hold a magical quality, drawing Harry to its shores again and again.
Fish with shimmering scales swam beneath the surface, their movements graceful and hypnotic. They darted in and out of the sunlight, creating a dance of color that Harry could watch for hours. Occasionally, he would see a strange scaly monster with enormous teeth like daggers grin at him from the depths of the lake. Its eyes, large and menacing, would lock onto Harry's for a moment before it turned its massive scaled body and dove back into the dark waters. The sight was both thrilling and terrifying, leaving Harry with a mix of curiosity and caution.
Other times, Harry would see strange glowing eyes peering at him from the depths, eerily humanoid. These encounters were rare, but each time they happened, Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. The eyes would watch him silently, their glow cutting through the murky water like lanterns in the night. He often wondered what kind of creatures lived in the lake and whether the Flamels had put them there, or whether the lake had been here with these creatures all along.
One particularly memorable afternoon, Harry sat on a large rock at the lake's edge, his feet dangling just above the water. The sky was a brilliant blue, with fluffy white clouds drifting lazily overhead. The gentle breeze carried the fresh scent of water and grass, and the rustling of leaves provided a soothing soundtrack to his thoughts.
As he gazed into the water, he saw the familiar shimmering scales of the fish. But today, there was something more. A large shadow moved beneath the surface, and Harry leaned forward, his eyes widening with anticipation. The water rippled, and a massive head emerged, covered in dark green scales. The creature's eyes were a striking yellow, and its mouth, filled with razor-sharp teeth, curved into what looked like a grin.
Harry's heart raced, but he couldn't look away. The creature held his gaze for a long moment before slowly sinking back into the depths, its body undulating like a serpent. Harry released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his mind racing with the possibilities of what he had just seen.
Another day, as dusk settled over the estate, Harry saw the eerie glowing eyes again. He had wandered to the lake after dinner, drawn by the stillness and beauty of the evening. The sky was painted with hues of orange and pink, and the first stars were beginning to appear. The lake, now a deep azure, reflected the changing colors of the sky.
As he sat by the water's edge, he noticed the eyes. They glowed with an otherworldly light, almost seeming to pulse with a rhythm of their own. Harry felt a mixture of fear and fascination. He knew the Flamels would never let him be harmed, but the unknown was always a little scary.
The eyes remained for a while, watching him intently. Harry found himself talking to them, asking questions about who they were and what they wanted. Of course, there was no response, but it felt comforting to speak, to share his thoughts with the mysterious presence.
As the weeks passed, Harry's encounters with the lake's creatures became less frightening and more intriguing. He learned to appreciate the mystery and beauty of the magical world around him. The Flamels had created a sanctuary where magic and nature coexisted in perfect harmony, and Harry felt privileged to be a part of it.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the lake, Perenelle joined Harry by the water's edge. She wore a white dress adorned with beautiful designs, the fabric catching the light and making her look almost ethereal. Harry, feeling awkward and intimidated by her presence, sat in silence. He rarely spoke to Perenelle, though she didn't seem to mind.
Perenelle sat beside him on the large rock, her movements graceful and serene. For a few moments, they watched the tranquil waters of the lake, the gentle ripples reflecting the colors of the setting sun. The air was cool and filled with the sounds of evening—crickets chirping, leaves rustling in the breeze, and the occasional splash from the lake.
"Harry," Perenelle began, her voice soft and hesitating. "Harry, I am not mad at you, not at all. But I have noticed that you have been hoarding food under your bed."
Harry felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. His cheeks turned red, and he looked down, unable to meet her kind, understanding eyes. He flinched at her words, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
"You do not need to hide food anymore, Harry," Perenelle continued, her voice gentle and reassuring. "You will never go hungry again, I will make certain of it. You will be in good care at Hogwarts, and you will likely have plenty when you leave that school after your seventh year."
She placed a gentle hand on his back, but Harry flinched from the touch, his body tensing up. Perenelle withdrew her long, delicate fingers, feeling a deep sadness in her heart for this orphaned child who had known so much hardship and fear.
"Harry," she said softly, her eyes filled with compassion, "I promise you, you will never lack again. I have more money than I could ever use, and I promise you, you can always come to me if you need help again."
Harry sat there, his eyes still downcast, not responding. He felt a mix of shame and gratitude, unsure how to express the tumultuous emotions inside him. He did not fully trust the Flamels, and he certainly did not trust them enough to reveal his safety precautions. Nobody else would understand why he HAD to have backup food, just in case. Perenelle didn't press him, understanding that trust and healing would take time.
They sat together in silence, watching the sun set and the lake transform under the fading light. Its surface became a dark mirror, reflecting the glittering stars. The world around them grew quiet, the world seemed to hold its breath with the passing of a new day.
Perenelle stayed with Harry for what felt like hours, neither spoke though she knew her presence was helpful to Harry. She knew she couldn't erase the scars of his past or the fears that haunted him, but she could offer him support, kindness, and a promise of a better future.
As the night deepened, Perenelle spoke again, her voice a whisper in the stillness. "Harry, you are strong and brave, just like your parents. You have endured so much, and yet you have a kind heart. Never forget that you are special, and you are loved."
Harry remained silent and still, his eyes fixed on the water, but Perenelle could sense that he was listening, taking in her words. She didn't need a response; the important thing was that he knew she cared enough to say those words.
The next few days passed with no change from Harry, and if anything, Perenelle guessed that his hoarding of food had gotten worse. He was now hiding the food in the closet of his room, behind a box of extra socks the Flamels had given him in case he needed more pairs. Harry seemed to wear the same clothes every day, rarely changing them.
Harry loved discovering new secrets around the Flamel property. Beyond sitting by the lake, exploring the mansion, or watching the Thestrals, Harry loved exploring the forest. Massive and ancient, the forest was filled with towering trees whose branches stretched high into the sky, creating a dense canopy that cast the forest floor in perpetual twilight. The air was rich with the scent of pine and earth, and every step Harry took seemed to uncover a new marvel.
He often wandered its winding paths, feeling like an explorer in an uncharted land. Harry's imagination conjured up images of himself wearing explorer clothes and an adventurer hat like he had once seen on the telly. He would envision discovering new creatures and places in his daydreams. In this forest, Harry quickly discovered that he was not far off the mark.
The trails wound through dense undergrowth, sometimes narrowing into almost invisible tracks. The forest was thick and lush, with ferns and bushes crowding the sides of the paths, creating a sense of mystery and seclusion.
One afternoon, as Harry ventured deeper into the forest, he came across a particularly ancient tree with a thick, gnarled trunk. As he approached, he noticed movement among the branches. Upon closer inspection, he saw a group of tiny creatures with twig-like bodies and sharp, beady eyes watching him from the safety of their tree homes.
Intrigued, Harry returned to the mansion and asked Nicolas about the creatures he had seen.
"Those are bowtruckles, Harry," Nicolas explained, his deep golden eyes twinkling with amusement. "They are shy creatures, guardians of the trees they live in. They are not native here, but we have introduced a few branches. The Scandinavian magical community has a belief that only the purest of souls can earn their trust enough to have one follow them."
Harry's eyes widened with fascination. "Purest of souls?" he echoed, feeling a mix of curiosity and determination. "Does that mean they won't trust someone who has done bad things?"
Nicolas smiled kindly. "Everyone makes mistakes, Harry. What matters is the goodness in your heart. If you are kind and true, the bowtruckles will see that. Earning their trust is a sign of a pure soul."
Determined to prove himself, Harry made it his mission to earn the trust of the bowtruckles. He wanted to convince the world, and perhaps himself, that he was good at heart. If nothing else, it could provide some cover for his future actions, if he got caught doing something he shouldn't.
Over the next few days, Harry returned to the ancient tree, each time bringing small offerings of food that Nicolas had provided him upon request. The bowtruckles particularly liked insects, and Nicolas would give him small bags of dried bugs to bring with him. The bowtruckles grew more accustomed to his presence, and one in particular, a braver bowtruckle than the rest, began to venture closer. Harry named this one Leafy, admiring its courage and curiosity.
Harry spent hours sitting quietly by the tree, watching Leafy and the other bowtruckles go about their business. He marveled at their intricate homes, made from twigs and leaves, nestled within the bark of the ancient tree. Leafy would often come out to greet him, his tiny twig-like arms reaching out to touch Harry's hand. This small connection filled Harry with a sense of accomplishment and joy.
As days turned into weeks, Harry and Leafy developed a tentative friendship. Leafy began to lead Harry to hidden nooks and crannies of the forest that he wouldn't have found on his own. Together, they discovered patches of wild mushrooms and clusters of rare flowers. Harry found himself talking to Leafy, sharing his thoughts and dreams, even though he knew the bowtruckle couldn't understand him in the same way a human would.
Occasionally, Harry would bring Leafy to the lake. They would sit by the water's edge, and Harry would laugh with delight as Leafy tried to catch fish with his long fingers, hanging from Harry's lap. The sight of the tiny bowtruckle intently focusing on the fish, its twig-like fingers dipping into the water, brought a sense of pure joy to Harry's heart. Leafy's antics were both amusing and endearing, and Harry cherished these moments of simple happiness.
The bowtruckle's growing trust was a testament to his efforts, and it filled Harry with a deep sense of pride and joy.
Every day was different, and Harry felt truly happy for the first time in his life. The forest was his playground, his classroom, and his refuge. It was a place where he could dream, imagine, and believe in the limitless possibilities of the magical world, and his life in general.
Despite all the temptations of his new home, Harry's thoughts frequently returned to Hogwarts. The stories in the books and the tales Nicolas and Perenelle shared fueled his imagination. He dreamed of being sorted into one of the four houses, making friends, learning magic, and discovering the many secrets of the castle. He could hardly wait for the day when he would receive his letter and begin his journey.
One night, Harry woke suddenly from his comfortable bed. The room was pitch dark, but his window blinds were open to the dazzling stars outside. The constellations seemed to twinkle with an ethereal light, casting a faint glow that barely illuminated the shadows in the room. He could not tell what time it was, but it was clearly very late, maybe 2 a.m. or 3 a.m.
Harry pulled off the warm blanket, his bare feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. He shivered slightly, the cool air of the night biting at his exposed skin. Quietly, he slinked over to the bedroom door and carefully, slowly opened it. The door creaked softly, and Harry winced, pausing to ensure he hadn't disturbed anyone.
He crept into the dark hallway, his eyes adjusting to the dimness. The mansion was silent, a deep, almost eerie stillness enveloping the corridors. Harry moved cautiously, the soft pads of his feet making barely a sound on the polished wooden floors. After a few moments of walking, he began to hear something, someone was awake and talking. He followed the faint murmur of voices, drawn towards the large den at the end of the hall.
As he neared the den, the voices became clearer. It was Nicolas and Perenelle, speaking in low, hushed tones. Harry edged closer, pressing himself against the wall, hidden in the shadows.
"I believe he knows we are on to him, but it does not matter, we have to strike," Nicolas was saying, his voice tense with urgency.
Perenelle murmured her agreement. "Yes, I think you are right. Before he realizes what he has created. He isn't far off, and I don't want to risk it."
There was a moment of silence, heavy and foreboding, as Harry stayed hidden, listening intently. His heart pounded in his chest, a sense of dread creeping over him. The conversation sounded ominous like they were planning to attack someone.
Finally, Perenelle spoke again, her voice carrying a tone of grim resolve. "What about the Russian wizard? Is he dead?"
Harry didn't hear Nicolas's response, but he must have nodded because Perenelle continued, "Good. He would have unleashed hell on the world with that experiment of his. We had to stop him, and we didn't have a choice. We tried every other way. I am sorry you had to kill again, my love."
Harry's blood ran cold. He darted back to his room, his mind racing with what he had just overheard. His heart pounded in his chest as he quickly and silently slipped back through the door, closing it behind him with a soft click.
He climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The Flamels, who had shown him so much kindness and care, were murderers. The realization hit him like a physical blow. Even if they were truly on his side, they were clearly dangerous.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint light of the stars casting ghostly patterns above him. The house that had once felt like a sanctuary now seemed to hide dark secrets. Harry felt a mixture of fear and confusion. He had thought of Nicolas and Perenelle as benevolent and wise, but now he knew they were capable of terrible things.
The conversation replayed in his mind. Who were they talking about? What had this wizard created that was so dangerous? And what experiment could have been so threatening that it warranted his death? The questions swirled around his mind, each one more troubling than the last.
As the hours ticked by, Harry found it impossible to sleep. He kept thinking about the Flamels' conversation, the cold, clinical way they had discussed the murder. It was clear they believed they were doing the right thing, but that didn't make it any less horrifying.
Harry knew he had to be careful. He couldn't let the Flamels know he had overheard them. He had to act as if everything was normal, even though his trust in them had been shattered. He couldn't afford to let them suspect anything, not until he figured out what was going on.
Mad-Eye Moody sat by himself in the graveyard with no light to see. The dark night was cold and unwelcoming, wrapping around him like a shroud. It was a place he rarely visited anymore because it was filled with death. It was where his heart had died, where his soul had been crushed, where his love, his life, and his spirit had been smashed and trampled out.
There were three graves here, each marked with simple, weathered stones, with no flowers and no sign of previous visitors. Moody had cast spells to ensure that the graves remained clean and protected, but he hadn't visited in some time, and nobody else knew where he had buried them.
Moody had come to this site after leaving Harry Potter's side. He had felt something, something dark and painful, and he had felt compelled to visit his family again, despite knowing that it would tear out his insides and leave him wounded and bleeding again.
Grief never healed. Moody knew this all too well. You simply grew stronger around the grief, but the grief itself never diminished. It never stopped hurting. It never got easier. It was a constant presence, a hole that followed him everywhere.
Moody dropped his head to the gravestone, his body shuddering suddenly as memories flooded back. His beautiful wife, glowing with the fondness of memories. She was twirling in his arms as they danced, her warm, beautiful body molding smoothly to his strong, sturdy form. They had danced together to her favorite music, lost in each other's embrace.
A sob escaped Moody's lips, uncontrollable and raw. His frame shook with the force of his grief as he gasped and shuddered. The memory expanded, bringing with it the image of his twin little boys running to him with open arms, calling for him to pick them up.
His sobbing grew hysterical as he remembered a scene, whether real or a combination of multiple memories, he wasn't even sure. He had one twin on his shoulders, the other in his arms, as he and his wife took them to see a Quidditch game. His only children had laughed and screamed with joy as he ran with them, his wife beaming with love and pride at her three boys.
Moody cried as memory after memory filled his mind. He remembered their first steps, their first words, their laughter, and their mischief. He remembered the warmth of his wife's embrace, her laughter, her love. Each memory was a dagger to his heart, intensifying his longing beyond any bearable levels.
There was no goodness in this world, no fairness, no justice. Only pain, suffering and more pain. The universe had taken everything from him, leaving him a hollow shell of the man he once was. He had fought, he had protected, but he couldn't save them. The guilt and the sorrow were insurmountable.
Moody eventually fell asleep beside his family, his tears spent and his guard down. His magic, always alert and ready, relaxed in this place of sorrow. The cold ground beneath him was a poor substitute for the warmth of his family's love, but it was all he had left. He was home, but home was no more.
A/N: Please leave me a review! Help me find errors, it makes the story better for everyone!
I know that I have mixed up "he" and "they" with the cloaked figure. I am attempting to fix it, but I am sorry for the annoyance.
Just FYI, the reason chapters are taking a long time to put out is because of the research I need to do for each new place. I aim to make each creature, plant, and location as accurate as possible, and it takes me a long time to get it right. As such, if I made a mistake, please let me know. I understand that to be absolutely accurate, I would only be able to publish an update once a month or less. So only with your help can I truly reach perfection.
I hope you are enjoying this story so far, and I can't wait to show you where I take this plot and how I weave everything together! Onwards!