The Alchemist
Moons have passed since we buried Antioch, and yet, it feels in my heart as though no time has gone by as I once more find myself cursing Death and mourning for Cadmus.
He had not been himself, and I had thought that, like me, he was struggling to come to terms with what had happened to our brother.
Had I any indication of his own tribulations, perhaps I could have saved him from himself.
It is a guilt I shall carry for the rest of my days.
The stone.
It all came down to the damned stone and the false hope it had given him.
He'd made no secret that he missed his once intended, and that there would be no other after she had perished after birthing their son out of wedlock, but I could not have fathomed he would have attempted to bring her back.
Another mistake on my part.
Cadmus seemed to have accepted her passing with all the grace one would expect, but from what I have learned now, it tortured him every moment he breathed without her.
Still, I cannot absolve him of his foolishness nor rid myself of those desperate hours that he'd needed me.
I've been so consumed in my work that I could not see the dire straits of my own kin.
I expect that me finding him hanging from the beams of his own bedroom is a punishment of sorts for my neglect.
To see your brother so lifeless with a neck longer than should be natural was one thing, but to find his maudlin musings in his own hand was another.
She is here, I cannot believe she is back…
Something is not right. It is undoubtedly my beloved Eris, but there is no warmth from her…
She will not stop begging me to let her go. Why can she not see that we belong together?
To see her here but so far away out of my reach is worse than her death. I want to grasp her, every part, but I cannot…
Cruelty. That is what this stone is. It returned only a shadow my beloved to me…
Still, she asks to be returned from whence she came…I cannot let her go…not again…
It is done. I could no longer keep her, but I cannot be without her. I am sorry, brother, but Death has broken me. I have cast the stone away so that it may never find its way into the hands of another, so that everyone else will be spared my fate. There is only one thing left so that I may truly be with my Eris. I beg that you do not despise me, Ignotus. We will meet again soon in a world I pray that is less cruel than this…
I would never have thought Cadmus to be the type to end his own suffering in such a way, but alas, I understand.
This is a cruel world, and one only made crueller by our own foolishness.
My brother's choices cost them their lives, and Death is once again sated with the blood and soul of a Peverell.
Mine will not be claimed so easily for I have children to raise, a wife to care for, and the cloak to conceal me from his ever-watching gaze.
Oh, he will have his due, that is inevitable, but it will indeed be on my own terms that I will greet him once more.
If only I can endure the heavy heart that plagues me…
I must.
If nothing else, my tireless work will continue and Death can wait.
Come Death, Come.
We shall meet again.
Harry peered up from his writing and into the same looking glass he had previously, his eyes widening in surprise once more as he took in the reflection.
Ignotus was worn, tired, and his eyes were full of the same abject sadness he could feel himself.
Two brothers had perished, and only one remained.
"I can feel you there," Ignotus spoke. "I thought I had been mistaken, but it is you again. Is this another trick of Death?"
Harry felt a sense of panic set in as he looked into the narrowed eyes of Ignotus Peverell, only to be given a reprieve as he was pulled through the void and back onto his own bed.
As ever when he returned from the visions, Harry was breathing heavily, but worse yet was the overwhelming sense of loss that remained with him, the very same that Ignotus Peverell had been feeling.
He hoped that it would subside in the next passing moments, but it did not, and as he wiped away the tears of mourning for another Peverell he felt as though he had grown up with, he steadied his breathing.
What magic was this?
How could he feel such a powerful attachment to these men when he had never even met them?
Was it a side-effect of having seemingly spent time in the mind of Ignotus Peverell?
Harry could not begin to comprehend the complexity of what he was experiencing, but for the most part, he didn't like it.
Nonetheless, though the feelings were indeed overwhelming and immovable, that was not what he wished to ponder.
Somehow, or so it appeared, Ignotus Peverell had known Harry was there with him.
If dealing with the difficulties of the emotions he came away from each vision with was confusing, this latest development escaped him entirely.
Had Harry somehow been within Ignotus's mind at that very moment all those centuries ago?
No, that was not possible, but he could not deny that the man had become acutely aware of his presence.
Shaking his head and doing his utmost to ignore the feeling of sorrowful mourning that remained prominent within him, Harry busied himself by tending to his wand.
It was a solace of sorts removing the old polish, cleaning it, and applying a new layer.
It gave him several moments to allow his mind to wander, to somewhat alleviate what it was he had endured, and focus on a menial task for a while before it inevitably came flooding back.
With his roommates sleeping, however, the last thing he expected was to hear the lock of the door click and for someone with a much heavier tread than any of the other boys enter the dormitory.
With a frown, Harry pushed his cloak further under his pillow and readied his wand just as the partition to his curtains was disturbed.
The fact that he knew little to no spells he could use to defend himself was lost on him, but with a fresh coat of polish, he brought his wand to bear, nonetheless.
It warmed in his grasp, calming Harry somewhat, though when the late-night visitor was revealed, his wand calmed itself immediately.
Professor Dumbledore was surprised to find himself staring down the length of a wand, but he cleared his throat gently and offered Harry a smile.
"I apologise for disturbing your rest, Harry, but there is someone who wishes to speak with you," he whispered.
"With me?"
Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling merrily in the moonlight pouring through the nearby window.
Harry frowned thoughtfully as he pulled on his dressing gown and followed the headmaster from the dormitory.
Who could possibly wish to speak with him?
He balked as he realised who the person likely was, but how had it been discovered that he had returned the stone?
Harry had been certain to not sign the note.
Perhaps Dumbledore had identified Hedwig.
She was a distinctive bird, after all, and Harry chastised himself for not making use of one of the school owls.
Not that he would have trusted any other with such an important task.
Nevertheless, he now faced the prospect of having to discuss the matter with Dumbledore and likely Nicholas Flamel.
Would he be expelled for what he had done?
Harry hoped not, but he did not regret his decision to intervene.
The Philosopher's Stone should never have been left within Hogwarts in the first place. Not where someone like Professor Snape could have gotten to it.
Harry had managed it, so it would likely not have been difficult for any other to do so.
No, Harry had no regrets, and if he was to be expelled, it would be that he left Hogwarts with a clear conscious.
(Break)
The stone being returned to him via post by all things had come as quite the shock to Nicholas. He had personally checked the protections around his most treasured possession himself and could not retrieve it from the odd mirror Albus had used.
To learn that another had was baffling, but an eleven-year-old boy was something else entirely.
He vaguely remembered Albus explaining the conclusion of the war Britain had found itself in due to the actions of Lord Voldemort throughout the past decades and again had ben taken aback that the very boy who had managed to obtain the stone had survived the killing curse.
Harry Potter was proving to be quite the enigma, though Nicholas would not get ahead of himself until he had spoken to him.
The aged alchemist did not know what to expect from young Harry, but as Albus returned to the office with him in tow a light frown marred his features.
For a boy of his age, Harry Potter was on the small side. His jet-black hair was messy and his skin was rather pale.
Nicholas, however, soon forgot his lacking physicality as he met the brilliant green eyes.
Instead of an innocent youthfulness one would expect to see or even nervousness at being called to the headmaster's office at such a late hour, there was little more than sadness, a haunting he had seen in those who had faced war and the most unpleasant experiences life could throw at them.
It was as though he was looking into the gaze of someone who had already lived a full life of trial and misery, and Nicholas found it to be a rather unsettling experience.
What had happened to this boy?
"You must be Harry Potter," Nicholas greeted him gently from fear the seemingly broken boy would crumble at the most delicate of questioning.
Harry nodded in response.
"Do you know who I am?" Nicholas asked.
The boy swallowed deeply.
"Nicholas Flamel."
Nicholas nodded and gestured for him to take a seat.
Tentatively, Harry did so and began to fidget uncomfortably.
"You are not in any trouble, Harry," Nicholas assured him.
"I'm not going to be expelled?"
Nicholas chuckled as he shook his head.
"Absolutely not," he answered. "If Albie here even considered it, my wife would put him over her knee."
Despite the reassurance offered, Harry relaxed only a little but stiffened as Nicholas grabbed the stone from the desk.
"Do you know what this is?"
"It's your stone, Mr Flamel."
"Do you know what it does?"
Harry nodded cautiously.
"You use it to create the Elixir of Life. It is how you have lived for more than six centuries."
"Correct," Nicholas confirmed as he eyed the boy speculatively. "It is a priceless artefact, and I find myself curious as to why you did not attempt to keep it. You could have used it for yourself or sold it for a fortune to rival any."
"I wouldn't use it," Harry said firmly.
"You wouldn't?"
Harry shook his head.
"Everyone should die, Mr Flamel. Death will always have his due."
Once more, Nicholas found himself taken aback, this time by the words of the boy.
"Death will always have his due?" Nicholas questioned, ignoring Albus's gaze boring into the back of Harry's head.
"Everyone must die, Mr Flamel. Your stone keeps you alive, and it is your choice to use it, but Death comes for everyone eventually. There's no escape from it. Even powerful relics will not keep him away forever."
The words were rather ominous, and quite unsettling to hear coming from such a young boy.
Nicholas looked towards Albus who seemed to be as concerned as he was feeling.
"You have already experienced your fair share of death, haven't you?" Nicholas pressed gently.
He didn't truly need an answer.
Harry Potter carried the burden so openly that it all but emanated from him.
He nodded, his eyes again filling with such sadness that Nicholas would not have believed possible if he wasn't seeing it for himself.
It was as though what had happened to his parents had occurred only moments prior.
Nicholas swallowed deeply as the realisation hit.
"You remember it, don't you?"
"Nicholas…" Albus pleaded and the alchemist held up a hand, waiting for an answer.
Harry nodded and Albus gasped.
"And no one has ever spoken to you about it?"
"Hagrid did," Harry revealed. "Before I got my letter, I was told they'd died in a car crash. I'd always had the dreams, but I thought they were nightmares."
"Dreams?" Nicholas probed.
"Of a woman begging for a man to kill her instead of me. There was a flash of green light and she would fall down. It was his laughter that would wake me up."
Nicholas cursed under his breath in his native tongue as he looked towards a horrified Albus.
The man hadn't known.
Why would he consider that someone would retain such a memory from when they were a babe?
Only the keenest of minds could have, and to relive it for such a long time was unacceptable.
"How often do you have this dream?"
Harry shrugged.
"A few times a week."
Again, Nicholas cursed and looked towards his former mentee.
"Well, we have two options," Nicholas sighed. "Short term, you could be given a Dreamless Sleep potion that will ensure you have no dreams, but I would not recommend it. In high doses, it can be toxic and you can become addicted to it."
"What is the second option?" Harry asked curiously, seemingly relieved that there was something that could be done to help him.
"Ah, now this option is much more complicated and will take considerable work and dedication from you. Are you up to the challenge?"
Harry nodded firmly, and Nicholas smiled.
He may be rather meek right now but there was no denying his spirit, despite what he had endured.
"Do you not believe Harry is too young?" Albus questioned worriedly.
Nicholas waved him off dismissively.
"In his case, no. I believe it will serve him well to begin at such an age. In a few years, he could be quite proficient in the art, if he truly dedicates himself to the practice."
Albus frowned but eventually nodded.
"I believe you are right," he decided. "He will need a mentor to monitor his progress. Perhaps Severus…"
"I do not believe that would be a good idea, do you?" Nicholas cut in.
Albus may trust the man for his own reasons, but Severus Snape had been a follower of the man that had murdered Harry's parents.
No, allowing him such an unprecedented access to the boy would not do at all.
"I believe I would be a much better choice," Nicholas continued. "If you would bear with me for one moment, I shall return shortly."
Offering the young boy a smile of encouragement, Nicholas took his leave of the fireplace.
He was not done speaking with Harry yet but providing the tools the boy needed to rid himself of the horrifying ordeal he endured regularly was his priority.
His own curiosity could wait for now, and besides, he knew he was likely to glean more information from Harry when the boy saw that he could trust Nicholas.
(Break)
The evening, or early hours as it was now, had steadily gone from strife to strife for Harry, culminating in him finding himself in Professor Dumbledore's office waiting for Nicholas Flamel to return having shared a very odd conversation he, Harry, understood little of.
Still, despite the current situation, he found himself dwelling on the other experience of the night; more so than he wished.
Being left with Ignotus's grief had proven to be useful when questioned by the alchemist, but the realisation that had come with the knowledge gained from the vision left him feeling hopelessly inconsolable.
The stone.
He'd allowed the foolish notion to set in that obtaining Cadmus's stone would mean that he would be able to bring his parents back, to undo what had been done to them.
From the man's final ramblings according to Ignotus, that notion had all but crumbled to dust.
It appeared that Cadmus has managed to bring back his lost love, well, something that resembled her at the very least.
Still, it had driven him so mad that what he had managed to summon was not what he remembered of the woman, so much so that he had chosen to end his life.
No, Harry would not be seeing James and Lily Potter again, not in this life.
He'd clung onto the small amount of hope, no matter how seemingly impossible the task was, and it had been shredded.
Perhaps seeing the vision would be for the best in the long run, but in this moment, Harry could only stew in yet another loss.
"How did you know it was me?" he asked Dumbledore curiously.
The man was watching him intently, and offered Harry a smile before picking up the piece of fabric he'd used to wrap the stone in.
"Magical traces are exceptional things," the headmaster chuckled, "but not the easiest things to detect. Magic, however, always leaves a trace, no matter how small."
"There are traces of my magic on there?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"Indeed," he confirmed. "Anything you have prolonged contact with will inevitably be marked. You wore this, so it is only natural."
"I didn't know that was a thing," Harry murmured, chastising himself for his lack of magical knowledge.
Dumbledore chuckled again as the fireplace burst into life and Nicholas Flamel re-entered the office.
"I was just explaining to young Harry here how we figured out it was him who returned your stone."
Nicholas nodded thoughtfully.
"You left quite the trace, Mr Potter," he sighed. "Perhaps you will be more careful in the future, should you find yourself partaking in such further activities."
"Is there a spell I can use to remove traces?" Harry enquired.
A smirk tugged at Nicholas's lips.
"There are a few," he confirmed amusedly. "Now, I am rather interested in how you managed to navigate your way to the stone."
Harry released a deep breath and shrugged.
"It was luck, mostly," he answered honestly. "I managed to sneak past Fluffy, was almost strangled by the plant thing, and I'm a good flier, so getting the key wasn't difficult."
"Harry is our youngest Seeker in over a century," Dumbledore interjected.
Nicholas hummed appreciatively.
"I snuck through the chessboard and past the troll. The clues for the potions took some time, but that was it. After that, the stone appeared in my pocket when I looked in the mirror."
"You make it sound so simple," Nicholas snorted.
"Indeed," Albus agreed, eying Harry speculatively.
"So, the flames came when you were being strangled by the plant?" Nicholas pressed.
Harry frowned before nodding.
"There were some flames," he confirmed. "I didn't make them though; it was my wand. I don't know any fire spells."
"Your wand?" Nicholas probed.
Harry nodded as he drew it.
"I don't know what happened. I was trying to fight the plant and it was winning. The next thing I knew was almost being dropped on my head."
Nicholas nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, I can assure you, Harry, that it was not the wand that created those flames. It was your magic, and it is a rather impressive feat."
"My magic?"
"Your magic," Nicholas reiterated. "From what you have said, it seems that it reacted instinctually to save you when you were on the brink of death. It is not unheard of, but to produce such a spell…"
"What was the spell?"
"Ahh, now that is what is most interesting. You see, the spell you inadvertently used is a piece of old magic, one that is seldom seen today. Now, people tend to use wand movements and incantations for the most part. It helps focus the mind on what it is you wish to achieve. Archaic magic is more reliant on the will and intent of the caster without the need of specific movements of the wand or even speaking words aloud to achieve the desired effect. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded thoughtfully, his mind drifting back to the first vision the cloak had drawn him into.
"I think so," he murmured. "What about old magic that does use incantations?" he asked curiously. "Really long pleas to get what you want?"
Nicholas quirked an eyebrow at him before his gaze shifted to Dumbledore.
"What do you mean, Harry?" the alchemist returned.
Harry shrugged.
"Like if there were lots of symbols drawn into the ground and someone used their blood or a piece of soul to cast magic."
Nicholas's eyes widened in alarm, and he kneeled next to Harry.
"Where did you see this?" he asked urgently. "Was it in your dream?"
Harry knew he had said too much. He hadn't considered his question would elicit such a reaction, and not knowing what else to do, he nodded and Nicholas shook his head.
"Such magic is very powerful and should not be taken lightly," he said firmly. "What you have described sounds like a ritual of sorts. Albus?"
The headmaster had paled considerably as he nodded.
"Very dangerous," he agreed vehemently. "Do you remember what it is your saw?"
Harry shook his head.
"No, I only dreamed it once, but I remember the blood and something about a soul."
Dumbledore hummed unhappily but fell silent once more, pondering what Harry had told him.
"What about the flames?" Harry pressed, hoping to change the topic.
"Ah, yes," Nicholas acknowledged. "You casting such a piece of magic would indicate that you have something of an affinity for this type of archaic practice, which ties in rather nicely with what I believe will assist you with your recurring dreams."
The man removed a thin, leather book from within his jacket and offered it to Harry.
"An introduction to the Mind Arts?" Harry asked with a frown. "What are the Mind Arts?"
"A very obscure and difficult branch of magic to master," Nicholas answered. "The benefits to doing so make the journey worthwhile. You see, mastering your own mind is a particularly challenging task, and one that you must remain diligent with. It is not an art you simply practice and can neglect. No, it is a lifelong dedication."
"What are the benefits to it?" Harry questioned as he thumbed through the book.
"It varies," Nicholas explained. "For one thing, it will allow you to think with utter clarity, and will help you have a better grasp of your emotions. Occlumency will help keep your secrets as you learn to close your mind to any Legilimens. Legilimency will help you see through lies that people may tell you. It will not necessarily show you the truth but will let you know when someone is being dishonest. For you, both will help rid you of your dreams. You can create a place within your mind where you can hide the memory, even from your own unconscious thoughts. There are many other documented benefits to both, but your journey is very much an individual endeavour. You may experience other benefits, but the key is to remain consistent with it. Your first task is to read this book and begin the basic practices on Occlumency as explained. When I feel enough time has passed, we will meet again and discuss your progress. Do you think you are up to the task?"
Harry nodded immediately.
It certainly sounded useful for him to learn.
"Excellent," Nicholas declared. "When you become proficient, you will find it much easier to cast spells like those wonderful flames at will rather than when you are in peril. Occlumency can help you replicate feelings of dire need, well enough that you will learn to use the archaic types of spells as you would any other. Mind, it will not be easy, Harry. The Mind Arts are amongst the most difficult to learn."
"I will give it my all," Harry assured the man.
Nicholas smiled as he stood.
"I have no doubt you will," he said appraisingly, "but I must warn you. The Mind Arts are heavily frowned upon in Britain. They are not illegal, but they are seen as quite the taboo subject in certain circles. I would advise you keep the practice to yourself, even from those you trust."
Harry nodded his understanding.
"I will."
"Good, now, I think it is best you return to your bed. It has been quite the evening."
Harry was relieved that he had been dismissed and wasted no time in heading towards the door, exiting the office and making his way back towards the dormitory.
Not only had he avoided being expelled, but he had learned a considerable amount from simply speaking to two older wizards.
"The Mind Arts," he murmured to himself as he placed the book in his pyjama pocket.
They certainly seemed they would be worth knowing.
(Break)
Albus simply stared at the door for several moments after Harry had left before shaking his head uncertainly.
"He knows more than he told us."
"He does," Nicholas agreed. "I do not believe he outright lied, but he undoubtedly kept much to himself. It was rather astute of him to do so."
"Yet quite frustrating," Albus sighed. "What do you think of him?"
"I think he is a poor child who has been horribly treated," Nicholas replied bluntly. "I think he has a good heart, but he needs to be nurtured."
"Truly?"
Nicholas nodded.
"If he harboured any ill-will, he would not have returned the stone so readily, though I am curious as to how he even knows of the concept of blood and soul magic."
"As am I," Albus murmured. "Neither are things he would have happened upon at Hogwarts."
"What about prior?"
Albus shook his head.
"He has been isolated in the muggle world with very minimal contact from any. For his own safety, I have him watched."
"You have him watched?"
Albus nodded.
"I wish it were safe for Harry to live a life without such a necessity, but there are those that will see him dead for what occurred."
Nicholas hummed unhappily.
"The blood and soul magic…"
"Do you believe he simply dreamed of them?"
"I do," Nicholas said thoughtfully, "but I do not believe they pertain to the nightmare he endures. No, he managed some quick thinking to excuse his knowledge."
"Not quick enough," Albus agreed. "If not that dream, then what could he possibly have in his mind…"
He trailed off as he pondered the concerning matter.
"I am still curious as to why he endangered himself to retrieve the stone," Nicholas huffed, "and how he managed it."
Albus hummed as he tap the top of his desk with his forefinger.
The answer was very much in front of him, and he balked as it came to light.
"The cloak."
"The cloak?"
Albus released a deep breath.
Perhaps returning it to Harry so soon had been a mistake.
"Harry has an invisibility cloak."
"An invisibility cloak would not have gotten him through that," Nicholas countered.
"This one just might have," Albus replied, his thoughts wandering to his findings when he'd checked it over.
He'd done so more than a dozen times, finding nothing out of the ordinary except for the fact that the magic within would seemingly never fade.
Other than that, it appeared to be like any other invisibility cloak he'd seen, though the magic used to weave it was quite unique, and something that refused to yield its secrets.
It may be that he had gotten something wrong or…
"Blood and soul," he whispered worriedly.
"Excuse me?" Nicholas pressed.
"I think that there may be much more to the cloak. I already know it is quite an extraordinary thing, and maybe Harry's blood and soul were the key to unlocking its true potential."
"Albus, you have lost me," Nicholas grumbled irritably. "I do wish you would curb your proclivity towards speaking a lot of words but saying very little."
Albus held up a hand to placate his former mentor.
"The cloak that Harry possesses is one that has been passed down for centuries in the Potter family. It is perhaps as impressive as the stone you created."
Nicholas frowned and gestured for him to continue.
"It is one of the Deathly Hallows."
Nicholas choked in response, his face reddening in anger.
"I thought you'd learned your lesson, Albus!"
"I did," the headmaster assured the other man. "I did not seek it out but discovered something during my early days of investigating them. The Peverell family married into the Potters some centuries ago. Harry is a direct descendant of Ignotus Peverell, the man who is said to have requested a cloak of invisibility from Death."
Nicholas deflated.
"Albus, that tale…"
"Is more than likely just a story," Albus cut him off. "I do not believe it occurred as told, but there is always a kernel of truth to even the most outlandish of tales. The cloak is very real and is in Harry's possession."
"And if it is somehow tied to the Peverell bloodline then you could not have hoped to have used it as intended."
"Indeed," Albus concurred, his hand wrapping around the shaft of the wand he'd liberated from Grindelwald so many decades prior.
Did that mean the Elder Wand didn't work for him either?
When he'd first obtained it, he'd noticed a remarkable difference with how easily he wielded his magic, and how much more powerful it made him.
Was it truly the wand that had done it or was it merely his own belief in the object?
"So, you believe the cloak may be what exactly?"
"I don't know," Albus replied, "but I am beginning to believe that it may not merely be a cloak. If it is somehow linked to soul magic, it could be much more."
"Yes and no," Nicholas returned. "It could be that there is more, but do you think it to be sinister? Why would the Peverells wish to cause harm to one of their own?"
"That is true," Albus conceded. "How do you believe we should proceed?"
"We should give the boy space," Nicholas said firmly. "I will assist him with the Mind Arts as promised. Other than that, we watch from afar unless we believe he is in danger. His magical journey is his own, Albus, and I would see it done without interference. Help when needed, but nothing else. Harry must live and learn by his own successes and errors, just as we have."
Reluctantly, Albus nodded his agreement.
He would never win an argument with Nicholas and the man tended to be right more than even himself.
For now, he would allow Harry his space, but would ensure he was on hand if and when the boy needed him.
In a way, the headmaster was very curious to see what one of the Hallows was capable of in the hands of a Peverell.
If it proved to be the right move, he may even return the wand to Harry when the time was right.
He may have need of it, after all, in the years to come.
(Break)
To master the mind, you must truly understand it, wherein lies the foundations of difficulty of the task ahead.
The mind is no singular thing.
It differs from one person to the next, everchanging through your own experiences, observations of the world, and deductions. The mind is shaped over time, never remaining what it was from one moment to the next.
However, what can be agreed upon is that each mind has a core. Within that core is nothing but the truth of who you are, your desires, your fears, your morality, and the instinctual aspects of the brain.
Most will change over time, but others will forever be, and those core traits you possess must be acknowledged and accepted now, and when they no longer are what they once were.
You must become as adaptable and as fluid as your mind if you wish to protect and use it.
For those that master it can occlude it from those that would wish to delve into it, and equally, the mind can be wielded as a weapon no different from a wand, a blade, or a fist.
First, it is paramount that you know and accept the truth of who you are. Recognise your fears, your desires.
I would urge you to write them down or speak them aloud. Acknowledging yourself is the first step on this journey.
When you know your mind intimately, and accept it, only then can you begin to occlude it, and even control it.
Look inwards, truly search it, and find yourself at peace as your mind empties of the burdens that cloud the sought-out truth.
Of all the odd things Harry had encountered in the magical world thus far, the Mind Arts were undoubtedly the most obscure.
Nonetheless, he had done as the book had urged him to and written down all of the things mentioned.
What Harry had learned was rather sobering, to say the least.
As he wrote, he did become more self-aware of who he was, of his own fears and desires that plagued him, and gave him hope in equal measures.
Was it normal for people to simply ignore these things as they journeyed through life?
Harry had but had done so to protect himself.
His fears had been more difficult to identify than his desires.
Perhaps it was that he didn't wish to acknowledge the things that filled him with terror, but if was honest with himself, which was essential, there was little he feared.
Harry realised that in life, he had little to lose.
His parents had already been taken from him and he couldn't pretend to care for the Dursleys in any sentimental way.
Of course, he had grown to care for Ron and Hermione over the months he had known them, and even those he played Quidditch with. He certainly did not wish any of them harm and would be there for them if needed.
As things were, losing the friendships he had always been denied as a child was what he feared most.
He had considered that having experienced what he had via the cloak that Death would have been at the top of the list, but Harry had quickly realised that there was little point in fearing something that was inevitable.
Death would come for him one day, and when it came, he would have the chance to see his parents again.
Or so he hoped.
He did find it odd, however, that the concept of death even excited him.
Did he truly have so little to live for?
Harry would not pretend to know his parents.
Despite seeing them only in a few photos and in the mirror, he could not for one moment believe they would approve of his current outlook on life.
They would likely be rather worried and even a little disappointed.
Harry swallowed deeply as he allowed the hot water to remove to suds from his body.
The last thing he wanted was for his mother's sacrifice to be for nothing.
She had given his life so that he may have one.
It may not have been the best so far, but Harry could change that.
The Mind Arts had already begun to open his eyes, and though he did not like much of what he saw, Harry knew he needed to accept the truth of who he was if he wished to be the best he could be.
"Oh, Harry…"
Harry shook his head as the teasing voice of Alicia sounded throughout the changing, and with a smirk, he quickly dried himself off before covering himself with the cloak.
The Chasers may be good-natured in their ribbing of him, but it was time for some revenge.
He couldn't be certain where the thought to do so came from, but as he waited for the girl to emerge within the steam, it felt natural and even exciting to lie in wait for Alicia and spring his trap.
"Where are you, Harry?" the girl cooed. "We did tell you that you had thirty seconds less. Don't you remember?"
Harry did his best not to snicker as she walked right past him, a look of confusion shifting to surprise as he stuck his foot out.
Alicia screamed as she slid across the floor and under the still-running shower.
Harry quickly made his retreat, gathering his clothes just in time before Katie and Angelina entered the changing rooms to investigate the cause of the commotion.
He did laugh as he hurried towards the castle.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Harry laughed freely.
Perhaps there was something to learning the Mind Arts, after all?
If he was able to find such joy in such a small thing already from simply acknowledging himself and acting on his impulses, what else could he learn from the obscure branch of magic?