The Wheel of Fortune
Beta: Digitize27
I answer questions about this story on by forum. Link in profile.
This chapter took time, as will all others afterwards. In the past I could use the books as a guideline but now I'm free of such things and I have to make both the past and the future consistent. This takes time, and no small amount of it.
Thank you for your patience.
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"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind." -Shakespeare
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Harry sat down for breakfast, feeling more than a little exhausted. He had been up all night again doing what he could for Tanyushka Malachite, the girl who attempted to cross the age line. Three nights in a row without sleep was pushing even his magically augmented mind to its limits.
He winced, knowing that he would have to get some proper rest tonight.
"Did you hear about what those two Durmstrang students did?" Michael began without preamble, plopping down next to Harry.
Harry hadn't.
"Of course he hasn't." Daphne rolled her eyes from where she sat on the other side of the table. "Two Durmstrang students were caught wearing Grindelwald's symbol."
"The circle, triangle, and line?" Harry asked. "I didn't know it was his official symbol."
"It is." Michael nodded. "They were nearly thrown off the campus."
Harry could imagine. It would be like walking into a Polish synagogue wearing a swastika.
"It was those two." Daphne pointed across the hall, to what looked to be a third-year durmstrang boy and a much older girl, maybe a sixth or a seventh-year. "Ivan and Alyon Pushkin. Their family supported Grindelwald in the war."
Harry frowned lightly. Grindelwald marked a certain oddity in his life, as he found himself, at least in part, attracted to a few of the sorcerer's ideals.
He had killed so many people, and yet it certainly felt to Harry that his own life may have been much better if Grindelwald had won. Both Harry and Tom had grown up in the Muggle world, but if Grindelwald had conquered Europe perhaps they wouldn't have; they both could have had families.
They could have both lived regular lives, or maybe happier ones. Just at the cost of the lives of millions of other people.
Could something like that be worth it? Could you measure something like that? Break it down into its components and weigh them?
"Grindelwald is a bit of a touchy subject here," Michael Continued. "He had a lot of support from Durmstrang, killed a bunch of people in France, and then was stopped by the English."
"So, the French blame them for what he did to them, and us for not stepping in sooner," Daphne clarified for Harry's sake. "And England rose to prominence while the rest of Europe had to recover. There's a lot of hostility about it."
She finished the last bit almost distantly and Harry eyed her hand on the table and the far-away look in her eye. She could potentially be tasting the hostility from the object. It had been built to replace what Grindelwald had destroyed in the previous French school, after all.
"So uh, whatever happened to that girl? The one who tried the line?" Michael asked, gesturing towards the flaming cup.
"Nothing," Harry answered. "She hasn't woken up yet and it's entirely possible that she never will."
This subject… also made Harry uncomfortable. Professor Snape had warned him about the impacts of his discoveries and theories and he had continued spouting them about without caution.
Is this what wizards like himself brought? Between Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Grindelwald, Harry wasn't sure the world had room for him too. Could it withstand another wizard who shook society like that?
To describe the lives of his predecessors would be to summarize the most miserable events of the last century.
If someone used one of his discoveries to kill someone, was Harry responsible? At least, in part? If someone died because of his theories, should he feel guilty?
He didn't feel guilty but that didn't mean that he shouldn't.
Daphne caught his attention by tapping at a newspaper with her finger. "You might want to see this." She slid it over to him.
He picked it up and examined the headline.
Sorcerer's Stone in Danger?
By Elise Villaneuve
On the day of Saturday, September the Fourth, at approximately 5:00 am, an attempted break in occurred at a small cottage outside Nice.
This cottage is unremarkable in many ways, but what makes this small home exceptional is that it belongs to Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel. The couple, who routinely spend their fall in the sequestered villa, planned to stay in the house this Autumn like many decades before, and would have, if they hadn't been delayed.
Thus, the would-be burglar found themselves in an empty house; the Philosopher's Stone on another continent as Nicholas gave the opening lecture at the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo just days before.
The Flamel family was unavailable for comment, and Aurors have assured the Press that nothing was taken. However, we at the Tribunal are more than willing to bet on the motives of the burglar.
There hasn't been an attempt on the legendary alchemical stone in centuries, the Flamel wards are reputed as some of the greatest in the world, and few have ever survivedthe endeavour, let alone succeeded.
The would-be burglar is suspected to be an animagus who planned to enter the cottage via the plumbing. However, when the wards were activated, the man or woman was summarily reduced. Readers can rest assured that, like the endeavors before it, this would-be immortal is quite dead.
Of course, there is the question of how the assailant knew the Flamels' private schedule. The couple had made no public announcement of their planned trip, and the wealthy duo own properties the world over that they may have decided to venture to.
I for one, sincerely hope this is the last contest for the Stone for many years to come.
The paper had gotten one thing wrong; Voldemort had survived when he made to steal the Stone, even if he hadn't actually gotten close to it.
Harry returned the paper to Daphne. "It's a good job whoever they are didn't get it."
The Stone could crash the world economy. It was one of the most dangerous magical artefacts in the world, even ignoring its most renowned ability.
"You're not interested in the Stone?" Daphne asked.
"Alchemy has never really caught my fancy, and I think I got quite enough of the thing first-year."
"Wait, the Philosopher's Stone?" Michael asked pulling the paper over to look at. "What happened first-year?"
"Quite a bit." Harry said, shrugging.
"Harry was just interested in it, that's all," Daphne said at the same time, trying to dissuade Michael from digging much deeper.
"Uh huh," Michael said slowly, looking skeptical.
Harry ignored them and settled into his thoughts, organizing them while Daphne hurriedly ran damage control.
He other concerns on his mind.
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Harry strode towards the Herbology greenhouses, nearly an acre of ground beneath beautiful and ornate glass which kept the plants warm during the colder seasons. There were garden beds outside the glass domes for the summer months which would fry plants under glass beneath the French summer sun.
The houses had a heady, earthy smell, and magical flowers blooming in pots added to the odor. It was actually quite pleasant, and that the area was beautiful certainly didn't hurt.
The fifth-year students were just leaving as Harry arrived, early as always, and two burly Durmstrang students stepped aside to block the entrance. They sneered at him, standing in his way, reminding Harry a great deal of Malfoy's lackeys.
"Excuse me," Harry said in polite German.
Daphne gave Harry a critical look for that. Was that the first time she had heard him speak German? It must have been.
"Dumbledore's pe-" The taller one began with a hostile grin. Harry interrupted him by closing his hand and letting a little of himself out of that dark pit in his chest. The air grew colder, and the one who had been attempting some snide remark flinched away other backpedaled so quickly he fell down on his arse.
Dread consumed them both, a great mouth inside Harry's chest swallowing their terror and misery even as it imparted the desperate emotions.
Begone.
He thought.
"Good bye," He said firmly, steppeing past them without delay.
"You'll regret what you did to Tanyushka," One of them would have been a lot more intimidating if he was on his feet and hadn't tripped over himself to escape the younger teen. "Her mother is a powerful woman, she'll make you pay."
"Then why are you here, if I'll get what's coming to me?" Harry dismissed without glancing back.
He walked deeper into the greenhouse. He was pretty sure a collection of vines under one of the tables attempted to trip him but they were wire thin and crumbled where they touched him.
He pulled back into himself. Feeling like he had run a few kilometers. The magic wanted to run away from him. It wanted to be free, it was incredibly difficult to reel it back in and keep it locked inside himself once it was out.
"When did you learn German?" Daphne caught up to him.
"The same time I learned French," Harry said, struggling with the sudden split on his attention. "My talents made it easy."
"Yeah yeah, you're very talented," she said, rolling her eyes. "You can be pretty scary though. You know that, right? We talked about it but… you aren't like anyone else. You can see how it unbalances them."
Her eyes glanced back at the entrance, where the Durmstrang boys had fled, but her hands were gesturing towards their Hogwarts peers.
Harry thought back to last year, when she had pulled him from the pensieve and he had snapped at her, or when Lisa's face had turned white with fear when parseltongue slipped from him.
"I was polite to them," said he replied after a strained moment. "I was polite to both of them." He elaborated. "Both to those two, and the people at Hogwarts."
This is the second time you've brought up how scary I am.
He slipped the thought into Daphne's mind.
Going somewhere with that?
[It would help me convince them that you aren't the next Dark Lord if you weren't quite so terrifying.]
He slipped an impression of the sibilant hiss of parseltongue in answer.
Some of them won't ever be convinced. Don't attempt the impossible on my account.
He finished.
"Ah Mr. Potter!" It was Professor Du'Mont, and he was smiling in a contagious and good-natured fashion. "The Potter-Longbottom process has been incorporated into the latest edition of our textbooks, if you are curious. I believe that we shall be teaching some of our Seventh-year students your process in a few weeks."
Harry cocked his head. "Is Herbology a key class here at Beauxbatons?"
The professor bobbed his head diagonally back and forth for a moment while considering, before nodding. "The temperatures here in France let us grow plants that much of the rest of Europe simply can't, not without greenhouses. So, I would say so, yes. A great deal of effort is put into the education of future herbologists here, and our countryside is spacious enough for the task."
Then my discovery may crash your economy, if Professor Snape was correct.
Harry scowled. He had been careless.
"Is Herbology not a focus at Hogwarts?" Professor Du'Mont asked curiously.
"It's part of our core curriculum, but as a school culture I wouldn't call it a focus. At least, not compared to Charms or Transfiguration."
"Or Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Harry turned to look to see the younger Delacour sister.
"I wouldn't say that," He countered. "The teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts is… inconsistent, at best."
"Then how did you duel so well?"
"Dueling isn't taught at Hogwarts." Daphne stepped in.
"Then how could you possibly win?" One of Gabrielle's friends looked rather shocked.
[Pull the other one. It hath bells on it.]
She was thinking.
"He's Harry Potter," Daphne said, rolling her eyes again.
"When you said that your Defense classes have been inconsistent…" Gabrielle cut in, giving her friend a look. "What does that mean?"
"We've had a different Defense teacher every year," Harry clarified. "The rumor is that somebody put a jinx on the position."
There was a squeak somewhere to Harry's right and Gabrielle's face twitched. "Of course you would say the name."
"Of course I would," He returned easily. "What else should I call him? Tom?"
This time Daphne turned her head towards him so fast it almost snapped. Perhaps she alone heard the light inaudible quiver in his voice at the mundane name.
His other hounded him, even here. He alone, in all the world, feared Tom Riddle more than Lord Voldemort.
The plants that were in their care were some of the most unnerving Harry had come across,and with his predilection for being unnerved by some of the more animated plants, that was saying a lot.
In fact, they looked less like plants, than they did thick, blackslugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.
He was sure Neville would have loved them dearly.
"Now you'll need to squeeze these chambers, gently, mind you, and collect the excretions. The pus is very valuable." Professor Du'Mont declared with a face splitting grin. "Use the glassware in the back. It's inert enough that it won't dissolve."
The Professor loves his job a little too much.
Harry thought.
"Use you dragonhide gloves as well. The pus will do odd things to exposed flesh."
The pus smelled strongly of petroleum,and Harry was uncertain if it was as flammable as the hydrocarbon, but he worked distantly from Ms. Delacour all the same. He had to confess that squeezing them was oddly satisfying.
Harry still thought electrocuting them would have done the job faster. A small jolt to make the sacks of fluid pop.
It was for the sake of efficiency, honest.
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Around midnight, Harry stood across from a tree near the Hogwarts clearing, under a silencing spell, focusing. He raised his wand and let his will flow into the air around the trunk, seeping under the bark and flattening against the bulwark of the tree beneath that outer layer.
The spell was ripped away from him after a moment and he nearly collapsed from the strain. He gasped out loud for breath as sweat ran down his back. It made him shiver in the cool French air. He could smell the salt from the sea on the fresh breeze.
He felt a presence and spun around.
"Harry? Up late practicing again?" Dumbledore stepped towards Harry but was gazing upwards at the open sea.
"Yes, Sir." Harry said, wiping his brow.
"A Mind Healer stopped by to see Ms. Malachite earlier, and her mother will be flooing to the campus sometime over the next few days."
"That's good news," Harry returned pleasantly.
"I for one, found myself lingering on something the Mind Healer informed us about. Something along the lines of 'miraculous repair.'" The Headmaster turned towards Harry. "Perhaps you could elucidate on that for me?"
"Magic tends to repair its housing in all forms," Harry answered. "Stranger things have certainly happened regarding magic. Particularly in such fields."
"Mmm." the Headmaster acknowledged easily, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "I am proud of you, Harry. Not many would do as you have done for Ms. Malachite. Though I find myself wondering why."
Harry hesitated and considered.
"Last year, Professor Snape warned me about my discoveries."
"During your discussion on potion invention." Dumbledore nodded; it seemed that the wizard had indeed been paying no small amount of attention to his exploits. "Go on, please."
"I ignored his warnings. I thought I was above those concerns," Harry continued.
"Surely you will agree that you had no part in Ms. Malachite's condition?" Dumbledore countered, perhaps for the sake of the argument. "You argued as much to Igor."
"But she wouldn't have been hurt at all if I hadn't spouted my ideas without caution,"
Dumbledore frowned in thought and eyed Harry carefully. "Regardless, and though she may never recover and no one else may know of your own good deeds, I still find myself humbled by your kindness. Returning to her and doing as you did could have brought considerable ire towards you and you attempted to save Ms. Malachite all the same." The Professor paused. "Just as you did for Ms. Weasley as well."
"I didn't enter the chamber to save Ginny Weasley."
"Yet you saved hernevertheless. Does that not count? Do good works require good intentions?"
"Of course they do." Harry paused to think. "Everything I may discover in my life may be a result of my stay at the Dursleys. That doesn't make any good I do theirs."
"Perhaps." Dumbledore was always uncomfortable with any mention of the Dursleys. "Now what is this you are attempting?" Dumbledore gestured to Harry's arboreal target.
Harry rolled with the change in subject without pause. "I don't understand why it is difficult to transfigure living things or conjure things inside of living things. For example, a hydrokinetic or an arokinetic should be able to destroy their enemies by manipulating their blood, or the air inside of it."
"Ah, transfiguration." Dumbledore seemed to welcome the shift into his own realm of expertise. "This is a property of transfiguration referred to as the Manton Limit, or Manton's Law of transfiguration. Life, it appears, is indeed innately special or sacred, and has its own domain through which outside forces must penetrate in order to affect their structure. I suggest you take the time to study Manton and his discoveries."
"Because living things have souls?" Harry pressed. He opened his palm towards his book bag and a single volume floated into his hand. He turned and handed it over to the Headmaster.
"You're finished then? There are multiple theories regarding the why's of Manton's Limit, but several of them do implicate the soul. I prefer to justify Manton using the innate sanctity of living things, however, a soul-based explanation would go far in revealing why even non-magical beings appear to have this form of resistance, even if they display a much more muted fashion than that boasted by wizards."
"Do souls attempt to return the bodies which house them to an original state? Like magic? Do they facilitate healing for the forms that hold them?"
"They may." Dumbledore conceded "Little research has been done into human souls, let alone non-human ones, so you will find little research to refute or affirm your theory. Though if I may shift your perspective? Bodies to not house souls. You do not possess a soul," Dumbledore said succinctly.
"What do you mean?" Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. He was rather certain that he had a soul, all of his understanding pointed him in that direction, at least. He wasn't super attached to the concept, though, and he understood that the field was vague and generalized at best.
"You are your soul, Harry. Your soul has a body and a mind, but your mind and form do not have souls."
Harry considered that for a long moment, then shook his head. "Sir, I wanted to ask you about Albania, and about Voldemort."
Dumbledore gave a tired noise and took a step forward as though he were about to begin pacing, but he stopped and looked back up at the ocean. "I'm afraid that I found remarkably little. It is worth noting that an English witch named Bertha Jorkins went missing in the region rather recently. She worked as an assistant to Bartemius Crouch Senior."
"The Head of International Cooperation?"
"The same."
"I don't see what use that would be to Voldemort." Harry concluded. "Perhaps she saw something she shouldn't have?"
"Or her disappearance is completely unrelated to Tom,." Dumbledore countered. Harry almost flinched at the name he had given his boggart and the fears which pained him.
"Now, when you are as old as I am I believe you will understand the benefits of a full night's rest. And, if I am not mistaken, you have missed no small amount of sleep over this last week."
Harry nodded, putting his wand into his robe.
"Good night Harry."
"Good night, Sir."
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Manton's law of transfiguration was like every other law describing the nature of magic; inviolable. Except when it totally wasn't.
It was an answer to an age-old question. In a duel, it seems that one of the most efficient ways to win would be to transfigure your enemy. Just turn their heart to lead or their blood to acid, or any other instantly lethal transfiguration.
Manton's limit described how it takes energy to overcome a witch or wizards natural resistance to outside magic. It's more difficult to turn a wizard into a ferret than it is to turn a rock into one because a rock doesn't have a means to magically resist.
Where could it be violated then? Well, animagi violated it all the time, though most scholars justified that and other examples of self-transfiguration by arguing that it came from the user's own magic and so their body's natural defensive magic, or, perhaps, their souls, did not resist such change.
Was it perfect though? Could it be fooled? Was this part of what happened to him with the Dementors? He had theorized as much, or at least something similar, but now… with this could he find proof? If only he...
Harry felt a buzz from his mirror in his pocket,interrupting his precious library time.
He closed his fingers and a book hovering near his head clamped shut. He pulled the mirror out.
"Lisa." He turned his head from the mirror to his open notebook. "How's Hogwarts?"
"Big, grey, and drafty." She gave a little sigh "They're really piling on the workload this year."
Harry nodded along, eyeing his arithmancy.
"Are you listening, Harry?"
"Of course."
She sighed. "We can skip the pleasantries. Daphne has been calling and letting us know some of what's going on over there."
Good, pleasantries are a waste of time.
"Something is wrong with Neville." Lisa began.
Harry gave the mirror a glance.
"Malfoy?" He asked.
She shook her head. "Malfoy's been harassing the Gryffindor boys."
She meant Ron, Seamus, and the other one, not Neville.
"Professor Lupin showed off the unforgivable curses yesterday," she pressed on. "Neville's not okay."
Harry frowned.
"Do you know what's wrong?"
Harry nodded.
"What is it?"
"I'm not comfortable sharing it," he said. "Though it's practically an open secret."
"I don't understand," she pushed back. "If you tell me I can help him. He's your friend and he's hurting. Don't you care?"
Harry gave her a stiff look until she shrank and muttered a quick, "sorry."
"This is a Hogsmeade weekend, right?" Harry asked.
She nodded.
"I'll come by and talk to Neville; orphan to orphan." Harry frowned lightly, thinking, and Lisa grimaced.
"Harry, Neville's in a fragile state. I don't know if you should talk to him."
"Because I'm callous?" He asked. He saw her sheepish look. "I'm not so ignorant as you all seem to think, and I can help him in ways no one else can."
"Are you going to aparrate all the way here?" She saw his look. "Daphne told us that you could."
"I'll have to make at least three jumps," he answered. "Daphne wanted to go back and see you anyways so I'll have her side-along. Maybe make it five or six jumps, just to be safe."
"I'm sure you wanted to see us too," she prodded gently.
"Well, yeah."
"Thank you, Harry. And we'll see you soon. Just…" she hesitated. "Be gentle with Neville, alright?"
"Alright."
He returned to his work. Once he saw Neville and could, well, get in his head, then he could help. Though, it didn't take a genius to piece together which of the unforgivable curses would bother Neville.
"Found you." Daphne sat down next to him after an hour. She was tugging her fingers fretfully. Harry set his quill down. "What's this spell?" She looked at the Arithmancy in the open notebook.
"Something I've been testing recently."
"It looks like…" She leaned in to have a look at the equations. "Couldn't you use this for…"
"You could probably use it for a lot of things," Harry cut her off. It was a quantification of his attempt to apply his will beneath the flesh of another living thing.
"This looks like you could flay someone with this." She looked at it. "Isn't that a little dangerous? Why would you design this?"
"I'm testing a transfiguration theory." He informed her. "Though it has other applications."
He touched her mind.
"Piano wire is designed for pianos," he said out loud, even as he sent impressions of people being killed with the wire, a few flashes of Dudley's favorite American Crime film. "That doesn't make its inventor murderous."
"That makes sense…"
This sort of thing didn't usually bother her.
"Lisa just called me. I'll be heading to Hogsmeade next weekend, if you want to come."
"Lisa?" Daphne pressed, biting her lip lightly. There was an odd lilt to her voice.
"She said Neville could use a hand." Harry eyed her.
"That makes sense. Tracey mentioned the unforgivables being shown in Defense." The lilt was gone.
Harry nodded. "I'll see what I can do to help. I imagine that I can relate best to him."
"Yeah, maybe." She nodded lightly. "I thought you said that was too dangerous?" There was still a hint of her discomfort.
"We'll make multiple jumps. It might take several hours." He looked at her fingers. "Is something wrong?"
"Not really. Well, I was in Cannes earlier. A French Boy asked me to go with him for ice cream. He was polite so I just said yes and went with him."
"Ah," Harry replied uncomfortably. He had no idea what to say to that. "And- um- how was it?"
He wrangled his emotions and crushed them.
Daphne gave an abashed look. "It was pretty awkward."
Harry tilted his head at her, her emotions had been all over, from start to finish.
"Have you ever thought about dating, Harry?"
"Dating…?" Harry asked.
"I'm sure you've heard of it." She said with a small smile, but it was scarcely there. A ghost of its usual brightness.
"I've never really… I haven't considered it seriously."
He had considered the idea, kind of. It was a prevalent concept in the minds of older students, so he was certainly aware of it, but he had never really thought about it within the context of himself.
"Why not?" Daphne chewed her lip.
"I'm not sure. It's never really been on my mind."
"You've never dreamed of having a family?"
The Mirror of Erised had held nothing but himself when it revealed his most desperate desires. He thought about the Dursleys, his own family who held nothing but hatred for him and the loathing he returned in kind. But they loved each other. They were… happy. They were happy together – he knew that from their memories – just never when he was around. A family required more than one person being understood, being… loved.
"No. I've never thought about it," he said. "Not until now, at least."
"What about your muggle family?" Her big blue eyes were giving him a complicated look.
"They were hardly family," he replied slowly. "I never cared for them and they never cared for me."
"So you gave up on the idea?"
"I just never thought I'd find something like that. So… I never really gave the concept much thought."
"What, you never thought you'd find someone to date?" She was looking more incredulous and worried and curious now.
"That's a good way of looking at it. I never thought that anyone would be with me like that because I'm…" Harry frowned.
A freak.
The thought finished unbidden in his mind.
He felt his stomach drop. That was the Dursley word for it but… even here in the wizarding world he had never been normal. He was a freak amongst freaks.
When he first learned of the wizarding world he had wished to be normal. To fit in. To be accepted as he never was in the Muggle world. That dream had perished quickly.
He was exceptional. Too exceptional to be understood by all but the rarest of witches and wizards. He talents were widespread and powerful and he could be… would be, a legendary wizard. That was undeniable.
So the dream had shifted in the face of that undeniable truth. It changed until he dreamed that he was the greatest wizard; one who was powerful enough to be alone.
Even in the wizarding world he was an outcast, an outlier, and nothing could change that.
But he wasn't alone, not anymore. He had made friends, even if he hid most of himself from them. Did that count?
Was this what Tom had faced? A world where he could be accepted? Then, when he built his hopes on it, had the floor dropped out beneath him too?
He must have been immeasurably disappointed and steeped in despair.
Was Grindelwald the same way? Was Dumbledore? Was this their fate?
All his contemporaries were alone too.
A freak amongst freaks, or a centennial wizard; were the terms just synonymous?
The Dursleys, for all their faults… had they been happy? Before the end?
"Because I'm me," he finished.
There was silence for a long time after that.
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Harry sat with Grindelwald's paper. He alone was awake in the fourth-year boy's compartment.
It kept coming back to this. These same questions, the ones he was afraid to ask for so many reasons; about the soul, about him and Voldemort, and about his place in all of this.
He touched the quill to the paper and unlike the last time he didn't let it go.
What do you know about Manton's Limit?
He waited.
More than I could write here. Wilhelm Manton was the Durmstrang Transfiguration Professor during my time at the School.
Why does it happen? What's special about life?
Nothing, perhaps. I believe that no small part of Manton's limit is caused by the caster's limitations of themselves. I myself killed several wizards by conjuring within their bodies.
As you no doubt know.
Harry did.
Perhaps you overpowered their defenses?
Which defenses? From whither do they come? The simplest explanations are the most powerful because they reflect reality most accurately.
Harry was left reeling. Was Manton's limit self-induced?
Harry wasn't sure about that. He himself had been struggling earlier with his tree to manifest his will inside of it. And Dumbledore seemed to believe that it held sway and he was the greatest conjuror alive…
...except for perhaps Grindelwald...
It takes a great deal more power to transfigure living things and to put your will within them.
It does, yes, but does this have to do with the fact that they are alive, or that they are complicated? When you manifest your will inside of something, it may be difficult because you cannot imagine the effects you are having.
Try conjuring something blindfolded as a test.
That was a simple test that could reveal a great deal. Grindelwald had likely imagined it and performed it himself. It was moments like these that Harry was humbled by the genius of his predecessors.
Of course, this left him with a dilemma. One teacher told him one thing, his professor told him another.
What about the soul?
Don't be childish.
If you are going to ask a question, make it one that is answerable. What exactly about the soul, Mr. Potter? What is the context? Soul magic is a broad and vague category as it is, without asinine, nonspecific questions.
Harry hesitated. His mirror quaked.
He frowned and withdrew it to see Luna Lovegood's face.
"Luna?" He asked.
"Don't ask him."
Harry tensed up. He could not possibly touch her mind from her. She had him at a complete advantage. She knew something.
"What do you see, Luna?" Harry pressed. "Why shouldn't I?"
"Do you trust him?" She asked. "Truly trust him?"
"You know your arguments in this direction will fail," Harry said simply. He wasn't going to play the game. Not with this.
They could skip right over several tiers of thought, because arguments about trust would fail right now, Harry had decided that the benefits outweighed that. Grindelwald was also trapped half a continent away and the information he could gleam about Harry from this couldn't be used to hurt Harry.
They could skip arguments about how the connection might not matter. That he was who he was. The similarities between himself and Voldemort were too pressing. His concerns about his boggart and his contemporaries were hardly something he could dismiss.
Even Dumbledore's arguments about how the similarities were irrelevant in the face of their differences would fall short. Harry had never believed that either.
He knew all that, and he knew the dozens of other points that she could make on that level would fall short. She knew it too. He knew that she knew. She knew that he knew that she knew, and so on. They skipped above the material and into the psychic.
Only her abilities could sway him in this.
"It will bring you suffering," she answered after a pause. "You'll be alone."
He scowled at her. Was she playing on his fears on purpose? Was she saying what she was saying to manipulate him? There was no way of knowing for certain. Not from this distance.
She likely knew that he knew that she knew that he knew that she could be manipulating him. It was turtles all the way down. She could be trying to get him to ask the question, in which case she knew exactly what to say to get him to do it, and if she wanted him not to, then she could do that too.
And, if he wanted to do the opposite to spite her, then she would have planned for that as well.
In the end, he decided, that meant nothing she was going to say was worth listening to. She knew how this would end and what she had to do to push him a certain direction.
No matter what he did he was falling into her hands or he could simply do what he wanted. There was victory in that.
"That's not what I meant," she said quickly. She knew what he was thinking, then? Was she going to push him a different direction? Was this part of her plan? "I'm trying to help you. Like you helped me. I wouldn't do that."
"But can I trust that?"
"Could I trust you? Even after you abused me?"
Harry winced. He had abused her, they both knew it. Was she playing that card to toy with him though? He was teetering at the edge of solipsism.
Harry cleared his mind. In here, he had control. Even if outside of it everything was stacked against him. He thought things through carefully, ignoring Luna's existence.
He breathed.
"I'm sorry for what I did to you," he said. "Thank you for trying to help me."
He made his decision.
She looked close to tears. "I'm sorry." For what? For the future? For causing him distress now?
It didn't matter, he decided.
"You were always going to ask," she finished. "But I had to try."
Harry closed the connection.
Having a conversation with Luna is never dull, even if they are taxing.
He decided.
He touched the quill to the page.
What do you know about soul-based magical connections.
There was a beat before ink appeared in answer.
Little. I studied other aspects of soul magic; its parts and separation more than anything else.
Harry could imagine the horrific experiments in that regard. They were likely the ones that resulted in Grindelwald being kicked out of Durmstrang.
Whenever I begin this topic I always recommend a book by Harfang Munter as an introduction. It is called Life: A Categorical Studie, I used to own a copy, but I loaned it to a friend and unfortunately he never had the opportunity to return it.
That made Harry freeze. He shook it aside, he could bring that up later, even though that fed deeply into his mess of concerns about his predecessors. How they were related and how he related to them,and what his destiny held based off them.
I've already read it. I found mentions of a device called a Phylacterie, based on connections to the soul. It is this sphere that I am curious about.
Trying to extend your life?
Harry frowned in confusion.
No. I'm merely curious.
As you say. I know little of the magic you seek to understand. I have heard of something similar to a Phylactery, called a Horcrux. Both are means to extend one's life through soul magic.
Horcruxes were new information. Before, Harry knew that a phylactery served as an anchor for some unknown purpose, but now he knew the goal, if not the mechanisms. It was an attempt to extend a person's life using soul magic
He didn't fully understand, but he had a new subject of research, a new avenue, especially now that the Secrets of the Darkest Arts, may remain forever out of his reach.
He was starting to receive a greater picture of the connection between the soul and being alive. He had never figured out what exactly Dementors did with them either, but now he had direction. He had a vague plan.
I will caution you. There are other means to achieve immortality. Alchemy being the most famous and likely the least heinous.
It would appear Grindelwald didn't quite believe Harry.
I have no intention of treating my soul as a toy.
He replied.
Good. I have little use for a dead protégé.
Harry frowned at that, but chalked it up to Grindelwald's sandpaper-like personality.
I wish to recommend some reading material. If you would hear it.
He didn't see how that could possibly hurt.
Do you know the Russian tale 'Go I Know Not Whether and Fetch I Know Not What?' I must confess some preference to it. In fact, one might say that it changed my life.
Read the original in Russian.
Was Grindelwald trying to distract him from soul magic?
I'll read them.
The former Dark Lord hadn't been wrong yet.
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"Every idea in my head, someone else has said" - The Who, 905
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I answer questions about this story on by forum. Link in profile.
A cookie to whoever can guess where I'm going with Ms. Malachite.
Going to go back and rewrite chapter two through five before the next update. I'm just not satisfied with them.
Next update may be several weeks out.
-WG
Edited 4/17/18