Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. ~ T.S. Eliot
.
The dragon's carcass lay at the centre of the chamber, its scales gleaming dully in the torchlight.
Harry had reversed the shirking charm placed on the body and now stood before the massive creature, its true size restored.
Harry walked near the once magnificent beast and ran his hand along the beast's cold scales, feeling the magic that still clung to its form.
"Incredible," Harry murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Harry's thoughts drifted to his first meeting with the dragon and how scared he'd been.
However, by the time the first task came, he decided to face the dreadful beast in battle…
And somehow, against all odds, Harry managed to emerge victorious through that fight.
'To kill. Kill,' he suddenly remembered his mad rumblings during that day; he hadn't been all there.
That single hour continued to plague his life even now.
Sometimes at night, he'd wake up screaming and sobbing, thrashing as if he was engulfed in flames.
The first time it happened while he shared a bed with Fleur was particularly bad…
.
Fleur was soundlessly sleeping on her bed, her silvery hair spread across the pillow like a halo.
Her long slender legs were tangled with another pair.
It was quite a beautiful sight.
Suddenly, a violent tremor wracked Harry's body, sweat beading on his forehead.
His eyes darted wildly beneath his closed lids.
A strangled cry escaped his lips, startling Fleur awake.
"Whaz 'appening?" she murmured tiredly, turning to look at her companion.
Her eyes widened as she saw Harry thrashing about, his face contorted in anguish.
She immediately sobered up and without hesitation reached out to him.
However, her touch didn't have the desired effect; Harry jerked away from it
"Harry, mon chéri, wake up. It's just a dream," Fleur cooed, gently trying to stroke his arm.
His eyes fluttered open, confusion and fear evident in his deep emerald ponds.
Harry's breath came in ragged gasps.
For a moment, he stared at Fleur in confusion, his mind still caught between the nightmare and reality.
Then, recognition dawned in his eyes and Fleur's concerned face swam into view, her silvery hair catching the moonlight that filtered through the window.
He collapsed into her arms, his body shaking.
"F-Fleur?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling.
"I'm here, mon amour," Fleur reassured him, pulling him close.
"You're safe now. It was just a nightmare."
Fleur held him tightly, her fingers gently running through his hair as she murmured soothing words in French.
.
'That can't have been fun for her,' Harry thought, a pang of guilt washing over him.
He knew his nightmares were intense, but didn't know just how intense before that incident.
Not wanting his episodes to strain their relationship, Harry found a way for his occlumency shields to block out the most traumatic memories during sleep.
It wasn't a perfect solution, but it significantly reduced the frequency and intensity of his nightmares and had to do for now.
It also wasn't healthy, and that's why Harry tried to find a better way to cope with his trauma.
He had briefly wondered if there was such a thing as Mind Healers but didn't pursue the idea much further.
'I totally forgot about that. I should ask around and try to learn if there are any of them in Britain. Hermione could be a starting point,' Harry noted to himself.
The wizarding world, for all its wonders, was woefully behind in some matters…
Shaking his head, the boy's gaze focused on the body that lay in front of him.
"Ozeth, The Black Dread," Harry said with steel in his voice, recalling the dragon's name.
"Your sin was your arrogance, and you paid for it with your life. May you rest in peace and find a semblance of peace in your next life," Harry murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of respect.
The dragon had been a fearsome creature and had Harry not had so much help from outside sources, he'd have died a terrible death.
'It's time to start the ritual though,' he mused as he cast a tempus charm.
The glowing numbers in the air showed it was almost midnight.
Harry surveyed the chamber, noting that all the preparations were in place.
Intricate runes adorned the chamber's stone floor, drawn not only with his blood but whatever venom Harry could harvest from the late Asmodeus and Fawkes' tears.
Those lines were probably of the most powerful ones ever drawn.
Sadly, most of their meaning was imperceptible to Harry.
He had studied them extensively, not because he doubted Salazar's ability, but for the learning experience. Despite his efforts though, most of their meaning remained a mystery.
The runes formed a 7-point star, with the dragon's body at its centre.
Each point of the star corresponded to a different sacrifice Harry was going to make.
Harry at least knew that this intricate design was what allowed for the ritual's success.
The meticulousness required to conduct the ritual baffled him.
For example, the blood taken from his body, the old venom and the tears, were precise down to their last millilitres.
Salazar had also taken into account the time that passed from the basilisk's death, Harry's harvest of blood and the potency of stored phoenix tears.
In addition, the lines weren't simple strokes of the magical mix, but words.
Countless words in as many languages, each carefully chosen and seemingly placed at random at the same time.
The languages ranged from ancient Sumerian to modern English, with countless others in between.
Harry marvelled at the sheer complexity of it all.
With a final glance at the intricate runic array, he stepped towards the first point of the star.
"Alright," Harry muttered and took a deep breath, centring his mind with the natural grace of a master occlumens.
He started by breaking the restrictions he placed upon his magic when he underwent the first part of the ritual.
During the first three weeks of December, Harry had followed Salazar's modified animagus ritual.
The preparations, unlike the traditional ones, didn't reveal his animagus form but forced a new one in place.
That had the consequence of Harry's magic growing wilder by the day as it tried to resist the unnatural changes.
It was right to do so because the magical discharge of a profound change such as becoming part dragon would have no doubt killed him in a most gruesome way.
'That wouldn't have been much fun,' Harry thought wryly and dismissed that line of thought.
The three days following the magical buildup were mostly spent in meditation and careful magical exercises designed to prepare his body for the impending transformation.
Harry had adhered strictly to Salazar's instructions, knowing that even the slightest deviation would probably result in catastrophic consequences.
That's how after three long weeks and three days, Harry found himself standing at the first point of the runic star.
He could feel his magic thrumming beneath his skin as if it knew it was about to be unleashed.
Casting a quick tempus again, Harry noted the time.
11:35 PM.
In one minute, he'd have to start the ritual.
"Verius tempus," Harry intoned and magical numbers shimmered in the air before him, this time counting down the seconds as well.
As the final minute ticked away, Harry's heart raced.
He took a deep breath.
This was it - there was no backing down now.
'Who am I kidding? I wasn't born with the choice of backing down,' Harry thought with a dark smile.
His destiny had been set in motion before he was even born…
As the countdown reached its final seconds, Harry steeled himself.
The air around him began to crackle with magical energy as the grasp of his magic dwindled.
Taking one last breath, the boy who lived opened his mouth.
"Mother Earth, womb of life's grand tapestry. I stand before you, humble and aglow. Heed my call, as I offer my essence, a mortal's prize," Harry intoned and with trembling fingers, grabbed a dagger from his pocket.
Clenching his teeth, he carefully raised the dagger and touched his upper arm… and sliced.
The blade bit into his flesh as if it were butter and drew a thin line of crimson across his skin.
Harry hissed in pain but didn't flinch.
He watched as his blood welled up and began to drip onto the words inscribed beneath his feet, causing them to glow with an eerie light.
Thankfully, he knew what he was doing and didn't do something as stupid as cutting his brachial artery; he would have bled into unconsciousness within five minutes.
The precise cut he had made would allow him to bleed approximately two litres of blood—enough to complete the ritual while remaining conscious.
Harry felt a weak tremor as the first sacrifice was accepted, and moved towards the next point.
Following life, was death…
"Death… Sovereign of shadows, reaper of souls. I invoke thy presence as my lineage allows. Heed my call, oh timeless one, and claim thy due. What was borrowed must now be returned anew" Harry's voice echoed in the chamber.
As he spoke those words, Harry felt a chill run down his spine.
The air around him seemed to grow colder, much colder than when Dementors were around.
Harry saw his breath misting in the air and shivered.
He felt a presence manifesting in the middle of the room.
It was feeble and flimsy as if it wasn't quite there, and Harry wondered if that was what Death felt like.
Harry felt his spine bend as the presence grew stronger.
It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before; Ozeth felt like a tiny ant in front of the deity that appeared in front of him.
The air around the chamber thickened as reality itself was bending to accommodate the otherworldly entity.
A dreadful and maddening silence encompassed the room, and Harry felt a gaze directed at him.
He felt as if every single pore of his body was being looked upon and judged, as if his very soul was put on a weighing scale and examined for its worth.
And it probably was…
The weight of Death's presence was unbearable, and he should have buckled down, yet he wasn't allowed even that.
As the moments stretched into what felt like an eternity, Harry wondered if he had been found wanting or if Death would accept his offering.
Suddenly, the oppressive presence lifted and the pressure disappeared.
The runes on the ancient stone glowed brighter, much brighter than moments before.
If Harry paid more attention to them, he'd have noticed an otherworldly light intertwined with the eerie light from before.
Death had accepted his offering.
Instantly Harry felt something missing from within him.
He felt lighter, as if a weight he hadn't even known he was carrying had been lifted.
An inexplicable sense of freedom encompassed his whole being.
Harry paused, taking stock of the changes within himself.
The connection that had plagued him for so long… the tether to Voldemort's twisted soul, was gone.
Just like that.
'I'm free. Free of the dark lord,' he thought, a sense of peace so profound he almost forgot about the ritual.
Taking a moment to steady his trembling legs, Harry moved to the third point of the star.
He walked, a step at a time, feeling the soul-freezing cold evanesce.
The feelings that Death caused him were ineffable…
He briefly wondered if he'd be having nightmares about Death as well now.
'Knowing my luck, my soul will freeze while Ozeth simultaneously roasts me alive,' Harry thought wryly, shuddering at the thought.
He shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering chill that seemed to have settled in his bones and pushing the thoughts of freedom to the back of his mind.
There was no time to dwell on the happenings now, he could do so later; the ritual demanded his full attention.
Ignoring his gashing wound, Harry moved to the next point of the star.
Without wasting any time the injured boy proceeded with the next sacrifice.
"Magic, I beseech thee. This innate gift, to sense your flow, I offer freely, though it pains me so. Take this essence, a part of me, in hopes that greater power there may be."
As Harry spoke those words, he felt a sudden shift within himself.
The world around him seemed to dim, losing some of its vibrancy.
He felt as if a fog descended upon him, obscuring one of his senses.
The familiar hum of magic faded to a muted whisper.
Harry gritted his teeth, pushing through the disorienting sensation as he walked towards the fourth point of the star.
Things were bound to get much worse before they got better…
By now Harry had offered three sacrifices to three different beings.
Death's sacrifice was as straightforward as it was ambiguous.
For all Harry knew, Death could have taken the fact that they freed Harry from the horcrux as a reward and called it a day.
However, they should have known that Harry could have done so much more easier, without risking their wrath upon him.
The four remaining sacrifices would go to the other two entities, two each.
As a result, Earth and Magic would each receive three sacrifices, while Death would receive one.
Harry stepped onto the next point, noting that the runic lines now glowed several times brighter than before.
'This will hurt,' he mused while making sure his bleeding didn't get out of hand, lest he fainted and then died…
Gritting his teeth, Harry recited the next part of the ritual.
"Mother Earth, nurturer of all, I present an offering, pure and sublime. A substance of magic, life's essence distilled. For two years it's guarded, fought battles untold, and saved me, when one could not. I offer you Fawkes' tears," Harry intoned, his voice barely above a whisper.
As the words left his lips, he felt a searing pain course through his body, as if his very soul was being torn apart, and he knew it was.
Without the phoenix tears in his bloodstream, the ancient venom, which was coursing alongside the tears, immediately dominated all his defences, as they had been trying to do so for two years.
Knowing that he didn't have much time to live, Harry rushed to the next point while doing trying to have his second soul battle.
Unlike the small, tattered fragment of Voldemort's soul, the essence of the basilisk now attempting to overpower him was leagues above it in ferociousness.
Harry could feel his body weakening rapidly, his vision about to begin blurring at the edges.
The venom burned through his veins, each heartbeat spreading the deadly toxin further.
With a gasping breath, he forced himself to start his next offering.
His voice wavered but didn't stop as he spoke the next part of the ritual.
"Mother Earth, to you I bring, the venom of a creature old, whose bitter strike, by fate, was bold. It fell beneath my sword's swift sweep, Its unjust wrath now laid to sleep. I ask not for gifts anew, but for what I hold, strong and true— To deepen, sharpen, and ignite, what already burns within my sight."
As the words left his lips, Harry felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him as the offending force vanished.
Stumbling slightly, he steadied himself against the cold stone floor.
'That's that,' Harry thought grimly and looked at the sixth point of the accursed runic diagram.
He had survived the most dangerous part of the ritual, but he wasn't out of the woods yet.
With trembling legs, he forced himself to move forward and with each step, a curse followed in his mind.
He didn't dare say anything aloud that wasn't part of the ritual; any deviation from the carefully crafted words could spell disaster.
"Mother of the magicals. I humbly offer the mystical sense bestowed upon me through soul-bonding with a part of your rhabdophis. This will leave me without the ability to feel you. I again offer this to you, in hopes that greater power there may be."
"Oh, mother of my kind, I come in humble grace. A humble gift I bring to thee, the mystic sense, once mine to hold, through soul-bond with your serpent bold. In parting with this sense, I release my touch of you, in hope that from this loss, a deeper power will come forth," Harry intoned, his voice growing weaker with each word.
As the final syllable left his lips, Harry felt a profound shift within himself.
The world around him seemed to dim further, as if a veil had been drawn over his senses.
He stumbled, barely catching himself as the last vestiges of his magical awareness faded away.
Doing his best not to panic due to the sudden disorientation he felt, Harry headed to the last point of the star.
'Oh no. No, no, no. Please let me make it,' he thought desperately and his attempts at controlling his panic were mild at best.
Harry's vision swam and the room started spinning around him.
He tried to steady himself, but his legs gave out beneath him.
With a sharp gasp, Harry stumbled forward, his knees buckling.
He hit the cold stone floor hard, the impact jarring through his weakened body.
For a moment, Harry lay there, his cheek pressed against the rough surface, struggling to catch his breath.
He was briefly glad that he lost his magical sense as he closed his eyes.
The room was so bright, it was like staring directly into the sun.
The intensity of the magical energy surrounding must have been as overwhelming.
Harry squinted against the blinding light, his eyes watering as he struggled to keep them open.
'I can't fail now. Not now…' he decided as he looked at the last sacrifice he was going to offer.
Lying in all its glory at the centre of the room, Ozeth's menacing body seemed to mock Harry's struggles.
Images of Dumbledore and the brief duel they had flashed across Harry's mind.
There's no way that he'd let Grindelwald's wand polisher get away with everything he did to him.
'It's funny what one can learn when determined,' Harry thought with a grim smile.
With trembling arms, he pushed himself up, fighting against the overwhelming urge to throw up and faint.
The blood loss was getting quite bad and he'd have to call Fawkes to heal him.
'After the ritual. Can't have anything go amiss.'
Every movement was a battle, but Harry refused to give in.
Step by agonising step, he stepped towards the final point of the star, green bolts of lightning flashed in his eyes.
"Oh Magic of old, hear my final plea, I offer thee this flesh, this power, The last of the Abyssal Reavers, Ozeth, the Black Dread. In return, I ask this: Let me become what he once was. To rise as the last Abyssal Reaver, and claim my enemy's forsaken place while still being human."
As the words left Harry's lips, a surge of raw power coursed through the chamber.
The runes flared with blinding intensity, and Harry felt a searing pain engulf his entire being.
He screamed, his voice echoing off the ancient walls as the magic of the ritual reached its final stage.
Harry vaguely remembered seeing three figures before he blacked out.
.
'What's happening?' Harry wondered groggily as consciousness slowly returned to him.
His body ached all over as if every bone in his body had been broken and reassembled.
The pain was intense but somehow all wrong.
His mind felt foggy, struggling to piece together the events that had led him to his current state.
The last thing he remembered was completing the ritual, but now...
"Oh shit," he shouted and opened his eyes.
What came out of his mouth weren't the frenzied words he wanted to speak though…
Instead, a low, guttural growl reverberated through the chamber.
Harry's, now huge eyes widened in shock as he realised where exactly the sound had come from.
He tried sitting up, but his body didn't follow his commands.
'No fucking way,' was all that his mind managed to muster as he looked at himself.
Harry's gaze travelled down where his body should have been, and he was met with a sight that sent a shiver of disbelief through him.
He couldn't believe it…
Instead of soft human skin, he saw scales glinting in the dim light.
Jet-black and gleaming like a starless night, each scale bore a razor-sharp edge capable of slicing through human flesh.
Harry was very familiar with those scales…
After all, he had once ridden atop them and narrowly avoided being impaled by them.
Massive, leathery wings were folded against his sides, powerful limbs stretched out before him, and a long, serpentine tail curled around his massive body.
Harry knew that by doing the ritual he'd get the ability to transform into the most dreadful dragon species, however, he didn't expect to wake up transformed…
And there was a world of difference between knowing something and experiencing it firsthand.
The realisation hit him like a thunderbolt - he had transformed into a dragon, an Abyssal Reaver like Ozeth.
As his panic began to subside, Harry briefly wondered if this transformation was permanent and somehow, something had gone terribly wrong in Sal's calculations.
The panic returned tenfold whilst the young dragon tried to revert back to his human form.
Harry tried concentrating, willing his body to shift back to its human form.
Unsurprisingly enough, nothing happened, and he felt a wave of dread wash over him.
'I've got to talk with Sirius,' he decided, forcing himself to calm down and hoping that the dog animagus would know how to deal with his conundrum.
Harry tried taking deep breaths - or at least, what passed for deep breaths in his current draconic form.
Under other circumstances, he might have appreciated the miniature whirlwinds formed by his breathing.
'How do I contact Sirius though?' he wondered, stumped.
He could communicate with both Ash and Fawkes, but they couldn't talk with anyone else besides himself.
'Is there such thing as phoenix talk?' Harry mused absentmindedly before dismissing contacting his familiars, despite the fact that they were probably waiting on him to call them…
He'd do so later.
A sudden flash of inspiration struck Harry, eliciting a smile.
Thankfully, there wasn't anyone else inside the chamber as they'd have pissed themselves in fear upon seeing Harry's smile…
The innocent action revealed his glistening teeth which were as sharp as medieval blades, capable of effortlessly tearing through any creature unlucky enough to find itself caged between them.
"Kreacher," he growled incoherently, hoping that the house elf could feel his call despite the mangled roar.
Just as he was about to attempt calling the old bugger again, a loud crack echoed through the chamber.
The ancient house elf appeared, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the sight before him.
Gripped by a primal and inherent instinct of survival that most species harboured upon coming face to face with grown dragons — even though Harry was still growing — Kreacher disapparated as instantaneously as he arrived.
'Oh. I didn't take that possibility into consideration,' Harry thought, mentally kicking himself for ignoring his current form; the transformation was, after all, the root of his current predicament.
Harry let out a frustrated growl and tried to think of a way to convey his identity and predicament without scaring the elf away again.
'Curses,' he thought as another house elf came to mind.
He, might be more willing to help.
Taking a deep breath, Harry called him out.
"Dobby!"
His draconic voice rumbled through the chamber as he waited for the inevitable crack.
In the next moment, a crack echoed through the chamber, and Dobby appeared, his large eyes widening in shock at the sight before him.
Thankfully, unlike Kreacher, Dobby didn't immediately disapparate away.
Instead, he tilted his head curiously, as if sensing something familiar about the massive dragon.
"Dragon Harry Potter... sir?" Dobby squeaked tentatively, his voice a mixture of awe and uncertainty.
'Does the little bugger not know about fear?' Harry mused flabbergasted, but felt a wave of relief wash over him as Dobby recognised him, despite his draconic form, and let out a laugh.
The sound that emerged, however, was not the jovial chuckle he had intended, but a deep, rumbling roar that shook the chamber.
The sudden noise startled Harry, causing him to instinctively flap his wings, creating a gust of wind that pushed the little devil in disguise away.
Dobby yelped in surprise and snapped his fingers, reappearing in front of Harry, who forced himself to remain still to avoid any other sudden movements.
"Is Harry Potter sir alright?" Dobby asked concerned, his voice filled with a tone of reverence that wasn't there before.
'Bugger,' Harry thought, resisting the urge to massage his temples to alleviate the forming headache; that wouldn't have gone well.
"Find Kreacher and tell him that the dragon he saw was me. Then do the same for my godfather, Sirius, and bring him here," Harry growled.
Unsurprised but disheartened, Harry noted Dobby's bewildered expression.
'Well, here goes nothing,' Harry thought as he concentrated on his soul sense.
That's when Harry noticed the other changes…
First of all, it was laughingly easy to access his seventh sense.
Then there was the range he could sense.
His soul sense had expanded exponentially, allowing him to perceive the souls of the entire chamber and beyond, reaching the first floor of Hogwarts.
Harry marvelled at the newfound depth and clarity of his perception.
He sensed Dobby's soul, pulsing faintly with its unique magical signature. It reminded Harry of a mischievous yet unwaveringly loyal child.
Effortlessly, Harry extended a portion of his essence towards Dobby, initiating a soul bond.
It wasn't the usual way of forming a bond between a house elf and a master, but Harry couldn't exactly recite the small ritual.
Harry's humongous green eyes bore down on the small creature in front of him and widened slightly as he felt the bond snap into place.
Dobby's own eyes grew impossibly larger as he started to sob.
"H-HARRY POTTER, SIR. THANK YOU FOR MAKING DOBBY YOUR ELF!" the little elf wailed, tears of joy streaming down his face.
Harry couldn't help but feel a tiny bit amused at Dobby's emotional outburst.
'Why didn't you guys react more like Dobby?' he inquired while pushing the scene of the crying elf through his shared soul channel.
'Oh, so you've finally decided to grace us with your attention? It's not as if we've been anxiously waiting to see if you're alright or anything,' Ash's sarcastic remark came.
'And I'm above such undignified displays. I can't speak for the reptile, though,' Fawkes retorted.
'I suppose that's fair,' Harry conceded and noted that Dobby started to calm down.
'Things got a bit... complicated,' Harry told them wryly.
'Yes! Harry Potter, sir, is a big dragon now!' Dobby exclaimed, drawing startled gasps from the other two, 'dignified' creatures…
Upon receiving confirmation, Fawkes materialised within the chamber in a burst of flame, his talons firmly grasping Ash.
Harry's two familiars took in the sight before them, their eyes widening in disbelief.
Feeling mischievous, Harry opened his mouth and let out a deafening roar, causing the chamber to tremble.
Fawkes let out a subdued trill, while Ash hissed softly, his serpentine eyes fixed on Harry's dreadful form.
The chamber fell silent as the four creatures continued speaking through their soul bonds.
§ - § - § - § - § - § - § - § - § - § - § - §
Thank you bryce hewitt, Nuro, Dova, deazed, Devor, Snowfall and Rogue5k for yoursupport on the website that I must not name.
[p=a=t=r=e=o=n=.=c=o=m/Mr_0ne] - Chapter 20 - The echo and the twins
[d=i=s=c=o=r=d=.=g=g/NJ3WV9RVgR ]