For days now, Harry had been trailing Grindelwald through the dense jungle, the smell of wet leaves and damp earth clinging to him. The room guarded by the jaguar statues had contained an ancient map of the area carved into the granite walls. Gellert, whose advanced Occlumency granted him an eidetic memory, had memorized it in a glance, and now they were exploring the main points of interest around the complex. The ruins stretched on endlessly, a hidden labyrinth of stone beneath layers of creeping vines and timeworn decay. Grindelwald pushed forward, tireless, while Harry worked to hone his aura-sense—detecting the subtle hum of curses buried deep in the stone, disarming the simpler ones under his mentor's watchful eye.
The constant vigilance had worn him down. Each trap had been harder than the last, and now they stood at the center of a large overgrown courtyard, staring at a towering obelisk that seemed to offer little in return for the effort. Harry felt the weight of exhaustion in his limbs, his clothes sticking to his skin from the humid air. This couldn't be it.
He ran his fingers over the weathered grooves, barely able to discern the faint carvings beneath his touch. "This feels like a dead end," he muttered, his voice edged with fatigue.
Grindelwald, ever composed, glanced at the stone with a cold eye. "Patience," he said, as if Harry's frustrations were of no consequence.
Harry took a step back, folding his arms, watching as Grindelwald raised his wand. The air seemed to tighten, and though Harry had seen it before, there was something about the way his mentor wielded magic that always felt effortless, as though the world bent around him without needing a command.
The obelisk responded. Slowly, the weathered runes sharpened, their ancient lines momentarily restored to life. Then, as quickly as they appeared, the runes faded back into obscurity.
Harry's brow furrowed as he watched the transformation. "Is it like aura-sense," he asked, "but channeled through your wand somehow?"
Grindelwald glanced at him, an approving gleam in his eye. "That would be a valid way of approaching it. The intent of the maker lingers in the stone. Time erodes the surface, but the essence remains. You just need to know how to access it."
Harry nodded slowly, thinking it through. His hand hovered over the stone, testing for some trace of what Grindelwald had just called back. He could feel the faintest hum beneath the stone's surface, as if the runes were still alive, hidden just out of reach.
Satisfied but tired, Harry stepped back, letting his hand fall away from the stone. There was more here, he was sure of it, but fatigue weighed on him, and he knew Grindelwald wouldn't wait for him to puzzle it out. Still, his mind buzzed with the possibilities, the nagging feeling that there was something deeper.
Grindelwald turned away, already moving. "Enough for today," he said curtly. We've wasted enough time here. This obelisk merely contains myths from their primitive religion of beast worship."
Harry cast one last look at the obelisk before following, the jungle closing around them. The stone still whispered to him, faintly, but he'd have to return on his own, when his mind was clearer.
—
That night, back at their campsite, the jungle thrummed with life, its nocturnal symphony filling the air as the heat of the day melted into the coolness of night. Stars gleamed overhead, piercing through the narrow gaps in the dense canopy. The Southern Cross and Centaurus hung high, the latter's bright stars drawing Harry's gaze upward. The flickering firelight cast shifting shadows across the clearing, blending with the distant rustle of the jungle.
Harry sat close to the fire, its warmth a steady contrast to the weight in his limbs after the day's training. His mind hummed, still turning over the lessons Grindelwald had drilled into him. He stared into the flames, letting their dance calm his thoughts.
Grindelwald, ever composed, watched the stars. His gaze seemed distant, but his words, when they came, were sharp and clear. "Mesmerism has served you well."
Harry's silence was answer enough—a smirk pulling at his lips.
"Well enough for now," he replied, the barest trace of dryness in his tone, having already discussed the incident in his first Potions class with his mentor. "Snape is a fool and wasn't prepared. Albus would not have been caught off guard like that."
Grindelwald's nod was minimal, almost imperceptible. "You are ready to begin studying Occlumency. True defense, not only the blunt offense of mesmerism. Occlumency is structured. Precise."
Harry's hand brushed absently against his wand. He knew what Grindelwald was offering—more than just a simple spell. He nodded once, thoughtfully. "Fortifying my mind."
Gellert returned his nod.
"When—not if—Albus views you as a threat, he will attack your mind. Mesmerism won't stop him. But with Occlumency, you can lead him, control what he sees."
Harry didn't react to the inevitability of the statement. It was something he'd known for a long time. Dumbledore wasn't Snape. There would be no surprising him with exotic techniques.
The fire crackled, its soft pops echoing through the clearing, but Harry's eyes drifted back to the stars. Centaurus gleamed brightly above, and he recalled Firenze and Bane in the Forbidden Forest, reading the skies with an understanding that had eluded him back then.
"We begin tomorrow," Grindelwald said.
Harry's gaze lingered on Centaurus, his mind, on Hogwarts.
—
The jungle buzzed with life, thick and unyielding, as Harry pushed through the dense underbrush. Grindelwald had immersed himself in an artifact they'd found yesterday, leaving Harry with some time to explore on his own. He scanned the undergrowth as he moved through the vibrant, wild expanse. Today, he was experimenting, pushing the limits of his third eye, searching for magical traces in the dense, ancient forest.
But the jungle pulsed with too much life.
With his third eye open, the world was a kaleidoscope of colors—greens, yellows, reds, blues—all swirling together in a wild dance, shifting and overwhelming. Every plant, every insect, every breeze carried energy, vibrant and unrestrained. The more subtle traces of magic were completely drowned out by the cacophony of life. It was like trying to see stars in daylight.
Harry closed his third eye with a blink, the world snapping back to its familiar shades of green and brown. The jungle's sounds still surrounded him, but the overwhelming sensation of magic was gone. He let out a quiet breath, frustrated by the inability to sense anything useful.
Yet, his instincts told him he wasn't alone. The feeling had been creeping over him for the last few minutes—an unmistakable sense of being watched. His fingers instinctively tightened around his wand as he scanned the tree line, his senses sharp.
Then, there—a flash of movement. Fast, sinuous, cutting through the foliage with a fluid grace.
Harry turned, wand raised, his breath catching as the creature emerged.
A serpent. Massive, with scales that glinted faintly in the dim light, as though reflecting something more than just the firefly glow of the jungle. Its eyes, sharp and intelligent, locked onto him with unnerving precision.
Without thinking, Harry hissed out in Parseltongue. "Stop!"
The serpent froze mid-lunge, its fangs bared, but only for a moment. Its eyes narrowed, and Harry could feel it resisting his command—pushing against his voice in a way no other snake ever had. Every serpent he'd encountered had obeyed without question, but this one... this one was different.
Before he could react, the serpent struck again.
Harry's wand flicked up, and the familiar explosion of Bombarda rang out. The force of the spell hit the serpent squarely in the side, but the creature barely flinched, the magic having no more effect on its iridescent scales than a gentle breeze.
Cursing under his breath, Harry switched tactics, using telekinesis with a sharp wave of his hand. Stones, branches, and fallen logs lifted from the jungle floor and flew toward the serpent, striking with impressive force. But again, the serpent barely noticed, shrugging off the debris as it coiled tighter, eyes gleaming with cold, ancient intelligence.
It lunged again, faster this time. Harry tried to dive out of the way—but in that split second, something strange happened. Instead of moving normally, his body flickered, disappearing into the shadow of a nearby tree, reappearing on the other side in an instant.
Harry stumbled, his heart racing. He hadn't meant to do that.
The serpent paused, its head raised, tongue flicking out as it tasted the air. Harry could sense its surprise—it hadn't expected that either.
He barely had time to process the shock before the serpent attacked again, this time with more intensity, its sleek form cutting through the jungle like a blade.
Harry raised his wand, casting Bombarda again, but the spell glanced harmlessly off the serpent's scales, barely slowing it.
The serpent coiled, ready to strike once more, and instinctively, Harry's hand twitched—telekinesis flaring again. Debris from the jungle floor flew at the serpent, hitting its body, but the attacks barely registered.
For a brief moment, the serpent paused, its tongue flicking out as it tasted the air. Harry felt a strange brush against his mind—not words, but a sense of awareness. It was testing him.
This time, when Harry spoke, his tone was cautious. "Why do you attack?"
The serpent's eyes gleamed, and its body relaxed slightly, though it still loomed over him, massive and unyielding. Harry could feel its age, its power—this was no ordinary creature, but something ancient, tied to the very magic buried in these ruins.
The serpent's eyes locked onto Harry's, and though its massive body still loomed menacingly, it did not strike again. Its tongue flicked out, tasting the air as if sensing something beyond the physical. The moment stretched, and Harry could feel the serpent's ancient intelligence assessing him.
It spoke again, its voice a low, rasping hiss that only Harry could understand. "You are marked by both."
Harry's grip on his wand tightened. "Both what?"
The serpent uncoiled slightly, lowering its head. Its gaze was no less intense, but there was something different now—an acknowledgment of sorts. "The Claws and Fangs of the Jaguar, the Sages of the Serpent. You carry both powers, though you do not yet understand them."
The names triggered something in Harry's memory, a half-forgotten story that Xolotl had read to him back in Guatemala, one inscribed in the ancient quipu. The balance of destruction and creation, of the jaguar and the serpent—an ancient legend, older than even the ruins he now stood among.
The serpent's eyes gleamed with knowing. "The jaguar's strength destroys, the serpent's wisdom creates. Together they kept balance, until the jaguar's pride destroyed it all."
Atlantis.
Harry didn't speak, but the serpent seemed to sense his thoughts, continuing in its quiet hiss. "You are a child of both. But if you lean too far to one side, the balance will fall again. The world will fall again."
A strange chill crept down Harry's spine. "I'm not—"
The serpent's voice cut through his denial. "You seek power, like those before you. But power alone will lead to ruin."
It shifted closer, its head lowering to Harry's eye level. "You wish to explore the deeper ruins? To seek their knowledge?" It paused, the weight of its gaze heavy. "I will guide you. But on one condition."
Harry didn't break eye contact. "What condition?"
"You will speak nothing of this to the one you call mentor." The serpent's eyes narrowed. "He seeks only the power of the jaguar. He cannot know what I show you."
Harry hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing on him. Betrayal was not something he took lightly. But the serpent's words stirred something inside him—a curiosity, a hunger for the knowledge hidden beneath the surface. Finally, he nodded. "Agreed."
The serpent's tongue flicked again, almost as if satisfied with his answer. "Follow me," it hissed, before sliding silently into the underbrush, its massive body disappearing into the shadows of the jungle. Harry's heart pounded as he moved to follow.
The ancient beast led him through a partially collapsed dolmen, where a stone stairway leading below ground, completely obscured by a tangle of underbrush. The serpent slithered down the stairs without hesitation, and Harry followed. The stone passage grew narrower with every step, the once broad path now tapering into tight corridors. Harry's footsteps echoed softly against the cold stone as the air became heavier, cooler. The serpent slithered ahead, its massive body winding through the narrowing, maze-like passages. Harry tried to memorize the turns but quickly lost track. The serpent's bulk barely fit through now, its scales scraping lightly against the ancient walls, dislodging dust that had likely settled for centuries.
The dim light from the jungle behind them had all but vanished, replaced by a thick darkness that seemed to press against Harry. He cast Lumos, the tip of his wand flaring with eldritch light, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. He could see the faded remnants of carvings along the sides, their shapes less defined, as if even time itself had been worn thin in this place.
The passage curved one last time before it opened into a wide, cavernous chamber. The air here felt different—older, heavier, as though the chamber itself had been waiting. Harry's eyes swept across the room. The walls were covered in writing, but this was no ordinary script. The sinuous lines seemed to writhe and shift in the shadows, each curve and mark blending into the next, as if they were alive, reacting to his presence. The carvings pulsed faintly, never quite settling into clarity.
Harry stood still, observing with calm precision, his breath even. The weight of the place pressed down, but he remained steady, taking in the strangeness of it all. The chamber was ancient—older than anything even Grindelwald had shown him. His eyes moved over the writing, the faint stirrings of recognition flickering at the edges of his mind, though his expression gave nothing away.
The serpent coiled into the center of the chamber, its massive head rising above the rest of its body. "I have been the guardian of this place for thousands of years," it hissed, its voice reverberating off the stone walls. "Protecting the secrets inscribed here, the power that they hold."
Harry's gaze lingered on the shifting script, his expression unreadable. The symbols were unfamiliar, yet something about their movement tugged at him. He made no outward reaction, yet his focus sharpened.
"You must deepen your connection to Amaru," the serpent continued, its voice low and deliberate. "Only then will the secrets reveal themselves to you."
Harry's brow furrowed slightly. "How?"
The serpent's cold eyes gleamed in the dim light. "The sacred tongue. Words that bind magic to blood."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. Sacred tongue. He realized then what the serpent was referring to—Parselmagic. The legends he had read, the stories of Parselmouths who could use their language for more than speech, more than communication. He had dismissed it as myth, history exaggerating the truth to glorify—or infamize—certain figures. But now, standing here, he could see the possibility.
The serpent shifted slightly, its coils stirring the air of the chamber. "The path is open, but only if you are willing to walk it."
Harry remained still, his eyes tracing the sinuous script once more. The faint pulse of the writing seemed to echo through the chamber, almost in time with his own heartbeat. He gave no outward sign of the thoughts racing beneath the surface, maintaining his calm.
Finally, he spoke, his voice resolute. "I am willing."