CHAPTER 50: EMBRACING INTENT
As Harry raised his gaze to meet Minerva McGonagall's concerned visage, a mere nod conveyed his acknowledgment. Her presence, as Dumbledore had predicted, awaited him by the gargoyle statue. The once-neglected third-floor classrooms had undergone a remarkable transformation into his new abode. It now stood as a haven, encompassing not only his private dormitory but also a guest chamber and a versatile spellcasting workstation. A portrait gracing the door provided an additional layer of security, its bewitching figure poised for interaction.
"Password?" queried the portrait, a captivating woman draped in exotic garb, her midnight tresses adorned with ribbons of gleaming gold.
"Colchis," intoned McGonagall, and at her command, the door swung open. Harry crossed the threshold into a surprisingly spacious bedroom, albeit smaller than the one he'd occupied at Black Manor. Plush couches offered seating for guests, while a bath and a study branched off to the right. Candle stands adorned each wall, casting a comforting glow, complemented by the natural light streaming in from a solitary window. His trunk had already found its place beneath the four-poster bed, and his neatly arranged clothes awaited him in the wardrobe.
"Quite cozy, isn't it?" McGonagall remarked, surveying the room with a hint of approval.
Harry nodded, a sense of gratitude washing over him. "It's more than I could have hoped for, Professor."
"Well, you deserve nothing less, my boy," McGonagall replied, her tone softening. "And please, call me Minerva when we're in private. We're colleagues now, after all."
Harry managed a small smile. "Thank you, Minerva. This means a lot."
"Think nothing of it, Harry," she said, her eyes reflecting warmth. "Now, I'll leave you to settle in. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Dumbledore has made it clear that your comfort and safety are our top priorities."
With a nod of gratitude, Harry watched as McGonagall made her exit, leaving him alone in his new quarters. As he took in the familiar yet unfamiliar surroundings, a sense of both anticipation and apprehension coursed through him. This was to be his sanctuary, his refuge amidst the tumultuous times ahead. And with a renewed determination, he resolved to make it so.
As Harry took in the sight, a mixture of gratitude and longing for the familiar comforts of his former home washed over him. "It's... different," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness.
McGonagall, ever perceptive, observed him keenly. "I understand it might not compare to what you're used to, Harry. But it's essential for your safety and the tasks ahead."
Harry offered a small, appreciative smile, realizing the necessity behind the change. "Thank you, Professor. I'll make do." He moved toward the window, drawn to the view outside—a glimpse of Hogwarts grounds stretching out beneath the late afternoon sky.
"Should you need anything further, do not hesitate to ask. And Harry," McGonagall paused, her tone softening, "we're here for you, every step of the way."
Her words resonated within him, a comforting assurance amidst the uncertainties ahead. "I know. Thank you, Professor McGonagall." He turned back to the room, considering its potential, already planning how he could infuse a bit of his own character into this new space.
"Rudimentary indeed," McGonagall remarked, her eyes scanning the room thoughtfully. "But it holds potential for personalization. The Headmaster apprised me of your... unique standing as a Warlock and an Unspeakable Prospect."
Harry stifled the impulse to roll his eyes. Had his Unspeakable Internship become common knowledge already?
"Professor, regarding those subject changes I mentioned—"
"I received your letter," she interjected, a hint of approval in her tone. "I'm pleased you won't be selling yourself short in class any longer. Miss Granger could use a bit of healthy competition."
Embarrassed by the acknowledgment, Harry lowered his gaze but acknowledged her with a respectful nod. "I'll do my best, Professor."
McGonagall fixed him with a scrutinizing stare. "Potter, such assurances carry weight. I hope you're aware of the gravity of your words. It has been rather vexing for me to witness such potential go untapped these past three years. You mentioned receiving instruction in Arithmancy over the summer, yes?"
"Sirius provided a few lessons," Harry confirmed, recalling the hours spent deciphering the complexities of magical numerology.
McGonagall's eyes brightened with interest. "An excellent pursuit, Potter. I shall arrange for supplementary materials to aid your studies. It's high time we unlocked your full potential."
"And Fleur covered some introductory ward theory," he added, keeping the extent of his recent studies somewhat discreet. The focus had been more on practical applications than theoretical frameworks, but he wasn't about to disclose that to McGonagall.
"Sirius Black was a remarkable Arithmancer, much like his father, Orion. I trust you took his tutelage seriously," McGonagall remarked softly, her smile carrying a gentle admonishment. "I've been informed by Professors Babbling and Vector that their newest apprentice, Miss Delacour, has been delving into something inspired by your unique magical essence. Is that correct?"
Harry felt a sudden jolt. The discussions with Fleur in the evenings often circled back to his distinct magical essence—the nature of his power, its effects on different forms of magic, and its underlying principles. Engaging in these conversations had been enlightening, and he'd often gleaned valuable insights from Fleur. Initially, he had assumed she was probing for information to understand why his magic had interacted unpredictably with her Tomb ward, but he hadn't imagined it would lead to a complete redirection of her research toward incorporating his Death powers into her warding schemes, making it her project for mastery.
"She'll be the death of me," Harry thought, a mixture of surprise and admiration swirling within him.
"Professors Babbling and Vector have requested your presence tomorrow," McGonagall continued. "Bathsheda has asked you to join the fifth-year students for Runes class. Additionally, I've been informed that Miss Tonks will be intermittently arriving at Hogwarts to assist you with your private studies."
Harry nodded, his mind already buzzing with the weight of the upcoming commitments. "That aligns with what I've been told." The realization of the growing network of support around him provided both reassurance and a sense of responsibility for what lay ahead.
"Very well. And what about Divination? Will you be keeping it or dropping it?" McGonagall inquired.
Harry shook his head resolutely. "I'll drop it."
A victorious smile played on McGonagall's lips. "I'll inform Sybil Trelawney of your decision."
"Um, Professor, I'd also like to drop Transfiguration," Harry added.
McGonagall's demeanor shifted abruptly. Her usually composed expression gave way to a flicker of surprise, then transformed into a steely resolve tinged with simmering anger.
"May I inquire why?" Her voice was controlled, but the edge was unmistakable.
"Because I can't," Harry replied, a note of frustration creeping into his tone.
"Potter... Harry, it's not uncommon for magical accidents to alter one's affinity toward a particular discipline. But that doesn't mean you should give up," McGonagall urged, her concern evident. "I'm willing to assist you in the basics if that's what's causing hesitation."
"It's not fear, Professor. I just can't do it," Harry clarified.
"Can't?" McGonagall repeated, her brows furrowing in perplexity.
Harry nodded, his expression firm.
"I'll need to witness this for myself before any decision is made. Is that agreeable to you?" McGonagall proposed.
He shrugged in response.
"Very well," she murmured, her lips pressing into a thin line before her eyes brightened with a new thought. "That reminds me, the Headmaster mentioned something about your acquisition of a most unusual wand. Is that accurate?" Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the sudden change in topic.
"I've always held a profound appreciation for wandlore, Potter," McGonagall confessed, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. "In my younger days, I frequented Ollivander's shop in pursuit of wand secrets, but that man never indulged me. He claimed I didn't meet the prerequisites of a wandmaker," she added, her lips forming a reminiscent frown. "Yet, that hasn't deterred me from studying wands whenever I chance upon an intriguing specimen."
Harry chuckled and deftly maneuvered his wrist, causing his wand to twirl into his waiting palm. McGonagall's nod of approval at his choice to wear a wand holster prompted him to offer it to her, which she accepted cautiously. With an air of intense focus, she scrutinized the wand, weighing and testing it for an extended moment. Her typically stern countenance softened, engrossed as she was in her fascination for the wand, momentarily forgetting to maintain her usual air of authority. After a prolonged inspection, she gave it a wave.
Nothing happened.
Another attempt yielded the same result.
"It works for me, Professor," Harry explained. "Only for me."
The uniqueness of his wand had always intrigued him. Whether it was the influence of his bloodline and the Peverell magic used in its crafting or the peculiar nature of the thestral hair core, his wand simply refused to cooperate for anyone else. At all.
"Hmm," McGonagall mused, almost speaking to herself. "Fascinating."
"Professor?" Harry inquired, a touch perplexed.
"It's a truly intriguing and... peculiar piece of craftsmanship, Potter, much like yourself, it would seem," she remarked with a hint of amusement. "I'd say it could serve as a fine replacement for your previous wand, but that would be a falsehood. They share as much resemblance as a phoenix does to a basilisk. However, it doesn't diminish the fact that both are profoundly magical and potent in their own ways."
Pausing, McGonagall twirled the wand gently between her fingers, her full-moon spectacles amplifying her focused scrutiny.
"Yew," she pronounced thoughtfully, "a rather uncommon wand wood, notorious for its uncommon and occasionally infamous pairings. It's known to yield some of the most enigmatic forms of magic, much like a phoenix wand core."
She met Harry's gaze squarely. "And the core?"
"Thestral hair," Harry responded.
Her eyes narrowed, a furrow forming on her brow as she tilted her head slightly, a look of puzzlement crossing her features. "Thestral hair. Are you absolutely certain?"
He nodded in affirmation.
"I've never encountered a wand with a thestral hair core in any famous wielder's repertoire. Powerful creatures, thestrals, but their magic doesn't adhere to the established laws," McGonagall remarked, her brow furrowing in contemplation. "A consequence of your Family magic, perhaps?"
"I... believe so," Harry replied tentatively.
Returning the wand to him, McGonagall's gesture prompted Harry to gingerly accept it, deftly sliding it back into its holster. His wand exuded power; every spell he cast felt heightened, amplified in some way. Yet, there lingered an unsettling sensation at the periphery of his consciousness—a subtle whisper from the wand, urging him to channel something other than conventional magic, something that resonated more deeply with the wand's essence.
Wood from the Tree of Death. Hair from a creature seen only by those who had encountered Death. Blood from one destined to embody Death's avatar.
He fought against dwelling too deeply on these unsettling truths. The implications of his wand's components were weighty and mysterious, tied to ancient and formidable sources of magic. But he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the practical applications of his wand and the skills he needed to develop, steering clear of the deeper implications of its composition.
"Potter..." McGonagall's voice trailed off, a mix of emotions flickering across her features. "I understand things have been rather... somber for you lately. But let me say this: it's rare to encounter a student who has found their purpose. Most individuals have their aspirations scattered in countless directions, especially teenagers. They find themselves lost in a world teeming with allure, yearning for everything it offers—greatness, power, romance, and more. But finding a clear sense of direction is a rarity."
Her gaze locked with his, earnest and searching. "I might be mistaken, but it seems you have found that clarity. That purpose. Your wand is a tangible testament to that. I may not know what drives you, but I sincerely hope you achieve what you seek."
Harry acknowledged her words with a nod. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Make sure you do," she emphasized before turning on her heel and departing.
Watching her leave, Harry closed the door behind her and made his way to his new dormitory. In many ways, this space reminded him of his own room at Black Manor, albeit without Sirius present. Returning to Hogwarts had always filled him with exhilaration, akin to inhaling fresh air after being confined indoors for too long—especially considering the Dursleys. But this year, a tinge of melancholy lingered. Nostalgia crept in, leaving him missing the room he had grown accustomed to over the summer. Was this what homesickness felt like? Did Ron, Hermione, and everyone else at Hogwarts experience the same emotions he'd felt during their first year?
Harry deftly unclasped the golden chain around his neck, withdrawing it and tapping it gently with his wand while murmuring the release incantation. The shrinking charm dissipated, allowing his trunk to resume its full size. With practiced movements, he systematically unpacked his belongings—clothes neatly arranged on shelves, textbooks and equipment carefully placed for easy access. Snape's copy of Extreme Incantations levitated to the desk, flanked by Confronting the Faceless, Secrets of the Darkest Art, and Compendium to Medieval Sorcery.
He paused, considering the matter of Hecate. The giant snake likely dozed in the last compartment, yet he needed to arrange an alternate space for her. Allowing a colossal serpent to roam his dorm room didn't seem wise, and Hecate, being a peculiar serpent, required ample room to move freely without posing a threat.
Fortunately, Harry had an available space—just for himself. A secluded sanctuary where he could delve into his Death magic without fear of exposure. It struck him with a mix of disbelief and humor as he realized his next move.
"Merlin's beard! I'll be introducing a new creature to the Chamber of Secrets!"
With a laugh, tinged with a hint of mischief, Harry settled into the seat, anticipating the peculiar yet intriguing prospect of housing Hecate in his clandestine chamber.
Over the following hours, Harry meticulously arranged the room to his liking, incorporating a few protective wards he'd learned from Fleur to deter unwanted intruders. Engrossed in his tasks, he showered, tidied up, and maintained constant motion. Staying active became his refuge, a shield against the encroaching homesickness he feared might take hold if he paused for too long.
Sleep wasn't even a consideration. It simply wasn't within reach. Instead, he kept moving. Routine exercises became a way to occupy his restless mind. He designated a corner for spellcasting in the narrow hall, cycling through the spells Sirius had drilled into him daily, concluding with a potent stunner. Sirius's teachings emphasized skill and casting speed as the core traits of a formidable war wizard, while Snape likely favored a diverse arsenal of obscure spells. Harry, torn between the two philosophies, opted for a blend of both.
As he pondered whether to commence his initial exploration of the Chamber, a polite knock echoed at the door. His wand twirled into his hand with a flick of his wrist. Consulting a Tempus charm revealed it was nearly ten. Who could possibly be visiting his room at this late hour?
"I'll be right there!" Harry called out, swiftly summoning a shirt to present a more presentable appearance. Approaching the door, he pulled it open to reveal Fleur standing on the other side. His heart skipped a beat. He couldn't help but notice how the satin purple robe she wore accentuated her figure rather than concealing it.
"Hi," she murmured, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.
"Uh, hi," Harry stammered, gesturing to widen the doorway. "What brings you here at this hour?"
"Ah, manners, Monsieur Potter," she teased, "I am a professor now, am I not?"
Before he could respond, Fleur breezed past him into the room, her gaze expectant. Harry momentarily realized he was inadvertently blocking the entrance and stepped aside to allow her passage. She ambled around, casually surveying the room's arrangement. Her glance flitted briefly toward his trunk and the package still tied to it, eliciting a smirk from her. It was the birthday present she had given him—an intricate portable wardstone infused with the essence of her Tomb ward.
"Um," Harry started, feeling slightly flustered. "Sorry, Professor Delacour, what brings you to my room at this hour?"
Her bright hazel eyes regarded him obliquely for a moment, a flicker of intrigue dancing within their depths before her lips subtly thinned. "I assumed that was rather evident, Monsieur Potter. You've been relocated to a new room. It falls under my purview to ensure my students' accommodations are satisfactory."
A mischievous glint sparkled in her gaze as she tilted her head, her smile teasingly promising untold secrets. "Are the arrangements to your liking, Monsieur Potter?"
Harry hesitated briefly, his nerves coiling like springs, before managing a faint smile. "Yes, they seem fine. But a closer inspection never hurts, does it?"
"Is that so?" Fleur's voice dipped with playful intrigue as she gracefully closed the distance between them, her robes offering a tantalizing glimpse down the V-line. "Well then, let us commence, shall we?"
As Harry leaned in, his anticipation palpable, their proximity sizzled with an unspoken tension. He felt his heart race as their lips connected, a soft and electrifying contact that sent sparks cascading through him. The sensation was intoxicating, a rush of emotions blending with the heady thrill of the moment.
The pull between them was magnetic, driving Harry towards her until he found himself enveloped in her embrace, the weight of his conflicting emotions adding fervor to his passion. Every ounce of homesickness, frustration with the Ministry, and the turbulent whirlwind of emotions he had suppressed surged forth, seeking solace in this ephemeral escape.
"Fleur," the word escaped Harry's lips in a breathless whisper, carrying an undercurrent of yearning and vulnerability amidst the passion that enveloped them.
Their embrace lingered, an unspoken understanding passing between them in the silence that followed. Fleur's eyes held a depth of empathy as they met his, a silent acknowledgment of the tumultuous storm raging within Harry.
Moments stretched into eternity as they remained entwined, a sanctuary within each other's arms amidst the tempest of emotions swirling around them.
With a precise flick of his wand, Harry sealed the door shut, the click echoing through the room as the lock engaged. Fleur, with a graceful movement of her wand, wove a silencing charm that enveloped the room in a cocoon of tranquility. No sound would escape, ensuring their privacy and uninterrupted sanctuary until the dawn's arrival.
The air crackled with a blend of anticipation and quietude, the outside world now a distant murmur. It was a haven carved out of the chaos, a space where their desires and vulnerabilities could intertwine without intrusion.
Their gazes met, and in that shared moment, an unspoken agreement passed between them. This night belonged solely to them, a sacred respite from the demands of the world outside. The hush that settled within the room amplified the intensity of their connection, heightening every touch and glance exchanged between them.
As the moon cast its gentle glow through the window, illuminating the contours of the room, time seemed to bend and stretch in the confines of their haven. It was a suspended moment, cocooned in the warmth of their shared intimacy, shielded from the constraints of the world beyond the closed door.
Their intimacy deepened with each passing moment, a dance of souls intertwined in the stillness of the night. Their whispered conversations, punctuated by tender caresses and lingering glances, revealed layers of vulnerability and longing they had kept hidden from the world.
In the embrace of darkness and secrecy, they found solace in each other's arms, finding comfort in the silent understanding that bloomed between them. Their connection transcended mere physicality, delving into the depths of their shared experiences and the unspoken desires that bound them together.
Outside, the world continued its ceaseless march, unaware of the sanctuary they had created within the confines of their room. But within those walls, time seemed to stand still, allowing them to savor each fleeting moment as if it were an eternity.
And as the night unfolded, they surrendered to the pull of their hearts, surrendering to the blissful oblivion of their shared sanctuary, where nothing else mattered except the love they held for each other.
Step into the world of PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n! Experience where tales unfold, magic ignites, and the future takes shape.
For exclusive support and early access to upcoming chapters, join us at PEVERELL_MAGIC on P.a.t.r.e.o.n.
Note: Get the scoop a day before anyone else! Updates release on P.a.t.r.e.o.n before they hit FanFiction. Join us for free to read ahead!