Chapter 3: You are What You Dare
[Ministry of Magic Archives, Location Classified]
[UNKNOWN]
The ancient tome lay open before the archivist, its pages crackling with age. Across its surface, words shifted and reformed - a peculiar magic that hadn't been seen in centuries. The archivist's trembling fingers traced a single line that refused to stay still: "You are what you dare, and magic remembers."
[4 Privet Drive]
[ 7th August, 1988]
Harry's fingers traced the strange markings that had appeared on his bedroom wall overnight. They pulsed with a faint silver light, reminiscent of the stranger's hair. The symbols seemed to whisper, though he couldn't make out the words. Sometimes, when he wasn't looking directly at them, they appeared to move, like snakes made of starlight.
The Dursleys had been... different since that night. Aunt Petunia would sometimes stop mid-sentence, her eyes going glassy, as if trying to remember something important. Uncle Vernon no longer bellowed about Harry's freakishness - in fact, he seemed to have trouble remembering Harry existed at all.
But the strangest thing was the cat.
It appeared seven days after Grindelwald's visit - a sleek creature with fur the color of moonlight and eyes an impossible shade of blue. It would sit on the garden wall, watching Harry with an intelligence that made his skin prickle. Sometimes, when the sun hit it just right, he could swear he saw runes flickering across its fur, the same ones that now decorated his walls.
The moonlight cat wasn't the only new addition to Harry's world. His dreams had changed too. Gone were the usual nightmares of green light and screaming. Instead, he dreamed of three brothers crossing a river, their shadows stretching impossibly long behind them. In these dreams, the middle brother always turned to look at him, and his face was Grindelwald's.
The runes on his wall seemed to respond to these dreams. Each morning after, they would rearrange themselves into a new pattern - always three symbols prominent among the rest: a circle, a line, and a triangle.
One morning, Harry found an old book tucked beneath his thin mattress. He was certain it hadn't been there the night before. Its cover was blank except for three words that appeared to be written in silver ink: "Memento Mori, Peverell."
The silver cat watched as Harry, sat in his cupboard, opened the book, its eyes glowing with the same eerie blue as the runes. The moment his fingers touched the pages, every mirror in the house shattered simultaneously. And just for a moment, Harry could have sworn he saw three figures standing around him, more dense than what he would call ghosts, but not human, or real - one holding a wand that pulsed with power, one wearing a ring that whispered secrets, and one draped in a cloak that seemed to swallow light itself.
The magic knew. It had always known.
Grindelwald had spent decades pursuing the Hallows, sacrificing everything in his quest. The Elder Wand had sung in his grip, recognizing not just his power but his devotion to its cause. And now, that same ancient magic stirred, sensing the last drop of Peverell blood flowing through Harry's veins.
The runes on Harry's wall blazed suddenly, forming a pattern he'd seen in his dreams - the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. But there was more. Beneath it, words began to form in elegant script:
"Blood calls to blood, sacrifice to sacrifice. The seeker finds the heir, and magic remembers its debts. Remember, You are what You Dare, and magic remembers."
"Huh."
[4, Privet Drive]
[7th August, 1988]
Locked in his cupboard, with nothing else to do, Harry poked and prodded the silvery symbols that shone in the relative darkness, simmering, inviting him to touch them. The cat had somehow gotten in, and sat on a rack where he kept a broken knight from a chess set. They felt warm, like sunlight trapped under glass.
"This is..." Harry whispered, his heart doing backflips in his chest. He wanted to run around his room screaming with excitement, but also hide under his bed until forever. The runes flickered brighter at his touch, sending sparkles of light dancing across his ceiling.
"Wicked," he breathed, then immediately clapped his hands over his mouth, glancing nervously at his door. But Uncle Vernon's snores continued undisturbed.
The cat - if it really was a cat - made a sound that wasn't quite a meow. More like a laugh. Harry stuck his tongue out at it, then froze, wondering if that was rude. Do you apologize to magical cats? Was it even magical? It had to be, normal cats didn't have glowing runes in their fur or sit so... properly.
"Are you his?" Harry whispered to the cat, thinking of the silver-haired man. "Are you going to eat me if I do something wrong?"
The cat somehow managed to look offended.
[4, Privet Drive]
[8th August, 1988]
The morning sun shone brightly, unbeknownst to Harry, due to the lack of outside exposure in his priso-pardon, cupboard.
However, this lack of critical climate knowledge was not withheld from Harry much longer, as Aunt Petunia unclasped the door and pulled it open with a loud squeak and groan, prompting Harry to look away from the runes he had been harassing all night.
"You will stay in this room," she hissed, her face pinched tighter than usual and voice trembling with both anger and unease. "Marge is arriving this evening, and I will not have you ruining her visit with your... whatever this is." She waved a bony hand vaguely at the walls, though her eyes darted away quickly.
"Marge?" Harry asked, his stomach sinking. He had met Uncle Vernon's sister only twice before, but her disdain for him was legendary.
"Yes, Marge," Petunia snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "She'll be here for a week, and you will not cause any trouble, do you hear me? If I hear so much as a whisper about... about anything strange, you'll regret it!"
She didn't wait for an answer, slamming the door behind her. Harry stared at the closed door, the knot of dread in his stomach tightening. A week with Marge. A week of insults, punishments, and thinly veiled threats.
The runes on his wall seemed to pulse in response to his rising panic, the silver light flickering and growing momentarily brighter.