Wandlore
"Good," Godric praised, "but if someone parries your blade, try using the momentum to begin your next attack. Try again."
Harry nodded and swung his sword. Godric blocked the first few blows before heavily parrying the blade to his right. Instead of resisting the weight of the blade, Harry followed it with his body, spinning and following up with another strike.
Godric stumbled backwards, but he managed to right himself before the next attack came.
"Better," he said with a smile. "Fetch some water."
Harry gratefully did so and squirmed in the heavy armour the man had insisted he wore.
"Even a wizard will die from a sword to the heart, Harry. Your body is still only made of flesh and bone. An arrow, spear, axe, or sword can end you as quickly as any spell, and you might not even see them coming. Best to protect yourself as much as possible."
"Does it have to be so heavy?"
"No," Godric said with a smirk, "but it will make you stronger. It will condition your body as much as everything else we do."
Harry shook his head as he took a deep sip from the skin of water.
"You are progressing at an exceptional rate," Godric assured him. "You have all of the instincts that make a great fighter."
"What if I don't want to fight?"
"No one should ever want to fight, Harry, but everyone should be able to. You may only venture to the village and could be attacked by bandits or all manner of unpleasant people or creatures who roam the country. It's best that you are prepared for such."
Harry nodded.
Although he'd yet to leave the grounds of the school, visitors bearing news often arrived to inform the Founders of developments throughout the country, and from Harry had heard for himself, Britain was not at peace.
"You still hold back on me."
"Because I do not wish to kill you," Godric returned evenly. "You are good, Harry, and you may be great, but you are only at the very beginning of your journey. I use my sword and only my sword, for now. When you are ready, you will learn to wield your own in ways you do not yet know."
"How?" Harry asked confusedly.
Godric eyed him for a moment before nodding.
"Magic," he answered.
With a wave of his hand, his sword reappeared in it, and before Harry could blink, Godric was already on the far side of the room swinging his blade. The straw man he struck erupted in a ball of fire and quickly became nothing more than a pile of ash on the ground.
Harry's eyes widened at the display, and Godric nodded gravely.
"A melee weapon, if forged correctly, can be used to channel your magic through. It is not like a wand where you can create any spell, but there are certainly things it can be used for. I have done so to my benefit, and I will teach you, but you must master the sword, Harry. Without mastering it, channelling magic in a melee can be exceedingly dangerous. When the time is right, you will have a sword of your own, but not until you have my blessing. Understood?"
Harry nodded.
He'd had no idea that using a blade in such a way was even possible, but having seen Godric do so, he could see how useful it might prove to be.
"Good, now, you will practice your form," the man instructed. "Both offensive and defensive movements."
Harry set to work on the task and went through the motions of what Godric had been teaching him for a month now.
He was far from perfect, but he could see and feel the improvements he had been making.
The sword no longer felt so heavy in his hands, and he was able to move and strike with it freely compared to when he'd first begun. It had taken considerable effort to get so far, but it was one of the most noticeable changes Harry could see.
He was getting stronger, more durable, and fitter.
"Excellent work, Harry," Godric praised when he was finished. "Take a seat."
Harry did so, and though his breathing was heavy, he wasn't gasping for breath or seeing white spots dancing across his vision anymore.
"Oh, Salazar said that I should show this to you," he declared, remembering the conversation he'd shared with the other founder the previous evening before he'd given Harry the fang and venom.
Godric frowned as Harry handed him the phial and carefully placed the fang in his hand, and a look of realisation formed.
"Is this from a basilisk?" he whispered excitedly.
"The same one."
Godric frowned.
"The same one? How is that possible?"
"It's a very long story," Harry sighed, "but it is definitely from the same one."
Godric evidently chose not to press him on the matter, even if he was undoubtedly curious.
"Harry, this is exceptional," he chuckled. "Do you know what this means?"
"I have no idea," Harry admitted.
Godric grinned.
"You will," he assured him. "Oh, this could be quite brilliant, but I do not expect it will be so simple," he added uncertainly before humming.
"Why can't it be simple?" Harry groaned.
"Because anything worth having never is, but this, will be one of those things, if you can figure it out."
"If I can figure it out?"
Godric nodded.
"We have something new for you to work on," he revealed. "I suspect that your bond with your wand is already rather strong, but you must get to know it better, Harry. You must look within yourself and find the connection between you and your wand. When you do, you must understand and strengthen it. You must trust one another completely."
"I don't understand," Harry murmured.
Wandlore was not something he'd ever looked into.
Ollivander had crafted his wand and sold it to Harry.
The only time he'd ever questioned it was when he'd learned that he and Voldemort had both received a wand with same core from the same phoenix.
"Do you remember that I found it rather perplexing that you had not had any part of crafting your wand?"
Harry nodded.
"It chose me when I went to Ollivander's."
"Ollivander's?" Godric asked. "I know of an Ollivander who makes wands. It can't be the same person."
Harry shook his head.
"No, but one of his descendants. They've been making wands for centuries where I'm from."
Godric nodded thoughtfully before shaking his head.
"It seems to be a growing thing that people purchase wands. Perhaps it is because it is easier than crafting their own, but it is far from what is best for you and your magic. You see, Harry, crafting your own wand is a part of the journey of becoming the best wizard you can be. When a student arrives at Hogwarts, that process begins. We begin by finding a wood that matches their magic before finding a first core. This can come from a creature familiar to the child, or, we may even take them on an excursion into the forest to find something suitable."
Harry was surprised by the explanation.
"Sometimes, a witch or wizard will change enough that their wand will no longer work as well as it once did for them. Either they are simply no longer a match, or a wand will begin to reject the bond between them. When that happens, the process starts again. Do not worry, Harry, I do not believe that will happen to you. Your bond with your wand has been sealed rather spectacularly. The phoenix your core comes from gave you another part of itself and saved your life in the process. What this fang and venom may do is strengthen that connection further, but it is indeed complicated."
"Why?" Harry asked, breathing a sigh of relief that his wand would not eventually reject him.
"Well, the phoenix saved your life whilst the basilisk attempted to take it," Godric explained. "Had your fate not been sealed, your relationship would've become much simpler of you conquering the beast, but that did not happen. In essence, the magic may recognise it as you killing one another, but I am not inclined to think so. You did not truly perish."
"What does that mean?"
Godric released a deep sigh.
"I'm afraid I cannot say for certain, but the basilisk is as much a part of you as the phoenix."
"Salazar said the same."
Godric nodded as he frowned.
"Do you feel anything when you hold this?" he asked, handing Harry the fang back.
Unease was the first thing he noticed, but as he became accustomed to handling the thing that came too close to ending his life for comfort, he could feel something of a connection to it.
It was almost as though there was a part of him fighting it off, but he could undeniably feel it.
"Stop fighting, Harry," Godric urged. "It is not going to harm you."
How the man could see his internal conflict, Harry didn't know, but he took a moment to relax himself and indeed felt the connection become more prominent.
It was almost as though he and the magic within the fang were circling each other, deciding if they were a threat to one another. It was an odd sensation, and it became somewhat muted over the course of the next passing moments.
"I can feel something," Harry murmured. "It's as though we were watching each other."
Godric nodded as he smiled.
"Then you must figure out your relationship with the basilisk as much as you do your wand," he mused aloud. "Salazar will be able to help you understand more than I can, but it is clear to me that it is something you must explore. When you have a definitive answer, we can proceed. Keep these with you, Harry."
He handed him the venom and Harry placed both within his pocket, ensuring the point of the fang wouldn't stab into his flesh.
"So, I should handle them regularly?"
"As much as possible," Godric suggested. "That will be all for today. We will continue our work tomorrow."
Harry nodded before divesting himself of the armour, grimacing at how his tunic stuck to his skin from the sweat.
He would need to wash before attending his lesson with Rowena and change his clothes.
Working with Godric was always quite the filthy affair, and though the exhaustion still plagued him, Harry had rather come to enjoy being pushed to and beyond his limits.
(Break)
It had been harrowing to watch the arrival of those seeking refuge in Camelot from whence they came. Many were injured, and there were so few men upon them that Arthur needed not to speculate what had happened.
The men that had accompanied the many women and children had not fared well from the attack of the Danes, with most being rather severely injured. Several died on the way to Camelot, their bodies left to rot on the side of the path they walked, and three more had followed, unable to be saved by the healers within the castle.
Dozens upon Dozens of tents filled a large field where the people were being housed and tended to, and Arthur walked amongst them in silence, seeing for himself what became of his people who found themselves under attack from the Danes.
"They will need more food and water," he instructed one of the stewards accompanying him.
"Of course, my king," the man replied before rushing off to carry out the instruction.
Arthur continued walking the rows of tents, stopping by most to share a few words with the occupants, though only briefly as he did not wish to disturb their rest.
"I told you that I am well enough! Tend to the women and children. Mine is but a minor wound."
Arthur frowned as he neared the next tent the ruckus was coming from and raised an eyebrow at a boy a similar age to himself who was propped up in a bed, a wound to his chest still bleeding slightly.
"Come to gawk at us, have you?" the boy grumbled irritably, wincing as a healer pressed some damp linen on the wound.
"That will need stitching," the man informed the boy. "The wound will not seal of its own accord."
"It can wait," the boy protested. "Tend to the women."
The healer shot him a look of disapproval but moved along to the next bed without further argument.
"How did you get it?" Arthur asked.
The boy shrugged.
"I was helping a woman whose husband had been slaughtered. She managed to get away, and I got this," he answered. "I took the Dane's head, but it was already too late. They came in the night. What do you care? You don't have to worry about living in a village."
"I did until most recently," Arthur replied. "I have seen my fair share of what bandits, Danes, and Saxons can do. My father and adoptive brother would venture out to fight them."
"But not you?"
Arthur shook his head.
"I was too young."
The other boy snorted.
"I've been fighting them since before I should have been allowed to hold a sword. It's nothing new. Most Britons are forced to defend themselves against them, or they do not live long."
Arthur nodded his understanding.
Myrddin had said much the same as this boy who wore a much harder look than any his age should.
"And that is what I wish to change," he murmured.
"More food is on the way, my king," the steward announced upon returning.
"King?" the boy asked, taken aback by the revelation. "Where's your crown?"
"What purpose does a crown serve?" Arthur returned. "I may be a king, but I do not think myself to be above any other. If my people choose to follow me, I shall lead them, and I hope to do so into a world where we may be free of attack, well fed, and that all men may be able to raise and support their family. I t may seem like a dream, but I am willing to fight for it, and die for it, if necessary."
The boy eyed him for a moment before standing and falling to a knee in front of him.
"That is a king that I would be honoured to serve," he said sincerely. "I am excellent with my words, but even better with a sword. If what you say is true, allow me to serve you and my sword will be yours in the battles to come."
Arthur was taken aback by the sudden change in demeanour.
"You wish to serve me?"
"I wish for everything you spoke of," the boy answered, looking up at Arthur. "The world of what you speak is everything I have hoped for."
Arthur nodded as he looked towards his steward who followed suit.
"The other villagers speak highly of this boy, my king," the steward explained. "They say that he saved many Britons, and killed several Danes whilst helping those who could escape."
"Then it would be my honour to have you at my side," Arthur declared as he pulled the other boy to his feet. "What is your name?"
The boy offered him a smile as he stood at his full height.
"Lancelot Du Lac," he declared. "I may not be a Briton by blood, but it is in my heart. I was born and raised here, and I will fight and die for it, if that is what is needed."
"Then let us hope it is not, Lancelot. Rest," Arthur urged. "There will be much time for us to become familiar with one another."
(Break)
"Now, we have been working together long enough to begin discovering where your talent truly lies in magic, Harry," Rowena said with a smile. "You have already proven your aptitude in Charms and Defensive Magic, and Godric, Salazar, and Helga believe that you are doing well enough to pursue some of the subjects they offer. As you can see, we have been keeping a rather in-depth account of our time with you," she added, handing Harry a thick stack of parchment. "I would like for you to read this carefully and consider how you wish to proceed."
Harry nodded.
"Do I have to decide now?"
"No," Rowena assured him. "It is a decision you do not need to rush, but you will see that each of us have included our recommendations. For now, we are going to continue working on some useful Charms that will serve you well. Some of these are a little more complicated than others we have worked through, but I do not suspect they will give you too many problems. The first is an advanced Revealing Charm. If cast correctly, it will show you even the slightest traces of magic, both good and unpleasant. It will then be up to you to identify what the magic is. That is the difficult part, Harry. Some magics are very similar to one another, and you do not want to find yourself in a position where a simple error could cost you your life. Shall we begin?"
The boy nodded warily and Rowena offered him another smile.
She was confident that he would once again prove himself competent in the use of Charms, but this was certainly a step above what they had done together thus far.
Still, she believed in his ability, even if he still lacked confidence in himself.
(Break)
She watched as he took off his tunic and dipped his foot in the waters of the lake. Although the weather was beginning to improve, there was still a distinct chill in the air in the evening, and Morgana snorted amusedly as he cursed under his breath.
Nonetheless, he plunged himself into the depths before emerging several feet away from the bank.
He went about the process of washing himself, and Morgana shook her head before averting her gaze.
She found herself admiring him rather than simply observing.
In the weeks since he'd arrived at the castle, Harry had changed.
When she'd first met him, he appeared to be rather underfed, his skin a little too pale to be considered healthy, and she'd been able to count every last one of his ribs with no difficulty.
Now, however, he looked strong.
Harry had gained some much-needed weight, and he was starting to fill out in all the right places.
Morgana watched him once more, doing her best not to stare too intently at all of the changes she noticed, but it wasn't as easy as she'd hoped.
He moved so seamlessly through the water, and when he came up for air, he pushed his hair out of his face in a way she found to be rather alluring.
Chastising herself, she stepped out from the treeline and climbed atop the same rock she'd hidden behind when she'd first saw him and waited.
It didn't take long for Harry to notice her and he swam in her direction, stepping out of the water and moving his hair once more.
"Do you do that on purpose?" Morgana asked amusedly.
"Do what?" Harry returned confusedly.
Morgana shook her head.
"Nothing," she snorted.
Harry merely frowned at her before shrugging and climbing to take a seat next to her.
She became acutely aware of how close he was, and Morgana could even see the goosepimples on his skin from where he was cold. Before she could say anything however, he cast a drying charm on himself before summoning his tunic from where he'd laid it down.
"Wait," she requested as she reached into her bag.
"You don't want me to get dressed?"
Morgana tutted as she removed the pile of linen and handed it to Harry.
"It will be getting hotter soon, and your tunics are made for the winter. You'll faint if you go out in them."
"You made me clothes?" Harry asked.
He seemed rather in awe for what was only a simple gesture.
"It didn't take long," Morgana assured him, holding up a green tunic against him.
She'd used dried deer skin to create the fastenings and she nodded approvingly before handing it to him.
He put it on before admiring the garment and offering her a sincere smile.
"Thank you."
Morgana waved him off before removing her wand and shrinking it to fit him better.
"You have four of them and three pairs of trousers," she explained nodding towards the rest of the clothing. "They have cooling charms imbued into them, and they are self-cleaning. They're not perfect, but they will be better for the summer months."
Harry nodded appreciatively.
"You really didn't have to do that."
"I know, but we can't have you plaguing everyone with your stench. I've seen how hard you train."
Harry chuckled.
"Do I smell?"
"No, but you will in the summer. I suppose you will have to spend more time in the lake," she added with a grin.
"So you can keep spying on me at your convenience?"
Morgana quirked an eyebrow at him.
"I may as well have something to enjoy."
She cheered internally as Harry's cheeks noticeably reddened in the moonlight.
"Is it comfortable?" she asked.
Harry nodded as he rubbed the material between his thumb and forefinger.
"It is."
"Good, because I can't do much better than that. I get by well enough, but I'm no seamstress."
"It is perfect," Harry assured her. "I really appreciate it."
Morgana hummed as she eyed him.
"You'd better," she huffed good-naturedly.
Harry shook his head.
"Are you coming in?" he asked, nodding towards the lake.
Morgana bit her lower lip before shaking her head in response.
"No, not tonight."
Harry looked at her questioningly and she released a deep sigh.
"I'm not shy," she murmured. "Well, not like that."
Harry's blush deepened and he held up his hands.
"I didn't mean…well…not that."
Morgana offered him a sad smile.
"I know," she broke in. "Let's just say that you have your scars and I have mine. Mine are not like yours."
Harry nodded and the two of them sat in silence for some time before Harry suddenly rolled his right sleeve up.
"I got this one from a basilisk," he explained. "It bit me and a phoenix saved my life with its tears."
Morgana scoffed, but when she saw the haunted expression he wore, she swallowed deeply. She prided herself in her ability of knowing if someone was lying to her, and she sensed nothing but honesty from Harry.
"A basilisk?" she whispered, tentatively running a thumb across the puckered skin of his forearm.
Harry chuckled humourlessly as he lifted his other sleeve to reveal what appeared to be another puncture wound.
"Hungarian Horntail," he explained. "One of the spikes went into my arm."
Morgana could only shake her head.
"What were you doing so near a dragon?"
"That is a long story," Harry replied as he moved his hair revealing the oddest of his scars. "I got this the night my parents were murdered. The man who killed them tried to kill me, but he failed. This one here is from where my aunt hit me for burning breakfast. The others, I don't really remember."
Morgana did not know what to say and Harry gave her a reassuring smile.
"We all have our scars," he chuckled.
Morgana nodded.
"Mine still aren't like yours," she murmured. "Mine a self-inflicted. Well, most of them. The ones that matter."
"Try me," Harry urged.
Morgana watched him speculatively for a moment before tapping her hand with her wand.
The various markings she had carved into the skin glowed brightly in the darkness.
Each of them were perfectly etched, symbols representing different elements, alchemical formulas, runic arrays, and various other things that had appeared throughout the process of her work.
Some were creatures, others plants, and some which she had yet been able to discern.
Although she was only showing him her hand, Morgana felt rather exposed, but before she could hide the litany of markings, Harry took her gently by the wrist so he could inspect them closely.
As he did so, she gasped at sudden feeling that swept through her.
It wasn't like a spark of something she did not understand had jolted her, but it was more akin to a fire sweeping through her veins, though it didn't burn.
It warmed the very blood in her veins, and even as Harry released her, that fire seemed to crackle in the very pit of her stomach, not uncomfortably so, but it was unmissable.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," Harry apologised.
Morgana shook her head.
"You didn't," she said breathlessly. "It's just your magic. I've never felt magic like it."
"You can feel my magic?"
Morgana nodded.
"Being out here, I've become aware of every magic you can find in nature. Yours is very warm, like a fire on the coldest of nights. It didn't hurt me."
Harry wore an expression of confusion and Morgana laughed.
"It doesn't mean anything bad," she assured him. "It is just something I've never felt. New sensations can overwhelm me sometimes, that's all."
Harry nodded uncertainly as he continued to stare at her still-glowing markings.
"Do they hurt?"
"No. They are residual markings of my own work on the magic I work with. It is one of the reasons I left the castle. To most, blood magic, rituals, and some of the other things I find myself drawn to are considered distasteful. Salazar understands, well, some of it, but the others do not. No other I have met possess my gifts. The others said I should not delve into magic I have no control over, but I can control it. I can feel if something I am doing is right or against the wishes of the magic I use. It is hard to explain, but I never feel as though I am doing something I shouldn't be."
"Then how can it be wrong?" Harry asked.
It was the simplest of questions, but it brought a smile to Morgana's lips.
"I asked the same thing, and none had an answer for me I was satisfied with. I follow the path my magic has set me on, that is all."
"Then I don't see the problem," Harry murmured. "We all have a path set before us, and we have to reach the end of it somehow. If what you do is helping you along the way…"
He broke off as his gaze shifted towards the lake.
"What is on your path, Harry?" Morgana asked curiously.
The smile he offered her was filled with uncertainty.
"I expect it is very different to yours. Mine will be full of deception, war, and death. That is all it has been so far and all it will be."
Morgana frowned as she shook her head and took his hand.
"I don't believe that."
Harry chuckled and his eyes were alight in amusement.
"What do you think is on my path?"
"I don't know," Morgana answered, "but even if there is death, I can feel so much life in your magic. There is a warmth I've not felt from anyone else, and there is more than just war and deception. There is something peaceful in you, Harry, and more that I cannot identify, but it doesn't feel like death. It is almost as though your magic is unsure of what else it can be. Maybe it is waiting for you to decide what more you want, but whatever you choose, it will become a powerful part of who you are."
Harry said nothing for a few moments as he continued staring at their interlocked hands.
"You can tell all of that?" he questioned. "Are you a seer?"
"No," Morgana denied, "but I believe in what I can feel. There is much life in you, Harry, you just have to decide to take it along the way."
He nodded again before wrapping an arm around her shoulder and Morgana felt the same myriad of overwhelming things flood her senses, though he released her before she could truly identify anything else.
"Thank you," he said sincerely. "For the clothes, and everything else."
She watched him leave and did not avert her gaze as he looked back at her briefly.
Morgana felt no shame for staring at him, nor when she realised that she wasn't merely trying to discern something about him but found herself admiring him once more.
Why should she feel ashamed?
Regardless of the context, the moment they'd shared had been unwittingly intimate, and she felt something of a sense of loss as they parted ways once more.
(Break)
It was with a sense of excited anticipation that he allowed the magic of the stars to invade his senses, and Myrddin released a deep breath as he was pulled into a series of images.
At first, he was frustrated that they did not seem to pertain to the storm-bringer who'd he'd seen during his last invitation into what was to come, but a frown creased his brow as quite the tale played out before him.
A faceless woman of blonde hair and pale skin danced around a dragon, who watched her graceful movements. The beast was so enthralled by the display that it did not see the sword that impaled its heart.
The creature unleashed a roar of anguish before it immolated the woman, and a masculine scream of despair followed from somewhere within the fog.
Myrddin's breathing was laboured as he was forced back into his own mind, and his legs trembled as he pushed himself back to his feet.
A sense of dread filled him as he pondered what he'd witnessed, and he could only shake his head.
A woman.
Arthur would meet such a woman and he would be blind to betrayal from her and another represented by the sword plunging into his heart. Such a revelation did not rest easy with the wizard, and Myrddin once more cursed the stars for showing him something so treacherous to the vision it had given him of the many great victories Arthur would achieve.
Why did the stars play with him so?
Myrddin knew not, but as he entered the castle from the door to the battlements, his sense of unease only seemed to grow.
"Beware of the woman," he murmured to himself.
Arthur would of course need to marry to continue his line, but with what he had seen, Myrddin knew a bride must be carefully chosen. With the influence he held over the boy, it should not be a difficult task to match him with a bride of his choosing.
Taking solace in that he would not be blinded to the inevitable treachery, Myrddin allowed himself to relax, though his frown returned as he entered the throne room where Arthur was entertaining a young man.
The boy was laughing freely as he was regaled with a story, and the burden he always carried since learning of his destiny seemed to have lessened as he held his stomach.
The young man was gesturing as though he carried a sword and postured as he stood over a fallen foe that couldn't be seen.
"Do you want to know what his final words were?" the man asked, a glint of amusement in his cobalt eyes.
Arthur nodded giddily.
"Take your foot off my balls, boy! Can you not let me die with some dignity?"
"Did you do it?"
The man nodded.
"He fought well and with honour. I would not send him to his pagan gods a disgraced man."
Arthur applauded and raised the other man's hand in victory, pausing as he caught sight of Myrddin.
"Myrddin!" he greeted him jovially. "This is Lancelot Du Lac. He arrived with those we took in."
Myrddin offered their guest an inclination of his head.
He was a handsome young man.
His blue eyes, dark hair, and the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled would make many maidens swoon, and from what Myrddin had seen, he did not lack either confidence or charm.
"Lancelot," he greeted the man. "Welcome to Camelot."
"I am most grateful for the hospitality of the king," Lancelot said humbly. We are all being treated with kindness and consideration, and for that, I can only offer my utmost appreciation."
Myrddin smiled at how humble the young man was and nodded approvingly.
"Arthur is a kind king," he complimented. "One day, he will stand among the very best."
"And I shall be beside him," Lancelot declared. "He needed not to open his gates for us, but he did. He showed us great mercy when he could've turned away from our plight. For that alone, he has earned my loyalty, and for how he conducted himself with our people, he earned my friendship."
Arthur would need friends.
He could be the greatest of the many who claimed to be king of Britain, but without friends, loyalty, and companions he could rely upon, it would mean nothing.
Myrddin nodded once more before offering Lancelot his hand.
"Then let us hope we are fortunate enough to meet more men like you," he said sincerely.
(Break)
It was strange for Harry to read through the comments the Founders had written about him over the course of the short amount of time he'd been here.
Harry possesses a capable mind, and I strongly urge him to continue his training in the Mind Arts.
He can brew simple potions well enough, and even some more advanced offerings, but he will unlikely be a potion master. He should continue with his studies to learn and be competent in brews that will undoubtedly be of use to him in the future.
His ability with curses is quite exceptional, and having explained that to be a Master of Defensive magic that he must also become a master of the magic he is defending against, Harry has taken my advice most seriously and is diligent in his studies.
That is what Salazar had written about him.
His words were as candid as ever, and Harry found that he appreciated the man for no-nonsense honesty.
The same could be said for both Godric and Helga, who urged him to continue working with them the same way he had begun.
Rowena's offering had followed suit, but she had stated her wish for him to consult the stars with her, something Harry had refused to do thus far.
Overall, he was happy with their individual assessments of him.
He'd made no secret to Salazar that he had no intention to pursue Potions if he didn't have to, but Harry understood the need of certain aspects of the undertaking, even if he continued to be rather poor at the subject.
Still, it was only one thing he would get little enjoyment from, but he would give it as much effort as everything else.
If he had learned anything from being here, it was that he was capable of dedicating himself to his studies and was physically and mentally stronger than he'd thought.
Godric would continue to attempt to break his body and spirit, and Harry found himself as keen as ever to not be bested, even if he had a long way to go before he would resemble anything of particular impressiveness in his efforts.
Releasing a deep breath and turning his focus once more to the wand he held, he frowned as he studied it.
Since before the sun had set, he'd been seeking the connection he shared with it and the fang and venom gifted to him from the basilisk.
So far, neither had shown him much, but he could feel something when he held them separately, and something even stronger within him when he held them together.
To Harry, it felt as though, as Godric had explained, the phoenix feather and basilisk were still somewhat at odds with one another, even though they seemed to be co-existing within himself.
It would be quite the long process for each of them to come to an understanding, it seemed, but Harry would not be deterred.
Both Salazar and Godric had reiterated the importance of the task, and although in the hours he'd spent here were proving to be frustrating and yielding next to nothing, he was determined to succeed, just as he was with everything else that life would undoubtedly continue to throw at him on his path.
'There is much life in you, Harry, you just have to decide to take it along the way.'
Harry smiled at the words Morgana had spoken to him and closed his eyes once more, somehow taking comfort from what the girl had said, even if, right now, they were not so easy to take to heart.