Lost Eyes of Magic: Chapter 26
The Lost Arts
The weekend arrived quicker than anyone expected, and for the first time in nearly two years, Harry and Daphne wouldn't be meeting beneath their tree by the Black Lake to spend the morning together. Instead, the entire school was buzzing with excitement as students gathered at the Quidditch pitch, which had been transformed into the site of the dueling tournament.
The expansive field had been reconfigured with a raised dueling stage at its center, flanked by long rows of bleachers that stretched across either side. The air was filled with chatter and laughter as students from all years filed in, eager to watch the competition unfold.
Harry walked alongside Daphne and Neville, with Hermione a step behind them. As they approached the pitch, the atmosphere grew more charged. It wasn't just their year gathered here—the whole school had come to watch the tournament. Each year was competing in its own bracket, but everyone was here to spectate, cheer, and judge the participants.
"So, it's not just our year," Harry remarked, his tone casual but with a faint edge of intrigue.
Hermione nodded, adjusting the strap of her bag. "Apparently not," she said. "It looks like every year has its own tournament. I overheard Professor McGonagall say it's meant to foster school spirit and encourage a friendly rivalry between houses."
"Friendly?" Daphne echoed with a smirk. "Not with Slytherin competing."
Harry chuckled softly. "You're probably right," he said, though his expression remained thoughtful as his eyes—unseeing but still observant in their own way—focused on the dueling stage ahead.
Neville walked beside them in silence, his hands fidgeting slightly as he glanced around at the growing crowd. "This is… a lot of people," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the noise.
Harry clapped a reassuring hand on Neville's shoulder, his grip firm but steady. "You'll do fine," he said, his tone calm. "Just focus on what we've been working on."
Neville nodded slowly, his nerves still evident but his resolve strengthening under Harry's encouragement.
The group reached the bleachers, where students were already beginning to settle in. Across the pitch, Professors Lupin, Flitwick, and McGonagall were busy organizing the participants and ensuring the stage was properly prepared. The morning sunlight glinted off the enchanted barriers surrounding the stage, designed to keep the duelists safe while still providing a clear view for the spectators.
"It's a good setup," Daphne observed, crossing her arms as she surveyed the scene.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, his tone quieter now. "But this isn't just about putting on a show. For some of us, this is a chance to prove something."
Daphne glanced at him, her expression softening slightly, but before she could respond, a loud voice boomed across the pitch.
"Alright, everyone, settle down!" Professor Lupin called, stepping onto the stage. "The tournament is about to begin!"
The crowd's chatter quieted, and a wave of anticipation swept through the gathered students. Harry straightened slightly, his hand brushing against Daphne's as he prepared himself for what was to come. This wasn't just a tournament—it was an opportunity. And Harry intended to make the most of it.
As the crowd settled into the bleachers, Harry leaned slightly toward Daphne, his voice low enough to keep their conversation private amidst the murmurs. "Daphne," he said, "can you describe what's going on? What does it look like?"
Daphne glanced around the pitch, taking in the setup before speaking. "There are three dueling stages," she began, her tone calm but precise. "They're spread out evenly across the field, with a good amount of space between them. Makes sense, given the number of students competing. They probably figured one stage wouldn't be enough to get through all the matches today."
Harry nodded slightly, picturing the layout in his mind as she described it.
"Each stage is raised about waist-high," Daphne continued, her gaze shifting as she scanned the area. "They're surrounded by those enchanted barriers to keep the duels contained. And, from what I can see, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Lupin are stationed near each stage."
"Proctors?" Harry guessed, tilting his head slightly toward her.
"Exactly," Daphne confirmed. "I'd bet each of them will oversee one of the stages. It's the only way they'll manage this many students."
Harry hummed thoughtfully, his mind piecing together the scene as she described it. "Efficient," he remarked. "But it sounds like it's going to be chaotic with three duels happening at once."
Daphne smirked faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe for the audience," she said. "But it's probably the only way to keep things moving. No one wants to be here all weekend."
Harry chuckled softly at that, his smirk matching hers. "Fair point," he said. "Thanks for the rundown."
Daphne glanced at him, her smirk softening into a small smile. "Anytime," she said, her voice carrying a note of fondness as the crowd around them continued to buzz with anticipation.
Professor Lupin stepped forward onto the main stage, raising his wand slightly to amplify his voice and gather the attention of the buzzing crowd. The students quickly quieted, their anticipation filling the air as they turned their focus to him.
"Alright, everyone," Lupin began, his tone calm but commanding, "let me explain how today's duels will work."
Harry leaned forward slightly, listening closely as Lupin continued.
"Today, we'll be holding duels for the first, second, and third years. Each year group will be managed by a different proctor, and we've set up three dueling platforms to keep things moving efficiently."
Lupin gestured toward the three stages spread across the Quidditch pitch, each one flanked by the faint shimmer of enchanted barriers. "For the first years, you'll be under the guidance of Professor McGonagall. She'll be calling out your names and overseeing your duels at the first stage."
McGonagall gave a small nod from her position near the far-left platform, her stern expression unchanged but her presence reassuring.
"For the second years," Lupin continued, turning slightly to gesture toward the center platform, "you'll be working with Professor Flitwick. He'll be managing your matches and ensuring everything is conducted fairly."
Professor Flitwick, standing near the middle stage, waved cheerfully, his usual enthusiasm shining through.
"And finally," Lupin said, his voice carrying a slight smile, "the third years will be with me. I'll call out your names, and we'll conduct your matches at the stage on the far right."
He gestured toward his assigned platform, the students glancing in its direction before turning back to him.
"When your name is called," Lupin instructed, "please make your way to the dueling platform your proctor is in charge of. Matches will proceed one after the other, and I ask that everyone remain seated until it's your turn. If there are any questions, please direct them to your proctor."
He paused for a moment, letting his words settle as he scanned the crowd. "And remember," he added, his tone steady but firm, "this is a tournament, but it's also a learning experience. Show respect to your opponents, follow the rules, and most importantly, do your best."
A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the crowd as students nodded and whispered among themselves, the anticipation building as they prepared for the first matches to be called. Harry adjusted his posture slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he waited for the competition to begin.
Without further ado, the duels began, and the professors started calling out names one by one. Harry sat with Daphne, Hermione, and Neville, his posture relaxed but his senses honed as the tournament unfolded.
He couldn't see the physical movements of the students, but he didn't need to. His awareness extended far beyond what traditional sight could offer. He focused on the flickering magical cores of the duelists as they stepped onto the platforms, their emotions and intent radiating outward like ripples in a pond.
The first duel caught Harry's attention immediately. One of the students exuded a faint, nervous core that wavered with uncertainty, their magic spilling out in erratic bursts. Harry could feel the warmth of their spells in the air as they were cast—sloppy but powerful, a clear indicator of inexperience. Their opponent, by contrast, had a more stable core, their magic sharp and deliberate. The duel was over quickly, with the more controlled core emerging victorious.
At another platform, Harry felt the telltale crackle of a Stupefy being cast, its magical temperature sharp and intense. The air around the platform shifted as the spell rocketed forward, only to be deflected by a Protego spell that sent a warm wave of magical energy rippling through the barrier. The duelists' cores danced with intent, one radiating fierce determination, the other a mix of caution and strategy.
In another match, the energy was more chaotic. Harry could sense the wild fluctuations in one student's core as they cast spell after spell, their magic radiating heat that prickled against his skin. The other duelist was calmer, their core glowing with a steady hum as they carefully dodged and countered. Harry could feel the subtle shifts in the air currents as their spells cut through the space between them, the precision of each movement almost palpable.
Each duel was unique, telling its own story through the interplay of magic and intent. Some students faltered, their cores flickering with hesitation, while others thrived, their magic burning brightly with confidence and skill. Harry's enhanced senses allowed him to perceive it all—the temperature of the magic, the shifting air currents, the emotional resonance of each spell cast.
As the duels progressed, Harry leaned slightly toward Daphne, who sat quietly beside him. "Interesting," he murmured, his tone thoughtful.
"What is?" she asked, glancing at him curiously.
"The way their cores respond," Harry replied. "Some are steady, focused. Others… they're like fires trying to burn out of control. You can feel their intent in the air. It's fascinating."
Daphne smirked faintly. "Always the observer, aren't you?"
Harry chuckled softly, turning his attention back to the platforms. He wasn't just observing—he was learning, analyzing the nuances of magic in motion. This tournament wasn't just entertainment; it was an opportunity to understand the strengths and weaknesses of his peers, to see how they wielded their magic when pushed to their limits.
As the duels carried on, Harry's attention shifted between the stages, his senses tuned to the flux and flow of magic. Each duel brought something new—different strategies, emotions, and intensities radiating from the combatants. But then, something made Harry pause.
His focus locked onto the second-year stage, and for the first time in a long while, he felt truly bewildered. One of the duelists stood out, their magical core unlike anything he had ever seen before.
Every core Harry had ever observed had a singular hue. It might twist, flicker, or pulse depending on the person's emotional state or intent, but it was always one color. Not this one.
This core radiated a rainbow of hues, each one blending seamlessly into the next, like light refracting through a prism. The colors rippled and flowed, shifting in mesmerizing waves rather than flickering like normal cores. It wasn't chaotic, either—there was a harmony to it, a strange sense of balance that Harry couldn't begin to explain.
And then there was more. Above the core, at head level, were two glowing orbs—spheres of light—that seemed to shift and ripple with the same rainbow hues.
Harry stared, his mind racing as he tried to process what he was seeing. He had to guess the orbs were connected to the person's eyes, but even that assumption felt tenuous. The spheres weren't just unusual; they were completely unique.
"This person…" Harry murmured to himself, his tone low and filled with awe. "They're special. Very special."
The duel itself seemed secondary to what Harry was observing. The way the hues rippled and resonated suggested something deeper, something extraordinary that set this individual apart from everyone else.
Daphne, noticing Harry's sudden focus, leaned closer. "What is it?" she asked softly, following his line of sight toward the second-year stage.
Harry shook his head slightly, still fixated. "There's… someone," he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "I've never seen anything like it. Their core, their… presence. It's completely unique."
Daphne raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but not entirely understanding. "What's unique about it?"
Harry hesitated, struggling to find the words. "It's not like anyone else's. Everyone has one hue, Daphne. One. It might flicker, it might twist, but it never changes colors. This person… they have all of them. Their core ripples like a spectrum. And above it…" He trailed off, still staring. "I think it's their eyes. Two glowing spheres, the same rainbow hues."
Daphne frowned, glancing back toward the stage. "Who is it?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But whoever they are… they're extraordinary."
Hermione, sitting beside Harry, caught the tail end of his murmured observation. Her brow furrowed slightly as she leaned closer, her curiosity piqued. "Who are you talking about?" she asked, her tone soft but inquisitive.
Harry didn't turn toward her, his unseeing eyes still fixed on the rippling, multicolored core on the second-year stage. "That person," he said quietly, nodding slightly in the direction of the duel. "Their core… it's unlike anything I've ever seen. It ripples, shifts through every color. And above it, there are these glowing orbs—two of them, like their eyes."
Hermione followed his gaze to the second-year duel and, after a moment, her eyes lit with recognition. "Oh," she said, a note of realization in her voice. "That's Luna Lovegood. She's in Ravenclaw—second year."
"Luna Lovegood," Harry repeated softly, letting the name settle in his mind.
Hermione nodded, glancing between Harry and the duel. "She's… well, she's a bit different. Most people think she's odd, but she's kind. Quiet, but incredibly perceptive."
Harry tilted his head slightly, processing the new information. "Different," he echoed, his tone thoughtful. "That seems like an understatement."
Hermione shrugged gently. "It might be. She's definitely unique, though. People call her 'Loony Lovegood,' but I think they're just uncomfortable because she sees the world differently than they do."
Harry's lips quirked into a faint smirk. "Sounds like we might have that in common," he remarked.
Hermione adjusted her position, her expression softening as she spoke. "Luna gets made fun of a lot," she explained, her tone tinged with both frustration and sympathy. "Mostly because people say she acts… well, loony. She's always talking about creatures that no one else but her can see. Wrackspurts, Nargles… all sorts of things."
Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Well," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, "considering what I'm seeing right now, she's not loony at all."
Hermione glanced at him, intrigued. "What do you mean?"
Harry's smirk widened slightly as he gestured toward the stage. "I'd be willing to bet everything in the Potter vault that what she's seeing, those creatures she talks about—they're real."
Hermione frowned thoughtfully, glancing back toward Luna. "Real? How can you be so sure?"
Harry tilted his head, his tone growing softer but no less certain. "Because I see her," he said simply. "Her core, her presence—it's not like anyone else's. She's… special. I can see that with my own eyes. If she's seeing things the rest of us can't, it's not because she's imagining them. It's because she's connected to something greater. Something beyond what most people can comprehend."
Hermione was quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing as she considered his words. "That's… an interesting perspective," she admitted. "But it's not one most people will believe."
Harry's expression turned serious, his smirk fading. "Then they're blind in more ways than one," he said, his voice low but resolute.
Hermione said nothing, her gaze returning to the stage where Luna continued her duel, the multicolored ripples of her core shifting gracefully with every spell she cast. Though Hermione didn't fully understand what Harry saw, his conviction planted a seed of doubt in the assumptions she'd once held about Luna Lovegood.
Luna Lovegood.
The name lingered in Harry's mind, repeating itself like a quiet mantra as he continued to watch the rippling brilliance of her core. The way it shifted, harmonized, and pulsed with unseen energy was unlike anything he had ever encountered. It was as though her magic wasn't bound by the same rules that governed everyone else.
She was someone special, of that he had no doubt. And someone he needed to meet.
As the duel on the second-year stage concluded, Harry leaned back slightly, his thoughts drifting ahead to when the day's matches were finished. Luna Lovegood. He didn't know what kind of connection they might share, but one thing was certain: he needed to speak with her.
When these duels were over, he would make sure to seek her out. There was more to Luna Lovegood than anyone at Hogwarts realized, and Harry intended to uncover exactly what that was.
Harry's thoughts about Luna were interrupted by the sharp call of a name that drew his full attention.
"Neville Longbottom!"
Neville, sitting beside Harry, practically jumped out of his seat, his hands gripping the edge of the bench tightly. His face paled as anxiety washed over him, and he muttered under his breath, "Oh no… oh no…"
Before Neville could spiral further, the second name was called.
"Blaise Zabini!"
The crowd murmured, recognizing the name of the Slytherin known for his calm demeanor and sharp spellwork. Blaise stood confidently from his spot, moving toward the dueling platform with an air of collected poise.
Harry turned to Neville, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Be calm," Harry said firmly, his voice low and steady. "You've got this."
Neville shook his head quickly, his breathing uneven. "But I still don't have control over my core," he whispered back, his voice laced with panic. "I'm going to mess this up, Harry."
Harry smirked faintly, leaning closer. "You don't need control over your core," he said quietly but with conviction. "Control will help you use your magic more efficiently, sure. But right now, efficiency isn't important. What matters is the spells you can use."
Neville blinked, his panic momentarily paused by Harry's unexpected response. "What do you mean?"
"The spells I taught you," Harry continued, his tone firm and encouraging. "They're high-level spells. They require a lot of magic to use. And that's perfect for you. You've got more magic than most people, Neville. You just need to channel it. Use the spells I showed you, and don't hold back."
Neville swallowed hard, his nerves still visible, but there was a flicker of determination in his eyes as he nodded. "Alright," he said softly, his voice shaky but steadying. "I'll try."
Harry squeezed his shoulder briefly before letting go. "Don't try, Neville. Do it."
Neville took a deep breath, standing up from his seat and making his way toward the platform. As he climbed up, Harry leaned back, his senses locked on Neville's core. It flickered with nerves and hesitation, but Harry could see the raw power bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
This was Neville's moment to show everyone—and himself—what he was capable of.
As Neville made his way down to the dueling stage, Daphne leaned slightly closer to Harry, her arms crossed and her expression curious. "What did you teach him?" she asked, her tone calm but laced with intrigue.
Harry tilted his head slightly in her direction, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I taught him some spells from a branch of magic I found in the Restricted Section," he replied, his tone casual. "It fits Neville well."
Daphne raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between Harry and the stage. "That doesn't tell me much," she said, her tone carrying a hint of impatience.
Harry's smirk widened slightly as he turned his head toward her. "It should tell you all you need to know," he said smoothly. "It's restricted magic, Daphne. Which means it's powerful. The kind of magic the Ministry deemed too dangerous for the general population—so they locked it away for only a select few to ever see, let alone learn."
Daphne's eyes narrowed slightly, her curiosity piqued further. "You're saying you've been teaching him forbidden magic?"
Harry chuckled softly, his tone calm but tinged with anticipation. "I'm saying," he said, "that you should watch closely. The world is about to be reintroduced to some very powerful magic."
Daphne's gaze lingered on Harry for a moment longer before turning back to the stage, her curiosity now fully engaged. Neville stood opposite Blaise Zabini, his nervous energy evident even from a distance. But Daphne could feel Harry's confidence radiating beside her, and that alone made her wonder just what kind of magic Neville was about to unleash.
"Alright, Potter," she said quietly, a faint smirk forming on her lips. "Let's see what you've been up to."
As the duel was about to begin, Harry leaned back slightly, his smirk never fading as he focused his enhanced senses on the stage. He could feel the tension in Neville's core, the bubbling power ready to be released. Whatever doubts lingered in the crowd, Harry knew they wouldn't last long.
Daphne wasn't done yet. She turned back to Harry, her arms crossed and a faint pout forming on her lips. "You know," she began, her tone playful but carrying a subtle edge, "I think it's a bit unfair. Neville's been your friend for, what, three days? And you're already teaching him restricted magic."
Harry smirked, sensing where this was going.
"I, on the other hand," Daphne continued, "have been your friend for two years. And now, your girlfriend. You'd think that would mean I'd get to learn some restricted magic too." She pouted more dramatically, crossing her arms as she leaned back.
Harry chuckled softly, turning his head slightly toward her. "You're so cute when you pout," he teased.
Daphne scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You can't even see me."
Harry smirked wider. "I don't have to. I can just tell."
Her scoff turned into a faint laugh, but she quickly regained her composure. "Also," Harry continued, his tone more serious now, "to answer the question you didn't ask: Neville asked me to teach him. That's all it took. If you want me to teach you, just ask."
Daphne turned to glare at him, but it lacked her usual sharpness. She hesitated, clearly reluctant, before finally swallowing her pride. "Harry…" she began quietly, almost shyly. "Will you… teach me some magic too?"
Harry's smirk grew, his hand reaching into his robe. He pulled out a neatly wrapped scroll tied with a blue bow and handed it to her without hesitation.
Daphne blinked in surprise, taking the scroll carefully. "How long," she asked, her tone incredulous, "have you been waiting for me to ask?"
Harry leaned back slightly, his smirk now a full grin. "Eight months."
Daphne stared at him, her jaw dropping slightly. "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope," Harry said cheerfully, shaking his head. "I've been carrying that scroll with me every day for the last eight months. Just for this moment."
Daphne groaned, throwing her head back for a moment before glaring at him again. "You're impossible."
Harry chuckled, leaning slightly closer to her. "I know," he said, his voice light and teasing.
Despite herself, Daphne smiled faintly, shaking her head as she carefully tucked the scroll into her own robe. Leaning closer, she pressed a light kiss to Harry's cheek, her voice soft but carrying a playful edge. "Thank you," she said. "I promise, when we aren't gathered in a crowd, I'll give you a more proper thank you."
Harry's smirk widened into a warm smile. "I know," he replied simply, his tone carrying a quiet certainty.
Daphne shook her head again, her cheeks faintly pink as she settled back in her seat, her fingers brushing against the scroll hidden in her robe.
With Neville and Blaise now on the stage, Professor Lupin stepped forward, his calm but firm voice cutting through the chatter of the crowd. "Duelists, ready yourselves."
Blaise immediately shifted into a confident dueling posture, his wand raised and his stance poised for movement. Neville, by contrast, took a stance that immediately drew attention.
He planted his feet firmly, shoulder-width apart, his knees slightly bent. His wand was held steadily in front of him, his other arm resting behind his back. The stance wasn't aggressive, nor did it match the fluid movements of traditional dueling. Yet, it exuded an aura of readiness, as though Neville could counter anything thrown at him.
Daphne frowned slightly, her curiosity getting the better of her. "What's Neville doing?" she asked, glancing at Harry.
Harry smirked faintly, tilting his head as though considering her question. "I don't know," he said lightly. "I can't see, remember?"
Daphne rolled her eyes but didn't interrupt as Harry continued, his voice gaining a subtle edge of intrigue. "But if I had to guess," he added, "he's assumed the Rooted Stance. It's crucial to the branch of magic I've been teaching him."
Daphne raised an eyebrow, turning her attention back to the stage. "Rooted Stance?" she murmured, the words barely audible over the hum of the crowd.
Harry smirked, his voice dropping slightly as he said, "If that's the case, don't dare to blink. The battle will be over before you know it."
Daphne's eyes narrowed slightly as she focused on Neville, her intrigue growing. The crowd, too, seemed to sense the tension, their murmurs fading as the duel was about to begin. Neville stood still but resolute, his stance conveying a calm confidence that belied his earlier nerves. Whatever Harry had been teaching him, it was clear that Neville wasn't the same unsure student he'd been before.
Lupin raised his hand, his calm voice carrying across the pitch. "Begin!"
Blaise Zabini wasted no time, his wand snapping forward as he called out a spell designed to knock Neville back with sheer force. A brilliant flash of magic shot across the stage, streaking directly toward Neville with impressive speed.
Neville, however, didn't flinch. He stood perfectly still, his breathing steady, his stance unwavering. It wasn't until the spell was almost upon him that he moved.
What happened next left the entire audience in stunned silence. Instead of raising a defensive spell or dodging outright, Neville began moving with a fluidity and grace that seemed almost otherworldly. His wand met the incoming spell's energy at just the right angle, absorbing its force at the tip.
Neville's body shifted, spinning gracefully as though he were part of the very flow of the air around him. The motion was so seamless, so precise, that it left the crowd bewildered. The energy of Blaise's spell rippled through Neville's wand, and as he completed his spin, he flicked the wand outward, releasing the absorbed energy with terrifying precision.
The spell that erupted from Neville's wand wasn't just redirected—it was amplified. The burst of magic barreled toward Blaise, twice as large and far faster than the original.
Blaise, still caught in shock at the fluidity of Neville's counter, had no time to react. The amplified spell struck him with a resounding force, slamming him backward into the enchanted barrier that surrounded the dueling stage. The impact was brutal, knocking the air out of his lungs, and Blaise crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
The entire pitch fell silent as every eye turned to Neville, who had already returned to his stance. He stood tall and composed, his breathing steady, his posture exuding quiet confidence.
Daphne blinked, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. Hermione clutched the edge of her seat, clearly astonished. The rest of the crowd was similarly struck, whispers beginning to ripple through the students.
Neville Longbottom, the boy often overlooked and underestimated, had just delivered a performance that would be talked about for years. Harry smirked faintly, leaning back with satisfaction as he felt the strength radiating from Neville's magical core.
The duel was over in a single, breathtaking moment, but its impact lingered in the awestruck silence that followed.
Daphne stared at Neville on the stage, her eyes wide with disbelief as she leaned closer to Harry. "What the hell was that?!" she demanded, her voice a sharp whisper. "Did he just absorb a spell and send it back?! Twice as strong?!"
Harry chuckled softly, leaning back slightly as a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Yes," he said simply, his tone calm but laced with pride.
Daphne turned back to Neville, who was still standing confidently in his stance, and then back to Harry. "You're going to have to explain that," she said, her voice firm.
Harry's smirk deepened as he nodded. "It's part of the Flowing Stance," he began, his tone low enough to keep their conversation private amidst the murmurs of the crowd. "The stance lets him absorb any magic—no matter the power—and reflect it back twice as strong."
Daphne blinked, clearly stunned. "Any magic?"
"Any magic," Harry confirmed, his smirk unwavering. "The only thing it can't reflect is physical objects. But as long as it's magical, it's fair game."
Daphne turned her attention back to Neville, her expression shifting from shock to intrigue. "That's… incredible," she murmured, her voice softer now.
"It is," Harry agreed, his tone steady. "But it's not easy. It requires precise timing, focus, and an almost instinctive connection with the magic around you. Neville's been working hard to master it, and it's paid off."
Daphne shook her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she watched Neville step down from the stage. "You've really been keeping some impressive tricks up your sleeve, haven't you?" she said, her tone carrying a hint of teasing.
Harry chuckled again, his smirk softening. "You could say that," he replied.
As the murmurs of the crowd began to swell, Daphne couldn't help but glance at Harry again, her curiosity about what else he might be hiding growing with every passing second.
Daphne's brow furrowed as she processed what she had just seen. "Alright, I have to ask," she said, her tone curious but edged with suspicion. "Why is it restricted, then? Rooted Stance, Flowing Stance—is it just a series of combat stances?"
Harry's smirk faded slightly, his expression growing more serious. "If only it were that simple," he said. "What you saw was just one part of it—the combat stances. But the branch of magic is called Verdant Harmony, and it's deeply attuned to nature."
Daphne tilted her head, intrigued. "So, what's the problem?"
Harry sighed quietly, his tone lowering. "The stances are only the surface. The real issue lies in the spells. They're cruel, Daphne. Gruesome. One curse in particular, Blood Vines, conjures vines from the ground that pierce into a person and drain all the blood from their body."
Daphne's eyes widened in shock. "That's… horrifying," she murmured.
Harry nodded, his expression grim. "It's dangerous magic, Daphne. It has the power to offset the balance of nature itself, and that's why it was restricted. The Ministry decided it was too much of a threat to be left in the hands of ordinary wizards."
Daphne frowned, her gaze flickering between Harry and the stage. "And you don't agree with that?"
"I don't," Harry admitted, his voice steady. "I don't believe in restricting magic. Knowledge is knowledge. It's people who decide whether to use it for good or evil, not the magic itself."
He leaned back slightly, his tone softening. "That said, as long as Neville doesn't use any of the curses, he should be fine in the eyes of the law. The stances and non-lethal spells? They're just… powerful. And the Ministry doesn't know he's using them."
Daphne crossed her arms, her expression thoughtful. "And if they did?"
Harry smirked faintly, though his tone carried a warning. "Then Neville would have a lot of questions to answer. But that's not going to happen. He's careful, and I trust him to use this magic responsibly."
Daphne's gaze lingered on him for a moment before shifting back to Neville, who was stepping off the stage with quiet confidence. "You really do see potential in him, don't you?"
Harry's smirk softened into a genuine smile. "More than potential," he said. "I see someone who's finally realizing his own strength."
Daphne nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she watched Neville make his way back to the group.
Daphne turned back to Harry, her curiosity burning brighter after his explanation of Verdant Harmony. "Alright, Harry," she said, her tone more serious now. "Then what about my magic? Is it something I can't let people know I know?"
Harry glanced toward her, his unseeing eyes giving the impression he was weighing his words carefully. He nodded after a moment. "Don't use it recklessly," he said, his voice low but firm. "If you do, you'll draw the wrong kind of attention. Use it in non-conspicuous ways, like what Neville did, or in situations where the person you're using it against…"
He paused, his smirk darkening slightly. "…isn't going to be able to tell anyone afterward what you used."
Daphne's brow arched, her lips curling into a faint smirk of her own. "Subtle, Potter," she said dryly. "But I get your point."
"Good," Harry replied, his tone softening slightly. "Your magic has potential, Daphne. Real power. But power always comes with risk. Use it wisely, and no one will ever be able to hold it against you."
Daphne nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful as she processed his words. "So, I've got dangerous magic at my fingertips," she said, her tone carrying a touch of amusement.
Harry turned toward Daphne, his smirk fading into a serious expression. "No, Daphne," he said firmly. "What you have is a scroll on that kind of magic. You haven't learned it, and you haven't attained that power yet."
Daphne raised an eyebrow, her curiosity still alight, but she didn't interrupt.
"And don't let this go to your head," Harry continued, his tone sharpening. "This magic is dangerous—extremely dangerous. You'll quickly fall to its temptations if you're not careful."
Daphne's expression shifted slightly, the weight of his words beginning to sink in. "What kind of magic is it?" she asked quietly.
Harry hesitated for a moment before answering. "It's a form of Cryomancy," he said. "One that was forbidden over 400 years ago. It's called Frostborn."
"Frostborn?" Daphne echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry nodded, his expression grim. "It's so powerful that it can summon an entire storm of ice shards. A storm that responds and bends to your will."
Daphne blinked, her lips parting slightly in awe as the implications of his words settled over her.
"It's not just powerful," Harry added, his tone quieter but no less intense. "It's devastating. If you're not careful, it can consume you as much as your enemies."
Daphne straightened slightly, her usual confidence tempered by a growing respect for the magic Harry had entrusted her with. "Why would you give me something like that?" she asked, her voice measured.
Harry's gaze remained steady. "Because I trust you," he said simply. "But trust isn't enough, Daphne. You need discipline, control, and the wisdom to know when to use it—and when not to."
Daphne nodded slowly, her fingers brushing against the scroll hidden in her robes. "I won't let you down," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of determination.
Harry's smirk returned faintly, but his eyes remained serious. "I know you won't," he said. "Just remember, power like this isn't a gift—it's a responsibility. Treat it as such."
Daphne glanced back toward the stage, her thoughts swirling as she processed everything Harry had told her. Frostborn. The name lingered in her mind, its weight both thrilling and terrifying.
Daphne turned back to Harry, her expression curious but measured. "Have you learned Frostborn already?" she asked, her tone carrying a mix of intrigue and caution.
Harry shook his head slowly, his expression serious. "No," he said firmly. "I've read the scroll to get an idea of the magic, but learning something like Frostborn—or even Verdant Harmony—isn't something you casually do."
Daphne frowned slightly, her gaze thoughtful. "Why not?"
Harry leaned back slightly, his tone steady as he explained. "If there's one thing I've learned from the Restricted Section, it's that there are entire fields of magic outlawed by the Ministry. Not just individual spells, but full disciplines. Entire branches of knowledge that are as vast and complex as Transfiguration."
Daphne's eyes widened slightly at the comparison. "You're saying it's… that big?"
Harry nodded. "Easily. You could dedicate your entire life to mastering a single magic like Frostborn or Verdant Harmony, and you'd barely scratch the surface of its potential. These aren't just tricks or combat techniques—they're fully developed systems of magic, each with their own rules, principles, and applications."
Daphne looked down for a moment, processing his words, before glancing back at him. "And Frostborn?" she asked.
Harry's expression grew somber as he turned slightly toward Daphne, his voice lowering to a quiet but serious tone. "Frostborn isn't just magic you cast," he began. "It's a magic that turns you into exactly that—a Frostborn witch or wizard. It doesn't just change your spell repertoire. It changes the magic in your body."
Daphne raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. "Changes your magic? How?"
Harry nodded, his tone steady as he explained. "It alters the very nature of your magical core. Your body starts to channel magic differently, coldly, as if your very essence is attuned to ice. But this magic…" He paused, his expression hardening. "It has a mind of its own. And it's a cruel one."
Daphne tilted her head slightly, her intrigue deepening. "What do you mean by 'a cruel one'?"
"There are two paths you can take in Frostborn magic," Harry continued. "The long route and the shortcut. The long route is exactly what it sounds like—years of training, working diligently to master it, understanding every nuance and respecting its power."
"And the shortcut?" Daphne asked cautiously, sensing the shift in Harry's tone.
Harry exhaled slowly, his expression grim. "The shortcut is… simpler, but infinitely more dangerous. You can give up your emotions. Literally form a wall of ice around your heart. The magic will give you great power in return. But it takes something from you—something irreplaceable."
Daphne frowned, her brow furrowing as she leaned closer. "What does it take?"
"Your empathy," Harry said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "Your happiness. Your love. It strips you of everything that makes you human. You won't feel joy, or sorrow, or love ever again. You'll have power—immense power—but you'll be a hollow shell, incapable of truly living."
Daphne shivered slightly, not from the cold, but from the weight of his words. "And that's why it's forbidden," she said softly.
Harry nodded. "Sadly, there are far too many impatient people in the world," he said, his tone laced with quiet disappointment. "People who want power now, who aren't willing to take the time to master it. And the shortcut is tempting. Too tempting. That's why the Ministry forbade Frostborn magic. Not because of its spells, but because of what it can do to the person wielding it."
Daphne sat back, her arms crossed as she absorbed what he'd said. The allure of such power was undeniable, but the cost was terrifying. "Good to know I'll be sticking with the long route, then," she said with a small smirk, though her eyes carried a serious edge.
Harry's lips curved into a faint smile, but his expression remained thoughtful. "That's the only route worth taking," he said. "Power without humanity isn't worth having."
Daphne nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back to the scroll in her robe. For all its promises of strength, Frostborn was far more than just magic. And she knew now that mastering it would take more than skill—it would take wisdom, patience, and discipline.
Hermione, who had been sitting quietly but clearly listening in on the conversation, finally spoke up. "Why aren't there more magics like this out there?" she asked, her tone thoughtful but tinged with frustration.
Harry leaned back slightly, his expression serious. "There are," he said simply. "But you don't hear about them because almost every magical government in the world has banned them. Every single one."
Hermione frowned, tilting her head. "Banned them? Why?"
"For a few reasons," Harry explained, his tone steady but carrying an edge of disappointment. "Some magics have spells so powerful that no one could defend against them. Others have drawbacks so severe they could destroy the person using them. And some magics are… inherently evil, the kind that corrupts anyone who tries to master it."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she processed his words. "But doesn't that just limit our understanding? Isn't magic meant to be explored, not feared?"
Harry smirked faintly, nodding. "Exactly. It goes against everything the Hogwarts Founders wanted. They didn't create this school just to teach a few carefully chosen spells and potions. They built it as a safe haven, a place for students to learn all forms of magic, to grow and experiment."
"To practice magic uninhibited by laws or muggles," Daphne added quietly, catching on to Harry's point.
"Exactly," Harry said, glancing in her direction. "The Founders believed magic should be free, not shackled by fear or ignorance. But over the centuries, that vision has been eroded. Now, governments control what's allowed and what isn't, dictating what wizards and witches are even allowed to learn."
Hermione's expression turned pensive, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But doesn't that mean we're losing knowledge? Whole branches of magic, just… gone?"
Harry nodded grimly. "Exactly. And that's why I'm so drawn to the Restricted Section. It's one of the few places left where fragments of that lost knowledge still exist. But even that's only a fraction of what's been wiped out."
Hermione looked down at the table, her expression conflicted. "It seems so… shortsighted," she murmured. "To restrict magic because of fear."
"It is," Harry said firmly. "But that's the world we live in. And if we want to change it, we have to be willing to explore the magic they don't want us to know about—responsibly, of course."
Daphne glanced between the two of them, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Leave it to Harry to find the most dangerous magic imaginable and turn it into a moral argument," she teased lightly, though her tone carried admiration.
Harry chuckled softly but didn't deny it. "Dangerous or not, knowledge is power," he said. "And the more we understand, the better equipped we'll be to shape the future of magic."
Hermione nodded slowly, her initial skepticism giving way to a spark of curiosity. The idea of forbidden knowledge was both thrilling and daunting, but she couldn't deny the truth in Harry's words. Magic was meant to be explored, not stifled—and perhaps it was time to start questioning the limits that had been imposed on it.
Harry leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to add weight to his words. "You know," he began, his tone calm but deliberate, "every significantly powerful person alive today—or in the past—has one thing in common."
Hermione and Daphne both turned their attention fully to him, their curiosity piqued.
"They're powerful," Harry continued, "because they learned or performed a forbidden art."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly, her lips parting as she absorbed his statement. "What do you mean?"
"Take Dumbledore, for instance," Harry said. "He's widely considered the greatest wizard of our time. But he didn't become that by following the rules. He studied forms of magic others wouldn't dare touch. He pursued knowledge that most people feared."
"Then there's Voldemort," he continued, his tone growing darker. "Everything about him—his power, his immortality—it's all tied to forbidden magic."
Daphne frowned slightly, folding her arms. "And Grindlewald?"
Harry nodded. "Another example. His entire movement was built on magics and ideologies that were banned or suppressed. Love him or hate him, you can't deny his brilliance—or the forbidden knowledge that fueled it."
Hermione hesitated before asking, "What about your family?"
Harry smirked faintly, leaning back. "Charlus Potter, my grandfather. A man who led the magical world in his time. He was no stranger to forbidden arts. From what I've uncovered, his strength came from a deep understanding of magics most would never dare approach."
He gestured toward the castle, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "And then there are the Hogwarts Founders. Do you think they built this school, these wards, with simple, everyday magic? No. They tapped into knowledge that no longer exists today—knowledge that was wiped out or hidden because it was deemed too dangerous."
Daphne exhaled slowly, her brow furrowing. "So, what you're saying is…?"
"I'm saying," Harry said firmly, "that greatness doesn't come from following the rules. It comes from seeking the truth, wherever it leads, and having the courage to explore the magic others fear."
Hermione leaned back, her expression conflicted. "But at what cost?" she asked quietly.
Harry glanced toward her, his unseeing eyes steady. "The cost is high," he admitted. "But so is the reward. The question isn't whether it's worth it. It's whether you're willing to pay the price."
The group fell silent, the weight of Harry's words settling over them. Daphne glanced down at the scroll hidden in her robes, her fingers brushing against it thoughtfully. Hermione's brow furrowed as she wrestled with the implications of what Harry had said.
Harry leaned back, his smirk softening into a more reflective expression. "Every one of them," he said quietly, "became who they were because they dared to go where no one else would."
Hermione leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowed in thought. "But wouldn't it throw the whole world out of balance if everyone in even one country started learning forbidden arts?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of caution and curiosity.
Harry nodded, his expression calm but resolute. "That's correct," he said simply. "And that's exactly why every magical government collectively banned it. Because if even one country didn't go through with the ban, none of them would.
"Think about it," Harry continued. "If one group starts learning forbidden magic, it forces everyone else to do the same, out of fear of falling behind. And so, the cycle continues—a constant arms race of magical power. The bans were a way to stop that before it could begin."
Hermione nodded slowly, her concern evident. "It makes sense, I suppose. But it's also… limiting."
"It is," Harry agreed, his voice softening slightly. "And I hope to change that one day. I hope to create a world where magic, in all its forms, can be practiced freely by anyone who seeks it. A world where knowledge isn't hidden behind fear or bureaucracy. A new world order."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and Daphne glanced at Harry, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she said nothing, but her mind was racing.
Her thoughts turned to the severed head delivered to Cornelius Fudge. The grisly warning had sent shockwaves through the Ministry and beyond, leaving everyone speculating about the person responsible.
As she listened to Harry's vision of a "new world order," a chill ran down her spine. Could she have been wrong?
The determination in his voice, the conviction in his words—it wasn't just talk. Harry Potter wasn't like anyone else she'd ever known. He wasn't afraid to tread where others wouldn't dare. Forbidden magics, challenging the status quo, reshaping the very foundations of their world…
Daphne swallowed hard, her fingers brushing against the scroll in her robes. For the first time, she truly wondered: Was Harry capable of such a thing?
She glanced at him again, his calm demeanor hiding a mind that was clearly always two steps ahead. Creating a new world order? Daphne thought. Maybe it wasn't just a dream. Maybe, with Harry at the helm, it was inevitable.
Hermione frowned, her tone laced with concern as she leaned forward. "I don't know, Harry," she said, shaking her head slightly. "That seems dangerous. The countries banned those magics for a good reason—to create and maintain a balance in the world. Introducing them back would cause chaos. It would lead to a hierarchy system ruled by power. A world where the strong rule, and the weak suffer."
Harry nodded slightly, his expression calm but resolute. "You're not wrong," he admitted. "It would change the status quo of the world. It would force society to rethink its foundations."
Hermione relaxed slightly, thinking she had made her point. But Harry wasn't done.
"But," he continued, his voice sharpening, "who are they to decide how far we can go with magic? Who are they to set the limits of what we're allowed to learn or achieve?"
Hermione blinked, startled by his intensity.
"If I had followed their status quo," Harry said, his tone softening but retaining its conviction, "I never would have seen without sight. I would still be fumbling in the dark, limited by the rules they imposed."
Daphne's eyes flicked to Harry, his words resonating with an edge of defiance she hadn't fully appreciated before.
"They banned magic out of fear," Harry continued, his voice steady but commanding. "Fear of what it could do. Fear of what it could make us. But magic isn't inherently good or evil. It's a tool, Hermione. It's about how we use it. And the world can't evolve if we keep caging ourselves in fear of the unknown."
Hermione crossed her arms, her expression conflicted. "But that unknown is dangerous, Harry. You said it yourself—magic like Frostborn can consume people. How do you control something like that once it's unleashed?"
"You don't control it," Harry said simply, leaning forward. "You master it. You teach people to respect it, to understand its power and its consequences. Caging it, banning it—those are just ways to avoid responsibility. And they're ways to keep us from growing."
The tension in the air was palpable, the weight of Harry's words lingering as Hermione struggled to reconcile his vision with her concerns. Daphne, meanwhile, said nothing, her eyes fixed on Harry as her own thoughts churned.
Harry leaned back slightly, his voice softening again. "Yes, it's dangerous," he said. "But so is any progress worth making."
Daphne reached out, her movements deliberate, and grasped Harry's hand. Her fingers intertwined with his, and for a moment, she just looked at him, her expression softer than usual but filled with a newfound determination.
Harry turned his head slightly toward her, sensing the shift in her emotions even before she spoke.
"I'm with you, Harry," she said, her voice quiet but steady, carrying a weight that left no room for doubt. "New world order and everything."
Harry's smirk softened into a small, genuine smile, his thumb brushing lightly against her hand.
Daphne continued, her gaze unwavering. "A world where magic is explored to its furthest reaches… that's a world I'd like to see one day. A world where we're not bound by fear or the limits set by others."
Harry nodded, his voice calm but filled with quiet gratitude. "Then let's make it happen," he said.
As the conversation faded into the background, Harry's thoughts lingered on Daphne's words. The firm grasp of her hand, the determination in her voice—it all pointed to one thing: she was ready. Ready to be let in on his plans, ready to step into the inner circle.
Harry's mind churned as he mulled over the implications. Trust was a rare currency in his world, but Daphne had proven herself time and time again. With her by his side, the vision of a new world order didn't seem so far-fetched.
The duels continued around them, the sounds of spells and cheers blending into a dull hum in Harry's ears. He hardly noticed the action, his mind preoccupied, until a familiar voice cut through the haze.
"Harry Potter!" Remus Lupin's voice rang out, loud and clear across the pitch.
Harry blinked, pulled sharply from his thoughts as his name echoed in the air. It was his turn.
The crowd murmured with excitement as Harry stood, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his lips. He released Daphne's hand gently, and she gave him a small, encouraging nod.
"Good luck," she said softly, her tone carrying more than just casual support.
Harry straightened his robes and turned toward the dueling platform, his steps measured but purposeful. It was time to show everyone exactly what he was capable of.
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