A Strange Old World Ch.23 (Patreon)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 23- Magic and Grindelwald

AN: Half beta'd by Besilisk, Shiva, and Kaladin1707.

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Silence was Harry’s sole companion on his way back. With the castle asleep and its corridors quiet, his soft footsteps provided the only distraction from the memories of the past hour. Under the dim light of Hogwarts’ lamps, his lone shadow trudged on with slumped shoulders, carrying the agony of an old man.

His talks with Dumbledore had left him more hollowed and drained than enlightened. The memories were still fresh within his mind, stuck on an automated loop as he kept replaying them again and again, hoping to divine some random piece of wisdom…a sudden understanding, perhaps, of what exactly fate needed from him…

As was Harry’s demand, Dumbledore had poured his heart out to him; from his heaviest regrets to his hopes for the future, the old man had kept nothing hidden.

But out of them all, there was only one piece of info that pecked at Harry like an incessant insect—resounding within his brain without stop.

"It is unfair, I know, after everything you've been through," Dumbledore had started, a morose sadness in his bowed head, eyes gentle and helpless. "but I believe the last piece of Voldemort's soul...is inside you, Harry."

The info hadn't taken the wind out of him or anything. He hadn't wasted any time in denial, hadn't shied away from the truth even though it hit harder than a raging troll.

He’d simply acknowledged the fact with a sigh, accepting the confirmation of his long thought suspicion.

And in that moment, it had all suddenly clicked in place, the answer staring back at his face—having waited a long time to be accepted. And then the evidence came pouring out from his own memories; the connection between Voldemort and him had always seemed too strong to be natural, the ability to use Parseltongue—when neither of his parents' families were known for such a skill—lent further damning evidence.

It made sense then why he’d never found that last Horcrux now…cause deep down within his heart, Harry himself hadn’t wished to find it.

But there was no denying it, once it was practically thrown in his face.

The old man had gone on to describe the Prophecy in full, along with all the educated guesses he'd made from it.

‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...

and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…

and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

One thing Harry instantly picked on was the last bit of wording. ‘For neither can live while the other survives…’

The one that he remembered—even more clearly now, thanks to this body’s exceptional mind—stated: ‘For neither can die while the other survives…’

Which meant that this was a different prophecy, one where Voldemort has no reason to preserve his life.

‘Well, at least this way I won't have to be the last person standing if shit goes south again.’

Not everything was bad though. At least, according to Dumbledore. The memories washed over his mind once more, torturing his soul with questions.

"So... dying is my only way out of this?" Harry asked, trying hard to keep the bitterness at bay. Sadly, his hollow chuckle may have given him away.

"No, Harry." Dumbledore's eyes went alight with fire. "I'm certain there is another way!"

Harry shook his head. "I appreciate the attempt, but I don't need false hope, old man. You said so yourself, we need to destroy every one of his Horcruxes for this to work. And if I'm one of them..."

"But see, If my other self was anything like me then he would've most definitely thought so too!" Dumbledore crowed, working himself up. "but considering how horribly his plans failed in the end, I’m sure it is not the answer. Which means there was another way to do this all along."

"We don't know that." Harry denied the twinkle of hope in his heart. "I told you already, I didn't accept my death then. I let my friends talk me out of it. Perhaps, if I'd actually had the guts..."

"But my dear boy, don't you see? If you truly were on the right path, you wouldn't need to walk to your own death. My lesser self tried to manipulate the Prophecy, control your fate...and it didn't work out. Which means there was another way to end that. Another way than surrendering to your enemy. A way that must be found, and quickly."

Harry chuckled, slowly letting himself take comfort in the lifeline thrown at him. "And how would we go about finding it?"

Now Dumbledore grew uncertain. "I... honestly do not know anymore. The only thing I do know is that it is not ‘We’, but you. Only you can find the way, Harry. It has already been proven that my meddling ruined the world once before. Now, I’m afraid to say I find myself no longer trustworthy at making plans. I cannot let my interference cost this world, and I do not trust myself not to unknowingly bungle things up again. Which is why you must take the charge. So this is my vow...I shall take a step back and give you the reins. You plan, I follow."

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. Sleep was likely to elude him tonight. With the upcoming task of training the Auror corps, the absolutely bonkers Quad-Wizard tournament, the offer to join the Order, and culling the Slytherin house, there was simply too much to do and too little time to waste.

His feet automatically set him on the path to the Gryffindor’s common room, and he caught himself just before taking the stairs to the tower. Sighing again, he navigated his way back and forced his legs to make for the Dungeons.

‘Merlin, this is going to suck.’

Not that he truly cared about the Houses any more. He just wanted a warm pillow to rest his head on and let go of the demons haunting his mind free.

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Damien Picquery lay seated upon the high-back teak wood chair befitting his title of the High Prince, awaiting the arrival of his young guest.

It had been well over two hours of waiting by now, and he was honestly thinking about postponing the entire thing for tomorrow morning. What in the world could Potter possibly be doing—locked inside the Headmaster's office for two bloody hours—was an entirely different thing, and something his sleepy brain didn't quite care about right now.

All he cared about was to clear the air with the kid, remind everyone in the house—who'd begun doubting his power after Potter’s blatant show of contempt—of who exactly was in charge of Slytherin, and throw himself on his comfy bed for the rest of the night.

Unfortunately, not everyone cared for his plans right now.

"How much longer?" His younger sister whined from beside him, uncaring of his authority. She was the only one allowed to get away with it…which was probably why she was the only one who did it again and again.

Casting a casual tempus, Damien sighed. "Fifteen minutes more, and then we'll leave."

His sister cheered with a very tired 'Yay', and an extra long yawn.

The rest of his inner circle exchanged amused looks, some snickering outright.

'She's the only one allowed.' Damien forcibly reminded himself. Plus, most of the people currently around him were more friends than rivals anyway. He didn't need to maintain the infallible and mighty image of the High Prince here.

Not like he could actually punish his sister seriously. Some sacrifices had to be made if he didn't want to spend his winter holidays getting his ears chewed off by his parents—who just loved doting on the stupid hellion—unconcerned of the title he'd earned with so much sweat and vigor.

Which was sort of understandable. Being from America—having not attended Hogwarts—neither knew just how special the Prince of Slytherin title truly was. And not just a prince of Slytherin, but the High prince of Slytherin; the leader of the seven Princes of Slytherin—or Princesses as the female members liked to remind him, though he felt Prince could be used interchangeably in this case—all of whom made up his inner circle.

They were the nobility of Slytherin, the highest amongst the highest. They maintained the House’s image; from politics to Quidditch to Dueling. They had a solemn duty to protect the best interests of Slytherin, and only the Head of House could hope to contest their ruling.

But while his parents’ ignorance can be excused, the same couldn't be said for the rest of the house. Not after everything he'd done to achieve his place in the grand scheme of things.

As an American, while he wasn't treated quite as poorly as a muggle-born upon arrival, he was still looked down on more than his station deserved. American or English, he was still a pureblood after all, and should’ve been treated like a Nobility.

Alas, reality was often disappointing.

It had taken seven grueling years of image-building, constant back-to-back wins in Hogwarts’ yearly dueling tournament, and keeping his allies close and enemies closer, before he finally gained enough clout to declare himself High Prince.

And he was not about to be undone by a 14-year-old who somehow hoodwinked the entire world into thinking of him as some kind of Messiah. Even his own housemates, known for their cunning and ambition, were somehow swept into this drivel.

But Damien knew better. The sole reason his family had run away from America—forced to take shelter in England, under the protection of Dumbledore—was due to the sheer terror Grindelwald created at the start of his conquest. To hear a child—and an awkward, quiet, and somewhat cowardly child at that—had been able to fight Grindelwald equally was...

Absurd. More than absurd. The boy had been a decent enough dueler for his year—from what Damien occasionally observed—but unless he'd been possessed by the spirit of Merlin, there was simply no logical way for him to even survive a stray Lumos from Grindelwald.

Or, at least, he didn't believe so. It wasn’t completely out of the question for him to have improved over the Summer of course, especially if the rumors of him staying with Bellatrix Black held any truth. And if his public performance in the European Championship was taken into account, Damien could almost believe that Potter had somehow found a rare motivation inside him and was blessed by magic for his efforts, becoming possibly one of the best Duelers in Hogwarts’ over the course of a month.

But to beat Grindelwald!? No bloody way!

Damien had been willing to give him the benefit of doubt however, planning to keep quiet until the kid either gets proven as a fraud or blows everyone's socks and knickers off by genuinely being the second coming of Merlin.

That was until the Potter brat went and spat over his perfectly well-intended offer of joining the high table—he just wanted to use the boy's fame for his own purpose really—by being a thickheaded klutz.

'All the fame must've gotten to his pretty head.'

“What are you even planning to do?” His sister questioned again, standing up to pace the floor. “You realize he’s the head of Aurors right? Not just our Housemate? Yeah, I know how weird that sounds but please tell me you aren’t actually thinking of beating him into submission or something…”

The rest of the group perked up, glancing at him sideways, the same question in their eyes.

Damien grimaced. While he didn’t actually believe Potter held any true power, and was likely more of a figurehead being used by the Ministry—just like Damien had originally planned—it was still a risk engaging a government official, especially someone of Potter’s reputation, in a potentially volatile situation.

Yet, he couldn’t let this go unanswered. Damien hadn’t achieved his position by being a knucklehead. He knew if he let this fester, Slytherin would soon be divided into two groups with the new one following this powerful rebel who’d dared to dismiss the High Prince so publicly.

“Not if I have to.” He commented wisely after a moment of silence. “I would prefer to keep this quiet and civil, but it depends entirely on Potter. Worse comes to worst, I’ll just scare him a little without magic, which shouldn’t get us in any serious legal trouble if he does go complaining. Maybe give him a slap or two—”

Sarah snorted, loud and clear, too full of contempt for him to ignore. Damien flashed his sister a look of warning but like always, she continued heedless. “Have you actually seen him yet? Like, closely? ‘Cause he looks strong enough to twist you like a twig. And yes, I mean without magic.”

His eyes flashed but before he could rebuke her, another voice piped in with amusement, sighing almost dreamily. “Well, I wouldn’t mind him twisting me a little, if you know what I mean.”

Damien snapped to the girl, face scrunching up in disgust and incredulity, “Bella! He’s three years younger than you!”

“I know, right?” His sister nodded at Isabella, making him blanch in horror, completely forgetting his earlier indignation as she turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “And just for the record, he looks quite a bit older than you. I don’t know what they’ve been feeding him over the Summer, but it’s clearly working wonders.”

A few girls, and a few grudging boys, nodded in agreement.

Before he could properly realize the fact that his inner circle might not be so in tune with his intentions as he’d originally believed, the door to the common room opened with a dramatic thud, finally bringing an end to their wait as the figure of Potter came sauntering in.

Damien couldn't help but look the kid up and down, searching for the truth behind his sister’s words. He had to admit, calling him a kid would be kind of unfair to himself now…unless he was willing to think of himself as someone even younger.

It wasn’t just physically either…it was in the way he slowly drifted in—not even glancing at the group waiting at the high table—his shoulders slumped as if carrying some great, immovable weight.

Potter certainly looked the part of a great leader burdened by the weight of war.

‘...And his physique probably contributes a lot too.’ Damien reluctantly admitted.

Not only had he somehow managed to shoot up like a weed, but he’d also developed some very well-defined muscles that made Damien's heart roar with envy.

To Damien, it almost seemed as impossible as his magical growth really. As far as he knew, puberty was not supposed to be like this. It was supposed to come with a whole lot of voice cracks, awkward limbs, and drastically enhanced self-consciousness. He could understand the height perhaps—he’d seen some extreme cases of people shooting up half a foot in a couple of months—but they usually looked like lanky branch sticks instead of this…this broad-shouldered teen.

Suppressing the sudden birth of doubt and hesitation, Damien ignored his group’s urgent hisses and walked over to Potter with slow, confident strides. Normally he wouldn’t be greeting another student personally, sending one of his Princes to present the subject in front of him as a show of power. But he was willing to eat his pride and treat the boy like an equal for this very rare occasion which had nothing to do with the tiny gulp he involuntarily took when the boy glanced at him.

“Lord Potter.” He greeted, a little proud at his unshaken voice. “I would like to humbly extend my—”

“Fuck off, I’m tired.” Potter sighed, smoothly slipping past around him. “I’ll play your little games tomorrow.”

Frowning, Damien tried to maneuver himself to block the boy’s path but a simple palm shove threw him stumbling back his steps.

Damien seethed, annoyance and embarrassment erasing his caution.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, Potter." He drew his wand, aiming at the boy’s back who kept walking unconcernedly. "I was hoping you’d understand, but it seems not.” A silent ‘Incarcerous’ came to the tip of his wand. “Now, we can do this the hard way, where I don’t have to—”

That was all he could get out before a sudden force slammed into his midriff, knocking the wind out of him.

There was no warning, no wand movement. He hadn’t even seen Potter move save for vaguely waving his hand behind him without looking, and suddenly Damien found himself doubled over, a gasp leaving his lips, acutely aware of the yells of alarm from the Princes. He was glad that for all her newborn admiration, his sister was the loudest in warning Potter to back off.

Clenching his teeth, he strengthened up, only to stare directly at the emerald green eyes that looked so incredibly similar to Killing Curse Damien wouldn’t be too surprised, should he die suddenly from just staring at him.

“You know, I was hoping to push this off for a couple more days,” Potter muttered, slowly walking back towards them. “What with my recent stint with existential crises. But you just had to present me with a convenient target, didn’t you?”

‘That was…wandless magic.’ Damien swallowed thickly, gripping his wand even tighter. Only when his inner circle came and took the Winged-Sphinx formation behind him did he remember that he wasn’t alone. He was standing alongside the strongest Dueling team in Hogwarts, each one a solid level 4 Dueler. Together, they had the skill and power to take down even an experienced level 5 Auror.

And they were the masters of Sphinx formation.

‘I have nothing to fear.’ He assured himself, stilling his shaky hand. ‘It was just a trick, meant to scare me. He probably has his wand hidden in the other hand.’

Damien straightened. “You’re a fool if you think we’re the targets here, Potter.”

He readied himself, glancing at each side to nod at his team. “I don’t like bullying a kid, but you should’ve learned by now…Slytherins don’t play by the rules.”

Perhaps Potter genuinely thought himself the second coming of Merlin, for he made no attempts at escape or hiding, simply arming himself with his wand, face scrunching up in an irritated frown.

Damien didn’t waste any more time, jabbing his wand forward with a smirk. ‘Let’s see what you’re truly made of.’

His thin gray rope snapped at the boy like lightning, followed by two streams of stunners and knockbacks, courtesy of his Princes.

For the Winged-Sphinx formation to work, you needed exactly seven members in the group; one head, two wings, and four limbs. The two wings’ job was to defend the attacking head, while the front two limbs defended everyone else. The head—him—and the back limbs, were supposed to be exclusively in full offensive mode. With three attackers and four defenders, Winged-Sphinx was practically crafted to fight against a more powerful opponent.

No matter how skilled an opponent, there were four defending, and three free to match the spellcasting pace of one. It should’ve been easy work.

The next few seconds cracked that theory apart.

Potter didn’t move. But his wand did.

It was like watching someone operating on an entirely different time spectrum; the way his wand zipped through the air like a blur, launching multiple spells almost at the same time. Before their spells could hope to connect, a large flock of birds materialized in front of him—hiding him from their sight entirely. Damien’s rope strangled one bird, while the rest successfully blocked the stunners and knockbacks from his Princes.

But it didn’t end there.

Upon impact, the birds burst into a large pile of colorful feathers, coalescing together to form a strangely beautiful bar of solid crystal that came hurtling towards them like a rainbow.

Damien simply stared, eyes widening with awe.

Even from a distance, he could feel the enormous power contained within the colorful crystalline bar, the type of power he himself could never hope to wield. He wasn’t being humble or anything, knowing exactly how strong he truly was—with most of his professors, including Snape, Lupin, and Flitwick, constantly reassuring him of his potential to become a level 6 Dueler—and yet, even he knew there was no chance of him ever wielding the incredible amount of raw power currently heading their way.

‘He’s the real deal.’

Something his colleagues seemed to agree with, if their very heartfelt curses were anything to go by.

There was no need for commands, no need for a new plan. At once, all of them scrambled together to form a combined shield. With the might of seven level 4s, no matter how powerful, they had a good chance of blocking the magical beam…

Of course, things just had to go from bad to worse then.

A distractingly loud snap of sound entered their ears, and Damien quickly glanced back for a second, only to blanch in alarm.

All the cushiony chairs behind them had somehow come free from the ground and were now rapidly traversing through the air to greet their unprotected backs.

Their defense crumbled. And so did Damien’s will.

While they reacted quickly enough—with the two hind Limbs disengaging from the front shield to blast the chairs down—the crystalline bar managed to reach them at the exact same time, and their shield—now missing two important power sources—was quickly pressed to the extreme, the blue flaring brightly on the moment of impact, and growing increasingly bright the longer it blocked the crystalline bar.

There was nothing they could do but huddle underneath the shield, cursing their luck as small cracks very quickly grew into larger ones until they heard a very distinct crack!

Damien faced a brief second of genuine panic and fear for his life, but the moment their shield popped, the solid bar disappeared as well, and sadly, so did their wands—wrenched free from their hands and into the awaiting palm of their enemy, who hadn’t slowed his lazy saunter.

It all ended just as quickly as it had begun, and for a moment, only silence remained, each knowing how badly outmatched they were against the natural calamity that came to a stop in front of them.

He gazed at them with such disgust and contempt that had Damien not been taking deep gulps of air—reassuring himself of his survival, feeling beyond relieved—he would’ve been scrambling for a rock to hide under.

“We’re on the verge of having our world torn away from our hands.” Potter met each of their eyes, a tired frown fixed on his face. “And you’re more worried about school politics.”

Damien was a grown man now, of age and completely confident in his action. Yet, the brief moment of hot shame that throbbed in his heart was something he would never forget.

“You disgust me.” His words carried a silent disappointment, in complete contradiction to the avalanche of noise created by the incredible typhoon of power that came to dominate their worlds, resting a heavy weight upon their shoulders as if delivering the judgment of God.

With pained grunts and gasps, each of them were quickly pushed down to their knees, ropes springing through the air to bind their wrists tightly.

And as he looked into the emerald eyes of the being towering over them, awe-inspiring power swirling around him, Damien found himself infinitely lucky for being so quickly disarmed, without being given a chance to escalate the situation even further. He could only imagine what fate would’ve awaited them had they used anything truly dark.

The power around Potter flared even more, and true fear clawed his heart still once again. He could only wonder how the rest of his team were coping when confronted by this force of nature without becoming a whimpering mess begging for their Lord’s divine forgiveness.

“I’ll tell this to you once, and I hope for your sake, that you and your little council of serpents hear very, very carefully. Things are about to change in the castle. From tomorrow, a full contingent of Aurors will roam the Castle premises, handpicked by yours truly. If I find a stray mark-bearer amongst our dear housemates, I shall hold you responsible when they’re hauled off to a Ministry cell. And if your own group has a skulled bastard hiding in the midst…? Pray. Pray that you survive what’s coming for you.”

He dropped their wands on the floor and turned away without another word.

They stayed kneeling until Potter completely left their sight, and Damien felt a little better to see his weren’t the only pair of hands still shaking.

“That was…” Damien breathed out slowly, unable to look into the eyes of his Princes, feeling inexplicably ashamed.

The worst part was, he didn’t know if the embarrassment was from the beating they just received or the foolish thought of even daring to challenge their savior, or realizing that he might be just as shallow of an existence as Lord Potter believed.

“Hot!” His sister exclaimed, “Merlin, he’s hot!”

He swerved to Sarah instantly, eyes burning a hole in her head as he hissed. “That’s what you get from all this?”

“What!?” She snapped defensively, quickly turning up her sleeves. “It’s not like we’re guilty of anything! We’re safe from his search, aren’t we?” Then she cocked her head, a lecherous little smirk spreading on her face. “Not that I would actually mind him searching me if he does it the muggle way.”

But looking at the discomforted and troubled looks on the rest of his Princes, he wasn’t quite certain. While Sarah and he never had the chance to be intimately associated with the darker part of Slytherin, he knew they existed, lurking in the shadows for their Lord’s return. Many old families still had connections to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and his own clean slate was one of the reasons he was initially shown such contempt upon joining Slytherin.

And his rise meant that the political system of the House was definitely going to change, with or without Potter’s interference.

“Fuck.” Damien breathed out.

The illusion that things were still normal and under control was finally snapped out from his mind. He didn’t know why he’d been so adamant about ignoring the Dark Lord’s presence. Of course, it would have effects on Hogwarts, especially on Slytherin.

Things were about to change very drastically, he could only count himself lucky that his previous subject of contempt was now probably going to help his innocence.

Damien glanced where Potter had disappeared, a slow smile curving up his face.

‘Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.’

Soon, a power readjustment would erupt in Slytherin, and all would be scrambling to own the biggest piece of the pie.

And Damien knew exactly what he must do to remain at the top.

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With heaving chest and raspy breath, Jacob Noname laid face down on the Dueling mattress, too tired and exhausted to even stand.

The leg that came to lightly kick him in the side did nothing to change that.

"Get up." Even the harsh voice of his teacher no longer sounded harsh to his ears. "You didn't even last a minute this time."

Then again, it was just how his new life was now, one he'd personally cursed himself with.

It was about time he got used to it.

"You think you can hope to match your brother like this?" The voice may not sound as harsh anymore, but the words were just as painful. "You think you can ever hope to be something more than a fake? A poser?"

They were meant to hurt, after all.

It was just him that had toughened up in the last couple of weeks, letting them brush over himself like useless dust.

Or well, he liked to think so. Liked to think he wasn't affected. Liked to think he wasn't the same stupid whiny brat who thought the world revolved around him any more…

"God, you're pathetic." His teacher muttered, finally giving a sigh and closing the distance to help him up. "I wish you were your brother instead, at least he would've been more fun to play with."

…But he feared he was. Even with getting his teeth kicked in daily by dozens of people, he feared he still hadn't changed much where it truly mattered.

But he was trying.

The moment her hand touched his shoulder, he burst into action. Twisting his mentor's arm, he maneuvered his wand backwards, finally bringing forth the rage her words induced within him every day.

"Reducto!" He bellowed.

The red flash missed her completely. Like silk in the wind, his teacher whirled sideways, and in one smooth moment—something he could barely see, let alone defend against—disarmed him with a flourishing twirl of her wand.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, a blunt force hammered his head forward, and for a second all he saw was darkness.

"Quite a looker as well, isn't he?" Madam Blackrock continued, completely unfazed. "I can think of some other fun things to do with him instead. Maybe you’d like to see us go at it? I know you jerk yourself to sleep with my face in your dreams."

Jacob clenched his eyes, refusing to let the tears drop as his consciousness stabilized and the ringing voice—which he hadn't even noticed—stopped vibrating in his brain.

"He must be quite experienced too. I hear he's very chummy with your Aunt. And those Veelas. A photo caught him kissing the Delacour girl, did you know? Wide open in public too."

He breathed out slowly, trying to regain control again, trying to shut out the feelings her words induced within him again. Even as horrible images slipped past his grip, torturing his jealous heart more and more, he refused to bow down and surrender.

"They all live together with him, don't they? In the Potter Manor....the Manor you were supposed to inherit."

Jacob was starting to wonder if he'll become a master Occlumens by the time his teacher was done with him. The amount of time he'd spent shutting her words out could easily match the time he'd spent dueling.

"Oh my, and how can I forget your mother! Lily Potter, right? The beautiful, buxom mother of the Messiah. Your brother must've been spending some quality time comforting her. You know, many say they wouldn't mind if their lord and savior goes a little overboard in his comforting...know what I mean?" She snickered.

Bile rose up in the back of his throat, acidic and hot. He knew she was just saying it to cause him pain, knew her words would never come true in a million years...

And yet, his vivid imagination couldn't help but picture it anyway.

It made him recoil in disgust, his blood beginning to boil.

Slowly, he began crawling to his wand.

"I personally think it's really hot. Plus, he will need all the help he could get if he is to face our Lord again. And who says he couldn't get that help from beneath a pair of big, warm tits?" Madam Blackrock giggled. "And you know what? I think he gets that too. I think he's using this opportunity quite...hmm, thoroughly. After all, it's only logical, wouldn't you say? Living in a grand Manor full of beautiful women as the only male..."

Jacob growled, clenching his fist, failing to keep up his calm mask. No matter how above such things he tried to think himself as, he would eventually break down and face the horrible monster clawing in his heart.

With a scream, he jumped for his wand and started tearing at the woman again, hurling spells after spells at her with barely a whisper.

"That's better," She hummed, dancing away from the blizzard of spells to his growing frustration. He felt so incredibly incompetent when the woman finally had had enough and a rope suddenly slithered at him through the air, bounding his wrists and blasting his wand away. "But so utterly uncontrolled it might not even be you. Have you seen your brother fight? Beg Lord Grindelwald and he might let you take a glimpse. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from your betters."

"Why!?" Jacob bellowed, finally unable to keep it in. The frustration, the anger, the humiliation, the jealousy, everything came pouring out as he fell on his knees, defeated. "Why do you always have to bring him in the middle!? When will you bloody stop!?"

For a moment, he could've sworn he saw a flicker of pity on her cold, beautiful face—the face that, as she so eloquently put, had been the heroine of his numerous nightly sessions. But the mocking glint in her eyes that appeared hurt too much to think of it as anything other than his imagination.

“When will I stop?” She sneered, striding towards him. “When you stop viewing him as a measuring stick. When you grow up from this pathetic child and become a man in your own right. When the name 'Harry Potter' doesn't make your face twist like you'd just watched your wife getting filled up with another man's cock."

The tears were hot in his eyes now, and he knew it wasn't his imagination this time when her face softened.

"It doesn't matter how skilled with a wand you become, Jacob." She said gently, sighing as she picked up his wand. "What matters is what you do with it. You'll never amount to anything if your goal is just to become stronger than your brother and show off in the public. You'll always be a shallow existence, incapable of ever achieving your true potential. But if you genuinely want to be better than who 'Jacob Potter' was, if you truly wish to be different, then you better grow up fast, and start acting like it."

Accepting his wand without looking at her, Jacob wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robes and stood back up.

He took a deep breath, calming his heart and mind, giving his teacher a brief nod that he hoped looked determined.

Taking three steps back, he met her eyes, issuing a quiet challenge. "Let's go again."

Snorting, Madam Blackrock raised her wand.

Before they could continue, however, the door to their training room banged open, revealing the huffing figure of a junior Acolyte.

"Madam Blackrock," The man beckoned urgently. "You've been summoned. By the Lord."

Frowning, his teacher glanced at him before placing her wand back in the holster. "We will continue this later."

"Em, pardon, Madam." The Acolyte called out. "The...boy is needed as well."

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead, but she mastered her surprise far faster than Jacob could, his mouth still hanging open, uncertainty stark in his heart.

"Did he say why?" His teacher asked, but received only a shrug in response. "Very well, lead away then."

Jacob tried catching her eyes, wanting to find some comfort within her usual confidence, but she seemed unwilling to even look at him, simply waving him over.

"Let's get this over with."

----------------------------

Grindelwald's new seat of power was based in Brasilia, Brazil; a large, open mansion with grand halls, rumored to be constructed in half a day by the Dark Lord himself.

Jacob was one of the few who knew it to be true, having witnessed it personally.

It was oddly strange, walking through the structure you’d seen forming under your very own eyes. The feat had looked impressive enough from the outside, but the detailed inside was what put into perspective how grand the act truly was.

“Stop gawking, you’re embarrassing me.” Madam Blackrock cuffed him on the head.

Rubbing the smacked spot, he stared straight ahead silently, ignoring the Acolytes that roamed the Manor, their contempt clear in their gazes.

It seemed an entire lifetime away when he’d first been subjected to it. He’d thought it was just some initiation ceremony that would disappear once things settled down.

He should’ve known better.

When Jacob had first arrived with the Dark Lord, he'd been forced to live in his own tent, one of many built upon the ruined Brazilian city. Grindelwald had been in the middle of shifting his base all the way from Argentina, getting straight to work after the World Cup incident.

It had been a little shocking to realize the entire nightmarish event of the World Cup was a mere side adventure for the Dark Lord. An amusing break from his conquest, a last-moment decision even, that he'd taken at Voldemort's calling.

The Dark Lord had shared the info with him casually. Jacob would've been tempted to call him a liar had he not seen him raising an entire mini-castle from the bottom up mere minutes after leaving the English ground.

The next day, Grindelwald had assigned rooms to a chosen few in his new base of power, personally calling Jacob's name amongst the massive crowd awaiting beneath his mansion.

Jacob hadn't thought overly much of it back then. The hollow emptiness from abandoning his family, betraying his country, forcing an early death upon his father, had still been too strong then, and he'd simply accepted it with a grateful nod.

He hadn't even stopped to wonder if there might be a secondary motive to the Dark Lord's decision.

That 'motive' was revealed when Grindelwald commanded him to prepare for the challenges ahead; to gain a place in the Dark Lord's army, he must first prove himself.

And the challenges began coming from the next day. Literally.

Apparently, there was a proper way for the Alliance to recruit new members. A methodical series of tests to determine a soldier's worth, something Jacob had skipped entirely when he joined. He had once thought the only thing you needed to do was pledge your loyalty to the Dark Lord and boom! You're a member of the Alliance. And to a certain degree, it was true...for the bottom of the barrel in the Dark Lord's army.

The lowest of the lowest in Grindelwald's Alliance was made up of grunts. They weren't officially part of the proper army, and simply received a mundane white triangular mark to signify their position once they declared their loyalty to the Dark Lord.

This was where simply ‘declaring your loyalty’ ended.

To become a proper member of the Alliance, one needed to pass a series of loyalty and dueling tests, with the lowest position being that of an Outer Acolyte. Once one gains that title, they would receive a magical mark—glinting blue in color—etched on any visible body part, though most opt for the center of the foreheads or the back of their hands. The mark was eerily similar to the symbol of Deathly Hallows, birthing an army of curiosities within his heart, though none that Jacob ever voiced.

After them came the Inner Acolytes, a red Deathly Hallows symbol acting as their mark of identity. There were less than a hundred of them, and each commanded great honor within the Alliance, leading their own teams of Outer Acolytes.

And finally, above all the rest, came the Senior Acolytes. With their black symbols almost always visible, they cut a fearsome sight, each being a capable level 6 dueler, the highest below the Dark Lord. They were called the enforcers of the Dark Lord, and it was they who carried his will across a conquered nation.

The only ones above them were the 7 core members of the Alliance, sporting a golden symbol on their foreheads. Jacob had only ever seen a single Core member in the last two weeks, most of them usually being too busy in controlling the conquered countries in Grindelwald's name.

It was rumored that each core member was an accomplished Elemental, powerful enough to take on the leaders of any country.

Jacob himself hadn't received any mark yet, and that was where his new challenges came to being. The Dark Lord's public acknowledgment placed a massive target on his shoulders, for only the Senior Acolytes had been worthy of such honor before. And when the Outer Acolytes found he wasn't even a proper member of the army, they called him out to prove his worth....by challenging him to the dueling mat.

And he lost. He lost to all of them, and badly. Embarrassingly badly. The outer Acolytes of the Alliance were made up of level 4 Duelers, and Jacob was nothing but soft prey for almost all of them. Even the weaker ones sought him out to boost their own standings within the Alliance.

Grindelwald did nothing to control them, simply assigning him a tutor and leaving Jacob to fend for himself. He hadn't seen the man since, and that was almost two weeks ago.

Two weeks that could easily qualify as the most humiliating experience of his life; First from the beatings he suffered under the Outer Acolytes, then the daily verbal assaults he suffered from his teacher. But hey, at least she didn’t brag about it to her friends.

…Or, well, he hoped so.

The tiny bit of pride still beating within his chest had long since been shredded to pieces, leaving just a mess of tired muscles and exhausted mind. Jacob genuinely believed very little could hope to shame him now, and unfortunately, that little mostly consisted of Harry Potter.

Something Madam Blackrock had the fortune of knowing.

"Look sharp, boy." His teacher elbowed him. "We don't want him to see you look so defeated. Or are you starting to doubt your place here now?"

Jacob straightened up, shaking his head.

"Good. ‘Cause that would've been a massive waste of my time."

Jacob sighed, ignoring the woman. They traversed the halls of the manor—quickly crossing the 4-doors room—and approached the open hall where Grindelwald conducted his meetings. Two Inner Acolytes guarded the entrance, straightening to salute Madam Blackrock.

The large golden door behind them swung open on its own, a deep thud vibrating within his chest.

Their guide waved them in but made no moves to follow, forcing Jacob to trod after his teacher, into the Dark Lord’s conference room.

The lighting in the room felt comfortable to the eyes, blood red curtains hugging around the giant pillars, taking away the sun’s glare to create an almost spiritual mood.

His heart sped up the moment his eyes fell upon the Dark Lord. Occupying his silver Throne, Grindelwald sat at an elevated position to the rest of his audience. The throne itself wasn’t strange—befitting the position of a monarch—it was the wooden desk in front of the throne that looked out of place. Along with a small stack of files, the ornate table was covered with all kinds of fruits and sweets, and the Dark Lord took euphoric satisfaction in tossing each new piece of candy in his mouth.

The only audience except them was a senior Acolyte who knelt beneath the throne, a small slip of a paper clutched in his hand.

His teacher dragged him to stand at the side, close enough to eavesdrop but far enough to not let their presence be a nuisance.

"...We've also managed to subjugate the local magical creatures, My Lord.” The Senior Acolyte continued, unheeding of the door that closed behind them with another deeply felt thud. “A total of seven cities containing hidden troll colonies were found, along with three dozen Bicorn steeds. Eight Peruvian Vipertooths are currently undergoing Imperial training, while a small pack of Werewolves was captured just this morning. We did fall into a tiny predicament…the Giants in the mountain range are adamant about only talking to you. We've held off from simply eliminating them, and with your permission could begin administering the Imperius Curse. No signs of Vampires or Veela colonies yet, except for some wild rumors that my squad is still chasing. And no Obscurus either, my lord. We'd made them our biggest priority like you said, but if there are any present in this continent, they've remained elusive as ever."

For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was of Grindelwald sucking his candy.

Then finally, the Dark Lord hummed. “I shall deal with the giants.” His eyes flickering towards them briefly before shifting back to the kneeling Acolyte. “And the new recruits?”

The Senior Acolyte chuckled. “The Brazilians are surprisingly cooperative. We’ve added over a hundred new members to the Outer Acolytes and five to the Inners in just two weeks.”

“Five Inner Acolytes, you say?" The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. "All Aurors, I take it?”

“And two Mercenaries. All five are skilled, but no elementalist.”

“Unfortunate.” Grindelwald leaned back, propping his legs upon his desk. "But expected. If we'd found even a single Elementalist in every country we conquered, we would've been ruling the world by now. Go, see to your duties. Let none enter after you."

"My Lord." With one last bow, the Acolyte stood, giving a nod to his teacher, before walking out.

Madam Blackheart prodded him forward, ignoring the re-thudding of the door behind them.

"Lord Grindelwald." She bowed low, slapping the back of his head as if she knew he'd forget to do the same.

He bowed almost angstily. 'Why does she always take me for a retard?'

Grindelwald chuckled, giving them permission to straighten. "How is his progress, Ariana?"

She gave him a glance before turning back to the Dark Lord. "He will never be his brother, but he might become skilled enough to match an inner Acolyte… someday. Preferably before the war ends but I won't count on it."

Jacob tried not to bristle but it was a losing cause. 'Why!? Why always him!? Why is his shadow long enough to follow me on a different continent altogether!?'

Grindelwald sighed. "Shame. I was hoping for more. Then again, he might just surprise you. Potters are known for that."

"I'm not a Potter!" He burst out before he could stop himself.

Jacob flinched, awaiting a stinging blow from his teacher, but surprisingly she didn't even glance at him, let alone move.

"Then what are you?" The Dark Lord cocked his head. "Hmm? A level 3 Dueler? A Hogwarts' dropout? Homeless, powerless…useless?"

Jacob didn't rise to the bait this time, keeping his lips locked. His eyes however, couldn't help but glare at the man.

Grindelwald didn't seem bothered, a knowing smirk lighting his face up. "What do you want then, Jacob? Why are you here? I shall admit, I'm impressed that you haven't run away after all that happened to you since your arrival. But there must be a reason for your resilience. So tell me."

A thousand different answers went through his head. From 'Revenge' to 'I don't have anywhere to go' to 'A new identity'...but all of them could be summed up for Jacob in a single word.

"Chance." He answered finally. "I want a chance to be better than who I was."

Still smirking, Grindelwald nodded. "And you shall get it. I have just the assignment for you."

Shockingly, his teacher stepped forward in protest. "He isn't ready, My Lord. He has barely even—"

"And you will be going with him."

That brought her short. "My…Lord?"

"Tell me, Jacob." The Dark Lord leaned forward, and at that moment, Jacob could've sworn he'd never seen something look so sinister. "Have you ever heard of the Tri-Wizard tournament?"

----------------------------

Slowly sipping from her glass of pumpkin juice, Lily Potter subtly spied her three children sitting in the Great Hall for Breakfast. Dorea’s prime posture; like a queen amongst Ravenclaws, Rose’s sweet little pranks that induced giggles across the Gryffindor table, and finally Harry; sitting calmly with a single friend, completely ignoring the uncertain and awed looks from not only his housemates, but the entire school. For a moment, she could almost believe everything was fine.

…And then her picture-perfect world would show its imperfection, the cracks slowly widening. It was almost depressing how much had changed in the last two months. She’d dreamt of this day often—when she’d first gained Harry’s affection so suddenly—imagining how exciting it would be, to be in the castle with her four children finally acting like a family.  Things had been looking so good for a brief moment…she should've known it was a lie. For the son she’d gained, she’d lost two others. Now here she was, knowing her husband was dead, while her other son was doing Merlin knows what.

The image of Jacob murdering muggles and terrorizing the neighborhood almost gave her a minor heart attack, a sharp pang of pain rising up in her heart briefly, wondering there she’d gone wrong. Yet, that brief moment of weakness was enough for the darkness to resurface, the touch of the Void reigniting within her, trying to corrupt her mind. Before she could fall deeper in the pit hole, she brought the full force of her level 4 Occlumency to bear—and like always—shoved the memories of her dead husband and son into another compartment of her mind…right beside the ones where those memories and fake mind print were locked in.

She paused.

'Can it even be called fake anymore when it was capable of taking over my body at the slightest hint of weakness?’

Lily shuddered to think what would’ve happened had she not been a level 4 Occlumens. Without the ability to create a second mind print for Void to occupy, would it have taken over her body completely? She couldn’t even begin to guess.

And nor did she want to. She did not even try accessing her Void element anymore. The last time she’d voluntarily tapped into it was when she’d created the magic-resistant watch for Harry. She’d been so proud of her slowly growing abilities then, never even wondering if the Void might be trying to trick her somehow.

…Not until it was too late to act.

There was something very wrong about her now, she knew. Something she couldn’t quite identify without accessing those memories she’d locked away alongside the Void print.

She didn't know what memories she'd hidden away from herself, but she knew it would tear apart her relationship with Harry...and the last thing she needed was for that to happen. Harry had become her sole, firm pole of support in the last few weeks. Even as busy as he kept himself, the comfort his sheer presence brought was the only thing that stopped her from unraveling completely.

He was the light of her life…they all were. And as long as her children, and Harry, were beside her, she knew she could get through any darkness in the world.

Even the type of darkness that left her so full of shame and guilt each morning that her entire existence felt a torture chamber. Those dreams and flashes…the sinful images…each night they assaulted her mind, and no matter how strong of a sleeping draught she took, she could never hope to forget them.

While a part of her believed this to be a unique way of torture that Void registered, another couldn't help but wonder if it had any grains of…reality.

The images of Harry and her wrapped as one—naked as the day they were born—flashed inside her mind once again, flushing her entire self with guilt, nervousness, and shame so strong they left her reeling back.

"Are you alright, dear?" Pomona asked from beside her, and she belatedly realized she'd stopped eating, her eyes fixed on Harry's smiling figure.

Crossing her legs, she shook the image away.

"Y-yes." Her voice hitched on the lie, heart beating like a drum, loud enough she feared others might hear it.

Pomona looked doubtful.

Lily took a deep breath and calmed her mind, smiling at her colleague tightly. "I'm fine, Pomona. Just thinking how different everything is now."

A look of understanding and pity flashed on her kind face, forcing Lily to suppress a grimace.

'Better pity than suspicions.' She tried to comfort herself but failed horribly. Pity was one thing she did not want from anyone. The way her colleagues had been treating her—even Minerva—you'd think she was a vase of glass about to crack apart anytime now.

It was like they'd completely forgotten the fact that she was the same woman who'd survived getting her mind ripped by the Cruciatus and came back stronger than ever.

Still, it was better than them growing suspicious. Vastly better than others finding out about her sinful dreams each night.

'It was just a dream.' She forcibly tried to convince herself. 'A shameful dream caused by the trauma of James' death and Jacob's actions.'

Yet, the doubts remained.

Why was she so afraid of touching the void then? What memories could she be hiding from herself? Why did she feel such a stark dread...and need every time she thought of those dreams....

Lily didn't know. She didn't know a lot of things about herself anymore. She only knew that she loved her children, she loved her Harry, so, so much...

And the only thing she wanted was for this war to be over and her family to be safe.

Everything else can be sorted out later.

Even the memories buried within her mind that she was starting to suspect were linked closely to her dreams.

Once the war was over…once she was sure her family wouldn't be ripped apart even further, then she would confront the truth…no matter how shocking it may be.

----------------------------

"Defense against the Dark Arts." Blaise muttered under his breath, the slip he'd gotten from Snape still clutched in his hands. "You must be happy. Snape's your favorite teacher, isn't he?"

Harry snorted. "Not anymore."

He cast his gaze across the Great Hall, keeping an absent eye on Lily and his sisters. For some reason, the woman looked a touch more delicate from a distance, inciting an urge to go and wrap his arms around her right this moment. Though her hunched shoulders and diminutive figure might also have to do something with it.

"Ah, so uhh...Professor Potter's the new one, huh?..." Blaise fumbled, clearing his throat. "You've patched up with your family then? Everything's cool now?"

Harry chuckled, glancing at him. "Yeah, everything's cool now. You don't have to tiptoe around the subject anymore."

"Oh, thank Merlin." Blaise sighed, dramatically wiping sweat off his forehead. "I swear to god, if I had to hear one more time how bitchy the 'red-headed manipulative witch' is, I'd definitely pop a vein."

"Okay, I do not sound like that." Snorting, Harry stood up. "Though yeah, I'd completely understand if your ears started bleeding after hearing me go off on her again. I was kind of a dick to her, wasn't I?" He glanced at the subject of their conversation, realizing he already had her attention.

Harry's growing smile quickly disappeared under a frown however, when the woman whipped her face away, unwilling to meet his eyes.

'What's that about now?'

"Dick?" Blaise snorted. "Try 'Massive, unrepentant dick, who threw a tantrum every time she tried talking to you'."

"Right." Shaking his head, Harry wiped his hands with a tablecloth. "I'll see you in the evening then."

"Whoa, what?" His lone friend stood up suddenly. "You aren't coming to the class?"

"Nah, no classes for the Head of Aurors." Harry smirked, before glancing at Lily again. "Though I'll probably be present for Potions tomorrow."

"Oh." Blaise sounded disappointed. "So...listen, Harry."

The change in tone captured his attention and he turned to the boy with raised eyebrows.

"It's just...you saved my life the last time...and I didn't even give a thanks on time." He opened his mouth to dismiss the issue but Blaise waved him down. "No, listen! It doesn't matter what you think about it, I owe you. Like, a lot. When you returned me back to the tent, my mother was ready to march off to the Malfoys and eradicate them from existence. It was only when I let her see my memories of what you did to him and his friends that she calmed down. But she also saw me before you did your healing and it made her go off again. Now, well...she doesn't want to start a full blown war, but she really, really wants to meet you."

Harry nodded slowly, wrapping his head around the situation. "...You're welcome?"

The boy huffed. "C'mon, this is serious. I owe you a life debt, and mother would never let this go. So can you please just, I don’t know...drop by, say hello, and come back?"

Harry blinked. "That's all? Well, sure then."

"...Okay, maybe that's not all." He reluctantly admitted. "Life debt is a really serious business, something even I don't know everything about. She wants you to attend a full dinner, probably ask a whole lot of questions. Are you free this weekend?"

"Not this weekend, no." Harry rubbed his chin, feeling the light, well trimmed beard starting to grow. "It's gonna be a really busy time for me. She'll probably have to wait till the Christmas holidays, I'm afraid."

"That's fine." Blaise waved it off. "Whenever you have time. Just don't forget please, or she'll haunt you throughout your life."

"Sure." Harry snorted, spying Dumbledore getting up from his seat. "I'll meet you later then."

He waved the boy goodbye, and started making his way to the Headmaster's tower. 'It was time for some real training.'

----------------------------

The Headmaster’s office was going through some renovations when he arrived, the usually crowded room looking almost completely empty. Though that was only compared to a normal room, for even ‘almost completely empty’, the office was cluttered with numerous useless but interesting objects that simply shouldn’t belong in any respected Headmaster’s office.

“Ah, Harry.” Dumbledore perked up, in the midst of waving his wand at an especially tall stack of books. “You’re earlier than I anticipated. I’m afraid I’ve only just begun readying the room for our use.”

It took a moment for that to settle in.

“...What?” Harry blinked. “You want to teach me Elemental magic here?”

Dumbledore straightened up, pushing back his glasses with a finger. “Unless you know a convenient place for us to practice magic powerful enough to destroy the castle, I will have to say ‘yes’.”

Harry smiled slowly. “I do know such a place though. I’m just surprised you don’t.”

The quizzically thinking frown on Dumbledore’s face was a picture-worthy scene.

“No…” Harry gasped mockingly. “Don’t tell you…you really do not know about the legendary Room of Requirement!?”

Dumbledore looked mightily miffed. “I…well, I did once stumble upon a rather beautifully proportioned room I had never seen before, containing a magnificent collection of chamber pots, just in time to take care of my urgent…requirements. Sadly I never found it again, though I always keep my eyes open for it.”

“Well, guess what?” Harry spread his arms grandly. “You can rest easy, for your search is now at an end! I, Harry Potter, will now introduce you to the wonders of Hogwarts’ most magical room! Something I found in five years against your…what, thousand years now?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Hundred and fourth year, but I shall swallow my pride and graciously accept. I must say though, it would’ve been better to receive the news a little earlier when my office was still nice and whole.”

“Your fault.” Harry shrugged. “Now come on, we’re wasting time.”

In short order, the duo were out of the office and prowling the Hogwarts’ corridors, making their way to the seventh floor, ignoring the looks sent their way by curious children.

“If I may ask, how did your ‘Slytherin-searching’ go?” Dumbledore asked as they waited for the correct stairs to arrive.

“Quite smoothly, actually.” Harry admitted, glancing at the old man. “After a…friendly late night talk, their Prince Leader seemed to have a change of heart. I woke up today to find him and his group blocking the Common room entrance, checking everyone’s arms for the Dark Mark. They even bowed to me and shit. It's so refreshing to deal with mature people who don't let their pride hold a grudge."

"Damien Picquery, if I'm not wrong." Dumbledore stroked his beard. "The High Prince of Slytherin. A sharp and ambitious young man, though a little vain at times. I'm glad to see it all come to a satisfying end."

Harry snorted. "I don't actually trust his judgment, so I'm gonna go with my plan anyway. I've just decided to delay it till Monday, after I hold my first Auror training session this Weekend…which is tomorrow. Damn, does time fly by."

As if sensing the subject, the Telecard in his pocket shook like a ring bell.

"Say the name, and they appear." Harry muttered, holding out the card. "Well, it seems my Aurors have arrived at the Castle. I'm only allowing one of them to enter, the rest will keep guard from the outside. Hogsmeade will be especially secured tightly. Don't want our Serpentine friends to infiltrate it."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I'm sure the dear citizens of Hogsmeade would be most thankful for their Savior's thoughtfulness."

"As they should be." Harry nodded seriously, his eyes taking in the familiar corridor on the seventh floor, a tapestry on the wall depicting Barnabas the Barmy teaching ballet to a bunch of trolls. "We're here."

Dumbledore hummed, stroking his beard again. "A hidden entrance on one of the less traveled corridors of the Seventh floor. I can see why so few would accidentally walk upon it, only to never find it again."

"Well, I did." Harry paused. "With a little bit of Elvish help."

The old man raised a brow. "A curious thing, that."

Ignoring him, three times Harry walked across the spot opposite the tapestry, thinking hard on exactly what he wanted. A secret place to learn Elemental magic without prying eyes.

The Door appeared.

He waved Dumbledore in, smirking. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

They entered the Come-and-Go room.

It was shaped as a domed chamber this time. A domed chamber humongous enough to make the European Championship stadium look tiny in comparison. Harry could only see the ceiling and the other end due to his vastly improved eyesight.

“I must say,” Dumbledore breathed out, removing his glasses to give it a quick polish before pushing them up his nose again. “This vastly surpasses my expectations.”

Harry chuckled, moving to one of the three book shelves to the side. “Yeah, it tends to do that.” He picked up a handful of books, reading through their titles. “And it goes above and beyond your imagination. It is said that the Room is directly connected to the Hogwarts library. Now we know.”

They were all on Elemental magic.

“Well then,” Dumbledore bustled over. “I believe it would be quite a disservice to it if we were to waste more time. Let us begin your foray into the world of Elemental magic.”

----------------------------

Harry was glad to know his previous knowledge was not put to waste. The last two weeks that he'd spent brushing up on the theory of Elemental magic made sure that he was walking into this with a solid enough basics to not waste time on needless lectures and explanations.

Theoretically, to channel an Element, the first thing one needed was a strong enough ability to sense magic, being able to feel it in the real world's elements. Fire, water, Earth, wood, metals... everything essentially contained traces of magic that a practitioner of the arcane must first know to identify, before even thinking of controlling it.

Ever since coming to this world, one of the first things Harry had focused his attention on was sharpening his magical senses. And while he may not have been skilled enough to be an Elementalist back then, the last few weeks seemed to have given him enough of a push to get started.

"Fire is one of the easiest Elements to sense." Dumbledore's voice droned on in the background, splashing over Harry's occluded mind uselessly as he focused on the wisp of fire, trying to feel the magic. "If you fail to feel the magic within, I'm afraid we will need to work on your magic sensing first."

He was sitting on the ground with legs crossed upon a red rug in the middle of the vast chamber, with a small warm flame hanging in midair in front of him.

"No need." Harry replied, feeling a satisfied smirk twisting his lips up. "I can feel it now."

Admittedly, the magic wasn't exactly trying to hide away. And he'd come too far to fail now. If previously, sensing magic was like trying to feel the air in an enclosed room, now it was like walking in the middle of the road and feeling a light gust touching his face. Infinitely easier if one went out of the way to observe the phenomenon, but easily ignored on an average day.

Furthermore, he could even sense a vague power level for the magic within the fire. It felt weak to his senses; incredibly so, perhaps even weaker than a Lumos cast by some below average first year.

Though considering he didn’t have any experience in this, that wasn’t saying much.

"Good. Now close your eyes and follow my voice."

Harry obliged.

"Visualize the fire in your mind, imagining it exactly as it is in this room. And I do not mean a  pale image, but a clear moving picture coming alive inside your Mind castle."

Level 4 Occlumency was everyone's best friend for a task like this. With the vision of his surroundings fixed in his mind, Harry followed the advice and willed it to be real within his Mental castle. Before long, he was watching a tiny flame dancing in mid-air, an exact copy of the real world.

"Done."

"Very well. Now answer me this Harry, do you see the magic within this fire?"

Harry frowned, focusing on the live mind image closely. There was no difference. For all intents and purposes, it was the same mundane fire he'd seen Dumbledore conjure at the start of their lesson.

A bulb went off in his head.

"You want me to sense the magic inside this mental fire, don't you?" He didn't wait for Dumbledore's answer, restarting his earlier attempt to sense magic. Except this time, instead of the fire in the real world, he focused on the fire in his mental space.

Almost instantly, the image in his magic changed slightly, a wispy white light coming to surround the inverted teardrop shape of the flame.

"I see it. Magic is...smoky white in color? It looks to be surrounding the fire's outermost layer."

"Very good, Harry." Dumbledore sounded proud. "The first step into Elemental magic is to visualize the magic within it. In time, and with some practice, you may come to do this with the real flame, and without having to close your eyes. This shall be your homework for the rest of th—"

Harry opened his eyes. The image in his mind disappeared but he instinctively visualized the real fire having an outline of white smoke that he now knew to be magic.

"Yeah, done.” Harry glanced at the old man. “Do I try to control this now? Is this it? Can I control the Fire Element now?”

Dumbledore fell silent.

When he spoke again, his voice sounded strained. "...Not yet. We do not know your affinity, and controlling a random Element always ends in failure. Perhaps a little test would serve us well first. Keep your eyes open."

Harry felt a flare in magic before it became reality, and suddenly eleven new different flames were hanging in mid-air besides the original one.

"Now tell me, which of these were conjured through Incendio, and which ones through my Element."

“I didn’t know your Element was Fire.” Harry frowned. "Also, what's the difference?"

Sadly, it seemed his quick grasp over the subject wasn't enough to put Dumbledore off his game for long, with his infuriating mysteriousness coming back to his twinkling eyes. "Fire is one of many, yes. As for your question…you tell me."

Huffing, Harry acquiesced, putting his entire focus on visualizing magic as it clung to the fire, quickly coming to some conclusions. "Some of them are...more magical, I guess? If the original flame has a cup of magic, a few of them's got a bucketful. I'm guessing the more magical ones are the Incendios?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I thought this would take at least a week. I should be the last one to complain but this is terribly unfair to all the others who put so much of their time and effort into the subject."

"So I'm correct." Harry nodded. "Question; everyone takes Elemental magic to be a level above the mundane magic, yes? But why? Elemental magic seems to have less magic than a spell. Why is the less magical fire taken to be more powerful? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

Dumbledore hummed. "A question that has plagued many over the years, my young friend. Would you like a simple answer? It just is. For a longer one, we must visit the past when our ancestors first wielded mag—"

"Alright, never mind." Harry waved him down. "Forget that I asked."

"Kids these days." The old man sighed. "To answer your question, it's because magic is simply replicating fire to create a copy. And unfortunately, like all copies, it is not quite as powerful as the original."

"Well, there you go." Harry cheered. "Not so hard giving a straight answer, is it?"

"...I think I may soon come to dislike you a little, Harry." Dumbledore suddenly announced very somberly. "While I've begun taking much less stress since your arrival, I've faced just as many problems. My wand has suddenly begun finding me unworthy, my students want nothing more than to surround you, my staff keeps talking about you, my school is filled with Aurors, I'm no longer the Chief Warlock—"

“I'm sorry.” Harry interrupted, pausing to blink up at the solemn old man. "....What were you saying about the longer answer again?"

Dumbledore gave a grateful nod, standing straighter. "As I was saying, when our ancestors first wielded magic, they must've tried replicating the natural phenomenon of this world. Things one could see and experience. Fire, water, earth, air…. Magic is incredibly adaptable, capable of replicating the same effects as these elements. And this is how, I believe, wizards first came to be. And as the generations passed, the wizards tried coming up with easier and easier methods to do the same thing, soon using only words to incite their Will, and wands to channel their magic. And thus, the spells were born. Incendio, a copy of fire. Leviosa, just a manipulation of magical Air, Lumos; light, and so on and so forth. To reiterate my earlier answer, magic itself is not weak, for it can be anything we want. But in the end, our spells are simply copies. Of course, our magic's ability to replicate an element’s strength and effects differ from wizard to wizard, thus creating the difference in raw power."

For some reason, the entire explanation did not leave Harry bored and confused, his mind processing the info and running through theories at a pace he’d never have experienced before.

"But…” Harry glanced up at his mentor. “Wouldn't that mean, theoretically, it is possible for someone to replicate fire even better than the original?"

Dumbledore’s eyebrows shot up. "Excellent question, and the answer is no. Magic in itself does not have any additional properties, so it cannot upgrade Fire to a more powerful version. But what magic does have, is the ability to combine more elements to make the original Fire different. More powerful? Yes. More destructive? Assuredly. But magical Fire on its lonesome cannot be inherently better than the original. Fire is an incredibly essential part of reality, and you cannot improve upon it, only change it."

Harry nodded slowly. "So... Fiendfyre must be a combination of Death and Fire element...well, the combo of their spell-versions, at least."

"Indeed. And Grindelwald is very much capable of casting the same using Elemental magic."

"Merlin...a more powerful version of Fiendfyre would be like...wow. And this is who I need to surpass before the end of this year? On top of handling a country, training Aurors, fighting in a bullshit tournament, and somehow thinking of a way to get this Horcrux out of my brain.” Harry paused, another thought hitting him like a freight train. “No wait, this plus Voldemort!? How the fuck am I supposed to surpass both!?”

He may still have his rituals to look forward to, but the task seemed incredibly daunting from where he stood.

"Well,” Dumbledore simply smiled. “We better get started to find out, don't we?"

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AN: I'm not really satisfied with this chapter, sigh. Spent too much time on Damien and Jacob's pov, taking away from the really juicy parts that I'd planned to write for this chapter. 

Really hope you still enjoyed this. The next one will definitely be much better, with Tonks, his Slytherin friends, Bella and Lily, and a peak into how the Ministry's doing.

Till then, have a great day!

P.S: I must once again ask for willing editors to msg me on discord.