Summary:
Queen of Pentacles
On this card, are two castles divided by a line running horizontally through the middle of the card, the castle below the line is made of crystal and glass, mirroring the design of the castle above it exactly, it is writhed in shadows and thorns as a woman stands in the foreground dressed in a gown fit for a queen and holding a red ivory spear in one hand, her blood-red eyes seemingly glowing in the dark, while above the line…
Notes:
Welcome back my dear readers, to The Heir and the Champions. After the last chapter a reader, Shadefyre, had pointed something out to me, and that is some of you assume that Hermione knows how the Hunt works, this is not true.
She has seen it in action, and she knows its something that makes Harry stronger, but she has no clue how the Hunt works or how it affects Harry. I am putting thought on how to reconcile Harry, Ron, and Hermione which is satisfying to everyone.
But I digress!
You are not here for that, you're here for the return to Dún Scáith and the return of its Queen, well then, Let's get on with the show
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Dún Scaith.
In the soft glowing crystal light of the castle of fantasy and glass, two warriors dance with one another in a clash of spears and sparks. They move as blurs to the normal eyes, both like flickering shadows in the soft light, they twist and dance around one another, one trying to land even a single hit with gritted and clenched teeth as the other fights to watch the others form, his footwork, where and how he holds his weapon of choice as she slashes, perries stabs, and forces the other warrior to work his hardest with a soft smile of a time long ago when she did this dance with another.
The two shadows lash out once again as they clash, the taller of the sending the smaller one flying, the smaller one twists in the air to make sure he lands on the balls of his feet, his emerald eyes slitted and rimmed with yellowish-gold of the divine blessing flowing through his blood.
"Plant your feet, Graeca!" The taller of the two commands as she charges at the smaller one, winding up for a strike as the boy she fought looks up before angling his lance to take the strike that sent him flying once more, his body slams into the wall before bouncing off of it and landing on the floor hard.
"Or else that will happen," the taller of the two says with a smirk, she spins her crimson ivory spear with a flourish before standing straight again, she waits for the boy to push himself to his feet, huffing and puffing as he does. She was impressed, from what little she had shown him when last he was here, he had expanded on, formulating his own style to the dance. Compared to the hard-hitting and sure strikes of her own, his was light, almost a feather touch when he struck, but in that laid the danger of it. The boy had an unnerving sense of where to find openings in her spearmanship, tapping at it with the point of his spear to see if he could punch through it in time and if not it was no expansion of energy or a waste of movement to move on; It was marvelous. If it wasn't for her own divine power and quite literally being a god with a spear with thousands of years of experience in battle, he would have skewered her no less than four times since they started forty-five minutes ago.
That was another thing, while the boy lacked the physical strength that most Demi-gods had, but he had endurance in spades. Only Sétanta was able to fight this long with her of her former students, though Sétanta could fight for far, far, longer than the boy in front of her has shown to her as of yet, but that was also unfair to put the boy up against Sétanta standards, the hound of ulster was a monster of a warrior.
The boy finally gets back to his feet, his knees shake a bit as he slides into a sloppy stance, that was the first thing she was going to have to rectify, refining the basics the boy already had, then build upon them with varied tactics other than "Charge in and hope for the best".
"Last exchange, Graeca," the taller of the two says, "If you can't manage to land a blow on me then we're going to have to go back to basics, and that means the chasm," she says with a smirk as a look of fear passes over the boy's face before it sets into one of resolution, she smiles at the look as she slides into stance as well.
The boy charges in a burst of speed, spear leveled at the heart of the woman, she smiles at the bloodthirsty attitude the boy has in the middle of the fight, always willing to go for the kill as soon as he gets the opening. She parries the first charge, silver meets ivory with a dance of sparks before each combatant begins to exchange blows, the barbed hooks of the crimson ivory spear catching the side of the boy, tearing into flesh before the woman flings him away. But to her surprise, the boy flips in the air, spinning his silver spear to point forward and throwing it at the woman with enough force to have it pierce stone as the woman dodges it.
"Good form Graeca," She compliments the boy's throw before charging forward toward the spot where the boy was going to land, "But unwise, because now you've lost your weapon!" she says as the boy lands, bending his knees to absorb the shock, his arm still extended. She aims to skewer him, nothing lethal, nothing she could not heal before tossing him into the chasms below, but it would hurt enough to teach the boy a lesson. But to her surprise, the sound of a spear cutting through the air comes from behind, trusting her instincts honed due to years of battle, she twists to the left barely dodging the tip and blade of the silver spear.
The spear flies into the boy's hand just as he charges the woman, intent on drawing divine blood, the woman spins in place before driving her own spear forward aimed at the boy's shoulder with picture-perfect thrust, but the boy, even full of surprises ducks the trust and dives forward lashing out with his spear and the woman feels the boy draw a single white-hot line of pain across her side, just below her ribs.
The boy crashes and rolls to a stop popping up onto the balls of his feet, hunched over with one arm supporting his weight, the other readying his spear to defend himself if needed, looking like the picture of the hunting beast he felt like as the woman laughs.
"Very good, Graece, very good," the woman says, turning to show him the wound leaking golden blood, "It seems you took the lessons I beat into you last you were here to heart," the woman says with a soft smile before she watches the boy collapse and groans in pain as the divine blessing of his mother takes its price in pain. Another thing to fix, the boy was far too reliant on his mother's domain, he needs to learn to use his own gifts or his mother's other blessings before falling back on the Hunt.
"Rest Graeca, you've earned at least that," she tells him with a soft smile before the boy groans out in thanks.
"Welcome back, Graeca," Scáthach says from her throne, as Harry approaches it slowly, steel in his eyes, "Have you returned to continue your training?" she asks with a smile, not moving from when she relaxed.
Harry stops just before the steps that lead up to the throne, he eyes the barbed and hooked spear stabbed into the ground beside where the Goddess sat, "I-I was entered into a tournament, one I didn't want to enter, it's for older students, ones with more experience and, and more power than me, I don't know if I can survive it without any help," Harry explains as he looks back at the Goddess, whom had a curious look upon her face, "The only people willing to help can't come to Hogwarts to do so, I-I need your help," Harry says looking away from Scáthach and down to his feet.
"Raise your head, Graeca," Scáthach says softly and Harry does so, "There is no shame in asking for help when one needs it, nor a reason to look away from the one you ask it from," she says before standing from her throne, crossing her arms behind her back, "My offer has stood since you last left, in you I see potential, I see drive, and I see conviction," she tells him as Harry looks back at Scáthach, "I see the conviction to see my training through, even with the fear that laces your heart, I see the drive to push yourself to be greater then you are now for the hope you hold in your heart, and I see in you the potential to become one of my finest students in your heart," Scáthach tells him, her voice never wavering, her eyes never leaving his, a lie never crossing her lips.
As Harry begins to say something, he's cut off by Scáthach, "Before you blindly agree, Graeca, know this," she says as she begins to descend the steps to him, "If you do accept, I will push you to the edge of death, only to drag you back to do it again, I will break your body, push your mind to the limits of sanity, and shattered your spirit, but if you keep heart and push through it all, I will forge you into one of the finest warriors your age has ever seen," The Queen of the Land of Shadows says, laying down everything before Harry as a final warning, "Knowing this, knowing what is to come, know what I will do, do you still wish to subject yourself to it? Because if you do not think you can survive or that you can't do it, turn around and leave Graeca, I will not think less of you for it," Scáthach tells Harry, stopping a foot from him, looking into his eyes searching for hesitation, fear, or indecision, the true enemy to all great warriors.
As Harry looks back into the blood-red eyes of Scáthach, he doesn't flinch, he doesn't look away, "Yes," he says, and Scáthach finds nothing but steel in his emerald eyes.
"Good," The God-Slayer says with a smile as she holds out a hand, her spear rips itself from the ground, heeding the call of its mistress, and jumping into her hand. An explosion of shadows surrounds her, and when it clears, gone was the light purple dress fit for a Queen, and replacing it was a skintight leather catsuit and a mourning veil pulled back from her face and flowing down with her Auburn hair. "You stand at the precipice of death, Graeca, show me your resolved not to cross it," Scáthach tells Harry as he pulls Serpent-Hunter and extends into a spear before both teacher and student swing, clashing together the lances of silver and crimson.
Harry Potter, Dún Scaith.
After his spare with Scáthach the day before, she had shown him to the room he would be staying in for his visit, "Shown to" means that Scáthach had dragged him to it and tucked him in for a long nap. Harry had woken up to the smell of food cooking from somewhere close by in the castle, his stomach growling at the scent as he pulled his sore body out of bed. The side where Scáthach had landed a blow with her spear was bandaged, with his jumper, tie, button-up, and undershirt missing. Looking around the room he found all the amenities one would find at Hogwarts, a desk and a chair, a wardrobe, the large four-poster bed, and a chamber pot. Sitting on the desk was a small folded note with neat handwriting on it, picking it up and opening it was simply instructions to wear what he found in the wardrobe and to meet her in the Throne Room when he was ready.
There were clothes in the wardrobe, older-looking clothes, like BC old, but Harry was going to complain as he pulled on a soft leather tunic and grabbed a blanket-Bratt thing and threw it over his shoulders, foregoing shoes, Harry leaves the room and walks down the familiar but alien halls to the throne room. The stone under his bare feet was warm and welcoming to him, but the air still had a sight chill to it, the halls were barren, with no moving pictures or suits of armored knights; Empty of all things living other the Harry as he walked down the corridor and the mournful feeling of emptiness.
Harry finds Scáthach in the Great Hall or the Throne Room in this shadowed version of the school above, she sits at the far end of what would have been the Hufflepuff table, she was sitting on the bench with her back leaning against the table with needle and thread in hand as she sews, repairing the holes in his shirts she had put in the day before. Two steaming bowls of what looked like porridge to Harry sat on the table behind her, along with a basket of rolls and a large slab of roasted meat of some kind along with two Tankers and a large earthenware jug.
"Good morning, Graeca," Scáthach calls out to him without looking up from her needlework.
Struck a bit dumb by such a mundane sight, it takes a moment for Harry to answer back as he walks over, "Ummm, Good morning Scáthach," Harry says, stopping on the other side of the table and looking down at the food, the porridge seemed to have bits of dried fruit in it, "Is it morning?" Harry asks, "How can you even tell here?" he asks as he takes a seat and Scáthach inspects her needlework with a frown.
"I can't tell," Scáthach admits, as she puts the shirt, thread, and needle down next to her before spinning in the opposite direction to sit properly at the table with Harry, "But you slept roughly eight hours, so it would be morning to you, so that is what we will be going with," she says with a polite smile before picking up a wooden spoon and filling it with porridge, "Eat, Graeca, you're nothing but skin and bones, we need to put some mass on you," she says before eating her spoonful as Harry shrugs and begins to eat, the surprisingly good, porridge himself.
They eat in quiet for a while, Scáthach carving off a piece of the roasted meat, Mutton, and serving it on a few slices of bread and pouring Harry a flagon of honeyed mead to wash it all down with. When Harry commented on him not being allowed to drink alcohol, Scáthach had raised a brow and pushed the drink forward to Harry, which had ended that conversation before it even began.
"So, w-what are w-we do-doing today?" Harry asks before he brings another spoonful of porridge to his lips.
"Talking mostly, perhaps walking you through some sets, but mostly talking," Scáthach says, sipping her own mead, as Harry swallows, considering it odd watching a god eat.
"About w-what?" Harry asks.
"Mainly what you can do, I know your mother's main domain is the Hunt, and while old and powerful as it is, I'm sure I do not need to tell you about the drawback of using it," Scáthach says as she puts down her flagon and steepling her hands as she looks at Harry from across the table, "But I also know she has other domains, one being shared between me and her, and that of Death, or at least an aspect of it," The Witch-Queen explains, "And to teach you properly, I need to know everything you can do so we can decide on what we will be working on first and foremost," Scáthach informs Harry to which he nods in understanding.
"Um, not, not a lot to be honest," Harry says as he sets down his spoon, "The Hunt is the biggest thing, then there's the moon, and the black spot thing," Harry mumbles almost to himself.
"The black spot thing?" Scáthach asks with a raised brow.
"Oh, it's only happened a few times, it's like these floating black spots on a person or an animal that I'm fighting, and I get the feeling that if I hit them or stab them it will end the fight quicker," Harry explains before shrugging, watching as Scáthach taps her fingers on the table looking at him with deep consideration.
"These black spots," She says, slowly, her eyes far away, "Do they move? Or pulse? Perhaps even grow black veins from themselves?" Scáthach asks, looking back at Harry, questions burning in her eyes.
"Yeah, like, like they're alive or something," Harry says.
"Instant and swift Death,..." Scáthach mutters to herself before chuckling, "Now THAT is amusing," she says shaking her head.
"W-what is?" Harry asks, placing his arms on the table and leaning forward a bit.
"I know your mother and I shared a domain, and that domain was death, but to find out it was the same aspect of the domain, well, I find it more amusing than not," Scáthach says.
"W-what does that m-mean?" Harry asks, "The different aspect T-thing," he clarifies as Scáthach looks back at him, her eyes dancing in amusement.
"Some of the domains, the older domains, can be split into aspects, faces, or characteristics, they are different but in the end, they all stem from the same domain," Scáthach explains, "The Hunt or Hunting, would be one, Cernunnos and your mother are both gods of it, but where your mother represents the Hunting of monsters and the unfeeling calculation of an arrow let loose from a bow, Cernunnos is the pursuit of prey and the savagery one uses to end the hunt, same thing, different aspects," Scáthach explains as she holds one hand each for Artemis and Cernunnos before clasping both hands together, "Do you understand, Graeca?" she asks looking at Harry with confusion dancing in his eyes.
Harry understood what she was explaining, same domain of power, just different ways of representing them, that he understood just fine, no what confused him was the mention of Cernunnos. Harry had first thought she was just using him as an example, but then, then he remembered something, he looks back up to the blood-red eyes of Scáthach and opens his mouth before closing it narrowing his eyes at the Goddess, unsure if he should say it.
Putting down her hands, Scáthach looks at Harry with a raised brow, "What is it, Graeca?" she asks, "Speak up if you have a question," she says leaning forward.
"You were there that night," Harry says, "The night Cernunnos was freed, I remember you being there, you asked if wanted your help," Harry accuses Scáthach, to which, all the Goddess does is smile.
"I'm surprised you remember that Graeca," Scáthach says, "You were in rather a bad shape when I came across you, your arm was broken in a few places, all of the ribs on one side were shattered and puncturing your lung, you were a breath away from death," she says steepling her fingers in front of her with an amused look on her face.
"You, you asked if I wanted help, I couldn't speak but I nodded, and then, then I woke up in Artemis' tent exhausted but without any injuries," Harry says, searching for the memories of what happened after he nodded but there was nothing, a blank space. One moment he was in the mud and rain of the forbidden forest and then in Artemis' tent, he looks back to Scáthach, "What did you do?" he asks.
Scáthach's smile was coy and sly as she answers him, "We manteled," she says simply.
"They call it Mantling, but I can't find anything else about it," Hermione had said almost a year ago when she was researching Demi-gods and the Gods, trying to figure out who Harry's mother was.
"What is that? Mantling, I've heard it before but couldn't find anything else about it," Harry asks.
"Mantling or to mantle, is the symbiotic act of a God and a Magician becoming one, allowing the Magician to act as a God could, but no longer bound by the laws of the higher orders of Life, Chaos, Order, Death, and Fate," Scáthach explains, "It's where we get to break all the rules," she says with a grin.
Harry Potter
Scáthach's training was brutal, she wasn't lying when she had told Harry that she would push him to the edge of death, just to drag him back to do it all over again. The spares with her were always a long and bloody affair lasting longer and longer each time, she pushed Harry to his breaking point where he was barely standing on shaking knees with sweat and his own blood dripping off of him as she always kept herself at being just a little stronger and faster than Harry. She had him climb the rock faces of the crags below the castle with weights attached to his legs as he fought off the shadows and monsters that called the crags home with nothing more than his spear, which was difficult, to say the least.
She would have Harry carry heavy stones from one side of the room to another and back again to the point where he couldn't stand before making him fight her again and again. She would drill combat theory and strategy into his head while Harry did these things before having him repeat them back to her verbatim, if he missed something or got something wrong she would crack him with her spear, or add more weight, or more stones to carry. She didn't let up on him at any moment after the first morning, days in between the hard labor she would walk him through what she called Stances, how to hold a spear, how to move, where to place his feet, which way to turn and twist, how to extend, to thrust, to slash, and showing him how it all blended together in a long dance of death and shadows of her own personal style.
All of that was done without the calling upon the Hunt to empower Harry, "It is a crutch, Graeca, one that you rely on far too much," Scáthach had told him, while he was in the Land of Shadows he was to ignore the call of the Hunt as much as he could, if she even thought he had called on the ancient domain he was thrown back into the crags to climb back up, it had only happened once, and once was enough. Thankfully she had thrown him in very close to the end with his spear to cut his way out, and that was only the first week in the fortress of Dún Scáith.
The second week was focused more on Scáthach teaching Harry to call upon the domain of Death and Artemis' blessing of Swift and Instant Death. Scáthach called it "Battle Meditation" when a warrior would reach a state of perfect harmony between the body, mind, and soul to draw out their greatest potential, Harry called it "Stab things till my ears popped," which, surprisingly, worked. Scáthach would summon the monsters from the crags below the castle for Harry to fight, telling him to focus on what he felt in the fight, to find his center, which was difficult with the first dozen monsters or so, but Harry soon found what she was talking about. It was like when he had fought the Centaurs in the forest trying to save Brittany from them, it felt like nothing, like he was disconnected from the fight and the killing, that it was just him and the single strike for the promised end. It was preceded by a pressure in his head, right behind his scar, before he felt his ears pop and his vision flicker before the dark spots would bloom across the creatures from the crags.
Scáthach had him focus on that feeling, on the pressure behind his scar, the feelings of his ears popping, gently guiding him through it step by step with endless patience and a soft voice, till he was finally able to do it outside of a fight or hunt. It had taken three whole days to get it, but when Harry did, it felt like he had been doing it his whole life, as if someone had broken a dam and the domain was happy to be finally used.
The only downside to unlocking the ability was that it had made the dreams worse while he stayed in the Land of Shadows. Scáthach had told him that he would have nightmares unlike the ones he had outside the Land of Shadows, and they were very much a good thing, if at any night he had none at all Harry was to tell her immediately, when Harry had asked why, Scáthach had explained.
"Because Graeca, mortals are closest to death when they sleep, and sleeping in the Land of Shadows is as close to death as one can get without dying," Scáthach said with a smirk, "The nightmares remind you of the pain and horror that you have faced in your life, reminding you that you are still alive, for life is pain, and death but a blissful sleep,"
It explained why Harry had the nightmares that felt so visceral and real, the dreams of the three men standing calf-deep in thick mud on the edge of a red river with a bridge made from the still-warm and twitching bodies of men, women, and children sewn together were the worst, Harry had woken up more than once in a cold sweat after that dream.
But it wasn't all training and killing in the Land of Shadows, sometimes after training, during dinner, Harry and Scáthach would just talk, Harry would tell her about his adventures in Hogwarts and with the Hunt, though she mostly wanted to know about Hogwarts, about the castle, about the students, the teachers, what he was learning, how well he was doing, everything down to the littlest detail. Scáthach would smile when Harry spoke of the school fondly, she would get this far-away look in her eye as if she was lost in the long past in another age and in another place. When Harry finally plucked up the courage to ask about why she wanted to know, he was surprised by the answer, Scáthach had a school long ago.
Dún Scáith, Throne room.
"It was a Castle, much like your Hogwarts, I took in students from all over the islands," Scáthach says, her eyes far away, her voice soft with melancholy, "They came with bright eyes full of wonder and eager hearts to fill their minds with the lessons I had to teach, Demi-god, Wixen, normal mortals, it did not matter, I taught them all, passing on my knowledge and skills to those who wish to learn," She says with a sad smile, "But only the truly worthy would get private lessons from me, they had to go through trials like I have put you through to earn that honor," Scáthach says, looking at Harry with amusement in her eyes.
"What happened to it?" Harry asks
"The Romans," Scáthach speaks with no little scorn, "They arrived on the islands with their Gods and Demi-Gods intent on subjecting the islands to their will, and I'm ashamed to say they succeed to a degree in the end," she says as she refilled her flagon with mead, "I had heard of the other Dé Danann falling to them, but we were never the most organized group of Gods, all within the Tuatha Dé Danann were fiercely independent and kings and queens in their own right, sure, we had two leaders, but outside of the war with the Firbolg and the Fomorians, none would listen to them, the wild and free people that we were," She says with a shake of her head, "That was perhaps our biggest mistake, not helping one and other out during that time, but such is the pride of kings and Gods, Graeca," Scáthach laughs a little before taking a sip of her drink.
"One had made it far enough north to come across my Castle, her name was Bellona and she had come with a small cohort of soldiers and Demi-Gods, and she demanded my surrender," Scáthach chuckles at that, "She learned the hard way that one does not demand the surrender of the Witch-Queen of the Land of Shadows without the power to back it up, and she lacked the power to do just that, I had put my spear through her heart and in fear of her own divine life she fled, leaving her cohort to be slaughtered by me and my students," Scáthach said with a smile, with amusement at the memory dancing in her eyes, "She had returned some months later with another god by the name of Virtus and a larger cohort to demand my surrender once again, and once again they learned at the point of a spear that one does not demand things from me, and I beat them back," she says as her eyes light up with glee, "And what a fight that was, you should have seen it Graeca, they both were fine warriors and got in a few good blows, but I spent an entire mortal life perfecting my craft before I ascended to godhood, they believed themselves superior because they were born Gods but I showed them both that all were equal in death," She says with a vicious smirk.
Harry's spoon fell from his hand with a clatter as he looked at the woman across from him with wide eyes and an open mouth, "You were mortal once?" Harry asks, shocked.
"Indeed," Scåthach says with a nod of her head, "I was like you once, a Magician, born from a Fomorian and a mortal Wild-Witch whose union was not by her choice, I spent years training in the arts of hedge-magic before moving on to find a teacher in battle magic and the spear and spent my mortal life perfecting those skills to the point I could kill the Fomorian that was my sire and took from him his power and domain by force," She explains sipping from her flagon.
"Magicians can do that!?" Harry yells in shock.
Scáthach smiles and nods her head, "After meeting a few qualifications and receiving a blessing, yes," she tells Harry with amusement in her eyes at the shocked look on his face, "Though it is not something I can teach, and it is a harrowing task to set upon and took me many, many years to get to the level of power needed to set out to do it," she tells him.
All Harry could do is blink at that nugget of information.
"If you've done all that, and beat two of the Roman gods, How were you sealed?" Harry asks, curious about how the Romans pulled it off.
Scáthachs face falls, a sad, mournful look entering her eyes, and remains quiet for a long while, seeming to draw up the strength to talk about a painful memory. "Betrayal," she says sadly, "One of my older pupils was offered power and governorships over the lands if he would help the Romans, and he did," she says with a sad sigh, disappointed in her pupil, in herself, "I need to return here, the Land of Shadows, to recoup lost power every now and then and especially after my fight with the Roman Gods, so when I had left on my pilgrimage, they struck," Scáthach says, her eyes turning downward as the painful memories came flooding back, "They enacted a ritual that sealed me in the Land of Shadows and because I had embarrassed them so thoroughly they decided to erase my legacy from the world," her voice had dropped to a whisper laced with pain that had a pit form in Harry's stomach for bringing up such painful memories for the Goddess that was helping him, "They put my students to the sword, killing all who called my castle home, the youngest being no older then eleven, they set it ablaze before waiting it to burn down before tearing down what remained brick by brick till there was nothing but the corner stones left, I could do nothing while sealed here and felt every death as if they were my own, in the end I cut myself off from my castle, my school, my home and resigned myself to langish here till I faded," Scátchach said in a shuddering breath that spoke more of the pain she felt then any word could.
Scáthach looks back up at Harry, and he could see the glassy wet look in her eyes that spoke of the oceans of unshed tears she still had for her students and school, "But I never did, I had thought it some kind of divine punishment for the patricide I committed or letting those in my charge die, that is until you showed up, Graeca," She says looking at Harry with a soft smile, "And for the first time in almost two thousand years, I felt hope again,"
The last week was spent combining what he had learned in the last two weeks, practicing the dance of shadows and death, honing his skills in it, and enhancing its lethality by combining it with his "Death Sight" as Scáthach liked to call it. Their spares became more brutal as Harry became more skilled with the use of his eyes and refined skills with the spear, he was now skilled enough to land a blow on Scáthach without the use of the Hunt, it wasn't anything lethal or debilitating nor was he under any illusion that Scáthach wasn't pulling her punches against him.
The physical training didn't stop either, she still had him climb the walls of the crags and move large and heavy stones while drilling battle tactics into his head, walking him through stances "Repetition is the key to Mastery, Graece, I expect you to practice this even when you are not here, twice a day if you can," Scáthach would tell him as she walked him through them before the spare. Harry didn't feel all that stronger, the rocks were a little easier to move and the walls a little less difficult to do, but he didn't feel stronger. When he had brought it up with Scáthach she didn't seem surprised, "You've only been doing this for a few weeks, Graeca, even for Demi-Gods it takes a while to build up physical strength, rest your body once you leave here and eat, you'll start to see a difference next you return here," Scáthach had told him.
And Harry's departure came as quickly as he arrived with the last week being a blur of fighting, training, and tactics, his nightmares seem to fade as time went on, but the peaceful dreams full of bliss came rolling through his sleeping mind like a drug. One's of flying on his firebolt across the country, one's of hunting with his sisters and Artemis wearing a silver jacket, one where Artemis had shown up years earlier and pulled him from the cupboard, and the dark, the ones with just him and Daphne alone and doing…things to one and other that always made his mornings a bit awkward for him, the ones he lived with his parents and Atalanta, living a happy and full life, and the one where he was being held from behind in a large bedroom with a burning hearth, with cold arms pulling him close and a voice humming a lullaby into his ears. They intersected his nightmares, showing him dreams that he could lose himself in forever, such as the soft sweet draw of them, and Harry knew it was time to leave.
Scáthach and Harry stood in the throne room of Dún Scáith, the Queen of the fortress carving a circle into the floor with her spear much like the last time Harry had left the castle Scáthach had called her home for years untold. She worked in silence as Harry sat off to the side to watch, neither of them speaking until the circle was completed and the doors to the throne room closed to complete the spell that bound it to the Gate of Sky on the material plane.
"It's time, Graeca," Scáthach says softly, turning back to face Harry, a smile on her face. Harry nods before standing, his body still sore and his arms felt like rubber with his legs shaking a bit, but otherwise fine.
"When can I come back?" Harry asks, looking at the closed door.
"A week, maybe two," Scáthach says before moving to the side, "When your normal dreams return, and the bliss of Terminus leaves them, you may return then," she says, folding her hands behind her back.
Harry nods once more before walking over to the large door and pulling it open, the crimson mist of the Gate of Sky now churning just beyond the door, Harry's lips press into a thin line before he turns back to Scáthach, looking at her feet.
"Thank you, Scáthach, for, well, you know," Harry says, shuffling awkwardly and after a moment of hesitation Scáthach steps forward and extends one of her arms, her fingers grasping his chin firmly, but gently, tilting his head back to make Harry look her in the eyes.
"Do not bow your head to anyone, Graeca," Scáthach tells him softly, "You have faced death more times than most grown men and conquered it each and every time, you have the heart of a warrior beating into you, bow to no one who does not have the same," she tells him firmly, looking into his emerald eyes with a smile, "And please, call me Teacher," she tells him before dropping her hand and putting it behind her back.
"Thank you, Teacher," Harry says, taking her words to heart, before turning and walking back out the Gate, leaving behind his fear with his head held high.
Harry Potter, The Gate of Sky.
As Harry steps out from the swirling red mist, it feels like his body became heavier, his eyelids drooping as he stumbles forward, falling to his hands and knees. It felt like the three weeks of training he had done all hit him at once, he grits his teeth and pushes himself back to his feet slowly walking forward and down the small path on the risen stone away from the Gate of Sky. He lets out a sigh as he sits down and leans against a large stone jetting out of the earth, he looks over to see the robe he had hung on a branch of iron thorns that was wrapped around one of the pillars just in case he didn't make it back and the Headmaster had set down some type of wards to alert him of someone coming down In the tunnel.
Harry's head nods, before he jerks it back up and leans it against the rock behind him, he was exhausted and still had to do the stupid detention with McGonagall that night, Harry closes his eyes, deciding that a nap was needed before heading off to McGonagall's after dinner.
Harry forces his eyes open, trying to force the energy into his limbs to move, but it feels as if he's paralyzed, and that's when he noticed he wasn't alone in the Chamber of Sky, for sitting a few feet away on a large flat rock was a girl.
A girl with Fathomless Black Eyes.
Notes:
Chapter done!
This chapter was fun to write, but I have no idea if I did a good job of showing off who Scáthach is, she is first and foremost a teacher, it was her true calling in life beyond the bloodshed and Godhood.
I'm hoping to start building the relationship between Harry and Scáthach as someone who he was deathly afraid of to someone he respects and admires, a teacher for him in all things Demi-God related. So don't worry, this isn't the only time we see the Queen of the Land of Shadows in this book.
We also see a little world-building in this chapter and finally get an answer about what Mantling is, though I'm sure most of you figured it out by now, before any of you ask how could Scáthach kill a god while still mortal, it's simple, she mantled to do it, as for who or what she mantled I'll leave you guessing.
We also got a sneak peek at what I have planned for the Hallows, I'm sure you're gonna be confused when I write that out because it's weird, dark, and fucky.