The Floo inside Greengrass Manor flared up as Cyrus Greengrass, the Lord of House Greengrass stepped through.
"Poppy!" He called to the head elf of the Greengrass family the moment he stepped upon the cream coloured carpet that decorated the floor of the entrance hall. The elf appeared with a soft pop and looked up at her master.
"Please have a glass of firewhiskey ready in my study, I will be there shortly."
"Master Cyrus sir, dinner be ready. Your family be waiting for you to eat," the elf responded with a curtsy as Cyrus sighed heavily.
"No matter. Just bring me the glass and I will take it with me to the table," he said and the elf disapparated, only to apparate back with a glass of Cyrus' preferred alcohol of choice.
As always, a day in the life of the Head of House Greengrass was extremely busy. From managing their law firm to studying paperwork related to the Wizengamot, he often found himself returning home extremely late. Today, however, was an exception. While he did spend his day with the usual day-to-day responsibilities, there was something else plaguing his mind.
A specific fifteen year old wizard by the name of Henry James Potter. Commonly known as Harry Potter, or the Boy-Who-Lived.
Cyrus was no fool. He was more than aware that Lord Voldemort had returned and was acutely aware that the Ministry was trying its hardest to cover it up with the help of that vile paper, The Daily Prophet. Former Death Eaters and pawns manipulated with the Imperius Curse alike were agitated since last June; that included many members of the faction which he was leading in the Wizengamot. He would be a fool to ignore the signs.
He believed the boy and the Headmaster. He had no reason not to.
No, the cause for his own uneasiness was the boy himself. He couldn't place his finger on it, but the freshly appointed Lord Potter seemed off. Apparent emancipation and obvious Lordship aside, Harry Potter was acting well beyond not only his age, but his reputation as well. He knew for a fact that Harry Potter was not well versed in Pureblood conduct; the boy was raised by Muggles if what he had heard was true. His own daughters and nephew had confirmed that much since Daphne's first year at Hogwarts. Harry Potter was plain, ill-mannered, poorly taken care of and completely oblivious to how the Wizarding World worked - at least in Britain. Yet the boy he met that morning acted as if he was raised amongst the richest and most influential Pureblood households in all of Magical Britain.
The most concerning thing for him was that he was oddly reminded of himself. Thinking back and replaying the memory so many times over and over in his head, he got the odd feeling that the only person capable of teaching Harry to act like he was acting was himself. The air of confidence around him, his regal stride, the completely neutral and fake visage upon his face as he talked, the calm and piercing gaze of his emerald eyes... He couldn't help but think that his own daughter acted like that; and he was the one that had taught his daughter.
As Cyrus walked inside the dining room his eyes were decidedly locked with his daughter's. Nearly identical sapphire-blue eyes were locked in a contest of wits, one which his daughter lost, naturally. It didn't bother him; he had already passed her the message that he would need to speak with her.
"Welcome home, my love," Isabella Greengrass said with a soft, kind voice as her husband sat next to her, planting a chaste kiss of affection on her lips.
"I am sorry I'm late yet again. Though I remember telling you all that you should not wait for me for dinner. You know how much I hate keeping you hungry because of my work," the Greengrass patriarch stated as his eyes flicked from his wife to the other occupants of the dining table, Daphne, Astoria and Blaise.
"And I remember telling you that I don't care about that," his wife quipped as she dipped her spoon in her plate of beef stew that was served for dinner. "How was work?"
"Same old, same old," Cyrus said with a dismissive wave. He observed everyone slowly eating dinner while he didn't touch his plate yet; the only thing he occupied himself with was the glass of firewhiskey he brought with him from the living room. "Although something interesting did happen this morning as I went to Gringotts."
All eyes on the table turned to Cyrus subtly while his wife turned her head to face him. "Oh?"
"Yes. It was quite a surprise to see Harry Potter exiting the Potter family vault with the Lord's ring on his hand," the man said casually, as if he was discussing the weather.
Only he found it casual, however. The reaction varied wildly; from his wife trying to process the information with a lost look on her face, to Blaise freezing mid-bite as if he was hit with a Full Body-Bind Curse, to his youngest daughter gaping in shock, to Daphne choking on her food.
It took a few moments for everyone to recover before Daphne spoke quietly. "Harry Potter has assumed the mantle of Lord Potter?" She asked, doing her best to maintain composure in front of her father.
"Quite so. I assume that he didn't tell you that much?" Cyrus inquired, intently looking at his eldest child. Isabella too turned to look at her daughter, not missing the implications.
Daphne managed to regain her wits and looked her father straight in the eyes. "Whatever do you mean, father?"
"I am merely asking if you have anything to share at the table, Daphne," her father responded with the ghost of a smile on his lips, one that could not be passed for a kind smile. To his surprise, however, his nephew was the one to speak.
"We are on fairly good terms with Harry and his company," Blaise spoke as he cleaned his mouth with a napkin in a polite manner. "We have been hanging out with him since October." When Blaise received no answer to his words he looked up to Cyrus, only to see a patient and kind look in his eyes. He had the impression that his uncle wanted him to continue and he did just that. "He organised a study group for Defence Against the Dark Arts to help people pass their exams."
"I can understand that. The only thing worse than Dolores teaching a Defence classroom are the books she works with. I have to ask, however, who is teaching you?"
"Harry is teaching us," Astoria answered, effectively surprising Cyrus who didn't think she was involved in the first place.
"Why is that?" Isabella took her turn to ask, genuinely curious that a student of their age was capable of teaching them.
"It's because he is the best Defence student in our year. Possibly in the whole school," Daphne answered this time in a voice barely above a whisper. Cyrus eyed her curiously before he continued.
"Where is your proof, daughter?"
"I had none at first. Then I asked for a duel. I lost."
"Badly," Blaise quipped, earning a glare from the blonde Slytherin. Neither of them noticed the flicker of amusement and curiosity that passed the Greengrass patriarch's eyes. Daphne sighed and continued.
"He is capable of silently casting most of his spells and he is deceptively fast in both reflexes and spell casting. While he doesn't know nearly enough spells to participate in a competitive duel, he knows combat spells that cover the DADA curriculum up to mid-NEWT levels," Daphne explained under her father's scrutinising gaze.
"That is impressive, but it still doesn't explain how he can act as a teacher," her father said in return, causing Daphne to flinch.
"He is a very good tutor. He is very careful with how he guides us all and helps us to understand how a spell works in the best possible way," Blaise said in an attempt to spare Daphne the awkwardness.
"I doubt that you three need much help with that," Cyrus said with an imperceptible quirk of his lip. "I tutor you every year, during the holidays, in duelling. I doubt a child your age can match that."
"Of course not. That's why when we master a spell we help him tutor the rest of our classmates," Daphne answered. "We have an unfair advantage when it comes to combat spells, father. Yet almost everyone has mastered the spells of our curriculum."
"Well, anyone can master a spell without wand movements. Silent casting, however... I doubt Harry will be able to teach everyone perfect silent casting. Much less rush-casting," Blaise added and Cyrus' face turned to one of shock.
"Wait, what do you mean by rush-casting, Blaise?" The patriarch asked.
"Well, Harry wants us all to be able to pull that off by the end of the year. Which I doubt will happen, he is the only one capable of doing it so far and I believe that it will remain that way. I doubt more than half of the class will be able to silently cast in the first place."
Cyrus Greengrass was silent, digesting the fact that a fifteen year old boy was able to use the technique he spent two years mastering. A fleeting thought about centennial wizards passed through his head but he dismissed it easily.
"Any other surprises that Harry Potter might have?" He asked in a calm manner as he drank some more of his glass of firewhiskey.
"He can conjure a Patronus," Daphne said in the same calm manner.
"A corporeal Patronus?" Isabella asked, taking her turn in looking shocked.
"Yeah. It's a stag. Yet I don't think I have seen one quite that bright," Blaise said. No one missed the Head of the Greengrass family brandishing his wand and muttering the Patronus Charm under his breath. A magnificent falcon appeared above Cyrus, perching on his shoulder. It was a bright Patronus; an excellent example of the spell. Yet...
"The stag was brighter," Astoria quipped as she took another spoonful of her stew, avoiding the eyes of everyone at the table.
Cyrus - with a healthy dose of ruined pride - cancelled the spell and sighed. "As long as you children stay out of trouble, I guess it is alright. I will admit that whilst I am apprehensive about you joining Potter and whatever he is doing, I have no reason to persuade you otherwise. However," his eyes were locked upon Daphne with an unreadable expression. "Should I find out that you got in trouble for Lord Potter or got in trouble simply by association with his person, I will take measures to avoid further contact. Living legend or not, good guy or not, Boy-Who-Lived or not, I will not hesitate to take measures to deny further contact with him. I will not risk my family because of one man. If it comes to that point, you can only pray to Merlin that my measures won't be extreme."
Cyrus Greengrass was no fool. He knew that something dark was looming over Magical Britain; something that was fourteen years dormant. He also knew that Harry Potter would be the first target of the darkness fast approaching. Anyone with eyes and a brain could figure out that much. During the first war, he made it his top priority to stay outside of conflict, joining neither side despite constant pressure from Death Eaters to join them. He intended to keep it that way; especially now that he had his two beautiful daughters on the line. He would not risk his family, especially not for Harry Potter.
Dinner continued in silence while the patriarch reluctantly ate half of his plate before standing up.
"Daphne, please join me in the study. I wish to speak to you privately," he announced and gave a chaste kiss to his wife before retreating to his personal study. With a sigh he sat behind his desk. The most important topic was yet to be discussed.
Daphne entered the study after knocking on the door twice. She took a seat in front of the desk under the scrutinising gaze of Cyrus.
"You wished to speak to me, father?" She asked, whatever anxiety she had was not visible in her expression.
"You hate dancing around the subject as much as I do, so I will get straight to the point," Cyrus said in a calm manner, eyes never wavering from his daughter's. "Were you the one to introduce Lord Potter to pureblood conduct?"
Daphne blanched at that and took a few moments to regain her voice. "Y- Yes. I did."
"Why?"
"He didn't have a clue as to how Magical Britain worked. He asked me to teach him everything I knew about the wizarding world, especially how Magical Nobility works. So I did; I taught him everything from proper conduct to how each family has its own rules and responsibilities and what those entail. I also taught him about our holidays and important traditions we have in general as wizards."
"What else did you teach him, Daphne," Cyrus pressed.
"What do you mean, father?"
"Daphne Isabella Greengrass," Cyrus hissed, causing Daphne to flinch and sink in her chair. "I know you taught him more than that. You imparted more than just proper conduct and general knowledge. I could see that much; I spoke to him this morning."
"I- I taught him passive Occlumency," she said sheepishly.
"Finally we get there," he responded as he took a sip of his firewhiskey - which was refilled prior to Daphne joining him. "How did you teach him? Did you let him know that he would learn Occlumency beforehand?"
Daphne cocked her head in confusion. "No, why is that important?"
Silence descended between them as Cyrus was thinking about his next words.
"How did you teach him?"
"I simply taught him how to control his feelings and organise his thoughts, as well as try to prevent any reaction to reach the surface level of his mind. I taught him the Greengrass approach to Occlumency," Daphne responded, still confused.
"Did you try to mould his personality?"
"Harry is not a tool, father; nor I a smith. How could I possibly do that?"
"You misunderstand me, daughter. You can teach anyone how to be cunning. You can also teach anyone to be sarcastic or to be a wordsmith, a master of persuasion. While they are defined as character traits, they are also ways that a brain thinks and acts. Animals of all kinds, sentient ones especially are capable of anything when it comes to their behaviour, their personality. What you need to understand is that people develop their personality, the things that define them as they grow up. Yes, some traits are more pronounced than others, but the point still stands. You grew up with me as my daughter and Heir of House Greengrass. Your mother and I raised you as we saw fit until you were capable of becoming your own person. Ask yourself, however, would you be the same Daphne if you were raised a Longbottom?"
Daphne shook her head.
"How about being raised a Weasley?" Daphne shook her head again.
"You understand. Then you also understand what you have taught Harry, that you have taught him how to act and think a certain way. Tell me about it."
Daphne took a deep breath and spoke. "I am aware that Harry will become one of the most prominent political figures in Britain. His influence is already massive, on par with Headmaster Dumbledore. He asked me to tutor him as best as I could, just to make him ready for the political stage. So I taught him some things; first was how to take a step back and analyse a situation. I taught him how to use his brain to his advantage, to exploit weaknesses in conversations and how to capitalise upon them. I also taught him that he needed to be confident in how he acts, how he carries himself. I taught him that... That he needed to be commanding and sometimes ruthless if necessary. The stage of the Wizengamot needs that much. I taught him everything that you taught me, father."
Cyrus regarded her for one long moment before he spoke slowly and quietly. "Do you think that you succeeded in teaching him all of that perfectly? Do you believe that he took all your lessons to heart?"
"I... I don't think so, not to that extent. He has shown progress in it, but it's not that pronounced yet." Daphne responded almost confidently. It was what she had observed from him until they had left for Christmas. Yet her father turned that thought on its head.
"You are wrong, daughter."
"What?"
"You are wrong. Not only did he take them to heart; he fine tuned his personality, remoulded it with those traits in mind. When I met him today, he acted like those lessons were a part of him, and had been since the day that he was born."
Daphne's eyes went wide at the statement, yet she couldn't find the voice within her to express her shock.
"It is, of course, your fault; albeit unintentionally. The mind is sensitive, Daphne," Cyrus said seriously. "The Mind Arts are even more sensitive as tools. When someone begins Occlumency training - specifically the Greengrass method - from scratch he must unconditionally have an empty mind without any sort of outside influence. Something that was clearly not applied during your training. First stage Occlumency permanently re-shapes the mind in order to set the stage for further Occlumency training. Hence the reason for the empty-of-influence approach. It happens in order to prevent the alteration of a personality. In young Harry's case, he didn't know that he was being taught Occlumency to begin with. He associated everything that you taught him about organising his thoughts and controlling his feelings with everything else, with the full force of his being. I don't need to remind you that, amongst others like Pureblood conduct - which he executed perfectly, by the way, he could have fooled anyone - he has also associated his Occlumency training with cunning, confidence and situational ruthlessness. At this point, he's most likely the Harry that you know still, but with a personality that he wouldn't necessarily have developed for a couple more years yet."
Daphne couldn't speak as she was listening to her father, the implications of her foolishness crashing onto her with the force of a tidal wave. She couldn't help but tremble a bit as she spoke with a shaky voice.
"D- Did- Did I..." she tried to ask before she lost her voice which was shaking barely above a whisper.
"No. You didn't break him, you merely helped him grow," the Greengrass patriarch said, answering the unasked question. "You simply brought traits of his character to the forefront of his personality. He already had those traits and was more than beyond capable of utilising them under proper guidance. If I had to express what you did in simple words, I would say that you have accelerated his mental development, bringing the traits we mentioned to the forefront in the process. You took a proper Gryffindor and turned him into a proper Slytherin as well as a proper Gryffindor. Before you ask how I know all of this," he uttered, interrupting Daphne as she attempted to speak. "I will simply remind you that I am a master Legilimens. I knew exactly what had happened when I dived into his mind momentarily. You certainly did not remove or otherwise overwrite other traits that made the boy who he is; that would require a master Legilimens or a master Obliviator to happen, of which you are neither."
"S- So... It's okay?" she asked, her voice still shaky.
"Oh certainly. It was his wish to bring those traits to the forefront and develop them accordingly. Harry is wise beyond his years, that much I could discern. He has been tempered by hardship and forced maturity; of which nature I don't know, nor wish to know right now. He knows his importance in Magical Britain, no matter how much the Ministry and the Prophet try to discredit him. He is trying to reshape himself in order to fill the void his already massive presence leaves and you helped him do just that, albeit unnaturally and dangerously." Cyrus said as he stood up, letting his daughter know that their meeting had come to an end.
Daphne merely nodded as her father made his way to the door of the study.
"Don't forget that I didn't call you here to chastise you or make you feel bad about yourself. Even errors in judgement and mistakes are valuable lessons. Despite the fact that what you succeeded in was a positive change, you need to be aware of the dangers the Mind Arts pose. I love you more than anything, Daphne. I only want you to grow to be a strong, independent woman fit to become Lady Greengrass. Informing you of your mistakes and explaining them to you is merely a type of lesson," Cyrus said with a ghost of a smile on his face as he opened the door.
"Despite all of that, however, I will remind you what it was that I said over dinner. If there is any sort of risk in being associated with Lord Potter, I will take any and all necessary measures in order to cut all ties with him. I do hope you understand this," the Greengrass patriarch stated before walking out of his study.
"Goodnight, Daphne. Don't forget to lock the door when you leave."
"Goodnight, father."
The moment he closed the door to his study and walked up the stairs to his chambers, his smile morphed to a grin of amusement as he thought about the encounter with the boy.
'I wonder what you'll bring to our world, Lord Potter. We can only wait and see."
x
Harry Potter, for his part, had spent most of his time in 12 Grimmauld Place studying the Potter Tome and his OWL curriculum on Transfiguration and Potions, where he was lacking in skill - in the case of Potions, he was severely lacking. He was extremely proficient at Charms and, of course, Defence Against the Dark Arts, so he had no real issues getting through those OWLs.
During Christmas break, he had realised that he should have paid more attention to his classes and academics before his third year. He was beyond vexed with himself for taking Care of Magical Creatures and Divination for his OWLs. He was too shortsighted to realise that Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were the most important subjects he could take; what's worse is that he had realised that he actually enjoyed both subjects a lot. His only saving grace at this point was that he had put himself to work after the events of the Third Task of the TriWizard Tournament.
Harry had spent the entirety of his summer holidays studying everything he thought necessary. He had researched all manner of spells, from curses to simple housekeeping charms and could cast most with a varied level of success - something he achieved after many late night excursions in abandoned classrooms, later the Room of Requirement, with the help of his Invisibility Cloak. He realised that he was not as good as he had hoped for when it came to everyday housekeeping charms. As for the combat spells, he had the notion that knowledge on even the vilest of curses was necessary, that you could not defend against that which you don't know regardless of whether you actually use them or not; nobody needed to know of his opinions on the matter, of course. Alastor Moody might have been an impostor during his fourth year, but he gifted Harry with one important piece of advice, one that he would not give up on, no matter how much time had passed.
Constant Vigilance. Naturally, his stance was justified. He had clarity enough to understand that he was never safe. He had never been safe at Hogwarts in the first place, not since his first year. From sheer luck against Quirrel, to convenient Fawkes interference within the Chamber of Secrets with another dose of luck, to his unnatural affinity for high level magic evident in him mastering the Patronus Charm in his third year, to his unwilling participation in the Triwizard Tournament, culminating in a plot to resurrect the spirit of the Dark Lord Voldemort with his blood. If those events weren't enough to convince him to study to be a powerhouse, the Dementor attack in Little Whinging would have been the straw that broke the camel's back.
He was never safe, he knew that much. If no one was able to fully protect him, not even Dumbledore, then he might as well prepare himself for the worst.
Thankfully, his Christmas holidays were free of attacks against him. Harry honestly believed that they were the best Christmas holidays in his life; well, excluding the attack on Arthur Weasley, who they would visit at least once every two days. He was thankful that the Weasley patriarch was in no danger whatsoever and was recovering quickly.
Reading aside, Harry found himself often visiting Diagon Alley either for shopping or to visit the Potter Family vaults in Gringotts to explore its contents. He also bought presents for all his friends, Slytherin quartet included.
For Ron and Ginny he bought a pair of brooms; Nimbus 2002 specifically, a model released earlier that year but didn't make an impact because it was released together with the better and extremely more expensive Firebolt Ultima. They were honestly both pretty affordable brooms which he could buy even without his access to the Potter family vaults. He also couldn't fight the feeling of debt he had towards the Weasleys and knowing that they were both on the Quidditch team only made his decision easier.
He honestly believed he would die by the way they were both crushing him in appreciation. Ginny didn't get him a gift while Ron was too ashamed to give his, for some reason that eluded Harry.
For Hermione he bought a top of the line Rune-carving set and he earned multiple deafening squeals and bone-breaking hugs from the bushy haired witch in return. Her gift to him was, much to his amusement, a homework planner that was in all honesty worthless in his hands. He was already giving his full attention and effort to his classes and was progressing at an alarming rate, yet no one knew why, nor how he was progressing that fast. Only he knew the reasons behind his ease with subjects and would honestly rather cut his hands off before discussing the abuse he had lived with at the Dursleys.
Harry had always had a thirst to prove himself and the talent to do so, something that as a child he had hoped would endear the Dursleys to him. It was that same academic prowess that earned Vernon Dursley's ire and a beating with the fat man's equally enormous belt. It was inconceivable for the freak to have higher grades than their below-average whale of a child, after all. Thus, he was forced to keep his efforts and his grades low, just a step behind Dudley's, an attitude that carried on to Hogwarts. The events in the graveyard though had given him the necessary shock to get over it and commit to his studies; the rational part of Harry's brain figured that the Dursleys and their hatred were the least of his issues, considering that the Dark Lord was back amongst the living.
"You should hope I never see you acting superior to our son, freak," Vernon's words echoed in his mind and he felt an itch just below his left shoulder blade as he accepted Hermione's gift. Despite his maturity, developed to help him cope with the abuse he had suffered at his muggle home, his past did still gnaw at him occasionally.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley got a pair of enchanted watches that were linked to each other; if the wizard wearing one of them was in any kind of danger, the other one would heat up. The Weasley matriarch broke down in tears, as expected, while the patriarch was trying to compare it to muggle-style watches. Harry, of course, got his traditional Weasley jumper for the holidays.
The Weasley twins didn't get a material gift; Harry instead doubled the amount of Galleons that he had given them for the joke shop. His gift swiftly turned into a mock-duel between him and the twins because they refused to accept another thousand galleons and Harry decided to beat them into submission. All in good spirits, of course. The twins in return did something similar for him; they didn't buy him a gift, they offered to teach him apparition instead; behind Molly's back, of course.
To Sirius and Remus he had bought them different gifts each, for Remus he secured a yearly supply of Wolfsbane potion to be delivered to him monthly, while for Sirius he went all out and bought him a new Muggle motorcycle; he wanted to modify and enchant it, but he couldn't do so on his own, thus leaving it to Sirius' judgement and means to achieve the result he wanted. Instead of giving them their gifts and despite his better judgement, however, he decided to prank them both. So he gave them leashes. Leashes complete with matching red and gold collars, one addressed to Padfoot and the other to Moony. Needless to say, the trio nearly destroyed the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place before Harry surrendered and gave them their actual presents; he needed to be bound, frozen, disarmed and under a Tickling Charm in order to do so. Their joint gift was a very nice book on advanced duelling mechanics and strategies, as well as a wand polishing kit. Sirius also helped the twins to teach him the art of apparition.
Some of them thought that Harry had spent excessive amounts of money for their presents and Molly Weasley took it upon herself to chastise Harry, who was having none of it. In his own words, 'You have helped me and treated me like I was your family. No amount of money can compare to that kind of gift, Mrs. Weasley'.
His gifts didn't end there however. For Blaise Zabini he had purchased an elegant silver chain bracelet, one with an odd and amusing enchantment. The chain was actually two silver snakes intertwined to give the illusion of a chain. The enchantment on it made the snakes move around each other perpetually, making it a very mesmerising sight. Harry was surprised to see that Blaise also sent him a gift, a bottle of Muggle cologne that reminded Harry of some sort of smoked wood. A strong, yet pleasant scent.
To Tracey he sent a limited edition of Newt Scamander's 'Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them'. According to Hermione, Tracey was a fanatic for all manner of magical beasts while her favourite class was Care of Magical Creatures, especially when Hagrid is teaching the class.
'Well, to each their own,' Harry thought as he sent the gift.
Finally, for the Greengrass sisters he had bought separate gifts. Astoria got a box of unreleased Weasley products that were safe for distribution, along with a hand-written letter from the twins. Daphne got a large box full of chocolates from Honeydukes along with a letter hand-written by Harry who spent more than two full hours in an attempt at make his writing presentable. In return, Astoria didn't buy him a gift but Daphne did. Much like his own gift, the one he received came with a hand-written letter from the Greengrass Heiress that congratulated him on his emancipation and his ascension to the Potters' seat in the Wizengamot. Under normal circumstances, Harry would be put off by the overly formal letter he had received from Daphne, but the present that came with it stole any semblance of attention he could afford.
His present came in a rectangular, dark green velvet box; an excellent case for the incredibly advanced wand holster that Daphne had bought him. Much to his surprise, it was made from basilisk scales, and fully kitted with a great variety of enhancements including but not limited to theft wards, disillusionment charms and integrated wand summoning that didn't need more than a thought and the fraction of a second to eject the wand into Harry's open palm. Harry was also surprised to find that the holster had readjusted to fit his forearm perfectly the moment he wore it, so much so that he didn't even feel it upon him; it felt like his own skin and not at all debilitating. As for the appearance of the wand holster, it had a very odd green colour that was eerily similar to his eyes; depending on the lighting it was either a bright or a dark and dull shade of his own emerald green hues. It also had the pattern of a snake coiling around the holster, the snake itself sporting a beautiful silver. Surprisingly, none of the people who saw the gift reacted badly to the blatant Slytherin reference he wore with pride; only Ginny reacted negatively but Hermione kept insisting to him that it was not about the holster itself, although what the actual reason could be eluded him. His mind went to Daphne's parting words in her letter.
"You might be the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, but don't forget to embrace your inner snake too. You almost became a slimy snake yourself, you know."
The fact that she remembered what Harry had told her about his Sorting sent a wave of inexplicable warmth throughout his body.
Harry dreaded to imagine how expensive the holster was. The only thing that kept him from feeling bad was that he had probably spent the same amount of money on the gift he had found for her. Ever since he received the gift he never took it off, not once, it was one of the best gifts he had received since he had rejoined the Wizarding World; just below the Invisibility Cloak that had belonged to his father, and the now destroyed Firebolt from Sirius. He had spent almost every day since then taking care of the holster, and when he didn't need to, he absentmindedly stroked it because the basilisk scales provided a pleasant, smooth feeling that almost reminded him of the one that had gifted it.
Such was the case during the last day of the holidays. Harry was sitting upon his bed, reading yet another spell held within the Potter Tome as he idly stroked his wand holster. At some point, he realised that the Potter Tome was not a simple book of spells, potion recipes and his family's history. It was a pleasant surprise for him to find out that the Potter Tome felt almost like a narration more than anything, as if it had its own conscious - almost feeling like Tom's Diary, but far less malicious. He often wondered about the possibility of Soul Imprints along with obscure blood magic that might have been cast upon the Tome. During his attempted research on Horcruxes he stumbled across the notion of Soul Imprints and found out that magical portraits were made using that method.
'Terra Aquosa' is possibly one of the greatest spells made in our long history, created by Linfred of Stinchcombe himself. The Ground-Liquefying Charm is exactly what you think it is, young Potter. It is a charm that changes the field on which you stand. It can turn any kind of material into a liquid, clinging substance with the properties of quicksand or peat; whether it is a stony, earthen, or sandy terrain is irrelevant. The stage will melt and it will attempt to drag everything down until you cancel it and let the affected area return to its original state, except that which was on it will be trapped in the reset ground. The original version of the curse didn't recognise neither foe, nor ally, nor even the caster. This situation carried on for centuries until the late 1800s when Charlus Potter was the one to finally perfect the charm and give it the added property of differentiating between friend and foe. Despite that, the charm is still extremely fickle in its use and requires a great amount of focus to differentiate between the two, so use with extreme caution.
It has a great degree of freedom when you cast it, giving you the ability to either contain the charm within a specific area or spread it wide enough to cover a whole Quidditch pitch. Despite the strengths of this charm, there are severe drawbacks that you must know before you attempt to utilise it properly. First, it only affects the area in which you stand; walls and ceilings in said area are out of the equation and impossible to affect with the spell, however any object upon the ground, including furniture, will also be dragged into it alongside the targets. Second, the charm itself is not fatal; it doesn't even cause injury upon its own. Even if you cancel the effects of the charm while half the body of your foe is submerged in the ground in an attempt to crush his body to fine dust, the terrain will simply solidify around the body, locking it in place. An accomplished wizard or witch can escape by means of apparition. However, that does not take away from the power of the spell. It is only the accomplished and powerful that can escape easily; that is because the affected terrain disrupts the flow of magic of all beings trapped within it.
The charm was last used during Fleamont Potter's participation during the failed defence of Greece in the war against the Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald - occuring in late 1940 and early 1941 by the Gregorian Calendar - although the use of it delayed both Grindelwald and the muggles - whom were invading at roughly the same time - forces by several weeks during the invasion. There are no known wards, defences or counter-charms capable of repelling the spell successfully.
The incantation for the charm is 'Terra Aquosa' and cannot be cast without the proper incantation, making silent casting impossible with this spell. The wand motion-
The creaking sound of the door pulled Harry out of his musings. He turned his gaze towards the entrance of the room and saw the red-haired head of the Weasley matriarch looking at him.
"Harry dear? Professor Snape is downstairs and wants to speak with you," Molly said and Harry stood up, Tome in hand.
"Alright. I'll come with you," he responded and walked out of the room. Moments later he entered the kitchen to find both Sirius and Snape seated at the long kitchen table, glaring at each other from across it. Harry cleared his throat, attracting the attention of both adults in the room as Molly left the area altogether.
"Good evening, Professor," Harry greeted respectfully as he took a seat next to Sirius. Snape eyed the young wizard carefully but much to Harry's surprise, there was no disdain, disgust or outright hatred in the Potion Master's gaze, merely thinly veiled curiosity.
"I am here on Dumbledore's orders," Snape drawled as he stood up and began pacing back and forth behind his chair. "It is his wish that you study Occlumency this term under my tutelage."
"I am aware, sir," Harry responded and Snape turned his dark eyes to him. Harry felt something like a soft piercing sensation in his eyes, as if the man opposite of him was piercing his soul and reading his thoughts. A fleeting thought connected the feeling with Dumbledore's own scrutinising gaze.
"I see you already have the basics for Occlumency..." Snape muttered under his breath. "I also know which methods you followed to reach the beginner's stage. Regardless, I must say I am... Impressed."
A snort coming from Sirius dissolved the tension that filled the room. "You? Impressed with Harry? That calls for a celebration," the man deadpanned and summoned a bottle of butterbeer from a cabinet.
Before Snape could respond to the taunt Harry spoke up. "I would rather not have you two bickering, again. Professor, your taunts of Sirius being a coward will not find ground again. You are more than aware that Sirius is forced to remain inside this house, your thoughts on the matter irrelevant. As for you, Sirius, please stop provoking a reaction out of him."
His words effectively shut both men down. The reaction he got out of Snape, however, was highly unexpected. The Potions Professor had slightly widened eyes as he looked towards the young wizard in front of him. Suddenly, he began pacing towards the exit.
"Monday, six o'clock in the evening, my office. Don't be late," the man drawled as he shut the door behind him.
"Harry, have I ever told you that you are a lot like your mother?" Sirius said in response to what he had just witnessed.
Harry simply smirked without answering.
x
The rest of the day came and went as Harry expected; Arthur Weasley was discharged from St. Mungo's and they had a massive dinner party to celebrate his return. Other than that, Harry found an opportunity to finish reading up on the Ground-Liquefying Charm and felt more than ready to use it. It was a very straight forward spell and easy to use, the only things he needed to work on being the control of the radius of effect, and differentiating between friend and foe.
The next day Harry and the Weasley children returned to Hogwarts on a rather uneventful trip via the Knight Bus; it was four days later that found Harry walking down the corridors of Hogwarts towards Snape's dungeon office on the first new day of the Spring Term, at five minutes to six. His day so far had been rather tame, even double Potions earlier that morning had been an enjoyable affair with Snape acting neutral towards him, in contrast to his regular belligerence. He was even graded fairly for his essay, earning an Exceeds Expectations for Potions for the first time in his five years at the school. He had to fend off some D.A. members the rest of the day, but other than that, Harry was rather relaxed.
Thus, it was with a positive attitude that he knocked on the door of Snape's office that evening.
"Enter," the very familiar, bored, and almost apathetic voice of the resident Potions Master was heard, coming from inside the office and Harry complied with the command.
"Good evening, professor," Harry said in an almost jovial tone as he closed the door behind him and took the seat opposite from Snape. During the silence provided by the professor who was busy writing on some parchments, Harry had the opportunity to look around the room. It was a shadowy room lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which floated slimy bits of animals and plants, suspended in various coloured potions, no less disturbing than when he had visited the office just two years before. In a corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Harry - not without reason - of robbing. Harry's curiosity, however, was peaked when he laid his eyes upon the Pensieve that lay upon the desk; Dumbledore's Pensieve, specifically.
"To be honest, Potter, I expected myself to... waste our time explaining what Occlumency is. I doubted that your feeble mind could understand the nuances of the finest art, let alone see a solid foundation ready for the practice of the Mind Arts withinside you already," Snape drawled, but Harry noted that it held no malice towards him; not even when he insulted him. "You are aware, by now, that I am a Legilimens myself."
"Yes sir. I felt you enter my mind," Harry responded with a level voice, his gaze locked to Snape's eyes.
"You... Felt it? When exactly, Potter?"
"Before you left from Grimmauld Place."
Snape's eyes widened slightly, but the rest of his face remained passive and unflinching. "I... See. You are more developed in the Mind Arts than I thought. I dare say, you are adept. I never expected you to be adept, considering who your father was," Snape sneered and much to his surprise, Harry did not get agitated. Instead, he simply cocked his head.
"My father didn't conceive me on his own, professor. I have a mother, as well," Harry responded, ignoring all positive comments about his Occlumency, latching on to the mention of his father instead. His lips quivered at the mention of his mother. Much to his amusement, Snape completely stilled. "I will also kindly request that you no longer continue comparing me to my father. I am Henry James Potter, not James Fleamont Potter. I am not my father. Especially coming from you, professor, it's hypocrisy at best. I am aware that you provoked Sirius by mocking him for treating me like my father."
Harry wasn't jovial for nothing that day. Yes, the day had gone swimmingly and he was honestly happy to develop his Occlumency further, but he had an agenda. Harry wished to fight Snape in his own field; verbally. He could not forget all the caustic remarks from the Potions Master throughout his stay in the castle, he would not forget all of the times he was treated poorly and unfairly by the professor, but he found resolving his existing issues with others strangely satisfying. If Snape treated him that way simply because he looked like his father and shared his last name, all the better for him. It would make it easier to repair those broken bridges.
His plans to resolve issues did not however include Malfoy and his cronies.
He also wanted to know if Snape could tell him more about his mother. From his knowledge, James and Lily were Hogwarts students in the same year. If Snape knew his father, he could possibly know his mother, too.
Snape finally broke the silence with a sour expression, making him look like he swallowed a lemon. "Five points to... Gryffindor," he said with very obvious distaste. "I gave you these points because, for the first time, I see growth in you, Potter. More importantly, I see more of your mother."
"So you did know my mother?" Harry asked, though it sounded more like a statement.
"I did," the professor responded with a curt nod. "Lily Evans was an exceptional student, possibly the best. Much like your friend Granger, she was a bookworm, one exceedingly bright and intelligent. She wasn't as annoying as your friend, however."
Harry tried to hold back a snort. He failed.
"Lily was a prodigy in Potions and Charms; while she was exceptional in all other subjects as well, those are the two in which she really shined . Horace Slughorn, the Potions professor and Head of Slytherin House before me, took her as a protégé and privately tutored her for a Mastery in Potions. Professor Flitwick also tutored her in Post-NEWT Charms, also for a Mastery since her sixth year. If people call Granger the brightest witch of her generation, then your mother was the brightest witch of the century."
"It seems that you knew my mother very well, Professor," Harry blurted out while trying to digest the information that Snape had provided.
'Odd. It's been a long time since I lost control of my words,' Harry thought with a frown.
"I did," Snape simply responded, clearly unwilling to share more about Lily. Harry decided to take another approach.
"You have said many positive things, but only about my mother, sir. I do not know what happened between you and my father, nor is it my place to ask, but why have you never bothered to speak to me about my mother? I mean, I look like him, but I have her eyes, if not brighter, as Sirius once said," Harry asked with a sly smile.
"That you do," Snape muttered and stood up. Not willing to answer any more of Harry's questions, he focused back upon the reason to which they were both called to his office. "Since you are... developed in Occlumency and you can feel intrusions, we will have to... modify, our lessons." Snape drawled, his eyes never leaving Harry's emerald orbs. "The original plan had me continuously attacking your mind to create natural, instinctive defences. We will instead develop your Occlumency to the next level, which is repelling an intrusion."
Severus then pulled his wand out of his robes under Harry's curious and slightly concerned gaze. He placed the tip upon his temple and extracted a thin thread of silvery liquid which he then released into the Pensieve. The same action happened around eight times before he levitated the Pensive to one of the higher shelves.
Snape took his position behind the desk, brandishing his wand and aiming it between Harry's eyes. "Normally, the wand is a mere accessory when you perform Legilimency. Mere eye contact is more than enough, as you already know," the Potions Master smirked. "I only use it for now to notify you of the incoming attack. Prepare yourself, Potter. Empty your mind, clear your thoughts, focus," Snape hissed as Harry tried to empty his thoughts as requested.
"Legilimens!"
The office swam in front of his eyes and vanished, image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings. Instinctively he clutched one of the images, pulling himself into the memory. He felt some sort of resistance when he did so but it wasn't enough to stop him as he found himself, his younger self running away from Vernon Dursley and his belt.
"Come back here, boy! You dare steal our food!" the voice of Vernon Dursley boomed in the hallway. Behind him, Petunia Dursley was feeding the obese whale of a child without a care in the world. Dudley, pitifully enough, couldn't even feed himself, despite being the ripe old age of five. A flash of anger bathed the memory in a red hue as Harry remembered that he was the one cooking whilst his 'beloved' cousin needed help to eat.
"I'm sorry uncle, please don't hit me again, I was just so hungry!" the tiny boy, just skin and bone, crying with his emerald green eyes as Vernon neared, preparing to strike.
"You already ate, you ungrateful little-" the belt descended with alarming speed, nearing young Harry's head.
The Potter Scion had experienced enough of that painful memory then, let alone now and forcefully ejected both himself and his professor from the inner sanctum of his mind. After taking a moment to gather himself, Harry realised that he was panting heavily, clutching the armrests of his chair a bit too hard. He lifted his head and looked at Snape who sported an unreadable expression. It almost seemed soft.
"What was that, Potter?" He asked with a commanding tone.
"An awful memory, professor," Harry drawled with a cheeky, yet forced smile. Snape scowled with obvious disdain.
"Please, at least don't try to remind me of your father. As for your answer, elaborate," Snape hissed, spinning his wand in his palm.
"That was a glimpse into the illustrious life of Harry Potter, sir. I refuse to elaborate further," Harry responded in a level tone, trying not to convey his anger despite his sarcastic remark. Admittedly, he wasn't angry at Snape. His anger lied with himself and the Dursleys. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't get over his past. Snape observed him silently before his expression softened a bit.
"That was a better attempt than I expected. I didn't expect you to have anywhere near that level of control over your mind. I tried to change memories, to perhaps look at as many as I could, but I was denied. You denied me. You forced us both into a singular memory that I couldn't change. I could cut the connection, but I wanted you to be the one to cut it. It took a bit longer than I wanted, but it can be easily fixed."
"You chose to stay in the memory, Potter. I also saw your emotions affecting our vision. I can only assume that the memory triggered a violent emotional reaction inside of you. That you never got over your past, perhaps?" Snape drawled as he levelled the wand between Harry's eyes again. "I don't know the circumstances in which you grew up, thus I cannot help you to cope with it, furthermore nor do I care to. I simply knew that you had grown up with your Muggle relatives. You need to be the one who leaves the past in the past. I know it is hard, sometimes impossible, but it must happen."
"You sound like you speak almost out of personal experience, professor?" Harry inquired. Snape barely flinched before he began barking his next orders.
"Prepare yourself again, Potter. This time, try to not dwell in your sad past."
"Legilimens!"
The office swam and vanished in front of his eyes once more. He was ready this time however, so he grabbed at one of the first images he came across.
A nine year old Harry was climbing up a tree as an uproar of laughter came from the Dursleys, including Vernon's sister, Marge, yet another morbidly obese member of that family. Unsurprisingly, even her dog, a bulldog named Reaper was obese. It was also the reason why the younger version of Harry was currently climbing up said tree; he needed to escape the violent dog's fangs.
"Mum! Mum!" Dudley said between his chuckles. "Why is Ripper chasing him so much?"
"With how skinny that boy is, I wouldn't be surprised if he had mistaken him for a chew toy," Marge responded to the question and the sadistic family burst once more into laughter at the plight of the nine year old boy, trying desperately to escape from the maw of the vicious hound.
In a much more controlled manner than before, Harry once again ejected them from his mind. This time around, he was considerably calmer.
"An impressive attempt, Potter," Snape drawled as he took a seat. "Faster and more efficient than before. Yet you didn't empty your mind before I attacked. That is an obvious flaw which I expect you to correct. Since I doubt we need to continue today's lesson, I will give you work until next Wednesday. Every single night before you sleep you will empty your mind of all thought, all emotion; you will fall asleep with an empty mind."
Harry looked at Snape with a confused expression. The professor sighed in response.
"It helps in three ways, Potter. First, you will remain empty of thought whilst you sleep, preventing nightmares. Dreams too, for that matter, but it's a minor sacrifice. Second, you will adapt better to having an empty mind, and will help you in the long run, to be consistently open to new ideas. Third, you will give no leverage to the Dark Lord should he invade your mind whilst you sleep." Snape drawled; Harry momentarily thought that Snape was only capable of speaking as if to a five-year-old.
"So he is able to invade my mind, then? Are we connected?"
"Obviously," Snape responded softly. "I should also add that he is aware of your connection now. That is why developing Occlumency is a necessity. At first, it was merely speculation, but even if it remained as such, dealing with the Dark Lord doesn't afford room for speculation. That is why you are to become a Master Occlumens."
"How do you know?" Harry responded. "That he is aware, I mean."
"Manners, Potter," Snape responded, yet his voice did not have the usual bite behind it.
"Sorry, sir. How do you know that he is aware, sir?"
"How we know is not relevant, least of all to you. In light of what I just talked to you about, I think you'd know better than to request such sensitive information," the man said as he strode towards the Pensieve.
"Wednesday, seven o'clock in the evening," the professor said with a level voice, not-so-subtly informing Harry that the meeting was over. The young wizard stood up and strode towards the door.
"Good night, professor," he said and left the office without expecting a response.
The Potter Scion didn't get to walk too far away from the office - which was near the Slytherin dungeons - before bumping into someone walking alone in the corridor. He got a mouthful of long golden hair before his Seeker reflexes kicked in and he grabbed the girl by the waist, preventing her from falling.
"Ow! Watch where you- Ah! Harry!" Daphne said as she realised who walked into her. After a moment she also realised that he was holding her by the waist and pretty close to his body. More than that, she noticed a healthy amount of amusement dancing in Harry's emerald eyes. With a slight tinge of pink on her cheeks she released herself from his surprisingly strong grip and straightened her robes. "What are you doing down here?"
"Remedial Potions," Harry responded nonchalantly as if he was discussing the weather. His eyes fell on a silver chain visible around her neck and his lips quirked slightly upwards. "Are you alright, Daphne?"
The girl didn't comment on the Remedial Potions despite her narrowed eyes and curious gaze. "I'm fine, thank you Lord Potter," she said with a deep curtsy. Harry merely looked even more amused; he was fully aware that his station was higher than Daphne's at this point and that she was following tradition and etiquette, despite the fact she was only doing it to poke fun at him. A greeting towards a person of his stature required specific actions that conveyed respect.
"As much as this amuses me, I do hope that you don't continue to treat me this way," Harry drawled in a botched impression of Snape.
Daphne, of course, knew that Harry didn't want her to treat him formally; same with all of his friends. Despite that, she continued her attitude.
"Whatever do you mean, Lord Potter? I am merely treating you with the respect you- Ow." Daphne's act was abruptly cut when Harry flicked her forehead with his forefinger. Her expression turned into one of a mixture between irritation and an adorable pout, followed by an indignant huff.
"None of that, least of all from my friends. I also don't want to remind you that I am still keeping my Lordship a secret until the Wizengamot reconvenes for business. Yet you know all of that and just want to mess with me, don't you?" Harry said as his eyes were filled with mirth.
"Friends huh? Not mere associates, acquaintances out of necessity and mutual aid?" Daphne inquired as her expression became as amused as Harry's.
"Hmm. Perhaps I misjudged you and treated you as a friend prematurely; a result of my Gryffindorish impulse, as you'd say. Do you wish for us to be mere acquaintances, Heiress Greengrass?"
Harry saw her expression falter in her attempt to respond, before her face turned into her well-known 'Ice Queen' mask.
"My my, if it isn't Potter. What are you doing with Greengrass, Scarhead? Trying to gather members for your pathetic cause?" The obnoxious voice of Draco Malfoy came from behind him.
Harry understood immediately what it was that had caused Daphne to go from the blustering friend that he was teasing, to the epitome of social poise and grace in front of him.
"Unfortunately, Heir Malfoy, I have no intention of gathering people for my cause. Especially since as your father's friend, the Minister, claims I don't even have a cause," Harry said with surprising ease as he turned around to face the platinum-blonde boy and his bodyguards. "I merely bumped into Heiress Greengrass by chance and decided to reach out for some help with a Potions essay."
Draco was eyeing Harry carefully as he drew nearer, not understanding from where or whom the boy had learnt proper manners, nor when. "And you thought it wise to ask help from a Slytherin, Potter? Aren't you afraid your redheaded sidekicks will be able to smell snakes on your robes?"
"Contrary to popular belief, I am not hostile to those of the serpentine persuasion, Malfoy. I simply harbour ill will against you, specifically, as well as your henchmen," the Potter Scion spoke with simple nods towards Crabbe and Goyle. "It is also known that Greengrass here is one of the best students in our year, so I jumped at the opportunity. Alas, she refused to help me because she is busy with her own essays, as she has just informed me."
"Hmph. As expected, Potter," the ponce said. Not knowing what else to add and completely disarmed by Harry's dismissive and oddly respectful behaviour, he turned around and left the corridor, oddly confused about his encounter.
Harry stood there for some moments before he felt a pair of slender arms hugging him lightly. He unwillingly flinched and stiffened under Daphne's touch before ultimately relaxing, reaching his own arms around her in return. His initial discomfort didn't go unnoticed though and Daphne pulled herself away from him not long after.
"I just wanted to thank you," she whispered. "Are you okay? You don't usually..."
"I'm fine, Daph," Harry cut her off. His eyes, however, didn't convey the same. "Just... memories."
Daphne hummed thoughtfully and straightened her back, not willing to push the boy to get her answers. "I need to go. I wanted to check something with Professor Snape when we... um, met," she said as she tried to understand why his eyes darkened so much. "I will see you at the D.A. meeting?"
Harry's eyes lit up a bit as he turned to face her. "Sure. I'll look forward to it," he responded before turning around to leave.
"Harry?" His steps came to a halt, yet he didn't turn around to face her. "You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?"
The Potter Scion did not answer for a few moments, then turned his head around to look at her.
"I appreciate it. More than you think."
He gave her a lop-sided grin before turning back to his destination.
"Goodnight, Daphne," he said softly as he disappeared around the corner towards the stairs.
Daphne's lips turned into a soft smile of her own before she started walking, continuing her journey towards Snape's office.
x
The massive, triangular tower situated on a lone rock in the North Sea was as unmoving and silent as always. Whether it was during the day or during the night, the veil of doom, gloom and perpetual darkness never left the premises of that lone island. The sun always failed to cast its rays upon the impressive obsidian architecture, while the moon never graced the rock with its silver light.
Muggles didn't even know that this lone island near the British Isles existed in the first place. The veil of darkness, despair, agony and fear was thick enough to alter the perception of all onlookers, effectively hiding the tower from prying muggle eyes and technology.
For non-magical people, the area simply had an off-putting feeling to it and they instinctively avoided it. For the Wizarding World, this was one of the worst - if not the worst - places on planet Earth. An island evil, dark and vile enough to earn the reputation of 'Hell on Earth'; it was Tartarus made manifest.
Magical Britain had given a name to this disgusting tower on that lone rock, a place built in times long past by the Dark Wizard Ekrizdis. Azkaban.
The witches and wizards of Britain who violated her laws called this vile place their home. In some cases, they called it home for a mere month, whilst in other cases, they would call it that for the rest of their lives, with it eventually becoming their tomb. The wide range of sentences was reflected in the accommodations themselves; the smallest and most insignificant of criminals were situated near the ground floor of the tower, while the most notorious of them were near the upper levels where the Dementors consistently swarmed.
There was a common misconception that the prison extended underground and housed war criminals and unknown prisoners of the Ministry, naturally espoused most vociferously by the Quibbler under Xenophilius Lovegood. The Ministry of Magic and the inmates of the prison however knew the truth of the island. The triangular structure of the tower was hollow in the middle and extended into nothing. Deep underground, way below the ground level of the prison was a veil of darkness with unknown properties and unknown origins. Tests had been made by the Department of Mysteries through the centuries, though they always proved fruitless and attempts to explore that void had proven fatal to those brave - or foolish - enough to volunteer, prisoners and officials alike; assuming they reached the veil of darkness with their consciousness intact, which seemed an impossible task. Spells were swallowed in that void, light failed to pierce it, even Fiendfyre simply vanished into that void. The only thing capable of diving in there and returning were the Dementors themselves with some even believing that it was the underworld from whence they came. It was the main cause of fear for the inmates of Azkaban other than the Dementors; the fear that one day, even if they escape, they would somehow fall into the pit of darkness under the prison, never to return.
The early morning hours of the sixteenth of January, nineteen-ninety-six looked the same as all of January sixteenths of previous years. The prison was encompassed by darkness, the aura of thousands of Dementors and the great chasm blocking all light from the stars and from the moon. On top of that, the island itself was subjected to an intense storm that drenched the inmates of the lesser floors of Azkaban and the entire tower gripped by biting winds making the chill of a January with the dementors even chillier.
Not that they cared, anyway. Especially the only female inmate of the highest security cells; she would wait here as she always had. Every day for the past fourteen years had been the same for her. She would wake up, eat whatever scraps she was presented with, get her hopes, dreams, happiness and memories stolen once again, and then sleep. Even her defining trait, the famous madness with which she would fight and maim and kill, was long subdued, and whilst she rotted here, she was labelled a psychopath by the unworthy rats that had been granted a temporary stay of execution by the disappearance of her lord.
At some point during her imprisonment, she had picked up the habit of carving nonsensical ramblings on the walls with her fingernails, causing them to rip off and fray until her fingertips were bloodied and heavily scarred. She also attempted to create a runic array in order to escape, but she couldn't bypass the wards of the prison with just her nails. Thus it was, she fell back into her original routine of misery and boredom.
The only positive thing that came with her imprisonment was the ample time she had to learn and perfect Occlumency with the help of her fellow inmate and her former brother-in-arms; Augustus Rookwood.
She contemplated on herself, of who she was now and who she used to be. When compared to other inmates she knew she was well off; her vast amounts of magic sought to do that. Despite the lack of nutrition and the effects of the Dementors, her skin was still near-pristine even after fourteen long years, even if it had thinned a bit. Her features were well defined and her light grey eyes as sharp as ever, even in the dimly lit cell that had been her home these past fourteen years. The only giveaways that she had spent her time locked up in this hellhole were the obvious loss of weight, the rags in which she was dressed and her dishevelled hair, grimy and knotted as it was.
As she was lost in the emptiness of her own mind, an explosion was heard somewhere in the distance. Then a series of more explosions slowly followed, each nearing closer to the prison proper and in particular the cell in which she was housed. She wasn't the only one that heard them, she figured. Every inmate around her was moving towards either their windows or the steel cell doors, with her doing the latter.
She felt the air around her change, the aura of dementors, a constant presence in her long captivity - aside from perhaps when her cousin had escaped, although even then they remained - had fallen away, well as far as it could ever in their prison home.
"Bellatrix?"
"Are you there, Bellatrix?" Rookwood spoke once more from the cell beside hers, prompting the woman to respond.
"Yes. I was just thinking what could be happening to drag those tasteless curtains away from us," Bellatrix responded with an even, emotionless voice. "Perhaps the Ministry has brought an interior decorator in?"
Rookwood's laugh was cut off by another loud explosion followed by a tremor that shook the prison. There was a silent agreement amongst the Death Eaters locked in that top floor. Whatever was happening, it was closing in on them. Fast.
Another explosion, this time from Bellatrix's side of the tower was heard and it seemed it was ascending. Slowly, she turned around and walked towards the window, just in time to see a bright cyan ray of light collide with her cell. The wall cracked, yet made no sound. Any other witch or wizard would have tried to find cover to escape the debris of the destruction, but not Bellatrix. She knew the identity of the spell and it was not one that would explode.
The wall collapsed in on itself and the debris was yanked backwards towards the emptiness outside of the confines of the prison. Behind the wand that launched the spell was some sort of humanoid, a man with grey skin and serpentine features that was levitating, as if he stood on thin air. Of course, she knew the identity of the man.
There was no mistaking her master.
No words were spoken. None were necessary in the face of freedom granted by her lord.
The Dark Lord reached into his robes and retrieved a curved wand made from the wood of a walnut tree. His red, serpentine eyes observed the wand for a moment before he banished it towards his lieutenant.
With alarming dexterity the witch snatched the wand - her wand - out of the air. The moment her fingers closed around the handle a stream of red sparks flooded her cell as a wave of warmth sent shivers down her spine. Without missing a beat she turned around and blasted a hole through the iron bars of her cell door and with a maniacal grin on her face. Satisfied with her spell, she turned back towards her Lord once more and looked at him.
A moment later, the cackles of maniacal laughter coming from Bellatrix Lestrange were heard, sounding in the free air of Magical Britain once again.