Chapter Text
Harry returned from his meeting with his godfather feeling hollowed out, and yet hopeful. The spell his uncle had told him about – the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra – sounded like the very heart and soul of mercy. In fact, the more he thought of it, it felt less like a spell he needed to learn and more like a friend he couldn’t wait to meet.
‘It wouldn’t hurt her,’ Harry thought, climbing up the stairs quietly. Lily was thankfully nowhere to be seen, and so he could simply sink into his thoughts and forget about the strangeness of his life for a moment. When he closed the door of his room, he locked it, briefly wondering if he should take a look into the cupboard or under the bed – just to make sure Lily wasn’t hiding there.
But no— Uncle Tony had said that she wouldn’t be able to enter, and Harry believed him.
“Vurney,” Harry called, taking off his jacket and throwing it carelessly on the bed. He heard the house-elf pop in, and turned to see it shaking by the doorway.
“Y-yes Master?” the thing croaked.
Harry, who had been about to ask for a cup of tea and something small to snack on, couldn’t quite push the words out. The mundane request crumpled into a barbed tangle somewhere in his throat, and the only thing he could think was: ‘Why do you think I would hurt you?’
Wasn’t it unfair that he was being treated like this? He hadn’t done anything bad, and yet everyone treated him as if he was the worst of mankind. Nott had said that creatures could tell that there was something off about him, but why was being a necromancer something off? Wasn’t death natural enough to not be treated like a horror?
Resentment, deep and dark and angry, splashed inside of him. It felt simultaneously like a deep, bone-rattling ocean of rage, and a small, barely blooming little flower inside of him.
“Where’s Lily?” Harry asked, no longer interested in tea.
Vurney startled, before shakily replying: “M-master’s mother is in her room.”
For a moment Harry entertained the thought of asking more: had she eaten? Had she slept, or showered, or done anything more than wander around? He almost did, opening his eyes with the question ready to spill out, but stopped because—if he asked, did that mean that there was an answer he wanted to hear? Would asking make him hope foolishly?
“Tell me if she leaves,” Harry then said, before turning away from the elf. He would take a shower, and then settle in to read something – anything – to keep his mind occupied. Bella had been right – if only Harry had a wand of some sort, he could keep himself occupied even better by practicing the things she’d told him about. Now all he could do was simply… read and wonder if it was too early to start counting days till he’d get to go to Hogwarts.
And, Harry promised himself, once he went to Hogwarts and got his wand, the first spell he was ever going to learn would be the Killing Curse.
*
When Harry opened his eyes, he knew immediately that he was somewhere in the Woods. The air around him was cold and wet, as if he was caught in invisible mist. The ground was wet underneath him, sticks and stones poking at his bare feet like sharp and cold fingertips, making him shift in discomfort. The trees were still and silent - and one would think that that’s how trees were supposed to be, and yet… their stillness felt temporary, as if they were simply imitating ordinary trees, waiting for Harry to no longer be wary of them.
He didn’t know how he had ended up there - had he sleepwalked? Crabbe had told him that sleepwalking indicated a heightened risk of schizophrenia, but he’d never sleepwalked before. He didn’t want to be sleepwalking out of the safety of his bedroom with Lily lurking in the corridors - as if the corridors on their own weren’t dangerous enough. Not to mention leaving the House at night had just… he’d never done that before, and Harry was barely managing to keep his fear at bay now. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, only that he wasn’t supposed to be here.
The sound of strange, mournful wailing in the distance snapped him out of his thoughts. Drawn-out screams that made his heart beat harder as he squinted at the darkness between the trees. He couldn’t begin to guess what kind of an animal made sounds like that, but as it didn’t seem to be getting closer to him, he desperately hoped that he wouldn’t need to worry about it. Especially when he still needed to figure out how to get back home.
‘I can’t be far,’ Harry thought, looking at his bare feet. They didn’t hurt, which surely was an indication that he hadn’t walked for a long time before reaching this place, right? The ground let out wet squishing sounds as he hesitantly moved a few steps before stopping again. He could barely see clearly two feet in front him, the treetops shielding away the moonlight that perhaps could’ve helped him figure out where to go.
Merlin, if only he had a wand that he could use to navigate. Or any source of light. Merlin, if only he’d brought matches or anything with him for some light. He’d always wanted a source of light for him to rely on, and yet now he had nothing.
The sound of the wailing continued, and Harry decided to head away from it. He didn’t wish to encounter whatever creature was willing to make noise in these Woods. Not when everything else was always so silent and still, as if frozen by the fear of being noticed.
The darkness intensified as Harry walked, and strangely enough no matter which way he went, he could still hear the wailing. His skin was cold and wet though he felt hot and sweaty, becoming increasingly uncomfortable as he continued his way. He had no idea if he was heading towards the right direction, but what else could he do but try?
Eventually walking into wakefulness like a painting quietly bleeding its colours away, Harry opened his eyes to a darkness that wasn’t like that of the Woods. Disoriented and confused, he tried to make sense of what had just been happening. Hadn’t he just been—
He wasn’t outside. He hadn’t been outside. He’d been dreaming. He’d walked out of his dream. He was in his bed, and—
—and he could still hear the wailing. That sound must have been what finally woke him up, right? Someone - Lily, of course it was Lily - was screaming.
“Vurney,” Harry called, his voice barely above a whisper. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, feeling cold. A shaking house-elf appeared in his room a moment later. He looked at it, once again resenting its fear - why was it scared of him when his mother was the one who— “What’s going on?”
“Master James is no longer moving,” the house-elf replied, avoiding eye-contact. “Mistress found Master’s remains by the fireplace.”
Fireplace? The one Uncle Tony had disconnected from the Floo? What had James been trying to do there? Was it a coincidence? It had to be - surely the corpse hadn’t been trying to get out? “And Lily found him there? She found him and now she’s screaming like a lunatic?”
“Y-yes Master Harry.”
Harry let out a sigh, cursing quietly. His fingers curled around the handle of a knife he had stolen from the kitchen before. “What time is it?” he then asked.
“T-two forty-seven, Master Harry.”
Fucking great.
Harry let out another annoyed sigh, before climbing out of the bed and heading towards the closed door. From the corner of his eye he saw the house-elf sweating and tearing up, its fear almost tangible. He hated it. How many years had it been? Harry had never hurt anyone - surely they knew by now that there was no reason to fear him?
The doorhandle – made of metal – was warm, which made him pause for a moment. He then, hearing Lily let out another drawn-out wail, quietly opened his door and peeked into the dark corridor. He knew that the quiet darkness wasn’t to be trusted - especially at night - but he also couldn’t just ignore what he was hearing. Merlin knew what his mother could be doing, and he’d rather see for himself than just sit like a coward in his bed.
He loathed fear. So, so much.
Hesitantly Harry left his room, leaving his slippers behind in an attempt to move as quietly as he possibly could. The knew which floorboards to avoid, though he doubted that Lily could’ve heard their quiet creaking over her cries. Despite this, Harry inched through the corridor carefully, stopping by the top of the stairs. From there he could look at the hall below, where he could now see Lily holding James’s torso to her chest, rocking back and forth while wailing by the fireplace. The man’s legs were in pieces, both feet lying by the bottom of the stairs - a parody of a pair of shoes. Had he tripped? Had he been trying to crawl to the fireplace before he gave up?
Harry curled up in his hiding spot, wondering what would happen next. Lily would have to let go of James eventually - but would she then snap back to reality? Was that a possibility? Merlin, if it was— He didn’t want to hope too much, but he couldn’t quite stop his heart from beating faster, thinking of the life he could have if Lily just…
…returned to normal.
*
He was a fool.
Hopeful, and a fool for it.
*
Things did change, though not the way Harry had hoped for.
“You’re expected to receive your Hogwarts letter soon,” Healer Crabbe said, leaning back on his chair, hands folded on top of the table. Harry wondered if the man ever felt the need to just fiddle - do anything, really - with his hands in moments like these. When he’d just sit down and focus on listening, blissfully unaware of the faces in the ceiling and the occasional pitiful moan coming from under the coffee table. Harry didn’t want to think of how anyone could’ve died there. “How does that make you feel?”
Harry sat on the large white couch, too aware of the seams of his clothes and the topmost button of his shirt. The faint hum of a lullaby clung to him like a scent, though he doubted anyone else could hear it. He felt suffocated and anxious, and worst of all - even a bit disoriented. It was becoming harder and harder to make sense of things amid the strange events unfolding in his life, let alone try and figure out how anything made him feel.
“I don’t know,” Harry replied eventually. He wanted to leave Mordred’s Mend but also didn’t - what would happen there in his absence? What if he went to Hogwarts and everyone was terrible to him there? He didn’t know what to expect but somehow just couldn’t believe that things would turn for the better. “I don’t know what to expect.”
Healer Crabbe didn’t say anything to that, and Harry sighed, trying to think harder about how he was feeling. It was just… so difficult. How could he make sense of his feelings when he couldn’t tell them apart? If he closed his eyes to focus, all he could see was Lily curled over James’s remains. She’d laid there for nearly a day before Harry had told the house-elves to bury James’s remains somewhere too deep for his mother to dig out.
And, Merlin, had that been a disaster and a half.
Lily had been angry. Angrier than Harry had ever seen her. Right after James’s passing and resurrection, and before things had become too strange, she’d been in a daze of some sort, not caring about anything that happened around her. Now she was angry and aware, and more disconnected from reality than ever before. After Harry had seen her crawling on all fours across the living room, he’d told the house-elves to keep her occupied every time he had to make the short trip from his room to the fireplace. And the shaking little creatures had agreed, preferring the company of that— of his mother, even though she was the one who was—
How was he supposed to explain how any of that made him feel?
“I don’t want people to bother me,” Harry finally said, deciding to focus on his anticipated Hogwarts attendance. Crabbe nodded, encouraging the boy to continue. “I don’t know how often people like talking to each other, or what to even talk about. And what about the lessons themselves? What if I fail subjects or something?” What if everyone already knew each other and he’d be left as the odd one out? He liked being alone, but only if it was his choice.
“Failing is very unlikely,” Crabbe said soothingly. “Your godfather has told me that you’ve studied quite a bit.”
“So has everyone else, probably.”
“There will be muggle-born students who only recently learned of their admittance to Hogwarts. Besides, not many students even from half-blood or pureblood families care to study school materials as diligently as you have. That said - everyone struggles in the beginning. You must keep in mind that demanding constant excellence is cruel.”
Harry didn’t care to point out that he didn’t have any school materials yet either - he didn’t even know which books he’d need to buy eventually - as he had studied the basics from a few scattered sources. Either way, most people likely didn’t have the burning need to escape into books and forget about their lives the way Harry did.
“Does sleeping in a dorm worry you?”
Sleeping where, now?
“Students at Hogwarts share sleeping areas with their classmates in every single House,” Crabbe explained, having seen the confusion on Harry’s face. “I assumed you knew of this?”
“Yeah,” Harry replied, unsure if he had been told anything about dorms at Hogwarts. It sounded vaguely familiar, so probably. He hadn’t actually thought about sharing his sleeping space with anyone else before - how could people just fall asleep and trust that no one would attack them? He’d need to ask Uncle Tony about it.
“Every new student is nervous,” Crabbe continued. “Try to look forward to whatever you might experience at Hogwarts. Most of us have found our lifelong friends and partners there.”
Harry mustered up a smile. He didn’t believe in lifelong anything - his parents hadn’t kept any of the friends they’d met at Hogwarts - but nodded regardless. Crabbe wasn’t a fool, but he just… he didn’t know how things went in Harry’s life. And without that, most of his advice was left aside, discarded as useless. Because despite how long they’d been doing this, Harry still wasn’t convinced that he needed a therapist.
But… at least he didn’t need to stay with Lily. He couldn’t yet leave Mordred’s Mend whenever he wanted to, and so these sessions, regardless of how useless he found them, did provide him with something he otherwise wouldn’t have had. And while this kind of avoidance wasn’t really a solution, it was all he could have for now.
But not forever.
*
“I got my letter.”
Antonin looked at Harry, who had clearly been waiting to share his news. The boy had patiently sat through most of the lunch listening to his godfather, but couldn’t wait any longer.
“I see,” Antonin replied. “Congratulations, I suppose.”
“I thought the letter would arrive on my birthday,” Harry continued, picking at the fish on his plate. They were in Manchester, in a restaurant owned by a man Antonin knew to have sympathized with the Dark Lord back in the day. The restaurant was frequented by former Death Eaters, which had kept drawing Aurors for unannounced drop-ins for a long time. Eventually, when nothing suspicious was ever found, the Aurors moved on to other places - or at least became more subtle in their snooping. “But I suppose that wouldn’t make sense, right? I spoke with Mr. Crabbe about Hogwarts a few weeks ago, and they’ve got these Houses— Bellatrix thinks I’ll be a Slytherin, and—”
“You’re right, the birthday isn’t an exact timing, as every student needs to receive their letter a bit over a month before the semester begins,” Antonin interrupted, hoping to discourage any incoming rambling. “As for how Hogwarts is structured… they do have those four Houses, yes, but it’s completely irrelevant which one you end up in. From an outsider’s perspective such things do not matter, regardless of how important they appear while you’re in there.”
“But it matters to Bellatrix so much, and even though Crabbe tried to be neutral about it, he also definitely wants me to end up in Slytherin,” Harry pointed out. Antonin sneered.
“And what does that way of thinking tell you?” he asked. “They’ve left that school decades ago yet are still trapped in that small way of thinking. You’ll encounter more people like that, but in the end their opinions do not matter. None of the Houses offer something the others don’t, and ultimately how the graduating students differ has nothing to do with which House they used to be in.”
“But will there be people who will treat me worse if I belong to a specific House?” Harry asked.
“Perhaps,” Antonin replied. “They’d be fools to do so, but idiocy isn’t uncommon. Therefore, the less you interact with those peers of yours, the better. You and they are made different. Do not lower yourself and accept their company, and though some will simply tell you to steer clear of people with lesser blood, I’d consider even that limitation too forgiving. You’re a necromancer— even purebloods must earn your company.”
“Okay.” Harry’s little face was serious, and it was impossible to tell what he really thought of the things he was hearing. “In the letter they listed things I’d need to buy. Probably from Diagon Alley?”
Antonin wasn’t sure if the boy had ever been to Diagon Alley, and he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to go there. “While many do choose to purchase their school supplies from the many stores of Diagon Alley, it is likely that we’ll only go there for your books. The other equipment, such as wand and robes, we’ll be getting from elsewhere. It is of great importance to value craftmanship in even the smallest of details, and there aren’t many capable of delivering that here. There are some in Russia, of course, and some more scattered across Asia and Africa. Each region has things they specialize in even if their expertise encompasses all elements of magic, purely due to how living conditions have shaped their heritage throughout the times. To learn herbology or healing, I’d have taken you to parts of Asia. For runes, I’d have taken you to South America. For your wand? That’ll be the Arabs - particularly the ones in central North Africa.”
“What about Britain?”
“Britain’s magical heritage centers around sacrifice and summoning, though they won’t readily admit that,” Antonin explained. “It’s why there are so many strange creatures here, and also why the rules to control wizards and witches are so elaborate - they developed alongside the need for them. This applies largely on the whole of Europe, not just Britain. If you find yourself interested, you should read about the Sirens of Switzerland.”
“Aren’t sirens water-bound?” Harry asked, confused. “Aren’t they the singing water creatures that lure people to their deaths? Switzerland doesn’t border a body of water, right? Why would they—”
“You’re not wrong, but do read about them, it’s an interesting case that shows how stupidity blooms in grounds fertilized by greed and ignorance,” Antonin replied. “People are criminally uneducated when it comes to history, not recognizing how important it is to understand how the world we exist in today came to be, and why is it the way it is – nothing is without reason. The Dark Lord - and I hate to sound like Bellatrix - was exceptionally educated when it came to these issues.”
“Is that why you joined him?” Harry asked. Antonin almost smiled, appreciating the question as much as the anti-eavesdropping runes etched onto the tables.
“Not entirely, though that did play a part in it,” he replied. “The Dark Lord envisioned the world in a way I could resonate with.”
“My parents didn’t side with him, though. Why?”
Well, now… that wasn’t something Antonin wanted to get into. “Your parents had no strong political affiliations at all. They chose to simply remain aside throughout the war and focus their energy on raising you and maintaining a peaceful existence.”
The boy nodded, but it was once again hard to tell if his acceptance was genuine or if he simply wanted to move on. Antonin had noticed that Harry wasn’t the sort to push in a conversation - he’d try once, and if he didn’t get the response he wanted, he’d go at it differently the next time. Antonin wasn’t sure where the boy had picked that trait up, because it certainly didn’t come from his parents or Antonin himself.
“When will we go buy my school things?” Harry then asked, changing the subject entirely. “I need a wand.”
“You need much more than a wand,” Antonin replied, wondering if there was a particular reason for the boy’s focus on a wand in particular. Then again, with Lily still roaming around, was it any wonder? “We can do that next Saturday. I’ll come by Mordred’s Mend and have a word with your mother before we go.”
“Lily isn’t good at words anymore,” Harry replied. “But you’re welcome to try.”
*
In the end, Antonin didn’t have any words with Lily. When he came to Mordred’s Mend on that Saturday morning, the witch was nowhere to be found.
“It’s for the better,” Harry told him. “We should go now. To— where?”
“Ghadames,” Antonin replied, steering him towards the front door, wondering if he ought to insist on seeing the boy’s mother, before ultimately deciding not to. “Did you bring your list?”
“Yes,” Harry said. He had been unsure about the money needed for him to do his purchases, but apparently that wouldn’t be an issue – his godfather had kindly offered to pay for everything, as Lily clearly was in no condition to go to Gringotts and allow them entrance into the Potter vault.
“We’ll be going to a city called Ghadames,” Antonin said, surprisingly pulling him to a stop before they reached the fireplace. “It is an old, old town, where some of the world’s finest craft-gifted individuals live. The work they do derives its excellence from the centuries of experience and knowledge that has never been allowed to leave the city’s borders.”
“Would they want to sell me a wand?” Harry asked, curious. “If it’s so… if they’re so secretive? Or are they fine with selling things, so long as the knowledge of how to replicate those things isn’t shared?”
“Something along those lines,” Antonin replied. “And someone owes me a favour, anyway.” The man then pulled out a stick, holding its other end towards Harry. “Latch onto that, we’ll be using a portkey as Flooing there is highly impractical.”
Feeling tendrils of excitement, Harry did as told. He had barely managed to get a hold of the stick, before they were spinning away, into a city he had never even heard of before. The thought that by the time he’d return here, he’d have his wand, gave him an immense feeling of relief. A relief that only deepened when they reached their destination, and Harry found himself standing right outside what appeared to be a wall surrounding the town.
“Seven clans rule in Ghadames,” Uncle Tony explained. “Each clan has its own entrance, which makes approaching the city harder, of course. Now, look – do you see the runes carved higher up on the wall? Those are protective Kufi signs – you’ll see a lot of them around.”
“This isn’t stone,” Harry said, touching the wall. It was firm and solid, rough to the touch, and yet he could tell it wasn’t made of stone.
“Mud and gypsum,” Uncle Tony said, leading Harry forward as he continued: “the whole town is made of that and reinforced with magic the kind of which even I cannot comprehend. The entrance that we’ll be using is the sixth one, and should be— Ah, there!”
“They don’t mind that we enter like this?” Harry asked, warily following his godfather towards and through one of the gates, and into the city. He didn’t know what to expect, but the moment he saw the tangle of alleys narrow corridors and closely huddled buildings, it felt… just right. The doorways arched and the windows curled and the buildings were painted in white.
There were no people wandering around, no dirt on the streets, no open vendors or noise. It felt as close to peace as Harry could possibly imagine.
“No,” Uncle Tony said, walking down one of the alleyways, clearly with a destination in mind. “Do not confuse their desire to keep their secrets as lack of welcome towards visitors – they are very welcoming people, open to the world and its wonders.”
“But where are they now? There’s no one here.”
“You’ll meet some if they wish to be met. Now – here we are. Salam, hajjah Mansura.”
Uncle Tony had led them to a small, beautiful building with white walls and red paint. Harry didn’t know what they were in this particular place for, but it looked more like a teahouse than anything else, with floating teapots and comfortable seating. A handful of cats were lounging around, basking in the sunlight seeping in through the windows.
“Dolohov,” a woman behind the counter said, before continuing in a language Harry didn’t recognize. She was an exceptionally tall woman, with dark hair braided on top of her head, wrapped in a fabric that shimmered in the light. Uncle Tony replied in that same language, and after a few minutes of talking, Harry felt his godfather’s grip on his shoulder.
“This is my godson, Harry,” Uncle Tony said in English. “He’s here for his wand.”
“Of course,” the woman nodded, smiling warmly at Harry. She then reached for a drawer, and after a moment picked up a strangely short wand that she then handed to the boy. “We use this for taqyiim – assessment. You can cast any small spell that you know – it doesn’t have to work right, so long as you manage to get your magic moving. That way we can have a taste of you, and when I go looking for wands for you to try, it’ll be more than just a guess in the dark. All right?”
Harry, feeling anxious all of a sudden, nodded. What if he ended up unsuitable for any wand? What if he didn’t have enough magic in him for a wand?
‘But what if I do end up having a wand,’ he thought, wild hope blooming in his heart. ‘A wand that will be perfect for me.’ It didn’t seem believable, and even after he held back the assessment wand, the thought that anyone could – just from that – somehow figure out what kind of a wand would be perfect for him… it just didn’t seem possible.
And yet, when it happened… Harry didn’t know how to begin describing how whole it made him feel. As if a cavity inside of him had been filled, and the aching pain from it was fading fast.
“What kind of a wand is it?” Uncle Tony asked, eyeing the almost cream-coloured wand with its dark, curling grain. Harry had never seen a wand like it before.
“It’s olive wood,” the witch told them. “It’s very strong, easy to work with. Known in myths and legends as a symbol of peace and friendship.”
‘Why would this be my wand then?’ Harry wondered, though the thought of giving up on his wand now felt unbearable.
“The core was harvested from South Africa,” the witch continued. “It’s an Impundulu feather. I’ve never seen a living one, but an Impundulu – Lightning Bird, as people from overseas call it – is said to be as large as a grown man. It can summon storms and lightning. But we here know it as the protector of witch doctors.”
Harry wasn’t sure what to make of what the woman had told them, and was grateful when Uncle Tony once again took on the task of asking questions.
”What is it good for?” the man asked. “While the core origin is interesting, hajjah, how does it behave with magic?”
“It’ll be good with elemental spellwork,” was the response. “Fire spells and such. Healing, too. It’s not too good for dark curses – especially those meant to control other people in any way.”
“And you are certain that that is his wand,” Uncle Tony then said. Harry’s fingers tightened around his wand, and he knew that it was his. He didn’t care if it wasn’t suitable for dark magic, or if it stood for things that he couldn’t possibly have – peace and friendship, of all things. He didn’t care – this was his wand, and he wasn’t going to give it up.
“I do not know what makes you doubt,” the witch said, “but rest assured, I know what I’m doing. That’s why you’re here.”
When Uncle Tony switched back to that other language to continue the discussion, Harry looked down at his wand. His pretty and strange wand, and Merlin he had never been this fond of strangeness before. Because this strangeness was his friend, and— Hadn’t the witch said that the olive tree wood his wand was made of stood for friendship? Not to mention that amid all that talk about lightning and fire and elements, she had said that the creature whose feather was at the core of his wand was also some sort of a protector. It had to mean something, right?
Was it pathetic to feel so comforted by an object, not for what it was, but for what it represented?
‘We’re family now,’ Harry thought, looking at the wand. ‘You and I, we’re all the family we want.’
So happy he knew that if he knew how, he would have been able to cast any spell, including the Killing Curse. Maybe soon he’d get to do that, if he could convince Bellatrix to teach him.
Happiness had never been so reachable.