Chapter Text
The next morning, Bastian helped Harry into the warm bath, the water swirling around him gently. Harry played quietly with Elmer, splashing occasionally, while Bastian sat nearby, keeping a watchful eye.
“Little man,” Bastian said softly, “I need to go see someone important today. Do you want to come with me, or would you rather stay here and have Jaden watch over you?”
Harry paused, considering. He clutched Elmer tightly. “I… I think I want to stay. Jaden can make sure I’m okay.”
Bastian nodded, brushing a damp strand of hair from Harry’s forehead. “That’s perfectly fine. You’re in charge of your own choices. I’ll be back soon, and you’ll be safe.”
Before leaving, Bastian reviewed the materials Jaden had left for him — a full copy of Harry’s examination notes. The document included careful observations of his malnourishment, underweight condition, and the specifics of his eye trauma. Jaden had also included detailed instructions for Harry’s potion regimen and guidance on exercise, dietary adjustments, and magical or Muggle care for his eyes. Bastian tucked the papers into his coat, a tangible plan for Harry’s continued recovery and growth.
Meanwhile, far away, Dumbledore was growing increasingly frantic. Harry’s disappearance left no trace. Magical wards were untouched; no spells had been used to remove him, and the deaths of Vernon and the absence of further harm only deepened the mystery. The boy who lived had vanished without a trace, and even the Master of Magic had no leads to follow.
Bastian made his way to Gerard’s office, carrying the evidence and Jaden’s notes. He laid everything before his friend and legal advisor.
“I have all the documentation,” Bastian said. “Photos, over 150 pages of notes, and Jaden’s examination of Harry, including recommendations for potions, exercise, and medical care. This is both a magical and Muggle matter. I need your guidance — how do we make this legal in both worlds while keeping Harry safe?”
Gerard studied the files carefully, brow furrowed. “You’ve been meticulous,” he said. “With this evidence, we can petition both Muggle authorities and magical law enforcement. Guardianship can be secured, but wording and timing are critical. Harry’s safety comes first, but the legal framework must be airtight.”
Bastian exhaled slowly, his jaw tight with concern. “I cannot risk Dumbledore learning too soon. He’s searching everywhere, and Harry must remain protected.”
Gerard nodded gravely. “With Jaden’s notes and your documentation, we have everything we need. Emergency guardianship, detailed evidence of abuse, witness statements — all of it. Protective measures can be set up under magical law without alerting the Ministry unnecessarily. If, during the Muggle investigation, we can get statements from the aunt, we can paint Dumbledore as negligent at best. If we do that, both courts will side with us. The boy will be untouchable in both worlds.”
Bastian felt the weight on his shoulders ease slightly. With Jaden’s medical guidance and Gerard’s legal expertise, Harry’s safety was no longer just hope — it was a plan.
Later that morning, while Bastian was out on his errand, Harry sat with Jaden in the sunlit sitting room. The warmth of the estate, the quiet hum of comfort, and the presence of someone gentle made him feel safe enough to ask questions he had been carrying.
“Jaden… um…” Harry began, fidgeting with Elmer. “When you kissed Bastian… why did you do that?”
Jaden smiled softly, crouching slightly so he could meet Harry at eye level. “Ah… that. Well, Harry, Bastian and I care about each other. That’s what the kiss meant — a grown-up way of showing affection. Just like a hug, but a little different. It doesn’t change anything about you or your safety here. You are my patient, and Bastian is your guardian. That’s all that matters.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “So… it’s like being friends, but… more?”
“Exactly,” Jaden said gently. “It’s a way for adults who care for each other to show it. You’ll see it sometimes, but it’s nothing you need to worry about. And it doesn’t change the fact that Bastian is here for you, every step of the way.”
Harry nodded slowly, absorbing the explanation. “Okay… I think I understand.”
Jaden patted his hand reassuringly. “Good. And thank you for asking. It’s always okay to ask questions when something confuses you.”
After their conversation, they moved on to other routines. Jaden supervised Harry’s potion regimen, carefully measuring each dose as prescribed in his notes. Harry watched with fascination as the liquids swirled and shimmered, learning to trust the process.
When Bastian returned later in the day, he found Harry playing quietly in the garden, a small smile on his face. The boy’s trust and curiosity were slowly growing, nurtured by gentle guidance, safety, and consistent care.
Bastian crouched to Harry’s level, ruffling his damp hair. “How’s my little man today?”
Harry grinned. “Good… I talked to Jaden. He explained about the kiss. I get it now.”
Bastian’s lips curved in a soft smile. “I’m glad. Questions are always okay. And you’re brave for asking.”
The afternoon passed in gentle routines — potion practice, play, and a quiet walk through the garden. Harry’s laughter and curiosity returned, a sign that he was growing stronger and more confident each day. And for Bastian, seeing the boy respond to care and trust reaffirmed that every careful step — from medical attention to emotional reassurance — was building a foundation that would keep Harry safe, happy, and whole.
The following morning, Bastian led Harry to the estate’s private pool. The sun sparkled off the water, and the surrounding garden smelled faintly of summer blooms.
“Ready for swimming lessons today, little man?” Bastian asked, his voice calm but encouraging.
Harry shuffled nervously, clutching Elmer tightly. “I… I don’t have a swimsuit,” he admitted, cheeks pink. “And… I don’t want you to think I’m a baby.”
Bastian crouched down to meet him at eye level, brushing a damp strand of hair from Harry’s forehead. “Harry, you’re not a baby for feeling uncomfortable. It’s perfectly normal to be shy. If you want, we can wait and order a swimsuit today — you don’t have to go into the water until you’re ready.”
Harry’s eyes widened slightly. “Really?”
“Really,” Bastian said with a gentle smile. “There’s no rush. You set the pace here. But if you feel like trying without one first, that’s okay too. We’ll do it together.”
Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay… maybe we can try, but I want one soon.”
“Perfect,” Bastian said. “Step by step, little man. That’s how we do everything.”
With Bastian’s gentle guidance, Harry eased into the shallow end. The warm water lapped at his small frame, and Bastian stayed close, holding him steady. He taught Harry to float on his back, kick, and move his arms slowly, turning the lesson into a game. Harry’s embarrassment began to fade as he realized Bastian was focused entirely on helping him — not judging him.
“Look at you!” Bastian encouraged, smiling. “You’re doing wonderfully. Keep kicking like that.”
Harry grinned, feeling a mix of pride and relief. Even skyclad, he wasn’t exposed to judgment — only support. Later, Bastian promised they would order a proper swimsuit so Harry could feel more comfortable if he preferred, giving him both the choice and the control he’d lacked for so long.
Over the next few days, Harry’s confidence in the water grew. With Bastian’s calm guidance, he learned to float more steadily, kick with purpose, and even dip his face into the water without fear. Each small success brought a spark of pride to his eyes, and his laughter began to return, bubbling up naturally as they turned lessons into playful games.
Bastian never pressured him. If Harry hesitated, he offered gentle encouragement and waited patiently. “It’s okay to be nervous, little man,” he said one morning, helping Harry push off the pool edge. “Every step counts. You set the pace.”
By the time Harry managed a small lap in the shallow end, grinning with triumph, Bastian clapped softly. “See? You’re stronger than you think. Every kick, every movement is making you grow — and not just in the water.”
Outside the pool, Bastian continued to integrate playful exercise into daily routines. They raced along the garden paths, balanced on low beams, and even played gentle games of catch. Harry’s small frame began to look sturdier, his movements more coordinated, and the spark of vitality returning to his eyes reflected the slow rebuilding of strength his body had lacked for so long.
Between physical activity, Harry faithfully followed the potion regimen Jaden had prescribed. Bastian supervised each dose carefully, measuring and explaining as needed. The potions had vivid colors and interesting scents, and Harry watched with fascination as they shimmered and swirled.
“See?” Bastian said one afternoon as Harry sipped a particularly bright blue potion. “Every little bit helps. You’re getting stronger, healthier, and more ready for whatever comes next. And the more you take care of yourself, the more fun we can have in the water, in the garden, and everywhere else.”
Harry nodded, a small but determined smile on his face. For the first time in years, he felt a sense of control over his body, his strength, and his choices. The combination of Bastian’s steady guidance, playful exercise, and the potions’ careful magic was slowly restoring him — physically, emotionally, and even a little magically.
By evening, Harry would sit in Sebastian’s lap, reading quietly or playing gentle games, the day’s exertions leaving Harry pleasantly tired. Curling up with Bastian nearby, he realized he was beginning to enjoy the feeling of safety and care — something he had never truly known before.
One afternoon, after a playful sprint through the garden paths and a few laps in the pool, Harry flopped onto the grass, breathing hard but grinning. “Bastian… I feel… different,” he said, touching his arms and legs. “Stronger. And… I think I can see better than before.”
Bastian knelt beside him, brushing grass from his damp hair. “That’s right, little man. Your body is healing, and your eyes are fully restored. You’re growing stronger every day. All of the potions, the food, the exercise — it’s working. And soon, you’ll feel even better.”
Harry’s curiosity about the magical world also grew. He asked about spells, charms, and even how the magical optometrist had worked on his eyes. Bastian answered carefully, explaining that some magic took time to learn and that, while he himself could not use magic as a squib, he could arrange for teachers and safe practice when Harry was ready.
Meanwhile, far across the wizarding world, Dumbledore’s search for Harry became desperate. Every lead ended in frustration. No wards had been broken, no magic had been used to remove the boy from the Dursleys or to harm Vernon. Every trace of Harry seemed to vanish into thin air, leaving the Master of Magic increasingly anxious and suspicious. He combed the countryside, consulted magical artifacts, and reached out to allies, yet nothing yielded results.
Back at Whitmore Estates, Bastian continued his routines with Harry, reinforcing physical strength, emotional comfort, and magical safety. He began introducing more playful exercises — obstacle courses through the garden, gentle climbing challenges, and carefully supervised games in the pool — each designed to build Harry’s confidence and coordination while making it fun.
Harry’s trust in Bastian deepened with every passing day. He asked more questions, laughed more freely, and even started exploring small areas of the estate under Bastian’s watchful eye. The combination of structured care, gentle routines, and magical oversight was slowly giving Harry the childhood he had never known — a safe place to grow, heal, and begin reclaiming his life.
And all the while, Dumbledore’s frustration mounted. The boy who lived had vanished without a trace, and every attempt to find him seemed to vanish as quickly as Harry himself. The Master of Magic was confronted with the unnerving reality that someone — or something — had removed Harry from the world’s view in a way beyond ordinary magical means.
Under Bastian’s gentle but firm guidance, Harry’s world expanded with a dizzying speed he adored. Mornings began with Muggle lessons in the sunlit library, where Bastian, with his sharp MI6 mind, taught him rudimentary mathematics, reading beyond simple picture books, and the basic geography of the world beyond the estate walls. Harry, bright and eager, absorbed it all like a sponge, filling the gaps left by years of Dursley neglect.
“And this,” Bastian would say, tapping a globe, “is where the Amazon rainforest is. Full of life. And this is the continent of Africa, vast and ancient.”
Afternoons were for the magical world. Bastian couldn't do magic, but his knowledge of it was extensive, gleaned from ancient texts and hushed conversations with his wizarding contacts. He taught Harry about the Ministry of Magic, the concept of blood purity (which he vehemently denounced), and the different magical creatures that populated their world. He even set up a simple dueling dummy in the gym, teaching Harry defensive stances and evasive maneuvers, emphasizing that a wizard should know how to protect himself even without a wand in hand. Harry, quick and agile, loved every second, imagining himself a knight defending a castle.
Harry had blossomed in these weeks. His cheeks were fuller, his movements more confident. Harry’s embarrassment, once so pronounced, began to fade with each swim. Within days, the requested swimsuit lay forgotten in a drawer, his comfort in Bastian's presence and his focus on learning overriding any self-consciousness. The constant blush had faded, replaced by a healthy glow.
One sunny afternoon, while exploring the furthest reaches of the estate’s sprawling grounds—a wild, overgrown section Bastian had cautiously allowed him to venture into—Harry stumbled upon something truly unexpected. He had been practicing his evasive rolls around a gnarled oak when a faint whimpering sound caught his ear.
Pushing aside a curtain of thick ivy, Harry found a creature huddled beneath the roots of the tree. It was small, no bigger than a badger, with sleek, iridescent fur that shimmered with faint, unseen colours in the dappled light. It had large, luminous eyes, the colour of molten gold, and delicate, feather-like antennae that twitched nervously. One of its slender legs was bent at an unnatural angle, and a small trickle of silvery blood stained the leaves beneath it.
“Oh!” Harry gasped, crouching down. “Are you hurt?”
The creature whimpered again, its golden eyes wide with a mixture of fear and pain. It tried to pull itself further into the shadows, but its injured leg gave way.
Harry remembered Bastian’s lessons about magical creatures—some were dangerous, some were shy, but all deserved respect. This one looked terrified and helpless.
“It’s okay,” Harry whispered, slowly extending a hand, palm open. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
He spoke with a gentle cadence, mirroring Bastian’s soothing tones. The creature watched him, its antennae quivering. Slowly, hesitantly, it stopped trying to hide.
Harry carefully reached out, his fingers brushing against its soft fur. The creature let out a tiny sigh, a puff of sparkling dust escaping its nostrils. He could feel its small heart thrumming rapidly.
He knew he couldn’t leave it.
“I’m going to get Bastian,” Harry told it, his voice calm. “He knows how to help. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back.”
He raced back towards the manor, his newfound speed and stamina serving him well. He burst into Bastian’s study, slightly out of breath.
“Bastian! Bastian! I found something! In the old woods, by the big oak! It’s hurt!”
Bastian, who had been reviewing a particularly dense legal text, looked up instantly, his expression shifting from calm focus to alert concern. “Slow down, Harry. What did you find?”
“A creature! It’s small, and it’s got shiny fur, and its leg is broken! It’s bleeding silvery blood!” Harry explained, practically vibrating with urgency and worry.
Silver blood. That immediately told Bastian this was a truly magical being, not just some mundane woodland animal. He rose, his movements quick and decisive. “Show me.”
He grabbed a small, leather satchel from a hook by the door—a discreet Muggle bag that nonetheless contained various vials, a roll of sterile bandages, and a small, enchanted magnifying glass. As they hurried back through the grounds, Bastian questioned Harry gently.
“Did it try to hurt you? Did it seem aggressive?”
Harry shook his head vehemently. “No! It was just scared. And it whimpered. I told it I wouldn’t hurt it.”
When they reached the ivy-covered oak, the creature was still there, exactly as Harry had described. Its golden eyes fixed on Bastian, a new flicker of fear mingling with its pain.
Bastian crouched, observing it carefully. Its fur seemed to absorb the light, giving it an ethereal quality. He recognized it from his studies: a Mooncalf. They were incredibly shy, nocturnal creatures, known for performing intricate dances in moonlight. Finding one out in broad daylight, injured, was highly unusual.
“A Mooncalf,” Bastian murmured, more to himself than to Harry. “They rarely leave the deep woods during the day.” He turned to Harry. “You did well not to scare it further. Now, we need to help it.”
He opened his satchel and took out a vial of a pale blue, shimmering liquid—a basic healing potion for minor magical creature injuries. He also produced a pair of thin, delicate gloves.
“Harry,” Bastian said, his voice low and steady, “I need you to keep talking to it, gently. Let it know we’re here to help. I’m going to try to set its leg and give it this potion.”
Harry nodded, moving closer to the Mooncalf, his hand extended again. “It’s okay, little Mooncalf,” he whispered. “Bastian’s going to make you better. You’ll be able to dance again soon.”
As Harry’s soft voice filled the air, Bastian carefully, expertly, examined the Mooncalf’s leg. It was a clean break, thankfully, not shattered. He gently manipulated the small bones, and with a soft pop, it was back in place. The Mooncalf let out a sharp cry, its golden eyes squeezing shut, but Harry’s reassuring murmurs seemed to calm it.
Bastian uncorked the potion and held it to the Mooncalf’s snout. The creature sniffed, then tentatively licked the liquid. Within moments, the silvery bleeding stopped, and a faint glow emanated from its leg, knitting the bone together. The Mooncalf blinked, its head lifting slightly, and it looked at Bastian and Harry with newfound curiosity, no longer fear.
“There you go,” Bastian said, carefully stroking its head with a gloved hand. “You’ll be dancing under the moon in no time.”
Harry beamed, absolutely captivated. “It’s better! It’s really better!”
Bastian then did something surprising. He placed a small, silver whistle to his lips and blew a soft, high-pitched note. Almost immediately, a rustling began in the surrounding undergrowth. Another Mooncalf, larger and seemingly older, emerged from the shadows, its golden eyes fixing on the injured one.
“Its parent,” Bastian explained to Harry. “Mooncalves live in small family groups. This one must have been separated.”
The parent Mooncalf nudged its offspring gently, nuzzling it. The younger Mooncalf, now fully healed, let out a soft coo and rubbed its head against its parent’s side. After a moment, both turned to look at Bastian and Harry, their luminous eyes conveying a silent gratitude. Then, with a graceful, silent movement, they melted back into the dense foliage, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.
Harry watched them go, a sense of wonder filling him. “They’re… they’re beautiful.”
Bastian put away his satchel, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips. “They are, little man. And you, Harry, you found it, and you helped it. That’s a powerful thing, knowing how to help.” He ruffled Harry’s hair. “Now, how about we head back? I think that calls for a special dinner.”
As they walked back towards the manor, Harry felt a new kind of magic stirring within him. Not the kind that made things float or disappear, but the magic of connection, of empathy, and of understanding the hidden wonders of the world. He had helped a magical creature, and he had seen a side of Bastian that was even warmer, even more protective. The world, already so much bigger and safer than he’d ever known, felt like it was only just beginning to truly reveal itself.
Sebastian stood at the wide window of his study, a mug of Earl Grey growing cold in his hand. The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the manicured lawns of Whitmore Estates, a stark and peaceful contrast to the storm brewing in his mind. The letter from Gerard lay on his desk, the seal of the Muggle Family Services still intact. The legal guardianship was done. After months of painstaking documentation and "greased palms," Harry Potter was officially his ward.
A faint sound from the hallway drew his attention. A small, familiar set of footsteps, followed by the soft padding of bare feet.
He turned as Harry padded into the study, clutching Elmer the plastic soldier. The boy had grown so much, his small frame no longer so fragile, his green eyes no longer so haunted. Harry looked up at him, a simple question in his gaze.
"Bastian? What are you thinking about?"
Sebastian smiled, setting his mug down. "I was just thinking about something very important. And I wanted to show you something, but it's a secret. A very big one."
Harry's eyes lit up, his curiosity overriding his usual quiet caution. "A secret?"
"Yes," Sebastian said, his voice low. "Follow me."
He led Harry through the winding corridors of the manor, past the library and the playroom. He stopped before a heavy, unadorned oak door, a door Harry had never seen unlocked. A subtle, humming enchantment emanated from it, one of the many wards Sebastian had set up.
Sebastian placed a hand on the door, and the faint hum dissipated. He looked at Harry. "This is a room you should never try to enter without me. You need to know it's here, but you must respect the rule."
He pushed the door open, revealing the sight within. The room was not a magical library or a dusty old study. It was a well-lit, meticulously organized arsenal. The walls were lined with polished oak cabinets and heavy-duty metal racks. Pistols and rifles hung neatly on one wall, each one clean and oiled. Daggers and knives of all sizes, some of goblin steel, were sheathed in a separate case. There were also shelves filled with explosives, a small, intricate chemistry set for creating poisons, and an array of surveillance equipment that would be the envy of any spy agency.
Harry stepped forward, his eyes wide. He wasn't scared, only curious. He looked from a sleek black pistol to a gleaming silver knife. "What is all this, Bastian?"
"This," Sebastian said, "is my armory. It's where I keep the tools of my trade. The things I use to protect people."
Harry's gaze fell on a set of scars that snaked up Sebastian's arm, visible below the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. He looked at the armory, then back at Sebastian's arm. "Did you get those from protecting people?"
Sebastian paused, a shadow crossing his face. "Yes, little man. I did. But not from the things in this room." He knelt to Harry's level, his voice gentle but firm. "I'm showing you this so you understand. This is a very dangerous place. It's for grown-ups, and it's for keeping the bad people away from the good ones. When you're older, if you want, I can teach you how to use these things. But for now, I wanted you to know it was here in case you stumbled across it."
Harry nodded slowly, his small hand reaching out and touching the cool metal of a rifle barrel before pulling it back. "Okay. I won't come in here without you."
"Good boy," Sebastian said, standing up and closing the door with a final, solid click. The humming ward returned.
As they walked back to the study, Sebastian's mind was still on the armory, but his heart was with Harry. He knew he had to secure Harry’s future, and that a house-elf was the perfect addition to their home.
The next day, a house-elf named Topsy arrived. She was a tiny, timid creature with enormous, blue eyes and a penchant for wearing knitted tea cozies as a hat. Sebastian had found her through a quiet contact, a retired wizard who had been looking for a safe, happy home for her.
"Topsy is a good girl," Sebastian explained to Harry, as the little elf bowed low. "She will help with the manor, and she will also help take care of you. When I'm busy, she will make sure you have everything you need. You will be her master, but you will treat her with kindness and respect. We are a family, and we will treat her as such."
Harry, unused to the idea of having a servant, shyly offered Topsy a biscuit. She took it with a gasp, her eyes welling with tears. "Master Harry is too kind! Topsy will work hard for Master Harry!"
That night, as the rain pattered against the window, Harry had a nightmare. He woke in a cold sweat, the memory of Vernon's angry face and a locked cupboard door too vivid to shake. Without a moment of hesitation, he crept down the hall to Bastian's room. He found the door open and Sebastian lying awake, a book resting on his chest.
Harry climbed into bed, and Sebastian, without a word, pulled him close. He nestled against Sebastian, breathing in the scent of clean laundry and sandalwood, a scent he now associated with safety. His small hand reached up and clutched at the scars on Sebastian's arm, a physical reminder of the man who had protected him.
The sun-drenched morning was a quiet one. The distant hum of the estate’s wards was a low, comforting background noise. Harry was still asleep, curled into Bastian’s side, his small body warm and his breathing even. Bastian lay awake, a book resting on his chest, watching his little man sleep peacefully. He deserved this peace, Bastian thought, and he hoped it lasted forever.
Harry stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He yawned, stretching out a small hand, his fingers brushing against Bastian’s stomach and moving lower. He froze.
His eyes widened, and he let out a small, sharp gasp, yanking his hand away as if he had been burned. A deep, mortifying blush spread across his cheeks and neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and scrambled back, pushing himself against the headboard, a look of sheer terror on his face.
Bastian was awake and alert in an instant. His book dropped to the bed with a soft thud. He didn't move, just watched Harry's panicked reaction, his expression calm and his voice gentle.
“Harry. It’s okay. It’s just me.”
Harry shook his head, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” His voice was small and thick with shame.
Bastian sat up slowly, the blankets pooling at his waist. He reached out and gently took one of Harry's trembling hands. “Hey. Look at me.”
Harry kept his face hidden. “I’m bad. I’m bad,” he whispered, a sob catching in his throat.
Bastian’s heart ached. He knew where this was coming from. It wasn’t a small, accidental touch; it was the years of abuse and the perversion of innocence that had been drilled into him. He didn’t press. He just waited.
When Harry finally lowered his hands, his eyes were full of tears and a deep-seated fear.
“Harry,” Bastian said, his voice soft but firm, a stark contrast to the rough voice Harry was used to hearing from Vernon. “It was an accident. It’s okay. You’re not in trouble. You are safe here.”
Harry flinched at the word trouble, but he seemed to be listening.
“Sometimes,” Bastian continued, his thumb stroking the back of Harry’s hand, “when people care about each other, they sleep in the same bed. And sometimes, we touch by accident. It’s normal. It’s not a bad thing.”
Harry’s brow furrowed. “But…” he trailed off, unable to put into words the things the Dursleys had told him.
Bastian nodded, understanding. “I know things in your past were bad. I know they told you things. But that was them, Harry. Not you. Here, you are safe. There is nothing about you that is bad. Do you understand?”
Harry’s eyes searched Bastian’s, looking for any sign of anger or disgust. He found none, only a deep well of kindness and unconditional acceptance. A small, shaky breath escaped him, and he finally seemed to relax, just a little.
Bastian pulled him into a gentle hug. “It’s okay, little man. It’s all okay. You’re safe. I’m here. And you are not, and never will be, bad.”
Harry clung to him, his body trembling, the shame and fear finally starting to melt away. He had touched Bastian’s private parts by accident. And instead of a beating, he had received a hug.
A week after Harry's legal guardianship was finalized, a sharp-eyed owl arrived at Whitmore Estates, a letter from Gerard clutched in its talons. The message was brief but ominous.
The old man knows. He's putting pressure on the Ministry. Keep Harry close. I'll buy you what time I can.
Bastian's jaw tightened. Dumbledore had finally caught on to the legal moves. He couldn't risk the Ministry's interference with Harry's education, so he sped up his timetable. It was time for a more formal introduction to the wizarding world.
He sent a message to one of his oldest and most trusted allies, a witch named Isadora Blackwood. She was a master of charms and an expert in ancient magical theory, but she'd grown disillusioned with the political machinations of the Ministry and Hogwarts. She arrived two days later, a tall, elegant woman with a shock of silver hair and eyes that sparkled with mischief.
Isadora took to Harry immediately. She found him in the library, poring over a book about ancient runes.
"So, this is the Boy Who Lived," she said, her voice a low, musical hum. "I prefer the Boy Who Loves to Learn."
Harry blushed but smiled. Isadora quickly became his favorite teacher. She didn't just teach him spells; she taught him about the why behind the magic. She explained how spells were woven from intention and will, and how every wand was a unique tool. After a week of lessons, she presented Harry with a training wand. It was a simple piece of polished ash, without a core, designed to help him master the basics before getting his true wand. Harry's first lesson with it was a simple Lumos Charm, and when a small, timid light shone from the tip, he gasped with unadulterated joy.
While Isadora was teaching Harry magic, Bastian began teaching him about something else—how to defend himself without it. He led Harry to the manor's sprawling gym, a place of iron weights and padded mats that Harry had only seen in passing.
"Little man," Bastian said, tying on a pair of soft boxing gloves for Harry. "Magic can fail. Wands can be broken. But your body is always yours. Today, you're going to learn how to use it as a weapon and a shield."
He started with the fundamentals: a proper stance, how to throw a jab, how to duck and weave. Harry, already quick and agile from his daily exercise, took to the training with surprising focus and raw talent. Bastian showed him how to channel his energy, how to make his movements fluid and powerful. He taught him basic holds and takedowns, emphasizing that these skills were for protection, not aggression. Harry, with his small but growing body, was a natural.
Between Isadora's magical tutelage and Bastian's physical training, Harry was thriving. He was learning to be a wizard and a fighter, a master of both worlds. He was the Boy Who Lived, but he was also the boy who was loved, the boy who was learning, and the boy who was finally safe.