Chapter One - The Village Of Whinging
The Dursley family of Whinging Village were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Mr. Dursley was the smith for the village, crafting picks and spades and spears and maintaining the tools used in the mine that was the main source of income for the village. Mrs. Dursley stayed at home, raising the two energetic boys under her care and tended to the vegetable garden and small grove of fruit trees behind their modest home.
Dudley Dursley roamed the village with several other local boys, exploring a few of the played-out mine tunnels that were close to the village itself and play-fighting each other, pretending like they were facing off against roaming monsters from beyond the village walls.
And finally, Harry Potter-Dursley helped out in his uncle's forge, carrying ingots and pumping the bellows as his uncle worked on his craft. And this is where he could currently be found.
"Harder, boy! This is a special order, and it needs a higher heat!"
Vernon Dursley's bellowing voice fit his appearance, loud and booming. His face was red from exertion in the heat of the forge, his large belly seeming like it would slow him down in his craft. However, his fat hid layers of muscle, built up from working in the forge for years. He had inherited the forge from his father, and from his grandfather before him, and each well-practiced strike of his hammer caused the air to ring powerfully.
He turned the blade he was forming over, striking it further, before he picked it up and thrust it back into the heart of the furnace. Off to the side, Harry pulled down on the bellows, each pull stoking the fires of the furnace hotter, and sending surges of heat out into the forge.
A stray gust of wind played across Harry's brow, a faint chirp whispering comfort to his ear. He gave a small acknowledging nod, but couldn't spare his breath to whisper back to his friend, instead focusing on maintaining a steady rhythm with the bellows. He was pumping faster than usual to keep the flames higher and hotter.
Again and again, Vernon would pull the blade from the flames, striking it and shaping it, before thrusting it back into the forge. Again and again, Harry would pull on the bellows, the forge roaring with each pump. Abruptly, after pushing the blade into the forge, Vernon turned, stomping quickly over to a side bench and picking up a wooden box. Harry had seen Vernon carry the box in earlier, but Vernon had simply dropped it on the bench and gotten to work, so Harry had put it out of his mind for the moment.
Now, Vernon pulled open the box, drawing out a fistful of glowing blue feathers. Harry's eyes widened, but he didn't stop pumping, even as Vernon approached the forge with the feathers in hand.
"Hold it. Time to back up, boy."
Harry obeyed, letting go of the bellow and backing up, even as he kept his eyes locked on the feathers in his uncle's grip. Most of the time, Vernon Dursley only worked with mundane materials. Iron and copper and tin, worked carefully to bring out the full potential of the metal, but ultimately resulting in ordinary tools or weapons. Only on rare occasions would he use elemental materials, harvested from monsters by wandering adepts.
Vernon sucked in a deep breath, the air stirring as his chi did, bracing himself against the heat of the flame. With a quick twist, he hurled the feathers into the fire, the thin cord twisted around them keeping them bound together as they entered the forge, before it burned away. The feathers themselves lasted only a moment more, before they combusted, and a tremendous howl suddenly surged from the forge.
Vernon slammed a plate cover against the entrance to the forge, trapping the howling winds that had burst out from the feathers within the confines of the forge. A shimmering purple light shone around the edges of the plate, before dying away. Vernon himself didn't seem to notice, instead counting carefully to himself, before he pulled the forge open again. He grabbed up his tongs, and pulled out the metal blade he'd been working on, which now glowed faintly with the same purple light that Harry had seen shining from the forge.
The light danced along the blade, twisting and coiling, and Harry felt his friend stirring in his chest. He carefully raised his hand, pressing against his ribs right next to his heart, and quickly whispered, "Not now!" Vernon might not be able to see Harry's friend, but if she popped out in the forge, he would certainly not appreciate the mess she'd make, especially if she tried playing with the elementally infused blade.
She settled, thankfully, and Harry was able to turn his focus back to his uncle, who had been striking the blade, with the glow flaring and dancing with every hit. The metal seemed almost to flow now, the blade narrowing and flattening, forming a shape that resembled a feather. Finally, Vernon lifted the blade, and turned to stick it into the salt bath quench that was sitting nearby, the blade hissing and the bath bubbling as the heat was rapidly leached from it.
"I can finish this up, boy. Go see what help your aunt needs." Vernon said, as he adjusted the blade's position in the bath.
"I can-"
"Go!" Vernon barked, and Harry turned and left, a bit disappointed that he wasn't going to get to see his uncle put the finishing touches on the blade. It would need to be bound to a hilt and tied off, but more importantly, it would need to be carefully worked and etched to hopefully bring out the elemental power in the blade, turning it from an elemental weapon to a true Artifact.
Vernon Dursley was one of the few smiths around the local area, and indeed, throughout south Albion, that could reliably produce Artifacts. True, the blades and tools he made were on the lower end of power for Artifacts, nowhere near the sort of ancient power that could be found delving into ruins, but they were, in Vernon's words, "practical and sturdy, which is rare enough to be getting on with". Harry always enjoyed watching Vernon work, the way that the metal would sing as he worked on it, even if Harry hadn't ever shown the knack for his uncle's techniques.
Dudley had, but he was loath to actually put in the sort of effort that the forge required, and Aunt Petunia spoiled him enough that he was always able to wiggle out of helping out in the smithy, leaving Harry to pick up those tasks while Dudley ran around instead. Vernon had grumbled, but seemed content enough with Harry's help, only occasionally muttering that Dudley could play now, because it wouldn't last.
As Harry approached the house, his aunt was waiting for him outside.
"Around the back! Honestly, the ceremony is in an hour, and Vernon kept you this late. Hurry, hurry, you need to wash up."
Harry accepted her chiding, a little confused at how tense she seemed to be. Certainly, the awakening ceremony was important, as it'd mark the point when Dudley and him would be taking their first steps into adulthood, but it wasn't
that big of a deal. Awakening ceremonies in small villages like Whinging were very casual affairs. An adept would show up to present the Psyenergy Stone to any villagers that had turned 14, but it was largely a formality.
No adepts came from villages like Whinging.
There would be a feast, and Harry and Dudley and Piers and Monica, this year's crop of 14 year-olds, would all be recognized by the Mayor as being officially of age to be able to speak up in town meetings and they could, if they earned enough, buy property in the village and start apprenticeships, though they would all almost certainly stay with their families until they actually turned 17 and could marry. They'd all toss a coin in the old well for luck and then spend the whole night chatting and dancing around the bonfire that would be set up in the village square, the first night that they'd get to do so rather than being sent off to bed like kids.
Harry entered the small bath hut behind the house, turning the spigot in the wall to allow water to flow out, drawn from the old well and pumped through various pipes his uncle had helped lay to pour out into the wooden tub. The water was cold and sharp, and Harry shivered as he entered and started scrubbing, before a faint breeze seemed to swirl around him and take the edge off the chill. He smiled, tapping his chest in thanks, and felt a shiver spiral through him.
After he finished wiping off the grime and smokey remnants of the forge, he climbed out and pulled the stopper to let the tub drain, and picked up the clothes that Aunt Petunia had left folded for him by the tub. A nice cotton shirt and sturdy trousers, all carefully washed to the point where the white cotton of the shirt almost shone. He slipped into his shoes and walked around the rear door of the house, pushing his way inside.
Dudley was seated at the kitchen table, his hair damp and face ruddy from where Aunt Petunia had obviously been going at him with a damp cloth. She turned at the sound of the door, and immediately swooped down on him, cloth brandished in her hand like a dagger as she started scrubbing his apparently insufficiently-washed face.
Harry could hear Dudley snickering at his plight, and did his best to endure his aunt's ministrations with a minimum of flinching.
Finally, Aunt Petunia pulled back, her lips pursed, and Harry was startled to realize that she was apparently holding back tears. He shared a brief panicked look with Dudley, both of the teenage boys being very unsure how to deal with what Uncle Vernon called "womanly feelings".
"Oh, you look so grown up. Both of you. I-" Aunt Petunia trailed off, before pulling Harry into a tight hug. "Oh. Whatever happens, know that you will always have a place here."
Harry was startled, and was opening his mouth to ask what she meant, when the town bell suddenly rang, and Aunt Petunia pulled back.
"Right! We shouldn't be late, that wouldn't do at all. Dudley, grab that basket. Harry, take these trays, careful now, they're still warm. Come along, this is your big day, after all."
Harry accepted the trays filled with roasted and stuffed mushrooms, carefully balancing both of them on his arms, and silently pondered what Aunt Petunia could have meant.
The village square of Whinging was already quite packed as they approached, with several younger kids running around and arrangements for the feast being made by several of the villagers under the watchful eye of old Figg, who stood with her hands on her hips as she directed which offerings should go on which tables, with her ever-present cats seated behind her like an honor guard.
Harry and Dudley both dropped off their burdens on the proper tables, and then, with the not-as-much-subtlety-as-they-think of teenagers, quickly snuck off before they could be roped into moving around chairs or carrying plates.
They found their other year mates sitting under the tree on the south end of the square. Piers was trying, once again, to flirt with Monica, while Monica simply sat and sighed while staring at Hawthorn, an older boy who was showing off by hefting several logs at once on his shoulders, carrying them over for the bonfire later that night.
Harry and Dudley exchanged looks, before both shaking their heads. Hawthorn didn't even seem to know Monica existed, and Piers' unrequited crush had stopped being funny years ago.
Well, mostly.
"Excited, Piers?" Dudley cut in before Piers could embarrass himself more with yet another stammered line from a book Piers could barely read.
"Huh?" Piers looked over, startled out of his thought. "Oh, yeah Big D. I can't wait."
Dudley flushed as Harry laughed. Big D was a nickname that Dudley had thought sounded cool when they were nine, but somehow it had stuck in Piers' head, and he never called Dudley anything else.
"How about you, Monica?" Harry tried to pull her into the conversation. By 'tradition', they were all supposed to stick together near the square until the presentation ceremony happened, though Harry suspected that the tradition was more of a directive from old Figg to ensure that the village didn't end up embarrassed in front of the visiting adept by having one of the presented youths wandering off and needing to be fetched.
"Oh… yes… it's lovely…" Given where her focus seemed to be, Harry wasn't certain if she was referring to the ceremony, or to Hawthorn's chest.
The four of them idly chatted under the tree as the preparations continued around them. A group of slightly younger boys ran past, kicking a ball, and called for them to join, but Harry waved them off before Piers and Dudley could be drawn in. Mrs. Polkiss might not care much, but Harry knew how upset Aunt Petunia would be if he or Dudley messed up their outfits before the ceremony.
Finally, the bell rang again, startling the giant bats that Harry had been watching flapping higher in the sky. The bats raced away, likely to go hide from the sound of the bell in the woods to the east. Meanwhile, to the west of the square, the mayor stepped out of his house, followed by the visiting adept.
The adept was wearing a fancy looking suit, with a large cylindrical purple hat perched on his head. While the mayor stepped carefully down the stairs of his house, the adept stepped off the edge of the porch, and simply floated down to the ground like he was a feather. Together, they made their way to the stand that had been set up in the center of the square, next to the large pit where the bonfire would be lit.
"Everyone! Welcome to the Summer Awakening Ceremony!" Mayor Tuft's voice was reedy, but carried well across the square, quieting the bustle as the various villagers turned to listen. He smiled, opening his arms wide. "We are pleased to welcome four youths to the realm of adulthood, with the aid of Adept Daedalus."
Harry caught Petunia making sharp jerking motions with her head, and realized that they were supposed to approach the stage at this point. He quickly elbowed Dudley, who started and then nodded, grabbing Piers and tugging him forward. Luckily, Monica followed easily without needing to be nudged at all, and the four of them quickly crossed through the throng to the foot of the stage.
By the time they arrived, Adept Daedalus had stepped forward and pulled out the Psyenergy Stone from… somewhere. It was a large purple crystal, which seemed to hum with barely contained energy. It was carved in the shape of a long rectangle, standing upright on Daedalus' outstretched hands, with imprints carved in each of the four faces of it. The side facing towards Harry was what appeared to be a stylized lion.
"Villagers of Whinging! Let the ceremony… commence!" Adept Daedalus had a voice that sounded like it was used to laughter, which carried far better than Mayor Tuft's.
Piers was the first to scramble up on the stage, with Dudley following after. Harry let Monica walk up the stairs before him, taking the fourth place of their little line. As he was stepping onto the stage, Piers had already stepped forward and pressed his hand to the stone. As he touched it, it pulsed, a small spark of light seeming to flare up in the depths of the stone.
"Whoa…" Piers let out a gasp, freezing as he stared at the now-glowing stone. After several moments, Daedalus cleared his throat and spoke softly.
"A fine showing, young man. Now, let's let your friends have their turn."
Piers started, and took a quick step back, which let Dudley step forward. His light was noticeably brighter than Piers, and he sucked in a breath when it lit up, before giving himself a shake and stepping back without needing to be prompted.
Monica's light was about the same as Dudley's, and she twisted around after it lit, no doubt trying to see if Hawthorn was watching. Once she had stepped back, Harry stepped forward for his turn.
Adept Daedalus gave him a supportive smile, and Harry returned it as he placed his hand on the stone. It felt warm under his fingers, and it felt almost like it was whispering…
All at once, a surge of warmth shot down from his arm and flew through his chest. He could feel his friend shiver at the sensation, even as the warmth shot up his spine and into his head. It felt like his hair stood on end, and the light that shone from the stone was the brightest yet, and getting brighter.
The adept sucked in a gasp, at the same moment that a loud chiming note echoed from the stone, and a sudden beam of light shot upwards from the top. Harry flinched, startled, while Adept Daedalus let out a laugh.
"My word! What an honor! Villagers of Whinging, I give to you… the newest Psyenergy Adept of Albion!"
