Young Celestial Wizard [Celestial Grimoire, Harry Potter]

[Evoxius]

Two days later, Harry sat cross-legged atop the Dark Tower, a small cage containing five mice placed carefully in front of him. He'd caught them earlier as an eagle, and while a small part of him felt bad about using them like this, he needed to understand how his mist had changed since receiving his Hun (Ethereal/Yang) and Po (Dense/Yin) souls.

The morning air was crisp, and the tower's height ensured no one would accidentally walk into his experiment. Harry took a deep breath and began to gather his magic for the mist, just as he'd done countless times before.

He stopped almost immediately, eyes flying open in surprise.

"That's different," he muttered, frowning slightly. The magic wasn't coming from inside him at all - he could feel it now, drawing in from the world around him like invisible streams flowing into his Po Soul.

Harry tilted his head, considering this discovery. He would've expected the magic to gather in his Hun Soul since it dealt with thoughts and fear. Maybe he didn't understand yin and yang as well as he thought. He'll have to ask Grandpa about books on the subject later.

That magic came from outside rather than from within was interesting, but Harry shrugged it off after a moment. It was probably just something they taught in Hogwarts that he hadn't learned yet from his daily reading.

"Let's try this again," he whispered, more carefully this time. He drew in the magical energy slowly, feeling it pool into his Po Soul. That's when things got fuzzy. His Hun Soul was instinctively doing... something. Contributing to the gathered energy somehow, making it heavier. It felt like his Hun Soul was adding a sort of tint or color to the magic, though not in any way he could see with his eyes.

The altered magic flowed out onto his palm, forming the familiar grey mist. Harry guided it towards one of the mice, watching closely for any differences from before. The mouse reacted just like they always did - trying to run away until it hit the cage wall, then freezing in place. He could see its tiny chest still moving up and down rapidly, so it was just paralyzed with fear rather than hurt.

Harry let the mist dissipate, scratching his chin thoughtfully. The effect seemed the same, but the process felt completely different now that he could sense where the magic came from and how it changed. He'd need to practice more to really understand what his Hun Soul was doing to the magic, but at least he knew his mist ability still worked properly.

Harry flopped onto his back, letting the morning sun warm his face as he stared up at the bright blue sky. A few puffy clouds drifted lazily overhead, and he found himself absently tracking their movement while his mind worked through what he'd just learned.

"Outside in, not inside out," he mumbled to himself, running a hand through his messy black hair. The magical energy came from somewhere out there, and he used his Po Soul to draw it in like drinking through a straw. That was pretty straightforward.

But what about other wizards? Harry frowned up at the sky. They probably used their whole souls to draw in magic since they didn't have separate Hun and Po Souls like he did now. The thought made him wonder if having split souls would make learning spells easier or harder.

An idea struck him. If magical energy came from outside, and spells were shaped inside the soul before being cast... couldn't he just do it manually? He already knew how to draw in magic thanks to his mist spell.

"Worth a try," Harry said, raising one hand toward the sky. He drew in magical energy with his Po Soul, feeling it pool there like water in a cup. But then what? With his mist spell, his Hun Soul did... something. He wasn't sure what exactly, since it happened automatically.

"Maybe if I..." Harry pointed his palm up at the clouds. "Incendio!"

Nothing happened. The magic just sat there in his Po Soul, waiting.

Harry remembered reading something about 'magical intent' in the library's first-year Charms books. He tried again, this time picturing bright flames shooting from his palm as he spoke. "Incendio!"

He felt his Hun Soul stir, reaching out toward his Po Soul like it was trying to grab something. But before anything could happen, the whole thing fell apart. The pooled magic burst out of him in a explosion of colorful sparks that made his skin tingle and his hair stand straight up. Several small rocks around him started floating and spinning in the air.

"Ow," Harry said, sitting up and trying to pat his hair back down. The tingling sensation refused to go away, and he had a feeling it would stick around for a while.

Well, that hadn't worked quite like he'd hoped. But at least he'd learned something - his Hun Soul definitely played a part in casting spells.

Harry brushed off his robes and stood up, determined. Just because his first try failed didn't mean he should give up. After all, his firebending had taken lots of practice too.

"One more try," he muttered, gathering magical energy into his Po Soul again. This time he tried to guide his Hun Soul more carefully, like drawing with a very delicate brush.

The magic responded differently this time - instead of exploding outward, it twisted inward like water going down a drain. The shadows around him stretched like taffy, reaching toward him from all directions. Harry yelped and stumbled backward, but the shadows snapped back to normal almost instantly. For several minutes afterward, he felt strangely inside-out, though looking down confirmed all his body parts were exactly where they should be.

"That was weird," Harry said, shaking his head. But he wasn't ready to quit yet. Maybe if he tried focusing more on the spell itself...

His third attempt went wrong in a completely new way. The magical energy disappeared with a gentle pop, and suddenly everything smelled wrong. The morning air that had smelled like grass now reminded him of chocolate. When he sniffed his robes, instead of clean laundry they smelled like oranges. Harry wrinkled his nose - it wasn't bad exactly, just... off.

"Come on," Harry said, getting frustrated. "One more time."

He gathered the magic again, trying to copy exactly what he'd read about the fire-making spell. This time the energy seemed to just fade away harmlessly. Harry was about to count that as progress when he blinked and felt something odd near his ears. Small, perfectly round soap bubbles were floating out of them.

Every time he blinked, more bubbles appeared. They didn't make any noise when they popped, and they didn't leave his ears wet, but it was really annoying. After about twenty bubbles, Harry decided enough was enough.

He sat back down, thinking about what he'd learned while waiting for the bubbles to stop. Each time he tried the spell, his Hun Soul had reached for his Po Soul like it was trying to grab or shape the magic there. But something kept going wrong at that exact moment, like two puzzle pieces that looked like they should fit but didn't quite line up.

"Maybe I should ask one of the professors about this," Harry said to himself, watching another bubble float past his nose. "Before I turn myself into a tea kettle or something worse."

The mice in their cage squeaked in what sounded like agreement and watched with fear shining in their little black eyes as Harry transformed into the golden eagle that captured them with his sharp talons. The change felt as natural as breathing - no complex magic or soul manipulation required. Just a simple choice, like deciding to take a step forward.

He stretched his wings, enjoying the familiar sensation. Being an eagle wasn't like putting on a costume or playing pretend. When he was an eagle, he was an eagle. The sharp eyesight, the instincts, even the way his mind processed things - it all just worked. Sometimes Harry wondered if he was fated to be both human and eagle.

The transformation hadn't changed at all since getting his Hun and Po souls, which was kind of strange when he thought about it. He couldn't feel either soul doing anything all that special when he changed forms. Not like with his mist or firebending where he could somewhat track what was happening.

But then again, maybe that made sense. The Animagus transformation wasn't really a spell – Aunt Min had explained that much during their talks about it. Once a witch or wizard completed the ritual, they just... could. Like how people just knew how to walk or talk without casting spells.

Harry spread his wings and took off from the tower, leaving the caged mice behind. He'd come back for them later. Right now he needed help before he accidentally turned his ears into teapots or something equally ridiculous.

The castle felt very empty as he soared past its windows. Most of the students were home for summer holidays, and even the professors were usually gone. Harry had gotten used to entertaining himself over the years, though having Grandpa around most of the time helped a lot. But today Dumbledore was at the Ministry, and Aunt Min was off doing whatever she did on her "catvacations" as she called them.

That left Uncle Filius, who hopefully was in his office today. Harry landed on the windowsill outside the Charms classroom, transformed back to human, and made his way to the familiar office door. He knocked three times, hoping his uncle could help him figure out what he was doing wrong with his spell attempts.

"Do come in, do come in!" Flitwick's high-pitched voice called out cheerfully.

Harry pushed open the heavy wooden door to find his uncle perched on his usual stack of books, grading what looked like summer assignments. The tiny professor's face lit up when he saw Harry.

"Oh my goodness! If it isn't my young fiery prodigy!" Flitwick squeaked excitedly, before his tiny nose twitched. "Dear me, what is that most peculiar aromatic combination? sniff sniff Oranges and chocolate wafting about? Most unusual indeed!"

"That's actually why I'm here," Harry said, climbing onto the chair across from the desk. "I was trying to learn the fire-making spell, but something went wrong. Several times."

"Oh?" Flitwick set down his quill, giving Harry his full attention. "And where exactly did you learn about this spell?"

"From the first-year textbooks in the library," Harry explained. "I understand the theory, but when I tried to do it myself..." He gestured at his ears, where another soap bubble chose that moment to float out.

Flitwick's usual cheerful demeanor shifted to something more serious. He hopped down from his high chair and walked around the desk, pulling out his wand.

"Now then, stay perfectly still for just a moment," he said, executing a precise little flourish with his wand. "There we are! Fascinating side effects, really... But Harry, whatever possessed you to attempt spellwork without the fundamental requirements of a wand and proper magical instruction?"

Harry squirmed in his chair. "Well, I can make the mist without a wand, so I thought maybe..."

"Oh gracious me, absolutely not! That's quite different indeed!" Flitwick squeaked. "That extraordinary misty manifestation of yours - some piece of innate magic, really - but proper spellwork requires precise magical channeling through a specifically attuned conduit! The theory is quite clear on this point!"

"Yes, but-"

"Tut tut, not another word!" Flitwick shook his head urgently, clearly very agitated. "There are centuries of magical theory behind why we wait until a witch or wizard turns eleven! Your magic simply isn't stable enough yet - oh yes, even with your remarkable mist-conjuring and fire spells! Your body isn't properly developed for structured spellcasting. Quite dangerous to attempt otherwise!"

Harry slumped in his chair. "I just thought I could try to do what I do with the mist, but make fire instead. I wasn't trying to cause trouble."

"I quite understand the academic enthusiasm!" Flitwick chirped, his voice softening. "Such curiosity and drive for magical knowledge - wonderful Ravenclaw traits, if I do say so! But even the brightest minds must exercise proper caution and patience." He hopped forward to pat Harry's knee with his tiny hand. "Now then, I must insist you promise not to attempt any more spells until you're properly prepared. Quite important, yes?"

"I promise," Harry said, though he couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"Excellent!" Flitwick smiled, clambering back onto his chair. "Now then, do tell me what concepts you've managed to learn from those first-year texts! The practical applications must wait, of course, but oh, there's so much wonderful theory to explore in the meantime!"

Harry brightened a bit at that. At least he could still learn something, even if he couldn't try it himself yet.

 

[Evoxius]

---Two Weeks Later, September 1987---

The Great Hall buzzed with activity as students poured in for the start-of-term feast. Harry watched from his usual spot at the staff table, stifling a yawn. The summer had felt longer than usual without any of his friends around.

He spotted Charlotte at the Gryffindor table, looking better than she had after the Fear Vault incident. The dark magic scars were still clearly visible now if you knew where to look. Harry really wanted to catch up with her, but he'd probably only have time to do that tomorrow once things settled down.

His thoughts drifted back to what he'd discovered about magical energy over the past few weeks. Before he had this sensitivity to his souls he'd been thinking about magic all wrong. He used to think that he could feel his magic draining when he converted it to mist, but from what he figured out, magical energy was like an ocean - vast and endless. What mattered wasn't the amount available, but rather how much a witch or wizard could safely channel.

Harry's Po Soul acted like a cup, drawing in magic from that infinite ocean. But just like a cup could only hold so much water, his Po Soul had limits. He could push past those limits, keep drawing in more magic, but that left him feeling drained and tired afterward. Better to let his Po Soul rest and recover between uses.

It would explain why casting many spells left wizards exhausted - not because they ran out of magic, but because their soul needed time to recover from channeling so much power at once.

Harry watched the last first-year get sorted into Hufflepuff, ready to sigh in relief that the long ceremony was finally over. The warmth from his bracelet stopped him short.

Not now, he thought with a frown. The familiar static began creeping into his mind, making it harder to focus on what was happening around him. Harry gripped the edge of his chair, trying to anchor himself to the physical world like Dumbledore had taught him.

"...delighted to welcome our new students..." Dumbledore's voice faded in and out as Harry struggled against the mental interference. The static grew stronger, and for a moment all Harry could hear was white noise.

He could only be thankful his Po Soul remained calm, and he didn't disturb the ceremony even as his Hun Soul battled the bracelet's effects. Bit by bit, the Great Hall came back into focus. Harry caught glimpses of Dumbledore moving to the front, where a new face had joined the staff table.

"...forbidden forest remains, as the name suggests, forbidden..." Harry managed to catch that part clearly before the static surged again. He missed the next few sentences entirely, only tuning back in when Dumbledore's tone grew more serious.

"An important part of the learning process is to learn how to identify and overcome dangers, both seen and unseen."

That caught Harry's attention enough to pierce through the interference. He watched as Dumbledore stepped aside for a pretty witch with wavy red hair and blue eyes. Her clothes looked expensive but practical, with a brown shirt and trousers that reminded Harry of dragon scales. A blood red waistcoat hung shorter in the back, and her black robes had some kind of eye symbol pinned to them that Harry didn't recognize. White gloves and tall boots completed her outfit.

"...Madam Patricia Rakepick, a world-famous Curse-Breaker..." The static was finally starting to fade as Dumbledore finished introducing her. Harry's head felt clearer just in time to hear her speak.

"Thank you for that glowing introduction, Professor Dumbledore," she said with a slight smile. "I must admit, I was shocked when he invited me back, given all the trouble I caused as a student."

Harry perked up at that. Someone who caused trouble at Hogwarts and still became successful? That was interesting.

"After graduating, I became Head Curse-Breaker at Gringotts Wizarding Bank," Rakepick continued. "As a student, I tried warning everyone about the Cursed Vaults, but the faculty ignored me. Now that they've been forced to admit their mistakes, I'm here to open these vaults and uncover their secrets."

Her tone grew sharper as she added, "I may ask some of you to describe what you've seen. I might even request help with my investigations. But I will not tolerate anyone interfering without permission. From now on, stay away from the vaults and stay out of my way."

Harry glanced at Charlotte, wondering if she'd caught the implied threat in those words. They'd already solved two vaults - would this Curse-Breaker try to stop them from finding the rest if they acted up? His Hero's Journal gave him a gentle mental nudge, suggesting Rakepick would be important somehow.

Rakepick's words hung in the air for a moment before polite applause broke out from the staff table. Harry barely noticed, his attention caught by Charlotte's quick glance in his direction. She gave him a tiny nod - she'd definitely caught the warning in Rakepick's speech too.

The feast appeared on the tables, filling the hall with delicious smells and excited chatter. Harry reached for his goblet of pumpkin juice, but stopped when his vision darkened slightly. His green eyes grew darker as another offer appeared in his mind.

[A Dark Body - Wizarding World] – Costs 200CP, 275CP available to spend.

The Dark Arts holds great potential for power should one be willing to... experiment. From rituals to potions to curses and more, both your body and mind can be transformed and made greater, far greater. But as always, there are consequences to such things and not all transformations are compatible with one another. Fortunately, it seems your being is quite receptive to such things.

From now on, your body and mind shall mitigate the negative effects of any transformation you choose to undergo. More specifically, it means that you any modification you choose to undergo will, at bare minimum, not kill you. More often than not, such alterations to your form shall succeed. But be careful. You may live and your body may remain, but it would do well to remember that there will always be changes. This only mitigates such things. It will not rid you of them entirely.

Harry's first reaction was immediate disgust. A Dark Wizard's body? The very thought made his stomach turn. He'd seen enough pictures in Defense books to know what happened to people who messed with that kind of magic.

But as he read through the details again, he realized it wasn't quite that simple. The offer wasn't giving him a dark wizard's body - it would just help protect him if he ever needed to change himself permanently through magic. Still, the whole thing felt wrong. Why would he ever need protection from Dark Arts transformations? He wasn't planning to learn dark magic in the first place.

Harry shook his head slightly. No point wasting his limited CP on something he'd never use. This wasn't even worth bringing up to Grandpa - the answer was pretty obvious. He dismissed the offer and reached for his pumpkin juice again, turning his attention back to watching Rakepick. The new consultant was already deep in conversation with Snape, and Harry wondered what she might already know about the other vaults.

---Three Weeks Later---

Harry moved through his firebending forms on top of the Astronomy Tower, blue flames flowing around him in different patterns - first a spiral that wrapped around his body, then splitting into smaller streams that wove between his fingers like string. He'd gotten much better at controlling the temperature too. The flames could be hot enough to melt steel or cool enough to warm his hands on a chilly morning.

Harry paused his practice, considering something he'd been experimenting with lately. He deliberately made his chi flow rougher, less refined, and pushed it out through his palm. Orange flames burst forth, crackling and spitting like a normal fire. It was interesting that he could still make regular flames, but Harry didn't see much point to it. The blue fire came naturally now thanks to his Po Soul refining his chi paths. It was hotter, more precise, and didn't require any extra effort to maintain.

"Time to wrap up," he muttered to himself, letting the flames dissipate. The sun was getting higher, and he needed to head down to Hogsmeade soon to help with the festival preparations. It was nice to finally get the world to see his art, and he was even more glad that Aunt Min approved him helping out.

The flight to the village was peaceful. Harry could see decorations already starting to go up - floating lanterns, colorful banners, and enchanted streamers that changed colors. Mr. Bilmes from Zonko's was organizing everything, running around with boundless energy as he directed volunteers.

"Ah, young Mr. Potter!" Bilmes called out when he spotted Harry transforming back to a human. "Just the artistic eye we need! Come help us with these banners, would you? They're looking a bit... well, see for yourself."

Harry looked where Bilmes was pointing and had to hold back a laugh. Someone had tried to paint festive scenes on the banners, but the results looked more like abstract blob art. Even the magical paint seemed confused, shifting uncertainly between colors as if trying to figure out what it was supposed to be.

"I can fix those," Harry said, already pulling out his art supplies out of the pouch on his enchanted belt. "What kind of scenes were you thinking of?"

"Oh, something appropriately autumn-themed! Pumpkins, falling leaves, that sort of thing. But please, nothing too spooky - we want this to be family-friendly!"

Harry nodded and got to work. Thanks to his painting talent and regular practice, he could create detailed scenes quickly and efficiently. The magical paint responded perfectly to his brush strokes, creating images that seemed to come alive on the fabric. Leaves flew in painted breezes, pumpkins glowed with warm light, and magical creatures played hide-and-seek among illustrated trees.

"Merlin's beard, that's incredible!" Madam Rosmerta had come out of the Three Broomsticks to watch him work. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to paint something for the pub as well? The walls could use a touch of your talent."

"Maybe another day," Harry said, adding final touches to a particularly tricky bit of detail. "I should finish these first."

More villagers gathered to watch him work, and Harry found himself explaining his technique to several interested observers. It was nice being appreciated for something he'd actually worked to master, rather than just being "The Boy Who Lived." Even if the talent itself had come from the special offers, he'd still spent countless hours practicing and refining his skills.

The morning passed quickly as Harry helped transform the village for the upcoming festival. Between paintings, he listened to the locals chat about their plans and expectations. Apparently, this was the first time they'd organized something this big in years. The whole village seemed excited about it.

Harry waved goodbye to the villagers and took off into the air, enjoying the cool breeze against his feathers. The festival preparations were coming along nicely, and he was looking forward to seeing everything come together the next couple of weeks.

He was just soaring over the Bell Tower Courtyard when movement caught his sharp eagle eyes. Charlotte stood frozen in place as a dark-robed figure glided towards her. The creature's tattered black cloak rippled unnaturally in the air, and Harry felt a sudden chill even from high above.

Harry didn't hesitate as he tucked his wings and dove down to help. But as he got closer, the cold intensified and the world seemed to dim around him. Then suddenly he wasn't in the courtyard anymore.

"Please, not Harry! Take me instead!" A woman's voice begged. His mother's voice, he realized with a jolt.

"Stand aside, you silly girl." A high, cold voice responded.

"No, please! Have mercy!" His mother pleaded again.

A flash of green light filled Harry's vision, followed by his mother's scream. Then another green flash came straight at him.

"An unfulfilled prophecy... it could be a good source of power in the future..."

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The shout snapped Harry back to reality. He was still diving, but now the ground was rushing up to meet him way too fast. His wings flapped frantically as he pulled up, barely avoiding a crash. He transformed back into human form, rolling across the grass before scrambling to his feet.

A silver rabbit charged at the dark creature, which immediately retreated. Harry's whole body was shaking, and even creating a small blue flame in his palm didn't help warm him up.

"Are you both okay?" Tonks rushed over, clearly concerned for their well-being.

"What was that thing?" Harry asked through chattering teeth. His heart was still racing from both the near-crash and the memory he'd just relived.

"A Dementor," Tonks said grimly. "They feed on happiness and force you to relive your worst memories."

Charlotte had finally started moving again, though she looked pale. "You have to teach me that spell," she said to Tonks. "The Patronus Charm. Especially after what happened to Penny..."

"What happened to Penny?" Harry cut in, stomach dropping at Charlotte's tone.

"She's in the hospital wing," Charlotte said quietly. "A Dementor attacked her earlier today. If Professor Sprout hadn't found her when she did..." She trailed off, wrapping her arms around herself.

Harry clutched his fist tight, the blue flame in his other hand flaring brighter. "Why are these things even here?"

"That's a good question I don't know the answer to," Tonks sighed, running a hand through her currently purple hair.

Harry shivered again, the memory of his mother's voice still echoing in his head. The blue flame in his palm grew even bigger, but the cold feeling inside wouldn't go away completely. He wondered if Penny felt the same way right now.

"Hey, I know what'll help." Tonks dug around in her pocket and pulled out a chocolate frog. "Here, eat this. Chocolate's good for dealing with Dementor effects." She broke it in half, giving pieces to both Harry and Charlotte. "And why don't you both come with me to Hogsmeade? Could use some company while I stock up on more chocolate from Honeydukes."

Charlotte nodded, already looking better after eating her piece. "Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe we can get some treats for Penny too?"

But Harry shook his head. The chocolate had helped warm him up, but he couldn't stop thinking about Penny alone in the hospital wing. "Thanks, but I want to go check on Penny first." He glanced at the castle, then back at Tonks. "Do you know if chocolate frogs are okay to bring to the hospital wing?"

"Madam Pomfrey practically prescribes them after Dementor encounters," Tonks assured him. "Just don't tell her I said that."

Harry managed a small smile at that. He knew he should probably be more scared after what just happened, but mostly he felt angry. Angry that these creatures were here, angry that they could hurt people by making them remember terrible things, and angry that he couldn't do anything about it yet. Maybe when he was older he could learn that Patronus Charm Tonks used.

But he was also… grateful. Thankful that he had heard his mum's voice for the first time, and that it was now permanently in his memory for the rest of his life. He wouldn't ever forget it now.

 

[Evoxius]

Harry closed the door behind him and let out a relieved sigh. At least Penny was doing better now, with Chiara keeping her company. But the whole situation still felt wrong.

Now that the panic had settled, he kept circling back to one question - could he fight a Dementor? Chiara had explained they were amortal non-beings, like Boggarts, that couldn't be killed. But Harry knew that wasn't completely true. He'd already killed two Boggarts when his mist created that weird feedback loop with their fear-feeding nature.

But Dementors were different. They didn't transform or feed on fear exactly - they sucked out happiness and made you relive your worst memories. His mist probably wouldn't work the same way. And if it didn't drive the Dementor away, he'd be stuck there helpless, trapped in memories of green light and his mother's screams. The thought made his stomach twist. He really, really didn't want to die because of a flashback.

He needed to learn more about the Patronus Charm. Even if he couldn't cast it yet without a wand, maybe understanding how it worked would help somehow? Harry couldn't accept being as helpless as he'd been in the courtyard, nearly smashing into the ground because of a memory. He wasn't some scared little rabbit or mouse, and he refused to become one.

Movement caught his eye, and Harry spotted Madam Rakepick leaning against the wall ahead. Her expensive dragon-scale outfit somehow managed to look both casual and intimidating at the same time.

She smiled down at him. "Good evening, Mr. Potter," she said pleasantly.

Harry blinked in surprise at seeing the famous Curse-Breaker. "Good evening, Madam Rakepick," he replied politely.

"I was hoping to run into you actually," Rakepick said warmly, pushing off from the wall. "I've been hearing quite impressive things about your adventures. The way you helped deal with that nasty ice curse? Very clever use of fire magic."

"Thank you," Harry said carefully, keeping his answer short. Just because Grandpa had hired her didn't mean he needed to tell her everything right away.

"Not very talkative, are you?" Rakepick observed with a slight smile. "Smart. In my line of work, being cautious often means staying alive." She paused thoughtfully. "I've also heard whispers that you might have been involved with that Fear Vault business as well? The one that created that fascinating Still Lake?"

Harry looked at her for a long moment. She seemed genuinely interested, and Grandpa had specifically brought her here to investigate the vaults...

"Charlotte and I found it," he admitted slowly. "Things got pretty bad near the end though."

"Yes, I heard about that," Rakepick's voice softened with genuine concern. "Those scars your friend has now... they're from dark magic, aren't they? That's not something that should happen to anyone, let alone someone so young."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, guilt creeping back in. "Yeah. Madam Pomfrey said they won't ever go away completely."

"I've seen similar cases during my work," Rakepick said quietly. "While the scars themselves might be permanent, there are ways to reduce their effects. I could look into some safer healing methods, if you'd like?"

That caught Harry's attention. "You know how to help with cursed scars?"

"I've learned a few tricks over the years," Rakepick nodded. "When you deal with as many curses as I do, you pick up ways to handle the aftermath too." She knelt down to his eye level. "That's actually why I wanted to talk to you. You and your friends are clever, but some of these curses... they can kill you before you even realize what's happening."

Harry tensed slightly, but she continued, "How about this - if you find any clues about the other vaults, come to me first? I've been dealing with deadly curses for years. I know how to spot the really dangerous ones, and how to deal with them safely."

"Would you take me with you?" Harry asked, warming up to the idea. "I don't feel right if I don't help put a stop to them."

"Of course!" Rakepick patted his shoulder. "You've already shown good instincts for curse-breaking. Quick thinking, creative problem-solving, and you're not afraid to try new approaches. Those are exactly the qualities a curse-breaker needs."

She stood back up, brushing off her dragon-scale pants. "Plus, this way your friend won't end up with any more cursed scars. Everyone wins, right?"

Harry nodded quickly. "That would be amazing," he said with growing enthusiasm. "I've read so much about the kinds of adventures people like you and the great Gilderoy Lockhart go on, but reading isn't the same as actually doing it. And Grandpa - I mean, Professor Dumbledore - hired you specifically, so you must be really good at it!"

Rakepick laughed and ruffled his hair, making it even messier than usual. "You're an interesting kid, Potter. Most children your age would be scared of curses, not excited to learn about breaking them." She straightened up and adjusted her red waistcoat. "But for now, go enjoy yourself. There'll be plenty of time for curse-breaking lessons later. And no need to worry about informing Miss Whitewood, I've already been in contact with her and offered her some training."

"Thanks Madam Rakepick!" Harry said, genuinely excited now about learning from a real curse-breaker. He watched her walk away, thinking that Grandpa really did know how to pick the best people – all... almost all of the professors at Hogwarts were amazing, and now a famous curse-breaker who actually wanted to help them solve the Cursed Vault mysteries properly!

The thought of Tonks and Charlotte practicing the Patronus Charm suddenly popped into his head. He'd almost forgotten! Harry transformed into an eagle and quickly took off through the castle corridors. The familiar rush of air under his wings helped clear his mind as he soared through the open windows and over the path to Hogsmeade.

Beating his wings back as he landed in front of the Three Broomsticks, Harry changed back and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The pub was packed with students enjoying their weekend, their chatter filling the warm air. He spotted Tonks's bright purple hair at a corner table where she sat with Charlotte, both of them hunched over what looked like a book.

"Hi!" Harry called out as he approached their table. "Can I join you? I know I can't cast the Patronus Charm yet, but maybe I could learn how it works? That way I'll be ready when I get my wand!"

Tonks and Charlotte shared a glance before Tonks shrugged. "Sure, why not? But let's find somewhere quieter - bit too noisy in here to focus properly."

Harry followed them out of the inn, noticing Merula heading towards their now-empty table. The afternoon sun was warm on his face as they walked past the edge of the village, finding a nice grassy spot away from the busy streets.

"Right then," Tonks said, pulling out her wand. "The Patronus Charm is all about happy memories. The happiest you can think of. You focus on that feeling, let it fill you up completely, then say 'Expecto Patronum'."

She demonstrated, and the silver rabbit burst forth again, hopping around them playfully before fading away. "See? Simple enough in theory, but it takes most people ages to get it right because of the memory and focus required."

"Oh!" Harry piped up. "I've seen the professors use those to send messages! Aunt Min's is a cat, and Grandpa's is a phoenix."

Tonks blinked in surprise. "Wait, they can carry messages? I didn't know that. Have to try that out later."

Charlotte stepped forward, gripping her wand tightly. "Mind if I give it a try now?"

When Tonks nodded, Charlotte closed her eyes, taking slow breaths. "Expecto Patronum!"

Nothing happened. Charlotte's shoulders slumped slightly. "Need a better memory, I guess..."

She went still, clearly searching through her memories. After a couple minutes, she raised her wand again. "Expecto Patronum!"

This time, silvery mist flowed from her wand tip, hanging in the air like morning fog.

"Bloody hell!" Tonks's hair shifted to bright yellow in her excitement. "That's incredible! It took me a whole two weeks to get even that much mist. What memory did you use?"

Charlotte smiled slightly, her eyes distant. "I thought about the Ice Vault, when we finally broke through. Right at that moment, I heard Jacob's voice in my head. It was the first time I'd heard him since he disappeared."

"What?" Harry leaned forward, confused. "I didn't hear anything back then. What did he say?"

Charlotte sighed, running a hand through her hair. "He told me I had to find the other vaults and his 'room'. And..." She frowned, looking troubled. "He said I couldn't let 'her' get there first."

"Her?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Charlotte admitted. "But that's why I can't stop looking for the vaults. They must be connected to where Jacob is." She gripped her wand tighter. "Even with the Dementors and everything else, I have to keep trying. He's my brother."

Tonks placed a hand on Charlotte's shoulder. "Well, that explains why you're so good at this. That's a really powerful memory - hearing your brother for the first time in years, knowing he's alive somewhere."

Harry watched them, thinking about the memory he'd experienced earlier with the Dementor. He'd heard his mother's voice for the first time too, but it wasn't a happy memory at all. He wondered what it would be like to hear from someone you loved and know they were still out there, waiting to be found.

"We'll help you," Harry said firmly. "Right, Tonks?"

"Course we will," Tonks nodded, then shifted her stance. "But for now, let's keep practicing. If you're sure this memory of Jacob is strong enough, then it's just a matter of getting the focus and practice down."

Charlotte smiled gratefully. "Thanks, both of you. I'd like to try again-"

"Wait," Tonks cut her off, staring at something behind them. "Is that... Tulip?"

Harry turned to look where Tonks was pointing. A Ravenclaw student with striking red hair and black eyebrows was walking toward the Forbidden Forest in a very strange manner.

"Tulip!" Tonks called out, worry clear in her voice. "What are you doing?"

The girl didn't respond or even slow down, continuing her steady walk toward the treeline.

"I'll check," Harry said quickly, transforming and flapping his wings to go and intercept the Ravenclaw student, landing and changing back to human form right in front of her. That's when he noticed her eyes were closed.

"You're not supposed to go into the Forbidden Forest," Harry said, trying to sound firm despite his confusion. "It's out of bounds for students..."

Tulip didn't acknowledge him at all, walking straight ahead. Harry had to quickly step aside to avoid being walked through.

"Her eyes are closed!" he called back to Tonks and Charlotte, who were running over. "She's not responding to anything!"

Tonks reached them first, grabbing Tulip's shoulders and turning her around. "Merlin's beard, she really is sleeping," Tonks muttered, then started gently shaking her friend. "Tulip! Wake up!"

The red-haired girl's eyes fluttered, and she made some unintelligible sounds. "Wha... where'm I?" she slurred, clearly disoriented.

"Tulip? How did you get all the way out here?" Tonks asked, keeping her hands on the girl's shoulders to steady her.

"I was... studying... library..." Tulip mumbled, her head drooping forward before jerking back up. Her eyes kept trying to close despite her obvious attempts to stay awake.

"She's sleep-walking," Charlotte said, moving closer to help support Tulip's other side. "My cousin used to do this sometimes. We need to get her inside before she hurts herself."

Harry watched as Tulip's head lolled to the side again. Something felt wrong about this. His Hero's Journal was giving him a gentle mental nudge, suggesting this wasn't just regular sleepwalking. But before he could say anything, Tonks was already taking charge of the situation.

"Right, I'm taking her to the Hospital Wing," Tonks declared, shifting to better support Tulip's weight. "Madam Pomfrey needs to check this out. You two can keep practicing if you want - just remember Charlotte, focus with your whole being on your happiest memory and say the incantation clearly."

"But-" Harry started to protest, wanting to point out that this seemed suspicious with everything else happening lately.

"No buts," Tonks cut him off, already starting to guide Tulip back toward the castle. "If something's wrong, Madam Pomfrey will figure it out."

He watched as Tonks carefully led the still-drowsy Tulip away, leaving him alone with Charlotte.

"Think this is connected to the vaults somehow?" Charlotte asked quietly once Tonks was away.

"Has to be," Harry replied, though he couldn't exactly tell her about the Hero's Journal. "First the Dementor, now this? Something weird is definitely happening."

 

[Evoxius]

Harry and Charlotte started walking back towards the castle, the evening air growing colder. They both stopped short when they spotted a dark figure floating in the Bell Tower Courtyard.

"Not again," Charlotte whispered, reaching for her wand.

Harry could already feel the unnatural cold seeping into his bones. The memory of his mother's voice threatened to overwhelm him, but he refused to just stand there helplessly this time. He gathered the magic from the world, letting it flow through his Po Soul, be shaped by his Hun Soul and finally manifest as mist in his palm. Harry carefully directed it towards the approaching Dementor.

But something was wrong. The mist passed straight through the hooded figure as if it wasn't even there. Harry frowned - his mist always gave him some kind of feedback when it touched something living, even plants. This felt like throwing water at empty air.

Not willing to give up, Harry gathered the mist again and tried to wrap it around the creature's hooded head from behind. Yet the Dementor continued gliding forward, completely unaffected.

Charlotte raised her wand. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

Thick silvery mist poured from her wand tip, and for the first time the Dementor seemed to hesitate. But after that brief pause, it kept coming, just a bit slower now.

The cold intensified. Harry felt the memory trying to drag him under again - green light, his mother's desperate pleas. But he remembered his training with the mental interference bracelet. Instead of fighting the interference, he let it happen in the background of his Hun Soul while doing his best to stay focused on the present moment.

Harry knew his mist wasn't working, but maybe fire would. He concentrated on the chi flowing through his body, directing it down his arm in a controlled spiral. The energy built up as it traveled through his shoulder, elbow, and finally gathered in his palm. With a sharp downward motion like slashing with a sword, Harry released a whip-like stream of blue flame.

The fire poured over the 12-feet high Dementor's tattered black robes but seemed to have no effect at all. The hooded figure didn't even slow down.

"None of our magic is really working," Harry said, backing away. "And I don't think this is a real Dementor."

"What do you mean?" Charlotte asked, still maintaining her misty Patronus shield.

"My mist went right through it. That's never happened before, not with anything alive or even magical creatures. It's like there's nothing actually there...

But the cold kept getting worse, and Harry could hear his mother's voice getting louder in his head. Whatever this thing was, it definitely felt real enough.

"Real or not, we need to stop it," Charlotte said, her wand hand shaking slightly as she maintained the misty shield. "It could hurt someone."

Harry nodded. He could turn into an eagle and fly away, and Charlotte could escape as a cat, but other students wouldn't have that option. If this thing found someone else, they might just freeze up and...

"Harry," Charlotte's voice cut through his thoughts. "Can you keep it busy for a minute? I need to focus properly."

He hesitated for a long second, then nodded. If he had to guess, she probably wanted to attempt the charm again with all of her focus. And that would be difficult to do with a Dementor going straight for them…

"Hey! Over here!" Harry shouted, waving his arms. "Come get me instead!"

The Dementor turned toward him, its tattered robes flowing as it changed direction. Harry waited until he was sure it was following him before running away, keeping an eye behind him. The creature was fast - faster than he'd expected. He pushed himself to run quicker, jumping over a bench in his path, then another.

While running, he checked on Charlotte. She stood completely still, eyes closed, wand raised. Clearly, he needed to buy her more time.

Harry leaped onto a nearby fountain, spun around, and focused on his chi. He felt it building up inside him, different from the spiral movement he had used just now. This time he let it rush straight through his arm, building pressure at his wrist before punching forward with a sharp motion.

A concentrated ball of blue fire shot toward the Dementor. Like before, it passed right through without effect.

"Great," Harry muttered, flipping backward off the fountain and starting to run again. At least the thing was still following him instead of Charlotte.

"Harry!" Charlotte called out.

He immediately changed direction, running back toward her in a wide arc. The Dementor was barely ten seconds behind him now.

Charlotte took a deep breath, and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The silver mist exploded from her wand, but this time it took shape - a massive tiger made of moonlight that roared loud enough to make Harry's ears ring. The Dementor immediately turned and fled as the tiger charged after it.

"We have to follow it!" Harry urged, already moving. "Make sure it doesn't go after anyone else!"

Charlotte nodded quickly, and they chased after her Patronus, watching as it drove the Dementor further and further away from the castle grounds and into the Forbidden Forest.

Harry slowly stopped running when it became clear it was gone. "That was amazing! Your Patronus turned into a real tiger!" He grinned at Charlotte. "And you learned it so fast too - way faster than Tonks said most people do."

But Charlotte wasn't celebrating. She stared back toward the courtyard, frowning. "Harry, doesn't it seem weird to you? That's the third time we've seen a Dementor in exactly the same place."

"You think the courtyard has a clue?"

"Has to. Come on!" Charlotte started running back toward the courtyard, her wand still ready.

Harry followed close behind. The cold feeling was completely gone now, replaced by the normal evening chill. Charlotte moved quickly through the area, checking behind benches and under bushes.

"Found it!" She pulled a black quill from beneath one of the stone benches. Charlotte drew her wand, pointing it at the quill. "Reparifarge!"

The quill shimmered and transformed into a sealed letter. She broke the wax seal and read aloud: "Congratulations, you passed. - R"

Harry felt a familiar tingle from the Hero's Journal - that same gentle nudge telling him that this 'R' was very important somehow. This time though, he wanted more details now. He unclipped the Journal from his dragon-hide belt while speaking to Charlotte.

"That's really suspicious," he said, frowning at the letter. "And I guess the Dementor was real after all... it wouldn't run away from your Patronus if it wasn't."

Harry opened the Journal, its pages warm against his fingers. He quickly flipped past the parts written from his perspective - those were less helpful since they just showed what he already knew. The really useful bits were always in the omnipresent narrator sections, where the Journal seemed to know things nobody else did.

His eyes widened as he found what he was looking for:

'Charlotte Whitewood stood in the courtyard, holding a letter from someone who had been watching over her progress for a long time. The same person who had guided her brother Jacob toward the Cursed Vaults. Unbeknownst to the siblings, R had plans within plans for them both.'

"Charlotte," Harry started to say, but stopped himself. He couldn't tell her what the Journal revealed - that would lead to too many questions he couldn't answer. Instead, he asked, "Do you think R might be connected to your brother somehow?"

Charlotte stared at the letter in her hands. "This isn't the first one," she said quietly. "R has been sending me letters for a while now. There was one that led me to the Ice Vault, and a few weeks ago they warned that they would 'unleash it' - which must have meant the Dementor."

She pulled another crumpled piece of parchment from her robe pocket. "Tonks and I found this one at the Three Broomsticks earlier. Listen to this: 'As requested, I've brought the Dementor to Hogwarts. It has already made contact. Despite an encounter with the Hogwarts staff, I ensured that it eluded capture. I will continue to keep an eye on the situation. So far...'" She trailed off, shaking her head. "That's where it ends."

Harry frowned, thinking hard. Someone was deliberately testing Charlotte with a Dementor, and they had enough power to control one. That seemed really dangerous, especially since Charlotte was still just a student.

"And now this new letter says I passed their test," Charlotte continued, rubbing her temples. "But I don't understand what they want. Why send all these cryptic messages? Why test me with a Dementor of all things?"

The mention of tests made Harry think of Rakepick's earlier offer to help. Maybe she could figure out who R was? He'd have to mention this to her the next time they met.

"Did Jacob ever mention anyone called R?" Harry asked carefully. "Or getting strange letters before he disappeared?"

Charlotte shook her head. "If he did, I don't remember. But..." She looked at the letters again. "I haven't seen Jacob in a long long time now. Anyway, whoever R is, they know about the vaults. They knew where to find the Ice Vault, and now they're watching us. I just wish I knew why."

Harry wanted to tell her what the Journal had revealed - about R's plans for both siblings. But he couldn't. Not without explaining how he knew, and that would lead to too many questions about where his Journal came from. Sometimes having special powers meant having to keep secrets, even from friends.

"We should be really careful," he said finally. "Someone who can control Dementors is really dangerous."

Charlotte nodded absently, tucking both letters into her pocket. "I should go check on Tulip and Tonks. Maybe Tulip noticed something weird before she started sleepwalking."

"Good idea. I need to talk to Grandpa anyway," Harry said, thinking about the Dementor and how his mist had passed right through it. That seemed like something Grandpa should know about.

He watched Charlotte hurry off toward the castle before transforming into his eagle form. Flying was faster than walking, and right now he really wanted to sort through everything that had happened. The wind under his wings helped clear his head as he soared up to the Headmaster's office window.

Sometimes Harry felt bad about keeping secrets from his friends. The Hero's Journal was probably the hardest one to hide - especially when it gave him important information that could help people. But he was smart enough, especially now, to recognize that he should be careful about who knew what. Only Grandpa knew about his special offers, and it should stay that way for a long long time. Grandpa was the most powerful wizard alive, so he could protect himself. But not everyone was unbeatable like his Grandpa, and what if someone wanted to hurt his friends to know more about him? He couldn't take that risk…

Landing on the window ledge, Harry changed back and knocked on the glass. He could see Grandpa sitting at his desk, already turning to open the window with a warm smile.

"Come in, come in," Grandpa said, waving his wand to float a comfortable chair closer to his desk. "I was just thinking about you."

Harry hopped down from the windowsill, but didn't mention anything about the Dementor chase or R's letter. That was something for Madam Rakepick to handle - she was the curse-breaking expert after all. Instead, he had a different question burning in his mind.

"Grandpa, would my mist work on a Dementor?" Harry asked, settling into the chair. "Just wondering."

Grandpa's eyes twinkled as he smiled. "Ah, a theoretical question then?" He adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "I suspect not. You see, Dementors are quite peculiar creatures. They don't have souls of their own, which is why they're always trying to steal happiness and eventually souls from others. Like an empty cup trying desperately to fill itself."

"But my mist needs a soul to work on?" Harry leaned forward, eager to understand.

"Precisely. Your mist is made of both magical and soul energy, and it affects the soul directly to create fear. Without a soul to target..." Grandpa spread his hands.

"It just passes right through," Harry finished, both relieved to understand and annoyed at the limitation. First his fire could be stopped by a simple Flame-Freezing Charm, and now this? He needed more ways to protect himself and his friends. What if he ran into something that could block both his abilities again?

As if reading his thoughts, Grandpa reached under his desk. "That reminds me - those books you asked about have arrived. A friend in China was kind enough to share some fascinating texts about Hun, Po, and the concepts of Yin and Yang."

Harry's face lit up instantly. He'd been desperate to learn more about his souls ever since getting that offer to transform his soul. What did Dense and Ethereal actually mean? How did Yin and Yang work? He didn't really know, and that annoyed him to no end.

"Really?" Harry perked up slightly in his seat as Grandpa placed several old books on the desk. Some were bound in red silk, others in leather that looked ancient.

"Thank you!" He carefully placed the books in his pouch, already excited to start reading. Finally, he'd understand what was actually happening with his souls instead of just guessing.

But Harry paused when his eyes darkened, and familiar text appeared in his mind.

[Elixir of Life - Generic Alchemist] – Costs 300CP, 375CP available to spend.

A tiny phial of glowing, clear liquid that is the elixir of life. By ingesting this liquid, a person's aging ceases entirely, they are returned to the prime of their life, and they become immune to disease. You gain one of these elixirs every ten years.

Harry froze in his seat. His eyes darted up to look at his grandfather figure sitting across the desk. Dumbledore's long white beard and hair seemed especially stark in the evening light shining through the tall window. The wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced as he watched Harry with that familiar concerned expression, probably wondering what special offer he had gotten this time.

This wasn't just any potion - this was THE potion. The one that could stop someone from getting old, sick, weak and leaving Harry. He quickly accepted the offer, not hesitating for even a moment. A small crystal phial appeared in his hand, filled with softly glowing liquid that seemed to shift and swirl on its own.

"Grandpa!" Harry thrust the phial toward Dumbledore, nearly knocking over an ink bottle in his excitement. "You need to drink this right now!"

 

[Evoxius]

Harry's hand trembled slightly as he held out the crystal phial, watching the liquid inside shine with an inner light. "Please, you have to take it right now. It's special, it'll stop you from getting old!"

Dumbledore gently pushed Harry's hand down, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "My dear boy, while I appreciate your concern, I must decline."

"But-" Harry started to protest.

"Death is not something to be feared, Harry. It is something I consider the next great adventure." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "Growing old is a natural part of life, one that brings its own kind of wisdom and beauty."

Harry shook his head frantically. "No, you don't understand. This isn't just any potion - it's the Elixir of Life! It makes you stop aging completely and brings you back to when you were strongest, and you can't get sick anymore either." He took a deep breath. "And I'll get another one every ten years, so you'll never have to worry about being alone."

Dumbledore, who had been smiling gently throughout Harry's explanation, suddenly went very still. "You said it returns someone to their prime?"

"Yes! And makes them immune to disease too. Please, Grandpa - I don't want you to leave like..." Harry trailed off, unable to finish the sentence about his parents.

Dumbledore studied the shifting liquid for a long moment. "That is quite different from Nicolas's stone," he murmured, almost to himself. "And you're certain about getting another every ten years?"

"Yes! The words said so exactly." Harry clutched the phial tighter. "Please take it. I want you to stay."

The old wizard was quiet for several long seconds as he stroked his beard. Finally, he reached out and carefully took the crystal phial from Harry's hand.

Dumbledore held the phial up to the light streaming through his office window, watching how the liquid moved inside its phial. "Harry, I understand how much this means to you. But I need to be absolutely certain about what this is before I consider drinking it."

"But the words said-" Harry started.

"Yes, and I believe you," Dumbledore said gently. "However, there's an old friend of mine who knows more about the Elixir of Life than anyone else alive. I'd like him to examine this with me, to understand exactly how it works."

Harry slumped back in his chair. He knew Dumbledore was being sensible - after all, drinking unknown potions was dangerous. But part of him had hoped his grandpa would just trust him and take it right away.

"Who's your friend?" Harry asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"Nicolas Flamel," Dumbledore replied, still studying the elixir. "He created the Philosopher's Stone, which produces a different version of the Elixir of Life. If anyone can help us understand this potion properly, it's him."

Harry perked up slightly. He'd seen Nicolas Flamel before in one of his rare Famous Witches and Wizards Cards! "The one who's over six hundred years old?"

"Indeed." Dumbledore finally lowered the phial, and Harry noticed something odd in his expression - a flash of what looked like hope, quickly hidden. "This potion... if it can indeed make me return to my prime, it would..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "No, nevermind."

Harry wanted to ask what Dumbledore meant, but the old wizard was already carefully wrapping the crystal phial in a silk handkerchief and placing it in a drawer of his desk. "I'll contact Nicolas tonight. For now, why don't you go and read your new books?"

Harry nodded slowly, still watching the desk drawer where Dumbledore had placed the Elixir. He attached his pouch to his enchanted belt, but before he could stand up, Dumbledore raised his hand.

"One more thing, Harry. It's very important that you don't tell anyone about this Elixir - not even your friends or the professors." Dumbledore's voice was firm. "There are many dark wizards who would do terrible things to obtain such a potion. Some might even try to hurt you or the people you care about to learn how you got it."

The words made Harry's stomach twist uncomfortably. He had already figured that out himself - if bad people found out he could get an Elixir of Life every ten years, they wouldn't care that he was just a child. They would do anything to force him to give them the potion, just like they had tried to hurt him because he had somehow defeated Voldemort as a baby.

"I understand, Grandpa," Harry said quietly. "It's like how I don't tell anyone about the special words, except you."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly. "Speaking of things you tell me... did anything particularly interesting happen today that you might have forgotten to mention?"

Harry paused, then shrugged. He had planned to tell Madam Rakepick about it, but if Grandpa wanted to know now, why not? He explained about the Dementor in the courtyard, Charlotte's Patronus tiger, and the mysterious letters from R.

As Harry finished his story, Dumbledore's expression grew increasingly serious. He steepled his fingers together and leaned forward. "Harry, help me understand something. Why did you not immediately come to tell me about a soul-sucking monster loose on the school grounds?"

"Well..." Harry shifted in his chair. "I was going to tell Madam Rakepick. She said she'd help us investigate the vaults safely."

"I see." Dumbledore's voice was calm, but Harry could tell he wasn't happy. "And did you consider that while you were making these plans, other students might encounter this Dementor? Students who cannot cast a Patronus or transform into an eagle to escape?"

Harry's stomach dropped. He hadn't really thought about that. He'd been so focused on solving the mystery and helping Charlotte that he'd forgotten about the danger to everyone else.

"I know you want to have adventures and solve mysteries, Harry. That's natural for someone as curious and capable as you are." Dumbledore's blue eyes held Harry's gaze. "But you cannot treat dangerous situations like a game. What if Miss Haywood hadn't been found quickly after her encounter with the Dementor? What if Miss Karasu had wandered deeper into the Forbidden Forest while sleepwalking?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly. "I just... I wanted to help Charlotte find her brother. And I can take care of myself with my abilities."

"Harry." Dumbledore's voice grew softer. "While I admire your desire to help your friends, and your confidence in your abilities, you must understand that being able to protect yourself does not mean you should seek out danger."

Harry frowned, crossing his arms. "But my mist and fire can stop bad things. And I can fly away if it's too dangerous. And now I'm smarter too, so-"

"Enough." Dumbledore cut him off firmly. The old wizard stood up and walked around his desk, kneeling in front of Harry's chair so they were at eye level. "You are still a child, Harry. A remarkably gifted child, yes, but still seven years old. Your special abilities do not make you invincible, nor do they give you the right to put others at risk."

"I wasn't putting anyone at risk! I was trying to help!"

"By keeping quiet about a Dementor loose in the school?" Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Harry. That was not helping. That was being reckless."

Harry felt his eyes start to burn. He wasn't being reckless - he was being brave! Like his parents had been! But before he could say this, Dumbledore continued.

"I think you need some time to think about the difference between being helpful and being reckless. For the next month, you will not be allowed in the library except for supervised study periods. No flying as an eagle. And you will write me an essay about why it's important to tell adults when dangerous situations arise."

"But that's not fair!" Harry protested. "Charlotte gets to keep investigating!"

"Miss Whitewood is not you, Harry. You are seven." Dumbledore's voice remained gentle. "And while you may be exceptionally intelligent and talented, that does not change the fact that you are still developing emotionally."

"But I'm smarter now! And I have special powers!" Harry blinked hard, trying to keep the tears from falling. "I can help people! I'm the Boy-Who-Lived…"

"And that is precisely why I must be strict with you now," Dumbledore said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Being the Boy-Who-Lived, having special powers, being exceptionally bright - these things mean you have a greater responsibility to make good choices, not an excuse to be reckless."

Harry slumped in his chair. He understood what Grandpa was saying, but it still hurt. He had tried so hard to be helpful, to be brave like his parents, and now he was being punished for it.

"But what about Charlotte?" Harry asked, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "She needs help finding her brother."

"And she will receive that help - from the proper authorities, including Madam Rakepick." Dumbledore returned to his chair. "Your role right now is to be a good friend to Charlotte, not to put yourself in danger trying to solve mysteries meant for much older wizards."

"I don't want to just sit and do nothing," Harry said quietly.

"You won't be doing nothing. You'll be learning, growing, and most importantly, staying safe." Dumbledore's eyes softened. "Harry, do you know why I'm being so firm about this?"

Harry shook his head.

"Because I care about you very much, and the thought of you getting hurt..." Dumbledore paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Perhaps it would be good for you to spend some time away from the castle for a while."

Harry's eyes widened in horror, and tears immediately started falling. "No! Please, I don't want to go away! I'll be good, I promise!" His voice cracked as he spoke, hands gripping the arms of his chair tightly.

"I don't mean permanently," Dumbledore said quickly, but his expression remained serious. "But maybe... yes, perhaps my old friend wouldn't mind someone staying with him and his wife for a while..."

Harry's breath hitched as he tried to stop crying. The thought of leaving Hogwarts, of leaving his home and his family, was terrifying. Even though he knew logically that going away temporarily wasn't the same thing, he couldn't help but panic at the idea.

"Please," Harry whispered, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I'll tell you everything right away next time. I won't try to solve mysteries anymore. Just don't send me away."

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "I think this would be good for you. My old friends are very nice and patient people. And with the Elixir to examine, the timing couldn't be better."

Harry shrank further into his chair. "But Hogwarts is my home."

"And it will remain your home," Dumbledore assured him. "This would just be for some time. Think of it as... a special kind of lesson."

"What about my painting practice? And Chiara's..." Harry stopped himself before mentioning the full moon. Even upset, he remembered his promise to keep her secret.

"You can take your art supplies with you. And I'm sure your friends will understand a short absence." Dumbledore said gently. "This isn't a punishment, Harry. It's an opportunity to learn from two of the wisest people I know, away from the distractions and dangers of the castle."

Harry wanted to argue more, but he recognized the tone in Dumbledore's voice. It was the same one he used when explaining why Harry couldn't have a real broom yet, or why he had to eat vegetables even though he didn't need much food. The tone that meant no amount of arguing would change his mind.

"Can I at least say goodbye to everyone first?" Harry asked in a small voice.

"Of course. We'll make arrangements over the next few days." Dumbledore smiled softly. "Now, why don't you go get some rest? It's been quite an eventful evening."

Harry slid off the chair, his new books feeling heavy in his pouch. He walked to the office door with slow steps, hoping Dumbledore might change his mind. But when he reached for the handle, all his grandpa said was "Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight," Harry mumbled with tears in his eyes, pulling the door open.

 

[Evoxius]

Harry stood in Grandpa's office, looking up at Dumbledore who was writing something in a phoenix-embossed book. He sighed, watching the quill scratch across the parchment.

Another sigh escaped him as he kicked at the carpet with his shoe.

"It really won't be so bad, Harry," Dumbledore said with a soft chuckle, not looking up from his writing.

Harry just sighed again, louder this time. He had already tried everything - he'd even gone to Aunt Min and Uncle Filius, explaining how he needed to stay at Hogwarts to practice his abilities. But they'd just nodded along and agreed with Grandpa that some time away would be good for him.

And Snape... Harry scowled at the memory. The Potions Master had actually smiled when he heard the news, saying "At last the castle will have some peace and quiet after years of chaos from our arrogant celebrity." As if Harry caused that much trouble!

Another deep sigh.

"Ah, I believe it's about time we departed to France!" Dumbledore stood up, clapping his hands together cheerfully.

Harry ignored him, suddenly finding his shoelaces extremely interesting. Maybe if he just stood here long enough...

But then Dumbledore was beside him, holding a small ceramic mug in his left hand. His other hand came to rest on Harry's shoulder. "Now then, what must you remember to do?"

"Kick my legs back and forth so I don't fall on my face," Harry mumbled, reaching out to touch the mug. "And hold on tight."

"Very good! Now, careful..." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp tug behind his navel. His feet left the ground, and it felt like someone had grabbed his insides and turned them inside out while yanking him forward. Wind howled in his ears as colors swirled around him.

Then it was over. They were falling through open air, and Harry automatically started moving his feet in a walking motion like Grandpa had taught him. Five seconds later, they both landed softly on grass.

Harry looked around, blinking to clear his vision. In front of them stood a small, humble house with a thatched roof and white-washed walls. Two ancient-looking people stood in the doorway, dressed in simple white robes. They had matching white hair and weathered pale faces, but their eyes were bright and alert as they watched their visitors arrive.

"Albus, my dear friend!" Nicolas Flamel practically sprung down the steps. "When your letter arrived, I could hardly contain myself! Come, come - is it true? But no, first things first!" He grabbed Dumbledore's hands and shook them vigorously.

While the two old wizards chatted, Perenelle Flamel made her way over to where Harry stood studying his shoes. She slowly knelt down beside him. "Hello, young Harry. I've heard so much about you from Albus."

Harry kicked at the grass, not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to talk. "Hello," he mumbled.

"I understand you're quite the artist," Perenelle continued gently. "We have a lovely garden you might enjoy painting."

"I guess," Harry replied quietly, though he did glance up briefly at the mention of painting.

"Nicolas, perhaps we should continue this discussion inside?" Perenelle suggested, noting Harry's discomfort. "I've just made fresh tea and biscuits."

"Oh yes, yes! How thoughtless of me!" Nicolas exclaimed. "Please, everyone inside! Though mind the doorframe, Albus - I still haven't fixed it since that explosion last month."

Once they were settled in the cozy sitting room, Nicolas could barely contain himself. "Now then, Albus - is what you wrote about truly possible? A different kind of Elixir?"

Dumbledore reached into his robes and carefully unwrapped a small package, placing the crystal phial on the table. The liquid inside gleamed with an inner light.

Nicolas practically pressed his nose against the glass, his eyes wide with wonder. "Extraordinary! The luminescence, the viscosity... I've never seen anything quite like it!"

He reached for his wand but in his excitement knocked it off the table. As he bent to retrieve it, several loud cracks came from his joints. "Oh, my old bones," he groaned, rubbing his back as he finally grasped his wand. He held it up to the phial, muttering detection spells under his breath.

Nicolas continued casting spells while Dumbledore watched with interest. The two old wizards were completely absorbed in their examination of the phial.

"Harry, dear," Perenelle said softly, "why don't I show you to your room while these two get lost in their research? They could be at it for hours when they're like this."

Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who gave him an encouraging nod without looking away from Nicolas's spellwork.

"Okay," Harry mumbled, adjusting his belt that held his art supplies and books.

Perenelle led him up a narrow wooden staircase that creaked under their feet. The walls were lined with old paintings - not the moving kind like at Hogwarts, but still pretty. Harry noticed how the light hit them differently than magical paintings.

"Here we are," Perenelle said, opening a door to reveal a small but bright room. A window overlooked the garden she'd mentioned earlier, and a desk sat beneath it. "I thought you might like having natural light for painting."

Harry walked over to the window, looking down at the colorful flowers below. "The colors are nice," he admitted quietly.

"They are, aren't they?" Perenelle smiled. "Nicolas tries to grow them the mundane way - says magic makes them too perfect. Though he does cheat sometimes when he thinks I'm not looking."

That got a tiny smile from Harry, though he quickly tried to hide it.

"Would you like to see my favorite spot in the garden?" Perenelle asked. "There's an old apple tree that's perfect for sitting under. And if you're hungry, I wasn't joking about those biscuits earlier."

Harry considered for a moment. He still didn't want to be here, away from his home. But he hadn't eaten in nearly a week, and the garden did look pretty. "Maybe just for a little while," he said.

"Wonderful," Perenelle beamed. "And perhaps you can tell me about your paintings while we have our snack? Albus mentioned you've done quite a few."

Harry followed her back downstairs and through a side door that led to the garden. The apple tree stood at the far end, its branches spreading wide to create a natural canopy. A worn wooden bench sat beneath it, looking comfortable despite its age.

"The biscuits are chocolate," Perenelle mentioned as they settled on the bench. She pulled out a tin from her robes. "Nicolas says they're too sweet, but I think he's just grumpy because I won't let him add experimental potions to them anymore."

That got a small smile from Harry.

She offered Harry the tin. "So, what do you like to paint?"

Harry took a biscuit, thinking about his answer. "I like painting the Great Lake at sunset. And sometimes the creatures in the Forbidden Forest, when I spot them from the Astronomy Tower, though I don't need to see them anymore... The unicorns are hard though - they move too fast for me to get a good view of their faces."

"You've seen unicorns?" Perenelle asked, genuine interest in her voice.

"Once. I spotted a herd near the forest's edge while I was flying above the lake." Harry paused, realizing she might not understand what he meant, but Perenelle just nodded.

"Albus mentioned you could transform. That's quite remarkable for someone your age." She took a biscuit herself. "Would you like to see something interesting?"

Harry nodded, curious despite his lingering reluctance to be here.

"Follow me," Perenelle stood up, brushing crumbs from her robes. She led him past beds of colorful flowers and herbs, some of which Harry recognized from the books on Herbology. At the back of the garden stood a tall hedge. Perenelle tapped it three times with her wand, and an archway appeared.

"This," she said with a wink, "is where we keep the exciting parts of our garden."

Through the archway, Harry saw plants he'd never seen before. Flowers that changed colors as they bloomed, trees with crystal fruits that chimed in the breeze, and what looked like a small pond filled with liquid rainbow.

"Nicolas likes to experiment," Perenelle explained. "Sometimes things go wonderfully right, and sometimes... well, that's why we keep them even further back than here."

Harry walked forward, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be unhappy about being here. "What's that one?" he asked, pointing to a bush covered in what looked like tiny floating lanterns.

"Ah," Perenelle smiled. "That's what happens when you accidentally cross Fairy Lights with Whistling Daisies. Would you like to help me water them? They make the most interesting sounds when they're happy..."

Harry hesitated. He was supposed to be sad about leaving Hogwarts, not having fun in some garden. But the tiny lights bobbed so invitingly, and his fingers itched to capture their glow in a painting. "Okay," he whispered.

Perenelle handed him a small copper watering can. "Just a gentle sprinkle," she instructed. "Too much water and they start singing opera."

Harry tipped the watering can slowly, and the bush erupted instantly in soft chiming sounds, like dozens of tiny bells. The floating lights swayed and pulsed with each note, creating patterns of light that shone through the air. Some of the lights broke free from their stems, floating up to circle around Harry's head while humming a cheerful tune.

"They like you," Perenelle said, watching as more lights detached to join the impromptu dance. "Usually they're quite shy with strangers."

oo0ooOoo0oo​

Harry and Perenelle returned from the garden, their robes smudged with dirt and grass stains. The Whistling Daisies had been particularly excited about being watered, spraying them both with rainbow-colored droplets that left odd patterns on their clothes. Harry had found himself enjoying the experience, which he hadn't expected.

They found Dumbledore and Nicolas in the sitting room, surrounded by diagrams full of many numbers and glowing magical instruments. The crystal phial containing the Elixir sat in the center of a carved silver platform etched with different carvings.

"It's the most peculiar thing, Albus," Nicolas was saying, gesturing at a floating near-transparent diagram. "The patterns simply refuse to stabilize. Every detection matrix I've tried - even my modified Paracelsian framework - just... slides off."

"Yes, the same occurred with my attempts at magical signature analysis," Dumbledore agreed, adjusting one of the instruments. "The Revello series produced null results, and even Ollivander's Principle of Magical Coherence fails to apply."

Nicolas tapped his wand against some floating numbers. "Look here - the arithmantic values keep shifting between prime sequences. It's as if the potion exists in multiple magical states simultaneously." He conjured another diagram. "The base resonance suggests a transformation catalyst, similar to my Stone's output, but the overtones..." He shook his head in frustration.

"Perhaps your Glass could help identify the underlying principles?" Dumbledore suggested, before glancing at Harry. "Though I suspect whatever power is preventing our analysis won't allow full replication, regardless of methodology."

Nicolas followed Dumbledore's gaze to Harry, and sighed deeply as his hands covered his blue eyes for a short moment. "Yes... to think, at my age, I'd discover there are higher powers at work in this world. How wonderfully humbling."

Nicolas slowly shook his head, collapsing the floating diagrams with a wave of his hand. "The Glass might give us some insight into the transformative matrix, but..." He gestured at the small amount of liquid. "This is our only sample. Using the Glass would require at least three drops for a proper analysis, and there's no guarantee it wouldn't alter the remaining solution's properties."

He pulled out a piece of parchment covered in numbers that Harry didn't understand at all. "However, if we could isolate even a fraction of the underlying principles... Look here." He pointed to a particular equation. "The decay rate is nonexistent. Even my Stone's Elixir shows minor degradation over time, but this..." He tapped the crystal phial gently. "Perfect stasis. And the way it seems like it would interface with living tissue - the preliminary readings suggest it doesn't just halt aging, it actively reverses temporal degradation at the fundamental level and keeps it there."

Dumbledore leaned closer to examine the equations. "And you believe this could be replicated, even if only partially?"

"With enough research, perhaps." Nicolas began sorting a few parchments on the table into one stack. "The primary challenge would be stabilizing the transformative matrix without access to the original catalyst. But if we could identify the key frequencies... maybe using a modified version of Vagbhata's Resonance Theory..."

He looked back at the crystal phial, his hands clenching slightly on the table. "Albus, we must do our very best with this."

"Nicolas-" Dumbledore started, but Nicolas rapidly shook his head.

"I know what I told you before, about Perenelle and I being ready to move on. But now..." He gestured at his aged body. "We've been trapped in these failing shells for so long. If we must continue like this, growing even slightly weaker each decade for another century... yes, we'd choose to pass on."

Harry listened quietly, understanding more than they probably thought he did. He remembered how Chiara suffered each month, trapped in a body that wasn't really hers.

"But young bodies!" Nicolas's eyes lit up with sudden energy. "To truly enjoy life again to its fullest extent! No, we can't give up on this opportunity." He gripped onto the parchments tightly. "Even if some greater power is at work, what an fascinating challenge! If we can replicate it even partially... just enough to refresh our bodies..."

He looked up at Dumbledore, almost jumping in his seat. "We won't need to rely on young Harry's gift if we can create our own version. Think of the research possibilities!"

"I think," Perenelle interrupted gently, "that's enough excitement for one evening. Harry must be tired after the journey."

Nicolas blinked, seeming to remember they weren't alone. "Oh! Yes, of course. My apologies, young man. When research beckons, I tend to get carried away."

Harry shrugged, not really tired since his firebending exercises were way more exhausting than this. He watched the old alchemist shuffle his remaining loose parchment into a neat pile, seeing how Nicolas's hands shook slightly.

"Before we retire," Dumbledore said, standing up from his chair, "there's one more thing." He pulled out a familiar red bracelet from his robes. "Your Occlumency training should continue while you're here."

Harry took the bracelet, slipping it onto his wrist. The mental static buzzed faintly against his Hun Soul, barely noticeable at this setting. "Will you be coming back for practice?"

"Actually," Dumbledore smiled gently at him, "you'll have plenty to keep you busy here. Perenelle is quite the accomplished Herbologist - I believe you've already seen some of her more interesting specimens in the garden? She's also quite talented with various forms of art. I think you'll find her knowledge of magical pigments particularly fascinating."

"Oh yes," Perenelle added warmly. "I'd love to show you how to make your own magical paints. And there are several rare plants in the garden that create the most beautiful natural dyes."

Nicolas perked up from his diagrams. "And when you're not busy with that, perhaps you'd like to learn a bit about potions? Nothing too advanced, of course, but there are some basic brews that any young wizard should know."

"We'll make sure you have plenty to do," Perenelle assured him. "Though there will still be time for painting and relaxation, of course."

Dumbledore chuckled. "For now, I should return to Hogwarts." He knelt down to Harry's level. "Remember what we discussed. This isn't a punishment - it's an opportunity to learn from two of the wisest people I know."

Harry nodded, though his chest still felt tight at the thought of Dumbledore leaving. "Will you tell everyone I said goodbye again?"

"Of course." Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder gently. "Be good, and try to keep an open mind. You might find yourself enjoying your time here more than you expect."

After one final squeeze of Harry's shoulder, Dumbledore stood and bid farewell to the Flamels. Then with a soft pop, he disappeared.

Harry stood in the middle of the sitting room, suddenly very aware that he was alone with two strangers. Well, not exactly strangers since Grandpa trusted them, but still unknown. His instincts told him both were nearly as dangerous as Grandpa, which didn't help at all.

Perenelle broke the awkward silence. "Would you like to help me prepare dinner? Nicolas gets terribly clumsy in the kitchen, but I could use an extra pair of hands."

"I heard that," Nicolas muttered good-naturedly, already turning back to his diagrams.

Harry considered saying no, but remembered how nice it had been in the garden earlier when he'd given it a chance. "Okay. But I don't need to eat much."

"That's fine, dear." Perenelle smiled warmly. "Though I warn you - once you try my shepherd's pie, you might change your mind about that."

 

[Evoxius]

Harry sat at his desk by the window, morning light streaming through the apple tree outside. The past week had kept him busy - learning about magical herbs with Perenelle, reading Nicolas's recommended beginner potion books, and helping in the garden. But now he finally had time for something he'd been eager to explore.

He pulled out the red silk-bound book Grandpa had given him about Hun and Po souls. The moment he opened it, the strange symbols shifted and reformed into readable text. He recalled the exact moment he'd received this soul transformation - how it had felt like being split in two, yet becoming more whole at the same time.

The first passage caught his attention immediately: "Master Wei speaks: The soul is like water and steam. The Po remains below as dense water, anchoring the vessel. The Hun rises as ethereal steam, free to touch the heavens. Yet they are one and the same, merely in different states of being."

Harry traced the words with his finger. The book continued: "Young scholar, know this truth - as the moon pulls the tide, so does the Hun pull the spirit skyward. As the earth grounds the root, so does the Po anchor flesh. In harmony they flow, in discord they falter."

Harry slowly flipped through the pages. The next section expanded on Master Wei's teachings:

"The Hun soul, being Yang in nature, reaches ever upward like flames seeking heaven. It carries with it consciousness, dreams, and higher thought - untethered by earthly concerns. When one's Hun is strong, the mind remains clear even as the body falters. Master Li demonstrated this truth when he continued teaching despite severe illness, his thoughts unmarred by fever."

Harry thought back to when he'd first received the offer about the Three Hun and Seven Po. The offer had mentioned how the Hun would protect his mind from bodily weakness. According to this book - his consciousness was like a flame floating above a candle, aware of the wax below but not bound by its condition.

The book continued with Master Chang's observations: "The Po soul grounds us in flesh, being Yin in nature. As water seeks the lowest point, so does the Po maintain our earthly vessel. It tends to muscle and bone, to breath and blood. A cultivated Po soul keeps the body strong without conscious effort, like a garden that tends itself."

More passages followed, describing how the Hun and Po worked together: "Venerable Master Sun notes that Yang cannot exist without Yin, just as day requires night. The Hun provides the spark of will, while the Po executes that will through the body. When practicing martial arts, the Hun decides the strike while the Po guides the hand. In meditation, the Hun soars while the Po remains steady."

The text grew more complex as it discussed the traditional belief in Three Hun and Seven Po: "The Three Hun govern spirit, consciousness, and wisdom. The Seven Po manage the physical senses and drives. Yet contemporary philosophers understand these as aspects of the greater Hun and Po duality..."

Harry slowly put the book aside and stared out the window at the apple tree. His perfect memory let him recall every word he'd just read, but understanding it all was different. The book said his Hun soul was like steam rising up, while his Po soul was like water flowing down. That made sense - he'd seen both happen plenty of times during firebending practice next to the Great Lake.

But there was more to it. His Hun soul protected his mind, keeping it clear even when his body was tired or hurt.

And his Po soul... Harry flexed his hand, watching the muscles move. The book said it maintained his body without him having to think about it. Like how he didn't need to exercise anymore to stay fit, or how his chi paths had become smoother for firebending. His Po soul was taking care of all that automatically.

Together, they worked as a team. His Hun soul decided what to do, and his Po soul made it happen. Just like when he painted - his Hun soul imagined the picture, while his Po soul guided the brush. Or when he flew as an eagle - his Hun soul chose where to go, while his Po soul handled all the complicated wing movements. This all made sense, and the words from the special offer were clear as well.

But some parts were still confusing. The book talked about Yin and Yang a lot, saying his Hun soul was Yang and his Po soul was Yin. But what did that really mean?

Why did Yang things always try to go up, like flames reaching for the sky? And why did Yin things always try to go down, like water flowing downhill? There had to be a reason, but the book didn't explain it clearly enough for him to understand.

Harry sighed and looked at the other book he'd avoided reading first. Its ancient leather binding creaked as he opened it on his desk. The title simply read "The Theory of Yin and Yang" in gold letters that shifted into English as he watched.

"Yang is movement, Yin is stillness," the first page stated. Harry frowned - that didn't help much. He flipped forward a few pages, thankful that he didn't need to slowly read because of his memory.

"Think of a campfire," the book suggested. "The flames dance upward, always moving, always changing - that is Yang. The wood stays below, dark and still - that is Yin. Yet the wood feeds the flame, and the flame turns wood to ash. They need each other."

The next part talked about day and night. The sun was Yang because it brought light and movement and heat. The moon was Yin because it brought darkness and quiet and cold. But you couldn't have day without night, just like you couldn't have up without down.

"Yang spreads out, Yin pulls in," the book continued. "Like how heat makes things expand and cold makes things shrink. Or how light spreads across a room while shadows gather in corners."

Harry finished flipping through the book, letting out a small breath. He looked up at the bright sunlight streaming through his window, then at the shadows in the corners of his room. Light spread out everywhere it could reach, while shadows bunched up in little spaces.

He held up both hands, palms facing the ceiling. Normally when he made fire, he just... did it. Like how he knew to flap his wings when he was an eagle. His body just knew what to do, guided by both trained muscle memory and instinct.

A small blue flame popped up above his left palm, barely bigger than the flame of a candle. This was how he always did it - letting his body guide the fire naturally.

Then Harry tried something different. With his right hand, he focused his full attention on the way the chi flowed, making it move in a rougher manner through his chi paths. A small orange flame appeared, like the ones he used to make before his soul transformed.

Harry stared at both flames. The blue one was definitely hotter - he could feel it. But wasn't Yang supposed to be hot? His Hun soul was Yang, so shouldn't it make hotter flames?

Unless...

His eyes widened as something clicked in his mind. The Po soul had made his chi paths better. The Po soul was Yin. And Yin pulled things together, made them smaller and tighter.

So when his chi flowed through the paths that his Yin soul had made better, it got squeezed together more. Like how water flowing through a smaller pipe moved faster and hit harder.

But his fire was still Yang - it still wanted to spread out and move and dance. It was just... more focused now. More controlled.

Both flames flickered as Harry thought harder. Maybe that's why blue fire was stronger - because it had both Yin and Yang working together. The Yang of the fire itself, and the Yin-influence of his Po-soul refined chi paths.

"Like the campfire in the book," Harry whispered to himself. "The wood is Yin, the flame is Yang. They need each other."

He closed his hands, extinguishing both flames. Everything was starting to make more sense now.

Except there was one thing…

Harry opened and closed his hands a few times again, thinking about the orange flame he'd made. Why had it come out that way when he focused on controlling the chi flow and made it move differently?

He scrunched up his nose, trying to work it out. When he'd paid attention to how the chi moved, that was his mind doing the work - his Hun soul. And his Hun soul was Yang, which explained why the flame turned orange instead of blue. His Yang attention had overwhelmed the Yin influence from his refined chi paths.

"But Yang needs Yin," Harry muttered, remembering what the book said. Even his orange flame must have had some Yin in it, just not enough to keep things balanced like with the blue fire.

He held up his hand again, staring at his palm. What would fire be like with no Yin at all? Or no Yang? Could he even make fire without Yang, since fire itself was Yang?

Maybe if he tried to separate them entirely somehow... but what would that even make? Harry shook his head, he didn't have any clue how to do that. He could make the Yin weaker by manually controlling the fire instead of letting it flow naturally. But making it even weaker than that? Or reducing Yang when fire was already Yang? It made his head hurt just thinking about it.

A gentle knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. "Harry?" Perenelle called.

"Come in," Harry called out, turning around to face her.

Perenelle opened the door and stepped inside, her white hair neatly braided today. "How are you settling in, dear?" Her eyes drifted to the painting on his desk - a view of Hogwarts castle at sunset, the windows dark and unwelcoming. "Oh my, what a beautiful painting! Though it looks rather lonely..."

Harry looked at his work, at how he'd painted the castle's towers reaching up into grey clouds, no lights in any window. Small tears gathered in his eyes before he could stop them. He'd tried to show how far away Hogwarts felt now, how much he missed his home.

"Oh, sweetheart." Perenelle crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him. Her robes smelled like garden herbs and fresh bread. "You won't be away from the castle forever, you know? And haven't you had at least a little fun here? Those Whistling Daisies certainly seemed to think so."

Harry leaned into her hug, sniffling slightly. "The garden is nice," he admitted quietly. "And the magical paints you showed me yesterday were really cool. But..."

"But it's not home," Perenelle finished gently, running a soothing hand through his messy hair. "I understand. When I first left my family's house to study at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, I cried every night for a week. But do you know what helped?"

Harry shook his head against her shoulder.

"Keeping busy with exciting new things to learn. And speaking of learning..." She pulled back slightly to look at him with a warm smile. "Nicolas is quite eager to start your first proper potions lesson. He wants to see if you've understood those beginner books he gave you."

Harry wiped his face with his sleeves. The potions books Nicolas had given him were pretty simple compared to what he just read about Hun, Po and Yin and Yang. Most of it was stuff he'd already seen in the Hogwarts library anyway - basic ingredient preparation, safety rules, and simple brewing techniques.

"I think I understood everything," Harry said, separating fully from the hug. "There were lots of warnings about not mixing certain ingredients, and how to cut things properly so they don't mess up the final results."

Perenelle nodded with a smile. "Good. Nicolas can get quite... enthusiastic when teaching potions. Best to know the safety rules before he starts showing you the fun parts."

Harry paused in the midst of walking to the door when his green eyes darkened.

[Language Comprehension - Mushoku Tensei] – Costs 25CP, 175CP available to spend.

The Six-Faced World has many languages and going from one continent to another without learning the language there would make you unable to communicate with other people. This grants you an ability to understand, speak and read any language that you heard people speak and seen its words in hours. When speaking to someone with a different language that you didn't learn, you can instinctively guess the general meaning of their words and slowly piece them together to form words allowing you to speak the said language down to their accent with enough time. Seeing written words of an unknown language with constant exposure or trying would allow you to slowly piece it together allowing you to read the written words with enough time. This also allows you to invent your language or decryption to prevent others from knowing your secrets that you wrote in books that you don't want others to find out about.

Harry didn't hesitate long before accepting. Twenty-five CP seemed like a small price to pay for such a useful ability. After all, he'd seen lots of books in the Hogwarts library written in different languages - Latin, Ancient Greek, and others he couldn't even identify. Being able to read those would be incredibly helpful.

 

[Evoxius]

Harry followed Perenelle down a winding stone staircase to Nicolas's workshop. The room was cluttered but organized in its own way - shelves lined with bottles of every color, bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, and what looked like at least five different cauldrons bubbling quietly in various corners.

Nicolas Flamel stood beside a clean workbench, his white hair wild and his robes covered in colorful stains. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he gestured Harry over. "Ah, there you are! Ready for your first proper potions lesson?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, eyeing the neat rows of ingredients laid out on the bench.

"Wonderful! But first-" Nicolas pulled out a chair. "Pop quiz! What's the difference between crushing and grinding when preparing ingredients?"

Harry barely had to think, the words from the book appearing clearly in his mind. "Crushing releases internal juices while keeping fibers intact. Grinding turns everything into powder. You crush sopophorous beans but grind unicorn horn."

"Excellent! And why must we never store armadillo bile in copper containers?"

"Because it reacts with copper to make toxic fumes," Harry answered promptly. "Also, it eats through the metal."

Nicolas clapped his hands together. "Now, what happens if you stir a Shrinking Solution counterclockwise instead of clockwise?"

"The book didn't say anything about that," Harry said with a small frown.

"Ah-ha!" Nicolas grinned. "Good! Always question what isn't explained. The answer, by the way, is that it explodes rather spectacularly. Found that out the hard way back in... oh, must have been 1345?"

He gestured toward the workbench. "Now then, we'll start with something simple but useful - a basic Cure for Boils. Can you tell me the key ingredients?"

As Harry listed them off - dried nettles, snake fangs, horned slugs, and porcupine quills - Nicolas set up a small copper cauldron. "Very good. Now, first step?"

Harry reached for the snake fangs and the mortar and pestle. He began crushing them, and immediately something felt... different. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to use, how to angle the pestle to get the most even consistency. The crushed fangs came out perfect - not too fine, not too coarse.

"Hmmm," Nicolas murmured, peering at the crushed fangs. "That's precisely the right consistency. Most students take weeks to develop that touch."

Harry glanced at Nicolas, who was still examining the crushed snake fangs with fascination. "Grandpa Dumbledore probably told you I'm not normal?"

Nicolas looked up with a bright grin, his stained robes rustling as he straightened. "Oh yes! Though I must say, even after Albus's explanations, I never imagined..." He waved his hands excitedly at the perfectly crushed ingredients. "This level of intuitive understanding is extraordinary!"

"Well..." Harry bit his lip, then decided to explain. "I once got to pick from different enchantments, and one was better skill at Alchemy. I chose it because..." He looked down at his feet. "I wanted to be like Grandpa. But it turned out to be about potions instead of alchemy. Then later it got stuck in my soul because of another thing that happened."

"Stuck in your soul?" Nicolas's eyebrows shot up. "That would explain the instinctive knowledge." He picked up the mortar, turning it this way and that. "You can feel exactly how to prepare the ingredients, can't you?"

Harry nodded. "It's like... I just know. Like how birds know which way is south." He reached for the dried nettles. "Can I try these next?"

"Of course, of course!" Nicolas pulled up a stool and sat down, his eyes sparkling with interest. "You know, there's more overlap between potions and alchemy than most realize. Both require perfect balance between opposing forces."

Harry's head snapped up. "Like Yin and Yang?"

"Precisely!" Nicolas clapped his hands together. "Take the Philosopher's Stone - it represents the perfect unity of opposing elements. Just as your crushed snake fangs need to be neither too fine nor too coarse, the Stone requires exact balance between-" He stopped himself. "But perhaps that's too advanced for now."

Nicolas cleared his throat and gestured toward the cauldron. "Well then, shall we continue? Everything you need is right here."

Harry turned to the ingredients. Without thinking too much about it, he began preparing them in a sequence that felt natural. Rather than following the recipe's order exactly, he crushed the dried nettles while heating the base, knowing it would give the active components more time to properly dissolve.

The snake fangs went in next, but Harry found himself stirring in a slight figure-eight pattern instead of the simple clockwise motion the recipe called for. From the books he had read in the Hogwarts library, this would give just the extra motion needed for the snake fangs and dried nettles to properly mix.

Nicolas watched silently from his stool, occasionally leaning forward with interest but never interrupting. His fingers sometimes twitched as if wanting to point something out, but he kept quiet.

When it came time to add the porcupine quills, Harry removed the cauldron from the fire first - something explicitly stated in the recipe. But he also waited exactly twelve seconds longer than specified, until the surface stopped bubbling completely. The quills sank in with a satisfying hiss.

The final step called for five clockwise stirs. Harry did exactly that, but added a gentle quarter-turn counterclockwise at the end of each rotation. The potion turned a perfect pink, with a slight pearly sheen that wasn't mentioned in the recipe's description.

"Magnificent," Nicolas said, finally breaking his silence. He pulled the cauldron closer, examining the potion from different angles. "You made at least seven improvements to the standard recipe, did you realize that?"

Harry shook his head. "I just did what felt right."

"That's exactly what I meant to test!" Nicolas smirked slightly from his seat. "You see, this recipe is deliberately inefficient. We use this technique across magical schools worldwide to identify students with natural talent." He dipped a ladle into the potion, lifting it to watch the liquid flow back down. "The pearly sheen, for instance - that only happens when the ingredients are added in the optimal order, not the one listed in the book."

"So it was like a test?" Harry asked, watching the potion shimmer.

"More like... a puzzle missing pieces." Nicolas set down the ladle and pulled out a small notebook. "Most students follow the recipe exactly. Some might make one or two improvements if they're particularly gifted. But you..." He gestured at the cauldron with his quill. "You filled in all the gaps without even realizing there were gaps to fill."

Harry glanced at the cauldron again. "That's because of the enchantment in my soul now. It gives me a talent for potions."

"Not entirely," Nicolas said, tapping his fingers on the workbench. "The talent helps greatly, yes, but you still need to understand why things work the way they do." He reached for a clean vial and carefully poured some of the potion into it. "Tell me, why did you stir in that figure-eight pattern?"

Harry perked up at the question. "Oh, I saw that in the library! There was this really old book that talked about how stirring in different patterns affects potions." He traced the figure-eight shape in the air with his finger. "The figure-eight makes ingredients mix better because it creates tiny whirlpools that pull everything together."

Nicolas smiled at that answer. "Exactly! Most wizards and witches just stir in circles because that's what the recipes say. But you found something better in an old book and remembered it." He set down the filled vial and picked up another. "That's what makes a true potioneer - curiosity about why things work, not just following instructions."

"The library at Hogwarts has lots of interesting books," Harry said, watching Nicolas carefully decant more of the potion. "Sometimes I find things that aren't in the normal school books."

"Ah yes, the Hogwarts library." Nicolas chuckled, setting aside the second vial. "I donated quite a few books there myself over the centuries, as I imagine many old wizards do."

He pulled out his wand and cleaned the remaining potion from the cauldron with a quick spell. "Now then, would you like to know why your potion turned out better than the standard recipe?"

Harry nodded eagerly.

"Well, you see-" Nicolas grabbed a piece of chalk and started drawing on the workbench. "When you make a potion, it's like building with blocks. Some ingredients want to stick together, others try to push each other apart. The recipe in the book..." He drew a wobbly tower. "Makes a tower that works, but isn't very stable."

Nicolas drew another tower next to the wobbly one, this one with more balanced blocks. His chalk squeaked against the workbench as he worked, white dust falling onto his already-stained robes. "But if you understand how ingredients want to behave, you can build something stronger."

"Like how the snake fangs want to sink but the dried nettles want to float?" Harry asked, watching the chalk move.

"Exactly!" Nicolas's eyes lit up. "But it goes deeper than that. You see, in alchemy we believe everything has a nature - hot or cold, wet or dry. Snake fangs are cold and dry, while nettles are hot and wet. When you mix them just right..." He drew arrows between the blocks. "They balance each other."

Harry thought about what he'd just learned about Yin and Yang. The nettles were like fire - hot and always trying to rise up. The snake fangs were like earth - heavy and wanting to stay down. "So the figure-eight stirring makes them..." He moved his hands together like pieces fitting. "Complete each other?"

"Yes, yes! That's exactly it. In alchemy, we call this the unity of opposites. Everything seeks its counter-nature." He drew more symbols on the workbench. "Fire seeks water, earth seeks air. When we make potions, we're helping these opposites find each other."

"And that's why my potion came out better?" Harry looked at the vials of pink liquid. "Because I helped the ingredients find their... their opposite parts?"

"Precisely! Though we typically say 'complementary elements' rather than opposite parts." Nicolas waved his wand, clearing the chalk drawings. "You see, a truly masterful potion isn't about forcing ingredients together - it's about understanding their natures and helping them achieve perfect unity."

Harry nodded slowly. It was like what the books said about Yin needing Yang, but Flamel talked about it differently. Same idea, different words. "Is that what the Philosopher's Stone does? Makes things... complete?"

Nicolas's eyebrows shot up, and his usual excited movement stilled for a moment. "That's... a remarkably astute question for someone your age." He twirled his wand between his fingers, thinking. "Yes, in a way. But perhaps we should save that discussion for when you're a bit older."

Nicolas leaned forward, his stained robes rustling. "Though... you know what? Let me tell you a story about an old Greek named Empedocles. He believed everything in the world was made of four elements - fire, water, earth, and air."

Harry perked up. This sounded a lot more interesting than going back to basic potions.

"Now, Empedocles said these elements were moved by two forces - Love and Strife." Nicolas's hands waved through the air as he spoke. "Love brings different things together, while Strife pulls them apart. Like how water and oil separate, but sugar and water mix."

"Like how the snake fangs and nettles wanted to mix?" Harry asked.

"Yes! Exactly!" Nicolas jumped up from his stool and started pacing. "But it goes deeper. The ancient Greeks believed everything sought perfection - its most complete form. That's what Love does - it helps things become whole."

He spun around, nearly knocking over an empty cauldron. "Take lead, for example. The Greeks thought it was just... incomplete gold. Like a painting missing its colors. So if you could perfect it..."

"It would turn into gold?" Harry's eyes widened.

"Now you're thinking like an alchemist!" Nicolas beamed, then caught himself. "Oh dear, I've gotten rather off track, haven't I? We were supposed to be working on basic potions..."

But Harry didn't want to go back to potions just yet. "So the Philosopher's Stone helps things become perfect? Like how Love makes things complete?"

Nicolas ran a hand through his wild white hair. "Well... yes. Though Perenelle always says I shouldn't discuss such things with..." He trailed off, looking at Harry's eager face. "Oh, what's the harm? Yes, that's exactly what the Stone does. It helps things achieve their perfect form."

The old alchemist's eyes had taken on a distant, dreamy quality. "You see, we believed - still believe, really - that everything wants to be gold. It's the perfect metal, you understand? Can't be corrupted, won't rust or tarnish. Pure. Complete." He blinked, coming back to himself. "But we should really get back to your potions lesson..."

"Please tell me more about the Greeks?" Harry asked. This was way more interesting than crushing more snake fangs.

Nicolas glanced at the door, then grinned conspiratorially. "Well... I suppose a bit more philosophy won't hurt. Did you know Aristotle thought everything had a natural place it wanted to return to? That's why smoke rises and stones fall..."

 

[Evoxius]

"And you see, Plato's theory of-" Nicolas was building up steam for another philosophical tangent when Perenelle cleared her throat from the doorway.

"I believe it's time for lunch," she said gently. "You can continue corrupting our young guest with philosophical theories afterward, dear."

Harry stood up from his stool, stretching his arms above his head. His legs felt a bit stiff from sitting still so long, listening to Nicolas's excited explanations. He followed Perenelle up the winding stairs, hearing Nicolas shuffling behind them.

The kitchen was warm and bright, sunlight streaming through the windows. While Perenelle busied herself preparing lunch, Harry sat at the small wooden table. He didn't feel particularly hungry - one good meal every few days was still enough for him - but he'd learned it made people uncomfortable when he didn't eat with them. Besides, watching others enjoy their food wasn't so bad.

A thought struck him as he watched Perenelle set out bread and cheese. "Could you teach me a language?" Harry asked. "Like Latin for potions, or Ancient Greek for all those philosophy things? Or even French since we're here?" He smiled hopefully. "I should be done learning in a couple hours..."

Perenelle paused in slicing bread, sharing a quick look with Nicolas. "Harry, dear," she said slowly, "learning a language takes much longer than that. Even with magic, it usually takes months or years of study."

Harry watched Perenelle's concerned expression and remembered the offer he'd received earlier that day when she came to fetch him for potions. Since they already knew about his special abilities, he figured he might as well explain.

"Actually," Harry said, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve, "when you came to get me this morning, I got another offer. It was called Language Comprehension, from something called The Six-Faced World."

Nicolas perked up, nearly dropping the cheese knife. "Oh? What did this one do?"

"It said I can learn any language in hours if I hear people speak it and see the words written down," Harry explained. "And even if I don't know a language, I can sort of guess what people mean when they talk. Plus I can make up my own secret languages if I want to."

He looked between the two elderly alchemists. "So... could you maybe teach me French? Or Latin? It won't take long, I promise."

Perenelle set down the bread knife and pulled out a chair. "That's quite remarkable, dear. Though I suppose we shouldn't be surprised anymore, should we Nicolas?"

Nicolas stroked his chin thoughtfully. "We could test it. Start with something simple - Bonjour means hello, comment allez-vous means how are you..."

"And pain means bread," Perenelle added, gesturing to the loaf she'd been slicing. "Let's see how quickly you pick it up."

"Bonjour," Harry repeated, the word feeling strange but natural on his tongue. Something clicked in his mind as he heard it.

"Très bien!" Perenelle smiled, then paused. "That means 'very good.'"

Harry nodded, watching as Nicolas hurried off and returned with a basic French primer. The elderly alchemist opened it on the table, pointing to simple phrases while speaking them aloud. Each word seemed to connect to something in Harry's mind - not just memorizing, but understanding how they fit together.

"Le chat est noir," Nicolas read. "The cat is black."

"Le chien est blanc," Harry responded without thinking. "The dog is white?"

Perenelle stopped slicing bread entirely, watching as Harry absorbed more and more of the language. When Nicolas switched to reading a more advanced text, Harry followed along, occasionally asking questions about grammar that made both Flamels exchange surprised looks.

"C'est incroyable," Perenelle whispered after an hour had passed. Harry understood perfectly - 'This is incredible.'

Nicolas was practically tearing out his hair in excitement in his seat. "Harry, may I try something? Latin this time?" At Harry's nod, he pulled out another book. "Omnia mutantur, nihil interit."

"Everything changes, nothing perishes," Harry translated, then blinked in surprise at how easily the words had come.

"Mon dieu," Perenelle breathed.

Nicolas jumped up from his chair, knocking it over in his excitement. "This is extraordinary! Think of all the ancient texts- Harry, would you like to read my original alchemy journals? They're mostly in Latin, with some Greek..."

"Nicolas," Perenelle said in a warning tone, but her husband was already rushing down the stairs to his workshop.

He returned moments later with an armful of leather-bound journals, their pages yellow with age. "Look here," he said, spreading one open on the table, nearly knocking over the forgotten lunch. "These are my earliest experiments with transmutation."

Harry leaned forward, squinting at the cramped handwriting. The Latin words seemed to swim before his eyes before settling into meaning. "The base metals resist transformation unless... unless properly purified?"

"Yes, yes!" Nicolas flipped through more pages. "You see, the ancient authors wrote everything in Latin or Greek. Most modern wizards rely on translations, but so much meaning gets lost..."

Perenelle sighed fondly and resumed preparing lunch, though she kept glancing over at them.

"What's this word mean?" Harry pointed at a complicated diagram.

"Ah, that's quintessence - the fifth element. Beyond earth, air, fire and water." Nicolas pulled out another journal. "Here, read this passage about celestial influences..."

Harry found himself drawn into Nicolas's enthusiasm. The ancient writings were like puzzle pieces clicking together in his mind. When he struggled with a word, Nicolas would explain not just its meaning, but its roots and how it connected to other languages.

"You know," Nicolas said after Harry correctly translated a particularly complex paragraph about metallic transformations, "I think you might be the first person since Perenelle to actually understand my old notes."

"That's because your handwriting is atrocious, dear," Perenelle called from the kitchen, making Harry giggle.

Nicolas pretended to look offended. "My handwriting is perfectly legible! To those of sufficient intellectual refinement, of course."

Harry switched to French, thinking it might make his hosts more comfortable. "Could you tell me more about this special fifth part? The... quintessence?"

Perenelle gasped softly from the kitchen - Harry was speaking with a perfect French accent.

Nicolas's eyes lit up at Harry's question about quintessence. He pushed aside the scattered journals and pulled out an older, more worn book bound in faded leather.

"The fifth element," Nicolas said, carefully opening the book, "is what the stars are made of. It's perfect and unchanging, unlike earthly things."

Harry leaned forward to study a circular diagram showing four elements around the edges with a bright star in the center. Inside his mind, he pictured the flow of chi through his body when firebending - how it spiraled from his core outward.

"But how can something be unchanging?" Harry asked, tracing the lines connecting the elements with his finger. "Everything changes."

Nicolas jumped up, nearly knocking over his chair again. "Ah! But that's where it gets interesting. You see, Aristotle thought the heavens were perfect because they moved in circles. Circles have no beginning or end - they're eternal!"

While Nicolas talked, Harry felt the way his chi moved in his core. It didn't just flow straight - it spiraled, like the diagram. Like the stars Nicolas described moving in perfect circles.

"Is that why the stars don't fall down?" Harry asked. "Because they're made of this special stuff?"

"Exactly!" Nicolas pulled out another book, this one showing the spheres of the heavens. "Everything on Earth moves up or down, but celestial things move in perfect circles. They're made of quintessence - the perfect element that can't be corrupted."

Harry thought about how his blue flames came from perfect balance, while orange flames came from disrupting that balance. He didn't mention this out loud, instead asking, "What about Love and Strife? Do they affect the perfect stuff too?"

Nicolas paused mid-gesture, his eyes widening. "Now that's a fascinating question..."

Nicolas sat back down, running a hand through his wild hair. "You see, Love and Strife affect everything - even quintessence. Love draws things toward perfection, while Strife creates the motion and change needed for transformation."

He flipped to another page showing concentric circles with symbols Harry didn't recognize. "The alchemists who came after Empedocles - like Zosimos - they believed quintessence was what remained when Love and Strife balanced perfectly."

Harry stared at the diagram. The outer circle showed fire and water opposing each other, earth and air on the other axis. But the center... the center was empty except for a single dot.

"Is it like..." Harry searched for the right words, carefully avoiding mentions of chi or Yin-Yang to avoid confusing Nicolas. "When things fight so perfectly they stop fighting?"

"Yes!" Nicolas grinned. "Like in music - when two different notes sound together perfectly, they make harmony. Or in potions, when opposing ingredients balance each other exactly."

Harry thought about his blue flames - how they came from perfect balance between opposing forces. The diagram showed the same thing, but different. Greek instead of Chinese. Outside instead of inside. Celestial instead of internal.

"But if Love brings things together," Harry said slowly, "and Strife pulls them apart... what happens in the middle? Where they meet?"

Nicolas's eyes gleamed. He pulled out yet another journal, this one bound in strange metallic leather. "That, my young friend, is where transformation happens. Where the impossible becomes possible."

Nicolas traced the center point of the diagram with a wrinkled finger. "You see, the Greeks believed that when Love and Strife meet perfectly, they create a space where change can happen without destruction. Like how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly - it's both dying and being born at the same time."

Harry's eyes widened. He thought about how his blue flames felt different from normal fire - not just in color, but in their very nature because of the balance of Yin and Yang. "So it's not just about things being balanced between opposites," he said carefully, "but about what happens when they're balanced?"

"Aristotle called it 'actuality and potentiality' - what something is and what it could become. But for true transformation..." He pulled the metallic book closer, revealing a page covered in spiraling text around a central void. "We need a perfect point where opposites don't just meet, but transcend themselves."

Nicolas ran his finger along the spiraling text, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "The ancients called it the prima materia - first matter. The void that contains all possibilities." He tapped the empty center of the diagram. "Most think it's empty. But true emptiness... true emptiness is fullness beyond form."

"Like zero?" Harry asked, remembering his mathematics lessons. "It's nothing but it's also a real number?"

"Indeed." Nicolas looked like he was ecstatic for some reason. "But it goes deeper. The Arabs who taught us algebra understood - zero isn't just nothing, it's the point where negative and positive meet. Where all numbers begin and end."

Harry placed his hand on his stomach where his chi pooled, feeling the constant spiral of energy there. "So it's like... a special place where things can change?"

"More than that." Nicolas leaned forward, his voice intense. "It's the space between spaces. Where something can be itself and its opposite at once. The philosophers called it coincidentia oppositorum - the unity of opposites."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his chi flow. The spiral in his core wasn't just movement - it was a perfect circle folding in on itself endlessly, like the diagrams in Nicolas's books. Each turn of the spiral contained the whole pattern, smaller and smaller, a fractal of energy that never truly ended.

Love and Strife. The forces that shaped the cosmos also shaped his chi. Love drew energy inward, seeking unity. Strife pushed it outward, creating distinction. But they weren't truly separate forces - they were aspects of a single principle, like how a wheel needed both hub and rim to function.

His Hun soul held consciousness, pure awareness that could exist independent of form. His Po soul anchored that awareness in flesh, giving it substance and weight. They weren't two separate things, but rather one reality expressing itself at different levels. Like how a circle was both circumference and center, neither existing without the other. The mere fact other beings held one singular soul proved this theory.

Deeper still, Harry followed the spiral of his chi. At each level of reality, the same pattern repeated. The Greeks saw four elements arranged around a center. The Chinese saw Yin and Yang rotating around emptiness. But both were describing the same truth from different angles, like looking at a crystal through different facets.

Prima Materia. First matter. The substance that wasn't a substance, the reality behind reality. Harry understood now - it wasn't just theoretical. His chi core spiraled around exactly such a point, a place where all potentials existed simultaneously. Not empty space, but space so full it was more fullness itself.

His understanding deepened. Quintessence wasn't just the substance of stars - it was the principle of perfection expressing itself through matter. His blue flames came from perfect balance between Yin and Yang, yes, but balance was just the first step. True transformation happened at the point where balance itself was transcended.

Harry felt his chi paths, refined by his Po soul to crystalline clarity. Each pathway was like a river, but the energy flowing through them wasn't just moving - it was transforming. Like how Love drew things together while Strife created the motion needed for change, his chi followed similar principles. The inward spiral represented Love's pull toward unity, while the outward flow was Strife's push toward differentiation.

But there was more. The Greeks spoke of actuality and potentiality - what something is versus what it could become. His chi paths carried both aspects simultaneously. Each chi node along the path was both a fixed location and a point of transformation, like how his Hun soul could exist independently while his Po soul anchored it in form.

The spiral in his core tightened further. Harry realized he wasn't just observing these patterns - he was actively participating in them. By understanding the principles, he could guide them. He directed his chi to flow in perfect circles rather than mere spirals, each circuit coming closer to that central point where all possibilities converged.

The Chinese book on the Theory of Yin and Yang had spoken of emptiness as the source of usefulness - like how a vessel's emptiness made it useful for holding things. The Greeks saw Prima Materia as the foundation of all matter, the substance that contained all forms in potential. Both were describing the same truth: the void at the center wasn't empty at all, but rather a fullness beyond form.

Harry's chi responded to this understanding, but something wasn't quite right. The energy moved perfectly through his paths but couldn't quite reach that final point. Like a key that almost fit a lock, the pattern was correct but lacked... something.

The missing piece revealed itself as Harry noticed his own tension. He was trying to force understanding, trying to grasp perfection. But perfection couldn't be grasped - it had to be realized. Like how water naturally found its own level, like how fire naturally rose upward, true nature expressed itself when allowance replaced effort.

Harry took a deep, slow breath. As air filled his lungs, he felt how it too followed the same principles. Breath was both substance and motion, both form and emptiness. It moved through its own spiral - in and out, up and down, constantly transforming yet always remaining breath.

With the exhale, Harry let go. His chi paths resonated with the release, no longer being directed but simply being allowed to follow their true nature. The spiral in his core responded, energy flowing not just in circles but in perfect spheres, each layer containing all others like nested shells of pure potential.

Everything aligned. His Hun soul's independence and his Po soul's form became aspects of a single truth. The Greek elements and Chinese forces revealed themselves as different expressions of the same reality. Love and Strife, Yin and Yang, all merged in that infinite point at the center of his chi core where opposition itself dissolved.

This wasn't just balance - it was the source of balance. Not the meeting point of opposites but the space from which opposites emerged and returned. Prima Materia and Quintessence weren't separate principles - they were the same truth seen from different angles. Like how a sphere appeared as a circle when viewed from any direction, yet contained infinite circles within its perfect form.

In that moment of perfect clarity, Harry understood. The void at his core wasn't empty or full - it was the principle of emptiness-fullness itself, the pregnant nothing from which everything arose. His chi wasn't moving toward this point or away from it - it was expressing the nature of the point through movement, like how a flame expressed the nature of fire through its dance.

"I think I understand," Harry whispered, eyes still closed. "It's like... being and becoming at the same time?"

Nicolas inhaled sharply. "Yes! That's exactly- Harry, open your eyes!"

Harry did. Between his hands floated a perfect sphere of silver-white flame. But it wasn't consuming chi like his normal flames. It simply existed, like a tiny star pulled down from the heavens - unchanging yet constantly in motion, both substance and void. A physical manifestation of that perfect point where all opposites dissolved into unity.

From the kitchen came a sharp intake of breath. Perenelle stood frozen in the doorway, a half-sliced loaf of bread forgotten in her hands. Her eyes, which had seen centuries pass, were wide with recognition.

"Nicolas," she whispered, "he's made a perfect sphere..."

"Not just a sphere," Nicolas breathed, leaning forward with trembling hands. "Look at how it holds its form. True quintessential fire - like the stars themselves..."

Harry watched the flame, understanding flowing through multiple languages. The Greek "entelechia" - complete actualization. The Chinese "ziran" - spontaneous rightness. The Latin "perfectio" - not just perfection, but completion.

"It's weird," Harry said, his seven-year-old self struggling to put the complex concepts into simple words. "It's like... everything I learned about chi and souls and stuff, it's the same thing you wrote about, just seen differently?"

Nicolas grabbed another journal, flipping through pages excitedly. "Yes! The principles are universal, just expressed through different..." He stopped, looking up sharply. "Harry, how many languages are you thinking in right now?"

Harry blinked, realizing he'd been unconsciously switching between them. "Um, English, French, Latin, Ancient Greek and a little bit of Chinese? They just sort of... help explain different parts better?"

The silver-white sphere pulsed gently as he spoke, reflecting his momentary confusion. Like the Greek "aporia" - the productive state of puzzlement that leads to deeper understanding.

Nicolas paused, journal still in hand. "Harry, say that again about it helping explain different parts better?"

"Well..." Harry frowned, trying to put his thoughts in order. "When I think about elements in Greek, I think about them one way. But when I think in the small part of Chinese I know right now, it's like... looking at the same thing from another side? Like how a cup looks round from above but tall from the side."

Nicolas set down his journal, eyes widening. "Of course! Each language carries its own way of understanding reality." He started pacing, nearly knocking over his chair when he stood up. "The Greeks saw four elements around a center, the Chinese saw opposing forces in balance..."

"And you understood both instantly," Perenelle added, setting down the forgotten bread. "Not just the words, but the meanings behind them."

"The philosophical frameworks!" Nicolas spun around so fast his robes tangled. "Harry, you're not just learning to speak these languages - you're absorbing their entire way of seeing the world. Their... their..."

"Weltanschauung," Perenelle supplied with a small smile. "German for 'world-view.'"

"Exactly!" Nicolas rushed back to the table. "And you did this with multiple ancient philosophical systems in the span of hours. At seven years old." He ran his hands through his hair, making it even wilder. "Imagine what you could do with more time, more languages..."

Harry looked at the silver-white sphere still floating between his hands. "You mean I could learn how everyone in the world sees things? All at once?"

"Not just see - understand." Nicolas leaned forward intently. "Every culture, every civilization has discovered pieces of truth, expressed through their language. If you could comprehend them all..."

"Nicolas," Perenelle warned gently, "he's still a child."

"Right, right, of course." Nicolas sat back, trying to contain his excitement. "But think of it, my dear. Even this small taste of multiple perspectives led to..." He gestured at the shadowless sphere. "This!"

Harry watched the gentle pulse of the flame-that-wasn't-quite-flame. "It's getting harder to hold," he admitted. The sphere flickered slightly as his concentration wavered.

"Let it go," Perenelle said kindly. "There will be time for more experiments later."

The sphere dissolved into sparkles that faded away. Harry slumped slightly, suddenly mentally exhausted.

"Rest now," Nicolas said, though he was still vibrating with barely contained enthusiasm. "But Harry... I think we've only scratched the surface of what you might be capable of."

Perenelle brought over the finally-sliced bread and some cheese. Harry picked at the food, and he could hear Nicolas muttering excitedly about "linguistic quantum states" and "metacognitive synthesis."

 

[Evoxius]

"Did you sleep well?" Nicolas asked the moment Harry came downstairs for breakfast. The elderly alchemist was practically bouncing in his armchair, reminding Harry more of an excited child than someone who'd lived for centuries. "Would you like to practice with that fascinating flame of yours?"

Harry nodded, though he felt slightly uncertain. He still wasn't sure what the silver-white fire could actually do. The perfect sphere had been beautiful, but was it useful?

"Have some breakfast first," Perenelle called from the kitchen, giving her husband a fond but exasperated look.

Once Harry finished his small portion of eggs and toast, Nicolas practically dragged him toward what appeared to be a solid wall. As they approached, the stones rearranged themselves to reveal a narrow staircase leading down.

"Always good to have a proper testing chamber," Nicolas said casually as they descended. "Especially when experimenting with new forms of magic."

The stairs went down for quite a while before opening into a large circular room with grey stone walls. Scorch marks and odd-colored stains suggested many experiments had taken place here over time.

"Now then," Nicolas said, pulling out a notebook and quill. "Could you create that perfect sphere again? Just like yesterday?"

Harry closed his eyes, remembering how it felt yesterday when everything clicked into place. The way his chi moved in perfect circles, how his Hun and Po souls worked together, and that special point in his core where everything met but also began.

It was easier now. Like remembering how to ride a toy broom, his mind (Hun) and body (Po) knew what to do.

When he opened his eyes, there it was - a perfect sphere of silver-white flame floating between his hands, neither hot nor cold. It didn't flicker like normal fire, just stayed perfectly still while somehow moving all the time.

Nicolas approached carefully, wand extended. He muttered several detection spells, each one making different colored lights appear around the sphere. His eyebrows rose higher with each spell.

"This is... peculiar," Nicolas said, lowering his wand. "There's no magic here at all. Not a trace." He peered at Harry curiously. "You mentioned chi yesterday. Could you explain what that is? Albus didn't give me many details about your... special abilities."

Harry thought for a moment, trying to put complicated ideas into simple words. "It's like... energy that moves through special paths in my body. When I got my firebending power, these paths appeared. And when my soul split into Hun and Po parts, the paths got better at moving the energy around."

Nicolas nodded his head, scribbling in his notebook. "And this sphere - how does it relate to chi?"

"Well..." Harry looked at the perfect sphere floating between his hands. "Normal fire uses up chi when I make it. Like fuel. But this doesn't use anything up. It just... is."

Nicolas leaned closer, his quill scratching rapidly across the notebook. "And you created this by understanding multiple philosophical frameworks at once?"

"It's hard to explain," Harry said, watching the silver-white sphere hover between his hands. "Yesterday when we were talking about Greek philosophy, I noticed how similar it was to what I learned about chi and souls. Like they're different maps showing the same mountain from different sides."

He paused, gathering his thoughts. "My chi normally moves in spirals, and when I make normal fire it uses up that energy. But when I understood how Love draws things together while Strife pushes them apart, it reminded me of how Yin and Yang work. Then I realized my Hun soul and Po soul follow the same pattern - one wants to be free, one wants to stay grounded."

The sphere pulsed gently as he spoke, its light neither casting shadows nor reflecting off the stone walls.

"And there's this special point in the middle of my chi core," Harry continued. "It's like... imagine a wheel. The rim moves, but the center point stays still. Or like zero in math - it's nothing, but it's also the point where positive and negative numbers meet. When I found that point inside me and understood how all these different ideas were saying the same thing, this happened."

As if responding to his completed explanation, the perfect sphere suddenly collapsed. It didn't explode or fade - it simply broke apart into tiny sparks that vanished before they could fall, leaving no trace behind.

Nicolas was writing furiously in his notebook. "The temporary manifestation of quintessential principles through multi-framework understanding..." He looked up from his note-taking. "Could you make another one?"

Harry nodded, though he felt slightly tired. Not from using chi - the sphere hadn't used any except for the initial 'ignition' - but from the mental effort of keeping the sphere stable.

"Let's try something simple first," Nicolas said, pulling out a feather from his pocket. He tossed it toward the newly formed sphere.

The feather passed right through, completely unaffected. Not burned, not frozen, not even slightly disturbed.

They spent the next few hours testing various materials and spells. Water droplets passed through it. Fire spells ignored it. Even Nicolas's attempts to contain it with advanced magical barriers proved futile - the sphere simply existed, acknowledging neither matter nor magic.

"Maybe if we..." Harry trailed off as the sphere collapsed again, this time dispersing into his usual blue flames before fading away. He created another one, but this sphere imploded almost immediately, vanishing with a soft pop.

Nicolas paced around the testing chamber, muttering to himself. "The philosophical mercury should act as a bridge between states... unless the antimony principle interferes with the transformation sequence..."

"It's not doing anything," Harry said, frustration creeping into his voice. "What's the point of understanding all these different ideas if the flame just sits there?"

"Patience," Nicolas replied, though he looked equally puzzled. "Even negative results tell us something. Notice how it breaks down differently each time? Sometimes inward, sometimes outward, sometimes into sparks..."

He stopped pacing suddenly, staring at the latest sphere as it dissolved. "Wait a moment... what if..." He ran his fingers through his wild hair, eyes widening. "What if we're seeing an incomplete transformation?"

Harry created another sphere, watching it hover perfectly until it too broke apart. "What do you mean?"

"In alchemy, true quintessence only comes after a series of transformations. The first stage is called Nigredo - the Black Phase. It's a breaking down of the material into its primary constituents."

He pointed at the dissolving sparks. "What if these aren't failures? What if the sphere keeps breaking down because it's trying to reach that first crucial stage?"

Harry looked at his hands where the latest sphere had been. "So it's supposed to fall apart?"

"Not fall apart exactly," Nicolas said, excitement building in his voice. "Transform. Everything must be broken down before it can be rebuilt into something greater."

The elderly alchemist grabbed another notebook from his desk. "We might be witnessing the first steps toward true quintessential transformation, but getting stuck at the threshold of Nigredo..."

"Wait," Harry said, interrupting Nicolas's excited rambling. "Maybe that's why I keep getting tired. I've been trying to force the sphere to stay perfect."

Nicolas stopped flipping through his notebook. "Yes? Go on."

Harry created another silver-white sphere between his hands. This time, instead of maintaining its form through careful balance of his understanding, he simply let it be.

Harry let the silver-white sphere hover between his hands, no longer trying to force it into perfection. The moment he released that mental grip, the sphere began to waver. Instead of fighting to maintain its form like before, he watched with curiosity as it started to collapse.

"Should I try to-" Harry began, but Nicolas shook his head.

"Let it happen," the alchemist said softly. "Sometimes we learn more from what goes wrong than what goes right."

The silver-white fire sphere pulsed once, twice, then imploded with more force than any previous attempt. But instead of dispersing into sparks or fading away, it condensed into a single point of absolute darkness - a perfect black dot floating in the air where the silver-white sphere had been.

Harry felt a strange sensation, not quite cold but more like the absence of temperature itself. The black dot seemed to drink in the light around it, creating a small sphere of stillness in the air.

"Extraordinary!" Nicolas breathed, approaching carefully. "Do you feel that? The complete absence?" He waved his hand near the black sphere, watching as it remained perfectly stationary. "It's not moving at all - not even gravity affects it."

Harry reached toward the black sphere, finding it easier to maintain than the silver-white version. It felt natural, like it wanted to exist this way. "It's not using up so much effort to maintain either," he noted.

Nicolas rushed to his workbench, returning with an armful of leather-bound books. "This is exactly what Alchemy is about! The first stage of the Great Work - nigredo, the blackening." He flipped through pages excitedly. "Look here - Egyptian papyri speak of the void before creation, the Greeks wrote of chaos before order..."

While Nicolas rambled about ancient theories, Harry decided to experiment. He created some of his fear mist and sent it toward the black sphere, curious how they might interact. The mist, usually so responsive to his control, began slowly drifting toward the dark point on its own. As it touched the sphere, the mist simply... disappeared.

"Sir," Harry called, interrupting the alchemist's excited monologue. "Watch this."

He created more mist, and they both observed as it was steadily drawn into the black sphere, vanishing without trace or effect.

"Of course!" Nicolas slapped his forehead. "The prima materia in its raw form - it reduces everything back to its fundamental nature. This mist... what exactly is it made of?"

"Magical energy and some power from my soul, I think," Harry said. "Grandpa said it was similar to ghost stuff."

Nicolas nodded vigorously. "Then this sphere might be burning it back to pure potential - the state before energy takes form." He scribbled rapidly in his notebook. "The frustration and failure weren't problems at all. They were necessary steps!"

Harry looked at the black sphere with new understanding. All this time he'd been trying to maintain that perfect silver-white state, when the real breakthrough came from letting it break down naturally. Like how a seed had to crack open before it could grow.

"Mr. Flamel," Harry said, watching the black sphere continue to absorb more mist, "you mentioned this is just the first stage? What comes after?"

Nicolas looked up from his notebook, eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Ah yes! The Great Work has four primary phases. This black stage, Nigredo, represents breaking down - like how a plant must rot before its nutrients can feed new growth."

He pulled another book from the pile, opening it to show Harry a four circular diagrams. Each showed a bird in different colors - black, white, yellow, and red.

"After Nigredo comes Albedo - the white phase. It represents purification, like washing away impurities to reveal what's underneath. Then Citrinitas, the yellow stage, brings illumination and understanding. Finally, Rubedo - the red phase - creates something entirely new and perfect."

Harry studied the diagrams, noticing how each bird seemed to be eating the previous one. "So each stage builds on the last one?"

"Exactly!" Nicolas began pacing, gesturing with his hands. "Think of how a butterfly transforms. First the caterpillar dissolves into black goo - Nigredo. Then it rebuilds into white tissue - Albedo. The yellow chrysalis forms - Citrinitas. Finally, the red and gold butterfly emerges - Rubedo!"

The black sphere pulsed slightly as Harry considered this. "Could we try moving to the next stage?"

"We could certainly try, though-" Nicolas started, but Perenelle's voice interrupted from the stairway.

"Perhaps after a trip to Paris?" she suggested warmly. "You've both been down here for hours, and young Harry should see more of France than just our house."

All three paused when the black sphere flickered, its perfect darkness wavering for a moment before collapsing. Instead of disappearing cleanly like the silver-white sphere had, this one shattered outward in a spray of dark liquid that splashed across the stone floor. The liquid writhed for a few seconds like living ink before evaporating into an acrid smoke that smelled faintly of burnt metal.

"Ah," Nicolas said, not sounding particularly disappointed. "That would be an incomplete transformation. The material wasn't ready to progress beyond the Nigredo stage." He pulled out his notebook again, jotting down observations. "Notice how it tried to maintain cohesion even after breaking down? Fascinating..."

Harry looked at the slightly scorched spots where the liquid had landed. "It felt different at the end. Like it was fighting against itself."

"That's exactly what happens when we try to rush the stages," Nicolas explained, kneeling to examine the scorch marks. "The substance must fully complete its dissolution before it can begin purification. Otherwise..." He gestured at the marks. "Well, you saw what happens."

"Are there any stages beyond the four you mentioned?" Harry asked, looking up from the scorch marks.

Nicolas straightened up from his examination of the floor, brushing off his knees. "Well, the Philosopher's Stone itself is considered a product of the final Rubedo stage. You can see this superficially in its deep red coloring." He paused, stroking his chin. "But something beyond these four stages? In all my centuries, I haven't discovered such a thing."

"But couldn't there be different versions of Rubedo?" Harry asked. "Or maybe something that goes beyond it completely?"

Nicolas settled into a nearby chair, his expression thoughtful. "There are indeed different expressions of the Red Stage. Very few alchemists achieve it even in minor parts through different paths, resulting in varying properties. But something that surpasses Rubedo in all aspects?" He shook his head. "That remains theoretical."

Harry nodded, but he thought back to what his Hero's Journal had mentioned in his own perspective when he first received the firebending offer. It had mentioned other forms - airbending, earthbending, waterbending. The memory sparked a new thought.

"If quintessence is supposed to be perfect," Harry said slowly, "can it really be true quintessence if it's just fire?"

Nicolas leaned forward, interest sharpening his gaze. "Go on."

"Well, in Greek philosophy there were four main elements, right? But I've only been approaching quintessence through fire." Harry gestured at the lingering scorch marks. "Maybe after Rubedo, there are similar phases for the other elements? Water, earth, and air? Or even fire itself?"

Nicolas fell deep in thought, his eyes unfocused as he considered Harry's question. Harry opened his mouth to say more, but stopped when his eyes darkened slightly.

Another offer was coming.

[Natural Talent - Fist Of The North Star] – Costs 100CP, 250CP available to spend.

In both body and mind you are simply better than others. You learn quicker and remember more while your physical training is more effective, showing improvements in less time and making gains faster. It isn't much, perhaps just 1.1 times what you should have, but for someone with drive even that small edge can be an overwhelming advantage in the long run.

Harry accepted without hesitation. Any advantage, no matter how small, could mean advancing his knowledge at a quicker rate. A brief tingling sensation passed through him as both his Hun Soul and Po Soul shifted slightly, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly what had changed.

Harry shook his head, clearing away the lingering feeling. "Should we go to Paris now?" he asked, noticing Perenelle still waiting patiently by the stairs.

"Yes, yes," Nicolas said, though his eyes remained distant. "But we'll certainly revisit this discussion, young man."