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Chapter Text

“Are you quite alright, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked, watching as Harry shifted with discomfort in his seat.

“Simply uncomfortable at the current location, Good Professor.”

Said location was a small café in London, to which McGonagall had apparated herself and Harry to discuss his attendance at Hogwarts. The reason for his discomfort would be the overwhelming presence of plastic in the surroundings, creating an uncomfortable void of silence where they existed.

“Yes well, I would like to discuss what you spoke of when I located you. You said you left your relatives? Along with mentioning Annwn?”

“I suppose that would be a good place to begin.” Harry answered. “I did, indeed, leave my relatives home. Last I encountered them, they were quite possibly some of the most morally repugnant people in existence. I had decided to leave the household that housed me inside a cupboard-“

“A cupboard?” McGonagall asked, aghast and slightly disbelieving.

“Yes, a cupboard. And not for lack of space, my cousin Dudley had a room dedicated to the various belongings he had broken. Regardless, I had decided to leave the Dursley’s, having reshaped an outfit comprised of my cousin’s old clothes into what you see now, ensured my presence on a camping trip, and left.”

“A singular outfit? That you ‘reshaped’?” McGonagall asked, clearly skeptical.

“Yes. It’s not as though it was hard, seeing as I can use magic, and singing the clothes to never be dirty was a simple enough enchantment.”

“Sing?”

“Never mind that just yet. When I left, I passed through a tree arch, inadvertently entering Annwn for the first time, exiting through a henge. That was the first of my trips, though I’ve visited it rather a lot. Of course, I’ve also encountered a rather wide range of y Tylwyth Teg.”

 “Which would explain the method by which you greeted me. Now, your letter, Mr. Potter.”

Accepting the offered parchment envelope, Harry opened it, pulling out two lengths of parchment. Ignoring the first length, a simple notice of acceptance and date by which correspondence ought to occur, Harry gave the second length a read, immediately taking issue with four things.

“The uniform calls for a robe, and a pointed hat. And the required provisions list a wand. Also, the list of allowed animal companions is… limiting.”

“Yes.”

“I do believe you may have to arrange a meeting with Headmaster Dumbledore.”

“Why on earth would that be necessary?”

“I refuse to wear an outfit that does not befit my role, and I will not use a wand.”

“They are required, Mr. Potter.” McGonagall responded, irate at Harry’s brazen refusal.

“All the same, I would rather speak with the headmaster.”

“If you would agree to accompany me to Diagon Alley, our shopping district, to acquire your supplies, then that might be arrangeable.” McGonagall said, seeing the stubborn look on Harry’s face.

“Ah, a barter. Though not a well-weighted one.” Harry commented. “Rather more weighted in your favor, seeing as you said it would be a possibility to arrange such a meeting.”

“A barter?” McGonagall asked, confused. “It was not a mere possibility, Mr. Potter, it was an attempt to get you to agree to accompany me, in exchange for the meeting.”

“Well, it was a rather poorly phrased barter. I suppose I’ll accompany you then.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Harry, thus far, was rather unimpressed with the society that these magicians seemed to have constructed for themselves, seeing as the entrance to the primary shopping district was through… a dingy pub. They had exited into a small courtyard, where Harry had then immediately yelped in pain, gaining concerned looks from McGonagall and Artorius.

“Everything is fine. Please, continue.” Harry said, deciding against telling McGonagall about the songs he could hear.

The reason for the yelp was the cacophony of triangle chimes emanating from somewhere beyond the courtyard, made all the louder by the standard orchestra of songs he tended to hear.. The sheer level of noise was rather overwhelming. As he followed the professor after she had opened the way to the Alley, Harry was successfully distracted from the noise of metallic triangles and their ringing by the ever-present humming noise he hadn’t heard over the cacophony.

And it was coming from their destination, the bank.

As they came to a standstill in front of the marble edifice, McGonagall gestured to the building, clearly deaf to the magic emanating off of it.

“This, Mr. Potter, is Gringotts, the primary bank in Wizarding Britain, which is run by-“

“Coblynau.” Harry said, interrupting her, looking at the small, distinctly ugly figures standing in front of the bank.

“Goblins, Mr. Potter, the bank is run by goblins.”

“No, those are Coblynau, Good Professor.” Harry retorted, looking on with curiosity at the suits of armor that the ones he could see were wearing. “They mightn’t be wearing the clothing traditionally adorning their bodies, but artifice does not fact make.”

Shaking her head wearily, McGonagall led Harry into the building proper. As he had expected, walking through the doors, Harry felt a gossamer-like veil part in his way, a telltale sign of a faeries magic at play. Looking around, he was a mite confused at the rather abrasive attitude with which the Coblynau were treating the humans. Traditionally, they were rather friendly, though that was to miners, so it was entirely possible the incorrect profession, combined with ignorance, had simply soured the Folk’s opinions of humans.

When they were finally seen by a teller, McGonagall withdrew a key, placing it on the counter.

“Mr. Potter would like to make a withdrawal from his vault.” McGonagall said, before turning to Harry. “Would you wish for me to accompany you to your vault?”

“That would be unnecessary, Good Professor.” Harry replied, before turning to the coblyn. “What would this institution’s policy on animal companions be?”

“They do not tend to be allowed beyond the foyer, bard.”

“Sorry Artorius, you’ll have to stay here.” Harry said, ignoring McGonagall’s mouthed questioning of the coblyn’s wording. “You understand, right?”

In response, Artorius walked to the doors and lay down beside them.

After a rather harrowing ride on a minecart, Harry found himself staring at a pile of gold, silver, and bronze coins. Turning to the bank, employee Harry asked the first question that came to mind.

“Good Coblyn, what would the denominations for the currency be?”

“Finally, someone who knows what we are.” The coblyn grumbled under his breath. “Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. Fourteen sickles to a Galleon, seven knuts to a sickle. Gold, silver and bronze, respectively.”

“Well, that seems… unintuitive.” Harry commented, heading into the vault. “I suppose the magicians tend to think you goblins?”

“Annoyingly, yes.”

“Goblins are continental, though, not insular. I take it they also determined the denominations in which the currencies convert to each other?” Harry asked as he collected what he thought would be a decent amount for each of the types of coins.

“Indeed. Tell me bard, what plans have you?”

“As of right now? Not many. The reason for my presence here primarily lies in a barter pertaining to one of the schools the magicians have.”

“Hogwarts.” The coblyn spat out as Harry emerged from his vault, depositing his key in his bag after the door was locked.

“Ill will between your people and the school?”

“A founder. And a thief. He found and stole the sword Durendal.”

“A sword of legend as I understand, used by one of Charlemagne’s warriors.” Harry commented during the minecart ride. “I take it was forged by one of the Folk?”

“Indeed, it was. More importantly, the humans failed to return it to a Lake.”

“As I understand, Hogwarts has a lake. Though it mightn’t be a Lake, I shall nevertheless attempt to return the sword should I stumble upon it.” Harry said as he climbed out the minecart and followed the coblyn back to the foyer. “Good day, Good Neighbor.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Shortly after returning to the surface, McGonagall handed him a map of the Alley, informing Harry that she intended to arrange the meeting with Dumbledore in the meantime.

“Well, Artorius, I suppose I’m rather overdue for a new bag, wouldn’t you think?” Harry asked, looking at his satchel that was beginning to fray at the fabric’s edges.

With his first stop determined, Harry quickly navigated his way to a store selling luggage, buying a satchel that was charmed to hold a great deal more than the exterior suggested, along with a charm to reduce the weight of the bag itself. Rather more sensible a purchase than a trunk, in his opinion. His next stop was to acquire his potions supplies, as well as a collection of items he could create charms with. After that came the astronomical items and the gloves. It was in a clothier’s store that he spied clothing similar to the styling he wore – with the tunics being more elaborate having decorations such as vine embroidery at the edges and a wave pattern at the base – and purchased multiple articles for if he ever wished to adopt a different palette, along with a decent amount of cloaks.

Next on the list were the textbooks. Entering the bookstore, he collected the necessary texts rather quickly before straying through the section, looking for anything on bards or the like. On the way, he stumbled across a book series that was titled “The Harry Potter Adventures.” His curiosity was sated when he located a collection of history books, where he learned his parents had died in his defense, facing off against a Dark Lord who he had, reportedly, vanquished at just over a year and a half old. Eventually, however, he came across his intended targets. Books on treaties, of all things, that the government had made with a bardic order, enshrining certain rights when it came to a degree of self-governance, as well as Hogwarts.

As Harry was making his way to the store that McGonagall had marked as where he had to go for wands, he was sidetracked by a raven. More specifically, a raven was flying directly at him. Twirling out of the direct flight path, Harry extended his free arm, allowing the raven to land on it.

“Well, hello there. What would you be doing here?”

“That would be being a pet I have been unable to sell at all. Apparently, she likes you though.”

“How much would it cost to acquire her?” Harry asked, distaste at owning an animal lacing his words.

“Two Galleons. You’d be doing me a favor.”

Entering the store, it was a short transaction, in which Harry found himself gaining a second companion, whom he had decided to name Lenore.

As he left the store, Harry was greeted by McGonagall.

“Headmaster Dumbledore has agreed to a meeting, which can happen as soon as we have finished our business here.”

“Wonderful!” Harry responded. “The last item on the list is the wand I won’t be using.”

“I fail to see a trunk.”

“Yes, well, trunks are an impractical means of carrying such a large amount of items, so I bought an enchanted bag instead.” Harry said, walking into Ollivander’s Wand Shop.

Leaning against his staff, Harry was immediately on edge in the store. Somewhere, in the depths of the shelves, was a noise. It sounded like the instrumentals he heard from magicians, but listening closer, it was masking a deep humming noise. He was unsurprised then when an old man, presumably the titular Ollivander, appeared from seemingly nowhere.

“Well, this simply won’t do.” The man who was a magician and yet not said. “I am afraid, Good Bard, that I cannot sell you a wand. Had you been in your mother’s position, it might have been a viable option, but as the circumstances exist…”

“Pardon?” McGonagall asked, shocked at the proclamation.

“I had expected as much Good Neighbor.” Harry said, taking a guess at the true song coming from the elderly wand maker. “Though I am curious, why the mention of my mother?”

“Ah, well, she possessed the same crystal tones as yours but sadly failed to cultivate them as you have.”

“Intriguing…” Harry commented idly, shaking his head afterward. “Farewell, Good Carver. I happen to have business to attend.”

Chapter Text

Sitting in a meeting room in The Leaky Cauldron, Harry was of the opinion that maybe, just maybe, the formation of a society of magicians had led them to go a touch insane. His reasoning was down to the man in front of him, and the outfit he had come in. Holding three positions of power and importance, one might expect Albus Dumbledore to dress with prestige and class. But no, he had decided to wear robes that were luridly purple and bedecked with golden stars and moons.

“I must say Mr. Potter, this has all been quite a surprise, especially given the age you should be.”

“The relative fluidity of time within Annwn is… rather difficult to properly account for, Good Magician.” Harry commented.

“Ah yes, that would explain the irregularities of your age. Now, Minerva tells me you have some issues you would like to discuss with me?”

“More specifically, I have three issues. The first, the uniform. I will not wear any clothing that does not fit the role of a bard.”

“Bard, you say? I was unaware of any currently existing bardic orders.”

“Yes, well, that would be because I do not belong to a bardic order, I am simply a bard. As I understand, after having perused a collection of laws and treaties that were retroactively grandfathered into the Hogwarts Charter, a bard, whether solitary or a member of an order, is allowed to dictate the clothing that they wear as a uniform for the duration of their enrollment, superseding the standard uniform.”

“You would, indeed, be correct, though for clerical purposes, I would require a demonstration of the magic commonly used by bards in the historical record. If you would be amenable, I would ask for a demonstration at the end of the meeting.”

“Certainly. The second issue, the allowed companion list. I find it to be… rather limiting. The oldest of my companions, a gwyllgi by the name of Artorius, is… rather attached. I would also rather avoid leaving Lenore behind.”

“The list functions more so as a guideline, so that the students bring more common, and more importantly, safer, animals, for the safety of the faculty and student body. I see no issues with allowing a raven and a… a gwyllgi, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“There may be a few issues with the student body, as they will likely assume it to be a grim, however there shouldn’t be any issues with this Artorius accompanying you.”

“The third issue would allow the requested demonstration. Before I raise it, however, would you have any issues you wish to raise with me?”

“Minerva informed me you ‘left’ the Dursley’s home? She cited some rather concerning statements as you reasoning, however I would ask you to explain the rationale, along with inquiring as to your safety currently.”

“Ah. Yes, I did leave the Dursley’s household. Broadly, they were abusive, but a more specific issue would be that they housed me in a cupboard, when there was a guestroom, along with a secondary room for my cousins broken belongings. Other issues include being made to cook all meals since I was tall enough to use the stove, as well as a great deal of other chores ill-suited to a child, along with allowing their son to physically assault me. I’m rather safer now, what with using magic, along with Artorius being a sufficient deterrent for any threats.”

“Whilst it heartens me to hear of your current safety, I feel I must apologize for your prior situation. I had placed you with your relatives, in an attempt to keep you safe from rather unsavory elements within our society that would have wished you harm. I had hoped they would care for you, but I see they did not.”

“What has been done, is done. I am no longer within their reach. Now, the final issue. I will not use a wand. In fact, the Good Carver said that he would not be able to sell me a wand.” Harry said, pulling his lyre to a playing position. “Which I suppose brings us to the demonstration. Is there any specific act you would wish as evidence?”

“A simple first year spell, transfiguring a match into a needle.” Dumbledore replied, conjuring a match and placing it on the table.

Listening to the tune of the match, the difference between the head and the wood, a quick whistle, and lyre strum smoothed the mass of the head into a slope onto the stick and made a hole in the center. Then came the more difficult part. Now, Harry tended to use physical instruments to describe the noises he heard from the world, though it was, perhaps, a touch more metaphorical than he tended to indicate. So, with great concentration, Harry took hold of his staff, and, with an accompanying humming, he struck a rhythm, laying it onto the faux needle's rhythm, turning it into a granite needle, and then transitioning it into silver.

With the more challenging part accomplished, Harry sharpened the end of the point, such that it could be used as an actual needle.

“Wonderful!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “Though I must say, rather above what first years are capable of. Iron tends to be what their needles are made of.”

“Well, silver is more harmonically coherent, and I refuse to use a material that might harm Artorius.”

“As sound a set of reasons as any, Mr. Potter.” Dumbledore said, standing up and smoothing his robes down. “Now, I must depart to file the paperwork necessary for your accommodations, but it was quite a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter.”

“It was a pleasure as well, Good Magician, given the schedule you likely have.” Harry replied.

Watching Dumbledore leave the room, Harry turned as he heard McGonagall approach him, who was holding something in her hand.

“This is your ticket for The Hogwarts Express, the means by which you will arrive at Hogwarts. To board the train, you will have to walk through the frontmost pillar separating Platform’s nine and ten. The train departs at eleven ’o’clock on the first of September.”

“And this is where we part ways, Good Professor.” Harry stated, accepting the ticket from McGonagall. “Our barter has reached its end.”

“I don’t suppose I’d be able to convince you to remain in London until September?”

“No, you wouldn’t. Goodbye, Good Professor.” Harry answered, closing his hand and vanishing from view.

Chapter Text

Harry

Unfortunately, Harry hadn’t had all that much time to wander the countryside after the expedition to Diagon Alley, seeing as it would take a while for him to navigate his way through Annwn to a town near London, then hopping on a bus to make it to King’s Cross. Thanks to meticulously planning his route to the train, Harry managed to make it to the station an hour before the train would depart.

Lenore on his shoulder, and Artorius trailing by his side, Harry wandered down the train carriages, looking for an empty compartment, or one that had a sufficiently intriguing song coming from it. So far, he hadn’t found any empty compartments, nor had he heard anyone interesting enough to sit with. That changed when he entered the next carriage. It was the second compartment he heard it from. If Harry were to compare it to an actual kind of song, he would have compared it to a barcarolle, a form of folk music sung by Italian gondola boaters. Curiously, where your standard magician held the chiming of a musical triangle, and the harps of a human, this song also held another instrument.

A harmonica, of all things.

Sliding open the door, Harry looked at the occupant. A fair-faced, brown-haired teenager, who looked maybe a year or two older than Harry, wearing an open button-up cardigan with an ocean pattern and a pair of glasses that had iridescent, shifting lenses.

“Hey, cool staff!” The resident called out.

“I could say the same about your glasses.” Harry replied. “Would you mind if I sat here? Everyone else looked either anxious or judgmental.”

“Go ahead! Need any help with your trunk?”

“Oh, I don’t have one. Space charmed bag, instead. You can refer to me as Harry, what might I refer to you by, Good Magician?”

“Uh, Cedric. Why’d you phrase it like that?”

“I’ve spent more time with faeries than humans the past two years, so I’m having to relearn how to talk to people in my age range.”

“Y’know, that would do it. I’ve not seen you around before. First year?”

“Indeed I am. These are my companions, Artorius and Lenore.” Harry said, gesturing to the faerie and animal, respectively.

“Hey, like the Poe poem! Not that it isn’t cool, but what’s with the staff?”

“Oh, I don’t use magic the way a normal magician would. Instead of a wand, I use music. The staff is for if I need a percussive element.”

“Would you mind showing me? Because that sounds awesome.”

“Want me to change your hair color?”

“Let’s go with… purple.”

“Take a look.” Harry said after a quick whistle.

“Well, I’ll be damned! I wonder how you’re gonna deal with the classes.”

“Oh, I met with the Headmaster, there are going to be accommodations for that.

Eventually, the compartment trailed off into a comfortable quiet, as quiet as the soft strumming of a lyre could be, seeing as Harry was playing folk instrumentals as he watched the countryside fly by, while Cedric was reading a book. He was having… complicated feelings, about Hogwarts. It would undoubtably be a benefit to attend the school, if only to gain a deeper understanding of magic, but there was just… something about the surrounding society that he felt was coming, that he had been feeling since he had seen how the magicians had treated the Coblynau.

Something he was certain he wouldn’t like.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Cedric

As he was reading The Masque of Red Death, one of his favorites from Poe, Cedric kept glancing at his fellow occupant. The long-haired, tunic-clad teen was interesting. A wizard who used songs to perform magic was already interesting, and not something Cedric had encountered. But then there was his use of the word magician instead of wizard, his travels with faeries, and his companions, as Harry had phrased it. A raven, already an unusual animal, but the dog was the truly interesting thing. It looked like a grim, but Harry wasn’t dead yet, so it obviously wasn’t.

Of course, those were only surface level observations. A longer look revealed further secrets. A faint shimmer to the eyes, too-sharp-teeth, a smile like a razor, fingers that were the tiniest bit too long to look natural, a faint shifting in the jet-black hair. Not enough to be noticeable, not if you weren’t looking. But if you looked closer, there was a tinge of something… other, something a step removed from a human.

In short, Harry was full of intrigue and contradiction. A living wizard accompanied by a grim and a portent of doom, one who sang and strummed his spells instead of incanting and invoking, a wizard who was a human, and yet not.

Then there was the scar. It had faded, obviously, as scars are wont to do, but the Lichtenberg figure of a scar that stretched down to just above his eye, splitting his eyebrow in multiple places was distinctive. And famous. He was clearly Harry Potter. A celebrity, though Cedric personally thought it more likely the full trained witch and wizard had managed to finagle some sort of defense for their only son.

More importantly, someone who was a year early to Hogwarts. And yet Hogwarts’ acceptance system had never once failed. But, then again, there was the faerie comment again. It was a known fact that Otherworlds had a time-dilative effect, thus why children were warned about them in the magical world.

Turning his attention back to his book, Cedric let his head sway to the music that Harry was playing. One thing was for certain. He was a good musician.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Harry

The boat ride had been… rather boring, Harry thought. He supposed it was likely to wow the new students with a look at the castle from a distance, but knowing what he did about one of the founders, he found it rather underwhelming. A veritable monument of a legacy, dedicated to at least one swine of a thief who put his own interest above returning an item to its people.

Shifting his staff to more comfortably hold himself, Harry was surprised when he heard a brand-new form of song. A violin sonata. Casting his gaze about him, Harry noticed a group of ghosts looking at him, their faces twisted caricatures of a humans struck by sheer terror. Making eye-contact with one, he was rather shocked that they all fled the way they had come. Shortly after, they were led into the Great Hall. Looking around, Harry realized he struck quite unusual figure, surrounded by so many people bedecked in a relatively more modern version of a houppelande, in contrast to his tunic, breeches and cloak.

Finding Cedric in the crowd, Harry saw him giving him a double thumbs up. Eventually, his name was called, prompting much muttering and whispering. Sat on the stool, McGonagall placed the hat on him.

“Your song was trite and uninspired.”

And who are you to determine that?

“An actual bard, not a facsimile of one that was imbued into cloth.”

You are, quite possibly, one of the rudest children I’ve sorted, Mr. Potter!

“If you weren’t besmirching such a noble tradition, I wouldn’t have to be rude! You have an entire year to work on the song, do better!”

If you do not stop, I will refuse to sort you.

“I’ve said my piece.”

Well, you’ve certainly got enough reckless courage to be sorted in Gryffindor, and your bartering system would work rather well with the house politics of Slytherin. You’ve certainly got the mind for Ravenclaw, bard that you are, but we both know where you’re headed to. With your loyalty to you companions, better be…

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

Following the Hat’s proclamation, the Hufflepuff table burst into raucous applause, while the rest of the tables clapped politely, all the while accompanied by that same muttering. Walking to his House table, Harry spotted Cedric gesturing at him, making a motion at someone to get them to move over. Sitting down next to the only person that he knew; Harry leaned his staff against the table and watched as Artorius sniffed Cedric before laying down between the two of them.

“You are quite possibly the only other person that Artorius likes.” Harry commented.

“I’ll take that as a compliment!” Cedric replied. “By the way, I meant to ask on the train, what’s with the clothes?”

“Oh, it’s my uniform. As a bard, I’m allowed to determine my own uniform, and I’d rather avoid the one you have to wear.”

“Fair.” Cedric said, filling his plate. “I mean, it’s not the worst, we get to wear what we want when it’s not actually ‘school time,’ so after lessons and weekends, but I’d kill to wear a cardigan in class. You okay?”

Looking at the food on the table, Harry failed to hear Cedric’s question. His mind was, instead, filled with the low humming of y Tylwyth Teg that was coming from every piece of food on the table.

“Cedric, does this castle have brownies? Or bwbachod?”

“Uh… you know, I don’t actually know. Why do you ask?”

“Don’t… don’t worry about it.” Harry said, not even convincing himself with his words.

“Seriously, are you okay?”

“I… I just need to look into something.” Harry replied, his voice surer. “Don’t worry about it”

“Cedric, stop monopolizing the Boy-Who-Lived!” Someone called out.

“Nope!” Cedric cheerfully replied. “You guys are just gonna be weird, like you just were! Wait until breakfast and actually try introducing yourself!”

Hurriedly, Harry filled his plate with food from his Hamper, before turning to Cedric.

“Do we have to stay for the meal part?”

“Nah, the only part that has mandatory attendance is the Sorting. You have a plate?” Cedric asked, before seeing he had already loaded his plate. “Alrighty then, let’s duck out.”

“Diggory, where are you going?” An older Hufflepuff, with a badge pinned to his robes, asked.

“Taking Harry to the common room.” Harry replied. “Keeping in mind that the feast part isn’t mandatory, and he wants to leave.”

“That’s the job of the prefects, Diggory.”

“Ah yes because the password, which has always been the same, was changed? Or because I can’t find it?”

“Christ, I can’t deal with your mouthiness right now. Fine, go.”

Stroking the top of Lenore’s head as he followed Cedric, Harry turned his head to the side slightly.

“You can be rather difficult when you want to be, I take it?”

“Yeah, I don’t really like being told what to do if there isn’t a valid reason. I was… quite the pain in the ass last year.”

“Why are you being so helpful and nice?” Harry asked, looking at Cedric with interest.

“You seem cool, and I like being nice. Also, you looked really uncomfortable in the Hall.”

“So… you aren’t expecting some form of favor or item in return?” Harry asked, floundering at the genuineness of Cedric’s tone.

“Ah. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’ll ask for one.” Cedric replied, hearing a slight sigh of relief from Harry. “Be my friend?”

“I… that’s it? Not a talisman, not a favor, just… being friends?”

“Yeah!”

“I… I can try? I’ve never really had a human friend before.”

“Well, I’ll be glad to be your first one!” Cedric exclaimed, leaning against a set of barrels. “And this is the entrance to the common room!”

Walking to the second to last upright barrel from the right, Cedric slapped its side.

“Ya gotta knock the name Helga Hufflepuff in a two, two, one beat.” Cedric said, demonstrating, causing a wall of stacked barrels to swing open like a door.

Entering the common room, Harry looked around. The first word he would use to describe it would be cozy. There was a fireplace, with the logs burning a merry tune, warm brown couches and chairs scattered all across the room, the gentle chimes and clatters revealing their plant-based nature, some clustered around tables, some by themselves. The walls were a pleasant shade of green, with a black and yellow diamond pattern. Also strewn around the room were plant pots, standing on tables or alcoves, hanging from the roof, built into the walls, all of which had various different plants in them.

“Well! I guess we’ll just have to wait for you to know which dorms you’re assigned. What subject are you looking forward to most?”

“Hmm… Potions, I think.” Harry replied. “What I’ve read of the Transmogrification textbook indicates it’ll be rather easy, and I’ve much the same opinion of some of the Thaumaturgy curriculum.”

“And the rest of the Thaumaturgy content?”

“I suppose we’ll have to just wait and see.”

Chapter Text

Harry

Harry had had low expectations for Magical History, after what he had heard of the professor from Cedric. Truly, a disappointment in his mind, given the importance he placed on passing on the events of the past, given the purpose of a bard, as a societal role. Suffice it to say, he was rather surprised at the response his entrance to the classroom got from the Professor.

He had entered the room shortly after a huddle of Gryffindors, staff in hand. Crossing the threshold of the room, he was immediately confronted by the ghostly professor’s awe-struck stare. Now, Harry was aware of the bell that had manifested itself on his staff after a trip through Annwn,  having noticed it a while later. He was, however, a bit forgetful of it, blending into the rest of the noises he heard all day. But for its toll to attract such attention from a specter? Now that was an unknown.

“Greetings, Good Professor?” Harry asked more than he said. “What help might I be?”

“I don’t quite remember the last time I was this lucid.” Binns idly commented. “It’s rather discomforting, I feel. Tell me, young man, what is so different about you as to break my reverie?”

“It mightn’t be an inherent trait of mine, Good Professor.” Harry replied, ignoring the stares of the other students. “I’m rather certain the cause would be the bell attached to my staff.”

“Ah, a bard are you?” Binns asked, turning to face Harry. “And one with a tinge of beyond. I’ve grown rather tired of the monotony of my existence, bard. Would you do an old spirit a favor and help me to pass on?”

“Allowing for a research interval, I wouldn’t object to it. Though, I would, of course, have to ask for something in return, so that the barter might be well-weighted.”

“Would access to my research materials suffice? I never quite got around to willing them to my children, and they couldn’t gain access to the safe I held them in. They were always rather poor magicians.”

“It would indeed suffice, Good Professor. I shall inform you of my findings when possible.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Transmogrification was a… different experience when compared to Harry’s first Magical History lesson. He had, of course, learned of the strictness of Professor McGonagall from Cedric, and, as such, had made sure to be seated in the class rather early. Of course, he had only sat down after greeting the cat perched upon the professor’s desk, seeing as it emanated the same song as McGonagall.

The class itself was rather boring if he was being entirely honest. The first hour was a lecture on the theory behind turning a match into a needle, one which he simply ignored, seeing as it was irrelevant. The second half was simply a repetition of the test that Dumbledore had asked of him, which was rather simpler with the tiniest bit of experience. After he had accomplished the required task, the lesson was even more boring than before. Thankfully, books existed.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Thaumaturgy was… frustrating. Harry had already had his reservations about the subject, and the nature of changing State instead of Form, the artificial constructs that so many of the spells functioned within and relied upon. The double lesson began with a half-hour lecture, before Professor Flitwick, who was oddly wary of Harry, avoiding him whenever possible, had them casting the Wand-Lighting Charm, Lumos, a simple enough spell for most people, though a pitifully easy spell for Harry.

It was the next period that proved frustrating. Shortly after everyone in their class had succeeded with Lumos, they began working on the theory behind the Unlocking charm, Alohomora, with just enough time at the end of the lesson for a few attempts at casting the charm. Which was where the frustration stemmed from. Harry had already anticipated that he would have… difficulties with performing specific charms. It was merely a confirmation of his suspicions when he completely and utterly failed to perform the spell.

“Mr. Potter, what seems to be the issue?” Flitwick asked, standing just close enough that he and Harry would be able to hear each other.

“I’ve found that I won’t be able to perform this spell, Good Professor.”

“Ah. I… confess to not quite understanding how to help you, given the… circumstances.”

“I rather think this is a scenario where I am simply incapable of casting the spell, Good Professor. If I understand the theory, the charm functions to change the state of the lock, yes?”

“You would be correct, Mr. Potter. The spell, when performed correctly causes the lock to switch from a state of being locked, to a state of being unlocked, along with acting as the counterspell for the Locking Charm.”

“Yes, well, as a general statement, I cannot perform magic that changes a State of a thing, Good Professor. The Form, or the Nature of a thing, certainly, they’re more commonly innate aspects of whatever I happen to be manipulating. States are more likely to be manufactured concepts, artificial constructs with no rooting in nature.”

“I’m certain there should be a way to allow you to perform such spells, Mr. Potter.” Flitwick replied, looking rather nervous. “I’ll have a discussion with the Headmaster and inform you of any findings.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Apotropaic Arts was, Harry had decided, a thoroughly unpleasant lesson. He had also decided that he rather despised the professor, one Mr. Alder Huckleberry. He had been sitting in the classroom, Artorius at his feet, and Lenore on his shoulder, as they had every other class, when Professor Huckleberry entered the room.

“Take the grim and crow out of the class Mr. Potter.”

“Artorius is a gwyllgi, not a grim, and Lenore a raven, not a crow, Good Professor. More importantly, however, is that they are their own beings that I do not control. They would simply follow me back into the classroom.”

“That is clearly a grim, Mr. Potter, and that’ll be ten points from Hufflepuff for not obeying a teacher’s order. Finally, I shall be addressed as Professor Huckleberry, or sir, not Good Professor.”

“Once again, Artorius is a gwyllgi, not a grim, or more accurately a Church Grim. You may, instead, be thinking of the English Black Dog, which is rather more similar, but still a distinctly different entity. As for you final point, I shall not have indirect terms of address dictated to me, Professor.”

“Well!” The professor exclaimed, slamming his hands against his desk. “Today’s lesson was going to be about the basics of evasion, but I’ve decided we’ll go for something different. Headmaster Dumbledore informed all of the professors about your ‘adventures’ Potter. How do you harm a faerie, then?”

Huckleberry

Alder’s mother had always told him that his brash nature and bull-headed stubbornness would be the end of him. He had never believed her, youthful as he was, and hadn’t experienced anything that would prove her correct in his adult life either. Or, at least, he hadn’t believed her until the first lesson he taught with the first-year Hufflepuffs. It was meant to be a boring, rote lesson. Drilling the mantra of ‘You can’t be hit if you aren’t there’ into their heads.

But Harry Potter was being stubborn. So, Alder Huckleberry reacted brashly and was scared of a teenager for the first time in his life.

He had asked the boy about harming faeries, skeptical about Dumbledore’s claims. Clearly, that was the wrong thing to ask. Giving the teen his undivided attention, waiting for an answer, Alder noticed as he turned his head to the side, the angle just the tiniest bit unnatural, as a blade skittered across his teeth behind his pursed lips.

“I would be able to give a theory-based answer, Huckleberry. I would be unable to give a practical answer, as I spent my time treating the Good Neighbors with respect, and bartering with those that wished it, instead of harming and slaughtering them.” The student responded, a shifting sharpness glinting behind his eyes. “And I do believe that question finds you in violation of Hogwarts’ Charter.”

“Which section would that be, exactly?” Alder asked, affecting a sarcastic drawl to hide his fear, taking in the bladed grin of the child with fearful eyes.

Harry

Harry wasn’t entirely certain why Huckleberry had paled so dramatically or seemed to be hiding a degree of fear, but he thought it was rather entertaining.

“The Treaty of Taliesin, ratified in 786 by the Council of the Magus, grandfathered into the Wizard’s Council and then retroactively grandfathered into Hogwarts’ Charter four years after the school’s founding.”

“And how exactly am I in violation of that?” The professor asked, his fear belied by the tremble in his voice.

“Within the Treaty of Taliesin resides a stipulation regarding bards and their interactions with the Good Neighbors, forbidding magicians from inquiring with a bard about methods by which they could harm the Fair Folk. The penalty of a violation was stated to be determined by the bard to which the question was directed.”

“And what exactly could you, a first-year, do to me?”

“I could ask Artorius to exact the punishment?” Harry proposed lightly. “Though his punishment would be rather lighter than what I would do. Now, would you wish a punishment, or do you wish to leave my companions and terms of address be?”

“The… the latter, Mr. Potter.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

It was after a Transmogrification lesson, not the first, nor the second, but certainly one of them, that Harry was asked to stay behind after the rest of the class had been dismissed. Still sitting in his seat, he looked at Professor McGonagall, who was sitting behind her desk, staring at him as though she expected him to ask why he had been held behind. Eventually, however, she broke before he did.

“I have received complaints from each and every professor of yours, Mr. Potter.” She began. “Ordinarily discipline would be handled by your Head of House, but, due to the quantity, I have elected to step in.”

“I was unaware of any particular issues surrounding my classroom performance, bar State based spells within Thaumaturgy, Good Professor.”

“Well, it surrounds your homework. I shall have to insist that you sign your name on your homework, Mr. Potter.”

“No.”

“That wasn’t a request, Mr. Potter.”

“All the same, I shall have to decline, Good Professor. Such a resource would put one at risk of beguilement and enchantments, at risk of being charmed and entrapped.” Harry replied. “Such a risk is not one that I shall take.”

McGonagall simply sighed, before waving her hand at the door, dismissing him with a parting regard of informing Dumbledore of his response.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Harry had rather high hopes for Potions. Technically speaking, he still had high hopes for Potions, though the subject would likely involve a greater deal of self-study than he would have otherwise preferred. At the exact moment the class was set to start, their Professor, a man by the name of Severus Snape, swept into the class. Taking a roll of the class, he added a slight jab towards Harry’s status as an orphan, though it was likely intended as an insult to his perceived intelligence, given his celebrity status.

“You are here to learn the subtle, exacting art of potion-brewing.” The professor drawled, his voice barely more than a whisper, but clear for all to hear. “There shall be no foolish wand-waving, nor shall there be any strumming of an instrument. As such many of you may not view such an art as being magical in nature. A position that may change if you possess a mote of intelligence, unlike those that I usually teach.”

“Potter! What would a combination of powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood create?”

“I would assume some form of poison, or a potion to induce sleep, of a sort.” Harry replied.

“Explain.” Snape demanded.

“The asphodel is one of the primary symbols used in representing Erebus. In combination with wormwood, a plant with the capacity to be fatally toxic, most notably having a higher risk of fatality when turned into an oil-based infusion, which has meanings of absence in poetic contexts, I would think it could become a potent poison, or a potent somniferous concoction, depending on the other ingredients. I would think extract of nightshade for the former, extract of poppy seeds for the latter.”

“Correct, on both accounts, the latter being the requested answer, the Draught of Living Death. Where would I find a bezoar?”

“Traditionally, the stomach of a goat, though one could use the gallstones of an ox. They can also be found in the large intestine, the trachea, and the esophagus.”

“Correct. So, it seems you are capable of reading. Tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“Bar folkloric perceptions, there is none. Both names are used for the plant known as Delphinieae Aconitum L. Otherwise known as Leopard’s Bane, Devil’s Helmet, Blue Rocket and Aconite, Aconitum is known for its toxicity, the roots commonly being used as a poisoning agent, and other parts used in folk medicinal practices, and was thought to have sprung from the River Acheron, or the spittle dripping from the jowls of Cerberus.”

“You have proven… adequate.” Snape said, before looking at the rest of the class. “Why are the rest of you failing to take notes?”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

With the monotony of a school schedule, assigned homework, and maintaining the human friendship he had formed, it took Harry a while to finally set about to look for the origin of the humming of y Tylwyth Teg that he heard on the food in the Great Hall. Until October, more precisely.

With his feet being guided not by his thought, but his goal, the charm he had made so long ago causing his route to lay as true as a well-fletched arrow flew. The portrait he came up against was dealt with by a quick strum of his lyre, separating the frame from the canvas. Walking through the gap where there had been the portrait, Harry heard the instrumentation of the Good Neighbors, the tune bearing a superficial similarity to the Dames of Elfin Land, but it was… wrong. Fundamentally, it was wrong, warped, as though the source of the song was out of tune, and hadn’t been maintained at all. Looking around, he saw beings that held similarities to a coblyn, and a bwbach, with the pointed ears of an elf.

“What happened to you?”

Chapter Text

“I told you he would hear it.” One of the beings directed at another before turning to Harry. “Greetings, Bard.”

“What…” Harry began, trailing off, looking around him at the sea of mutilated music, the surging tide of faeries who had been mutilated, changed, and transformed into something other. Looked at the faint traces left of their former glory, the drooping ears, the nature-wild eyes, listened to the skittering of knife against stone, all that remained of their bladed, spike-filled smiles, the towels made togas that they wore, the slender fingers working knives of iron, slender fingers burnt by the metal they so abhorred but were forced to use, the slender fingers that ought to have been caressing a mortal’s jawbone as they tempted them into a deal, or into giving their name and their self.

“What happened?” Harry repeated, his tone filled with desperation as he listened closer, hearing the flutes he had become familiar with under the Huntsman’s tutelage.

“Something that not even we truly understand, good bard.” The same being responded, voice heavy with its weariness. “For it happened long in our past, and all those that could have passed the information on were taken.”

“Would…” Harry trailed off, sitting down on the floor, floundering to find familiar grounds, comforted by the weight of Artorius’ head in his lap. ”Would, you care for a barter? Information for information? Questions for questions?”

“Oh Mr. Potter, that might have worked before, but not now.”

“Wait, how do you- I never gave you my name, how do you know my name? How is it still my name?”

“You didn’t think your age was the only thing affected by your journey’s in Annwn, did you?” The being asked. “Your being would be rather hard to steal now, seeing as you’re a step or two to the left of fully human.”

“That… that should be disturbing.” Harry commented. “Not comforting.”

The small being before him shrugged their shoulders.

“I suppose it functions as security?” Harry pondered. “A preventative method of protecting my metaphysical personhood? Perhaps an adaptation I unconsciously developed? What do you think Artorius?”

Getting a huff in response, Harry shook his head to clear it of his thoughts.

“A problem for another time.” Harry muttered to himself. “By what may I address you, and by what may I address your people?”

“The magicians call us House Elves, and you may use Miriam to refer to me.”

“Elves are not a household being.” Harry asked more than he stated. “An elf of the house is an inherent contradiction. Do your people have a term used amongst yourself that I might use?”

“Elf would suffice.” Miriam responded.

“Good Elf, what… what happened to your people?”

“As was said, we know not what led us to our current form, Mr. Potter. Those that might have been present when it happened were taken from us.”

“You remarked that I would ‘hear ‘it.’ Hear what?”

“We know what a bard hears, good sir.”

“Okay…” Harry began. “You understand the nature of my talents, the lengths to which I can hear.”

Closing his eyes, Harry took the time to listen closer to the songs coming from the elves around him, listening to the humming of their being, the flutes of a tynged, and something… other. A regular chime, with no degree of elegance or musicality present in its structured beats.

“A binding… and at least a singular tynged.” Harry commented, as much to himself as the elves. “The same rhythm… a shared binding and tynghedau.”

Opening his eyes, Harry looked at Miriam.

“The binding. Is it to the magicians?”

“In a manner.” Miriam replied. ”The binding is twofold a spell. A bind to the self that then necessitates being bound to a magician, or an institute.”

“Are there any restrictions to what your people find themselves capable of? Without understanding what anchors the binding, the tynged, or tynghedau, seems more prescient a concern.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, but surely, Harry managed to piece together the tynghedau that the elves labored under. For it was, in fact, more than a singular tynged. It seemed as though there were six of them. One to prevent the elves from performing magic, or crafting charms, unless ordered, another prohibiting them from having children unless permitted. One to guarantee compliance with an order, one to guarantee the twofold aspect of the binding, forcing them under a magician or institute. Another, to seek a new bondholder if dismissed, and one to pass the tynghedau onto their children.

“This is slavery! This is chattel slavery!” Harry yelled, outraged at what he had learned.

“And it is the manner in which we have been condemned to live.” Miriam responded, her voice heavy with resignation.

“No.” Harry said. “No, I refuse to accept that this farce has to persist. One way or another, I will unmake the tynghedau, and I will dispel that binding.”

“A noble endeavor, but you must know of the permanence of a tynged, having studied the art yourself, good bard.”

“I. Do. Not. Care. I don’t care that there has been no mention of a tynged being undone, I will force the magic to exist if needs be. And I already have my first route of investigation.”

“Which would be?”

“You called it a tynged, good elf. I’ll simply access Annwn one way, or another.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Naturally, the forest surrounding Hogwarts was Harry’s first point of investigation, given his experience with entering Annwn through various woodland methods. The first issue of many? The damned groundskeeper.

“Oi, what’re ya doing there?” The towering figure called out as Harry began walking into the forest.

“Entering the forest, Good Keeper.” Harry responded. “I’ve business to conduct within its woodland realm.”

“The forest’s off-limits to the students, Professor Dumbledore said so at the Welcomin’ Feast.”  The figure called out as he approached Harry.

Sighing to himself, Harry turned to face the groundskeeper, beating a light tune against the ground with his foot, summoning a slight wind to play about his hair.

“Harry!” The groundskeeper called out. “Why, you were a wee little one when las’ I saw you.”

His initial response was a sharp inhale, causing the wind he had called up to abruptly still before it restarted as he exhaled.

“Good Keeper, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet. Might I have your name?” Harry asked.

“I’m Rubeus Hagrid!” The man responded jovially, before looking dazed a few seconds later.

“Needs must, sometimes.” Harry muttered to himself, setting back into the forest, clenching his hand into a fist as he did, calling out to the groundskeeper as he did, lacing a thread of song into his voice. “You won’t tell anyone, in any manner, you saw me here.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

As Harry wandered the woods, looking through his seeing stone, now restrung into a necklace, he thought about the groundskeeper. It had been on a whim, really, attempting what he had, based on Miriam’s comment about him. He could have simply used two tynghedau, instead of the one he had used, but… well, one could find loopholes around all sorts of tynghedau if they had to. No, what he had done was far better, more permanent. He wouldn’t risk someone preventing him from accomplishing his task.

Turning his attention fully back to the current step in his task, he spied another entrance to an Otherworld, much like the others he had found. He had made sure to steer clear of them. Their song and the sight he saw through the stone were… aggressive and gave the distinct impression of yelling “LEAVE!.” Nothing at all like Annwn. Understandable, seeing as Scotland was home to Elphame, instead of Annwn. Regardless, Harry wouldn’t rest until he had found a means of access.

His distraction with reorienting himself away from the entrance to Elphame was the ultimate reason he was accosted, finding himself held at spearpoint, the polearm being accompanied by two drawn bows.

“Greetings, Good Centaurs.”

Chapter Text

Harry

“Human. You have intruded upon our territories. What intentions have you?” The chestnut-haired centaur asked.

“Ah. An unintentional intrusion Good Centaur. As  far as my intentions with regard to your eminence, I have none, as I had been informed of neither your presence, nor the bounds of your territories. More generally, however, I seek an entrance to Annwn.”

Cantering forward, lowering their bow as they did, a cream-haired centaur gave him a critical look, taking in his entire ensemble.

“A bard. You must then know you will not find what you look for within these woods?”

“Indeed? So far, I’ve managed to locate entrances to Elphame, with nary a henge leading to Annwn.” Harry replied. “Though, now that I’m aware of your presence, I would propose a barter.”

“A dealing with a góēs? I think not.” The last of the centaurs, a dark-haired centaur, scoffed, still training his arrow at Harry.

“A barter, not a dealing, Good Archer.” Harry responded, glancing at the centaur. “More importantly, a barter with one who is a step removed from humans. I would request information on planar entrances within these lands, in return for a request of yours.”

“You speak of being inhuman. Explain.”

“Prolonged exposure to Annwn. Now, your request?”

As the chestnut-haired centaur moved to speak, the centaur who still held his bow ready to fire spoke first.

“You claim distance from others of your kind and ask for a barter. We name an artifact of ours as payment for your requested information.”

“Bane, you speak when it is not your place.” The spear-wielder admonished.

“And you prevaricate when not related to the events the stars have told, Ronan.” The centaur, Bane, responded. “Do you accept the terms, bard?”

“A treasured item, for treasured knowledge? I would think it well-weighted, Good Archer. Tell me, what does this item look like?”

“He refers to a spear.” The chestnut-haired centaur, Ronan, answered. “A sacred relic of ours, that a prior Headmaster demanded as payment for allowing our people to reside within the Forest.”

“First a Founder, now a Headmaster.” Harry sighed. “What is it with magicians and theft of sacred items?”

“Which Founder?” The cream-colored centaur asked.

“I’ve no hint, but a Founder found and stole Durendal, a sword of legend that ought to have been returned to a Lake.”

“It appears those of the Goldin Lion’s lineage have a penchant for theft, as it was a descendant of Godric Gryffindor’s that demanded the Spear.” Ronan commented.

“What would the spear look like?” Harry asked, filing the information about the sword away for later.

“A meter long haft, with an arrowhead of darkest obsidian, prayers and promises engraved on the head and haft.”

“Would the engravings be in Ancient Greek?” Harry asked.

“Indeed.”

“Considering the upcoming equinox and solstice, and the preparations I shall have to undertake for a proper observance, the research and acquisition shall have to occur in the last months of the year. Accounting for research, searching the castle for the spear itself, dispelling what spells may be present, and the acquisition, I think it might take a while. Would the day after the solstice suffice?”

“We shall meet at the appointed date.” Ronan replied. “Now, we part ways.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

“Hello Cedric.” Harry idly greeted the teenager, reading through a tome about ghosts he had loaned from the library.

“Hey songbird!” Cedric responded, flopping down onto the couch Harry was sitting on. “So, what happened with Binns?”

“Songbird?” Harry asked, turning from the book to face Cedric.

“What can I say? I like nicknames.” Cedric responded. “My one neighbor Luna, she gave me those glasses by the way, is really artsy, so I chose Arty, ‘cus it’s also a shortening of Artemis and, y’know, moons. Anyway, that doesn’t answer the question.”

“He responded to the bell on my staff and became lucid. He also asked that I help him pass on.”

“Bell?”

“It’s from Annwn.” Harry said as an answer. “In return, he offered his research materials, but I’m rather struggling to find any information on dispelling spirits. I suppose I could perform a Christian exorcism, though that feels… drastic.”

“You could always help him complete his unfinished business.” Cedric commented, propping his head against his arm. “Though that might be a little hard, seeing as he probably doesn’t remember what led him to be a ghost. Hmm, what a situation.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Cedric

Cedric watched as Harry stared pensively into the fire, eyes filled with a heavy look. Maybe the first month had been tiring, he knew it had been for him the prior year, he thought, hoping it wasn’t something more dire. Deciding to shake his mind from whatever topics were troubling him, Cedric nudged Harry’s leg with his foot.

“Did you hear about the Groundskeeper?”

“No, what happened?” Harry replied, his tone light, but still sounding concerned.

“Rumor is, he had a bad encounter with a faerie.” Cedric said, leaning closer to Harry. “Professor Kettleburn was visiting him to ask if he could borrow a thestral for a class with the sixth years and Groundskeeper Hagrid didn’t recognize him. Obviously the Professor took him to Professor Huckleberry, thinking he might have been hit by a stray jinx or something, but all of the diagnostics came back negative. The Headmaster got brought in, and turns out, he doesn’t even know who he is.”

“That’s awful!” Harry exclaimed, still using the same, odd, light tone.

“Some of the Ravenclaws I know think it might be brain damage, from dealing with some of the things in the forest, but popular opinion seems to be that he ran afoul of a faerie.”

“Well, if his position had him entering the forest, it isn’t out of the realms of possibility.” Harry mused, petting Lenore, who was perched on his shoulder as was normal.

“It’s kind of a bummer.” Cedric said, resting his head against the top of the couch’s back. “Guy was really nice the few times I spoke to him. He’s being sent to St. Mungo’s to be looked after.”

“Well, would you like to help me make candles?” Harry asked. “There a few more that I need to make.”

“Sure?”

Chapter Text

“So, what were the candles for?” Cedric asked.

“They’re for tonight, among other things.” Harry responded, gently rolling the prepared candles up with some cloth.

“The Halloween feast is tonight though?”

“It doesn’t have mandatory attendance, however, and I have my own traditions that I observe, which I’m inviting you to attend with me.” Harry replied. “Do you have anyone who’s passed on that you would wish to keep in mind?”

“Well, there’s my nan.” Cedric replied, voice slightly heavier. “That’s about it though. I, uh, don’t really get along with my family. And I’d be happy to come along.”

“Do you have a preferred humanoid being or beast?” Harry asked, pulling out a paintbrush, and a set of paints.

“I mean, I think mummies are really cool.” Cedric responded, earning a chuckle from Harry, who was approaching him. “What?”

“It’s rather funny that you said mummies when you’ll be mumming.” Harry replied, flipping through a book after setting the paint set on the table next to them. “Fair warning, I’m going to have to straddle you now.”

“What?” Cedric exclaimed, a faint blush creeping up his face.

“I’m going to have too straddle you.” Harry repeated, avoiding eye contact. “I need to paint your face, and that’ll be the easiest position.”

“Oh… okay.” Cedric said, calming down, feeling a little joyful at the blush he could see creeping up Harry’s face. “What’s mumming, though?”

“It’s an old tradition that evolved into trick or treating when traditions like Samhain were syncretized with Allhallowtide. With the liminal nature of the day allowing spirits and the passed-on dead to return, you disguise yourself as one of them to protect yourself.”

“Allhallowtide? What’s that?” Cedric asked, refusing to make eye contact as Harry got into position to start painting.

“It’s a period of time observed by Western Christians.” Harry answered, pulling the paint pots closer. “The first day is All Hallow’s Eve, which eventually became the modern Halloween. After that was All Saint’s Day, a commemorative feast day to honor any and all saints and martyr’s be they known or unknown. The final day is All Souls Day, a day to honor all faithful Christians not known to your parish, living or dead, though it’s become slightly conflated with All Saint’s Day.”

“And how does all of that relate to Halloween?” Cedric asked, mindful of the fact that he wouldn’t be able to ask another question with how close Harry was getting to his jaw, blush returning in full force at the thought.

“All Hallow’s Eve is commonly believed to have been syncretized with traditional Celtic festivals as a means of easing the conversion of the locals and allowing the practicing of their traditions in a manner that didn’t offend the church. Combine the traditions of harvest festivals like mumming, All Hallow’s Eve, and guising, where children would go about accepting offerings in the stead of spirits to protect themselves, and a few centuries later, you have Halloween. Now quiet.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

“So, what are we doing?” Cedric asked Harry, who had some sort of sea creature painted on his face.

“We’re heading into the Forest.” Harry replied, handing Cedric a basket. “Do you have your stones?”

“Yup!” Cedric answered, feeling the weight of the stones that he had written his and his grandmother’s names on.

As they walked, Cedric noticed Harry looking through an odd stone on a necklace. Ignoring that, he asked Harry something else.

“So, what’s going to happen?”

“Some divination, some food, some dancing. Although, it’s slightly less coherent than that suggests.” Harry replied, as he finally led them into a clearing with a stone table set up, where five chairs were set. “Pass me the candles and the matches.”

Slowly, with Cedric handing Harry various items from the basket, Harry set the stone table for a meal for five,  getting the seemingly endless food out of a basket hanging from his side.

“What’re the extra plates for?” He asked as he helped Harry pile wood into a small bonfire.

“They’re for the dead we wish to commemorate. By setting the table for them, we leave them space to be with us when the veil is parted.” Harry replied, moving over to light the candles on the table as the sun began to set,

“One setting for each soul.” Harry continued, pulling three stones out of his bag, prompting Cedric to pull his out. “One for your grandmother, and one for each of my parents.”

Once the stones were set around the wood, Harry lit the bonfire with a mournful sounding whistle, before proceeding to pull Cedric into a dance, circling the fire to some song only he seemed to hear, accompanied by the howls and caws of his companions.

“Do you trust me?” Harry asked as they danced.

“Yes.” Cedric said, resolute. If Harry was willing to let him participate in a tradition of his, he couldn’t not trust him.

“Jump when and where I jump.” Harry responded.

Minutes later, he jumped through the bonfire, finishing the dance, and watched as Cedric did the same.

“I wouldn’t have thought that jumping through fire would have felt so… refreshing.” Cedric commented as he followed Harry to the two plates set out for them.

“That’s the purpose of the bonfire.” Harry explained as he sat down. “It represents the sun, and as the bonfire dies out, so too does it represent the slowly fading light as we enter the cold months of death where no life grows.”

“But just as it represents the death of the sun and summer, it also represents the promise of the sun’s return, and a return to the months of life and growth.” Harry continued. “Though that aspect is more important to the winter solstice, in every context the light of the bonfire represents the light of life and hope, two constants that find their way through the dark no matter the circumstances.”

Not long after they had finished eating, and cut ten leaves from a length of ivory, discarding the tenth, they were sitting in front of the bonfire, Harry playing a song on his lyre.

“I’ve been wondering something.” Harry said, breaking the silence. “What do magicians do for the equinox? Normal mortals go trick or treating, or party, or something similar. I have my own traditions I’ve cobbled together. But I’ve no idea what your society does.”

“Well, it depends, really.” Cedric replied, resting his head on his propped-up knee. “Arty, she usually goes trick or treating, usually with the Weasley’s. Me, I stay in and read my nan’s poetry that she wrote. I don’t know the specifics for other people, but there are a few usual things. Some people, they fancy themselves historical reconstructionist followers and claim to follow ‘The Olde Ways’ but they just got hood winked into following Wiccan traditions, there was a whole expose about it, they claimed the truth was being hidden by Dumbledore for some reason. There are families that host an annual feast for their friends and family, then there’re the rites that Pellarastic Christians follow but I’ve no idea about those – I was never initiated – there’s probably a Mass, but most people? I dunno, I think most people just… see it as another day, y’know?”

Hearing the hum of a response, Cedric tilted his head to look at Harry, watching how the light of the fire lit the edges of his profile, how it caught in his wild-green eyes.

“Why did you invite me? Not that I haven’t enjoyed this celebration to the feast I had last year, but it just… seems personal?”

“Harvest festivals are about community.” Harry answered lightly. “They’re about the community banding together to gather food for the long months that are ahead, the community banding together to distract each other from the dark, to protect each other from the spirits lurking in the shadows.”

“I’ve never really had the chance to have that sort of community. My relatives… isolated me, from the community, from themselves… then I left them, and I was by myself for a while, so I had no community to properly celebrate with either. It got better after Artorius, he helped scare off any malevolent spirits, but…” Harry continued, setting his lyre down and drawing his knees against himself. “And, well… you’re sort of the only human I talk to. The only person who could really be considered a part of my community.”

“Well, I’ll be part of that community for as long as you’ll let me.”

Chapter Text

Harry

Harry had had the most bizarre of dreams the night of the equinox, courtesy of the ivy leaves placed under his pillow. In them, he had been speaking with the Huntsman, before it transitioned to him reading through a thick, dusty tome, transitioning once more to him speaking with a regal looking woman, seated on a throne with eight other women seated either side of her, making a line of nine.

Waking up, he immediately took notes on the dreams in a notebook he kept on his bedside table before getting dressed and heading to the library. It was time for some research. Harry was used to libraries with card catalogues, and organizational systems that made sense. Neither of which were present in the library of Hogwarts, so the first port of call was the librarian, Irma Pince.

“Good Librarian?” Harry whispered as he stepped up to the desk.

“Mr. Potter. How might I assist you?” Madame Pince, a stern woman with a song like iron, asked.

“I was curious as to whether there were ledgers pertaining to the artifacts the school possesses? And, in the circumstance that there are such ledgers, whether I might be allowed access to them?”

“We do indeed possess such ledgers, Mr. Potter.” Madame Pince responded, her mouth a thin line. “However, I would require information on the purpose for your request before even considering allowing you access to such documents.”

“A research project that Professor Binns has assigned for me, Good Librarian.” Harry answered, quickly spinning his tale from the yarns of rumors that had abounded. “His brief lucidity reoccurred when I went to discuss a lesson with him, he believes his unfinished business may be related to an artifact in the castle.”

“A noble idea, Mr. Potter, helping one of the castle’s ghosts pass on.” Madame Pince replied as she bent underneath the desk and hefted out a heavy looking tome. “You shall have to peruse the contents within the library. I do not allow such tomes to be borrowed.”

“An understandable restriction, Good Madame.” Harry said, picking up the tome. “It shall not leave this room.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Harry had been paging through the ledger, taking notes every so often, for about an hour when he was suddenly interrupted.

“Hey songbird.” Cedric whispered. “Whatcha looking into?”

Diverting his attention from the ledger, Harry jotted down a note in his journal, turning it about and sliding it toward Cedric, before turning his attention back to the ledger, turning the page and finally finding what he had been looking for. Taking out another notebook, he copied out the relevant section and closed the book, returning the ledger to Madame Pince, before leading Cedric into an empty room.

“So, why’d you have to wait till we were alone to tell me what you’re researching?”

“Do you trust me? And I don’t mean it in the keeping mild secrets sense, do you trust me enough to take a secret to your grave?”

Looking at Cedric, Harry watched as his sole human companion’s gaze shifted, his expression becoming pensive. He watched as Cedric thought for what felt like an age, but was nearer to a minute, before the fair-faced magician squared his shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

“Yes. You trusted me enough to bring me into a private tradition of yours, I'd have to be an asshole to not place at least the same amount in you.”

“Do you trust me enough to bear a tynged?” Harry asked, letting the concept hang in the air.

“If you think it’s necessary, then yes.”

Nodding, Harry dug a hand into the spectral fur of Artorius and gripped his staff with his other. Weaving threads of song and spell into his voice, he spoke.

“Of my goals, you shall reveal no knowledge to those who are unaware. Of this discussion, you shall reveal no knowledge to those who ask and those who do not. Of my research you shall reveal no knowledge to those who ask and those who do not.” Harry uttered, voice heavy with the flutes of a tynged, and heavy with the chimes of magic, and the humming of faeries.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Cedric

“Okay then, I take it this is… really serious.” Cedric said, body shivering as he felt the tynghedau settle into his very being.

“What do you know about Elves, Cedric?”

“I think it’s gross and unthinkable how they’re treated.” He answered. “I mean, we got rid of slavery as an institution for humans, but somehow it’s fine for non-humans?”

“I’m going to free them.”

“Then I want to help.”

“No admonishments about how they like it? Or about the collapse of society?”

“You mean like people argued about human slaves? Cedric responded. “And no, if a society requires slavery, that isn’t a society that deserves to continue. And also, aren’t household spirits a thing? ”

“They are. An apt example of the disruption the enslaving of the Elves has created. But before I proceed, there are two questions you are to answer. The first, what reasoning have you for doing nothing when knowing of the elves’ plight?”

“Harry, I’m only a year older than you, and a single teenager who doesn’t know even a twenty-fourth of the information I’d need to do anything. If I had that information, and the means, though? If that was the case, we wouldn’t need to have this conversation.”

“Your reasoning is sound. The second, has your family ever owned an elf?”

“No.” Cedric replied, a hint of pride edging into his voice. “Mum wanted to get one but wound up not because I forced myself to throw up whenever she suggested it. She eventually dropped it, thought getting one might give me ‘an even more delicate constitution.’”

 “Well then, in that case, I have something you can help me with.” Harry replied, handing over the notebook he had noted the entry in.

“’Centaurus’ Spear?’” Cedric read out. “Stored in Sublevel Two, Vault Room One?”

“An artifact that rightfully belongs to the centaur eminence in the Forest, that was demanded as payment to allow them territory within the woods.” Harry clarified. “The requested item in a barter made for information on planar entrances within the grounds.”

“I assume you’ll need help with getting the Spear?”

“Indeed. There are likely spells present that I would be unable to undo, given my relative inability to alter the State of something.”

“Well then, let’s get to finding this room.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

As it turned out, a location simply labelled ‘Vault Room One’ was rather hard to find. Sublevel Two was simple to decipher, seeing as there were only two floors in the castle that could be considered sublevels. The first, the floor with the kitchens and Hufflepuff common room. The second, the dungeons, where Potions classes took place. Naturally, that meant Harry and Cedric had to search through all of the abandoned classrooms, the storerooms, the broom closets and the various other disused rooms in the dungeons. Disturbingly, some of the rooms that looked as though they hadn’t been used in centuries had rust-brown stains on the floors.

Eventually, near the beginning of December, however, they found a door that Harry stopped short at.

“This is it.”

“You sure songbird?”

“Certain.” Harry replied. “There are… so many spells on that door.”

“And you know that how?” Cedric asked, tone filled with amusement.

“Bardic secret.” Harry replied, glancing over at his companion as he narrowed his eyes and looked at the door, seeming to strain with effort.

“Mostly apotropaic spells.” Cedric commented, gesturing to a bolt on the door. “They’re anchored into a rivet.”

“And you’ve determined this how?”

“Magician’s secret.” Cedric responded, grinning.

“I suppose turnabout is fair game.” Harry replied, strumming his lyre and changing the rivet, as dictated by Cedric, to the point the spells unraveled.

Stepping up to the door, Cedric looked at Harry, getting a nod, before opening the door with a dramatic flourish.

“After you, my good bard.” Cedric said, pretending to tip a hat.

Chuckling, Harry entered the room, whistling a sphere of light into the crevice of his staff, hearing Cedric close the door as he did so. Waiting for his companion, Harry looked around the room, seeing the sheer quantity of crates and podiums they would have to search through.

“Okay, just set up a slight alert charm…” Cedric said, trailing off. “That’s… a lot of places to keep a spear.”

“You take the right, I’ll take he left.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

They had been going for a few hours, with no true results, when, while Harry was sorting through a crate that he had opened, he heard Cedric call out.

“Hey songbird! I think I found it!”

Making his way through the mass of boxes, chests and podiums, Harry finally managed to find Cedric in the mass of artifacts. Standing in front of a chest, Cedric was looking critically at a spear that he was holding. Stepping closer, Harry examined the spearhead, moving his staff closer to let the light catch in the ridges of the knapped stone, seeing the divots in the shape of Phoenician glyphs.

“The carving’s seem to agree with your assessment.” Harry replied. “Now we just need to smuggle this out of here.”

Taking the spear from Cedric’s hands, Harry gently slid it into his bag, nearly dropping it when Cedric swore.

“Shit, it’s past curfew.” He said, looking at his watch. “I’m pretty sure the golems were reprogramed this year as well.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to rather quiet then.” Harry commented, stepping up to the door, whistling a charm onto his and Cedric’s shoes, dampening the sound that was caused by their footfall.

Sneaking around the dungeons was a difficult enough task, its labyrinthine layout making it hard to navigate even when all of the lanterns were lit, but combine the dark nature of the unlit halls, and carrying a staff with you as well, and it was rather more difficult than it might have been had Harry not been wielding his staff.

It was as they were nearing the staircase leading to the floor they needed to reach that they heard a set of footsteps that weren’t their own, approaching them from the front. Casting his gaze around himself wildly, Harry was distracted from finding a hiding place when Cedric yanked him into an alcove hidden by a tapestry. A rather small alcove.

“This is… quite the positioning.” Harry whispered, resolutely looking at the forest green shirt beneath Cedric’s cardigan.

“Yeah, well, it kind of works in our favor, songbird.” Cedric whispered back. “Would you rather the professors think we were making out, or stealing an artifact to return it to its rightful owners?”

“A salient point.”

Chapter Text

As Harry had expected when making the barter with the centaurs his preparations for the winter solstice took a fair while. Of course, these were simply his own personal traditions, ones he had been building for as long as he could remember, with very little of them having a basis in other festivals. One of the traditions he had made for himself was setting out baked goods when he ate, though they had been store-bought beforehand. Or acquired with a ring-made discount, for the last two celebrations. This year, however, he had access to a set of kitchens, so naturally, he had decided to make his own. The only problem? He didn’t know what to make.

“Cedric, you wouldn’t happen to have experience with baking, would you?”

“Uh, I’ve got some, but not much really. Why?”

“I need to make baked goods for the solstice.”

“Oh! Another tradition of yours?”

“Indeed. There are, however, some issues with this particular aspect. I have no idea what to bake.”

Cedric leaned backward a little bit, scratching his head as he hummed thoughtfully.

“I mean, you like lemons, right?

“Yes? How do you know that?” Harry asked, confused.

“You looked sad the few times there wasn’t any lemon tart left over but didn’t when I saved some for you.” Cedric replied idly. “But that’s beside the point. Maybe lemon-ginger biscuits? I’m assuming we’ll be eating them?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, lemon-ginger biscuits.” Cedric said, leaping up. “I like ginger, you like lemon, best of both worlds!”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

After a great deal of other preparations, Harry told Cedric to stay up until everyone else had gone to bed on the night of the twenty-second and moved one of the taller tables in front of the fireplace and set it for two, finishing just as Cedric came down the stairs.

“Well, what shall we be doing this fine eve?” He asked, putting on a pompous voice.

“Feasting, of course.” Harry replied. “Amongst other things.”

“So.” Cedric began “The equinox was about the death of the warm months, right? What’s the solstice about?”

“Well, traditionally it represented a promise of making it through the cold and death. Whilst it’s the shortest day and longest night, it also marks the moment the days begin to lengthen once more, representing the loosening grip of death.” Harry answered. “It represents a rebirth, of sorts, most especially in cultures that viewed the receding and return of the sun as death and birth.”

“Nothing else? No fancy spirit associations?” Cedric asked, picking up his cutlery.

“Not particularly. The equinoxes are unique insofar as they’re liminal. The cycle of the year, summer to winter, beginning to end, is exactly that. A journey beginning on the summer solstice and ending on the winter solstice." Harry replied, taking a moment to continue eating."By being passing points, liminal dates, the equinoxes are more ephemeral in nature. The positioning of the autumnal equinox being the point passing in the time marked by death is the reason for the spiritual aspect of the day. The liminality of the day combined with entering the period of time ruled by death allows a temporary parting of death’s veil.”

“Well, when ya phrase it like that, it sounds a lot more logical.” Cedric replied, pushing his plate forward. “Well, now that the food part is over, what else do you do?”

“Now comes the lighting of the log.” Harry replied, gesturing to the decorated log at the center of the table.

“Oh! I think I know what this one is! It was a Germanic thing, right?”

“Correct! Though, if we wish to be specific, the Anglo-Saxons” Harry replied, picking up the log and moving to the fireplace. “Lighting the Yule Log is believed by some scholars to have its roots in the pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon religion, and that it was integrated into some Christmas traditions for the same reason certain Celtic practices were. Syncretization aimed to allow for smoother conversions.”

Setting the log into the fireplace, Harry took two candles and set them alight using the fire that had begun consuming the log, handing one to Cedric after they were lit.

“Another tradition I decided to add to my particular celebration is lighting a candle with the Log’s fire to keep the light of hope and life with you, acting to keep you safe from the receding darkness, so long as its light persist until the end of the month. Which it will unless you blow it out. I’ve treated the wax to burn slowly.”

Setting his own candle down, Harry pulled out a small item and clasped it in between his hands.

“And now, for the final tradition. Giving gifts. One that I had yet to participate in, due to extenuating circumstances.”

“Ah man, I didn’t know we’d be doing a gift thing tonight!” Cedric groaned. “Hang on, let me fetch yours.”

Sitting patiently, Harry watched as Cedric picked up his candle and hurried back up the stairs to his dorm, returning in short order with a rectangular item wrapped in paper.

“I was going to wait for Christmas to give you this, but if you’re giving a gift, then I am as well. Here, your gift.”

Pulling the paper off of the gift, Harry saw a set of panpipes, the once roughhewn wood sanded smooth, the carved ridges still able to be felt. Spanning across the pipes was a curling vine pattern shakily carved into the wood.

“My, uh, my dad taught me a little bit about whittling, it’s a hobby of his, and I noticed you didn’t have a wind instrument, so…” Cedric said, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s…” Harry began, before looking Cedric in the eyes. “Thank you. Now your gift”

Opening his hands, Harry revealed a silver ring, a vine pattern stretching around the band, intertwining with a snake.

“This was why I took so long to fully prepare for the solstice.” Harry said, presenting the ring to Cedric. “It’s a charm, of a sort. Rather unlike the sort I tend toward.”

“What’s it meant to do?” Cedric asked, tilting the ring, watching how the firelight caught on the raised ridges, how it glinted, somehow seeming happy to be in the recipient’s hands.

“It’s… it’s a twofold charm.” Harry began. “One to decrease the chances of danger befalling you. The other charm…”

“The other charm?” Cedric prompted.

“You have to understand, my interactions with the Good Neighbors are… odd, by and large. It’s rather more common for them to see humans, to see mortals, as… entertaining playthings, objects to steal a name from and toss aside, pretty pets to parade at a party, or… worse. I’m… exempt, I suppose, as a bard. The Folk and magician bards are bound through treaty and word, bond and oath. You, however, would be viewed as someone the Folk could toy with.”

“Harry…” Cedric said slowly. “What's the other charm, songbird?”

“It’s… a form of protection against that.” Harry said, looking into the fire. “So long as you wear that ring when faced with one of the Folk, bar those of the Unseelie here in Alba, it would signify that what is done to you is, by proxy, done to me, thus breaking the treaties. It… it denotes, in a manner, that you’re mine, in whichever way the both of us wish.”

“I’m going to let you explain yourself before reacting.”

“I… I’ve never really had a human that I’ve been close with, and… as long as I’ve been able to know things, I’ve been aware of my parent’s death. I… I never quite expected that I’d grow close to anyone here, but then you decided that you wanted to be nice and… I would rather you not lose your name to a faerie. It’s not just the name that they steal. With your name, goes all sense of self that accompanies the name. I don’t like the idea of that happening to you.” Harry said, rushing through the words. “And it’s not exactly ownership, that it signifies. It's more so… a signifier of a relationship, I suppose?”

“And how would you like that signifier to show that relation?” Cedric asked his tone light to Harry’s ears.

“I… I don’t know?” Harry replied, despising the unstable ground he had found in the conversation. “What would you like?”

“I think…” Cedric said, a protracted element to his words. “That we should leave it as it’s been so far, and revisit that if necessary.”

“That… that sounds good.” Harry said, turning to Cedric. “Are you… do you like it?”

“Of course, songbird.” Cedric replied, his tone soft as he slipped the ring on his middle finger. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still upset but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the sentiment. It’s just a big thing to spring on someone, you know?”

“I… I do now.”

“Try to keep the big surprises from happening during heists, maybe?” Cedric joked, bumping his shoulder against Harry’s.

Chapter Text

“Cedric, you aren’t accompanying me.” Harry said, nestling his staff against his bedpost, ensuring Lenore was comfortable, and leaving food for Artorius.

“Yes I am.” Cedric replied, stroking Artorius’ head as he did. “Did you tell the centaurs you wouldn’t have company?”

“I did not.”

“So you wouldn’t be breaking an oath or breaking a truth!” Cedric said, standing up and following Harry. “So, I’m going with.”

“Is there truly nothing I could say to dissuade you?”

“Nope! If it makes ya feel better, think of it as a consequence of the ring.” Cedric answered. “I am officially your problem.”

“Very well.” Harry sighed. “Come along then.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

As they set into the forest, Harry positioned his seeing stone such that it would act as a monocle of sorts, drawing Cedric’s attention.

“What’s with the stone?” He asked as they began weaving their way through the forest.

“A seeing-stone I acquired in a barter with a Dame of Elfin Land. It reveals the truth of things if one but looks through it.”

“Oh. Why are you using it?”

“To avoid entrances to Elphame, and thus encounters with its Faerie Queen. The Court that holds most sway, as of present, is that of the Unseelie. Malicious Folk that are bound by different laws and customs than their kin, the Seelie, and y Tylwyth Teg.”

“And I take it that we do not want to meet them?” Cedric asked, looking about the darkening forest.

“You do not want to meet them. At least, not as of now. I would be protected from their trickery, bound by similar oaths as their kin, and the other Folk of the lands as they are, however I have yet to introduce myself to a member of their people, thus the avoidance.”

The rest of their journey passed in silence, or what passed for silence in a forest, occasionally veering off to the right, taking a sharp left turn, and moving around a mound instead of over, all to avoid entering Elphame. The journey came to an end, however, when the sky turned dark and they were confronted by Bane and Ronan.

“It appears your presence was well-seen, Ronan.” Bane commented. “For the góēs has brought a companion in contra to his claims.”

“It was you, who claimed my distance from that which you claimed my kind, Good Bane.” Harry retorted. “A supposition woven through my words, not words of my own. I simply claimed a degree of separation from the human, not distance from magicians.”

“Calm, Bane. That he has seen fit to make his presence known indicates truth to his barter.”

“Why of course!” Harry commented, genuine offense entering his voice. “To make a barter one cannot fulfill is the height of hubris!”

“If you have not reneged on your word, then present Centaurus’ Spear, human.” Bane demanded.

“The spear, if you would?” Harry asked, tilting his head to Cedric slightly, receiving the spear from where it had been slung in a wrap on Cedric’s back.

Rolling the cover off of the spear, Harry held it forward, the haft resting in both hands, presenting it to the centaurs for inspection.

“The spear, as was promised, and as delivered.”

After looking it over with a critical eye, Ronan accepted the weapon, sliding it into a sling he was wearing on his side.

“There are three locations where entrances to realms not our own can be found.” Ronan began. “The first, this Forest. The second, the caves of the Mountains. The last, the Lake. You shall find-“

Before the sentence could be finished, he was cut off by a wailing in the air, a cacophonous drone that sounded like pain and screamed of blood. In terror, the centaurs fled, their hooves beating a staccato rhythm as they ran back to their shelters. Harry in turn looked to the sky, once more hearing a choir of knives and stolen souls. Face stricken with terror, he grabbed hold of Cedric’s hand and fled toward shelter himself, dragging Cedric along with him.

“What is that?” Cedric asked, voice laden with fear. “Harry, what is that?”

“Quiet.” Was Harry’s monosyllabic response, consumed by hearing the joyous cry of death and graves, the whispering winds rushing after their wild escape. Throwing all of his trust in his talismans Harry wove around mounds, leaped over rivers, and twisted around trees, Cedric barely managing to do the same.

As the castle came into view, the Lake’s shore closer, Harry heard the rushing of wind behind them, the glinting of knives and claws, the wailings of pain and blood. Fueled by desperation, Harry whispered a short whistle of a charm and threw himself and Cedric into the lake, spotting a cave and navigating to it, feeling the familiar tingle of Annwn as he surfaced in the open air of the cave.

“Fuck!” Cedric exclaimed as they came to the surface, his eyes slamming shut as they pulled themselves on the rock floor.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, rushing to his side.

“Fine, fine.” He responded eyes still firmly squeezed shut. “Just, what was that?”

“The Sluagh. Or more properly, the Sluagh no marbh. The Host of the Dead.” Harry answered. “Leagues worse than the Unseelie, the host of the unforgiven dead rides wild in the sky, hunting for more souls to add to their number.”

“Did we just escape the Wild Hunt?” Cedric asked weakly.

“An origin of the tale, though not what is considered by the supernatural entities of the world to be a true Hunt. No, there are few fates worse than being caught by the Sluagh, and the Hunt certainly finds itself lacking.” Harry answered, still looking at Cedric concernedly. “Are you certain you’re okay? If the Sluagh managed to injure you…”

“No, no. Just… a bit of a secret I’ve been holding.” Cedric answered, cracking his eyes open by the barest sliver

“You needn’t tell me if you wish. I’ve certainly been keeping a secret or two from you.”

“How about an exchange?” Cedric asked, forcing a chuckle out. “A secret for a secret?”

“I’d be amenable.”

“You remember the Vault door? How I said it was a ‘magician’s secret’ how I knew where the spells were anchored?” Hearing an affirmative hum, he continued. “Yeah, more of a me secret. Healers aren’t really sure what caused it, but I have magical synesthesia. Projective thaumasthesia, they called it.”

Letting out a mix of a scoff and a laugh, Cedric sighed.

“You’d think it’d be great for magic, right? Fucking awful for it. I can barely tell the spell I’m casting from the magic in the building I’m in, because every. Damn. Building has magic in it.”

“That explains the harmonica.” Harry mused, beginning to elaborate upon Cedric’s visible confusion. “I wasn’t entirely truthful when I spoke of my magic when we first met. Whilst I do perform magic by using music and sound in general, I wouldn’t be capable of much without a secondary element, one that’s rather similar to your thaumasthesia. You might have heard the phrase ‘the rhythms of the world’? It’s rather more literal than most think, and I happen to be able to hear them.”

“Huh.” Cedric commented. “What do I sound like?”

“It’s… hard to quantify what the rhythms sound like.” Harry answered. “There are similarities between like things, primarily the instruments they sound like to my ears, but the forms of the rhythms themselves are… vaguer. I’m able to manipulate them to an extent via mapping the rhythms onto music theory, however such a system does have its flaws. As far as your own rhythm is concerned, it’s rather reminiscent of a barcarolle if you’ve heard it.”

“Where are we, by the way?”

“Why, Annwn, of course.”

Chapter Text

Filius

“There is something deeply wrong with Mr. Potter, Albus.” Filius said as an opening to their staff meeting.

“What do you mean, Filius?”

“How do you not see it?”

“I’m sorry, Filius, but unless you can raise a more specific issue, we’ll have to move onto the scheduled points.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

“Minerva, old friend, surely you understand what I meant?” he asked later, ensconced in McGonagall’s office.

“I have no idea what you mean, Filius. Mr. Potter is a wonder-“ She began, a rote rebuttal slipping through her lips.

“I know you’ve felt it.” Filius interrupted. “I know you’ve felt that otherness, that looming shadow.”

Minerva sighed in response.

“Filius, a feeling is nothing without evidence to support it. And he truly is an exemplary student if one overlooks the limitations of his magic.”

“Look at his teeth.” Filius responded. “Use those ears of yours and listen. Or is that another skill you lost to the war?”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

It was a trembling Minerva who shakily entered Filius’ office.

“Good Lord, Filius.” She whispered, her voice quavering ever so slightly.

Filius’s response was to pour her a measure of port.

“His teeth… and the noise they make…” She whispered into her glass. “How was I so blind to it?”

“Have you heard what happened to Alder?” Filius asked, pouring himself a measure of port as he did.

“No. I shudder to think what might have happened.”

“He refuses to look at Mr. Potter. He mutters about a shifting sharpness and a smile of knives.”

“What happened?”

“According to the students, he tried to order Potter to take his companions out of the classroom and devolved to asking him how to harm a Neighbor.”

“Good God.”

“Mr. Potter invoked the Charter and let Alder choose punishment or submission.”

They drank their port in silence after that. Filius didn’t know what Minerva was thinking, but he was contemplating what had happened to the child to change him so.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Severus

Severus was calmly inking over pitiful attempts at essays with scarlet ink when his office door opened. Looking up, he expected to see a student, or perhaps a prefect and a student. He did not. He saw Minerva and Filius. Wonderful, they must be here to discuss the oaf, he thought.

“Severus, I implore you, delve into Potter’s thoughts when next you can.” Filius opened, shocking him. The diminutive professor was quite the adherent to the law, though Severus asked himself which laws it was that he followed sometimes.

“And see the vapid thoughts of James Potter’s hormonal spawn? I think not.”

“He was the one to steal Rubeus’ name.”

“Bah, as though a simpleton such as he could accomplish that.”

“He never eats the food in the Hall unless given it by Diggory.”

“What of it? An odd quirk.”

“He always changes his cutlery to silver before touching it.”

“So he’s a spoiled brat.”

“Our cutlery is iron, Severus.”

After a protracted silence, one where Severus paled considerably, he finally spoke.

“I shall consider it.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

In the midst of a Potions lesson, Severus made eye contact with the Potter brat, connecting to his mind. His vision was filled with a half-shadowed face, auburn locks flowing behind it, a finger to his lips. With a light shushing noise, he was forced out of the adolescent mind and came to see Potter looking at him, eyes impassive, but the slight sliver of teeth a promise of knives and blood if he were to try again.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

He was the one to enter Filius’ office, noting Minerva’s presence.

“What news do you have?”

“None.” Severus replied, his voice shaking slightly. “I entered his mind and saw naught but a shadowed man’s face shushing me before being forced out.”

They all let the contemplative silence stand for a while.

“He knew I tried.”

“Pardon?” Came Minerva’s voice.

“He knew I tried to read his memories.” Severus replied. “When I was forced out, he had a promise of blood and pain dancing across his smile.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Irma

Irma was an old woman. Certainly by mundane standards, but she certainly wasn’t in her spring years, even for a witch. She knew things, old things, secret things. She looked on as a not-quite-human student was bent over a book, exploring the artifacts listed within.

She had learned to tell a lie from a truth, a twisted truth from a pure spinning. She knew that the something-other had told her a half-truth about the need for the Ledger. She was not certain as to the reason, nor the need, but she allowed it regardless. This instance of a more-than-human was one that did not lie, by nature, so to twist a truth into a spinning would have to be permitted this once.

Irma was rather intrigued to see what his presence portended.

Chapter Text

“Sorry?”

“We’re in the Otherworld. Or, well, one of them. The one that I’ve been attempting to find an entrance to, thankfully. Certain Otherworlds are rather more permanent when you enter.”

“What?” Cedric exclaimed. “Oh my God, oh my God… we need to leave now!”

“Just a few more seconds.” Harry responded. “Using my age disparity, I’ve charted the dilative effect Annwn has on time. If we leave now, we’ll still be victims of the Sluagh. We leave when I say.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

In the grand scheme of things, they had lost about a day within that cave in Annwn. Shortly after they returned to the castle, on Christmas day, more precisely, Harry was once more distracted from his various goals. On his bed was a package, which held a silky, white cloak, from which emanated the humming he knew to originate from the Otherworlds.

Consulting the book he had acquired so long ago revealed it to be a Treasure of Britain, one which he had no use for. But someone else may have a use for it.

“Cedric, Have you heard of the Treasures of Britain?” Harry asked as he opened the door to Cedric’s dorm.

“Harry?” Cedric groaned from his bed, still asleep. “What time is it?”

“Nine a.m. You have yet to answer the question.”

“Ugh, it’s too early for this.” Cedric muttered before turning to Harry. “Of course I have, everyone who’s raised in Pellaras has.”

“How would you like to own one?”

Silence filled the air, with Cedric looking at Harry, mouth agape in shock.

“I’d love to, depending on the Treasure! But they’ve been lost for centuries.”

In response, Harry showed him the ring on his hand before twisting it and clenching his hand into a fist, vanishing, and then reappearing.

“The Stone and Ring of St. Eluned the Fortunate.” Harry idly commented as he laid out the cloak on Cedric’s bed. “I found it in my travels. And I have recently acquired Gwen, the Mantle of Arthur in Cornwall.”

“Hell yes!”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Having found what he was looking for and no longer being distracted by the Mantle, Harry turned his attention back to Professor Binns’ barter, having developed an inkling of an idea.

“Good Professor.”

“Ah, so the bard returns.” Binns greeted him, floating closer as he did. “Have you found any relevant content?”

“Moreso that I have the beginnings of a method thought of, though it would necessitate a rather specific attribute. Were you a man of Christ in your living days?”

“As it happens, I was a follower of Christ, though I was, perhaps, less pious than I had wished to be.”

“Were you a celebrater of All Hallowtide?”

“Of the entirety, no.”

“What of All Souls Day, in specific?”

“Ah, of that I was a celebrator.”

“Then I believe I may be able to assist your passing on when next the celebration occurs, though I shall have to adapt a rite or two to facilitate it.”

“Such good tidings you bring, good bard.” Binns replied. “For when I impart the knowledge of my safe’s location, the pass code is seven-four-nine-two.”

Nodding to the professor, Harry made his way out of the castle, heading for his next task.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Exiting out of the small cave entrance he had found on returns to the Lake’s cave, Harry, sopping wet, hauled two grouse from his bag, setting them free after waking them from their slumber. Within moments, he heard the baying of hounds and the pounding of paws against the ground.

“Ah, so the Good Bard once more finds himself in my audience. An encounter sought this turn, no less. What tidings have you?”

“Good Huntsman, I bring both tidings good and tidings ill. Would you wish the dour, or would you wish the sweet?”

“The sweet, all the more dour for the next to be.”

“Your tutelage of the tynged was most fortuitous a turn, as it allowed my procurement of aid for an endeavor of mine. Th Sluagh failed in its attempts to claim my soul as fodder for its forces. Where necessary I have seen to the magicians being reminded of the treaties by which they are bound.”

“It heartens to hear you have kept to the tynghedau placed upon you, and used the arts taught to you in appropriate manners. The dour?”

“The magicians are a foul lot. This you have known, for with the length of your life such a fact could not escape your notice, especially when the dead find themselves in your court. However, I find a specific fault with their society. Their enslavement of Good Neighbors.”

“The elves.” The Huntsman nodded. “A tragic business, but one that has persisted unresolved, despite the wishes of our King, and the wishes of far too few a number of magicians, bound as both peoples are by treaties.”

“The Good Neighbors and the magicians may find themselves not able to intercede on the elves behalf, but one who is a step between? Not quite magician, not quite one of the Folk?”

“Were such a being to live, they would be bound by both parts and, in their contradictions with each other, bound by neither of them.” The Huntsman replied, the light glinting over his eyes as sharp as the knives on his belt.

“And thus, be able to intercede, and unbind them, and unwind the tynghedau. Might I venture a question further than this which I ask?”

“Indeed.”

“When under you I learned, I studied the art of laying tynghedau upon another. An aspect that was not touched upon, though I yet wonder at, is what allows one not sovereign or inhuman to lay such a restriction on others. Does it reside in the nature of the magician’s magic?”

“Such a supposition would prove true.” The Huntsman waxed, circling Harry. “The nature of the bard magician is one bent the slightest step above that of the standard. Such a difference, though cosmologically insignificant, nevertheless places them as of greater import than their lower kin. A sovereign of a kind, though not of significance when one looks in the viewing pool of the greater world.”

“So if one wished to find the source of the bindings and tynghedau, one would gaze back on bards of the past?”

“Perhaps, though one might too find other works, preludes to works they deemed greater.”

“So one must gaze before, yet not discard what glimpses of their presence they find, for a glimpse might yet contain manifold mysteries and truths.”

“And yet one must discern through the truths which are Truth, from those that are truth, and to discern the hidden within the assumed, the works of one attributed to the other.”

Gazing at the sky, Harry went silent for a while, all the while circled by his once-mentor, eventually turning his gaze once more to the Huntsman.

“You have provided much for me to ponder this day, Good Huntsman. A fruitful audience this has been, and a fruitful Hunt for your Hounds.”

“Indeed, Good Bard. You may yet find fortune in your endeavors.”

And with the pounding of a horse’s hooves, the Huntsman vanished.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Following his audience with the Huntsman, the rest of the year passed rather quickly, filled with schoolwork and research into funerary rites as they were, though he managed to keep track of the days enough to host a small meal for the vernal equinox. The time came, however, for the school year to end. As he and Cedric were relaxing in a train compartment, Cedric looked up from his book to look at Harry.

“I never got around to asking, but why’d you need access to Annwn?”

“To meet with the Good Huntsman of the Night.”

“Who?”

“The leader of one of the True Wild Hunts, he who rides the night sky, collecting the dead, assisted by Mallt y Nos and the Cŵn Annwn.”

“That…” Cedric began, trailing off before suddenly alerting. “Are you talking about Arawn? I thought he was a myth!”

“So too are dragons, no?” Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow up. “There are precious few things that are true myths, and even those tend to have a kernel of truth within their falsehoods.”

“I guess so…” Cedric replied. “Just… kind of odd to find out your friend’s spoken with someone worshipped as a god.”

“A minor correction. Someone who has studied under someone worshipped as a deity.”

“What?” Cedric faintly asked.

“Where do you think I learned the art of tynghedau?”

“I thought it was just… a bard thing.”

With that sentence hanging in the air, they returned to what they been doing prior, waiting for the train to reach its destination.

Chapter Text

Harry was annoyed. Not long after the Express had arrived at Kings Cross, and he had found a sufficiently forested area to slip through, he had made his way to a library in Cymru, intent on researching funerary rites amongst Christians. The only problem was that he had located information regarding the four segments of the full process, namely the Conveyance of the Body, the Ceremony in the Church, the Final Commendation and Farewell, and the Ceremony by the Graveside. Notable, however, and the cause of his annoyance, was the lack of information he had found when it came to the actual verbiage of the rites. The most he had managed to locate was the use of a series of prayers titled the Office of the Dead.

Thus, where the normal had failed, the paranormal might succeed. Which meant a trip to Diagon Alley. Which was how he had found himself in Flourish and Blotts.

Wandering through the aisles of the store, Harry finally found a small book in the History section titled “History of The Pellarastic Rite.” Picking it up, he began to skim read, not willing to purchase it unless it would be of use to him.

            Chapter One: What?

         Those Pellars raised within Pellaras’ settlements will doubtless know a small bit about the Pellarastic Church. Those raised within Pellaras’ borders, though not the settlements or by acclimated citizens, will doubtless be confused. The Church itself is a schismatic one, and the primary reason for Pellaras signing the International Statute of Secrecy. We differ in two ways, chiefly. In the effects of our Savior’s Precious Blood, and the funerary rites practiced by Pellarastic Christians.

Reading further, Harry learned of the initiatory nature of Pellarastic Christianity, insofar as one had to be baptized within the Basilica of the Arcane to become part of any Pellarastic congregation and, thus, be informed about the rites and ceremonies practiced by members of the faith.

“Mystery religion.” He muttered to himself before looking to Artorius. “Well, that certainly complicates things, doesn’t it?”

After paying for the book, Harry made his way to a small fountain in a courtyard off the main alley, pulled a bottle of strawberry juice (pulp-free, thank you very much), and turned his head slightly to look at Lenore after drinking some of the liquid.

“Mystery religions tend not to have records of their rites.” He whispered to the raven. “But that doesn’t mean there can’t be any records, even if they might be legally prohibited. Would you think Knockturn Alley to have them?”

A sharp, loud caw.

“Well, Knockturn it is then.”

As Harry walked through the dour alleyway, he looked at the people scattering out of the way as they caught sight of Artorius. They looked… destitute. A good deal of them were in one manner or another of the Folk, if their sound was to be believed, and the glimpse of what seemed to be a gwyll was any indication. Yet another reason Harry collected to dislike this society, this nation of Pellaras. Seeing the state that such a proud, free race of beings had been consigned to, had been imprisoned in, led to the beginning of a secondary goal, one no less important than that of freeing the elves, yet one that would have to happen afterward.

As he turned those thoughts over in his head, he finally found a store that seemed to sell books, based on the window front. Moribund’s, according to the sign. Greeted by a bell’s ring as he opened the door, Harry proceeded to meander through the shelving, eventually happening on  a section simply titled “Mysteries.” Glancing over the shelves, he saw titles dedicated to the Cult at Eleusis, the Dionysian Mysteries, the Cult of Mithras, and a handful of others before alighting on what seemed a relevant title. “The Manifold Mysteries of the Pellarastic Rite.” Giving it a brief skim, Harry found it was, in fact, relevant to his research. After a quick exchange of galleons, Harry made his way out of the store, making his way to a wooded park he had heard about, curious if he would find an entrance to Annwn.

As he made his way through the alleyways, he sighed to himself. All of the people’s songs around him shifted and moved further away or came closer. Bar two. They maintained a consistent volume, as though the magicians from whom they emanated were following him. Giving Artorius a questioning look and receiving a mixture of a whuff and a growl, Harry decided to humor them. Finally finding the park, he made his way to the wooded area, wandering into the deeper thickets, all the while hearing the songs following him.

Coming to a standstill. Harry raised his lyre, struck a simple tune, and began to sing.

“I saw a fair maiden, sitting and sing,

She lulled a little child a sweet

lording

Lullay, mine Liking, my dear Son, mine

Sweeting,

Lullay, my dear heart, mine own dear

darling.”

As he sang, the steps approaching him began to slow down, each foot scraping across the ground as the words flowed from his mouth. By the time he had finished the refrain, the two beings had fallen to the floor, slight snoring noises emitting from their mouths. Wandering over, he saw two men. One was a muscular man, broad in the chest, with a thin, black-colored mustache bedecking his lip, matching his short-cropped hair. In contrast to the tall, bluntly featured man with long, white-blond hair who was wearing the traditional houppelande he had come to expect from magicians – if a significantly more regal looking one, jewel-encrusted as it was – the broad-chested man wore what looked to be a simple tunic, one with the sleeves removed and the raw edges hemmed in, an imitation of a houppelande over top, with buttons outside of their closures.

On his bare arms, Harry could see a patchwork of scars, though only one truly drew his attention. It was rather large, a shield with two keys behind it, and on the shield itself a figure eight, vaguely serpentine given the ellipse near the top, twirling around a capital letter T. Looking at it closer, Harry dug through his satchel, recovering a more recent history book, one covering the Blood Crusade, and paged through it, landing on a full page photograph. Looking at the page, then the scar, Harry hummed.

“Artorius, Lenore, do you suppose that scar resembles that which decorated convicted Knights of Walpurgis?”

Feeling Lenore shift on his shoulder, Harry knelt next to Artorius so they could both see the image. Receiving a caw and bark, respectively, Harry returned the book to his bag before turning to look at the men, humming as he leaned against his staff. Looking around and spying a cairn nearby, Harry alighted on an idea. Walking up to the stones, keeping his mind on the man he had examined, he began to beat a steady rhythm such that the bell attached to it rang in concert with the tune. As he maintained the tune, wisps of something that looked to be mist coalesced, gathering slowly – yet ever so surely – into the shape of a woman.

Her hair went down to the middle of her torso, pulled back to highlight her forehead – an effect accented by the gable hood – the color a light flaxen yellow that was complemented by the pale blue, high-neckline doublet and skirt – which was clearly being supported by a petticoat – both edged in a deep green. Adorning her neck was a necklace of twelve settings, each set with the precious stones adorning Aaron’s breastplate – and those said to form the arch to Heaven – ending with a small, sealed vial. Taking a breath, Harry thought he smelled a hint of frankincense.

“Greeting’s Spirit.”

“What business have you, summoning me as you have foul necromancer?” The woman demanded, giving Harry an imperious glare.

“I believe you’ve a relation with the muscular man who happens to be unconscious?”

Floating over, the woman’s face softened, now mournful in nature.

“Oh, my darling Walden.” She whispered. “You would forsake yourself upon the words of a Gnostic? My dear sweet son.”

“The mother, I presume?” Harry asked from her side, having followed.

“Yes…” Walden’s mother answered. “A mother to one who would cast away his own soul in the hopes of greater power.”

“And if he could be punished prior to Judgement?”

“Were he able to be led back to the path of our Savior, I would argue not. But to have been marked for a heresy… I fear there is no return for him.”

“Your… issue is with the heresy? Not the indiscriminate murder of magician’s not born to other magician’s? Or the murder of sapient non-human beings?”

“A non-issue.” She responded, waving her hand. “They come from those not born with innate grace, stealing the Disciples’ blood through profane, demonic rites.”

Sighing to himself, Harry politely dismissed the spirit before taking the men’s wands and spiriting them to Annwn, awakening them after ensuring they wouldn’t see him, then wandering off to find a place to read his new material. Hopefully the Huntsman would appreciate new human prey.

Chapter Text

According to “The Manifold Mysteries of the Pellarastic Rite” the burial rites for the Pellarastic Church  – of which Binns was likely a member – weren’t dissimilar to those of non-magical churches, insofar as the rites that were ruled as needed by the Synod of the Arcane. The particularities of the rites acquired, the more pressing aspect of his research was centered on the burial places themselves. More specifically, attempting to discern any effect the rites may have had on the graves of those given the rites.

Naturally, he had already visited mundane cemeteries, specifically older sites. Unsurprisingly, the majority of the sites had no unique noise to them, though there were a small number that held a barely-there chiming ring. Which left magical burial sites. Which left him with a visit he had to make, thus his presence in a particular forest. As he began strumming his lyre, Harry pulled his leg up to rest on the branch he had decided to sit on.

As the hours ticked by, leading morning to afternoon, Harry played on, eventually hearing a distant voice mutter something before the snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves that were still on the ground, culminating in Cedric coming into the clearing Harry was resting in.

“Songbird? What are you doing here?”

Hopping off of the branch, Harry let his lyre rest at his side, picking his staff up from where it lay.

“Beyond having been in the area, I happen to be in a bit of a quandary, in that I need to visit the graves of magicians, yet I remain unaware as to where they happen to be.”

“Well, that is a quandary, isn’t it?” Cedric replied, grinning. “Maybe I could help?”

“Perhaps you could.” Harry replied. “Though I suppose you might have to… redirect your parents.”

Cedric’s response was a sharp laugh.

“My dad’s at work, won’t be back until nine, and mum’s busy somewhere, probably regretting her life, so we’re good to go.”

“That sounds… incredibly depressing.” Harry commented as he walked alongside Cedric.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason I don’t get along with them.” Cedric offered. “Hey, you’ve used the Floo Network, right?”

“The what?”

“Yeah, no, thought not.” Cedric sighed as he let them into his house. “Floo Network. You throw some Floo Powder in the fireplace, say your destination’s name, step through the fire, and presto chango! You’re there.”

“That seems… incredibly unintuitive.”

“Blame the Vittugr.” Cedric replied. “So, I’m thinking we go to Dowr Lehen. Thoughts?”

“That would be the settlement in Kernow, yes?”

“That’s the one! Shorter travel time that way.” Cedric replied, picking up a pinch of powder from an ornate pot attached to the mantle. “Oh, and keep walking when you enter the fire, makes the exit easier.”

It was simple enough to use the Network. Simply throwing the powder into the fire, a call of “The Lion’s Claw,” and stepping through. The actual experience was rather more disorienting, given the spinning through the fire while being able to see through the fireplaces he passed by, though the exiting was as smooth as the entrance. Stopping quickly to dust off the soot that had collected on him, Harry made his way to where Cedric was standing. Leaving the establishment – which seemed to be a tavern of some sort – Harry noticed something rather odd.

The gaping lack of a building in the center of the town square.

In lieu of asking a question, Harry looked at the mysterious gap, then looked to Cedric, quirking his eyebrow as he did.

“Oh, it’s the Basilica. I mentioned Pellarastic Christianity was an initiatory religion last year right?”

“Indeed.” Harry answered, following Cedric.

“Well, if you aren’t part of the Church you can’t see any of their buildings. Cemetery is all good though.”

Wandering over to the aforementioned cemetery’s entrance, Harry took stock of the town. It was… quaint. There were the houses, what seemed to be a greengrocer’s, an apothecary, and a bookstore all in the town square. Off in the distance, he could hear the running water of the Dowr Lehen, from which the town took its name. As they set foot in the graveyard, Harry inhaled sharply.

“You okay?”

“Ah. Fine.” Harry replied. “I had rather expected this.”

“Expected what?”

“Certain denominations view the Folk as fallen angels. Or, in a word, demons. Thus minor pain for myself when on hallowed ground, given particular circumstances.” Harry answered. “No issue. I have a task after all.”

“So that’s why people avoid you.” Cedric muttered.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, yeah, people are kind of scared of you. Whenever I asked why, they just gave me a weird look. I never really got it, I mean, you look nice.” Cedric replied. “I mean, your magic!” He hurriedly added, blushing.

“Yes well, as much as I enjoy conversing and how you sound, I would appreciate silence.”

Now visited by the sweet silence he required, Harry began to walk the paths between the graves and mausoleums, careful to avoid stepping on the graves, and began listening. Wandering through, he ignored the graves that lacked a unique emanation, honing in on those that held a crystal-like tone to their collective songs. Some had a distant tone, others barely held a trace of that same tone. Fearing he wouldn’t find what he was looking for, Harry was elated when he came to a standstill in front of an archway that had clearly had restorations performed on it.

“Cedric, you wouldn’t happen to know who this monument is dedicated to, would you?”

“I… would not.” Cedric replied as he ambled over to where Harry was standing. “We could check Town Hall?”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

“Pardon?” The clerk asked.

“I was wondering if you had anything in the town’s records about the archway in the graveyard?” Cedric asked.

“We’d be entirely willing to file the appropriate forms if such measures exist.” Harry added on.

“Well, this is… highly irregular, but I do think we have some records on the cemetery.” The clerk replied, leafing through a large tome before reading one of the pages and muttering a spell. From around a corner, a packet of parchment came flying before coming to a stop on top of the desk. After a quick look, the clerk handed the packet to Cedric.

“Let’s see…” He muttered as they left the Town Hall with the copied information. “So, apparently it was the entrance to an… ossuary? No clue what that is.”

“A building or enclosed container used for the resting place of the dead, frequently constructed and decorated with the skeletal remains themselves.”

“Okay, that. It was apparently the entrance to the… Hockley Abbey’s ossuary, and the arch was made of the… ‘first Abbott’s bones.’”

“Is there no notation of who the Abbey’s founding Abbott was?”

“Uh… just a note about Saint Hockley.” Cedric replied after a few seconds. “You reckon the Historical Society would have anything?”

“I suppose it would be the likeliest, bar the Church and the Ministry. Where are they headquartered?”

Diagon Alley was the answer, as it turned out. Thankfully, they did, indeed, have the sought-after material concerning Saint Hockley, known otherwise as Frederick Hockley. Though the details were scant, primarily focused on the acts that allowed him to be sainted, there were two pages about his death and interment. Most relevant to Harry was that both the Office of the Dead and the Final Commendation and Farewell had been performed before his integration into the archway. The natural conclusion, then, was that those graves which held a slight tone had had incorrectly or partially performed burial rites prior to the recipient’s interment.

Now, to find where the professor had been buried.

Chapter Text

Harry was, he found, spending far too much time in magical settlements. Far too much time indeed. Unfortunately, more time was necessary, as he needed to acquire his school supplies. Naturally, such a task necessitated a visit to Gringotts, thus allowing him to interact with yet more Coblynau.

“I wish to request something rather odd, Good Coblyn.” Harry idly began as he was led to the carts.

“That would be?” The coblyn asked, giving Harry a look.

“A copy of the treaties this fine establishment signed with Pellaras’ governing bodies.”

“Well now, that is quite the odd request. To what use would it be put?”

“None, at the moment. I’ve more pressing matters at the moment, however, activities such as I've assigned myself are... long in the happening, thus I may find the time for this sooner, and I thought it better to understand the intricacies prior to the change.”

“Freeing elves and looking into treaties? Whatever do you have planned?”

“A variety of things, in truth. As to the request?”

As a response, the coblyn leading Harry stopped just before they came to the carts, knocking a fist against the wall, waited a few seconds, and then stuck the same hand into a small crevice that had opened up, pulling out a thick, tightly rolled scroll of parchment. Holding it out to Harry, the coblyn spoke.

“Have you news of Durendal?”

“Of the location, none, However, the lake surrounding Hogwarts does happen to be a Lake, which rather simplifies matters. I’ve rather entangled myself in a prescient endeavor, thus am unable to search for the blade at the moment.”

“An understandable forbearance.” The coblyn responded, handing over the treaties and once more moving forward.

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Not long after, Harry found himself, once more, on The Hogwarts Express, occupying a cabin with Cedric. He was idly reading an account of Arthurian myths when he suddenly pivoted his head to the side.

“What’s wrong?” Cedric asked, diverting his attention from the copy of The Brothers Grimm he had been reading.

“There’s… I’m not entirely certain.” Harry replied, confusion filling his words. “It certainly isn’t a unique element to a song, at least as far as I can hear. It almost felt as though… but no, such would be impossible.”

“What?”

“Well, it almost felt as though we had passed through the entrance of an Otherworld. But such is an impossibility.” Harry replied. “It certainly had a similar quality to the gossamer strands, and yet they’re… resting. Unbroken. It’s rather vexing.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out what caused it later.” Cedric replied. “Speaking of random, you find anything about Binns’ grave?”

“Ah, I did, in fact. It’s rather likely to be in Hogsmeade. According to the Ministry’s records, during his life he lived in the village.”

“Don’t tell me you broke the law to get that information.” Cedric sighed, swiping his hand down his face.

“Was a law broken if none saw the act?”

“That’s not how the law works!”

“Yes well, it isn’t as though I took any of the records from the Hall, so it’s rather a moot point, isn’t it?”

“I guess. I swear to God, the headaches you can cause…”

“Perhaps a soothing tune?”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

It was in the Great Hall when next Harry felt those same gossamer strands settle on him. Craning his neck, he looked around the Hall, trying to see if he could feel who they were coming from. It couldn’t have been one of the years above him, he hadn’t felt any off this the prior year, thus the first years. Bending down slightly, he whispered to Artorius.

“Can you feel the source?”

A bark in response.

“Lilium Lunae?” Harry asked, receiving an affirmative bark. “Artorius, that hardly makes sense. Additionally, you know my Latin is hardly the best!”

Regardless of Artorius’ answer, Harry’s planned efforts to discern the odd ephemera’s source were thoroughly derailed as he left the Great Hall, only to be confronted by Professor Flitwick, requesting that he follow him to his office to discuss something. Pulling the door closed and hearing a click, Harry broke the silence.

“Would this mean you have news regarding last year’s issues I experienced in your field?”

“Oh!” Flitwick responded, looking surprised. “Yes, well, the Headmaster agreed with your assessment, Mr. Potter, but that isn’t what I’ve asked you here to discuss.”

“No? What, then?”

“I know you’re the one who stole Hagrid’s name.”

Harry simply looked at the professor.

“I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I know it was you, and I will prove it, mark my words!”

Harry continued to look impassively at the professor as he curled his hand into Artorius’ fur, grasping his staff tightly in the other.

“What? No defense? No rebuttal?”

“You shall not speak, nor shall you write, of actions above your station, Professor.” Harry responded.

“What… what did you do?” Flitwick asked, panic edging his voice as the tynged fell over him.

“Oh, simply a tynged.” Harry drawled as he circled the professor, Artorius at his side, Lenore on his shoulder. He must cut quite an ominous figure now that he thought on it.

“You… you aren’t Sovereign!”

“Oh, but I’m hardly human in the whole, now am I? I thought you’d see it, Professor. Your lineage does not belie you.” Harry replied, cocking his head to the side. “So similar to a coblyn. Kobold’s were they not?”

Flitwick paled dramatically.

“Hm, I’d thought so. Not particularly dignified for a magician, but then again Pellaras is the same society that shackles the ellyllon, so I suppose dignity is a superfluous value in your culture.”

“You won’t get away with this!” Flitwick shot at Harry as he made for the door.

“Perhaps, but who would belive your words of the boy savior?” Harry replied. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Perhaps obliquely threatening a professor on your first day back at school was bad form. Perhaps it wasn’t. Harry was debating such when he was heading for the Hufflepuff common room and felt those gossamer strands once more catching on him. From a different direction, this time. The small alcove to his right, its occupant hidden from view. Moving closer, Harry saw her.

“Well met, Bard. I’ve long awaited this meeting.”

Chapter Text

She was unassuming, to a degree. Long hair, black in color, bound up in a tight crown braid, bar two swooping lengths of hair that framed her face. She was wearing a dress, a deep indigo over which was a black mantle that looked well worn, its precious gemstones glinting in the light. Over top, and adorning her neck, was a necklace, along which were nine glass beads. Drawn down, yet nevertheless visible, was a leather hood, calfskin if the texture was to be believed, which had been lined with… a skin, of some sort, yet none that Harry could identify by sight. Her hands likewise were covered with gloves of the same mysterious tanned skin, a ring, gold in its glint, ornamenting her right middle finger. Cinching her dress was a belt, adorned with a pouch that seemed fit to bursting, and her feet were covered by sensible leather boots.

In short, she was dressed in a similar, if more traditionally feminine, fashion to Harry.

“Lilum Lunae.” Harry muttered to himself. “You come from a different land. The accent reveals as much. The ring, however… a charm, though different to the sort I craft.”

“A ring to ward off harm and illness.” The stranger responded. “Mother insisted, though I think it rather unnecessary.”

“A truth, yet an avoidance? One certainly knows how to navigate the Good Folk. From where do you hail?”

“Forheske, for the warlocks, Norway for the mortals. And one must know how to Entangle if one wishes to go far in my art.”

“And your art would be? Given your long wait for our meeting?”

“Ah, such haste.” She responded, gracefully hopping off the ledge. “When yet we remain strangers in truth, though I’ve peered at your happenings.”

“You may name me Lily Moon.” She replied, extending a hand.

“And you may refer to me by… Cador.” Harry said in kind, wary of her words, though taking her proffered hand and kissing the knuckles as was expected.

Removing his lips, he looked at the gloves, Gloves of catskin. Then the hood. The hood lined with the same material. Then the necklace and mantle. He gave the ring a second glance, noticing the distinct glyphs of a runic futhark. Thinking, he tied her long wait to her peering at his present-turned-past. Perhaps her outfit was incomplete, missing a length of wood, further lengths forming a bulge at the top, bracketed with copper. Piecing it all together, Harry took a wary step back.

“Völva.” He whispered.

“Indeed. I’ve not a clue why Mother was worried you’d fall short of the scenes I’d seen, she’s taught me herself, after all.” Lily replied.

Harry, however, was no longer paying attention, swimming through his thoughts as he was. He had read of völva, to a degree. Viewers of fate and, when needed, reweavers of its strands. That one would attend Hogwarts, would gaze upon his actions, would seek him out personally? There was little that concerned him when magicians were concerned. A völva certainly did.

“One that can grasp fate’s strands coming to meet with any is no mere coincidence.” Harry stated. “For one such as yourself to meet with one such as myself? What plans have you?”

“Oh, a manifold few.” Lily replied. “Beyond intrigue at one with the self-same Sovereign degree that I possess, I find you’ll most need one that can touch the threads of magic you shall have to manipulate in your future. After all, one who can hear and one who can see can do very little without one who can touch.”

“Oh, that is disconcertingly ominous.” Harry replied. “I take it you have plans for some form of assistance when comes the first of November?”

“All Souls Day? I do indeed have a place in the plans.” Lily replied. “Though the hour yet grows late. Perhaps a sleep to mull over such revelations?”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Harry was not, in fact, thinking about the völva who was shadowing him, even if she wasn’t physically present. Instead, he was interviewing Professor Binns, Cedric in tow.

“Ah Good Bard, Mr. Diggory, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We were wondering if you were a member of, specifically, the Pellarastic Church, Professor Binns.” Cedric opened.

“Ah, yes, though I was a convert. I used to be an Anglican, given that was the denomination my parents were. Then I learned of the Church and decided to convert. I met my darling Miriam there, you know.”

“Would you have received the appropriate burial rites?” Harry asked, prompting Binns to go silent for a while.

“Well, I’m fairly certain I received at least one of the ceremonies, though I can’t rightly remember which one…”

“The Office of the Dead, perhaps?”

“Oh, yes that does ring a bell… yes, I do believe that was the one.”

“Well, that simplifies matters considerably.” Harry commented. “The Final Commendation and Farewell are far simpler and shorter in length than the Office of the Dead. Though there is one last detail to clarify.”

“Where are you buried?” Cedric continued.

“Why, Hogsmeade of course, Most of the professors live in the village, at least such was the case in my life.”

“Thank you, Professor Binns. Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

Once they left the room, Cedric turned to face Harry.

“You’ve been acting weird. Is it that feeling from the train?”

“Yes.” Harry sighed. “I’ve located the source of the phenomenon. A first year sorceress, who has named herself Lily Moon. A völva.”

“That being?”

“A Norse sorceress who peers through the threads of fate, reweaving them if need be.”

“Oh. That… that seems important. Does she… is she being hostile?”

“Quite the contrary. She claimed to have been looking forward to our meeting.”

“Huh.” Cedric replied as they began to walk again. “We should probably meet her, then.”

Sighing, Harry knelt down in front of Artorius.

“Artorius, would you be a dear and find Moon? Lead her to the anteroom near to Sublevel One as well if you could.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Lily

“So, the Bard and his bladeless squire wish a meeting?”

“Bladeless squire?” Cador and his squire asked in unison.

“Oh, never you mind that, all in due time.” She replied, directing her attention towards the squire, extending her hand. “First, the introductions. Cador and I have met, if in short, yet you remain stranger. You may name me Lily Moon.”

The squire extended his hand to grasp hers, kissed her knuckles, and, after some deliberation, named himself Gawain. Good. It wouldn’t have done at all if he had been entirely incompetent, given the meetings of the future.

“Well met, Gawain.”

“So, uh…why seek out Cador?”

“Ah yes, I supposes that is the question, isn’t it?” Lily replied. “Well, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to give detailed information, the fibers of the far off future are still yet to be spun into the threads I most favor, though I can say that if any endeavors of yours have hope of fruiting, you shall have to cooperate with me.”

“A threat, Prophetess? Or perhaps a warning?”

“The latter, I should think. Threatening people is ever so gauche.”

“Well, better to have a völva as an ally than an enemy.”

Lily gave Cador a considering glance, tilting her head as she did.

“Would you consent to leaving the room, Gawain? I wish a private word with Cador.”

Once he had left, Cador spoke.

“I rather suspect I won’t be enjoying this conversation.”

“Filius will be a greater problem than you expect.” Lily said, in lieu of a response. “He does not act alone.”

“Then who acts as his allies?”

“Minerva and Severus, naturally. Your tynged was unwise as well. Ill thought out. Far too broad.”

“Yes well, it may not have been my finest work, but the circumstances were rather dire.”

“And could the same be said of the former Groundskeeper?”

“He was obstructing my efforts. My duties are not to those of Jötunn blood.”

“And yet, my duties are to those of my land, and the peoples within which reside and their descendants.” Lily replied. “Thus, my duties extend to the Groundskeeper. How might you right this?”

“I would offer to return the name if I knew how to go about such, but alas, I do not.

“A shame, to be true. But to take another?”

“It would depend on whom.”

“Lucius Malfoy and Agnarr Nott.”

“Your quarrel being?”

“The former holds the binding for the spiritualia nequitie in celestibus that allows the secrecy of the Church, the latter is the living memory of their rites.”

“And you wish to destabilize the Pellarastic Church for what reason? I already have one plan to destabilize an element of society, and a nascent one for the economy.”

“To avenge my father. Too heretical, and undignified, apparently, for marrying Mother.”

“What of the veil over the nation?”

“Hah! Propaganda that their ancestors spread. That veil was laid as the final act of The Wizard’s Council. So long as the caster’s bones remain interred in their hidden graves the veil is secure.”

“I do so detest lies.” Cador replied. “I find the proposal agreeable.”

“One last thing, Cador.” Lily said as he made for the door. “Does Gawain know of your involvement in the Groundskeeper’s fate?”

“…No. His morals are still too mortal.” Cador replied. “Perhaps in the future he might be appraised… until then, I shall remain silent.”

“I see…” Lily replied. “You may not have to wait as long as you fear.”

Chapter Text

Harry

Harry and Cedric were sitting in an abandoned room in Hogwarts, making the candles necessary for the coming equinox, when Cedric spoke up.

“Should… should we invite Lily?”

“…No. At the very least, not this year’s celebration.”

“Fair enough.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

“Would you wish to paint first, or be painted first?” Harry asked, extending the handle of the brush he had used the year prior.

“You know what? Let’s go for the former. What’re you thinking?” Cedric replied, pulling the paint pots to his side and accepting the offered brush.

“Hm… let’s see…” Harry muttered as he paged through the same book he had pulled out last year. “Ah, yes, I think that ought to do well. The Gwrach-y-Rhibyn.”

Looking at Cedric’s face as Harry settled himself in place, he realized that he seemed… concerned.

“Is something the matter?”

“Just… wandering what Lily wanted to talk about to you in private is all.”

“Simply a barter of sorts. One that, though roundabout in its manner, helps achieve a goal of mine.”

“Long as you’re fine with it, songbird.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

“You seem nervous.” Harry said as they sat by the side of the bonfire.

“Knowing you’re technically going graverobbing in a day sort of does that to you.” Cedric replied, shifting to rest his back against Harry’s side. “I’ve never broken a law before, so that sort of just… compounds it.”

“Well, there was Centaurus’ Spear.”

“That… that wasn’t stealing, it was returning stolen goods.”

They lapsed into silence once more, with it persisting a while longer before Cedric broke it once more.

“I’ve been thinking. About the ring you gave me.”

“Oh?”

“I… I’m not mad about the initial presentation anymore. Haven’t been for a while.”

“And how do you feel now?”

“I think it’s kind of sweet. That you’d spend time composing a song to shape it so specifically, and to add the enchantments.” Cedric replied, twisting the aforementioned ring where it sat on his finger. “Probably helps that I feel better when I wear it.”

“That is all that matters.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Cedric

Hefting the shovel he was holding, Cedric adjusted the mantle Harry had gifted him the year before. King Arthur’s Mantle, which… might have had him freaking out a tiny bit once he had actually processed that. He was still freaking out slightly, but that was because he was breaking into a graveyard to dig up a grave. Oh, and he was also the one administering the burial rite. Because, of course, he was.

So there he was, standing outside a cemetery, kept company by a völva, waiting for his friend to bring a ghost to the graveyard. What was his life now, again?

Hearing a crunch of dead leaves on the ground, he turned his head, seeing nothing but Professor Binns approaching. Shooting a spell at the gate, just in case it creaked as it opened, Cedric entered the graveyard, followed by Lily, then Binns, then Harry. Well, Harry, Artorius, and Lenore, really.

As he found the right grave, he watched as his companions set themselves in position. Harry stuck his staff firmly into the ground, positioning himself just so - so he could easily ring the bell on his staff if needs be – bracketed by Artorius to his side and Lenore on his staff’s prongs, picking up his panpipes from where they had been hanging at his side. Lily, meanwhile, had set up a spinning wheel from somewhere, as well as a stool and a holder for her distaff. Carefully, she plucked something from the distaff, feeding it through the flyer’s orifice. What she was manipulating was a mystery, seeing as he couldn’t see anything. It was just a void. Turning his attention back to his bard, he listened as Harry explained the plan.

“Gawain, Moon and I shall be providing an illusion to prevent our being sighted. Artorius, Lenore, and I through song, the Good Prophetess through spinning new threads of fate-“ Ah. Definitely a normal thing to casually mention. “You shall have to perform the rite.”

“Why, again?”

“Religiously speaking, Cador is… confusing, and I would be deemed a devotee of my arts." Lily answered. "You, by virtue of your society, are the closest we have to a Christian.”

“Fair.”

“Now, I’d rather you not inquire as to my acquisitional methods, but you shall require these.” Harry continued, handing over a bottle of… holy water, probably, and a censer which, based on the odd weave, was enchanted to only emit incense if needed. “Good Professor, you are to provide the responsorial. Is all clear?”

At a nod from Harry, Cedric started digging up the grave, getting into a rhythm, helped by the odd harmonic song Harry and his companions were forming, and the staccato, click-like rhythm of the spinning wheel as Lily treadled away, as well as the high-voiced song she was singing, keeping to the wheel’s beat, yet somehow also keeping to Harry’s at the same time. As he hit the coffin with a thunk of metal on hardwood, Cedric positioned himself at the foot of the grave, bracketing it with Professor Binns at the head.

“Before we go our separate ways, let us take leave of our brother. May our farewell express our affection for him: may it ease our sadness and strengthen our hope. One day we shall joyfully greet him again when the love of Christ, which conquers all things, destroys even death itself.” He intoned, sprinkling holy water over the coffin, then incensing it using the censer.

Putting the items back down, Cedric repositioned himself and continued, matching the slight change of rhythm in Harry’s song.

“Saints of God, come to his aid!

Hasten to meet him, angels of the Lord!”

In the pause between verses, Binns called out.

“Receive his soul and present him to God the Most High.”

Picking up, Cedric intoned.

“May Christ, who called you, take you to himself;

may the angels lead you to the bosom of Abraham.”

Pausing, Cedric picked up again once Binns repeated the responsorial.

“Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord,

and let perpetual light shine upon him.”

Once more, Binns repeated his responsorial. One more section, just the one, Cedric thought. There was a reason he chose not to be initiated into the church.

“To you, O Lord, we commend the soul of Cuthbert Binns, your servant; in the sight of this world he is now dead; in your sight may he live forever. Forgive whatever sins he committed through human weakness and in your goodness grant him everlasting peace. We ask this through Christ our Lord.”

“Amen.” Binns answered.

Waiting with bated breath, Cedric looked on at Binns after he had filled the grave in, trying to spot any difference. Then, all of a sudden, it started. From the bottom up, Binns began to fade and dissipate, dissolving into motes of mist. As the dissipation began, he spoke his final words.

“Beneath… my desk… Thank… you…”

And then, like a whisper of leaves rustling in the wind, he was gone. And there was no ghost named Professor Cuthbert Binns.

“I think I’m having a crisis of faith.” Cedric muttered. “Songbird, what… what are the implications of that working?”

“None, beyond the nature of burial rites being used to put spirits to rest, as they have been used since time immemorial.” Harry replied, lowering his panpipes. “As for the possibility that the Christian God is real? I cannot say.”

“Okay, that makes way more sense.” Cedric replied. “See, this is why I like heading to bed early. No getting in my own head.”

“Yes well, be a dear and remove some of the moisture from the grave dirt and you can rest.”

Chapter Text

Minerva

Something had happened to Filius. Minerva was certain of it. He had been acting… off during the Welcoming Feast Staff Meeting, though part of that might have been attributed to the late hour. Honestly, why Albus hosted the first meeting of the year after the first years had been taken to their common rooms made no sense. The only possible conclusion she could draw, with regard to Filius' state, was that it had something to do with Potter.

“Filius, are you quite alright?” She asked as she entered his office.

“As much as one can be when placed under the conditions I have.”

“That is remarkably unhelpful Filius.”

“Unfortunately, given the wording of Mr. Potter… Though, I do wonder…”

“What are you prattling about?”

“I shall have to ask that you have patience with me, Minerva.”

“Very well.”

“There is an old form of magic that falls under the category of Thaumaturgy, present in various Celtic beliefs. The names vary, as well the particulars, but they’re known in English as a Prohibition, or an Obligation. They’re the basis for the Unbreakable Vow and, as the name implies, prohibits from doing or saying, or obligates the subject to either do or say anything specified within or to not. Crucially, depending on the wording, much like an Unbreakable Vow, Prohibitions and Obligations can have loopholes that can be exploited.”

“For instance, one might – if prohibited from discussing anything above their station, in any manner – reframe something as what might be under their station.”

“Do you mean to say…” She said, trailing off. “Surely not!”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Albus

Albus was busy with paperwork when he heard a knock on his office door. Glancing up, he called out for the person to enter, turning his attention back to the list of complaints that the Board of Governors had levied about the school grounds, as well as the denials for funding increases. With a final flourish of his quill, he turned his gaze to his visitor. Minerva.

Oh goodness, he thought, it seemed today would be tiring.

“Ah, Minerva, what can I do for you?”

“An investigation into Mr. Potter, for a start.”

“Oh? What might he have done to deserve such a thing?”

“Cast a predecessor of the Unbreakable Vow on Filius.”

“That is quite the accusation Minerva.” Albus responded, now giving her his full attention. “Have you any evidence?”

“Surely you could ask Filius for the memory? You have a pensieve after all.”

“And, as you ought be aware, memories are not admissible as evidence, Minerva. They are far too easy to tamper with, and the creation of false memories is a documented phenomenon.” Looking at Minerva – who looked rather abashed at having forgotten one of the primary reasons they had been disbarred from trial evidence – Albus sighed wearily. “Was Filius able to communicate the terms of the spell?”

“Yes, I believe he did, if through an oblique example.” Minerva answered. “’Prohibited from discussing anything above their station, in any manner’  I believe was the wording Filius used.”

“I see.” Albus nodded. “Perhaps a visit to Filius would not be out of the question.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Filius

Filius was in the midst of marking a pile of homework when he heard a knock at his office door. Gently placing his quill back in his inkpot, Filius cast a quick charm, opening the office door to see Albus waiting there.

“Ah, Headmaster, how might help you?”

“Could I trouble you for a request?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

Walking into the office, Albus sat down in the chair opposite Filius’, giving him a severe look.

“Minerva and I had a most enlightening conversation not too long ago.” Albus commented, apropos of nothing. “If the news she delivered reveals true, I fear I have quite the apology to provide.”

“Oh?” Filius asked. He had an idea of the conversation’s topics, though he couldn’t quite be certain, given the… unique manners in which conversations with the old man could turn.

“Would you permit a small journey down memory lane?”

“Ah, so the topic was as I thought. Please, do.”

With a pointing of a wand and a slight whisper, Filius felt a slight pressure behind his eyes, all the while thinking of the meeting he had had with Mr. Potter. Filius certainly wasn’t an expert on the magical arts of the mind, far from it in fact, but logic would indicate that focusing on a memory – or a person, perhaps – would help to smooth the process. So focused on his encounters with Mr. Potter, he barely registered the memories being viewed as being dragged forth by someone else.

“Oh dear.” Albus muttered as he broke eye contact, ending the spell. “Whatever shall we do with Mr. Potter.”

“So you believe me now, Albus?” Filius asked, thinking of when he first warned the man about the student. “You finally see what I mean?”

“I must apologize, Filius. I had thought your worries mere fancies, but… I fear there is far more meat to them than I had thought.”

“Then what shall you do?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot take such concerns to law enforcement, as you will know, but rest assured, I shall be doing what I can to gather more concrete evidence.”

“I will be expecting news on your efforts, Albus.”

“I would expect nothing less, Filius.”

Chapter Text

Harry was sequestered away in a windowed alcove, reading through an old tome – one of the books he had found in Binns’ research materials – taking notes as he read, when Cedric found him. Turning his head as his song got closer, Harry watched as the light of the setting sun caught on the edges of his companion’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and the amusement that so frequently glimmered in his eyes.

“Hey songbird!” Cedric called out. “I’ve got everything set up for your solstice traditions if you wanna start now.”

“Goodness, it seems I quite lost the time.” Harry muttered, closing both books and putting them in his bag before following after Cedric.

“So, I was doing some reading on Yule after last year, Yule Log and all, and one of the books said that Yule was different to the solstice, so I was wondering why the Yule Log?”

“Ah, yes, Yule is distinctly different. The traditional time period for festivities was Midwinter, beginning on Midwinter Night, and lasting three days. Of course, the solstice marks the true beginning of the season, not the calendarial beginning. In reality it was likely practiced in what is now January, likely from the nineteenth to the twenty-first of the month. As for the inclusion of the Yule Log in my personal festivities? I like it, quite frankly.”

“What, no special, magical reason?”

“Not at all. While prior cultures and religions seem to have ascribed ritual, spiritual and magical significance to the dates – and the activities -  just as contemporary religions and cultures do, what records remain of those practices rarely detail any religiously significant practices.”

“Why though?”

“It’s rather dependent on the culture, but it tends to be simplified to two primary reasons. The first, cultural ubiquity. They’re such well known, and well understood, practices that the mere idea of recording them would be laughable. A rather apt example would be the Feathered Serpent of Meso-America, Quetzalcoatl. Few records exist, but the breadth of references from such a variety of civilizations indicates sever cultural ubiquity.”

“Okay, that makes sense. The second?”

“The information being considered too religiously sacred to record. Such an example would be druids of the Celtic nations. Whilst a druid could be a legal authority, a lorekeeper, a medical professional, political advisor or the like, they were also religious leaders. More broadly, they were the priestly class, and rather high-ranking. However, such information has been derived from external sources, as the doctrines of the religion prohibited recording the religion itself.”

“Huh.” Cedric said as he knocked on the barrel to get into the common room. “Why d’you know all of this?”

“I’m a bard, Cedric. Part of that role is being educated about history and culture, to act as a lorekeeper. Granted, that was rather more country specific historically speaking, though I rather dislike limiting myself in such a manner.”

“Fair enough.” Cedric replied, lighting some candles. “Fair warning, I cooked the food myself so… might not be the best.”

Slicing into the meat and eating a piece, Harry hummed a little bit.

“So… is it good?”

“Is this venison?” Harry asked, getting a nervous nod in response. “Quite flavorful. I dare say you did quite the good job.”

As they ate, Cedric suddenly looked at Harry.

“I just realized, we don’t know each other’s birthday. Mine’s October twelfth.”

“I’m not entirely certain when mine falls. Physically, I was birthed on the thirty-first of July, though evidently that has changed, given my presence last year.”

“Well, when was the longest time you spent in Annwn?”

“Well, I suppose when I learnt how to lay tynghedau under the Huntsman’s tutelage, thus, if we place the date of time divergence  as my exiting, I suppose it would be the nineteenth of November.”

“Well, now that that’s out the way, you’ve been distracted recently.” Cedric said as he packed up the table they had sat at. “What’s in those books that’s got you so worked up?”

“Did I ever tell you what the Huntsman told me when we met last year?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“We spoke of the elves, and bards, and bindings. We also spoke of seeing Truths within lies, and the importance of not discarding findings that may seem irrelevant” Harry said, placing the Yule Log in the fireplace. “The nature of the tynged is one that Sovereignty is key in, most often, thus allowing a bard to lay one upon a magician. The manner in which the Folk converse is… one filled with prevarication and layered complexities, but crucially I discerned the possible cause of the ellyllon and their current state.”

“And?”

“It was a bard.” Harry replied, looking at the burning wick on his candle. “One of my art, bound by treaties just the same as I. One who ought have devoted themself to serving the people of the land, and y Tylwyth Teg, instead enslaving them, binding them, prohibiting them.”

“That’s… well, hopefully they suffered when they died. But what about the books?”

“It’s rather curious.” Harry replied, tearing his attention from the candle, turning to Cedric. “The tomes pertain to two topics. The first, bardic history. The second, and more curiously, Azkaban Fortress.”

“Wait, what?”

“Precisely. Per our dearly departed Cuthbert’s notes, the Good Professor was attempting to disprove the commonly believed origins of the Fortress, and the dementors.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You see, Cuthbert was of the opinion that the Fortress and dementors predated Ekrizdis, existing on the isle long before the aspiring Dark Lord found it.”

“That’s… awfully convenient.”

“Quite. Now, as you were the first to gift the prior year, I shall go first this year.”

“Ooh, okay.” Cedric said, watching as Harry reached into his bag.

From within, he withdrew a sheathed knife, the leather of the scabbard clearly reinforced with wood, the tip and base adorned with silver, engraved with knotwork, the swirling lines interweaving over and under each other. Removing the sheath, Harry revealed a spear-point blade, single-edged, the knife made of steel, the handle carved out of bone, small divots in the handle filled with the distinctly colored smoky-quartz of the Cairngorm Mountains, the pommel made of copper.

“Holy shit, that’s beautiful.” Cedric whispered as he accepted the blade from Harry.

“It’s a sgian-dubh, a traditional aspect of the Highland Attire of Alba.” Harry said. “I think it rather odd that magicians rely solely on their wands. I would never rely solely on my song, I carry my own knife, thus a knife of your own.”

“Thanks!” Cedric whispered. “How, uh, how do you wear it?”

“Traditionally, in the kilt hose, though one could hide it in their socks, their waistband, so on.”

Shortly after re-sheathing the blade and situating it, he presented a box.

“So, it’s probably not as fancy as a really cool blade, but, well, I noticed the clasp you use for your cloaks gets loose pretty often, so I got you a brooch.”

Opening the box, Harry saw a circular brooch, the interior a semi-circle, created by the wide flares of metal by the slit. Much like Harry’s gift to Cedric, the brooch had intricate knotwork on it, weaving around two triquetra – one on each side -  which themselves had small stones fixed in their center. The pin itself was fairly unadorned, a simple, slightly raised curling vine pattern.

“I presume the stones have significance?”

“So, my family has a collection of stones in our attic, they’re from a cairn in our yard. Or, well, they would have been if the people who had placed them there had died. You gave me a gift you made and sang into being. So, I transfigured the brooch! And enchanted the stones, adding protective enchantments and the like.”

In place of thanking Cedric, Harry undid the brooch on his cloak, replacing it with the gifted one.

“Well, now that that has been conducted I thi-“

“Mm, no, we’re sleeping in the common room.”

“Pardon?”

“You-“ Cedric said, pointing at Harry. “Have a bad habit of overworking yourself. You’re probably gonna stay up late and keep reading, taking notes, and stressing yourself out. You have bags under your eyes.”

“It’s hardly that-“

“Nope.”

“Cedric, I am of-“

“Remember what happened last year at the Feast? I will wear you down. We’re sleeping here, if only so I can be sure you actually get a healthy amount.”

“Fine.”

Chapter Text

Harry, if you were to observe him at the moment, would have seemed patently insane. This would be due to the pages of notes, the reproductions of woodcuts, copies of various pages from history books in the Library, and various books floating in front of him, suspended by the rhythm he was tapping with his foot.

“Now, which one could it be?” Harry whispered, using his staff to direct the pages and books. “Certainly not… you, perhaps? No, no… perhaps?”

He was shaken from his reverie by a knock on the door.

“Woah, what, uh, what’s up with… that?” Cedric asked as he gestured at all of the research materials in front of Harry.

“I… I believe I may have discerned the bard responsible for the ellyllon.”

“Really? Who?” Cedric asked, excited.

“That… is complicated. It would be more accurate to say I have rather narrowed the possibilities. Many initial bards had to be discarded, due to the presence of enslaved elves at the time. Thus Llywarch ap Llywelyn, Dafydd Benfras, Cynddelw Brydydd Mawr, Bleddyn Fardd, Meilyr Brydydd, Llywarch Hen and Talhaearn Tad Awen all had to be discarded.”

“That’s… a lot of names.”

“Indeed. This leaves three possibilities. Myrddin Wyllt, Taliesin and Aneirin. The latter two are bards of the sixth century, a century with precious few records. The former, however, complicates matters.”

“How?”

“Myrddin Wyllt is a figure with records in the fifth and sixth centuries. Crucially, all evidence suggests that he was one of the figures that inspired tales of Merlin for non-magical societies.”

“Oh, wait, I remember him! According to the Historical Society’s records, he was born in the sixth century, but something happened that sent him back in time, in some manner. They weren’t really clear, parts of them suggested that he physically went back, some other parts made it out like he… had his mind sent back, I guess?”

“Well, regardless, the same relative lack of records holds true here as well. However, there is a crucial difference. Taliesin – the historical figure, that is – likely died sometime near the end of the sixth century. Much the same holds true for Aneirin, said to have been slain shortly after the death of one of his patrons, Owain who, himself, had been slain circa five-ninety-five. Myrddin Wyllt, or Merlin, however?”

“I’m guessing no death date, speculative or otherwise?”

“Precisely. The tales vary, some posit that Myrddin was slain by a Lady of the Lake by the name of Viviane, or Nyneve, or Nimue. Others posit that a Lady of the Lake, by the name of Niniane, broke his heart, leading him to vanishing, or – at the tender age of twelve – her enchanting him into a sleep within a pit in the Darnantes forest. Some trap him beneath a boulder, others in a magical, invisible tower known in some versions as The Glass House, in other versions he is trapped within a tree, on the Île de Sein.”

“That’s… a lot, actually.”

“Yes, well, we are able to eliminate at least one possibility. The Glass House. The tales in which Myrddin retreats to The Glass House specify that he retreats with a collection of items. The Treasures of Britain.”

“Which we have two of.”

“Indeed. Leaving us with trapped in a tree on the Île de Sein, enchanted to slumber, trapped underneath a boulder, or some possible other option.”

“And the other options would be located where, exactly?”

“Brocéliande forest, identified by folklorists as Paimpont,  though more likely hidden within, as a form of Otherworld.”

“Oh, that’s cool, just an entire forest.”

“That is if the bard was Myrddin, Cedric. Which means an audience with the Huntsman.”

“Let me know what he says?”

“Oh no, no, no. We are partners in this endeavor, which the Huntsman very well knows. I rather think it time you meet my mentor.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

Pulling the grouse out of his bag, just as he had the year prior, Harry didn’t have to wait long until he heard the Hunt’s pounding paws, giving Cedric – who had donned an enchanted blindfold so as to not be distracted by his perception of Annwn – a slight nudge when he saw a flicker of the Huntsman.

“Ah, the Good Bard, yet another audience sought. And with the…” The Huntsman spoke, trailing off at the glimmer of the ring on Cedric’s finger. “Ah, your… companion.”

“When last we spoke, I made mention of an ally. This is he.”

“Ally, you say?” The Huntsman asked, his eyes glimmering as he looked between Harry, Cedric, and the ring, leaving the rest unspoken.

“Greetings, my Lord.” Cedric said, a note of anxiety leaking through. “You may refer to me as Montresor.”

“Ah, so well trained! I must say, my Good Bard, you’ve done quite the miracle.”

“A topic that is beside the point I wish to discuss, Good Huntsman.”

“Ah, yes, we have rather strayed from the topic of your audience. Do expound.”

“The topic is, in some ways, much the same as when last you held court in my presence. The ellyllon. Among the manifold topics we discussed, we discussed the particularities that allow one to lay tynghedau on another which, by manner of the conversation, led to the topic of bards past.”

“And quite the entertaining meeting it was.”

“Through the course of providing a spirit aid in passing on, I acquired quite the intriguing collection of research materials. Tomes on the magician’s prison, and on bardic history.” Harry continued. “Through said tomes, I came to somewhat of a revelation. It was Myrddin Wyllt who enslaved the ellyllon, was it not?”

“… He held such promise.” The Huntsman said, eyes a misty white, caught within the fogs of memory. “He wielded his songs like nothing less than a limb, as though his first words had been a harmony. One of the finest bards, magician or not, that I’d encountered. But he was ambitious. Oh, was he ever so ambitious. Filled to the very brim with the fiery passion of combat, he turned his gentle, sweet music into bladed weapons, viciously rending flesh, turning skin to stone, nought but a whistle used.”

“You are correct Good Bard.” The Huntsman answered, turning to Harry, eyes as black as a starless night with a new moon. “In his folly, his ambition, he wished to grow his patron, Arthur’s, armies. Bound slaves to answer his every whim. ‘Bathe me!’, ‘Clothe me!’, ‘Tend to the weapons!’, ‘Tend to the men!’ Unable to deny a command, unable to leave service. Were the base not tragedy enough, he partnered with a magician to enact his goal. The bard, unable to bind, the charmer unable to prohibit, in combination a foul concoction.”

“There was a second discovery. When last we spoke, we discussed peering through lies, seeing Truth behind the mirage, and of the importance of noting prior accomplishments, for they may prove crucial in ways unexpected. Thus, I find it rather… peculiar that the research materials I acquired pertained, in part, to the dementors of Azkaban.”

“Ah, but it was not simply prior accomplishments, and the perusal of the said, that we spoke of.”

“Indeed not. We spoke of preludes, and acts such that become misattributed. Having perused the available records, I find an odd… similarity. Varying tales attribute Myrddin’s disappearance to his withdrawal into The Glass House. Curiously, a magical tower which, dependent on the tale, is enwreathed in mist. Rather similar to the nature of Azkaban Fortress.”

“History is rather malleable a force, most especially when records are lost, or never made. The finder is the victor, and the victor the author. A tower obscured, with visual intent to inhabit? One undatable, its origins unknown and uncertain? Why, the truths one could spin, the veils one could weave, the possibilities present themselves.”

“I have much to think on, my Lord.” Harry said. “Montresor and I must bid you goodbye.”

“I find that we concur, Good Bard.” The Huntsman replied, tacking on a remark as Harry and Cedric made for the cave entrance. “The Hunt you provided the prior year was quite exhilarating, I must say.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

“I’ve been trying to figure out what you and Arawn were talking about, but I still can’t really puzzle it out.” Cedric said. “Specifically the part about Azkaban.”

“A simple confirmation of my suspicions regarding Azkaban Fortress as The Glass House.”

“I’m sorry, that was what you got from that? How? I think if he was any vaguer I would’ve passed out from thinking too hard!”

“Put simply, the crucial evidence was in the method by which the Huntsman responded. Had my supposition proven false, Annwn’s Lord would have been far likelier to discuss the dangers of drawing conclusions when uncertain, and the necessity of searching all possible sources. That he instead expounded on the weaving of history’s tapestry, and the malleability of the information forming its threads communicates all that is needed.”

“… Is every interaction with one of the Fair Folk like that?”

“In one manner or another. The Huntsman is rather more prone to prevarication and obfuscation, however. Likely a result of the treaties, and the clauses directed toward the lordly Folk.”

“Okay, so-“ Cedric said. “Azkaban equals The Glass House. Got that. You were saying something about… preludes and misattributed acts, and past accomplishments. What was that about?”

“Well, with so precarious a task as enslaving the ellyllon, it would prove prudent to… experiment.”

“Wait, wait, wait, you don’t mean…?”

“Indeed. The dementors.”

Chapter Text

It was with a slight knock of his staff against the wall that Harry drew the attention of the elves in the kitchen.

“Ah, the Good Bard returns.” Miriam remarked as she made her way to where Harry was standing. “Have you thusly realized the folly of your promise? Have you come to reveal your decision to end your attempts?”

“Quite the opposite, Miriam.” Harry replied. “I had been meaning to visit, though my efforts to discern the cause of your current state were rather complicated.”

“Discern the cause? You think to have done what no other has managed?”

“Not simply think, Good Neighbor. For I have discerned the origin point of your collective enslavement. The dual endeavor of an unnamed magician, and a bard. Myrddin Wyllt, to be rather specific.”

“You speak with such confidence.” Miriam said, a slight tint of hope mixed with disbelief coloring her words. “What proof have you?”

“Why, the confirmation of one who was contemporary to the event. The Lord of the Hunt, The Huntsman of the Night, Annwn’s Lord himself.”

“The Hunting Lord himself? Whatever could cause the Lord to deign to gift you with his presence?”

“Why, having been under his tutelage of course. How else might I have learnt the art of the tynghedau?”

“…Perhaps your oath might hold more weight than those of the past. Naturally, however, for such a finding to mean anything one must have a path forward.”

“Naturally. It just so happens that I have quite the viable route of investigation, though it will be a touch difficult to acquire access.” Harry replied, continuing at the arched eyebrow he received as a response. “The dementors of Azkaban Fortress or, more accurately, The Glass House.”

-{╣ ҉ ╠}-

“…So.” Cedric said, breaking the silence in their train compartment. “What’s the plan for the, uh, the dementors?”

“Naturally I shall have to investigate the public and private records pertaining to the beings. If possible I plan to gain access to a living specimen, such as to investigate what its song is composed of, and to discern any foreign elements.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?”

“I’ve my own methods of… ensuring that threats no longer pose as such.”

“That’s… ominous. Just… be safe, okay?”

“Of course.” Harry replied, giving Cedric an odd look. “Are you quite alright? You seem rather more nervous than is usual.”

“Well it’s, uh, it’s funny that you ask.” Cedric said, lightly chuckling, voice slightly strained. “So, uh… I was wondering if…”

Sitting silently, Harry watched as Cedric fished what seemed to be a bracelet out of his pockets and began twisting the beads it was made of between his fingers.

“I was wondering if you… would go out with me?” Cedric asked, presenting the bracelet to Harry.

Accepting the item, Harry saw that each bead was different. One, a half-note bead, another a faceted, golden-brown topaz. There was a delicately carved flower bud, a bird’s feather, and a faux fang. Running his fingers over the beads that were made of wood, Harry could feel the rough edges of something carved and whittled, lacking the unnaturally smooth edges of something transfigured.

“The bracelet’s a traditional thing.” Cedric said hurriedly as Harry looked at it closely. “I don’t really know why, but it’s a tradition to make a bracelet as a gift for the person you want to date, one that represents the person.”

“… I have been… less than honest with you.”

“Wait, what? What are you talking about?”

“I… would be loath to form a romantic entanglement on a foundation that involves a lie. Although by omission, I have been lying to you about an… incident during the prior academic year.”

“You’re making it sound so serious.” Cedric said jokingly. “What did you do, kill someone? Seriously, I’m probably going to be fine with it, you usually have a good reason for whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I was the one to take the Groundskeeper’s name.”

“That… changes things slightly.” Cedric said, all levity gone from his voice. “I maintain, you usually have a reason or explanation for whatever you’ve done. So, what is it this time?”

“It… it happened when first I met the centaurs. As I made to enter the forest, the Groundskeeper made to prevent me. As I had to search the woodland, and there was an impediment, one to whom I am not duty bound, I elected for the simplest method of removal, that being removal of his identity.”

“Okay… that… makes sense, from your perspective, I suppose. Why keep the information from me?”

“I… I suppose that I feared you might wish to part ways.” Harry said, an embarrassed look gracing his face. “I… have grown to appreciate your presence, and would loathe to lose it.”

“Harry… this kind of secret? It’s the kind of thing that can break a relationship by being kept, especially when you’re working together on something.” Cedric replied, looking at Harry. “Was it something you’d planned?”

“No. It was… somewhat of an impulse act. I required access to the woods, the Groundskeeper barred the way.”

“Okay.” Cedric replied, clearly deep in thought. “I’m… I’m not happy. About what happened, that is. I won’t begrudge you acting on impulse to try and do what’s right but… that sounds kind of permanent, so…”

“I would have expected more… indignation?” Harry asked, confused. “Righteous anger, perhaps?”

“You don’t live with my parents and not learn how to hide your emotions.” Cedric answered absently. “I know you aren’t… you’re not really human, anymore. It stands to reason you would think more like a fairy now, resemble the culture of the Fair Folk. Morals are… looser, as far as I understand.”

“So you’re… fine? With the act, that is?” Harry asked, a touch of vulnerability reaching into his voice.

“No, not with what you did, but the reasoning… I’ll admit it makes a degree of sense.” Cedric replied. “So, in a sense… kind of? Though I will be looking into name magic, to see if they can be returned.”

“Well then, yes, I would consent to entering a relationship with you.” Harry said, slipping the bracelet under the woven Púca hair bracelet he wore. “And I’ll wish you luck in the endeavor. It is… an obscure field. You may find naught on the subject.”

”Well, I’m still going to try.” Cedric replied, moving across the compartment and leaning against Harry’s side. “You could visit a time or two as well, teach me about what you know. “

“Perhaps.” Harry replied, picking up his lyre. “Perhaps I will.”