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Harry did not know where he was; he remembered sleeping with Ginny and Hermione, and he expected to feel the warmth of their bodies against his, but instead he found himself staring at a strange room. He was waving his hands, and looking at them, he noticed the hands he was waving were small—they appeared the hands of a small boy, perhaps seven or eight years old. He heard himself giggle, and he waved his hands once more.
Harry noticed the shadows of the objects around him responding to his movements. Slowly, with more hand gestures, the shadows all came together, forming a pool of shadow before him. Without hesitation, he threw himself into it, and he sank as if it was made of water.
He gasped as he found himself in a different room now, and he heard a voice calling out.
"Alaric, where are you?"
Harry, in this small body, giggled again and waved his hands. A loud crash echoed from the other room.
"He must have hidden there," came another voice.
The boy Harry was—this Alaric—moved quickly out of the door. Harry saw an older boy looking around inside the other room, clearly searching.
"I found you!" Alaric shouted triumphantly.
The boy whirled and looked at him, his expression annoyed. "Alaric, you know using your Shadow Magic is breaking the rules."
"You use your Sound Magic, and no one says anything, Pauldenor," Alaric pointed out with the stubborn logic of a child.
The older boy—Pauldenor—shook his head with a smile. "That's different, and you know it. Lady Peverell will not be happy that you are using your Shadow Magic again."
"What mother does not know will not hurt her," Alaric said with a mischievous smile.
"It doesn't work like that, little brother," Pauldenor replied.
In that moment, footsteps approached, and a girl appeared with long, curly, dark hair. This girl had mismatched eyes—one green and one blue—but what those two eyes shared was unsettling: a crack running through the middle of each iris, as if her eyes were two pieces of glass that had been fractured.
"Alaric won Hide and Seek again, didn't he, Paul?" she said, looking at Pauldenor with amusement.
Pauldenor rolled his eyes. "Alaric always loses when he doesn't use his Shadow Magic. It's hardly fair."
The girl turned to Alaric, her cracked eyes sparkling with interest. "Can you show me the trick again? Please?"
"Mother won't be happy, Élaria," Alaric said, though his tone suggested he was already considering it.
Élaria smiled cutely and clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. "Please? Just once more?"
Alaric noticed the small cracks in her eyes seemed to widen just a little as she spoke, creating an almost hypnotic effect. He found himself nodding despite his earlier reservations.
"Alright, but just quickly," he said.
Alaric began moving his hands in flowing patterns, and the shadows in the room responded immediately. They flowed like liquid across the floor, forming strange, intricate shapes that seemed to pulse with dark energy. The Pool of Shadows began to take shape again, deeper and more substantial than before.
"How do you make it look like water?" Élaria asked, her voice filled with wonder as she knelt beside the shadowy pool. "When I try to touch shadows, they're just... empty."
"It's not empty," Alaric explained, his young voice taking on an oddly serious tone. "The shadows want to help. You just have to ask them properly, and show them what you need."
"But how do you—" Élaria began.
The door suddenly burst open, and a stern voice called out, "Alaric! Pauldenor! Élaria! What are you three doing in here?"
The shadows immediately dispersed as Alaric's concentration broke, melting back into their natural positions as if they had never moved at all.
"We were just playing, Lady Peverelle," Pauldenor said quickly, stepping slightly in front of his younger siblings.
"Playing with forbidden magic, from what I could sense," the voice replied, though Harry couldn't see the speaker from his position in Alaric's body. "Alaric, how many times must we discuss this? Your gift is not a toy."
"But Élaria wanted to see—" Alaric began.
"What Élaria wants and what is safe are two very different things," the woman interrupted. "Your shadow magic is powerful, child, but power without control is dangerous. And power used carelessly draws attention we cannot afford."
"I was being careful," Alaric protested. "I only made a small pool, and I didn't even use it to travel this time."
"Small pools become large pools, Alaric. And large pools become gateways to places we do not wish to go." The woman's voice made Harry and the boy shudder. "Promise me you will not practice alone."
"I wasn't alone," Alaric said stubbornly. "Paul and Élaria were here."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it." There was a rustling of fabric as the woman moved closer. "Your siblings cannot guide you in this magic. Only I can teach you to control it properly, and only when you are older."
"When will I be old enough?" Alaric asked, the frustration clear in his young voice.
"When you understand that shadows remember everything they touch," the woman replied cryptically. "When you realize that some doors, once opened, cannot be closed again."
Élaria spoke up then, her voice small and curious. "Mother, what do you mean the shadows remember?"
"I mean, my dear child, that shadow magic is not just about moving darkness from one place to another. It is about touching the spaces between spaces, the paths that connect all things. And sometimes, when you reach through those paths..." The woman's voice trailed off ominously.
"Sometimes what?" Pauldenor asked, his earlier amusement replaced by genuine concern. "Lady Peverelle?" he added quickly when the woman gave him a look.
"Sometimes something reaches back," the woman finished quietly.
Harry felt a chill run through Alaric's small body at those words, and suddenly the playful magic demonstration felt far more sinister than it had moments before.
"Now come," the woman continued, her tone becoming brisk and maternal again. "Lessons are beginning, and your father will not appreciate tardiness."
As the three children began to file out of the room, Élaria lingered for a moment, staring at the spot where the Pool of Shadows had been.
"Alaric," she whispered, "do you ever see things in the shadows? Things that aren't supposed to be there?"
Before Alaric could answer, the world lurched violently around Harry, and he gasped, finding himself back in the bed he had slept in. He felt Hermione and Ginny beside him, their warmth real and comforting after the strange dream he had just experienced.
Harry lay still for a moment, his heart racing as he tried to process what had just happened. Who was Alaric? Who were his siblings? And what had that woman meant about shadows remembering, and something reaching back?
Most unsettling of all—why had it felt so much like a memory rather than a dream?
"Harry?" Hermione's soft voice came to him as she woke up to. "You're tense. Another nightmare?"
He turned slightly to look at her, noting the concern in her brown eyes. On his other side, Ginny stirred, her red hair catching the morning light filtering through their conjured windows.
"Not exactly," Harry said quietly, not wanting to delve into the specifics of what he'd seen. "But it reminded me that we need to talk about something."
Ginny's eyes fluttered open at the sound of their voices. "Talk about what?" she asked, propping herself up on one elbow.
Harry glanced at Hermione, who gave him an encouraging nod. They'd agreed that Ginny deserved to know about his abilities, especially given their new relationship dynamic.
"About the magic I used during the dragon task," Harry began, sitting up against the headboard.
Ginny's eyebrows rose with interest. "Go on."
Harry took a deep breath, unsure where to begin. "The night my name came out of the Goblet, something happened. The Goblet... it spoke to me."
"Spoke to you?" Ginny's voice carried a note of disbelief. "What did it say?"
"It called me something," Harry continued, his voice growing quieter. "The Heir of Peverell. And when I touched it, it awakened something in me."
"What kind of something?" Ginny asked, though her tone suggested she was beginning to understand this was more serious than she'd initially thought.
Rather than answer with words, Harry extended his hand toward the shadows cast by their bedside table. He focused, feeling the familiar tingle of power as the darkness responded to his call. Tendrils of shadow peeled away from the corners of the room, flowing toward him like liquid smoke.
Ginny's sharp intake of breath was audible as Harry shaped the shadows into a small bird that flew in lazy circles around the room before dissolving back into ordinary darkness.
"Bloody hell," Ginny breathed, her eyes wide. "You can control shadows?"
"It's called shadow magic," Harry explained, allowing the remaining tendrils to dissipate. "And it's what I used against the dragon."
"Shadow magic," Ginny repeated slowly, her analytical mind clearly working. "I've never heard of anything like that. Is it... is it dark magic?"
Hermione spoke up for the first time since Harry started talking. "We don't think so, exactly. It doesn't feel dark when Harry uses it. But it's definitely ancient and powerful."
"The Goblet called you Heir of Peverell," Ginny said thoughtfully.
"Ginny, have you ever heard of House Peverell? Do you know anything about them?"
Ginny frowned, searching her memory. "Peverell? No, I don't think so." She shrugged. "I mean, I know most of the old pureblood families from Mum's endless lectures about proper wizarding society, but Peverell doesn't ring any bells. Why?"
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. "We were hoping you might know something," Hermione admitted. "We've been trying to research Harry's abilities and this Peverell connection, but we're not having much luck."
"What have you found?" Ginny asked, settling more comfortably against the pillows.
"Not much," Hermione said with obvious frustration. "I found one reference in a book from the Restricted Section. It mentioned that shadow magic was used long ago by someone named Ignotus Peverell, but that was it. Just the name and the fact that he could manipulate shadows."
"That's all?" Ginny asked.
"The book barely mentioned anything about the nature of shadow magic itself," Hermione continued. "What it can be used for, how it works, nothing useful."
Ginny was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "Well, that makes sense, doesn't it?"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"Think about it," Ginny explained. "If shadow magic is powerful and it's definitely unusual, and if it has any connection to dark magic, of course there wouldn't be detailed explanations in a school library. Even the Restricted Section has limits."
Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. "So you think it might be dark magic?"
"I don't know," Ginny said honestly. "The fact that you can't find information about it anywhere suggests it's either very rare or very dangerous. Possibly both."
"So where do we look for answers?" Harry asked, though he suspected he already knew what Ginny would say.
Ginny bit her lip, considering. "Honestly? Your best bet would probably be the Ministry. They have many departments, one of them must deal with the kind of ancient, powerful magic that normal wizards don't understand."
Harry's heart sank. "But..."
"But you can't exactly waltz into the Ministry and ask for information about potentially dark magic," Ginny finished for him with a wry smile. "Especially not when you're Harry Potter and everyone's already suspicious about how you got into the tournament."
"Exactly," Harry said glumly.
"There might be other options," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Private collectors, ancient family libraries, maybe even Knockturn Alley if we were desperate enough."
"All of which sound either illegal or extremely dangerous," Ginny pointed out.
"So we're stuck," Harry said, frustration creeping into his voice. "I have these abilities, this connection to some ancient family I've never heard of, and no way to understand what any of it means."
Ginny reached over and took his hand. "Not stuck," she corrected gently. "Just... proceeding carefully. You've managed to control the shadow magic well enough to survive a dragon, right? That's not nothing."
"But what if there's more to it?" Harry asked. "What if I'm supposed to be able to do other things, and I just don't know how?"
"Then you'll figure it out," Ginny said with quiet confidence. "Or die trying." She added with a smirk, earning a look of exasporation from Hermione and a chuckle from Harry.
"So what do we do in the meantime?" he asked.
"We keep researching," Hermione said practically. "And you keep practicing, carefully."
"And we keep this between us," Ginny added. "The fewer people who know about your abilities, the better, at least until we understand more about what they mean."
Harry nodded, though privately he wondered how long they'd be able to keep such a significant secret. His demonstration against the dragon had already raised questions, and Dumbledore's meeting...
Harry cursed under his breath, only now he remembered that he had a meeting with Dumbledore.
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Harry stood before the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, checking his watch for the third time in as many minutes. 9:58 AM. He'd deliberately arrived early, partly out of nervousness and partly because he'd wanted time to prepare himself for what promised to be a challenging conversation.
"Chocolate Frogs," he said to the gargoyle, which immediately sprang aside to reveal the spiral staircase.
As he ascended, Harry's mind raced through the careful half-truths he'd rehearsed. He would tell Dumbledore about the shadow magic—that much seemed inevitable after yesterday's performance. But the voice from the Goblet, the Peverell connection, and especially the disturbing dream about young Alaric would remain his secrets. Some instinct warned him that revealing everything would lead to consequences he wasn't prepared to face.
The office door stood slightly ajar, and Harry knocked gently before entering.
"Ah, Harry, punctual as always," Dumbledore said warmly, looking up from a piece of parchment covered in spidery handwriting. "Please, take a seat."
The office looked exactly as Harry remembered it—a cluttered sanctuary of magical instruments, books, and curiosities. Fawkes preened on his perch, occasionally trilling soft notes that seemed to ease the tension in Harry's shoulders. The portraits of former headmasters appeared to be dozing, though Harry suspected at least a few were listening intently despite their closed eyes.
"Tea?" Dumbledore offered, already pouring from a delicate china set that hadn't been there moments before.
"Thank you, sir." Harry accepted the cup gratefully, using the moment to gather his thoughts as steam curled between them.
Dumbledore settled back in his chair, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. "I trust you're recovering well from yesterday's excitement? Facing a Hungarian Horntail is no small feat, even for someone of your considerable talents."
"I'm fine, Professor," Harry replied carefully. "Though I imagine you didn't ask me here to discuss my health."
A smile played at the corners of Dumbledore's mouth. "Indeed not, though your wellbeing is always of paramount importance to me." He paused, studying Harry over his teacup. "I confess myself rather... intrigued by your performance yesterday. Most innovative magic, from what the judges could observe."
Harry set down his cup, the delicate clink of china against saucer unusually loud in the quiet office. "Innovative, sir?"
"Come now, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, though his eyes had grown more serious. "The entire arena was filled with what appeared to be some form of living darkness. Magic of that nature and scale is rarely achieved through conventional means, particularly by a fourth-year student."
Harry felt his pulse quicken. There was no accusation in Dumbledore's tone, but the headmaster's penetrating gaze suggested he was seeking more than a simple explanation.
"I told you and everyone that it was a combination of ingredients," Harry said slowly. "Frigidus Nebula and enhanced darkness powder."
"Ah yes, I remember it." Dumbledore's expression remained neutral. "A clever theoretical approach, certainly. Though I confess, having witnessed the effect firsthand, I find myself wondering if perhaps there was more to it than simple alchemical combination."
The silence stretched between them, filled only by Fawkes's gentle cooing and the soft ticking of several ornate clocks. Harry realized that Dumbledore was giving him an opportunity—a chance to be honest without being directly confronted.
"Professor," Harry began carefully, "what would you say if I told you I could manipulate shadows?"
Dumbledore's teacup paused halfway to his lips, the first genuine sign of surprise Harry had seen from him. "I would say that would be a most remarkable ability indeed. And a rather concerning one."
"Concerning?"
"Shadow magic is among the most ancient and... complex of magical disciplines," Dumbledore said, setting down his cup with deliberate care. "It is not taught at Hogwarts, nor at any magical institution I am aware of. The knowledge of such magic has been considered lost for centuries."
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs. "But you know about it."
"I know of it," Dumbledore corrected gently. "There is a considerable difference. Would you be willing to demonstrate this ability?"
Harry hesitated, then nodded. He'd come this far; there was no point in half-measures now.
Standing, Harry focused on the shadows cast by the afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows. He extended his hand, feeling the familiar tingle of power as the darkness responded to his call. Tendrils of shadow peeled away from the floor and walls, flowing toward him like liquid smoke.
"Fascinating," Dumbledore murmured, rising from his chair to observe more closely.
Harry shaped the shadows into simple forms—a bird that took flight around the office before dissolving, a rope that coiled and uncoiled at his mental command, a shield that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Throughout the demonstration, he was acutely aware of Dumbledore's intense scrutiny.
"Remarkable control for someone who claims no formal training," Dumbledore observed as Harry allowed the shadows to return to their natural state. "Tell me, how long have you possessed this ability?"
"It started recently," Harry said, which was technically true. "After the Goblet selected me. It felt... natural. Like something I'd always known how to do but had simply forgotten."
Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows rose slightly. "Forgotten? An interesting choice of words."
Harry cursed himself internally. He'd revealed more than intended with that slip.
"I just meant it felt familiar," he backtracked quickly. "Like riding a broom—once you understand the principle, it seems obvious."
"I see." Dumbledore returned to his chair, but his posture remained alert. "And you discovered this ability entirely by accident?"
"Yes, sir. During the first night after the selection. I was... upset about being chosen, and the magic just happened."
"Magic rarely 'just happens' at your level of education, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "Particularly not magic of this nature and complexity."
"Professor, is there something dangerous about shadow magic?" Harry asked, genuinely curious despite his discomfort with the questioning.
Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment, his fingers steepled before him. "All magic carries inherent risks, Harry. But shadow magic... shadow magic touches upon forces that have historically proven difficult to control. It deals with boundaries—between light and dark, seen and unseen, here and there."
"That sounds ominous."
"Perhaps it should," Dumbledore replied seriously. "Throughout history, those who have wielded shadow magic have found it... seductive. The power to manipulate something so fundamental as light and darkness, to move through spaces others cannot see—it can be intoxicating."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Are you saying I shouldn't use it?"
"I am saying you should be extraordinarily careful," Dumbledore emphasized. "Power without wisdom is dangerous, and shadow magic in particular has a tendency to... influence its practitioners. The boundaries it manipulates are not merely physical."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that shadow magic, by its very nature, blurs the lines between what is and what might be. It touches upon realms of magic that predate our modern understanding." Dumbledore's expression grew grave. "Those who have delved too deeply into such arts have sometimes found that the shadows begin to whisper back."
A chill ran down Harry's spine as he remembered the woman's words from his dream: "Sometimes something reaches back."
"Have you experienced anything unusual beyond the shadow manipulation itself?" Dumbledore asked, his keen gaze never leaving Harry's face. "Dreams, perhaps? Visions? Voices?"
Harry's mouth went dry. How could Dumbledore possibly know? "No, sir," he lied, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt. "Nothing like that."
Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that the headmaster could see straight through his deception.
"I would ask that you inform me immediately if that changes," Dumbledore said finally. "Shadow magic has a long and complicated history, and those who practice it rarely do so without consequence."
"What kind of consequences?"
"The kind that tend to affect not merely the practitioner, but those around them," Dumbledore replied cryptically. "Harry, I need you to understand something. The magic you've discovered is not inherently evil, but it is inherently powerful. And as I'm sure you've learned by now, power attracts attention."
"What sort of attention?"
"The sort you would be wise to avoid." Dumbledore's expression softened slightly. "I do not wish to frighten you, merely to ensure you approach this gift with appropriate caution. You have shown remarkable judgment throughout your time at Hogwarts, despite the extraordinary circumstances you've faced. I trust you will continue to do so."
Harry nodded, though privately he wondered if trusting his judgment was wise when he was keeping so much from the one person who might actually be able to help him understand what was happening.
"Is there anything else you feel I should know?" Dumbledore asked gently. "Anything at all that might help me better understand the nature of your abilities?"
For a moment, Harry considered telling him everything—the voice from the Goblet, the Peverell connection, the disturbing dream about Alaric and his siblings. But something held him back, some instinct that warned him the truth would lead to complications he wasn't prepared to handle.
"No, sir," he said instead. "Just the shadow magic."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, though his expression suggested he remained unconvinced. "Very well. I would ask that you continue to exercise restraint in your practice of these abilities. And Harry—" He paused until their eyes met. "Should you experience anything unusual, anything at all, I hope you will come to me immediately. The path you're walking is one few have traveled, and fewer still have navigated safely."
"I will, Professor," Harry promised, though they both seemed to understand the likelihood of him keeping that promise was questionable at best.
As Harry rose to leave, Dumbledore spoke once more. "One final thought, Harry. Shadow magic, like all magic, is a tool. It can be used for great good or great harm, depending upon the intentions and wisdom of its wielder. The choice of which path to follow will ultimately be yours alone."
Harry paused at the door. "And if I make the wrong choice?"
"Then I hope you will allow me to help you find your way back to the right one," Dumbledore replied quietly.
As Harry descended the spiral staircase, he couldn't shake the feeling that Dumbledore knew far more about shadow magic than he'd revealed. The headmaster's warnings about voices and visions had been too specific, too knowing, to be mere caution.
And more troubling still was the growing certainty that despite his partial honesty, Dumbledore suspected Harry was keeping significant secrets. The question was whether those suspicions would lead to protection or interference.
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