The library now stood still, calm, and clean. The memories were ordered, the horrors no longer clawing at him from every corner. And for the first time in what felt like centuries, there was clarity.
Zarina floated a few inches from his face, emerald eyes gleaming mischievously. With both tiny hands on her hips, she leaned in and huffed.
"ZARINA IS ONCE AGAIN APPALLED THAT MASTER WASTED SO MUCH OF HIS TIME PLAYING AROUND AND NOT STUDYING!"
Harry blinked, then gave her a flat, dry stare. "Excuse me for not prioritizing magical theory over survival while being locked in a cupboard, hunted by a dark lord, and dealing with homicidal school staff. And—Merlin's beard—can you speak normal and less loud?"
Zarina sniffed, clearly unrepentant. She dropped her voice, but only barely. "Excuses. Zarina has seen how much time Master spent sulking, brooding, and complaining. Could have learned magic theory or new spells in that time."
Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Bloody brilliant. I get a spirit bound to me for eternity, and she's basically a nagging, miniature Hermione with scythe envy."
Zarina beamed, utterly unfazed. "Zarina accepts this title with honor." She twirled her little scythe, her crimson, black, and white dress fluttering like embers in a windless room. "Someone must keep Master from turning into a mindless brute with a god complex."
Harry arched an eyebrow. "Too late."
She smirked, sharp and pleased. "Then Zarina has much work to do."
Against his will, Harry laughed—short and rough, but real. The first in what felt like ages.
"Now then, Master. Since your mind is finally in order, would you like to request your first knowledge from the World Tree of Knowledge? Or would you first like to use the X-Gene Awakening Card?"
Harry hesitated, gaze flickering toward the shelves that now gleamed with impossible order. He wasn't sure what he needed first—there was so much. But this bond, this strange, mouthy little thing tethered to him, was already proving to be one of the best things to happen since this nightmare began.
After a few seconds of silence, he muttered, "Let's start with the X-Gene Awakening Potion. I'll save the knowledge request for later… after I've got a grip on things."
Zarina twirled her scythe in midair, looking smugly pleased. "Excellent choice, Master—"
"Don't call me Master. Hermione would hex my eyebrows off if she heard you calling me that."
She gave him a faux-innocent blink. "Of course not… Master."
Harry glared. "You're doing it on purpose."
Zarina smirked. "Obviously."
Sighing, Harry focused, and the familiar system inventory grid shimmered into being before him. His eyes drifted briefly to the scythe icon near the top. It gleamed darkly, edges lined in a silvery-black aura, almost pulsing. Harry frowned at it.
"Not touching you yet," he muttered, shoving the thought aside.
With a practiced flick of will, he scrolled downward.
[X-Gene Awakening Potion – 1x]
Harry reached toward the glowing vial and tapped the square. The icon pulsed once, then again—yet nothing emerged. No potion in his hand, no weight, no liquid. Just the silent, mocking grid.
His brow furrowed. He tapped harder. Still nothing. He slammed his hand against it, as if brute force would drag the potion into existence. The icon flickered faintly under his touch, then went still.
"What the—" His voice cracked. He tried again, faster this time, desperation building in his chest. "Come on. Don't you bloody dare glitch on me now—" His pulse raced, panic searing through him as if the system itself had betrayed him.
Zarina clutched her stomach, cackling so hard she nearly dropped her scythe. "BAHAHA! MASTER, YOU SHOULD SEE YOUR FACE—SLAPPING AT THAT ICON LIKE A STARVING GOBLIN AT A PAINTED FEAST!" She flipped upside down, kicking her tiny legs in the air. "Oh, this is rich. Truly, Zarina will treasure this moment forever."
Then, darting back up to his eye level, she poked his forehead with the flat of her scythe. "Listen closely, oh magnificently clueless one—you can't pull physical things out here. This is your mental space, not Honeydukes. Wake up if you actually want to taste that potion."
Harry froze mid-swipe, his hand still hovering over the inventory grid. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head toward Zarina, who was still cackling like she'd just won a decade-long prank war.
"Are you done?" he asked flatly, though the twitch in his left eye betrayed how close he was to snapping.
"NOT EVEN CLOSE!" Zarina whooped, flipping upside down again, wings buzzing like a saw. "Ohhh, Master, the mighty chosen one, the Boy Who Broods, brought low by a menu screen! Tell me, did you think the potion would just pop into your hand like pumpkin juice in the Great Hall?"
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering through his teeth. "Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant. Out of all the cosmic beings in existence, I get saddled with one who thinks my suffering is stand-up comedy."
Zarina gasped theatrically, pressing both tiny hands to her chest. "Master finally understands! Zarina's comedy is divine!" She twirled her scythe like a baton, still smirking ear to ear. "And admit it—you'd be lost without me."
Harry gave her a slow, deadpan look. "…I was doing just fine before you showed up."
"HA!" Zarina shot forward, stopping nose-to-nose with him, emerald eyes blazing with mischief. "Master couldn't even sort his own thoughts! Without Zarina, your head was a dumpster fire! Now it's a glorious library, and yet here you are—poking at pictures, drooling for potions you can't even drink!"
Harry's jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, to snap back with something scathing—but the worst part was, she wasn't wrong.
"Fine," he ground out, straightening with a huff. "I'll wake up. But when I do, and this potion works, I'm not sharing any of the credit with you."
Zarina clasped her hands together and sighed dreamily. "Oh, Master. Zarina doesn't need credit. She has your eternal humiliation, and that's worth far more."
Harry glared. "You're insufferable."
Zarina grinned wickedly, wings buzzing as she zipped past his ear. "Not insufferable, Master—entertaining. You should be thanking me. Without Zarina, your life would be nothing but doom, gloom, and tragic eyebrow furrows."
She twirled in midair with a flourish, sparks trailing behind her like confetti and continue," To leave, focus on your breath, your heartbeat, your body. That squishy, physical form of yours," she said, spinning lazily in the air. "And don't worry, I'll pop out with you."
Harry closed his eyes and took a steady breath. The mental realm around him began to dissolve, the endless rows of memory shelves dimming like a theatre after the final act.
A blink later—
—
He jolted upright with a sharp breath.
A sharp chill scraped across his face. He lay back on bed.
And—
"…Ugh, what the hell?"
He reached up and wiped his face. His fingers came away streaked with blood… and something black and tar-like, half-dried across his skin like paint scraped from a cursed mirror.
"Disgusting."
With a flash of light, Zarina came out of his forehead and looked at him and muttered," Disgusting, indeed."
He sat up with a grunt, reaching for the nearby table where his wand lay.
Grabbing it, he wiped at his cheek and grimaced. His fingers came away smeared with drying blood and something thick and black.
He didn't hesitate.
"Tergeo."
The wand siphoned off the mess in long, slick streaks.
"Scourgify."
A sharp shimmer cleaned off the rest—his hands, face, robes. The dark gunk vanished.
As the final traces disappeared, a soft bell-like flutter followed by a green glow signaled Zarina's arrival. She hovered just over his shoulder, watching him.
Her eyes drifted to his forehead. "Your scar… it's faded a lot."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"It's still a little red, but barely. A faint line now. I don't think anyone will notice the difference unless they're really looking for it."
He reached up, brushing his fingertips across his skin. She was right—it didn't burn, didn't pulse. The pressure that had always lingered behind his scar was gone, like a weight lifted after years of silence.
Then he blinked. Once. Twice.
A frown creased his brow as he rubbed at his eyes.
"What happened to my eyes?" he muttered. "I can see… clearly. Without my glasses."
Zarina floated closer, smiling slyly. "Master, it might be because the scar contained that Voldy-soul-parasite, and it was lodged dangerously close to your optic nerves. The constant magical interference could've weakened your vision. Now that the soul's gone? No more distortion."
She twirled midair with a shrug. "Or maybe some other weird magical reason. Who knows? But really… does it matter?"
Harry lowered his hand slowly, still adjusting to the clarity of his surroundings—the crisp edges of rubble, the way dust floated in the light, even the fine grain on the wooden table.
"…No. I guess it doesn't."
"Exactly!" Zarina beamed. "Now you can enjoy life in high-definition wizard vision."
He rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at his lips.
Shaking his head, Harry reached into the system inventory and pulled out the X-Gene Awakening Potion. The vial materialized in his hand with a faint shimmer, the swirling golden-blue liquid pulsing faintly like a living thing.