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88.37% Harry Evans: Memoirs of a well-lived Death (SI) / Chapter 76: Chapter 72: Discussing dead mums

Kapitel 76: Chapter 72: Discussing dead mums

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-/-

"Diagnostic spells are always the very first step to any kind of healing. You know how to heal a cut, and how to identify one. But, a diagnostics spell is more than just the identification of a wound or a malady. It actually sort of gives you a blueprint of how the wound, ehh, feels?" Tonks asked more than explained.

 

"You don't sound that sure of yourself," Harry prompted from where they were sitting on the living room rug. They'd decided to do a little magic exchange today. Harry was once again in his younger form.

 

"It's hard, ok!" the girl exclaimed. "Teaching isn't easy. I'm just an intern anyway, I was only taught how to identify the physical wounds. Most stuff Mungos deals with is magical."

 

"Lots of potions?" Harry asked, receiving a nod.

 

"Anything slightly more complex requires a regime of potions alongside a healer using some magic themselves. Like that guy who had a tree growing out of his ear. Can't just cut it, have to give him a potion symbolically opposite to tree growth first so the wood turns dead. So much weird stuff, I hope being an auror is less complicated."

 

"So, I guess I should learn the diagnostics spell first?" Harry asked curiously as he pulled out his second-hand black wand and twirled it between his fingers.

 

"No, eeh, actually. Diagnostics is the first step, but it's not the first thing you learn. Episkey is the most minor and thus the least complicated healing spell there is. It just works on purely physical injuries and it's not very strong."

 

Harry thought back to the light magic spell that had been in the book from which he'd lifted the instructions for the patronus. It had necessitated love and had conferred a certain level of regeneration on the target if he remembered correctly. "What about light magic, do you use that?"

 

Tonks shook her head, before hesitating and nodding. "Supposed to be unreliable, but I heard some healers know how to use it. Not part of the curriculum though."

 

"Alright, let's start with episkey then," Harry said and rolled his shoulders in preparation as if he was going to enter a boxing match or something.

 

Tonks, for her part, explained the spell in more detail, and showed him the incantation and the wand movement, before pausing awkwardly. "We don't really have anything to practise on, we used a fish at the hospital. Supposedly they don't feel pain like we do."

 

"A small cut would do?" Harry asked, repeating the wand motion again and again. It was just a circle, really. When Tonks nodded he pointed his wand at one of the napkins left lying on the table from their previous meal and transfigured it into a needle. Picking it up he lightly pricked himself, enough to draw one drop of blood.

 

Tonks looked at his finger with a grimace. "Well, we could do that, I guess," she said with a sigh.

 

It didn't take Harry that long to get the spell down, but it did necessitate several more pricks and even a small cut to really feel confident in adding it to his repertoire.

 

He took a glance at the clock, seeing that the whole process had only taken one hour. "That didn't take that long. I think we can even do some more, maybe the diagnostics spell?" Harry suggested. It was only noon, and there was no point in going on a quest for weed before the evening.

 

A gleam entered Tonk's eyes. "Oh no, this is a two-way street, now it's your turn to teach me something I don't know. Something cool. Occlumency, magic sensing, wandless magic."

 

Harry tapped his chin with his wand in thought. He couldn't start with occlumency, since he hadn't brought the hat and he wanted to discuss the Legilimency spell with it before he committed to anything. "I don't feel comfortable with the mind arts yet, need to consult some more sources first. Magic sensing…" he paused. "The room in Hogwarts where I already showed you the dummy. Ask it for a deprivation chamber. To learn it you need to be in tune with your magic, then spend some time in a magicless environment. Can take a few days but to me the method seems foolproof. Wandless magic…" he trailed off, put down his wand and pointed his hand at the bloody needle. A slight flex of his magical muscles transformed it back into a napkin.

 

"I don't really know how to explain wandless magic," he admitted. "You sort of just, take the magic and do stuff with it. It's all willpower and imagination." He raised his hand. "You just go, shazam, or something," he said weakly, brought down the hand and levitated the napkin so it floated above the table.

 

"Wow," Tonks said with a deadpan. She raised her hand, pointed it at the napkin and pulled a face. She was probably trying to concentrate, but it just looked like she had to go to the toilet. "Shazam," she said. Nothing happened. She put her hand back and thrust it forward. Nothing. She looked up at him.

 

"You're kinda useless, aren't you?" she asked.

 

Harry considered his repertoire of spells, which he'd learnt at Hogwarts, which meant that Tonks probably knew them. "I can teach you some cool cleaning spells and Arithmancy," he eventually suggested weakly.

 

Tonks just stared at him, before slowly shaking her head. "It's alright," she said pityingly.

 

"I swear, I just have skills that need a lot of effort, not many spells," Harry argued.

 

Tonks laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're a third year, Harry, it's expected that you know less than me," she said sagely while nodding her head.

 

Harry slumped his shoulder. "Diagnostics?" he asked.

 

"Diagnostics," Tonks nodded.

 

-/-

 

The day ended up consisting mostly of Tonks teaching Harry in the end, which sort of made sense. The boy was younger, and despite having practised magic for longer, it was the older girl who'd received four additional years of magical education.

 

It was sort of humbling in a way, and good that it had happened as such. Harry had needed to be reminded that simply because he was now capable of beating a sixth-year student in a duel, this didn't make him the magical equivalent of a sixth-year student. NEWT years were hard, it was when children matured into adults and were given an age-appropriate workload. Hogwarts didn't teach a course specifically directed at learning how to fight. DADA didn't count as it taught methods of defence, and the appropriate spells, but never put any real practice into, well, practice. Thus, being good in a duel was probably not the best way of determining the magical prowess of a Hogwarts student.

 

Although, to be fair, someone who had better grades likely had a better chance of being good at duelling as well.

 

"Thank you for your teachings, missus Tonks," Harry said once they'd finally given up on shovelling new spells down the endless gullet that was his capacity to cast them with little to no explanation. Overall he'd learned several new and interesting, but realistically useless jinxes, some interesting bits of magical theory, and the healing duo of diagnosis and minor regeneration. He felt quite good about that and wondered if it made sense to maybe get a private tutor himself with the money he'd be getting off the Malfoys. While all his classes at Hogwarts provided his knowledge base with more depth and interconnections, just sitting down with somebody and having them teach spells was probably also useful in some way.

 

Tonks, for her part, looked exhausted. She was slumped in her chair doing a perfect rendition of Stanczyk the Polish court jester.

 

"You know, with your metamorph powers you could technically wreak a lot of havoc, no?" Harry suddenly asked. "Like pretending to be Clint Eastwood to get admittance into a club and get the special treatment."

 

"That's what we call illegal in our special little club of sane people, Harry," Tonks snarked and rolled her eyes. Then she grimaced. "Also, eww."

 

"Serious question, have you ever shifted into a man and experienced an orgasm? With the existence of polyjuice, I have been seriously considering experiencing the pleasures of the female body. Would have to wait until I have a girlfriend though, get some consensual bio-material," he mused.

 

Tonks didn't say anything at that, which is how Harry knew that something was up. He grinned. "Usually you'd be denying it and calling me gross. Whose willy did you give yourself?" he asked.

 

To say that Tonks blushed was an understatement, her whole face and hair turned red.

 

"How did it feel, did you feel tired after?" Harry continued.

 

"Gods, Harry, it didn't work, ok!" Tonks shouted, covering her eyes with her hands. "Metamorphs need a mind-boggling amount of anatomical knowledge to reproduce anything functional. We just shift the shape, not the insides."

 

"Oh," Harry said, somewhat disappointed. "That sucks. Is that why you decided to do an internship at St. Mungos?"

 

"No, that is not the reason I decided to do an internship at St. Mungos," Tonks said with a roll of her eyes, before standing up and getting the two of them glasses of orange juice and some snacks. All that learning sure made me hungry. "I wanted to ask though…" she trailed off for a moment. "How is it that you never ask more about my talent? Everyone I know has asked me to turn into something, other than you. My body feels oddly static when we hang out since you never prompt me to change."

 

Harry let his eyes rove over her, shorts, stomach-free t-shirt, messy purple pixie cut and a, quite literally, perfect face. Tonks already had a perfect body, after all, if she could change it then why settle for anything else? "I don't know girl," he started in a low voice. "You already look hella fine to me, why change anything," he finished while exaggeratedly biting his lips.

 

"Merlin, you're so gross sometimes," the girl muttered. "But, no really."

 

She didn't seem like she was going to let this go, but it wasn't like the answer was very revolutionary. "Look, I know how to do wandless magic, I'm a god in comparison to some of the plebs attending Hogwarts. You're not that special with your little parlour tricks. Also, do you have any idea how annoyed I'd get from all the requests to show off some sorcery if other people knew I could do it? I'd show them sorcery all right, with a fireball straight to their face." A pause and a sip of the orange juice, a nibble, two or maybe a fistful of the vinegar chips. Disgusting, was there anything Manchester couldn't ruin? "Also, I don't know about you, but I respect your boundaries, you've never given me the indication that you wanted me to be invested in a particular form, so I've never done so."

 

"If you could have me be anyone you wanted, who would I be?" Tonks suddenly asked.

 

A possibility flashed through Harry's mind. Of a family he'd lost, seeing them again. But, how was this different to the Mirror of Erised? "You know," he muttered. "There's a dangerous magical artefact called the Mirror of Erised, desire if you reverse the last word." He wondered if it would be at Hogwarts next year. He was trying not to think too much about the possibility of being in the same building as Voldemort. "It shows in its reflection nothing else but our most heartfelt desires, no matter how buried."

 

"That sounds nice," Tonks said with a smile.

 

"People get stuck in front of it, lost in the visions, they sit in front of the cursed thing and starve to death," Harry finished explaining, causing the smile to flee Tonks' face. "There's people I've lost. My mom for example. You could shift into her, I have the pictures. You could tell me how proud of me you are, how you love me, how you didn't want to leave me and how I should eat all my vegetables and lay off the drinking. Then you'd kiss me on the forehead and tuck me in at night, read me a little bedtime story."

 

Tonks was looking away from him now, refusing to meet his gaze which was boring directly into her cheek.

 

"There wouldn't be a point though. At the end of the day, you're Nymphadora Tonks, not Lily Evans. Lily Evans is a rotting corpse in an unmarked grave. It would just be an illusion that would bring up old pains." Harry let the deafening silence descend into the house, suddenly in a bad mood. It wasn't Tonks's fault, however, so he tried to break out of the funk.

"If you're talking sexually, however... Can you do elves? With pointy ears and stuff?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work, Tonks just gave him a sad look, eyes glistening with what could be tears soon.

 

Her ears suddenly turned pointed, slanting and extending upwards. It was a horrible contrast to her miserable-looking face.

Harry didn't know if he should laugh or cry, what he did know however, was that he needed some weed.

-/-

Before the protests, Harry is appalled that Tonks has never smoked weed so he wants to get her some. I know its bad for people under 25 and has some questionable effects on those older, but I don't feel like getting into a debate in the comments so I'll just clarify this now. Most people drink in Europe, most drink underage, most people smoke weed, some do it underage. Harry was an adult where he could do what he wanted, and how he occasionally has these flashes. If anything its a symbolic reference for me to distinguish how a child vs an adult would act. An adult knows where to find drugs and wants them occasionally, whereas a child doesn't. I'm not going to be engaging with any "Uhhh actually alcohol and weed bad, did you know?" Yes I know, thank you for telling me.

If you want to pay me to remove these elements from my story feel free to make a donation on my Patreon and send me a complaint there. You can also read up to 25 chapters ahead.


Kapitel 77: Chapter 73: Sex, Drugs and the abdication of Margaret Thatcher

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Disclaimer: Parts of this chapter may be based on historic events, but should not be confused with factual history.

-/-

Finding weed in any European city was not a particularly difficult task. Back when Harry had been still living in his previous life, he'd simply always had friends who had friends who had a dealer. At some point, he'd even been getting a steady supply of free stuff from a female friend whose boyfriend grew his own stash.

 

However, that had been after the year 2010, when stuff like that had been a bit more normalized. It had even been offered as a medical option. However, currently, in the year 1991, it was actually still classified as a class B drug.

 

This didn't necessarily mean that it was hard to find, but, it did mean that the process was a bit more suspect. Having drank the ageing potion and dressed in his big boy clothes, he and Tonks were now walking the Manchester streets at night. The girl had opted out of her pink hair for once, actually changing some of the features. According to her, this was so that in case Harry did something extremely stupid, it wouldn't be led back to her.

 

In his right hand, Harry was carrying a bottle of Jaegermeister along with some small paper cups, the importance of which would be revealed later.

 

"This looks approximately what we want," Harry said once they arrived in front of a rather large park, on which the clear moon was casting a pleasant light. It was a decently warm summer night and the campus of the local university loomed in the background. There were little groups of students, young people, and homeless louts pre-drinking either for a night of clubbing or for an early death to escape their dreary existence.

 

"It's a park, Harry, with a bunch of people drinking beer. I think I just saw a homeless person inject something," Tonks said worriedly.

 

Harry for his part simply walked on the close-cut mawn and approached the first decently mixed group that he saw. It was composed of six women and four men, all of them ranging somewhere between 19 and 24. They were dressed in very non-conformist fashions and looked over curiously as Harry approached them.

 

"Yo, new to town, mind if we sit down? Currently on the walk around meeting new people and y'all seem like cool peeps," Harry said in a very laissez-faire manner as he plopped down in an open spot between two dudes dressed in metal shirts. "Burzum," he commented. "Good taste my dudes."

The one on the right, with overly long brown hair and a scruffy attempt at a beard laughed. "You American or what?" he asked. "Nevah been called a peep before. What you doing in Manchester?"

"Just here on an exchange semester starting next, moved a bit early since I have the means anyway," Harry lied, like a liar. "Always wanted to visit the glorious motherland and considering y'all voted out that walking abomination last year I thought now would be the perfect time." He poured out three little cups, passing them to the two metalheads.

 

"I'll drink to that," the one that had been quiet up until then muttered and took a cup, choosing to ignore the beer sitting at his booted feet.

 

"Not like there's any hope anyway, new one's a tory as well," a girl complained from the other side of the circle, where Tonks had awkwardly sat down and was being interrogated by two women dressed in short jeans and tank tops.

 

"I don't know, may the party rot in hell and all that, but this John Major seems like a decent enough bloke," Harry said, not really knowing how to break it to the poor students that the quiet conservative was the last good PM their country would get. Tony Blair, David Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak, the muggle part of the country was doomed as fuck.

 

"Bah what do you know ya yank," someone muttered good-naturedly.

 

"Maybe it's his image, nice set of accountant glasses, very non-threatening," Harry compromised and raised his glass along with his two neighbours to take a shot.

 

"Bloody cold," the long-haired one sputtered. Harry wasn't barbaric enough to drink warm Jaeger and had cooled it down magically.

 

"My beer's warm by now, can I have some of that?" a red-haired girl from the other side, and before long Harry was handing everyone a shot of the cool herb liquor, chatting about philosophy, sociology and other such things.

 

He was just telling John, the long-haired-metal head, a 3rd-semester student of philosophy, about how Thompson's seminal work was actually incomplete due to her inconsideration in regards to anti-natalist viewpoints when someone started rolling the first joint.

 

Glancing at Tonks he saw the girl looking at the process awkwardly, probably never having even seen a grinder before. Before she could create a tense atmosphere Harry interrupted. "Damn you guys got a supplier?" he said faux jealously. "I just landed a few days ago, why you gotta flex on me so hard," he complained eliciting numerous laughs from the other Brits. "Bah, don't feel too superior, I heard this costs way too much on these islands."

The joint started passing around, at which point the conversations started becoming a bit more incoherent, but several times funnier. Harry himself, who hadn't smoked at all in his life nearly coughed at his first drag but managed to control himself and pass to the next person. He could already tell that he was going to be extremely high from just the small amount as the heady feeling making everything seem irrelevant but hilarious rose to his head. Maybe this body was blessed with a low resistance, or perhaps it was just because it was his first time. He was trusting his magic to mitigate the negative long-term effects of smoking young, but once would probably be fine anyway.

 

He was Tonks take a hit amateurishly, and leaned towards the person who'd made the joint. "Yo, if you make me another one for the way I'll give you the whole bottle of jaegermeister and a story," he offered. The seemingly oldest of the group seemed amused and promptly rolled another joint. Liquor and joint switched owners and one of the girls laughed.

"A story, what story?" she asked in between giggles.

 

"Well, it's about that one time a German friend visited me in New Haven on the East Coast. We went to New York together to have a drink and attend a museum party in Brooklyn. The dude was too cheap to hail a cab back to the hotel and we ended up walking the whole way. The story involves three Jamaican drug dealers from Staten Island, one prostitute, one near fatality and a whole lot of running," he explained.

 

"You're a Yaley then?" Someone asked. "What are you doing in Manchester? Shouldn't you be exchanging at Oxford or Cambridge?"

 

Harry waved them off. "Hey, don't judge me. I wanted to go to Birmingham originally, the most beautiful city in the world that it is, but they wouldn't take me. You lot are decisively second choice."

"Fuken Birmy he says," someone guffawed.

 

"Tell the story," someone prompted.

 

"Alright, I can do that," Harry started. "It's honestly quite quaint, just another one of those examples in which the German spirit, predisposed to walking as it is, got everyone else into trouble. Yeah sure, they usually walk over borders to achieve that, but y'all should know that you don't walk anywhere in the U.S. Firstly, things are too far, secondly, you're going to get mugged. Or shot, or both. Anyway, try telling that to a German microbiologist whose only impression of the U.S. at the time was going to the Brooklyn Museum to a night party with a bunch of fashion designers. Dude bankrupted himself getting there, those flights aren't a joke, and a taxi was just going too far. It was only one hour walking," he let that sink in, people groaning.

 

"Fucking Germans," someone muttered.

 

"It wasn't that this was the only problem though, you see, my friend, Lukas, was quite drunk. They were really boozing him up back there, and now his taste for drugs had taken a new edge. He wanted some weed. Desperately. He didn't tell me this of course, or else I would have told him that that shit ain't going to fly amigo and that I have some at home back in New Haven. Of course, drunk and potentially racist that he was he walked up to the first people smoking pot that we passed on our nightly escapade and asked the six foot-six-something Jamaican's leaning on their fucked little Ford Comfort if he could have some weed. The dude's answered in their accent, hilarious by the way. They were like 'Mi luv it when someone straightforward. Wheel up the blaze maaan,' one of them said and started rolling an absolute abomination of a blunt. It wasn't cigarette paps he was using, but a fucking cigar leaf, no tobacco in it either. I was looking at the thing like, no fucking way am I taking a puff of that. Anyway, Luka is like 'Yeah broo let's hit that,' with a completely plastered face. The Jamaican dudes start puffin', blowing rings and whatever, start asking us what we do. Lukas was doing a PhD in Microbiology at that time, so one of the dudes asked him if he knew how to make crack. Says he's been saving up and has a 40k to start the business up, would be willing to do a 50/50 split."

"No fucking way," Tonks muttered. "Harry do you ever shut up."

"Shush babe, I'm telling a story," he said, before turning to his attentive audience. "Anyway, Lukas is about to answer, but the blunt monster finally passes to him so he takes a puff, starts looking a bit shaky, but says that he doesn't know how to make crack. But, he offered, if they ever needed their synovial fluid analysed for LPS concentration he was their man. Blunt passes to me, I pretend to puff, knowing we'll need a sober person at the end of the night. Just whiffing this thing with my nose though is as strong as any joint I've ever had. That's the point when Lukas runs green in the face and collapses, falling to the floor. I've never seen someone move so fast in my whole life, the dudes jumped in their car and wheeled off in what I swear was less than a second and I was just left standing there with a collapsed idiot and the biggest blunt I've ever seen in my life. Didn't really want to call an ambulance so I decided to put out the blunt and check on my friend, if he didn't wake up in 30 seconds I was going to call one, that's how long people usually need to recover from a short fainting spell. Lukas awakens with a gasp five seconds after I checked his pulse, thankfully still there, and pukes all over my shoes, the bastard. I call us a taxi, which he attempts to refuse while still lying on the floor. Anyway, the taxi comes, takes one look at the suspect situation and just drives off. Zero fucks given, those cabbies don't want none of that. I'm sort of desperate at this point since I can't really carry this moron all the way home, so I manage to stumble with him down the street until I come across a scantily clad lady, around fifty years old, a bit chubby, still beautiful in an oddly erotic way. 'Damn girl,' I said to her. 'You free tonight?'"

Everyone busted up at that, after the laughter died down Harry continued with his story.

 

"She takes one look at me, and my absolutely destroyed German friend slurring in his native language. 'Triple for two,' she says and I can only nod at that point. I asked her if she had a car, at which point she reluctantly said that she did. Anyway, I paid her 50 bucks to drive us to our hotel. ," He finished recounting, getting some more chuckles.

 

"What happened to Lukas?" one of the girls asked, at which Harry shrugged.

 

"I mean, he lived and all, but I never went out drinking with the dumbass again. Last I heard he's studying the link between gut microbiota composition and neural degeneration in dementia on some Finnish cohort in Helsinki. Postdoc." He turned to Tonks. "Anyway, I think it's time for us to go," he said, walking over to the girl who'd actually seemed to enjoy chatting with her newfound friends and helping her up by the hand. "It was nice meeting y'all," he said to the Manchester students. "See you around."

They got well-wishes and banter thrown at their backs as they distanced themselves from the group. The mission was successful, they'd gotten a joint, all for the low, low price of one bottle of Jaegermeister. A horrible deal really, but it wasn't like Harry wanted to make smoking a regular habit. He always ended up demotivated the day after and didn't accomplish much. As much as this was alright in the context of summer vacation, he was quite attached to his magical progression when he was at Hogwarts. And considering his work ethic, just missing a day or two was quite the setback. Also, he didn't want to risk his magic not counteracting the negative side effects. He'd start smoking more again when he actually turned 25, not when he only looked like it due to an ageing potion.

 

This brought up an interesting question regarding the ageing potions' ability to reduce neuroplasticity by ageing. Magic, simple as always, dealt with forces much beyond the understanding of the user. Quite frankly anyone with an actual knowledge basis of modern medicine, physics, or chemistry would likely have a heart attack when considering the implications of some spells and potions, wondering how the caster hadn't either killed themselves or set off a nuclear explosion. Harry was pragmatic and had decided early on to ignore that part. Magic worked, that was that. Any muggle-born delusional enough to think that they could fuse muggle academics and magical knowledge soon realised their folly. There was no inbuilt way for the two systems to truly interact. Magic was nothing like anything the world had ever seen, this was why it was magic and not just another field of science.

 

Or maybe Harry just wasn't smart enough. It wasn't like he'd been an avid scientist in his past life. He'd died before being able to complete his bachelor's thesis in a humanistic field.

 

"What was that principle called again?" Tonks suddenly asked as they made their way back to the car. This was before every European city was impossible to park in, Harry enjoyed the short reprieve. "When the most obvious solution is the most likely one?"

 

"Occam's razor states that between a complex and a simple solution, the simpler one is always more likely," Harry answered as they crossed over from park to street and walked past party-goers and drunkards. It was turning out to be a lively night. They'd enjoyed an hour or so of it with the students, but it was a good time to be going back.

 

"That was a real story you told back there. Your work ethic. The way you speak. The way you handle social interactions. Your knowledge of food and alcohol. The only thing that seems remotely real about you is your ability to do magic, and even that's crazy," Tonks began. "The simplest explanation is that you're not actually a twelve-year-old. The more complex explanation involves… I don't even know."

 

Harry didn't reply to that, deciding to plead the fifth. But after Tonks didn't say anything for a while, he had to ask. "So what does that mean exactly, and why does it matter?" he asked.

 

"It doesn't matter," Tonks said with a sigh. "You're a good person. Or else you wouldn't have stood between me and a werewolf with only a sword. You help your younger friends excel in class. You're an adult somehow living in a child's body. Which doesn't have to necessarily be a bad thing…?" she trailed off. "You're not a dark wizard possessing the body of a child are you?"

"I'm not a dark wizard," Harry said while rolling his eyes. "Never used a dark spell in my life, actually."

"Alright, I guess that's enough for me," Tonks said. "You said you'd tell me more when my Occlumency was good enough."

And also when Harry was powerful enough that it wouldn't matter if people wanted to kidnap him due to the nature of his existence, Harry added in his head. This would probably happen by the end of Hogwarts to be honest, at the pace that he was going. How strong would he really leave the institution? As powerful as the average auror? As powerful as Alastor Moody, who was capable of taking down ten Death Eaters with him? Maybe as powerful as Flitwick.

 

In a way it was funny, despite knowing how driven he was and how hard he worked, everyone assumed that his ambitions were normal-sized. The Hogwarts staff thought he wanted to excel academically and learn as much as possible. Flitwick thought he wanted to win the duelling championship. Penny thought he wanted to not fail Potions and his family thought he wanted to retire to the seaside with a nice little cottage and spend his life idling, maybe after going to muggle university. It would definitely be a nice experience to do so. However, while these were certainly all short-term goals, a larger something was beginning to brew inside him. Every new piece of magic he learned, every new area he excelled in. The shackles of conformity and normal expectations were falling off him as if they were made of sand. He could feel it in his soul, a low hum. A vibration. A resonance with the universe.

 

Nietzsche had been a philosopher who'd tried to counteract the incoming wave of nihilism that he'd predicted from the death of religion. His famous musings on the death of god. How god has remained dead. How we killed him. How shall we, murderers, console ourselves; was more of a prompt for others to come up with ways to combat the future inevitable wave of pessimism that marked any great civilization that lost its guiding light. 

 

For Harry, the answer was simple. While his past incarnation might have laboured under the chains of physics and physical frailness. Of needing, as a muggle, other muggles to achieve anything great. Then his magical self had sprung all those chains and realized the simple truth. If god was dead, then the throne of god was empty, and if the throne of god was empty, then someone else could sit on it. Magic was not a hobby, a convenience, as some wizards and witches thought. It was not a tool to subjugate others, to spread terror. Neither was it a fascinating force of the universe which was to be studied and never used. Magic was nothing more and nothing less than the possibility to inflict a personal ideology onto one's own life without needing the help of anyone else to do so.

 

"You know, you could at least say something," Tonks grumbled as they got to the car.

 

Harry threw her a smile. "You're a great friend, Tonks. But you're really going to need to work on your Mind Arts skills." He was oddly unafraid of someone growing suspicious of him by gleaming Tonks' opinion from the surface of her mind. After all, he'd been giving people enough reason to be suspicious already. Also, it wasn't like Tonks really knew anything. He was always going to cut a suspicious figure as an adult living in a child's body. This didn't change anything. The duelling tournament starting up, however, could maybe change everything. While Harry didn't think he had it in him to win quite yet, a good showing might just tip the scales in several different directions.

 

He started the car, taking the anti-intoxication potion Tonks had prepared. The drive back home was short and pleasant, the atmosphere between the two friends as clear as it was going to get.

-/-

AN: I think this was a very interesting chapter with a very different tone than the rest of the story. True story about the weed btw, just made up the prostitute bit, we did eventually get a taxi. If you want to read up to 25 chapters ahead there's always patreon ;)


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