บท 36: A Different Perspective
The tears tasted like liquid starlight. The moment they touched his tongue, Harry's perception exploded outward. The classroom, Pythia, the ancient students - all dissolved into streams of pure possibility. He saw...
Himself, through countless eyes. A small boy demanding respect for his power while those around him exchanged worried glances. Nicolas Flamel's patient smile hiding concern as Harry bragged about improving potions. Dumbledore's quiet sadness watching Harry measure everything in terms of strength and weakness.
"No," Harry tried to turn away, but the visions were everywhere. "That's not- I'm not..."
"You are," Pythia's voice echoed. "See truly, little seeker."
The scenes shifted. Charlotte, lying in the hospital wing, whispering to Penny: "Sometimes I think he only helps because it makes him feel powerful." Chiara, confiding in Tonks: "He's kind, but... there's something cold about how he views people." Even the Grey Lady, watching him practice his mist: "So much like Salazar, measuring worth only in power..."
Each memory struck like a physical blow. Harry saw himself through their eyes - not the confident young prodigy he imagined, but a child so afraid of being weak that he'd built walls of arrogance around himself.
"Stop," Harry whispered, but the visions continued mercilessly.
He saw possible futures now. Himself growing stronger but more isolated. People's faith in the Boy-Who-Lived turning to fear of what he might become. Dark wizards seeking him out not as an enemy, but as a potential ally who understood their hunger for power...
"Enough!" Harry shouted. "I'm not- I wouldn't-"
"Then See deeper," Pythia commanded.
The visions twisted. Now he saw the source of his fears - that terrible night when Voldemort came. But through his new sight, he could See more than just his mother's pleas. He saw the Dark Lord himself, twisted by the same hunger for power that now drove Harry. Saw how Tom Riddle had once been a brilliant young boy who measured everything by strength, who thought love and friendship were weaknesses to overcome...
"I'm not like him," Harry insisted, but his voice shook.
"No," Pythia agreed softly. "Not yet. But every step on that path begins with the same belief - that power alone brings worth."
The visions shifted again, but now they went further back. Harry saw himself as a toddler in the sky, the first time his instinct to sense danger had activated. He watched his younger self recoil from Hagrid's friendly approach, suddenly terrified of the half-giant's raw physical power.
"Your gift of sensing danger," Pythia's voice was gentle now, "it changed you before you could even understand how. Every day surrounded by people who could destroy you with a thought. What child wouldn't learn to value power above all else?"
Harry saw himself growing up at Hogwarts, constantly aware of the deadly potential in every person around him. Each spell he witnessed, each casual display of magic, had reinforced the same lesson: power was everything. The weak died, like his parents. The strong survived and thrived, like Dumbledore.
"But See what else was there," Pythia urged. "Look again."
The scenes replayed, but now Harry noticed details his younger self had missed. Hagrid's genuine tears of joy at finding him alive. McGonagall's fierce protectiveness disguised as stern discipline. Flitwick spending countless hours helping him practice control, not to make him stronger, but to keep him safe. Not just from others, but from himself…
"They saw a child who needed love," Pythia said. "While you saw only threats to overcome and power to gain."
Fresh visions flowed. Charlotte facing the Boggart-Voldemort despite her terror, not for power but to help her brother. Penny brewing healing potions late into the night, not for fame but because she couldn't stand seeing others hurt.
"True strength," Pythia's voice echoed, "comes not from making others fear your power, but from having something worth protecting."
The visions shifted again, showing Harry hunting mice near the lake. He watched himself play with the prey, letting it think it had escaped before swooping down again. At the time, it had felt natural - he was the predator, they were prey. Simple.
But now he Saw the truth beneath that simplicity. How his transformation hadn't just given him an eagle's body, but its instincts too. How those predatory urges had merged with his growing obsession with power. Even his mist spell, born from fear, had become another way to prove his strength by making others afraid.
"See deeper still," Pythia commanded.
The scene changed to the Ministry gathering. Susan Bones stumbling, tears in her eyes after bumping into him. He remembered thinking how rabbit-like she'd looked, how disappointed he'd been that he couldn't play with her like he did with mice. Only the presence of powerful adults had stopped him.
"I was..." Harry's voice cracked. "I was going to hurt her. For fun. Like... like the mice..."
"The eagle's instincts gave you permission," Pythia said. "But the choice to view others as prey was yours."
More memories surfaced. Theodore Nott's cruel comments about Harry's parents, and Harry's immediate response - not anger at the insult, but cold calculation about how to best use his mist to demonstrate superiority over the weak. He'd felt proud of his restraint in using only a small amount.
"Merlin," Harry whispered, really seeing himself for the first time. "I'm a monster."
"No," Pythia's voice was firm. "You are a child who learned the wrong lessons from necessary gifts. Your ability to sense danger could have kept you alive in dangerous situations, but it taught you to see threats everywhere. Your eagle transformation gave you freedom, but it made others seem like prey. Even your mist, born from the need to defend yourself, became another way to prove dominance."
"But..." Harry fought through the shame, trying to understand. "The memories... they show a world where the strong do rule over the weak. Where power is everything. Wasn't I right to-"
"Look again," Pythia interrupted. "See truly."
The visions shifted to Snowdragon Mountain. But this time Harry saw beyond the surface memories of powerful elders and mighty techniques. He saw disciples sharing cultivation resources with their friends despite the competitive atmosphere. Saw elders spending decades teaching rather than pursuing their own advancement. Even that memory of the young disciple being killed by the leopard... he now Saw the grief in the other disciples' eyes, carefully hidden lest they appear weak themselves.
"They built walls too," Harry realized. "Everyone pretending not to care, but still..."
"And what of your own world?" Pythia asked. "See again with clear eyes."
The visions shifted to Hogwarts. Harry saw Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful wizard alive, spending hours carefully teaching Occlumency to a spoiled child. McGonagall, who could defeat most dark wizards with ease, patiently helping him choose a belt in Diagon Alley. The Flamels, with centuries of magical knowledge, delighting in teaching him basic potions and herbology.
"Power without purpose is meaningless," Pythia said softly. "See how they use their strength."
Harry watched Nicolas Flamel, who could have been the richest wizard in the world, living a humble and small life. Saw Perenelle, who could have ruled magical France with her husbands help, instead tending her garden and teaching Harry the joy of taking care of plants.
"But they're still powerful," Harry argued weakly. "They're not... weak."
"What is weakness?" Pythia challenged. "See truly."
The visions shifted again. Charlotte, scarred but refusing to give up searching for her brother. Chiara, facing monthly transformations that would terrify most adults, yet still finding time to help younger students. Even Penny, brewing backup healing potions despite her own fears after the Vault of Ice incident.
"They're all stronger than me," Harry whispered, understanding finally dawning. "I've been... measuring everything wrong."
"The gift of Seeing danger is valuable," Pythia agreed. "But you let it become all you could See. Now look deeper - what lies beneath the surface of power?"
The visions blurred again, but this time Harry tried to See beyond his usual measure of strength. He watched Grandpa Dumbledore defeat Rookwood at the Ministry, but now he noticed how the Headmaster had positioned himself to draw fire away from the children. Saw Aunt Min's transfiguration skill, but recognized how she used them primarily to make her students laugh and feel comfortable with magic.
"They all have power," Harry said slowly, "but that's not what makes them... them."
"And what of your own powers?" Pythia asked. "See their true nature."
Harry's abilities appeared before him like threads of light. His mist, born from fear but capable of showing people their deepest terrors. His flames, fueled by passion rather than anger. Divine healing, drawing on others' faith and hope.
"They're all... connected to emotions," Harry realized. "To understanding how people feel, not just overwhelming them with power."
"Yes," Pythia smiled. "Now See what could be."
The visions shifted one final time. Harry saw himself using mist not to terrorize, but to help people face and overcome their fears. Saw his flames lighting the way for others rather than just proving his strength. The divine healing growing stronger not through fame, but through genuine connections with those he helped.
"I still want to be strong," Harry admitted quietly. "I still want to help Charlotte and protect myself."
"As you should," Pythia nodded. "But See the difference between seeking power to dominate, and seeking strength to protect. One path leads to isolation and fear, the other to understanding and growth."
The visions began to fade, but Harry caught one last glimpse - himself slightly older, surrounded by friends who saw him as Harry, not just the Boy-Who-Lived or a powerful prodigy. He was still strong, still capable of sensing danger, but it no longer defined him.
The ancient classroom reformed around them, and Harry felt… different. Not completely changed - he knew his habits and fears wouldn't disappear overnight. But for the first time, he could See beyond them.
"The tears have opened your Inner Eye," Pythia said, her body beginning to fade with the rest of the vision. "But what you choose to See with it... that remains your choice."
The ancient classroom now faded completely, leaving Harry standing in darkness once more. But now he could See tiny motes of light drifting through the air - remnants of possibility, Pythia had called them. Most were too faint to make out clearly, and trying to focus on them just made them scatter like startled fish.
"Is this... all I can See?" Harry asked the darkness, but Pythia's presence had faded with her visions. Only a lingering warmth in his chest where he'd drunk the tears suggested any of it had been real.
He tried reaching out to one of the brighter motes, but the moment he concentrated on it, his head began to ache. The mote itself seemed to blur, showing only vague impressions - someone walking down a corridor? Or was it just a shadow?
"Right," Harry muttered, rubbing his temples. "Not exactly the powerful gift I was expecting."
But then he remembered Pythia's lessons about measuring everything by power. Maybe the point wasn't to See dramatic visions of the future, but to notice the small patterns that were always there. Like how he'd finally Seen the truth about himself through all those memories...
A distant rumbling interrupted his thoughts. The chamber around him began to shift, walls grinding against each other. Light poured in from above as sections of ceiling retracted.
"The spells are failing!"
"Get those stabilization charms up now!"
"Someone find Alexandros - the whole system is collapsing!"
Harry looked up through the opening ceiling and managed a weak smile. "I suppose this is going to be difficult to explain..."
The chamber's ceiling continued retracting, revealing more stonework above. Harry was about to call out when a soft mewling sound caught his attention. One of the light motes he'd been seeing suddenly brightened, drawing his gaze to a dark corner he hadn't noticed before.
There, curled up on what looked like a nest of old prophecy scrolls, lay the golden-furred Nemean Lion cub Alexandros had mentioned. It couldn't have been more than a few months old, barely larger than a house cat. As Harry watched, it raised its head and mewled again, clearly hungry.
"You've been down here all alone?" Harry asked softly, careful not to make any sudden movements. The cub's fur gleamed like metallic silk, and even at this young age, he could sense it was far more dangerous than any normal lion cub. Yet something about it pulled at him - not his usual predatory instincts, but something deeper.
One of the brighter motes drifted between them, and for a moment Harry Saw a flash of possibility - the cub growing alongside him, both of them learning to be more than what others expected. Not predator and prey, but companions walking the same path.
The cub stood shakily, and Harry noticed it favored one leg. No wonder it hadn't left the chamber - it was injured. Without thinking, he gathered some of his divine energy.
"It's alright," he said gently, letting the warm light flow toward the cub. "I used to think being hurt meant being weak too. But I'm learning better now."
The cub watched the approaching light with intelligent eyes. Rather than backing away, it stretched its neck forward to sniff the energy. The moment it touched the golden fur, Harry felt something click into place - like two pieces of a puzzle finally meeting.
Above them, the voices grew louder:
"The inner chambers are opening!"
"By the might of Zeus - there's someone down there!"
"Sir Flamel, wait! The structural integrity-"
But Harry barely heard them. He was focused on the cub, which had limped over and was now rubbing against his leg, purring with a sound like distant thunder. He could feel their connection forming - not the master-and-servant familiar bond he might have expected, but something more balanced. Equal.
"I suppose we both need to learn about real strength," Harry told the cub, carefully picking it up. It weighed far more than its size suggested, and its fur was surprisingly warm. "Though I should probably warn the Flamels about you before they panic..."
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