Chapter Text
For most of the wizards and witches at Hogwarts, it had been a normal day.
Snape took fifty points from Gryffindor.
McGonagall gave it back.
Myrtle annoyed anyone who entered the girls' toilets.
Draco called Hermione a mudblood.
Hermione nearly hexed him into oblivion.
But for Harry, it had been a day of unease. The school always flowed with a natural magic that was both exciting and protective, but today Harry felt something different. There was an extra layer of magic, not simply enchantments, but something pure and powerful, old and patient, and he was sure it was watching him.
Harry let out a sigh. He had spent the day distracted and looking over his shoulder, but he knew he wasn't going to get any more answers by wandering the halls. It was dinner time, and he made his way toward the Great Hall, plopping himself down next to Hermione and Ron.
"Harry, where have you been?" Hermione wondered.
"Around," he muttered.
"Cheer up, Harry. Food's here!" Ron said with a grin.
Hermione gave him an incredulous look, less worried about the food than about Harry.
"What happened?" she prodded.
Harry frowned. "It's nothing, really. I just- does the school feel weird to you today?"
"Weird, how?" Hermione asked with a smile.
"I don't know. I guess, it's like there's this…something just sitting in the air, waiting."
"Something like magic?" Ron teased.
Hermione glared at Ron, who shrunk back a little in his seat, before turning toward Harry.
"Something other than what's normally there, Ron," Harry explained dryly.
"Could it be dark magic?" Hermione wondered.
Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. It feels different from the magic Tom Riddle and Quirrell used."
They sat back a moment to let that sink in. Hermione was the first to break the silence.
"You said it's waiting. What do you think it's waiting for?"
"I don't know, exactly, but, well, this is going to sound a bit silly…"
Hermione glanced at him expectantly. "Go on then."
Harry blushed. "It feels like it's waiting for me."
There was a moment of silence as Hermione processed that. It wasn't unbelieveable that a strange magic could be hovering in wait to attack Harry, especially given his record for the past three years. Being Harry Potter seemed to be a dangerous thing.
"I don't know what to say," Hermione admitted. "Why do you think it's waiting for you?"
"It seems like it's been following me all day. I can't explain it, but I just know."
A worried look came over his friends' faces.
"I wonder if it has anything to do with those visions you've been having," Hermione thought aloud.
Harry winced as he remembered his dream of the old shack and the three dark wizards from the summer. "I don't think so," he admitted.
"I don't know, Harry, but I think you're right. The school has felt different today," she agreed.
Ron sighed. "I think you're both barking mad," he said with finality, and began to dig into his dinner.
Dinner finished and the trio decided to wander back to the common room and play some wizard's chess. They turned down the corridor with the trophy case the same way they did every night, but this time as they passed it, Harry froze.
"Harry?" Ron asked with worry.
But Harry's attention was on something else. One of the objects in the trophy case was humming, almost singing.
"It's nothing," he muttered, trying to brush off the strange pull the magic was having on him.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe you," she said, folding her arms to emphasize the point.
Harry rolled his eyes, knowing he wasn't going to get anything past Hermione.
"I just want to check something," he admitted. "You don't have to wait for me. I'll only be a minute."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Hermione began.
Harry stopped her before she could launch into a lengthy scolding.
"It's fine, Hermione. I'll be okay, I promise."
There was a frustrated sigh. "If you're sure," she huffed.
"I am."
Once Harry made up his mind about something, both Ron and Hermione knew there was no convincing him otherwise. Harry's stern gaze rested on them, waiting, and Hermione motioned reluctantly for Ron to leave with her. They walked a few steps hesitantly before glancing back, but Harry shook his head, so they continued on toward the common room, leaving Harry to his own devices.
When they were out of sight, Harry walked cautiously toward the cabinet. He placed his ear against the glass and noticed the sound coming from the far right. In that direction sat a beautiful golden chalice, its label proclaiming it to be a Charms award, and Harry wondered how he'd never noticed it before. He moved closer to the humming object and quietly observed it with confusion and curiosity.
"What do you want from me?" he asked.
There was suddenly a vision, a sharp flash of a cup, of fire, and of a sorceress in a red dress. Harry stumbled backwards.
"What was that?"
He moved forward again, but was hit with another maelstrom of images, sounds and feelings.
Unfamiliar words being said. A spell?
A man dead against an altar.
Sadness. Anger.
Clouds, lightning, power!
Harry blinked to find himself across the corridor, his back to the wall and his heart racing. These visions weren't like the dreams he'd had during the summer; he wasn't trapped, nor did he feel fear. He could feel everything the observer had, but who was the observer and why was Harry seeing through his eyes? What connection did this observer have to the old magic hovering in the air? Harry shook his head nervously.
Harry, a voice whispered.
The boy wizard turned with alarm, seeing no one in the hallway.
"Ron?" he asked, unsure. "I said I'd be there in a few minutes."
Harry, it repeated.
This was not like Voldemort's whispering, hissing voice.
"Ron, come on. It's not funny," Harry protested.
Harry jumped as he heard the same voice suddenly send another message.
How small you are for such a great destiny.
He flinched. That phrase hit a nerve. Harry turned around full circle, gathering some strange looks from a couple of Hufflepuff wizards, but found nothing and sighed.
"This is going to drive me mad," he muttered and made his way to the Gryffindor common room.
Two days later, despite spending every free hour investigating, Harry still hadn't gotten any further with finding out where the magic or the voice was coming from. He'd initially wondered whether the culprit was another basilisk but had quickly filed away that thought as soon as it emerged. After all, the voice hadn't been whispering from within the walls, it had been inside his head.
When he'd come to a complete standstill on finding answers, he'd considered telling Ron and Hermione. Harry couldn't explain it, but the idea made him unusually uneasy. Perhaps it was fact that this was all eerily familiar, or that this scared him more than he could put into words, because if he was being honest, Harry couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that when he figured this out, his world was going to change, or worse, crumble.
"Harry, you've been distracted for days now, ever since you stopped to look at that award." Hermione began. "I knew we shouldn't have left you. What happened in that corridor anyway?"
"Not much." He replied, shifting his stance nervously. "Like I told you, Hermione, I just had a vision. Then it stopped. It was nothing."
"It's hardly nothing!" She exclaimed. "This could be dangerous."
Hermione's voice softened. "I don't understand why you won't just tell us. Ron and I want to help."
Harry sighed. He had no answer for that.
Harry…
Harry whipped around to face the common room door, his heart beginning to race with both excitement and nervousness. The voice was back!
"Harry?" Hermione asked, "What is it?"
Harry, the voice called.
He'd checked everywhere.
Hermione folded her arms at the lack of responsiveness. "Harry Potter, you answer me right now or…"
Harry continued to look ahead with intense concentration.
Trolls guard my door. We must speak urgently, Harry Potter.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.
He shook out of his trance, realizing Hermione had been trying to get his attention.
"Sorry, Hermione, but I have to go."
Hermione sighed angrily as Harry walked hurriedly past her and out of the common room altogether. Harry couldn't muster up concern. He was so close to figuring out the puzzle, except he was in the hallway now with no idea where to go.
Hmm
The voice had sounded closer this time. Was it because he was on a higher floor?
Trolls guard my door. Trolls. Where had he seen trolls before? Surely the person or thing that was calling him couldn't be guarded by a real troll. The professors wouldn't have placed one there as a guard – too dangerous, and if one had found its way inside again, they would've made quick work of it and drove it off the grounds. Not only that, but if his theory was correct, how would a troll even get into one of the upper corridors?
Harry frowned. Then what did it mean? He was thinking in circles.
"Trolls," He said. "Where have I…"
Harry paused. During third year, in a secret excursion with Ron to find and prank Filch, they'd been passing through one of the corridors and Ron had said "Look at that! Some stupid git is trying to teach trolls how to dance."
In an instant Harry knew where to go. He turned and headed for the corridor with haste. Just as he'd thought, the troll tapestry hung in the same place it had been during third year. However, things were not as straightforward as he'd envisioned. The tapestry faced an empty wall, not a door. Harry stared it down with fervor.
Now what? He said trolls guard the door. What door?
There was laughter in Harry's head.
Think, young wizard. Think.
The voice was much louder, confirmation that he was, in fact, close to reaching his goal. Harry paced along the corridor, looking for signs of hidden cracks, worn plaster or indentations. After the third time of combing the walls, he was frustrated. Another sound analysis of the bottom of the wall suddenly revealed the appearance of a door. Harry readied his wand and opened it cautiously. A cave beckoned. He entered.
"Merlin."
The voice was corporeal now. Harry glanced back with alarm as the door shut abruptly, but turned to face the cave once more.
"Merlin?" he asked incredulously. "Where?"
Harry turned around a couple of times trying to catch a glimpse of the person the elusive voice was talking about, but as far as Harry could tell, he was alone. Curiosity began to eat away at him.
"What about Merlin?" he asked.
There were a great many chuckles from a darkened figure sitting on a slab of rock.
"What's so funny?" He demanded.
"The room of requirement appears to those who have need of it, young wizard. It brings to you the things you require. You desired to find me."
"You were the one calling to me," Harry countered. "You said we needed to speak. Where are you anyway? Who are you?"
When an answer didn't come, Harry muttered, "Oh for Merlin's sake, can't you just answer me?"
The laughter began again and suddenly a great shadow came over him. Harry was stunned as a dragon sat before him, smiling.
"You're a dragon," He said with awe, "and you can talk."
"Remarkable. Your powers of observation have not changed."
There was a stab of annoyance at that, but it was quickly pushed aside by confusion.
"Have we met?" Harry asked. The familiarity had hit him again.
"Why, yes."
"When?" Harry asked. "How?"
The dragon had no intention of answering this question.
"Two days ago, you discovered a cup in the showcase," He began.
"The Charms award?" Harry asked, noting the dragon's avoidance of his question.
The dragon tsked. "The Cup of Life," He corrected.
Harry's eyes narrowed. "The vision I saw - I remember thinking that. Do you know why I'm seeing them?"
There was a smile. "Yes. They are not visions, but memories - your memories, young warlock."
"That's wizard," Harry corrected, feeling slightly uneasy, "and I don't understand. How could they be my memories? They seemed centuries old. I wouldn't have been born!"
The dragon shook his head. "It is too early."
"Too early for what?"
The dragon sighed. "But the old religion has decided. I cannot argue with this. It will have to be time."
"Time for what?" Harry asked, frustrated with the dragon's cryptic words. "Just give me an answer!"
The dragon could hardly help but chuckle at the boy's impatience.
"Leave this room," He instructed. "The door will disappear. You will need to walk three times past the wall that held it. Think of your question carefully. You will find the answers you seek."
The dragon leaned in, his face so close that Harry had to step backward.
"Make sure you are ready. Once you choose this path, there is no going back."
The dragon disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Harry to return to the corridor baffled and worried.
Harry had let the dragon's words sit for over a day. His warnings and cryptic answers had frightened the boy, and rightfully so. Harry wondered if he really wanted to know what the dragon sought to tell him. At the same time, the visions continued to dance inside his head, rousing his curiosity. Harry frowned, annoyed at not being able to make a decision. Not only that, but there were things the dragon said that he didn't - couldn't - believe, like the fact that the visions were memories.
He'd spent hours pondering that question, and the only conclusion he could reach was that he'd been someone else before being Harry. It was a tough pill to swallow. Harry wasn't even sure he believed in reincarnation, but there was no other explanation, unless of course, the dragon was lying. Dragons were notorious for telling riddles, tricking men. What if they weren't his memories at all, and the dragon was trying to make him vulnerable to Voldemort?
He shook that thought away as soon as it came. That strange familiarity came back, and with it trust. Somehow, he knew he could trust the dragon.
With a sigh he realized he was back to square one.
This is it, he thought. Enough is enough.
He needed to know what the memories meant, who they belonged to. He couldn't keep sitting here driving himself mad with speculation.
With determination he headed to the seventh floor corridor to take the dragon's advice. Harry paced several times past the wall where the door had been before, his thoughts racing. He focused on his questions.
The dragon said I'd done this before. He said he knows me. How? What does the dragon want me to know? Whose memories are these?
He suddenly froze as an uneasy realization hit him. The dragon's first word when Harry had entered the cave had been Merlin. A nervous chill went up his spine as another question entered his head.
How does this relate to Merlin?
Harry turned just in time to see the door appear in response to his question, and reluctantly moved to open it. Inside appeared to be nothing more than a storage room for junk. Harry blinked in confusion. How was he meant to get an answer in here?
He shuffled along, looking for something, anything that might give him a clue to answering his question. Nothing looked particularly suspicious or useful.
"Dragons," He muttered. "This would be a lot easier if I knew what I was looking for."
Harry suddenly found himself tripping over a rope strung across some tables. The rope stretched behind a particularly high bookshelf, one which wasn't exceptionally sturdy. The whole thing began to fall on top of the wizard and he ducked next to a tall chest of drawers. The bookshelf came to an abrupt stop at the top of the chest, and Harry sighed with relief, just as a pile of fifty heavy books came toppling over him.
With exasperation he tossed the books off of him, hating the dragon more with each moment, until it caught his eye. It was an odd leather bound book, older than many of the books in the library, and Harry wondered why it was in here of all places. He felt compelled to touch it, to open it, and could feel its influence in his brain like a toxin. All the magic he'd felt in the past few days, he could feel it brimming from here.
Harry pulled back, knowing that whatever this was, it was dangerous magic, but he could not pull his gaze away from the old tome. Something about it made him think of an old friend, reminded him of simple beginnings. When the first droplet hit the floor, Harry realized he was crying, and wiped away the tears in amazement and fear.
Scared out of his wits Harry made to move, but his limbs refused to cooperate. The source of the powerful magic was so close that he could no longer resist its pull. The only action left was to open the book and get some answers.
Harry reached out to touch the cover as tendrils of gold began to spill out, gently covering his arm and working its way along. But unlike what Harry had expected, the light was warm, calming, a relief.
The book opened and shot out a forceful wind, tossing Harry's hair out of his face. The golden tendrils of light spun rapidly, covering more of his body and sinking into his skin. Harry's mind was racing, panicking, but he couldn't bring himself to fight something that felt so right. Then he felt the golden light curving underneath his skin, sinking into his core and encircling the strands of already present magic. It spread out from the strands to fill the void, circling down further, hitting the core of the magic Harry held within: magic he hadn't tapped into, magic he hadn't even considered yet, and it exploded into little pinpricks of fire. Harry blinked and in one moment, his world turned to golden haze before everything faded to black.