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Magic, Curses and Gods Amongst Men Chapter 47 - Limitless
🕑 Added 2025-04-21 23:26:31 +0000 UTCHarry saw the green light of Avada Kedavra burst from Grindelwald's wand, and he stood rigid, his fists clenched so hard that his nails cut into his palms, his breath locked in his chest as he waited for death to take him. The spell struck his chest, sending a cold jolt through his body, which felt like a blade of ice piercing his heart, and he braced himself for agony, for blackness, for the end of everything, but no pain followed. His vision flooded with white, a void that swallowed sound, weight, and any sense of where he stood, leaving him floating in a space that stretched beyond his understanding. He opened his mouth to yell, hoping to hear his own voice, but nothing came out, and he tried to swing his arms, to grasp at anything solid, yet they hung useless, ignoring his desperate efforts to move them.
The white pressed against him, filling his mind with emptiness, and he wondered if this was death, if he'd abandoned his friends to Grindelwald's wrath—which made his stomach churn with a guilt that clawed at his insides. He floated for what felt like hours, unable to track time, but a force tugged at him, faint at first, then sharp, pulling him through the white until he felt ground beneath him, cool and unyielding, which gave his body shape again. His head pounded, his chest ached, and he gasped, drawing in air that burned his throat, proving he still existed, at least for now. The white faded, replaced by a blue sky with clouds drifting across it, and he blinked, his eyes stinging as they adjusted, his limbs heavy as feeling returned to his fingers and toes.
He lay flat on grass, his hands brushing the blades, and he stared at the sky, his white hair catching in the breeze. He sat up, bending his knees to push against the ground, and looked around, seeing lawns, brick houses, and hedges trimmed into squares, which he recognized at once, his heart sinking like a stone. This was Privet Drive, number four, the Dursleys' house, a place he'd sworn he'd never return to after leaving it a year ago. He stood, brushed grass off his jeans, and ran his hands over his chest, expecting blood or torn fabric from Grindelwald's fight, but he wore a clean grey T-shirt and jeans, which looked untouched, unlike the ragged, blood-soaked robes he'd had on before the spell hit. He touched his white hair, which felt smooth, not matted with dirt, and said, "What the bloody fuck is going on here?"
He stepped onto the pavement, turned to face the street, and walked a few steps, his boots scraping as he looked at the houses, their windows dark, their doors closed, with no sign of anyone anywhere, not even a stray cat crossing the road. He cupped his hands around his mouth, shouted, "Is anyone out there?" and stood still, waiting for a response, but the silence clung to the air, which made him lower his hands and shove them into his pockets.
He thought about how long it had been since he'd left Privet Drive, a year that had dragged on through fights and losses, leaving him a different person, which made this street, with its neat lawns and quiet houses, feel like it belonged to a stranger, not the boy who'd lived here. He'd gone through too much, faced too many dangers, to belong in this place anymore, and the realization settled over him, his eyes tracing the pavement, wondering why he'd ended up back here. The Dursleys had starved him, beaten him, called him nothing, and he'd feared them once before he could use his magic, but now, after a year of surviving worse, their cruelty seemed like a distant memory.
He kicked a stone, watched it roll into the road, and said, "This doesn't feel real." He wondered if he was dead, if the Killing Curse had cast him into an afterlife, or if Grindelwald had trapped him in a spell to break his mind, which made his fists tighten, his teeth clench, as he thought of the friends he'd fought beside. He'd trusted them, stood with them, and given Grindelwald the Philosopher's Stone to protect them, believing it would save their lives, but now, standing on this empty street, he feared they were suffering, that his trust had been misplaced, which filled him with a guilt that pressed against his ribs. He wanted to return, to fight for them, to know they were safe, and the uncertainty drove him to pace, his boots thudding, his hands balled up in his pockets.
He heard footsteps pounding on the street, turned, and reached for a wand he didn't have, his right hand closing on air. A boy ran toward him, seven years old, white hair flopping, glasses slipping down his nose, chased by three bigger boys who shouted, their voices cutting through the quiet.
Dudley Dursley yelled, "Freak! You're dead meat!"
Piers Polkiss shouted, "We'll smash your face, Potter!"
Malcolm called, "You're gonna bleed for this!"
Harry stepped back, saw it was himself, younger, his face bruised already, and watched him run past, close enough to smell blood and sweat, heading for the front door. Younger Harry grabbed the handle, yanked it, but it stayed locked, and he slammed his fists against it, shouting, "Aunt Petunia! Open the door!"
Dudley, Piers, and Malcolm caught up, surrounded younger Harry, who pressed against the door, his fists trembling. Harry walked forward, shouted, "Get away from him you fat twat!" and reached for Dudley's shoulder, but his hand passed through, like touching fog. He stepped back, stared at his hand, and said, "what the fuck?"
He stood still, wondered if he was a ghost, trapped watching his past, and looked at younger Harry, who swung at Piers, his fist grazing his cheek, but Dudley punched him hard, splitting his lip, blood spraying onto the grass. Piers grabbed his arms, twisting them back until younger Harry gasped, and Malcolm drove his knee into his stomach, making him double over, his glasses falling. Harry watched, his voice shaking, and said, "I remember this beating." He saw younger Harry's face swell, blood streaming from his nose, cuts opening on his cheek where Dudley's ring had torn skin, and felt the memory sear, his first fight against them.
Dudley kicked younger Harry's ribs, saying, "Your parents died to get away from you, Potter! They're rotting in a ditch!"
Piers yanked his hair, shouting, "Freak orphan! Your hair looks so stupid and gay!"
Malcolm punched his jaw, saying, "Your mum screamed when she gave birth to you didn't she?"
Younger Harry crawled opening his eyes and revealing his Six Eyes glowing bright blue, and yelled, shoving Dudley with both hands, magic bursting out, sending Dudley ten feet into Petunia's flowerbed, roses snapping under his weight. Piers and Malcolm froze, stuttering, "W-What just happened!?" They looked at Harry with fear etched onto their faces.
The older Harry watched, saying, "This was my first magic against Dudley, when I felt something snap inside me." He remembered the power, the anger, the moment he'd fought back, even if it hadn't lasted. He looked to the door to his house, if his memory was right then this would be the moment Vernon came out to find out what the commotion was.
Vernon stormed out, belt unbuckled, shouting, "You filthy brat! You hurt my boy, I'll make sure you can't use those freakish hands of yours again!!!?"
Petunia ran to Dudley, knelt, saying, "Dudley! My angel, you're hurt!"
She pulled Dudley up, wiped blood from his nose, and Vernon grabbed younger Harry's arm, yanking him off the ground, swinging the belt, slashing his back, blood seeping through his shirt as he screamed, then striking again, tearing skin. Vernon dragged him by the leg, scraping his knees raw, opened the door, threw him into the cupboard under the stairs, and slammed it, the wood splintering.
Harry walked inside, knelt by the cupboard, looked through the slats, and saw younger Harry curled up, sobbing, glasses clutched, blood pooling on the floor, his back slashed open.
He said, "Why did you die, Mum? Dad? Why is this happening?"
Harry stood, turned away, his stomach turning, and walked to the living room, seeing Petunia bandage Dudley's arm, muttering to him.
Vernon pointed at the cupboard, saying, "That thing's a curse, Petunia! I'll beat him till he can't walk!"
Harry stepped outside, stood on the lawn, looked at the street, and said, "What am I doing here? Am I dead? The Dursleys make it hell." He thought of his friends, left with Grindelwald, and feared he'd let them down, his guilt sharp as he stood alone.
A voice spoke. "I believe I can answer your questions, Harry."
Harry turned at the voice, his right hand reaching for a wand he didn't have, and he looked across the empty street, his eyes widening as a smile spread across his face. He recognized the figure standing there, an old man with a long beard, his robes tattered but regal, and he stepped forward, his boots scuffing the pavement, meeting the man's gaze. "I guess if I'm seeing you here, I must be dead," Harry said, looking into the eyes of Merlin.
Merlin smiled, stepped closer, and knocked his long wooden staff on the ground, which made a dull thud that echoed in the quiet street. "It is good to see you, my boy," he said, his voice steady as he took another step, his staff tapping again.
Harry nodded, crossed his arms, and shifted his weight to one foot. "Likewise, Merlin," he said, "it feels like a lifetime since we've seen each other, you know, with everything that's happened."
Merlin stopped beside him, leaned on his staff, and turned to face the Dursleys' house, his robes brushing the pavement. "Indeed, you've been through quite a lot since the night of Halloween." he said, his voice low, and he glanced at Harry, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I can see you've grown in many ways, my boy, become stronger."
Harry let out a chuckle, but it held no humor, and he kicked at the grass, his hands shoving deeper into his pockets. "Yeah, I guess I have," he said, his voice flat, and he looked at the house, thinking of the year since Halloween, a blur of battles and losses that had left him harder, but not whole.
Merlin turned to him, his face softening, and he rested a hand on his staff, his voice gentle. "Her death was not your fault, Harry," he said, his words careful, and he watched Harry's reaction, his eyes steady. "I fear that even had you trained until your body broke, you wouldn't have saved Hannah, for in the end, death comes for us all, no matter how we fight."
Harry stood silent, his jaw tightening, and he stared at the ground, his mind replaying the moment in Hogwarts courtyard, where Hannah had fallen, her blood pooling as he'd fought, too weak to stop it. He knew Merlin spoke truth—Grindelwald was a monster, a god among men, who had crushed him even when Harry used the Philosopher's Stone's power... he hadn't even needed his domain expansion, which showed how far Harry had been outmatched.
He swallowed, his throat dry, and looked up at Merlin, his face twisting with raw pain, his eyes wet as he took a step closer. "Can I see her again?" he asked, his voice cracking, and he clenched his fists, his chest heaving with the ache of loss, the need to see Hannah one more time burning inside him.
Merlin tilted his head, his expression sad, and he gripped his staff tighter, his voice soft. "This is the afterlife, right?" Harry asked, gesturing at the Dursleys' house, at the memory of his younger self bleeding in the cupboard, his voice rising with desperation. "That's why I'm seeing this, why you're here."
Harry took another step, his boots scuffing, and leaned toward Merlin, his voice breaking. "Can I see her, Merlin, please, just once?" he begged, his hands trembling, his face open with grief, every line etched with the pain of losing Hannah, of failing her.
Merlin looked at him, his eyes heavy, and shook his head, his voice quiet but firm. "I'm sorry, my boy, but you can't see her," he said, and he stepped closer, his staff tapping the ground, his gaze never leaving Harry's face.
Harry's breath hitched, and he shouted, "Why?" his voice hoarse, his hands balling into fists as he took another step, his eyes searching Merlin's for answers, his chest tight with frustration and loss.
Merlin rested a hand on Harry's shoulder, his touch steady, and said, "Hannah has moved on to the next great adventure, Harry, but you, my boy, have yet to leave this world." He paused, let the words sink in, and turned, guiding Harry toward the house, his arm around his shoulders, his staff tapping as they walked.
Harry pulled back, his boots dragging, and said, "Then where are we, Merlin? Why am I seeing this place, seeing you?" His voice shook, and he gestured at the street, his confusion mixing with anger as he tried to make sense of standing on Privet Drive, reliving his past.
Merlin kept walking, his arm steering Harry to the front door, and said, "You and I are connected by more than blood, Harry, for a piece of my soul rests in your wand, which links us through magic, even now, even here." He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and turned to Harry, his voice calm. "As for this place, it's your soul, my boy, a reflection of what shaped you."
Harry stopped in the doorway, his hands dropping to his sides, and said, "I know for damn sure I wouldn't have the Dursleys' house in my soul, Merlin, not after everything they did to me." His voice was sharp, and he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the familiar walls, the staircase, the cupboard that had been his prison.
Merlin chuckled, a soft sound, and walked to the cupboard under the stairs, his staff tapping the floor. "You're mistaken, Harry," he said, and he turned, his robes swishing, his voice steady. "In a person's life, certain events leave such a mark that they're carved not just into the mind but into the soul itself, moments that define who you become." He stopped in front of the cupboard, gestured for Harry to follow, and leaned on his staff, his eyes fixed on the door.
Harry walked over, his boots thudding, and said, "Why are we here, then? What does this have to do with anything?" His voice rose, and he pointed at the cupboard.
Merlin rested a hand on the cupboard door, pushed it open, and said, "This is the first time you used your magic against Dudley, the first time you didn't feel weak, the first time you knew you could fight back." He stepped aside, revealing younger Harry inside, his white hair matted with blood, his hands glowing faintly as he experimented with magic, the light flickering across his bruised face.
Merlin turned to Harry, his voice low, and said, "Had you not gone through this moment, you wouldn't have started on the path to free yourself from them, and the abuse you suffered at the Dursleys' hands would've likely continued for years, breaking you further." He stepped back, gestured at the boy, and watched Harry's reaction, his staff still in hand.
Harry nodded, his throat tight, and looked at his younger self, remembering how he'd practiced magic in secret, making his hands glow, then his arms, which gave him strength to push back against Dudley and his friends. "When I started using magic, I found out I could make myself stronger, faster," he said, his voice quiet, and he crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on the cupboard. "If I hadn't done that, I'd never have gotten the nerve to stop his bullying, to stand up for myself."
Merlin nodded, gestured toward the living room, and said, "Come, there's more to see." He walked forward, raised his staff, and a door appeared in the wall, its edges shimmering, which he pushed open, stepping through, his robes trailing behind him.
Harry followed, his boots crossing the threshold, and stepped into the Dursleys' house, which looked different, cluttered with more furniture, photos, and Dudley's toys scattered on the floor, showing a few years had passed. A loud crash echoed from the kitchen, and Harry turned, his hand twitching, while Merlin walked toward the sound, his staff tapping, his eyes scanning the room.
They reached the kitchen, where Vernon stood over a younger Harry, eleven years old, his white hair tangled, his face red with anger, shouting back at Vernon, who loomed over him, his fists clenched. Petunia hugged Dudley, who sobbed, his nose bloody, his shirt torn, while dishes lay shattered on the floor.
Vernon shouted, "You're a freak, boy! I should've strangled you the day you were born, thinking you're better than my son!"
Younger Harry yelled, "Dudley's a fat, stupid bully, just like you, and I can't wait for you both to choke on your own food and die!"
Harry watched, his voice low, and said, "I remember this moment, when I humiliated Dudley at school, got the whole class to laugh at him for tripping over his own feet in front of everyone, I'd tied his shoelaces together with magic." He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening, and looked at Merlin.
Merlin turned, leaned on his staff, and said, "Why did you do that, I wonder?"
Harry frowned, took a step toward him, and said, "He deserved it, after years of bullying me, humiliating me in front of his mates, beating me bloody more times than I can count." His voice rose, and he gestured at the scene, his hands shaking. "He got off easy, if you ask me."
Merlin tilted his head, his voice calm, and said, "Perhaps, or perhaps you wanted revenge, Harry, a chance to make him feel what you felt."
Harry's eyes flashed, and he said, "Whose side are you on, Merlin?" His voice was sharp, and he took another step, his fists clenching.
Merlin chuckled, raised a hand, and said, "I'm on your side, Harry, as I always have been, but seeing my descendants fight like this is a sad sight for an old man, but perhaps you should consider that Dudley is a victim of Vernons rage just as much as you, sometimes children don't know any better than what their parents have taught them." He turned back to the scene, his staff tapping, and watched as Vernon and younger Harry kept shouting, their voices overlapping.
Vernon ripped his belt from his trousers, swung it high, and shouted, "I'll teach you, freak!" He lashed out, aiming for younger Harry's face, but the boy ducked, and darted behind the sofa, his shoes slipping on the floor.
Younger Harry ran to the kitchen, dove under the table, and crawled beneath it, his hands scraping the tiles, but Vernon roared, grabbed the table's edge, and flipped it over, dishes crashing, glass shattering across the floor. Harry tried to scramble away, his knees bleeding, but Vernon seized his leg, dragged him back, and stood over him, his face twisted with a bloodthirsty grin, saying, "I'll make sure this lesson sticks, boy, till you can't walk!"
Younger Harry kicked, clawed at Vernon's arm, and screamed as the belt came down, slashing his shoulder, blood soaking his shirt, the pain making him thrash harder. He gritted his teeth, his eyes glowing with anger, and channeled magic through his body, which surged like fire in his veins, giving him strength to shove Vernon off, sending him crashing into the wall, the plaster cracking.
Vernon staggered up, his face purple, and shouted, "You'll pay for that, you little monster! I'll have no freakishness in this house!!!!" His voice shook the room, and he lunged, his fists raised, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead.
Younger Harry stood, tears streaming down his face, and screamed, running at Vernon, his magic flaring, shoving him again, which threw Vernon into his armchair, tipping it over with a crash that shook the floor. Petunia screamed, clutching Dudley, and younger Harry climbed onto Vernon, punching his face, his magic making his fists hit harder, blood splattering from Vernon's nose, his lip splitting, his cheek bruising, as Harry shouted, "How's that, boy? Are you listening now, boy? Has the lesson stuck, boy?" His voice broke into a raw yell, his hands pounding until Vernon's face was a mess of blood and swelling.
Petunia ran forward, grabbed younger Harry's arm, and shouted, "Stop it, you animal! You'll kill him!" Vernon raised a weak hand, trying to push Harry off, his voice gurgling through blood. Harry shoved Petunia off and spunched Vernon again.
Harry watched, his breath hitching, and said, "Merlin, why are we seeing this?" His voice trembled, and he took a step back, his hands shaking as he looked at the scene, his younger self's rage mirroring his own buried anger.
Merlin walked closer, stood beside the fallen Vernon, and watched as younger Harry stopped, his fists slowing, his eyes dropping to his hands, covered in blood, his face pale with shock. "What do you believe the significance of this moment was, Harry?" Merlin asked, his voice low, and he turned, his eyes fixed on Harry.
Harry walked forward, his boots scuffing, and tried to keep his face steady, but his lips quivered, his eyes wet, and he said, "I remember sitting on him, looking down, but when I saw his blood, I didn't see Vernon, I saw myself." He clenched his fists, his nails digging in, and took a breath, his voice shaking. "Vernon did terrible things to me, beat me, starved me, and he deserved worse, but in that moment, I felt like I was becoming him, like I was just as bad."
Merlin rested a hand on Harry's shoulder, his touch warm, and said, "It was at this moment you chose a different path, Harry, one that broke you away from the cycle that could've trapped you forever." He paused, let the words settle, and turned to the scene, his voice soft. "Had you continued beating Vernon until he stopped moving, the number of tyrants in this house would've stayed the same, but you stopped, and that choice shaped you."
Harry nodded, his throat tight, and said, "I watched the Dursleys for years, saw how they hurt people, and my biggest fear was turning into them, becoming someone who'd hurt others just because I could." He looked at his younger self, who climbed off Vernon, his hands shaking, and ran out the door.
Merlin followed, gestured for Harry to come, and walked outside, where younger Harry knelt on the lawn, crying, panting, staring at his bloodied hands, his sobs loud in the quiet street.
Merlin turned from the kneeling younger Harry, who sobbed on the lawn, and faced older Harry, stepping closer, his robes brushing the grass as he gestured toward the Dursleys' house. "It's time we moved on, Harry," he said, his voice low but firm, and he raised his other hand, causing a door to shimmer into existence on the grass, its edges glowing faintly, which he walked toward, glancing over his shoulder to see if Harry would follow, his eyes searching Harry's face.
Harry stood still, his chest heavy from watching his younger self, and nodded, his hands clenching as he took a step, his boots sinking into the soft ground, then pushed the door open, stepping through into a dark, wooded area, where moonlight filtered through gnarled trees, casting shadows on the forest floor. He looked around, recognized the Forbidden Forest, and saw a group of students weaving through the undergrowth, their wands lit, their voices carrying, mixed with laughter and loud talking. He spotted his younger self, walking alongside Tonks, Cedric, Susan, and Hannah, who stayed close, nudging each other as they tripped over roots, and he smiled, his lips curving as he turned to Merlin, who stood beside him, watching the group with a calm gaze.
"This takes me back," Harry said, his voice soft, and he stepped closer, his eyes following his younger self, who waved his wand too wildly, nearly hitting Cedric, who ducked, laughing. "It was the first day at Hogwarts, start of the school year, when we thought sneaking into the Forbidden Forest would be a right laugh, but I got too loud, shouting about centaurs or something daft, and a peregrin horde swooped in, grabbed Susan and Hannah, so we had to chase after them." He smiled wider, his eyes stinging with nostalgia, and looked at Merlin, his voice warming. "It was mad, you know, me and Cedric had to jump from peregrin to peregrin before getting them free, it was one of the best nights I ever had."
Merlin nodded, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at the students, his voice even but carrying a hint of warmth. "This was when you first got what having friends is like, wasn't it? A big deal for anyone, but for you, coming a bit late after the life you had."
Harry watched the group, his gaze settling on Hannah, who stepped carefully over a log, jumping when a beetle scuttled near her foot, muttering, "Ugh, gross," which made Susan giggle, and he smiled, his throat tightening, his eyes watering as he stood rooted, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Suppose you're right," he said, his voice cracking, and he kept watching Hannah, a memory that felt both warm and painful.
Merlin stepped forward, gestured to a door that appeared among the trees, and said, "We've got more to see, Harry." He walked through, his robes swishing, and Harry followed, his boots crunching on fallen leaves, emerging outside the Shrieking Shack, where a younger Harry and Hannah walked down the dirt path.
Harry looked at them, his chest aching like he'd just been punched in the stomach, and walked closer, kneeling beside Hannah, who smiled at his younger self, her face soft in the fading light. He reached out, tried to brush her arm, but his hand passed through, like reaching into fog, and he pulled back, his fingers trembling, his eyes locked on her smile, which he knew he'd never see again outside these memories.
"Sorry, Harry, she's just a memory," Merlin said, his voice quiet, and he stood behind Harry, watching the scene, his face showing a flicker of sadness.
Harry stayed kneeling, his voice barely audible, and said, "Yeah, I know, I just... needed to try." He stopped, his throat too tight to go on, and looked down, watching his younger self and Hannah talk, their words pulling him back to that Hogsmeade date, when they'd shared butterbeer, wandered shops, bought prank gear at Zonko's, and ended up here, where Hannah had stopped him, made him spill his guts for the first time.
"I never talked to anyone like I did with her that day," Harry said, his voice low, and he stood, his hands clenching, his eyes still on Hannah, who laughed with his younger self. "She got me to say stuff about the Dursleys, the cupboard, all the crap I'd buried... I'd never let anyone in like that before, not ever."
Merlin stepped closer, his voice steady, and said, "Not surprising, not with the kind of people you grew up around, shutting you out, making you feel like you couldn't trust a soul."
Harry nodded, his jaw tight, and said, "Yeah... I still think about that date, you know, even if it wasn't some big romance, it was the first time I felt like someone actually cared who I was, and that meant everything."
He looked at Hannah, who asked his younger self, "So, you gonna stop being such a prat now?" and his younger self smirked, saying, "Not a chance, Hannah," which made her giggle, her laughter bouncing off the trees.
Merlin watched them, his voice calm, and said, "It was when you first felt someone accept you, Harry."
Harry looked at Hannah again, watched her walk beside his younger self, their steps in sync as they headed toward Hogwarts, and he moved to follow, his boots shifting, but Merlin grabbed his shoulder, his grip strong, stopping him cold. "You can't go with them, Harry," Merlin said, his voice firm, and he turned Harry to face him, his eyes steady. "That time's done for you, it's not where you belong anymore."
Harry looked back at Hannah, his chest squeezing, and nodded, his voice rough. "Alright, let's get on with it," he said, and he turned, following Merlin to another door that shimmered into existence, which they stepped through, emerging in the Hogwarts courtyard, where moonlight lit the cracked stone, and Harry's stomach lurched, his breath catching as he recognized the night of Halloween, the exact spot where Hannah had been killed.
He looked around, saw his younger self, blood dripping from cuts, facing Grindelwald, whose acolytes stood in a circle, wands raised, their faces hard, and Hagrid, Hermione, and Hannah nearby, her wand trembling as she pointed it at Grindelwald, her knees shaking but her jaw set. Harry spun to Merlin, his voice sharp, and shouted, "What the hell are we doing here, Merlin? I can't do this, I don't want to see it again, get us out, now!" He stepped forward, his fists clenched so hard his nails drew blood, his eyes blazing, his chest heaving as he glared at Merlin, who stood still, watching the scene, his face blank, giving nothing away.
Merlin said nothing, his hands clasped, and kept his eyes on the courtyard, where Grindelwald offered his hand, his voice smooth, and Harry's younger self faked reaching for it, then shouted, "Nah!" casting Bombarda, the explosion ripping through the stone, sending everyone sprawling, dust and debris flying, screams cutting the air.
Harry ran toward Hannah, his boots slamming the ground, and shouted, "NO DON'T!" as the dark wizard raised his wand, his face twisted with scorn, but Harry's body passed through, unable to touch her, and he stumbled, spinning to see the piercing spell tear through Hannah's chest, blood gushing from a gaping hole, her body crumpling, her eyes finding his younger self's, her smile weak before her head fell, lifeless. Harry dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face, and yelled, "Why are you making me watch this, Merlin? Why the hell would you do this to me?" His voice broke, his hands clawing at the stone, his anger and grief crashing together as he glared at Merlin, who stood unmoved, his gaze fixed on the scene.
Merlin stepped forward, tapped his staff once, and the courtyard dissolved, leaving them in a dark void, his voice calm but heavy. "This was your most important memory, Harry," he said, and he looked at Harry.
Harry staggered to his feet, his voice raw, and shouted, "How? How is seeing her die again important, Merlin? Tell me!" His hands shook, his face soaked with tears, and he stepped toward Merlin, his chest heaving, his anger choking his words.
Merlin raised a hand, waved it, and images flickered into existence. First fo Harry in the pit with Miguel, of the times they'd have to kill people for food or of the other dozens of people he'd killed there, Templar's included. Then it showed Harry of his actions in the war, the different battles he'd taken place in, the hundreds and thousands he'd killed. "Because this moment started it all, Harry," Merlin said, his voice low, and he gestured at the scenes, his face grim, his eyes never leaving Harry's.
Harry stared at the images, his breath hitching, and shouted, "I had to do that, Merlin, it was a bloody war! They chose Grindelwald, fought for him, killed for him, and I had to stop them, had to end it!" His voice cracked, and he pointed at the scenes, his hands trembling, his eyes wide, his defiance masking the doubt creeping in.
Merlin stepped closer, his voice steady, and said, "Harry, do you really think Grindelwald's cause was so wrong that it justifies wiping out him and every single person who follows him, or are you just lashing out, taking your pain and rage on anyone tied to him?"
Harry opened his mouth, tried to snap back, but stopped, his words catching in his throat, and he stood frozen, his fists clenching, his chest tight as he realized he couldn't answer, his reasons crumbling under Merlin's gaze, his anger feeling empty, like a fire burning out.
Merlin walked closer, his voice firm, and said, "The anger you've kept buried has driven you to kill thousands, Harry, to learn spells meant only to torture and destroy, to push the Philosopher's Stone so far it nearly tore your body apart, to challenge Grindelwald when you weren't ready." He dropped his staff, placed both hands on Harry's shoulders, and looked him in the eyes, his voice softening. "Like that night you stood over Vernon, blood on your fists, you're at a crossroad, Harry, one that'll decide the man you'll be."
Harry yanked away, his voice breaking, and shouted, "How am I supposed to let Hannah's killer walk free, Merlin? She was thirteen, just a kid, and he murdered her!" His hands shook, his eyes streaming, and he stepped back, his grief and rage spilling over, his voice hoarse from yelling, his body trembling with the weight of it all.
Merlin looked at him, his voice quiet, and said, "So are you..."
Merlin took a step closer, his voice steady, and said, "I'm telling you this as someone who's been where you are, Harry, who's felt that same need for revenge... when you choose vengeance, everyone loses, but most of all you."
Harry stood silent, his breath ragged, and stared at the ground, his hands clenching, then looked up, his voice low. "Merlin, why am I even here? I saw Grindelwald cast the Killing Curse, so how am I alive if I'm not dead?"
Merlin sighed, nodded, and walked forward, gesturing for Harry to follow, his voice calm. "Your soul's a strange one, Harry, different from most," he said, and he raised his hand, opening a door that led to a black void, where two bright stars glowed, so close they were merging though one was smaller than the other, which they walked toward.
Harry stopped, looked at the stars, and said, "What's this place supposed to be?"
Merlin pointed at the stars, his voice even, and said, "Those are your souls, Harry, right there."
Harry frowned, took a step closer, and said, "Souls? What do you mean, more than one?"
Merlin turned to him, his voice steady, and said, "One of those souls isn't yours, Harry, and truth be told, I don't know who it belongs to, but it's fully grown, matured, and it latched onto your soul when you were a baby, binding itself to you." He paused, glanced at the stars, and Harry felt a knot in his stomach, sensing Merlin was holding something back, though he couldn't call it a lie outright.
Merlin continued, his voice calm, and said, "Your soul was so young that the foreign soul overwhelmed it, held back its growth, but as you've grown, in body and magic, your soul's been pulling from the other, taking it in, and soon, it'll probably swallow it completely."
Harry stepped back, his voice uncertain, and said, "Is that going to mess me up?"
Merlin shook his head, his voice firm, and said, "No, Harry, you'll still be you, same as always, but your magic's likely to get stronger, maybe a lot stronger."
Harry nodded, his voice sharper, and said, "Alright, but what's this got to do with me surviving Grindelwald's curse? How's it connected?"
Merlin chuckled, stepped closer, and said, "Right before that curse hit, Harry, your soul hit a point where it unlocked the magical technique that's yours, tied to your soul."
Harry frowned, his voice rising, and said, "Tied to my soul? I thought the Twelve Stars Summoning Technique was my thing, passed down from my mum, that's what I was told."
Merlin sighed, looked down, and said, "Harry, there's stuff I can't tell you, not because I don't want to, but because I'm not allowed, and this is one of those things, but I swear you'll get answers when the time's right, so don't push me on it, alright?" His voice was pleading, and he looked at Harry, his eyes earnest.
Harry stood still, his chest tight, but nodded, his voice low. "Fine, I trust you," he said, knowing Merlin had never steered him wrong, though his curiosity gnawed at him, urging him to dig deeper.
Merlin stepped forward, his voice steady, and said, "Just before the Killing Curse landed, you tapped into the Potter bloodline magic, Limitless, a technique that makes the concept of infinity a reality, and that's what kept you alive, Harry."
Harry nodded, his voice even, and said, "Limitless, yeah, I read about it in the Potter grimoire, how it bends space or something, but if it worked, why did I black out?"
Merlin looked at him, his voice calm, and said, "You were half-dead already, Harry, and triggering Limitless in that state drained you completely, so you collapsed, and you'd have woken up by now, but I held you here to talk, to show you these memories."
Harry took a step back, his voice urgent, and said, "Merlin, I've got to wake up, I need to know if Fleur, Yen, and the others are safe, if Grindelwald kept his word or if he's hurt them!" His hands clenched, his eyes wide, his worry for his friends drowning out everything else, his heart pounding.
Merlin looked at him, his face heavy with sorrow, and said, "I hope you choose the right path, Harry, for yourself and the people you love." He stepped forward, tapped his staff, and the void collapsed, the stars vanishing, the darkness swallowing them whole.
Harry felt his body jolt, his limbs trapped, his chest crushed, and woke up, dirt filling his mouth, pressing against his eyes, his arms pinned by soil. He shouted, his voice muffled, and thrashed, his hands clawing at the earth, which gave way as he dug upward, his legs kicking, his lungs screaming for air. He broke through, his head bursting into the Delacour's garden, and he gasped, gulping a deep breath, mud clinging to his skin, his clothes, his eyes blinking against the starry night, his body shaking as he lay half-buried.
Harry roared as he pushed himself out of the dirt and crawled along the ground. He looked ahead of himself only to see the Delacour chateau completely burnt from the fire. The only thing on his mind was.
'How long have I been asleep...'
(AN: Harry has unlocked limitless and will start progressing with it soon but first he has a war to end and a final confrontation. Harry despite having limitless won't be able to use it perfectly, he has only just unlocked it meaning his body won't be used to the strain limitless puts on it. Usually the six eyes would deal with that but my reasoning is limitless and six eyes grow together and since limitless wasn't in the equation his six eyes weren't pushed to grow as much as they could've have. Pretty basic reasoning but it's just the way it is for now. I have a pretty strict power progression path for Harry so I'm gonna pull stuff out my arse every now and then. He'll still be OP don't worry but like Gojo he'll have awakenings and lessons he learns. Anyway o hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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