Harry Potter: The Artisan's Path Chapter 88

Hi all, 

Here’s the next chapter. The battle concludes, followed by the aftermath. 

Chapter 88

Fawke’s battle cry rang out across the grounds, momentarily drowning out the sounds of combat. Clinging to his tail feathers were Minerva, Sirius, and Remus, their faces set with grim determination as they took in the chaotic scene below.

Harry seized the moment of distraction, his hand moving to the strap on his leg. He pulled out his bo-staff and extended it to its full length. Without hesitation, he channelled his magic through the staff, unleashing a powerful kinetic blast at the masked individual holding him at wand point.

The masked figure, caught off guard by Fawkes' sudden appearance, barely managed to cast a shield in time. The hastily conjured barrier shimmered into existence, absorbing the worst of Harry's attack. However, the sheer force of the blast still sent the attacker tumbling backwards, his feet leaving deep furrows in the damp grass as he struggled to maintain his balance.

Fawkes, seeing an opportunity, underwent a startling transformation. His form swelled, feathers blazing brighter as he grew to nearly twice his original size. With a piercing shriek, the phoenix unleashed a torrent of flames at the masked man. 

For a moment, it seemed as though the masked individual would be engulfed. But at the last second, he reached into his robes and threw something into the air—a small, dark object that Harry couldn't quite make out. As it made contact with Fawkes' flames, the object seemed to expand, creating a vortex that sucked in the phoenix fire, extinguishing it in an instant.

Undeterred by this setback, Harry activated his Sanguine Furor skill. With renewed vigour, he launched into a series of attacks with his bo-staff, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. 

The masked individual found himself on the defensive, barely able to keep up with Harry's enhanced speed and precision. Harry's staff was a blur, striking high and low, each hit reverberating with magical energy. The man's wand movements became increasingly frantic as he struggled to cast shields and deflection charms fast enough to avoid being struck.

Meanwhile, Minerva had landed and was about to rush to her husband's aid when she caught sight of Harry engaging the masked wizard. Her eyes widened in alarm, a hiss escaping her lips as she saw her grandson fighting alone. Without hesitation, she raised her wand.

Minerva began transforming the pile of building materials. In mere seconds, several fully-formed lions stood before her, their stone bodies imbued with a semblance of life. They roared and began racing across the grounds towards Harry and his opponent.

Sirius and Remus, upon landing, immediately sprinted towards Charlus. The elder Potter was still casting furiously, his wand a blur of motion as he fought off multiple attackers. Several bodies lay scattered around him, a testament to his skill and power. However, his left arm hung limply at his side, clearly injured.

As Sirius and Remus approached, Charlus' remaining attackers seemed to lose their nerve. They turned tail and attempted to flee. But Charlus, despite his injury, wasn't about to let them escape so easily. He cast an anti-apparition jinx, creating a perimeter to trap the fleeing assailants.

Harry had almost overcome his opponent. The man's movements were becoming sluggish, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to match Harry's enhanced speed and relentless assault. 

When the transfigured lions charged across the lawn, the masked man's composure crumbled. Panic evident in his body language, he attempted to apparate away. But Harry, having anticipated this move, was ready.

Harry released a flurry of Scythe spell cards. The magical projectiles sliced through the air just as the crack of apparition sounded. Harry, consumed by fury at the attack on his home and family, hadn't aimed to incapacitate the man. One of the cards found its mark, cleaving through the man's arm just above the elbow.

A horrific scream of pain cut off abruptly as the masked individual vanished, leaving behind a severed limb that fell to the ground. Harry felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at the sight.

Minerva reached Harry moments later, pulling him into a fierce embrace. Her usual composure was shaken, her hands trembling slightly as she checked him for injuries. When she saw the torn shirt and blood seeping from his shoulder, her breath caught in her throat.

"Let me see that," she said. She gently pulled the garment apart, causing Harry to inhale sharply through clenched teeth.

The injury was worse than she'd initially feared. A deep gash ran across his shoulder, the edges ragged and angry red. Blood oozed steadily from the wound, staining what remained of his shirt a dark crimson.

"Oh, Harry," Minerva murmured.

Before she could cast some healing spells, Fawkes swooped down from above. The phoenix transformed mid-flight, shrinking back to his usual size as he approached. Fawkes alighted on Harry's uninjured shoulder.

The bird's intelligent eyes seemed to assess the wound for a moment before he leaned in close. Pearlescent tears began to fall from Fawkes' eyes, landing directly on the gash.

Harry felt a warmth spreading through his shoulder, starting at the point of injury and radiating outward. He watched in fascination as the edges of the wound began to knit themselves back together, new skin and muscle forming before his eyes.

Within moments, the gash had completely healed, erasing any evidence of the wound. Harry rolled his shoulder experimentally, marvelling at the absence of pain.

"Thank you, Fawkes," he said, stroking the phoenix's feathers in gratitude. “Could you have left me a scar, though? If my girlfriends saw it, I could have gained plenty of sympathy—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Minerva interrupted. 

“Hugs,” Harry finished with a grin.

Minerva shook her head in exasperation. “How are you feeling?”

"Much better," Harry replied. "Though I think I'll need a new shirt."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Minerva couldn't help but let out a short, relieved laugh. She pulled Harry into another hug, mindful of Fawkes still perched on his shoulder.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," she whispered fiercely, her Scottish brogue thickening with emotion.

As they broke apart, both turned to survey the rest of the battlefield, where Charlus, Sirius, and Remus were in the process of subduing the remaining attackers. 

“Granddad looks in a right state,” Harry observed. Charlus' arm lay useless at his side, and he walked with a noticeable limp.

Minerva nodded. "Let's go check up on him."

As they approached, Harry could see his grandfather's usually impeccable robes were torn and singed, and he was leaning heavily on Sirius for support.

Sirius and Remus greeted them with relieved smiles, though the tension in their postures betrayed their wariness. The unconscious bodies of their attackers lay bound at their feet.

"Thanks for the assist," Harry said.

Sirius waved it off with his free hand. "No worries, pup. I needed a bit of excitement in my domesticated life. Besides," he added with a rueful chuckle, "Lauren's been a bit cranky with the pregnancy hormones. After my last prank, she transfigured a doghouse outside and made me sleep in it."

"I'm sure you deserved it," Harry smirked.

Charlus turned his attention from the unconscious individuals on the ground, his grey eyes scanning Harry intently. "Are you okay, Harry?" 

"Shouldn't I be asking that?" Harry retorted, taking in his grandfather's pallor and the way he favoured his right side. "You look ready to keel over."

Despite his flippant tone, Harry was genuinely worried. He sent a mental request to Fawkes, who was still perched on his shoulder. The phoenix trilled softly in acknowledgement before gliding over to Charlus. Fawkes alighted gently on the elder Potter's uninjured arm and began to cry, pearlescent tears falling onto the visible wounds.

As Fawkes worked his magic, Harry's expression grew serious. "Grandfather, the man I fought was from Obsidian." 

"I figured as much," Charlus replied, wincing as Fawkes' tears seeped into a particularly nasty wound on his arm. "Did he have a mask on?"

"Yes. With the number eight on it." He paused, his expression darkening further. "There's more. He mentioned that they got the location of the Potter Manor from Dumbledore."

Minerva gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. The others looked grim at the revelation, their eyes darting around as if expecting the old headmaster to materialise from the shadows at any moment.

"That bastard is cooperating with Obsidian?" Charlus hissed. "It seems Dumbledore has no remaining scruples left."

"We should hunt the bastard down," Sirius growled. "He's been getting away with mischief for far too long."

"Where would we even begin to look for him?" Remus asked, his tone weary. "Albus has always been adept at disappearing when he wants to."

Harry wasn't listening to the exchange. He was studying his grandfather intently, noticing how Charlus seemed to sag even as Fawkes finished healing the visible injuries. 

"What's the matter, grandfather?" Harry asked, studying his grandfather intently, noticing how Charlus seemed to sag even as Fawkes finished healing the visible injuries. “There's something else, isn't there?"

Charlus met his grandson's gaze, his expression grave. "Obsidian knows that I'm the one who killed Grindelwald," he said quietly. “I’m sure Dumbledore told them.”

Harry’s eyes widened. 

"It would explain tonight's attack," Charlus continued. "They want revenge."

"It's also why they changed targets from me to you when they attacked at Gringotts," Harry realised, the pieces falling into place with sickening clarity.

Charlus nodded.

"We need to leave," Minerva said. "They may come back with reinforcements."

"The wardstone!" Harry exclaimed. "I need to finish installing it first. At least the boundary wards will be activated, making it harder for them to gain access."

Without waiting for a response, Harry dashed towards the wardstone, with the adults following behind him.

Harry knelt beside the massive stone. His hands moved swiftly, almost of their own accord, as he completed the complex installation process.

Charlus reached into his robes and pulled out an ornate, leather-bound book. Its cover was embossed with the Potter family crest. He handed it to Harry with a solemn expression.

"This is the Potter Ledger," Charlus explained. "It's the control mechanism for the wards, and also where we manage the guest list for the property."

Harry took the ledger, feeling its warmth and the subtle vibration of magic beneath his fingers. 

"Anyone not on the list will be violently ejected when trying to cross the property boundaries," Charlus continued. "With the modifications to the wardstone, I'm certain the list has been reset to its default state."

Charlus placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I permit you, as Heir to House Potter, to add everyone here to the list. It's a significant responsibility, Harry. The safety of our home and family rests in your hands."

Harry nodded and added everyone’s names to the list. Technically, the Potters didn’t have to be added, but there was no disadvantage to doing so. As he wrote the last letter of his name, the ledger glowed briefly, acknowledging the changes. 

At that moment, the wardstone began to sink into the ground, as if being pulled by an unseen force. As it descended, a surge of magic pulsed through the air, so powerful that Harry could almost see it—a ripple of energy expanding outward from where the stone had been.

Hundreds of glowing lines spread out from the wardstone's location, burrowing into the ground like luminescent roots. They crisscrossed the entire property in a complex web of protective magic, forming intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with life.

The air shimmered as the wards settled into place, creating a dome of invisible protection that encompassed the entire Potter estate. For a brief moment, Harry could see the full extent of the ward network—a breathtaking lattice of magical energy that stretched as far as the eye could see. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the visible manifestation of the wards faded.

Harry grinned. "It's done. Let's see if they can waltz into our property with impunity now."

"Good work, Harry," Charlus said. “Let’s return to Hogwarts.”

“What about those intruders?” Remus asked.

"I'll contact the order and have them take care of it,” Charlus said. “I want to interrogate them to see if they can give us any useful information.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Harry returned to Hogwarts, the adrenaline from the night's events still coursing through his veins. He wanted to tell his girlfriends about the attack. However, as he turned to leave, Minerva's stern voice cut through his thoughts.

"Not so fast, Harry," she said. "You need to go to the infirmary for a checkup. No arguments."

Harry's face fell. Charlus, standing nearby, couldn't suppress a chuckle at his grandson's reaction.

Minerva's sharp eyes turned to her husband, her expression brooking no argument. "That goes for you too, Charlus. Both of you, to the infirmary. Now."

Grumbling under their breaths, the two Potter men headed for the hospital wing. 

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office as they entered. "Merlin's beard," she muttered, taking in their dishevelled appearance. "What have you two been up to now?"

Without waiting for an answer, she set to work, her wand moving in intricate patterns as she cast a series of diagnostic spells. 

"Well, you both seem to be fine," she concluded. "But I want you to stay for a few hours, just to be certain. Your magic has been seriously drained, Charlus. And, Harry, it is best to keep you around because if I let you go, you will probably end up back here tonight."

Harry thought Madam Pomfrey was being overdramatic, but he didn’t argue.

Because he had nothing better to do, Harry discretely took out the book 'Rifts: Unravelling the Mystery' from his inventory. It was his reward for finishing the wardstone.

Harry quickly became engrossed in the book. The author delved deeper into the nature of rifts, describing them as the world's equivalent of a wizard's magical conduit. 

The Fae realm acted as a vast reservoir of pure, primordial magic. The rifts served as conduits, allowing this raw magical energy to flow into the physical world. This influx of magic transformed certain locations into magically dense areas, mirroring aspects of the Fae realm itself.

These magically saturated zones had profound effects on their surroundings. Flora in these areas often exhibited extraordinary properties, growing larger, more vibrant, or developing magical attributes. Fauna, too, was affected, sometimes resulting in the emergence of magical creatures or bestowing unusual abilities upon ordinary animals.

Perhaps most crucially for wizardkind, these rifts supplied the necessary magical energy to power complex enchantments and wards. Wizarding structures, from Hogwarts to the Ministry of Magic, relied on this ambient magical energy to maintain their extensive protective and concealment charms.

The book made a clear distinction between natural and artificial rifts. Naturally occurring rifts were typically more robust and stable. They could channel larger amounts of magic and were less prone to fluctuations. However, their locations were unpredictable and often inconvenient for human settlements.

The author noted that the disappearance of natural rifts was particularly alarming. Unlike artificial rifts, which could be re-established, the loss of a natural rift was often permanent, resulting in a significant and irreversible decrease in an area's magical potency.

When Harry arrived at a particular entry, he paused. It was a snippet of two entries from a man's journal. What caught his attention was the last man's name: Peverell. There was no date, but the writing was in Old English, suggesting it might date back to the Middle Ages. The author mentioned stumbling upon this by chance but didn’t share any more details.

 “Lo, after many a moon of toil and tribulation, we have at last uncovered a path through the rift. The Fae Realm doth beckon, no longer a mere fancy of scholars, but a tangible realm within our reach. 'Tis the very wellspring of magic, the fount from whence all our power flows.

My fellow seekers and I do make ready for this great undertaking with utmost care. We have gathered relics most rare, brewed potions of arcane origin, and woven protective charms as we pray shall shield us in that strange land. Yet, for all our preparations, we remain as babes in the wood, unknowing of what truly awaits beyond the veil.

As I set quill to parchment on the eve of our venture, my heart doth swell with both excitement and dread. Should we prevail, we may unlock secrets unheard of since the days of Merlin himself. Should we fail... I pray this journal shall find its way back to warn others of the folly of our ambition.

On the morrow, we step into the unknown. May the old gods and new smile upon our endeavour.”

Harry’s heart raced as he considered the implications of this account. Had the author and their associates successfully entered the Fae Realm? How did they achieve it? He focused on the second entry, hoping it would provide answers.

"Woe betide us! This voyage was a grievous error, a folly beyond measure. We, in our arrogance, believed the path through the rift would be unguarded. How wrong we were.

Something awaited us in that twilight realm betwixt worlds. A presence so terrifying, so utterly alien, that it defies mortal comprehension. My mind reels, unable to grasp its true form, lest I be driven to madness.

My associates... oh, my poor, brave companions. Their screams still echo in my ears. It fell upon them with a fury I cannot describe. I alone escaped, by what miracle I know not.

Now I wander, lost in this accursed realm. I fear it shall be my final resting place.

I can feel its foul presence, ever searching, ever hunting. It knows I yet live, and it will not rest until I am found. 

Hark! I hear it now, drawing ever nearer. The Great Enemy approaches…"

Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he read the last sentence. The Great Enemy. He hadn't heard that name since Salazar told him the prophecy. At the time, he could easily brush it off because he had no idea where to begin searching for it or even what it was. But now it reared its ugly head again, offering a clue to its origins.

Was the Source showing this to him deliberately? Harry had to assume so. But what was he supposed to do with this information? Was there something else hidden within the book that would provide further context?

And then there was the Peverell name, surfacing once more. He had interacted with a man from the Fae realm bearing the same surname. It couldn't be a mere coincidence. Had the Peverell in this journal somehow escaped and made it to the Fae Realm? Did he leave behind descendants?

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Susan burst into the infirmary; her face flushed. Harry shoved the book under his pillow. This wasn't something he was ready to share with anyone just yet.

Susan's eyes darted around the room before landing on him. Her shoulders sagged with visible relief. "Harry, you're okay!"

"How did you know I was here?"

Susan waved a familiar piece of parchment. "The Marauder's Map."

"Oh, right. Well, I'm fine. Madam Pomfrey is just being overcautious."

Susan's gaze shifted to Charlus, who was perched on a nearby bed. Her brow furrowed with concern. "Did something happen?"

Harry's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Well, we had a bit of excitement. Nothing we couldn't handle, though."

Susan walked over and sat on his bed. “Tell me all about it.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

13th February

Harry's friends were visibly shaken when he recounted the attack the following morning. Their expressions ranged from horror to disbelief as he described the events at the Potter property. The revelation that Harry had managed to sever one of the intruders' arms elicited a mix of reactions, from Hermione's shock to Daphne's grim satisfaction. Neville speculated that while bone regrowth was possible, regrowing an entire limb might prove far more challenging for wizards.

As his friends processed the information, Harry felt a twinge of guilt. He'd altered the story slightly when telling it to Susan the previous night, claiming all the intruders had escaped. The truth—that they were likely undergoing intense questioning by the Order—was information he couldn't risk reaching Susan's aunt in the DMLE.

Throughout the day's classes, Harry found himself distracted, his mind constantly returning to the attack and its implications. Questions about the Order's findings from their prisoners, the possibility of future attacks, and Dumbledore's involvement plagued his thoughts.

When evening arrived and Charlus entered the castle, Harry could no longer contain his curiosity. Excusing himself from his friends, he rushed to his grandmother's quarters, eager for news. He found Charlus and Minerva deep in conversation, and when he burst into the room, they looked up, not surprised to see him.

"Any new information?" Harry asked.

Charlus sighed, running a hand through his greying hair. "We've uncovered a wealth of information about Obsidian's illegal operations, though little about their inner circle. The Order is now more determined than ever to dismantle their entire network."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What about the Veela slave trade?"

The subject was particularly important to Harry, not only because of his relationship with Gabrielle but also due to his work on the Allure Suppressants. The very existence of such a trade disgusted him to his core.

Charlus nodded grimly. "We've located their main hub in Austria. It's where they... train and auction the Veela." His disgust was evident in his tone. "Seraphine is chomping at the bit to storm the place, but we can't act rashly. This trade is Obsidian's primary income source, and the facility is heavily fortified. There's also the risk of local government involvement."

"So what's the plan?" Harry pressed.

"We're gathering reinforcements, primarily from the Veela Council. They're eager to liberate their enslaved kin."

"It's about time the Order took decisive action. Aside from Seraphine eliminating that inner circle member, there hasn't been much progress."

"That's changing," Charlus said firmly. "The attack on our manor has made it clear we need to be more aggressive in shutting Obsidian down."

"How can I help?" Harry leaned forward, eager to contribute.

Minerva interjected sharply, "You can focus on your studies, Harry. That's your primary concern."

Harry grimaced. 

"Actually, I would like to talk to your friend, Blaise,” Charlus said. “We're considering an alliance with Madam Zabini. Our goals align after all."

A mischievous glint appeared in Harry's eyes. "Just be careful not to fall into her web, Grandfather. It would be a rather unfortunate end for you."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

16th February

Harry and his grandfather stood in a carefully selected room within the castle. It was a circular chamber, tucked away in one of the lesser-used towers. A single tall window dominated one wall, its leaded glass panes refracting the moonlight into a kaleidoscope of silver on the worn flagstones.

Harry had spent hours calculating the exact position where the moonbeam would fall, marking it meticulously with chalk. Now, as the moon rose higher in the night sky, its light slowly crept across the floor towards the designated spot.

Harry began inscribing the ritual circle. He made sure to check his work frequently. Everything had to be perfect. The slightest mistake could have catastrophic consequences.

"Are you certain about this, Harry?" Charlus asked,

Harry paused, wiping sweat from his brow. "As certain as I can be, Grandfather. I've triple-checked everything. The circle is sound."

Charlus nodded and started to unbutton his shirt.

With the circle complete, Harry turned his attention to his grandfather's torso. He used a brush and runic ink to paint the runes on Charlus' skin.

"If this kills me," Charlus grumbled as Harry worked, "I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your life."

Harry couldn't help but grin. "Don't you have any faith in me? Besides, having you haunt me sounds like an absolute nightmare. I'd have to exorcise you, and then where would we be?"

Charlus harrumphed. "How effective is this ritual, really?”

"It depends on the person," Harry replied, his brow furrowed in concentration as he completed a particularly complex rune. "Your age may be a factor, so you might not see such a huge increase in your reserves. But even a small boost could make a significant difference."

"Well, let's just get on with it before I lose my nerve."

With the runes complete, Charlus gingerly lowered himself to sit cross-legged in the centre of the ritual circle. Harry handed him a small vial filled with a swirling, opalescent liquid.

Charlus uncorked the vial and sniffed it cautiously. "Smells like Hippogriff dung." 

As the last of the moonlight finally illuminated the circle, Harry touched his wand to the circle to activate it. The chalk lines of the circle began to glow, and he stepped back out of range.

Suddenly, Charlus' body went rigid. A cry of agony tore from his throat as the ritual took hold.

"Bloody hell!" Charlus roared. "You didn't mention it would be so painful!"

"Did I forget to mention that it's painful?" Harry asked. "Sorry about that. Bit of an oversight on my part."

"Fucking brat," Charlus ground out through clenched teeth. "Wait till I get my hands on you."

For the next ten minutes, Harry watched anxiously as his grandfather writhed in pain. Beads of sweat formed on Charlus' brow, and his face was contorted in a grimace. The runes on his skin glowed brightly, pulsing in time with the magic swirling around him.

Harry found himself growing increasingly apprehensive about his own turn. The book had mentioned discomfort, but this looked far beyond mere discomfort. Still, he steeled himself. If his grandfather could endure it, so could he.

Finally, the glow of the circle began to fade. Charlus collapsed onto his back with a groan, his chest heaving as he gulped in the air.

"Grandfather?" Harry asked tentatively. "How do you feel?"

"Fucking fantastic," Charlus muttered.

"I mean, has your magic increased? Can you feel any difference?"

Charlus closed his eyes. "Well, I'll be damned. I believe it worked. Although I can’t be sure until I test my limits with my spellcasting.”

"Great. Now, hurry up and get out of the circle. It's my turn."

"You're doing this now? After watching what I just went through?"

"The anticipation is only going to get worse if I put it off," Harry replied.

Harry removed his shirt, revealing that he had already inscribed the runes onto his torso. At Charlus' questioning look, he explained, "The girls helped. Under my guidance, of course."

When the ritual circle activated, the pain hit him like a physical blow, far worse than he had imagined. It felt as if every cell in his body was being torn apart and reassembled. 

Despite the agony, Harry clenched his jaw, determined not to cry out. He had to one-up his grandfather, after all. But as the minutes ticked by, it took every ounce of his willpower to remain silent.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pain began to recede. Harry lay on the cold stone floor, his body trembling with exhaustion. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings again. 

"Harry?" Charlus' voice broke through his daze. "Are you still among the living?”

Harry sat up, wincing. "That was intense."

Harry focused inward, checking the mechanism that displayed his magical reserves. To his surprise, they had jumped to 7500 units. An increase of about thirty percent.

"Well?" Charlus asked, a hint of concern in his voice. "Was it worth nearly turning yourself inside out?"

"It really worked. The increase... it's substantial."

Charlus nodded, relief evident in his expression. "Good. Now, let's get you up. We both could use a good night's sleep after this ordeal. 

"Grandfather," Harry said as they made their way out of the room, "thank you for doing this with me. I know it wasn't easy."

Charlus chuckled. "Well, I couldn't let my grandson show me up, could I?"

So, what do you think? There will be a time skip to the next chapter, followed by the final stretch of chapters as the school year comes to an end. 

Thanks for reading.