Harry sat in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets, the cavern's stillness broken only by the faint, rhythmic drip of water from unseen crevices. Dimly flickering torches, conjured by his own magic, cast dancing shadows across the colossal serpent's skeletal remains, a macabre yet strangely comforting reminder of how far he had come, a testament to his impossible victory.
His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, a deep, even rhythm that spoke of profound concentration. Cupped between his hands, just above his palms, floated a flickering blue flame, ethereal and alive, like a captured spirit trying desperately to escape its confines.
Slowly, with a level of concentration that made his entire body tense, every muscle coiling, he molded the flame. It writhed and twisted, folding into itself, shrinking and expanding, before beginning to take form.
Metal solidified out of pure magic, edges defined with impossible sharpness, color bleeding in as if painted by unseen hands, shifting from ethereal blue to gleaming silver. A beautiful, deadly dagger emerged, delicate yet deadly, hovering for a moment above his palms before gently lowering into his grasp, its hilt cool against his skin.
A faint golden glow shimmered around the blade as Harry focused on it, whispering the resonance of his will into the weapon, attempting to bind a concept to its form. He was trying again, trying to imbue the dagger with the Authority of Conceptual Reversal, the same Authority that had once belonged to the legendary Hound of Ulster, Cú Chulainn. This was the Authority of Resonance, the power to flip cause and effect.
He stood, muscles coiled, his stance perfect, and with a flick of his arm, threw the dagger. It shot through the air like a bullet, a silver blur, and struck a stone pillar ahead of him—one he hadn't been aiming for. It buried itself deep inside the ancient stone, vibrating with residual power.
"Again," he muttered to himself with a sigh, a flicker of frustration crossing his face.
He had aimed for the pillar to his right, specifically intending for the dagger to pierce it before it even left his hand. The dagger was supposed to follow the effect before the cause, bending reality to achieve a predetermined outcome. But it hadn't worked. Not this time. Not perfectly.
The mechanics were simple in theory, deceptively so, normally, cause precedes effect. A spear is thrust (cause), and then it pierces the heart (effect). But with the Authority of Conceptual Reversal, the order was flipped—the effect is declared first: the spear has pierced the heart, and then reality bends itself to fulfill that truth, warping space and time to ensure the cause aligns with the already declared effect. That was the terrifying power of the Gae Bolg, and the essence of the Authority he now wielded.
And his authority of resonance is supposed to allow him to imbue this into other things.
But replication was proving incredibly difficult. So far, the conceptual warping only worked with the original spear he received from the Authority's manifestation, the one Cú Chulainn had wielded. Trying to apply it to other weapons, like the dagger, had repeatedly failed, or only worked imperfectly, hitting the wrong target. Yet he knew it was possible. The spear wasn't the source, wasn't his real authority, it was just a channel, a conduit. He had to find another way to shape the world to his will, to truly master the concept itself, not just its manifestation.
"I'll get it eventually," he murmured, a stubborn resolve hardening his features. "It's just a matter of understanding the precise conceptual link."
Setting the Resonance Authority aside for now, recognizing the need for more theoretical understanding, he turned to something else, his first Authority, the one that had been with him from the beginning, the power he had stolen from Fenrir. The Authority of the Fenririan Rend, the ability to cut anything, to tear through reality itself. He wanted to try something new today, a more ambitious application of its power.
With a deep breath, he raised his hand, nails lengthening and glowing white-hot with divine energy, shimmering like nascent stars. His mind pictured the image clearly, a precise tear in the fabric of space. He slashed the air before him, and reality tore like fabric, as if the air itself was screaming.
Before him opened a glowing gash in space itself, long and jagged, pulsing with primal, raw energy, a shimmering void. He approached it slowly, cautiously, his hand outstretched, and reached his hand into the shimmering rift.
The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt. It was like running his fingers through liquid silk, cool and smooth, but also impossibly thin, a membrane between space.
He grinned, eyes alight with wonder, a thrill of pure power coursing through him. He was grabbing the edges of reality itself, bending it to his will. This was amazing.
Grabbing the edges of the tear, he pulled it apart gently, like parting heavy curtains, expanding the shimmering portal. Another ripple echoed through the air, a soft, almost inaudible thrum, and behind him, he heard a similar sound. Turning his head, he smiled widely, another tear, a twin portal, had opened, revealing his own back from earlier, a perfect, instantaneous connection.
He had done it. He had created a gateway by tearing through space and connecting two locations. Instantaneous transport between two familiar places. A true spatial warp, a personal shortcut through the world.
There were limitations, of course. He could only open portals to places he had been to before or had an anchor for, a strong link. Anything else was far too risky, a dive into unknown, potentially chaotic void.
But even with that limitation, it was an incredibly powerful ability, an advantage beyond anything conventional magic could offer, and he was proud of this achievement.
"Progress," he whispered, a triumphant note in his voice, stepping through the rift and stepping out just a distance behind the rift he had opened, the rift originally behind him. he stood there for a while before watching as it closed silently behind him, leaving no trace. Good. Didn't need to learn that it wouldn't close, that would be bad for him and everyone else.
But anyway, this was amazing, he was getting better with his authorities. He was getting better, stronger.
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By the time lunch arrived, Harry practically skipped into the Great Hall, his mood buoyant, a stark contrast to his usual reserved demeanor. His footsteps were light, his eyes brighter than they'd been in days, sparkling with the thrill of his breakthrough.
He was getting closer and closer to what he wanted, to that thing he had envisioned.
He slid into the seat next to Hermione, who had clearly been waiting for him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, her notebook already open.
"You're in a good mood," she said, already leaning in, her voice low, barely a whisper. "Training went well? You look… exhilarated."
"You could say that," he said with a small smile as he reached for some food, piling his plate high with sausages and eggs.
She looked at him, then quickly leaned in again, her voice hushed, urgent. "Okay, spill. What can you do? You said Campiones were powerful, but you never really said what you could do. What kind of powers do you have, specifically? How do they work?"
Harry laughed softly, almost fondly, at her insatiable curiosity. "You're really excited, huh? Your eyes are practically glowing."
Hermione nodded without shame, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I am! This is something entirely new, something beyond wizard magic, beyond anything I've ever read about. And my best friend is part of it. How could I not be curious? It's fascinating, terrifying, and utterly revolutionary!"
"Well," he said as he glanced around the hall, making sure no one was listening too closely. "Let's just say I can destroy mountains with barely any effort when I first became a campione."
Hermione's eyes widened, her jaw dropping slightly. "That's... terrifying. And amazing. What else can you do? Can you fly, can you teleport? Warp reality? What authority do you have?"
He smiled but didn't elaborate further, letting her imagination fill in the blanks. Then, as his eyes wandered, they fell on the Slytherin table. On her.
Daphne Greengrass.
She must have felt his gaze, because she turned her head slightly and offered him a soft, enigmatic smile, a subtle curve of her lips that held both amusement and a hint of something more, before returning to her conversation with Tracey.
"Sooooo... Greengrass, huh?" Hermione teased, dragging the word out, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, a knowing glint in her eye.
Harry blinked and turned toward her, caught off guard, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. "What? What are you talking about?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow, a picture of skepticism. "Don't 'what' me, Harry Potter. Ever since we came back to school, your eyes always seem to find her. You're practically staring holes in her back."
Harry glanced away with an embarrassed smirk, picking at a piece of bacon. "Maybe I'm just looking. Appreciating the view, as I told you before."
"Mmhmm," Hermione hummed in disbelief, her tone clearly unconvinced. "Just be careful, Harry. She's a Slytherin. That house is built on ambition and manipulation. She could be playing you, trying to get something from you."
Harry nodded slowly, considering her words. He knew the reputation, the ingrained prejudice. "Maybe. But... it feels worth the risk. I'd rather not miss out on something potentially interesting just because of what house someone's in, or what stereotypes are attached to them." He was tired of judging people by their labels.
Hermione softened at that, a small, understanding smile touching her lips. "Fair enough. Just keep your eyes open, Harry. And your wits about you."
The conversation drifted after that, Hermione asking more questions about the nature of Authorities and the implications of his power, and Harry answering carefully, revealing only what he deemed necessary.
But his mind was focused on other things first on daphne then a slight frown on his face, he looked towards the table, umbridge had disappeared yesterday and nobody had even asked where she was, guess that how life goes when you are hated but nearly everyone, but he was sure that a few days later people would start wondering where she was.
Anywhere she was gone and hopefully suffering, so out of mind. And next was Voldemort and Snape. Voldemort because the plan was already set and ready, and Snape because the man had started to up his annoyance and was up to something, he could see it in the man's eyes.
He could feel it. So it was time for the man to go.
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