Chapter 2. The Promise of Strength
Harry had heard countless tales from his mother about the bloody battles of the war. She often regaled them with her butchery, smirking as she described how she downed powerful enemies, revealing the manner in which she took them out, calling herself a demon feared by the other side.
As a child, he thought she was magnificent. He admired her, awed by her larger-than-life grandeur.
But growing older, with the secondary set of memories helping him mature a little faster, it dawned on him that she might be lying. Well, exaggerating, at least.
He wasn't blind to her shortcomings. Lily Potter was an incredibly vain woman. She was prideful and believed herself to be perfect.
Would it be really farfetched to assume she might've tweaked the reality to fit her narrative? Because the stories about her 'heroics' were difficult to accept. Killing dozens of people by herself? Turning the battlefield into a swamp to bury them alive? Laughing as they begged for mercy?
It all sounded very dramatic. And theatrical. Too theatrical. And that was why he often wondered how embellished her retellings were.
"Potter." Lucius Malfoy stumbled back, shielding his wife and son behind himself. "It's a displeasure to see you."
Although the man tried to sneer, his apprehension was clearly painted over his face. Not to mention his wife. The blonde was already dragging her confused son away, fleeing, as if expecting an explosion, as if she'd seen a demon.
Suddenly, Harry had an epiphany. Perhaps… his mother wasn't lying at all. Maybe she really was the primordial terror in the flesh.
"Oh my, is that how you treat an old friend?" Lily twisted her wrist and summoned her wand. It slapped into her palm, the sound ringing in his ear. A horrendous smile split her face, and her burning eyes revealed the depth of her rage.
The other families on the platform surged back, murmuring and hissing, until Lily and Lucius stood isolated in the centre of a wide circle.
Harry knew who Lucius Malfoy was. His mother cursed that name regularly when she got drunk. This was the man who had broken their family. His blood boiled at the sight of his father's murderer. Rose had her wand out too, though he doubted she could do much with it.
At the thought of Rose, his hot blood ran cold, his anger vanishing, replaced by dread.
Actually, this was a very bad idea. Neither he nor Rose should be anywhere close when these two attempted to kill each other. Unlike them, the twins were weak and untrained. The most they could do was be human shields for their mother. Narcissa Malfoy had the right of it, to run away and save her innocent son. Alas, they didn't have someone to tow them away. They were stuck in the middle of an imminent conflict. Their mother didn't seem to realise they might get hurt by their duel, consumed by her own need for vengeance.
Or so he thought.
Because the next moment, her gaze fell on them. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. A battle seemed to be fought inside her head. Rage versus motherly instinct. Bloodlust against the need to protect them.
Grimacing, she slipped her wand away at last. "Your days are numbered, Malfoy. I'll be there when you least expect me. And that day, I will have your last scream."
The tense atmosphere began to dissipate. The silent crowd seemed to release a collective breath. And Rose reluctantly put her wand down as well.
"It's an embarrassment that they allow a rabid animal like you to roam free." Lucius lowered his cane with an elegant swish, his posture relaxing. "Someone will put you down sooner or later, mind my words."
"I'd like them to try." Her horrendous smile grew as she draped her arms around Harry and Rose, leading them away. "Later, Malfoy."
Her gait was stiff, her fingers digging into his shoulder. A look at her face revealed her struggle to be rational. Harry had no doubt she'd have battled Malfoy if they weren't present. As they moved further away from the man, towards the gleaming Hogwarts Express, her arms loosened a bit, no longer needing a physical tether to control herself. But while hers fell to her sides, Harry's wrapped around her back, giving her a comforting squeeze.
She raised her eyebrow at the gesture, but her wide, horrendous smile had shrunk to something warm. He saw Rose mirroring him, putting her own arm around their mother's waist, supporting her from the other side.
"You two are such saps." Lily sighed fondly, pulling them closer in a brief tight hug. "Grow strong, my dear children, and become so self-reliant that I don't have to hold back for you. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Mum." The twins chorused.
She looked at them with a steady gaze and nodded proudly. "Good."
Harry couldn't help but love her more for not questioning him. He was a squib. He had no apparent way to become strong, yet she believed in him. He felt his resolution strengthen. He would become so powerful that no one could defeat him. He would be so strong that every single punch of his would pack the judgement of heavens. He would become undefeatable.
"We're still early, thirty minutes or so. No sense standing here like statues." Lily freed herself from their embrace with a smile. "Harry, go help your sister claim a compartment. Sit with her, talk, whatever. You two won't see each other for months. Best squeeze in what you can. In the meantime, I'll… reacquaint myself with some old friends."
He saw her glance to the left, towards a striking raven-haired woman. Harry recognised her instantly; she was his godmother, though they hadn't really spent much time together. There was a good reason for it. Alice Longbottom had been under home care for years, recovering from the devastating injuries she sustained the night Voldemort came for Neville. Only recently had she begun stepping back into the world. By her side stood the Boy-Who-Lived himself, already used to the attention, standing tall and seemingly undaunted by the stares and whispers that followed him.
"Okay." Rose took his arm before he could say anything, dragging him into the train.
As he trailed after her, his chest grew tight.
'You two won't see each other for months.'
He didn't think they'd ever been separated for maybe more than hours. Yes, they needled and prodded each other, provoked one another into a fight or arguments, but that was how they functioned, how they interacted. Although he'd noticed that had changed since the Hogwarts letter. Rose was… soft now, more affectionate, more caring, like a true 'older' sister. It had been a little awkward in the beginning, but he'd gotten used to it. Honestly, he even liked it, this gentler side of her.
Now, he wouldn't see her until Christmas.
He would terribly miss her.
She pulled him to sit beside her once they found an empty compartment. They were silent for a minute, not knowing what to say.
"Promise to reply to my letters. Promise you won't ignore them." She laid her head on his chest, her voice a soft murmur.
"I promise." He placed his arm around her, his hand sliding over her sleeve in a soothing motion. "Promise me you'll come home for Christmas, that you won't stay behind to be with your new friends."
"I promise," she declared, louder this time, her words edged with resolve.
He chuckled and sank into the seat, burying his face in her hair, a weight seeming to lift off his shoulders. Perhaps it was selfish of him to demand her presence for Christmas, to take away her opportunity to spend it in the magical castle, but he didn't care. He was allowed this much, at least.
"You were cooped up in your room with your books," he said lightly, trying to start a conversation. "Decided on a favourite subject yet?"
"Charms, probably. It's so versatile."
"Oh?"
And she launched into a rundown of each subject, weighing their strengths and limitations. Harry barely understood half of it, but that didn't matter—he wasn't a wizard. He listened more for her voice than out of any academic curiosity, throwing in the occasional question just to keep her talking.
Then the train horn blared.
"Time to go." He gave her one last squeeze before sliding to his feet. "See you soon."
She nodded, silent, ignoring the tremor in his voice. He, in turn, ignored the shine of tears in her eyes.
He stood on the platform with his mother, watching as the train picked up speed. Rose pressed her face against the glass window and waved at him, her mouth forming words he couldn't catch. He waved back, rooted in his place until the Hogwarts Express disappeared in the distance.
His vision blurred, his throat closed up, and a hollowness burgeoned inside him, threatening to swallow him whole. As his mother drew him into her arms, he allowed the tears to fall. It wasn't only sorrow of separation that ate at him. He raged for himself. Envy clawed through his chest, ugly and unrelenting. He gnashed his teeth and buried his face in his mother's neck, holding her tight, afraid he'd yell and scream at the empty tracks.
Why couldn't it be him? Why couldn't he be a wizard?
~xXxXx~
By the time they returned home, his emotions had calmed a bit. Pulling away from his mother, he headed straight to his room and changed into his training attire—a form-fitting T-shirt and track bottoms.
Enough feeling sorry for himself, he decided. Now was the time to lose himself in the routine.
He'd already run 10 km that morning, so that left push-ups, sit-ups, and squats. The daily mana cycling could wait until the physical exercises were over. The good thing about his training was that he didn't need any equipment; all of it could be done without even leaving his room, though he occasionally made use of the duelling chamber.
Dropping low on the floor, he began with push-ups.
It had been an entire month—the whole August—and yet he couldn't complete the Saitama training in one go. The first twenty push-ups felt smooth, his muscles cooperating, moving with the rhythm and efficiency of a well-oiled machine. But by the fortieth push-up, the burn started creeping into his arms, sweat beading on his forehead. He forced himself to maintain form and reached the halfway point, unwilling to let the mild pain ruin the set. After 50 push-ups, he collapsed face-down and rested there for a minute, giving his aching arms a break. He became acutely aware of his own racing heartbeat, the sweat trickling down his nose.
A part of him wanted to just lie there and let his beating heart slow down.
He squashed the sweet temptation.
Planting his palms firmly on the ground, he grunted and tackled the remaining 50 push-ups. They were slower, heavier, and more laborious. Each one required massive conscious effort. His biceps burned, his arms trembled, but he persevered. Even as his beating heart turned into an ominous drum, even as the salty moisture dripped into his lashes and stung his eyes, he kept moving, emulating an unfeeling machine. By the hundredth, his arms were lead, refusing to move.
He lay flat on his chest, gasping for air, savouring the ache in his arms. The pain meant something. It was proof of his hard work.
After another minute of rest, he rolled onto his back and did the sit-ups. Unlike the push-ups, he could do the 100 in a one go. He did them perfectly, careful to only use his core muscles to raise up his torso, taking the growing ache as confirmation. As the last contraction was done, he relaxed and lay on the floor, relishing the burn in his abdominals.
By now, his clothes were thoroughly soaked, and he gasped more than he breathed. His face was enveloped in a sheen of glistening sweat, with the excess dripping from his chin.
Rising to his feet, he began the exercise he hated the most: squats.
Just like the push-ups, he divided the 100 squats into two sets. And again, just like the push-ups, the first twenty squats were smooth and perfect. Then the familiar pain set in, his thighs beginning to protest. By the hundredth, he couldn't feel his legs anymore and dropped onto his butt, leaning against the wall, heaving, his lungs greedily taking in air.
Eventually, his heart rate went back to normal. By then, his entire body throbbed and twinged. His mind was blank, calm, as he stared at the floor, thinking nothing, just… breathing.
Before, he had to divide the exercises into more sets to complete them. Now doing the difficult ones in the set of 50/50 was massive progress. His current goal was to be strong enough to do the 100 in one go. But it would take time and effort… and discipline. He had all of those in abundance.
Well, talking about time, he had a discussion scheduled with his mother for today. They had yet to decide on his education. Now that Rose was off to Hogwarts, he couldn't avoid the big question. What would it be: homeschooling or muggle schooling?
He obviously preferred the former. He didn't want a distraction like a muggle school to take time away from his training.
Stifling a groan as he got up, his legs doing their best to be unhelpful, he entered the bathroom for a shower.
He would talk with his mother after he was done scrubbing himself clean.
~xXxXx~
"Mum." Harry found her in her bedroom after he cleaned up.
The door was wide open.
She was sitting at her desk in a corner, scribbling in a notebook, facing away from the door. As he stepped closer, he realised something. She was… topless.
He faltered and spun around, retracing his steps. "I'll come back later."
"No need, Harry. I'm done." The chair scraped against the floor as she stood and moved in front of him, barring the path to the door.
He snapped his eyes closed, but he caught a peek nonetheless.
She only had white trousers on for some reason, leaving her bare from the waist up. Her breasts were… nice. Big and full, and so deliciously round. He wondered if his palms could even contain them. Probably not. And her nipples were… cute. Tiny pink things in the centre of coin-sized areolas.
This wasn't the first time he'd seen her half-naked or even fully naked. Yet, every time he did, his blood sang. A deep craving soared whenever he saw her skin, an urge to touch her, to kiss her, to bend her over and take her. He knew it was just hormones that caused this reaction. That he would react the same way to any other naked woman. But it still felt weird being attracted to his own mother's nudity. Wasn't he supposed to feel disgusted? Was his brain chemistry messed up because he had a second set of memories? He could only speculate and make excuses for his desires.
He heard her chuckle and the rustle of fabric as she pulled over a blouse, thankfully feeling merciful today. "You don't have to react like this every time, boy. You should be desensitised by now. It's only your old and saggy mother."
Ha ha. Old and saggy? She damn well knew how alluring she was, like a siren who would tempt you to the shore and eat you alive. That was the actual problem. She wasn't some clueless woman who didn't know the effect she had on him. Totally opposite. His vain and arrogant mother liked to be appreciated and complimented. Since Rose was unaffected by her beauty, Harry was often the one through whom she had her fill of narcissism. She never went out of her way to flash him or anything, but she wouldn't warn him when she was in various states of undress either, allowing him tantalising glimpses, loving his reactions.
Of course, Harry could always be more careful… if he wanted to, that is.
"You can open your eyes. The scary boobies are gone." She perched on the edge of the bed, tying her scarlet hair in a quick ponytail.
The outline of her nipples was still visible through the pink top, but that was manageable compared to the full frontal view of her rack.
"I'm here to talk about my schooling." He decided to get to the point to distract himself.
Her playful smile faded, and she leant back, fixing him with a curious look. "Is that so? I don't see many options for you, son. If you want to shift to the muggle world permanently, you may go to a muggle school. Otherwise, we can continue what we've been doing. I can keep teaching you, blending the best of both worlds."
That was… easy. He'd thought she'd pressure him to do traditional schooling.
"Homeschooling works for me."
She idly twirled her ponytail. "You don't know what you'll be missing. You won't be able to socialise with people your age. You won't make life-long friends. If you choose homeschooling, you'll more often than not be alone, studying by yourself, cooped up in your room. You know, it would be a mercy to drop you in the muggle world and forget you altogether."
He would've felt hurt if he weren't used to it. Sometimes her words were like a barbed knife meant to messily hollow you out from the inside.
"Might come as a surprise, mother dearest. But I'd rather only have you and Rose than some life-long muggle friends." He tried not to sound biting, but it was a lost cause. Try being polite when your mother offers to abandon you. "And I don't plan to remain useless for too long. I'm already working on my… inadequacy."
"I've noticed." She patted the space beside her. "Come, darling. Tell me what you've been doing."
Harry plopped on the bed at her side, twisting a little to face her. "I have a plan to gain power, to use my condition to my advantage."
"Oh?"
"You must've noticed my physical training."
"I have." She smiled in an indulgent manner, leaning close to drag her palm along his chest and middle. "You're not so thin anymore. I can feel the strength of your muscles. But I hope you know a powerful body is nothing in the face of raw magical power."
He shivered at her touch, at the close proximity, at her bewitching scent.
"I know. But a powerful magical body may trump even the strongest wizards. Imagine a body so strong that it deflects spells, even the Killing Curse. Imagine a man who could walk through spell fire and snap the neck of any enemy. Imagine a man who can punch castles into rubble, who can level mountains with the force of his blows. That's what I aim to be. A walking enigma. An unstoppable force. By the time I'm done, wizards and witches will be inferior to this squib."
~xXxXx~
Lily had never heard something so impossible, so utterly beyond reach. Even Dumbledore and Voldemort would have balked at such a dream. Yet looking into her son's eyes, bright with conviction, she found herself unable to call him mad.
She stood up and paced before him, her arms crossed behind her back. "Those are tall words. I want to believe you, Harry. The mere thought of having such a powerful son at my side fills me with pride and elation. So I must ask, how are you going to achieve that?"
"By consistent hard work. It wouldn't happen in a day, or even a year, maybe not even ten. But it can happen." His confidence wavered at her question. She bit back a retort and let him continue. "I'm not only doing physical training, you know; I'm also cycling my mana."
"Cycling your mana?" She blinked and came to a halt, not understanding him. She knew what 'mana' was, of course, just another word for magic. But what did he mean by cycling it?
"It's the most basic training for Foundation stage Cultivators. You pull magic from your core, circulate it through your channels, and bring it back. That's one cycle. Do it enough times, and your channels run smoother, your core stronger." He said it casually, as if she should have already known.
His answer raised more questions. Cultivators? Foundation stage? What was he even talking about?
"Look, Mum, you don't need to understand the technicalities. Just believe me. It's working."
"Is it?" She asked, leaning down until they were face to face. She ignored his quick glance at her cleavage. "How can you tell?"
"Because I can now draw magic from the outside."
…
…
"But you're a squib." She was puzzled by the reveal. Like she had explained to Rose, squibs were a closed pot. Neither could they channel their magic outside their bodies, nor could they use up the dormant magical energy around them. They did not have a 'tap', and their 'lids' were shut close. Then how was he doing that?
"Yes." He grinned. "I had a breakthrough the day Rose got her letter, when I first tried cycling. You remember how she found me unconscious on the floor? How the healer told us it was just magical exhaustion? That was the reason. I used up my core and undid a knot in my magical channels, and that unlocked the ability to ingest latent magic from the surroundings."
Lily suppressed the instinctive reaction to question him again, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I see. Can you prove it? Alice has mage sight. I can call her over right now so we can examine what actually happens when you do this 'mana cycling' thing."
He froze at her words, probably self-conscious, uncertain whether he could actually demonstrate it without making a fool of himself.
"Harry." She cupped the side of his face, stroking his cheek. "The most important lesson you should learn is never doubt yourself. You can either do something or you cannot. There's no in-between. Be proud of what you can and don't bother with things you cannot. Now, can you demonstrate your hypothesis?"
"I can." He nodded slowly, gathering his courage. "But it will take time. I'm still new to all this. I'd have to do some cycling first to warm up, which will take an hour at least. Once I'm in the trance, I'll try to absorb the latent magic. I won't be able to actually store it in my core, since I'm still not at that advanced stage, but the attempt should show something to Alice if she really has mage sight."
"Good. Get ready." She watched him walk away, wondering whether Harry would replace Rose as her favourite.
~xXxXx~
Alice Longbottom had been bedridden until just last year. For years, she could barely remain conscious for more than a few minutes, requiring a mediwitch at Longbottom Manor around the clock. But she had gotten better, becoming almost normal. Unfortunately, it took too long. She had missed her son's entire childhood, his formative years when he should've been spoiled and pampered by a mother. Instead, it was Neville who had cared for her, sitting at her bedside whenever she stirred awake, holding her hand and smiling for her sake.
She had failed as a parent. And the result was plain to see: her son was quiet, solemn, and carried none of the carefree energy a child should have. He became mature too soon.
Now that he was gone off to Hogwarts, leaving her alone in the vast manor, her thoughts kept churning around what could've been. A part of her knew the tragedy on that Halloween night was not her fault. That she couldn't blame herself for her husband's death. Yet, it was not easy to be rational when her heart was in two. If she could, she'd torture Voldemort into eternity. Now that was the man who she could blame for everything. The man who ruined them. Severus Snape was also up there, the one who delivered that bloody prophecy to his master. But he'd been missing ever since the war ended. No one knew what happened to him.
The floo in the fireplace lit up, pulling her out of her musings.
"Alice."
Lily stood before her in a casual pink blouse and white trousers. That was not an attire you wear when you visit someone's house. Alice herself wore a midnight black gown with gold filigree, a proper dress, tastefully accentuating her beauty.
She wrinkled her nose when she realised her best friend wasn't even wearing a bra.
"Lily, you look… improper." She sighed, pinching her nose, slipping onto her feet. Forcing Lily to do anything, even for her own benefit, was a chore. So she wasn't even going to try. They were adults now; she wouldn't stoop so low as to fuss about her like a mother.
"I'm not here to discuss fashion with you. Follow me; I need your mage sight." Without another word, Lily ducked back into the fireplace.
Her eyebrows twitched at the blunt demand, as if she were nothing but a 'mage sight on legs'. Then again, it was one of Lily's few qualities that she liked. You would know if Lily Potter considered you a friend or not, because she'd actually say it to your face.
Giving one last sigh, she floo'd to Potter Manor. Not like she had anything to do other than being depressed. Better do something to distract herself.
Unlike Lily, the Potter manor was proper. A lavish abode with luxurious furniture and rugs spread around. The living room was big and airy, large enough to easily seat a dozen people. The floor was polished oak, spanning the entirety of the room. A pair of low-seated sofas made an L in the centre, with a glass coffee table set before them. Old paintings adorned the wall, and a suit of obsidian armour stood at the entrance. It was truly a place fit for nobles.
"Mrs Longbottom." Harry greeted her with a shy smile.
Her heart warmed at the sight of him. If the world hadn't stolen her away, she'd have been there for him as a second mother. And he probably needed her as a squib, a mother who was kind and gentle, who could reassure him he was no less for not inheriting his parent's magic. That he wasn't broken. Because she knew her friend well, she knew Lily's stray words could often cut deep.
Another thing to regret about.
"Alice. I've already told you to call me Alice." She smiled, resisting the urge to smooth his hair. Teenagers didn't like that, she reminded herself.
"We can do socialising later. First, tell her about your trick, Harry." Lily took her by the arm and dragged her to the sofa, Harry trailing after them, seeming both nervous and eager.
"Take your time." Alice smiled, not following the conversation but wanting to be encouraging.
Instead of sitting with them, Harry settled down on the floor and crossed his legs, as if preparing to meditate. Then he told her what he'd been doing all August. The gruelling physical training, the mysterious 'cultivation'.
Alice felt a sharp pang of guilt, realising she was already too late. The damage was done.
Harry's self-worth was in shambles. He considered himself defective… useless. And he believed he could only be worth something if he gained power. His physical training alone made her chest clench in worry. Wasn't that too much? Would it not harm his growth or ruin his muscle structure? Then there was this talk about 'core' and 'channels'.
There have been numerous studies throughout the years to find the root of magic. To find where it came from, to learn how their bodies utilised it. None of that research had produced a single universally accepted answer. Some believed there was a thing called a magical core within every wizard and witch, and some didn't. Harry appeared to be in the former group.
"Describe your core again," she prodded, staring at his middle where he said his core was.
"It's the size of a tiny marble—a thick bead with a small hollow. In this little space is my magic, a viscous liquid thing. In the beginning, it was trapped tight in this bead, but there are two thread-like structures sprouting on either side of the bead. One goes up, and the other down. I call these channels. They were knotted against the bead, keeping my liquid magic contained. I forced the lower channel to open, I undid the knot, and now my magic isn't limited just to my core. I can move it through the lower channel now. The most important thing: I can use the lower channel to ingest magic from the outside."
"What about the upper channel?"
"I tried to untie it too. But my core is too small. The magic in it is too little—too weak to undo the knot. I think once my core grows to a normal size, once I have enough magic in it, I can unlock the upper channel and use wands like normal people."
…
…
"Mmm," she made a soft sound, unwilling to agree and raise his hopes. "You can go ahead and start your mana cycling. I'll keep an eye on you and see if anything changes."
"It might take hours." He warned her.
She chuckled. "No worries. Your mother and I have too much free time on our hands."
Harry closed his eyes and began 'cycling his mana'.
To her mage sight, nothing was different. She saw no glowing core or threads in his body. But that was no proof either way. She'd never been able to see the insides of people. Maybe his magic was actually moving through his threads and she was unable to see it. Or maybe it was all in his head, a desperation-induced delusion to be more than a squib.
"My boy might be special." Lily whispered proudly, leaning into the backrest.
"He's already special," she whispered fiercely, voice trembling with anger and grief. "Merlin, Lily! What kind of childhood has he had, that he cannot accept being a squib? What boy drives himself to run ten kilometres every morning, to go through a hundred push-ups, sit-ups, and squats? What boy spends hours meditating, desperate to 'fix' himself?"
"My boy." Lily's eyes narrowed. "You presume too much. I love him more than the world. But I won't pamper him with lies about his defect. Denying what he is won't change it. The world will remember, and so must he."
She feared she'd lose her cool if the discussion continued. So she turned away from the cold bitch and focused on the poor boy. She would embrace and console him when nothing happened. She'd be the mother he deserved. If Lily couldn't do her duty, she would. She was his godmother. If the world had been kind, if she were there for him, he would not have grown to hate himself.
Ignoring Lily's attempt at idle conversation, she stared at her godson. Minutes passed, then hours.
Nothing happened.
Then his body shimmered. A soft golden glow enveloped him, as if he'd ascended to enlightenment. The magic wavered and seeped into his skin, roiling in a thin layer around him. Then the sheen fluctuated. It dispersed the next second, and Harry opened his eyes, heaving, his emerald eyes hopeful.
Did she imagine it? Or was there really a golden glow around him a second ago?
"Did you see anything?" Lily asked her with bated breath.
…
…
"Yes."
Lily cackled and rushed over to Harry, throwing her arms around him, proclaiming how proud she was.
Harry held onto her tight, drinking in every word of praise.
Alice looked away, feeling guilty for not believing in him, for not even giving him the benefit of the doubt.