Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The young boy wandered through the lush meadow, following a well-trodden path created by unknown animals. The sky was slowly transforming into shades of orange and red, signaling that it was getting late and he should return home. However, an irresistible urge to explore deeper into the forest tugged at him.

Surrounded by countless wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze as he walked through the flowers. The flowers released a faint cloud of golden dust that disappeared with the wind as he walked past them. The sound of a nearby waterfall filled his ears, adding to the serene ambiance. As evening crept closer, he took a deep breath and felt the magic in the air grow stronger. With a wave of his hand, he summoned this magic towards him, forming a sparkling orb that danced playfully across his open palm.

What was this pull he was feeling? the boy looked at the orbs of magic. “What is it that you want?” he murmured, “show me”. Holding his hand up, he let the orb go, observing as it soared forward, lighting up his way.

The light from the orb was strong enough to dissolve any obstacles in his way, allowing him to continue following the animal trail he had discovered earlier. Perhaps he would spend the night out here? It seemed like the magic surrounding him was urging him to keep going deeper into the forest, not quite ready for him to leave just yet.

As he made his way through the dense foliage, all magical energy seemed to surround him, growing stronger with each step. He could feel the power humming through his veins.

Harald, as the boy was named, was no more than a child in the eyes of the people. He was small for his age, with jet-black long hair with a faint bluish-green tint to it. His eyes were a mesmerizing shade of emerald green, like a lush forest on a sunny day. Specks of golden dust danced in his irises, giving them an otherworldly glow.

His mother often boasted about his strong connection to magic and how he was destined for something great, his eyes serving as proof of his mystical potential.

Harald strolled alongside the trickling stream of crystal-clear water. His eyes were focused on the small stones beneath his feet as he made his way. As the darkness descended, and the forest came alive, a strange feeling took hold of him. He could feel his heart beat faster as he ventured deeper into the woods.

Tiny creatures gathering the magical energy around him stirred from their slumber, buzzing and fluttering near the earth as they collected particles of magic. In celebration of the day, he had decided to venture further into the kingdom than usual. He had even prepared a bag with all the necessary supplies, though at the moment he couldn't recall where he had placed it. Shrugging it off for now, he followed an inexplicable pull in this direction.

His hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that swayed with each step. Braids and beads hung from the loops of hair that fell over his shoulders. He was dressed in a crisp white tunic tucked into snug black pants. Knee-high dark green boots protected his feet, and a decorative belt adorned with a short sword and a pouch of sparkling crystals.

Harald's body tensed up as a strange sensation coursed through him. It was almost like the magic was slipping. He scanned his surroundings and then started to move, feeling drawn towards something by this magical pull.

There was a nagging sensation gnawing at him, urging him to move quickly before it was too late. But too late for what? It wasn't just the feeling that caught the young seeker's attention. There was now something in the air, something dark and unsettling, and it felt off.

The scent of decay filled his nostrils. It smelled like death.

Death had always been a familiar presence to him; perhaps it was just a natural ability he possessed. The realm of the dead saw him as one who could embody the god of death, chosen as his successor at his birth. However, he had not yet undergone the test to officially inherit the title, and its powers. Death lingered around him, awaiting for something or someone. Of what, he was unaware of.

Harald inhaled deeply, gathering his composure and closing his emerald eyes. He released the magical energy from within him in gentle waves, responding to those who called for his aid.

Feeling a sense of disorientation caused by the loss of….something. Harald ran his hand over his face to push back the long strands of hair, that had escaped their confines. Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes once more and knew instinctively that he needed to move towards the right. He picked up his pace and started to a jog.

Harald suddenly stumbled over somthing and let out a startled shout, biting back a yelp of pain as his knees collided with the hard ground. Luckily, the sturdy leather of his boots prevented any damage to his pants; otherwise, he would have some explaining to do to his mother.

The young boy stopped to inspect the object that had caused him to trip, expecting to see a root. Instead, he laid eyes on a pair of shiny black leather boots. His gaze traveled upward, and was surprised to find that the supposed ‘root’ was actually, a man.

The figure in front of Harald was a young man, covered in dirt and blood. The man struggled to breathe, each inhale and exhale sounding like a gurgle with fluid in his throat. Harald began to realize that the overwhelming feeling of death was coming from this man. He hurriedly knelt beside him and tried to shake him awake, but it was no use.

The man's head rocked back and forth slowly and unnaturally as he lay unconscious. Harald's gaze swept over the numerous wounds that covered the man's body, the tattered and bloody clothes clinging to his battered form. The skin underneath was an angry red, inflamed in some places as a sign of infection. As Harald checked for any signs of life, he could feel the intense heat radiating from the man's feverish body, a clear indicator that death was close at hand.

"Okay," Harald muttered, taking a deep breath, "Okay, I can handle this. First, wash the wounds and take the next step when I’m there."

With steady, practiced hands, Harald began the task of washing every infected wound on the man’s body. The scent of blood and sweat filled the air as he tore open the young man's clothes to prevent them from getting caught in the fresh crimson fluid. His fingers traced carefully over one of the more extensive wounds across the man's chest, feeling for any signs of infection or further damage.

The skin was hot and inflamed, oozing a thick, yellow pus that made Harald's stomach churn. But he continued his work with determination, knowing that this could be a matter of life and death for the young man in front of him. Every movement was careful and precise as if Harald were performing a sacred ritual to heal his patient. Time seemed to blur as he focused all his attention on cleansing and treating each wound, determined to save this life no matter what it took.

The smell of dead tissue was heavy all around them, and he could now almost see the dark fog settle over the broken body in front of him. But he refused to let it distract him. He couldn't afford to give up now, not when there was still a glimmer of hope amidst the haze of death. Among the dark particles, he spotted a hint of gold and a touch of purple. It made him pause for a moment, but he quickly refocused on meticulously cleaning up the damaged edges once more.

The night had now completely fallen, and the only light he had to work in was from the moon and the little ball of light he had created. Harald's hands moved methodically, gently cleaning each wound with a damp cloth before applying a healing salve. He could feel the young man's rapid heartbeat under his hand as he worked.

As he cleaned one of the more severe wounds on the man's chest, Harald noticed something unusual. There was a purple hue surrounded the edges of the wound, almost like a dark aura. His brow furrowed in confusion, wondering what could have caused such an abnormal color. Could it be poison? That would explain the rapid heartbeat and fever.

Harald paused for a moment to observe his patient. The young man's breathing was shallow and labored, his skin clammy to the touch. There was no doubt that he was fighting for his life at this point.

Determined to save this young man's life, Harald began to work on the infected wound with his magic as well. He let his magic flow through his hands and into the man's body, testing whether it would be accepted by him or not. To his relief, there was no reaction from the man; his body seemed to accept Harald's use of magic with ease.

With each gentle touch of magic, Harald could feel himself drawing out some of the poison from within the wound. The aura of purple slowly dissipated as he continued to work on it with both physical and magical means. Finally, after what seemed like hours but was only mere minutes, Harald was able to clean and treat all of the wounds on the young man's body.

Exhausted but relieved, Harald sank onto his rear beside him as his whole body shook from the exhaustion that came over him.

He took a moment to catch his breath and listen to the young man's now more peaceful and steady breathing. The fever still raged within his body, but it seemed to have lessened in intensity compared to before.

Harald stumbled and nearly fell as he made his way to the small stream that was nearby, his magical energy drained from healing the injured stranger. His legs shook with every step. He reached for a handful of soft pink fabric, remnants of his once used scarf, and dipped it into the cool water.

He returned to the stranger's side, and gently pressed a cloth on their forehead, hoping to reduce the fever. Suddenly, Harald froze in his movement as his eyes fell upon his wrist. In this world, where magic and fate were integral parts of everyday life, especially in the realm where he lived, a significant aspect was the "mark".

Harald was an extraordinary boy from birth, not just because of his strong connection to magic, but also because he had a soulmate mark. This mark meant that he was one of the few destined to find and be with their one true match. It may sound cheesy, but it was a cherished belief among his people.

It seemed as though it was a game for the gods to find their chosen ones. The mark, a combination of two souls, would begin to evolve in the presence of its partner and with growing emotions. Each person's mark was unique in pattern and size.

There were theories about the significance of the mark; some believed that a larger and more intricate one required more balance, whatever that meant. But regardless of the interpretation, both parties always had the same goal.

Harald cherished his mark, adorned with winding green vines and tiny flower buds that had yet to bloom, encircling his wrist. The colors were always in perfect harmony, a constant vibrant green that sometimes seemed to sway in an invisible breeze. But perhaps he was just imagining things.

The green stems were intertwined together, wrapped around a protective golden ribbon that was barely noticeable beneath the vines.

As Harald gazed at the mark on his wrist, a mix of disbelief and wonder washed over him. The intricate patterns seemed to shimmer in the fading light, as if alive. He had always believed in the soulmate mark, a cherished tale from his childhood, but now, faced with its reality, he felt a surge of skepticism. Could this stranger, lying weak and fevered before him, truly be his destined match?

The mark, once a simple, elegant design, now pulsed with a soft glow, its lines twisting into something more complex. Harald's heart raced as he knelt beside the stranger, his eyes drawn to the man's face. The stranger's features were calm, peaceful, yet Harald sensed a depth, a story untold.

He dipped the cloth into the stream again, the cool water a stark contrast to the warmth of the stranger's skin. As he pressed it to the stranger's forehead, their eyes met in a fleeting moment. Harald felt a jolt, a connection so strong it left him breathless.

The stranger's gaze, though hazy, held a spark of recognition before closing again. Harald's mark tingled, a sensation he had never experienced before. He pulled back, his mind racing. Was this a sign? Or merely his imagination playing tricks?

The stream babbled softly, a serene backdrop to the turmoil in Harald's thoughts. He had always hoped to find his match, to experience the deep bond his people spoke of. Yet now, with the possibility before him, he felt uncertain, daunted by the weight of fate.

As the stranger's eyes fluttered closed again, Harald sat back, his wrist a reminder of the mystery unfolding. The mark's glow faded, leaving him with more questions than answers. He stayed there, by the stream, the night deepening around them, and wondered if the gods had indeed brought them together.

It was almost too good to be true...or was it a terrible twist of fate? Despite his initial doubts, there was no denying that the injured man lying in front of him was his soulmate. The only way a soulmate mark could appear was if they made physical contact with their other half.

Harald's gaze drifted back to the unconscious man, there was nothing on his arms. So then his mark must be where it would end as his own grew? Harald struggled with the childish urge to rip off all of the stranger’s clothes, and search for any marks on his body. But he couldn't bring himself to do such a violating act while the man was defenseless and injured. It would make him just as bad as the person who had hurt him.

As the ball of light cast a dim glow over them, Harald could finally get a good look at the man. He ran his eyes over the man's handsome face, now free of dirt and blood. His features were sharp and defined, with high cheekbones and a straight nose leading down to plump lips. His hair was slightly curled and fell just above his ears, giving him a charming appearance.

For a moment, Harald couldn't resist the childish urge to touch his hair and see if it was as smooth as it looked. He delicately brushed his fingers against the soft black strands of hair. It was like touching a smooth silk fabric. Suddenly, the young man let out a low groan and grimaced.

"Hey, are you awake?" Harald whispered, receiving a weak groan and a raspy non-coherence reply. He carefully lifted the man's head with his canteen and brought it to his lips.

The young man took small sips before coughing and struggling to swallow. Harald immediately lowered the canteen and lightly patted his back. The heat emanating from the man's body was concerning but not completely unlikely as he probably had some poison left in his body.

With the empty flask now resting next to him, Harald lowered the man's head back onto the ground with a gentle touch. His intense gaze studied the young man once again, taking in every detail of his face and expression.

Slowly, the man's eyes blinked open, revealing a sense of bewilderment as they gazed up at Harald. The weight of this encounter hung heavily in the air, charged with uncertainty and potential consequences that could change their lives forever.

Harald carefully draped his cloak over the man's body, hoping it would offer some comfort and warmth. "Get some more rest. You need to regain your strength."

The man tried to speak, but his voice came out hoarse and barely audible, more of a croak than actual words."Who..." the man rasped, his throat dry and painful. Harald could see the effort it took for him to form even that single word.

Harald hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. He glanced around cautiously as if the trees themselves might be listening. "You're safe," he said finally, his voice low and steady. "For now."

The man's glazed eyes were fixed on him, and he struggled to form words. But nothing came out except a small whimper. A hand grasped his ankle, the closest thing to the stranger's hand. "It's okay, I'll stay with you," Harald reassured him. "Just rest." He felt the grip on his ankle loosen a bit and saw the young man's eyes close again as he settled back into sleep.

Harald tried to calm his now wildly running heart, but it felt almost impossible. His arm tingled as if a thousand needles were squeezing his skin, and it crawled up his arm toward his elbow and over his shoulder. He could feel the burning sensation going down his spine. It wasn't a painful feeling but warm enough to make him take a deep, shaky breath to try and calm his mind.

There was no doubt about it anymore; this was his soulmate because he had never reacted like this to another person's touch.

Harald sat up all night, carefully tending to the man's fever. He constantly checked and replaced the damp cloth on his forehead, grateful that the man's illness hadn't worsened. As he watched over him, Harald racked his brain for solutions. His magic abilities were too weak to transport them both home, and his village was too far away to walk.

Should he wait until the man was able to walk? But that was highly unlikely. His mother would most likely send out a search team before then, but even that would take a few days. Harald let out a loud yawn and rubbed his tired eyes as he looked up at the now slightly brighter sky.

He glanced down at the man he was responsible for, relieved to see that his breathing had improved. Harald examined the wounds on the man's chest, noting that they appeared better than yesterday and the purple discoloration was now a raw red color.

Harald let his fingers stroke the wounds and put in more healing magic, even though he barely had any left.

Harald pressed his forehead against the man's for a moment, focusing his gaze as he attempted to gauge his temperature. The man's fever had not fully subsided from yesterday.

Harald gently pulled away and was surprised when a pair of feverish glossy green eyes met his gaze. A bright blush instantly spread across his cheeks, the heat radiating down his neck and tickling his ears.

"Sorry," he stammered, "I had to check your temperature." The older male blinked slowly in response. "Do you think you can sit up?" Harald asked, feeling the weight of concern settle in his chest. But the dark-haired man shook his head slowly, indicating that he was unable to move.

“Ah, that is all right, but I don’t think you can lay here any longer” Harald looked up and pulled his fingers through his hair, not knowing what he could do. Harald quickly went and dampened the cloth before he brought it back. He carefully placed it back on the man's forehead, causing him to flinch from the sudden temperature change.

"Sorry," Harald said softly, noticing the man's unsteady gaze. "But your fever hasn't gone down yet."

The man’s eyes fluttered closed, and a faint sigh escaped his lips. Harald watched him intently, noticing the faint tremble of his jaw and the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath. He dipped the cloth back into the water, wrung it out carefully, and pressed it against the man’s forehead once more. This time, there was no flinch, only a small, barely perceptible nod of acknowledgment.

“You’re burning up,” Harald murmured, more to himself than to the man. He sighed and knelt back on his heels, his hands resting on his thighs.

The man’s hand stirred, and before Harald could react, it had brushed against his own. It was warm, too warm, and it sent a shiver up Haralds arm. He hesitated for a moment before turning his hand over, intertwining their fingers. The man’s grip was weak, but it was there, a silent plea for comfort.

“You’re going to be okay,” Harald said softly, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He squeezed the man’s hand gently, trying to convey a reassurance he wasn’t entirely sure he felt himself.

The man’s eyes opened again, and this time, they held a faint glimmer of awareness. His lips parted, and a low, raspy sound emerged, barely intelligible. Harald leaned closer, his ear inches from the man’s mouth. “Water,” the man whispered.

Harald’s heart skipped a beat. He had forgotten to refill the water jug in his haste to tend to the fever. He quickly rose to his feet and fetched it. He returned to the man’s side and carefully lifted his head, cradling it in his lap as he brought the jug to his lips.

The man drank greedily at first, then slower, as if even the act of swallowing drained what little strength he had. Harald watched him, his throat tightening with emotion. When the man finally turned his head away, Harald set the jug down and gently lowered his head back onto the makeshift pallet.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the man’s uneven breathing. Then, in a voice that was barely audible, he said, “Thank you.”

Harald’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away, fiddling with the edge of the cloth. “You don’t have to thank me,” he muttered. “Just… get better, okay?”

"What..." The man attempted to speak again, but despite the water, his voice was hoarse.

The man's grip on him grew firmer, and Harald looked back to see those green eyes fixed on his, brimming with gratitude that tugged at his heart. He met the gaze briefly before averting his eyes, murmuring, "I don't know what happened to you, but you were badly injured, and on the verge of death when I found you"

Harald glanced up at the stranger. "There's no more poison in the wound now. I've filtered out most of the poison, and the largest wounds are no longer life-threatening."

Suddenly, Harald felt a chill around them. The natural magic lightly brushed over his skin, and over the injured man. There was a sense of warning in the magic. Harald stiffened and straightened. His gaze swept slowly between the tree trunks and the bushes. Something was nearby. Something dangerous.

The injured man noticed that something was wrong and made an attempt to sit up but let out a painful groan. "No, lie still," Harald whispered and placed a slender hand on the man's chest. But even though he was much smaller than the older teenager, he was stronger in this position. Even a gentle breeze could knock him down in this position.

Harald's hand rested on the hilt of his sword and his gaze swept around them again.

The forest around them was eerily silent, the only sound was the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Harald's grip on his sword tightened as the air grew thick with an ominous energy. The injured man, sensing the tension, struggled to sit up again, his face pale but determined.

"What is it?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of Harald's heart.

Harald didn't answer, his eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. The natural magic swirled around him, a gentle hum that grew louder, warning of an approaching threat. Suddenly, a twig snapped in the distance, and Harald's head snapped towards the sound that became voices.

Harald's wrist was suddenly grasped by a warm and clammy hand. He froze, feeling the man's gaze on his soul mark. Harald met his gaze and smiled gently at him. He had opened his mouth to speak but paused as voices grew louder nearby. It dawned on him that they were calling out for someone named -Loki-.

Who would be searching this part of the forest and why? was it who ever had hurt this man or was it his friends?

With a sense of urgency, Harald leaned in close and whispered in a hushed tone, "Are you Loki?" The young man fought to moisten his dry lips and respond, but all that escaped was a weak affirmative noise.

Harald felt the nervousness spread through his body as he heard how the voices were closer now. They sounded worried and yelled at each other to shut up, and something about enemies could come at any moment.

So they were looking for this man.. this Loki… his soulmate. Harald’s eyes landed on the wounded man. He would not be able to help him more than he have done. A primal sense of fear crept up Harald's spine, causing his muscles to tense and his mind to race. Magic wanted him gone from there.

And just like that, Harald knew that he had to leave before the situation escalated; what if they accused him of being the one responsible for their friend's harm? As he struggled to get back on his feet, the grip around his ankle tightened, and he could see the glint of panic in Loki's eyes as he desperately tried to hold on.

"Don't worry," Harald reassured him, "we will see each other again when the time is right." He looked up in the direction of the voices and could now see the tip of a spear over the bushes.

"I'm sorry," Harald softly spoke, gently loosening Loki's grip with ease as he was still weak. "I have to go,"

It was hard even to tear himself from the side of his soulmates; he pulled himself up, and the dark-haired man’s weak grip quickly loosened. He swallowed hard and retreated, he didn't want to leave Loki like this, but he couldn't stay either.

Loki was now trying to move after him, giving off a louder painful groan as his injured body protested the movement. But that was all that was needed to warn the voices because suddenly Harald could hear heavy running footsteps, and the armor splash was now not far from their position.

"N... no, " Loki's hoarse voice trembled as he reached out a hand in desperation. Harald met Loki's panicked eyes one last time. Harald quickly had to avert his eyes from Loki's piercing gaze and took off running.

He gently but firmly pulled his arm free. "I have to go," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "We meet again, I promise. When magic allows us"

Loki's eyes filled with tears, and he reached out again, but Harald turned and ran, the sounds of his pursuers closing in. He could hear Loki's anguished cry echoing through the forest, a sound that cut deeper than any wound.

As he ran, the trees seemed to blur around him, and the fear of being caught mingled with the ache of leaving Loki behind. He knew he had to keep moving. So Harald just ran, the forest floor beneath his feet and the weight of his heart in his chest.

He could hear shouts coming from behind, and for a second he thought that they would hunt him down. But with every step he took, it felt as though he was tearing out his own heart as he fled further away from the man he had just discovered knowing that one day they would meet again.

.⬝:*¨¨*:⬝.💓.⬝:*¨¨*:⬝.☯.⬝:*¨¨*:⬝.💓.⬝:*¨¨*:⬝.

Harry jolted awake with a start, his heart drumming in his chest like a war march. He flung the tangled blanket off his legs and struggled to stand on his trembling limbs. Every movement sent sharp waves of agony through his body, especially in his throbbing head which felt like it was about to burst open.

The room spun around him, the walls seemingly breathing in and out as if taunting him. Sweat dripped down his face and his hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to steady himself. It was as if he had been hit by a furious storm while he slept, leaving him battered and broken upon waking up.

Harry fought to keep a groan from escaping his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his head in a frantic effort to contain the intense emotions as he stumbled towards the bathroom.

With little warning, his body forced him to bend over the toilet, forcefully emptying its contents.

The vomiting stopped as quickly as it began, and he was left trembling on the cold bathroom floor. The initial pain and discomfort in his body began to subside, but a strange tingling sensation remained in his arm, pulsing and almost vibrating with intensity.

Harry slumped against the frigid porcelain seat, his head throbbing in agony. Each beat of his heart sent a wave of pain pulsing through his temples. Cold tears streamed down his cheeks, tracing a path over the sharp angles of his face. The relentless ache only grew stronger, until it consumed every thought and sensation, leaving Harry numb and hollow inside. He was no longer able to think or feel, lost in a fog of endless torment.

Eventually, Harry must have drifted off to sleep because when he woke up again, his head no longer throbbed as intensely, and his legs were able to move without discomfort. He struggled to get up, feeling stiff all over, but managed to rinse out his mouth and wash his face before leaving the bathroom.

What had happened? Harry remembered having a lifelike dream of something, a boy and a man?. He fought back the scream that clawed its way up his throat, a sensation he had never experienced before. Hot tears streamed down his face, and he struggled to take deep breaths to calm himself. He quickly checked his occlumency shields, still intact and preventing any outside intrusion. But that dream was beyond anything he had ever encountered before.

Harry slowly lifted his eyes to the mirror above the sink and was taken aback. For a brief moment, he thought he was still asleep. In the mirror reflection, he saw a version of himself that appeared more mature than the boy in his dream.

Harry raised a hand and his reflection did the same. A frown deepened between his eyes and he stuck out his tongue and the man in the mirror did the same.

He had seen many strange things since he had been introduced to magic. But he had never heard of anything like this before. Had the dream triggered some kind of strange magic or whatever this may be?

His eyes now had a deeper hue of emerald, with a distinct line of gold surrounding his iris as the wethes of his tears made them almost shine. This added intensity to his gaze, something that was not present before. However, this color was different from his late mother's well-known green eyes which people often praised him for. It was the only thing he had left to remember her by.

Harry lifted his hand to his forehead and lightly brushed the sides of his head, causing his reflector to mimic the gesture. He then ran his fingers through his hair, which now reached down to his neck and had a natural curl at the ends. It was hard to believe that this was the same short-haired boy from just a few days ago. He vaguely remembered hating getting haircuts as a child because Aunt Petunia always seemed to butcher it right before school started.

But this felt different.

Harry's fingers ran through his dark, tousled hair once more before tugging on it gently, causing a sharp pain to radiate from his scalp. As he let go, strands of hair stuck to his hand, evidence of his nervous habit. He then shifted his hand to the bridge of his nose, where his glasses used to rest comfortably. Ever since their sudden disappearance ( with the aid of magic) a few years back, he couldn't help but feel haunted by their absence, instinctively reaching for them even though they no longer needed to be there.

Harry’s s eyes widened in pure shock. He couldn't panic, not yet. Especially not now that his gaze zoomed in on something else that had caught his attention. His mouth felt dry as he tried to swallow, but there was no moister so it felt like trying to swallow sand.

His chest heaved with heavy breaths as his eyes scanned his wrist, noticing the drastic change in its appearance. The once-pale skin was now adorned with intricate vines, delicately winding around his arm in a mesmerizing pattern. He couldn't help but admire the way the golden yellow band at the base of his wrist stood out against the vibrant greenery enveloping it. It was like a work of art, nature's masterpiece painted on his very own body.

The once soft and pliable vines was now growing firmer and were reaching higher up his arm towards his elbow as he watched the magic unravel. Leaving angry red marks in its wake. Like the vines were growing underneath his skin.

The small flower buds were tinged with a greenish-blue color, on the brink of blooming but not quite there yet. Harry knew this flower well; it was one he had grown accustomed to during all those years of being forced to clear out the Dursley's garden. They called it a "rubbish flower" and a weed.

It was a sea of Forget-me-not.

As the Forget-me-nots rested on his arm, Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. The vines seemed to respond to his emotions, their gentle twine around his arm tightening, not in malice, but as if in comfort. The golden band glimmered faintly, casting a warm light on the surrounding skin.

The pain from the vines' growth was undeniable, but it was overshadowed by the strange sense of calm that settled over him. Harry's fingers brushed against the bud.

The vines continued their ascent, wrapping around his forearm, the red marks a testament to their relentless growth. Yet, amidst the discomfort, Harry felt a strange connection, as though the vines were a part of him, a symbol of the love and strength he carried within.

The Forget-me-nots, now closer to blooming, seemed to pulse with a soft light as they were happy to finally be visible. Harry tried to keep his panic at bay as the first petal unfolded, a delicate blue hue shimmered in the dim light. As the Forget-me-nots began to bloom, their gentle glow illuminating the room as magic riped through his limbs.

The vines, now a deep, rich green, continued their ascent, wrapping around Harry's upper arm, their tender touch a stark contrast to the initial sting of their growth. The golden band at his wrist pulsed softly, as if in rhythm with his heartbeat.

Harry's breath caught as a petal of the first flower opened, revealing a center that shimmered like liquid gold. The light emanating from the bloom was warm and comforting, and he felt a strange sense of peace settle over him. The vines seemed to hum with soft, melodic energy, their gentle vibrations a lullaby to his frazzled nerves.

As Harry watched, the second flower bloomed, its petals unfurling like tiny wings. The light from the two flowers intertwined, casting intricate patterns on the walls around him. The room seemed to fade away around him, leaving only the soft glow of the Forget-me-nots.

The golden band glimmered brighter now, and Harry felt a surge of energy flow through him. Harry closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the light wash over him, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt a sense of clarity.

The vines had reached his shoulder, their tendrils curling gently around it but no flowers bloomed there yet. Only on his arm. Harry took a deep breath and imagined that the air was filled with the sweet scent of the flowers. There was something in the air, something in the magic that was pulsing around him, singing, calling for him. Telling him that there was no time.

Telling him that -He- was waiting for him.