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Chapter Text

Sino-American summit held in Busan

The second meeting of the MACUSA and Chinese ministers has concluded, with several pacts agreeing on bolstering trade flows. In particular, bans on exporting many plants and animal parts found solely within Greater China have been lifted. Taipei has expressed strong disapproval as this breaks the decades long monopoly of the small island. 

British Ministry lodges protest at ICW, Soviets decry slander

Despite the recent high-profile case of ambassador Veyliv’s residence containing several missing children, the Soviet ministry has vehemently denied any existence of a human trafficking network as alleged by the British Ministry of Magic, calling Veyliv’s actions isolated. Further inquiry into magical involvement in the assassination of Anatoli Fedoseyev remain unresolved as London and Moscow accuse each other of inflaming tensions. As relations chill to their lowest, several trade deals have been cancelled, most notably three hundred nundu horns for a crate of Soviet umantium.

Afghan shaman launch raids on Kabul, ICW calls for calm

In an escalation of tension, several Soviet mages in Kabul were killed in a raid by several Afghan natives. Concerns are mounting in lockstep with the muggle side. At this point, many wonder if the question we should be asking is ‘when’ rather than ‘if’ the Soviets invade. 

Setting down the newspaper, Harry couldn’t help a sigh. It seemed that these days, all the talk was about the Soviet Union, just the next boogey-man after Voldemort or Grindelwald. Perhaps that was for the best though, otherwise Harry suspected that the French would be sacking Berlin by now. 

Setting down the newspaper, Harry shook his head, fighting back a sigh as he reached out to the stack of unanswered letters on his desk. Opening the first and cracking the Wizengamot seal, Harry glanced through the contents, merely the agenda for the next meeting. Another round of cuts for the auror department, consolidating various sub-departments for creature relations, allocating a budget to add a second elevator…the proxy he’d assigned already knew how to vote.

Another letter was from Gringotts, some streams of income from Girl-Who-Lived business partnerships and whatnot. Even more from yet more successful lawsuits. Ted Tonks really earned his keep.

A third letter being a request for a meeting with Fudge. Grabbing a sticky note, he jotted down a couple things he wanted from the Minister, making a mental note to send back a letter soon. He ran through a few other letters, making sticky notes for those he intended to respond to. Only twenty letters today, a relatively light load, even if he was going to have to put some more pressure on the goblins with their attempt to extort higher fees on the Potter accounts. 

Cracking his knuckles, a guilty pleasure that he never quite got rid of, Harry stood up, pulling out a tissue and wiping his eyes before heading out of his bedroom. Down the short corridor, whose sterile burgundy walls were devoid of even the most simple decoration, Harry went into the fridge, removing the foil on top of a plate of fish and vegetables, putting it in the oven with a small bowl of water and starting the heating process.

He glanced at the dining table, the plate of food he’d made for Rose yesterday night untouched, along with the note reminding her to eat. There was a slight pang in his heart, though Harry quickly swallowed it.

Still, seeing several books strewn on the dining table, Harry couldn’t help but be curious, walking forward and glancing down at the notes. 

At least she was finally doing their problem sets. Merlin knows that Rose was intelligent…if she could be bothered to put in some effort! With their mother in a coma and their father a hermit, at least he could try and be a firm hand in her life. 

Scanning his eyes through the notes, which was basic calculus, his lips twitched. From halfway down the page onwards, there were a bunch of angrily scribbled lines cutting through the corpse of discarded numerals beyond recognition like a frenzied serial killer tearing off chunks of a victim’s face. The paper, a high quality, thick type, had been scarred by the tip of a pen digging into its white flesh. He could only imagine what she felt doing the problem set. Though her refusal to come for help stung, Harry nevertheless understood. Everyone had their pride, even between family. Perhaps he could take comfort that she wanted to show her ‘best self’ in front of him.

Starting at the top, she’d managed to complete the first few steps before confusing herself by not properly simplifying. Using the product rule thrice for such a simple problem would have rang alarm bells in his mind, but for Rose, Harry imagined her stubbornness and pride couldn’t have allowed this to stand. 

Taking out a clean sheet of paper, he mirrored her first few steps before writing out the rest of the problem correctly, far more simple than the convoluted mess she’d gotten herself into, circling the area on her original sheet where she’d made the mistake. 

Maybe she’d be able to learn from this. 

Feeling rather cheerful at this, Harry quickly dispelled the charm on the pasta, setting it aside for himself. Instead, he went to the fridge, pulling out the potatoes he’d bought earlier in the morning, some eggs, tomatoes and beef fillet. A few swishes of his wand quickly peeled and sliced the potatoes, allowing him to toss them onto a frying pan as he prepared a second pan, adding a bit of water, a dash of sugar and the tomatoes before putting on a lid, allowing them to begin to steam.

A third pot contained some rice he’d gotten from an Asian grocer. He’d planned to cook it today and leave it in the fridge for tomorrow, but seeing the effort Rose had gone, Harry couldn’t help but move the timeline up. Though it wasn’t a rice cooker, doing this was the best he could manage.

Within a few minutes, the tomatoes had softened enough for him to stir in several cracked eggs and for diced beef to go in with the mostly cooked potatoes. Taking a breath as he waited for it to finish, Harry moved over to the fridge, crossing several ingredients off the list and mentally deciding that tomorrow, they’d have bread and soup as a lighter meal.

Just as he turned down the heat to allow it to simmer, the oven chimed. Flicking his wand, the oven door opened, allowing a gust of steam to churn out, rising to the ceiling. Levitating the hot plate onto the countertop, Harry tapped his wand against the edge, causing it to rapidly cool, even as the food remained piping hot.

Quickly turning off the gas for the remaining food and giving the rice a quick stir, Harry grabbed the plate, passing Rose’s room and towards the master bedroom. He didn’t knock, knowing it was all but pointless, opening the door and wincing at the faint odour lingering. The bin was completely overflowing with tissues and other scraps.

“Dad, I brought you lunch,” Harry called out softly, holding the plate with a broiled piece of salmon, a few pieces of carrots, mushrooms and mash coated in a white sauce, cautiously taking a step forward. 

The curtains were drawn, a small pile of crumpled and shredded notes in the corner, lingering chars from a flame spell on the wall behind. At the centre of it all was James Potter, little more than a beast with his overgrown hair matted. The only part of the room that seemed remotely clean was the lifeless body of his mother, laid on the bed.

“Fuck, it’s all useless!” he yelled, shooting to his feet and hurling the tattered tome in his hand against the wall, a blast of flames following from the man’s wand. A moment later, he collapsed to the ground, tears streaming from his face. “Why…why…why won’t anything work?”

Harry’s lips pursed, though he dared not prod further, glancing over the corner to see that James had at least eaten two of the boiled eggs he’d prepared earlier. The bread, tomatoes and mushrooms laid completely untouched, the preservation charm having long faded. Silently exchanging the plate for the one in his hand, Harry glanced around, at least pleased to see that not that much dust had gathered. It could wait a few days before another wipe.

Glancing at the bin, which was full of chocolate bar wrappers, Harry bit down another sigh, pulling out a fresh liner and taking the overflowing bin bag, discarding the largely uneaten breakfast straight into the bin before tying up a knot. 

“Try and eat something, you’ll need your health if you’re to cure mother,” he muttered softly, a lingering glance on the lifeless woman. Despite the yearning for touch, Harry clenched his fist, resisting the urge and forcing his head to turn away, walking out of the room and gently shutting the door behind him.

As he made his way back to the kitchen, a soft thud and the sound of feet shifting along the carpeted floor caused his eyes to light up. 

“Rose, I made lunch,” Harry called out, pausing as no response was forthcoming. Shaking his head, Harry quickly took a plate, loading up the lunch he’d prepared, three equal portions of eggs with tomato, beef and potatoes as well as rice.

It didn’t look the most fancy, but Rose had liked the stir-fry her friends had taken her to a few days ago. With plate in hand, he walked over to Rose’s room, gently knocking on the door.

Still no response.

Knocking louder, Harry waited for several moments before taking a breath, opening it directly. 

Hearing the sound of packaging foil hastily being shoved into a drawer, Harry pretended not to notice, waiting patiently for his older sister to turn around from her study desk as he stood at the door. There were still some sprinkles on Rose’s mouth, though her innocent look would have fooled most. 

“Knock, damnit!” she accused, causing Harry to dip his head, suppressing a sigh.

“Right, sorry, my bad. Hungry? I made lunch,” he held out the dish with a grin. She gave it a quick glance before shaking her head.

“No, I’m meeting up with friends,” the red-haired witch dismissed with a wave, involuntarily letting out a yawn. Harry forced himself to swallow the reprimand about getting some rest. Still, he supposed it was good that she was going out. Seeing he did not leave, she arched an eyebrow, a hint of impatience as her foot tapped. “Well, what do you want?”

“I just wanted to say I’m glad you’re doing the homework. You made a silly mistake, so I’ve left the solution outside for you to rev-”

“Out,” she growled, causing Harry’s body to still as he blinked. A moment later, a book slammed into his face, causing him to stagger backwards unsteadily, arms flailing wildly before managing to clutch against the door frame, steadying himself. “Get the fuck out!”

“Di-” His vision blurred, a ringing in his ears.

“Stop trying to show off! You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Well maybe if I didn’t have to take care of you I’d be just as smart too!” she yelled, grabbing him by the hair and slamming it against the wall. “I’m the girl-who-lived, not you!”

“I-” 

“You ever think about that with that brain of yours? Why can’t you just go away?”

“Sorry,” Harry murmured through gritted teeth, fighting the tears as she huffed. His ears rang as his vision blurred, a violent lurch in his heart. Through his blurry vision, he saw her grab her handbag and storm out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Argh…” As he collapsed to the ground, the shattered plate and dropped food all but forgotten, the burning against his thigh barely noticeable compared to the pain in his heart.

“Lily, what’s going on?” James called out, a tinge of worry.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Rose’s bitter voice called back, undoubtedly with a roll of her eyes. Not a moment later, the sound of the front door opening and closing. Left alone on the floor, Harry couldn’t help the bitterness in his heart.

By Merlin, he was trying his best. Learning to cook and clean. Keeping tabs on the family estate, with his father distrusting Gringotts. For an eight year old, Harry thought himself quite impressive, feats he only achieved with the help of occlumency, pushing his mind to the limits such that he was wracked with headaches in his head each night as he slept. 

Yet his sister treated him like muck underneath her shoe. His father didn’t seem to acknowledge his existence. Was he truly that undeserving of love?

But even as he shakily stood up, scrummaging through the cabinets for some wound cleanser and applying it to the back of his head, Harry found himself accepting the situation. His best was not enough for this family…perhaps, it would never be enough.

Accepting that reality was strangely therapeutic for him, a calm tranquilness in his previously tumultuous heart. 

Walking back into his room, Harry scanned his room, only seeing a few scattered books, various exercise books and a few textbooks. Gathering his emergency money pouch, which was generously filled with roughly two hundred galleons, as well as his normal wallet with muggle money, he took one last look around the room, which didn’t even have much of his imprint on it.

Glancing towards the mirror, Harry swallowed at the reflection of faintly glowing emerald on a simple silver necklace. Gingerly, he took off the chain, laying it inside the top drawer of his desk. Taking a tissue to remove the gauze that had stopped the bleeding, Harry tossed it into the bin, walking towards the door. His hand instinctively reached out to his house key, hanging there under the soft glint of the light. But his fingers curled up as he withdrew with a forlorn smile. It looked perfectly in place between Rose and their father’s…unlike him. How ironic.

Harry didn’t dare to look back towards the closed door of his father’s bedroom lest he lose the nerve to leave. Opening the door, he took a step out into the empty corridor, taking a deep breath and taking the second step to fully exit the apartment’s inside. Compared to the wooden panels inside, the concrete outside was like stepping into a different world. 

“Goodbye,” a soft whisper escaped his lips, destined to remain unheard. The door closed behind him with a soft thud, a sense of finality in his heart. Descending the stairs, he was thankfully not met by any of the neighbours, uninterrupted as he made the short walk to the bus stop. 

With his hands in his coat pockets, Harry’s breath misted up the November air. Glancing around, the streets were largely empty, just before the lunchtime rush. Within a minute, the bus had arrived, with Harry stepping on and paying the fare before walking over to an empty seat.

The bus was largely unfilled, with only a couple of teenage girls giggling in the back and a single old man snoozing in a seat near the front, a forgotten newspaper by his side. Making his way to the middle of the bus as the driver peeled off into traffic, Harry allowed a sigh to leave his lips as he all but collapsed into a seat, leaning against the windows.

As the minutes passed, quieter streets grew more and more bustling until they finally pulled up near Waterloo Station. Idly, he found his mind wandering as he entered the bustling terminus, snack vendors loudly shouting against the cacophony of footsteps and conversations. Entering the queue, his heart clenched at the sight of a pair of siblings holding hands, bouncing on their feet excitedly as their parents were just a step ahead. 

His traitorous eyes darting around, he spotted couples holding hands, siblings chasing each other, friends exchanging laughs. All of that felt foreign to him, an outsider watching from beyond the glass pane, unable to truly feel intimately what did not belong to him.

The queue moved quickly, an unfriendly woman behind the counter peering down at him. 

“If you’re lost, go to the information centre. Turn left and towards the toilets,” she sighed, waving her hand in a sign of dismissal. Harry grit his teeth, pulling out a five pound note.

“A one-way ticket to Surrey.” 

Arching her eyebrow as she glanced down the note, the ticket woman’s lips pursed before swallowing her words, simply stamping a ticket and sliding it through the counter window towards him. “Platform seven.”

“Thank you.”

--Break--

Taking a breath as he stood at the door, Harry finally mustered up the courage, pressing his finger on the doorbell. A soft chime rang out as he bit on his lower lip, feeling the seconds tick by as the music from the radio was turned off, followed by hurried footsteps.

As the door opened, Harry forced a smile to his lips seeing a thin woman looking at him confusedly before her lips curled into a snarl.

“Hello Aunt Pe-”

“What are you here for?” she demanded, causing Harry’s eyes to widen. The woman next door stuck her head out of the window, a startled expression on her face.

“Tunia, are you alright?” she called in a rather shrill voice, her plump face sticking out of the window sill and craning towards them. Petunia’s face morphed into a warm smile with surprising speed, so much so that Harry wondered if he had hallucinated her earlier aggression.

“Nothing, just surprised that one of Dudley’s distant relatives is here,” she called out, looking down at him as Petunia waved off her neighbour. Under the gazes of several neighbours across the street, her face remained in a smile, though her eyes held no warmth. “Come in, come in. Quickly.”

As he was all but yanked into the house, Harry winced at her grip on his wrist, hurriedly following to relieve the strain of being pulled. As the door slammed shut, the smiling facade crumbled, replaced with an ugly sneer.

“What the hell are you here for?” she demanded.

“My mother is…sick. Rose if being taken care of, but…”

“Ugh, freaks can’t even leave us normal folks well alone,” Petunia scoffed, causing Harry’s eyes to narrow slightly before he quickly controlled himself, a pleasant smile back on his lips. 

“My parents are well aware of the financial burden this might pose. They’ve prepared a sum of money for the trouble,” Harry assured, taking out the wad of Sterling notes, a stack of crisp fifty pound notes totalling a thousand. Pursing her lips, there was indecision in his aunt’s eyes, though Harry wasn’t surprised. Another child unannounced would always be a burden.

“Wait in the living room. I’ll have to discuss this with Vernon,” she nodded, taking the stack of notes, slipping a few from the rubber band before carefully placing the rest in a cabinet. Walking inside the house, Harry admired the various trinkets that adorned the house: family portraits prominently featuring a rather plump young boy. By all accounts, they were a perfectly normal, loving family.

A large photo of Vernon shaking hands with some old executive. A large plaque of gold and wood with ‘Midland Bank’ emblazoned, some sort of award. There wasn’t much to observe, which in itself faintly grated on his nerves. As someone who noted the details, to find nothing out of place was…unusual.

While Harry wasn’t sure what caused his aunt’s adverse reaction, perhaps they could work out the issues. Lily hadn’t talked about Petunia save for the vaguest terms, though given she sent letters every few months wishing birthdays and holidays,  Harry didn’t suppose it could be too bad. 

Sitting in the living room, Harry calmed his mind, hearing his aunt on the telephone but unable to make out the words. The couch seemed rather pompous, a rather uncomfortable, if imperial, leather. A few bottles of port lined the walls next to a crystal decanter.

The half an hour his mind idled in proved little issue, with the sound of a car parking in the driveway soon followed by the sound of the garage door opening. Harry stood up from the couch, turning just in time to see Vernon lumber into the room, his cheeks slightly flushed. Petunia followed a moment later, her lips pressed into a thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Ah, young Harold, was it?” he called out with a smile, his meaty palm slamming down on his shoulder several times and causing Harry to hide a wince. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother…terribly sorry indeed. Come, I brought some dinner, I trust a bit of roast beef won’t be an issue?

“Ve-”

“Now now, Pet. I’ll handle this,” Vernon interjected, causing Petunia to swallow, nodding before mumbling some excuse and leaving the room. Harry followed his lead into the dining room, with his uncle taking out a large paper bag, tearing off the top and unfurling the tin foil wrapping to reveal a leg of roast beef.

Harry’s eyes widened, knowing that such a food wouldn’t have come cheap, his spirits somewhat soaring as Vernon took out a plate and some utensils from the cupboard, ushering Harry to sit down and carving out a hearty slice for him.

“Are you not eating, uncle?” Harry cocked his head.

“No, no. I’ve got a dinner reservation with Pe-your aunt Petunia later. This is just some extra food from the company lunch, don’t be shy, give it a taste!” he encouraged. Nodding happily, Harry began to dig into the meal, chalking up his uncle’s careful gaze to the worry that the food wasn’t to his liking. It was a bit dry and chewy, but still very enjoyable. “Good?”

Harry quickly swallowed the bite in his mouth, nodding. “Yes, Uncle Vernon. Thank you for the food!”

“Hmm…wait, can’t have beef without some gravy too. Drats, I knew I was forgetting something,” Vernon snapped his fingers, hurriedly standing up and rushing out of the room with surprising speed. Harry blinked, his intent to say such wasn’t necessary yet to leave his mouth by the time Vernon had disappeared into the corridor. 

Moments later, he returned with a small pot and a large glass of water.

“Come, come, let me,” he assured boisterously, tipping the pot to drench his beef in the brown gravy. Harry nodded, trying the meat with the gravy and noting that it was indeed much easier to chew. There was almost a…hint of impatience in his uncle’s eyes, though Harry remembered the ‘dinner reservation’ and instantly felt guilty.

“Uncle, you don’t have to wait up for me, I’m sure you’re looking forward to your date,” Harry assured, causing the man’s eyes to flicker before he waved his meaty hand. 

“Nonsense, take your time. Don’t forget to drink either.”

“Right, thank you, uncle,” Harry nodded, reaching for the glass and taking several gulps. There was a slightly sweet taste to it, though Harry reasoned it must simply be a bit of fruit. As he reached for his fork and quickly finish the meal, Harry felt his head swirl, a faint ringing in his ears as his muscles slackened before everything faded to black.

--Break--

“Get out, boy,” Uncle Vernon ordered, causing Harry to groggily look up, trying to blink away the mucus in his eyes. The car rocked for a moment as his uncle’s weight left the vehicle, testing the sturdy suspension of the Aston Martin was pushed to its limits. Fighting the urge to retch, he blindly fumbled for the door handle, only for a sweaty, meaty hand to shoot in, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him out. “Can’t even open a bloody door right.”

The urge to vomit finally overflowed with the disorientation of being yanked in the air. Purple bile forced its way up through his throat, even the taste and stench causing a shudder through his addled body. Vernon’s insults didn’t register in his mind, though the painful sensation of gravel digging into his body as gravity slammed his body into the ground certainly did. 

“This is the boy?” a voice questioned. Forcing his head to turn, grinding against the pebbles, Harry saw a tall, broad-chested Slavic man with a severe expression, flanked by a woman in a strange cross between a robe and medieval plate armour.

“Magical, damn brat took twice the normal amount of tranquiliser and still isn’t fully knocked out, General. It wasn’t easy to come by.”

“Hmph, I suppose there might be potential,” the ‘General’ nodded, his right index fingers making small circles as his left hand remained behind his back. “What is his name?”

“Harry Potter,” Vernon answered, causing Harry to feel mild surprise. 

“Potter…surely no-” the General’s associate swallowed her musings at the look he cast her way. 

“I see…well, regardless, this is too good an opportunity to pass up,” the General nodded, turning to him. It was far too late to pretend to be asleep now, and he suspected that the man was well aware he’d been listening in. Still, the grogginess in his mind was genuine. “Veyliv’s doomed this operation anyhow.”

“Harry…Potter,” the ‘General’ mused as he stopped just a step away from Harry, crouching down and gently lifting his head. A loud bang and flash briefly dazed Harry, though he could feel magic pouring from the fingertips of the ‘General’.

“What are y-” his words were slurred, Harry’s attempt to grasp at his fleeting consciousness faltering. 

“Remarkable…such will,” a distant voice mused, black and white swirling in his vision. “Sleep. We’ll talk soon.”

--Break-- 

“You’re awake,” a voice called out, causing Harry to snap upwards, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand, only to find it being held in the woman’s hands. She arched an eyebrow, her lips faintly curled up. 

“Huh…” Harry frowned before quickly composing himself, twitching his leg and frowning as he realised that his blade was no longer within his socks. The knowing glint in the woman’s eyes only unnerved him more. “You’re the General’s aide, aren’t you?”

“Observant, aren’t you?” the woman appraised as she took a seat at his bedside. The smell of disinfectant became more pronounced, with the sterile walls and various apparati showing they were in some sort of medical facility. “Anything else you’ve observed?”

“My uncle is dead, isn’t he?” Harry pointed out, causing the woman’s eyes to briefly flicker.

“And what makes you think that?”

“The General implied they had a link to Veyliv, who has links to alleged disappearances. My uncle doesn’t seem the most reliable, so it’s only natural to cut out loose ends.”

“That…is a strange perspective for one your age,” the woman admitted wryly before cracking a smile. “Then again, I suppose a normal child wouldn’t be someone of interest. So, you must have questions. Ask away?”

“A name would be useful. I’m Harry Potter,” he introduced, causing the woman to cock her head, lips curling up in amusement. Harry rather thought it akin to a scientist watching a rat struggling through a maze, though strangely he didn’t find the scrutiny particularly uncomfortable. There was no malice…dare he say not even much interest.

“Really? A name?”

“It’s a relatively low commitment, I don’t see how else I’d approach a cautious woman like you, not without leverage at least,” Harry pointed out dryly.

“I didn’t expect you to be so cynical.”

“I may act like sunshine and rainbows, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind, even if I expected my uncle to at least take a bit more time,” Harry pointed out dryly. “A human trafficker for the Soviet Union, now our family really has seen it all.”

“Names have power, any half intelligent magical knows that.” 

“So you’re scared of a nine year old child knowing your name?” Harry pointed out dryly, causing the woman to shrug.

“For a nine year old, even indirectly, you have enough red in your ledger for a lifetime. Really? You poisoned your own proxy just to take out our agent?”

“That hurts,” Harry pursed his lips, causing the woman to let out a bark of laughter. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant sound, almost forced yet not quite. “The British investigation never came to any conclusive evidence.”

“Please, Fudge would blame the Soviets if it rains. But what is far more fascinating to me…what did you do to Amelia Bones?”

“What makes you think I had any involvement? The Iron Maiden is notoriously independent.”

“She’s the type to dig into shitholes others would leave well alone. Her absence in this investigation couldn’t have been a coincidence.”

“Well, hypothetically if I were in such a situation,” Harry waved his hand casually, a faint smirk on the woman’s lips, “I’d somehow implicate her family member. Her niece, Susan Bones, still young and a bit of a firebrand. If she were even tangentially related to alleged Soviet activity…well, Amelia Bones wouldn’t have any choice but to recuse herself, no?”

“I’d probably have just killed the bitch, but I suppose that’s the difference between people like you and people like me.”

“So, now that I’ve indulged your curiosity, care to tell me what this is about?” 

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Even if my uncle was only one of the pawns in your General’s scheme, I doubt that it was cheap to rope him in, given his expensive, albeit poor, tastes. The Soviet Union might be a nation with the will to export its grain even in a famine, but it is hardly one with the resources to indulge.”

“You have quite the…opinion on our state.”

“From my understanding, the nation is truly one of contradictions. A man on the moon in 1960, yet only the first toilet paper factory in ‘69.”

“That’s only the muggles.”

“Culture echoes, particularly when what remained on that side of the Iron Curtain were the scraps not wanted by the Revanchists. For a nation to rise that quickly…just as the Chinese magicals do not walk alone today, neither could the Soviets have back then.”

“An interesting perspective, and mostly accurate, anyhow.”

“You’re a rather poor conversationalist,” Harry pointed out, causing the woman to snort.

“I let my wand do the talking.” 

“If you’re not able to answer any questions, why don’t we bring in the General. I’m sure he’s listening in.” 

“You’re awfully shrewd.”

“Someone had to be in the family.”

“How touching,” the General’s voice called out as the door opened, with the man waving off the woman’s salute. “Harry Potter, I must confess to my surprise, you’ve been rather ruthless in your past dealings with us. And yet…here you are. Fate truly works in mysterious ways. Leave us.”

“Ge-”

“Unless you believe that young master Potter here poses a threat to me?” the man’s left eyebrow arched. Swallowing, the woman bowed before excusing herself. 

“General,” Harry greeted, unsure of how to start, drawing a faint snort from the man.

“You were so confident moments ago, where is that youthful bravado now?”

“I’m not suicidal, sir. You hold her leash, I don’t know who holds yours. Forgive me if I am cautious.”

“Heh…heh…hahahaha!” the General bellowed in laughter, clutching his stomach. “Truly, it is fortuitous that we have met. Half the adults I know lack your intelligence, or at least your wit.”

“I suppose I should thank you,” Harry responded neutrally, causing the man to lean forward, peering at him curiously. “It is thanks to you that I am here. I doubt we went through all the pleasantries just to have you harvest my organs or something like that.” 

“Those who are useful have little to fear,” the man waved off, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “White. Alexander White.”

“Shall I address you as General White, then?”

“Yes, that will do fine,” the man nodded. “So now, you have a choice. You can leave after being obliviated, and this meeting will have never happened. Or you can join me on a journey for something greater. Something more valuable than life itself.”

Harry swallowed, feeling a twitch in his fingers to strum along invisible keys. It was as though he was being played, yet the seductive tune continued to string him along.

Leaning forward, General White smiled as he clasped his fingers together. “Isn’t it frustrating? Holding yourself back? Shackled by that mask of yours? That fiery ambition and limitless potential snuffed into naught but embers by the circumstance of those who should care for you most, not even the mercy of a clean death.”

“I assume you want a decision now?”

“Is there still doubt? You made a choice when you left your home.”

“Can I afford to follow?” Harry challenged.

“Can you afford not to?” White retorted with a faint smirk, lifting the glass of port and taking a long sip. “Our world is one of increasing competition. four billion muggles today, six billion by the turn of the millenia. The Chinese deciding not to achieve communism by starving themselves and rising from the grave, MACUSA draining South America dry in Imperial expansion…the war never ended, merely a temporary peace. Another decade of idling and mediocrity, even if by circumstance: how will you compete with the geniuses who have been sprinting for all their lives?”

Harry swallowed: the General had spoken his very thoughts. While there was merit to facing the true bitterness of real life, how could he compare with those who had the guidance and focus of an army of tutors, mediwitches and trainers? Had there been an ounce of love…even the promise of such, he would have given it all up happily. But now?

“Are you familiar with the Velvet Orchid, General?”

“I have passing knowledge, yes. The orange flower that wilts the more it is exposed to magic.”

“The flower is valuable precisely because it does not last. Because it is scarcity not just by geography, but on the axis of time. Our biology means that we will die at some point. Barring a full embrace of nihilism, it would be foolish to write off the value of something just because of its fragility. Our memories are just electrical impulses and neural circuits arranged in a specific pattern, a series of hormones creating biological impulse. But when a mother takes a killing curse for their child, in that moment, she truly believes it is love and sacrifice. Does it make it any less real?”

“But that is only as long as you can trick yourself into giving something meaning. The human heart is fickle, and we know where you stand now.” The General reached forward, pouring himself another glass and swirling its amber contents before taking a sip. “And the things worth working for…well, a rose without thorns has never been plucked.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in contemplation as he leaned forward. “Then perhaps I must go through the snake hole.” 

His eyes briefly flickered, before the General raised his glass in a toast, downing the glass in one swift gulp. 

“Then there is no reason to delay.” The man paused. “One more thing, you do speak Russian, right?”

“Da.”

--Break--

“I admit, Harry, I’m curious,” the General began, pouring out two glasses of vodka, a faint, clean scent rising from the glasses. “What is a wizard of your calibre doing fraternising with muggles?”

“I did not expect you to have such an opinion on muggles,” Harry probed, causing a brief flicker of a grimace to appear on the man’s face. Whether this was genuine, Harry couldn’t say. As the seconds ticked on, Harry conceded, continuing, “There are times where the best thing you can do is let go.”

“Hmm,” the General eyed him, his fingers lightly tapping on the glass and causing a faint echo. Harry resisted the urge to squirm, yet despite knowing that delay was advantageous to himself, he couldn’t quite find the calmness he used to have. After a full minute, the General finally cracked a faint smile. “Then it seems that was your final gift to them.”

“There are no more ties between us,” Harry assured. 

“I shall take you word for it. But a man of your talents…it does pique my curiosity,” he swirled the clear liquid in his glass, inhaling the faint fumes, a glimmer of nostalgia. “Ahh, takes me back.”

“To the war?” 

The General didn’t answer, but the twitch of his lips was an answer in itself. Glancing down at the glass before him, Harry gave it a light swirl, flinching as the fumes infested his nostrils. 

“Ugh.” His eyes glazed over as a strong fizzing sensation irritated Harry’s skin. “This isn’t normal vodka, is it?”

“Hah, that stuff doesn’t do anything. This, my friend, we call the devil’s piss.” 

“And yet you drink it willingly,” Harry pointed out dryly, causing the smile on White’s lips to falter. 

“I’ve always been fascinated by the human condition. In adversity and against the impossible, somehow we endure. Yet this strength seems so brittle against temptation,” the General groused, taking another large gulp of the liquid. “If only for a few moments, you can drown your sorrows away with the sting of alcohol. The escape from the pain…heh.”

“Then just stop.”

“Heh, coming from most others, I would scoff. But even now, you do not drink, so I suppose I can only blame my own willpower,” White sighed, setting down his glass on the table, his left thumb briefly brushing over his ring finger before resting in his lap. “Tell me, how do you find the strength to simply…walk away?”

“Because when you trust yourself and make every decision as best as you can, then you can move forward with no regrets,” Harry answered truthfully. The general’s hand twitched, flickering towards the half-empty glass on the table before settling on the edge of the table. 

“Truly, no regrets even now?”

“If you are referring to the Potters, no. I did my best but it was enough…perhaps it would have never been enough, my care may have stabilised the family situation, but it was no cure. Now, it’s up to them if they can take the next step.”

“Perhaps for your parents, but even Rose? I thought you were rather close to her.”

“She is the only blameless one in the family, after all,” Harry smiled, giving a light shrug. “Mother was too weak. Father was too delusional. No child should have to go through the stress she does.”

“You did not include yourself.”

“I coddled them too much. Indulged their delusions in pursuit for normalcy. Perhaps if I had simply killed Lily, then this might have been avoided.”

“Is that regret?”

“I…suppose so,” Harry smiled faintly, unsure of the answer himself. “In the end, humans end up being nothing but contradictions. Are you disappointed?”

“Disappointed…” the General echoed, testing the word before smiling wryly. “Perhaps a bit, like when you’ve pieced together a particularly interesting puzzle.”

“Then I’ll have to work hard to keep you satiated,” Harry answered dryly, drawing a bark of laughter. As the container rocked with a soft thud, the General’s expression turned forlorn for a moment before being replaced by a lazy smile once again. 

“Ah, it seems we’ve arrived,” White pointed out, straightening his tunic with a single tug as he stood up. “Any guesses as to where we are?”

“I’ve come along already, you have plenty of time to test me,” Harry pointed out, causing the General’s lips to twitch. Nevertheless, Harry knew he was still on thin ice and continued, “The cargo container we’re in has been moved too many times for me to guess where we are based on senses, but I would hazard Siberia, specifically Northern Siberia. The polar regions have always had magical anomalies, making it easier to hide.”

“A good guess,” he complimented without confirming it. Harry doubted he’d truly know if the General didn’t want him to, with the mysteries behind the Iron Curtain unseen by any in the outside world. “I don’t think you’ll find your time in our care unenjoyable.”

“Change is not unwelcome,” Harry responded simply. “If the General doubts my sincerity, rest assured it’s in my interest to flaunt my potential. Coyness is meaningless without a path forward.”

“So well spoken,” the General praised. “No wonder my agent was so wary of you…that, or perhaps because two of his comrades died by your hand. Ha ha ha!”

Harry smiled, not allowing the awkwardness to show. The sounds of chains being undone and locks being unraveled outside caused a faint shudder in the container. Even now, he had to wonder if he overestimated his own worth, but the man across from him was smart enough not to have any tricks to safeguard himself in the unlikely event that the man was actually weaker than Harry.

With a low groan, the doors swung open, revealing a sterile loading bay with two rows of guards standing to attention. Behind them, three more rows of scientists, around two hundred in all. At the bottom of the ramp, a man in a peacoat saluted, his glasses glinting under the harsh lighting of the space.

“General White, what a pleasant surprise. I did not expect you to come with the final…guest personally,” the man greeted with a crisp salute as General White descended down the ramp, Harry following cautiously behind.

“No need to be cautious, Ixel, I won’t be staying long,” General White waved off casually, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I simply wanted to take the chance to talk with our final candidate. I’ll be departing immediately for the ICW summit in Vienna.”

Turning to Harry, General White smiled faintly. “Best of luck, Harry. I expect great things from you.”

Without another word, he began ascending the ramp, leaving Harry in this foreign place. As the rumble of engines began to kick up a gust in the bay, Harry walked to the side of the man. 

“Shall we get going?”

“Welcome to Vault 7,” Ixel greeted clinically, with the faintest hint of curiosity. Despite everything, he offered no greeting, leaving Harry to doubt if the two would meet again. Whatever this ‘experiment’ was, Harry didn’t doubt it’d be an opportunity to grow. “I hope you enjoy your stay here.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware I could leave,” Harry arched an eyebrow as the two walked into the belly of the facility, the wide welcome bay giving way to sterile grey corridors, slowly descending deeper and deeper into the Earth. The man didn’t deign to give a response. “You must have questions as to my relationship with General White.”

Despite the man’s passive face, Harry could tell just the faintest hint of…resentment. 

“No need to be so antagonistic, after all, there’s little reason for contention.”

The man stumbled. Harry’s hand quickly shot out, grabbing the man’s wrist. An elevated pulse. 

“Let go,” he snarled, wrenching his arm back, two deep breaths before he calmed himself again. Harry found himself evermore curious now, knowing there had to be some reason for the man’s hatred. He quickly re-evaluated the reason for White’s personal arrival: was it a warning for him to remain untouched? His mind whirred as he considered the possibilities, but it was evident he’d have to be cautious. 

The two continued down the corridor in silence, until he arrived in a small room with nozzles on either side. “Step inside and do not resist.”

Without checking to see if he listened, the man stormed away. 

“Well that’s not a great start,” Harry mused wryly to himself, stepping into the contamination chamber. Honestly, he wasn’t surprised when he felt his consciousness begin to fade.  

Chapter Text

Blinking awake, Harry found himself inside a rather lavish room, with a large table, an assortment of beverages and some pastries laid out underneath a glass lid. A television set sat at the corner of the room in front of a large sofa chair. Narrowing his eyes, Harry reached out with his senses, unable to feel much beyond his room.

Not sensing any immediate danger, Harry walked to the edge of the room, gently tapping on the wood panelling, raising an eyebrow as he realised it indeed was not particularly thick or attached. 

Given his entrance, Harry had little doubt that he was being observed: otherwise what was the point of an experiment. 

Still, this wasn’t going to be particularly productive, so Harry instead took one of the pastries on offer, taking a tissue to wipe off the ridiculous amount of cream and sprinkles. Honestly, what sort of experiment had the Soviet Union offering food like this?

Glancing around the room, there didn’t seem to be any of his personal artefacts left. A large closet held a variety of clothes, ranging from three piece suits to tracksuits to beach-wear. Perhaps he should be a bit uncomfortable that all seemed tailored to his measurements, but Harry doubted his captors were particularly worried about propriety. At one end of the room, there was a door that led to what looked like a spacious ensuite, with both a bathtub and a shower, as well as rows of cosmetics atop a marble sink. 

Glancing down to see that he was dressed in a simple dress shirt and pants, Harry decided against changing, quickly inspecting the rest of the room. A few pencils and a notepad within the top drawer of the table, a small collection of pornography in the second drawer, some strange looking potions and pills in the bottom.

Harry’s mind raced, considering what this ‘experiment’ really consisted of. 

As he continued to scour the room, he was unpleasantly surprised to find an absurd amount of liquor in one cabinet, a large array of sweets in another, a stack of sex toys in a third…Harry felt his suspicions begin to coalesce. 

But he would only truly know once he explored the rest of his prison, not least his cellmates. Because whether with iron bars or padded leather, a prison was always a prison.

Opening the door, Harry walked out to see he was at the top of a set of stairs, the same comfortable, high class dark wooden panelling and tasteful bronze fixtures. It was truly a departure from the sterile grandeur of Stalinist architecture, which only furthered his suspicions.

“The walls have ears, I suppose,” Harry mused aloud, faintly imagining a scientist on the other side of the wall popping a vein. Descending down the twenty steps, Harry found himself in a large, decadent banquet hall, several rows of food laid out in a large feast. 

From multilayer cakes that reached the height of a small child to large roast duck and chicken to plates of pasta and rice and other dishes. Mounds of fried chicken and bacon and french fries. A two meter tall chocolate fountain gently pumped chocolate out, floating pieces of fruit swirling at the bottom. Even the pot of borscht had generous chunks of meat floating to the surface. 

Quickly regaining his focus, pinching his nose to block out the tantalising scents’ assault, Harry glanced around to see that there were roughly five dozen corridors, though some were distinctly wider than the rest. By his guess, that left roughly fifty dormitories like his own. 

The other staircases, by contrast, led downwards rather than up. Just as Harry was tempted to go explore, the sound of footsteps caught his attention. Soon enough, an older boy, around fourteen years old by Harry’s guess, descended from the steps, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. 

“By Circe’s lips!” a surprised voice called out from the side, another boy also in his teens descended. Harry didn’t blame him for such a reaction, given this looked like something out of a fantasy novel. 

It seemed most of the children here were Caucasian, though Harry supposed this wasn’t particularly surprising. This much food, even in the magical world, must be considered excessive. Unless they decided to make the cupcakes dance into one’s mouth, it really didn’t get much fancier than what they were offered.

It was a feast fit for a Tsar, with similar reactions from others as they descended their steps. As one girl walked forward dazedly, reaching out for a cupcake and swallowing it in three greedy gulps, the trance was broken as many others rushed forward to claim their own food. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed, glancing to see roughly a dozen still largely rooted to their spots with a mixture of confusion, disgust and doubt. He walked to the closest of these, a tall boy with a pale complexion, a sharp jaw and neat black hair. 

“You think something’s off too, don’t you?” Harry spoke aloud by way of greeting. Aside from catching that boy’s attention, a few others who had stood on the edge also noticed his movement, beginning to make their way over. “Harry.” 

“Vincent,” the boy returned with a faint German accent in his Russian, extending a handshake. “You read my mind. This is supposed to be an intensive training program, but the foods…I can’t even see a salad!”

“So, how did you get brought here?”

“Got some sort of sponsorship for a gifted program, then drugged for who knows how long before waking up here,” the boy shrugged. Harry filed away the information, now more determined than ever to keep his own knowledge a secret. 

“Similar story to me. Honestly, no idea what to expect, but…well, something is wrong with this. Do you think we’re even in Germany anymore?” a raven haired witch chimed in. Harry gave her a nod, noting four more were cautiously approaching, though some others had succumbed to the temptation of food. 

“Germany? Fuck…I thought I was still in Italy.”

“Think they’re trying to fatten us up? Sarah, by the way.”

“Pleasure,” Harry dipped his head in greeting. 

“Obertine.” 

“Georgia.” 

“Lex.”

“Paul.” 

As the others introduced by themselves one by one, Harry took a glance at those who had dove headfirst into the food. While most at least maintained some decorum, one had literally jumped into the chocolate fountain, while another gave him grotesque fascination at just how quickly one could swallow links of sausages.

“So we’re in agreement that something is…weird, right?”

“Yeah, it seems we’re all from European countries here…save you, Georgia,” Harry observed, taking the lead as the momentum faltered, others looking unsurely at each other. “We need to lay our cards on the table, so to speak. Whatever is happening, you can’t complete a puzzle if you don’t align the pieces.”

“You’re awfully eager,” Georgia pointed out with a bit of reluctance. 

“Someone has to be,” Harry sighed, injecting a bit of annoyance into his tone. “You see how much temptation there is. Only Merlin knows what is going on.”

“Harry’s right,” Paul pointed out vehemently, pointing at the boy who’d foregone cutlery to shove fists of onion rings and french fries into his mouth. “We might have passed this challenge, but who’s to say we won’t be tempted in the future?”

“Come on, surely you don’t think that we’re so easily swayed,” Obertine puffed out his chest. 

“Preen anymore and they’ll think you’re a peacock. Heh, maybe they’ll cook you into a nice roast,” Georgia barbed, causing Obertine’s face to flush red.

“Oh, and what do you know? If your brain is as big as your tits, then I daresay they aren’t much.”

“The fuck you say, porkers?” Georgia clenched her fist, stalking forward. 

“Enough!” Harry yelled, causing both of them to still, whirling towards him. Taking several breaths as he scanned their reactions, Harry’s lips quickly returned to a smile causing some to blink, as though uncertain whether his outburst had really happened. Most curious was Sarah, whose reaction was distracted as she scanned the others’ reactions. “I know we have our…differences, but right now, the worst thing we can do is fight amongst ourselves.”

“You seem eager to take charge,” Georgia narrowed her eyes at him. Harry raised his hands.

“You want to lead, then I’m all ears. What’s your plan?”

“Plan? What do you mean, plan?” the girl spat before blinking at the unimpressed looks of everyone else. Paul had subtly distanced himself from her. 

“Look, right now, all of us are overwhelmed. What we need is information, so let’s start by exploring the rest of the facilities. Some of the stairs seem to go downwards, let’s pair up and report back in half an hour. How does that sound?”

“Wouldn’t trios work better? In an environment where we don’t trust each other, it’s better than anything.”

“That’s a fair point,” Harry acknowledged, causing the witch to blink in surprise. “Ten of us, ten corridors that lead down. In pairs, we can take two each. In threes, we’ve an odd person out and take twice as long. I don’t like the risk of separating, but I’m personally more worried about pheromones or Merlin knows what else. For all we know, even the air is toxic.”   

“That’s…true,” Georgia acknowledged. 

“Alright, in that case, let’s pair up,” Harry instructed, only thinking for a moment before deciding. “Georgia?”

“Huh?”

“Just us left,” Harry pointed out, causing the girl to glance around, narrowing her eyes at the others, who’d all paired up. Even Sarah, who had taken a step towards him, had all but been dragged alongside Valerie. “Unless you prefer to work alone?”

“...No, it’s fine,” she shook her head as her lips pursed. 

“Great,” Harry clapped his hands, quickly assigning each to their pair of corridors, leaving only himself and Georgia still there. Turning to her, he observed her features more closely. Slightly freckled and dimpled cheeks on a tall, thin build. As Obertine had helpfully pointed out, no particularly prominent features on her chest or butt, though a neatly braided blonde ponytail. “Thanks, by the way.”

Georgia blinked, still for several moments as her mouth opened and closed, words failing to form. 

“For speaking up,” Harry clarified. “Let’s walk and talk.”

He took several steps forward, about to turn around before the sound of hurried footsteps assuaged him. The blonde walked near his side, a small gap between the two as they descended down the steps. 

“Care to explain?”

“The worst thing we can do is stay silent and harbour mistrust. Whatever issues exist between us, all of us, we have to work out before we have any hope of figuring out this mystery,” Harry answered. A rare time where he was genuine, though the girl didn’t seem to quite believe him. “So, you’re English as well? Hogwarts?”

“Too expensive, or I probably wouldn’t be here,” Georgia snorted, shaking her head as they reached the bottom of the stairs to find themselves. “The promised scholarship was…a lot. One night I was sleeping, the next I’m waking up here. You?”

“I had to take care of family issues first,” Harry answered, catching himself before stating his age. He appeared mature for his age, so it was best to take advantage lest the others think to suppress him on this basis. They arrived at the base of the staircase, finding themselves in a large series of televisions in individual cubicles, a set of headphones attached to each and a wide array of cassettes on the wall. Though to call them cubicles would be an understatement: padded cushions on all corners with sliding doors, a plump leather office sofa-chair, a small array of snacks and drinks already prepared, these were by no means similar to the spartan utilitarianism of office blocks. Movie posters adored the edge of the room, various heroes and heroines watching down, fake smiles and pearly white teeth. “Hogwarts wasn’t on the table.”

“I…see,“ Georgia’s voice trailed off as she took in the sight. “What…is this?” 

“Some sort of viewing room,” Harry mused, wandering over to one of the open cubicles, narrowing his eyes as he channeled a bit of magic to observe. His retinas burned at the sensation, far less convenient than using an enchanted spectacle, but it worked nonetheless. 

There was nothing out of place, which only left him more suspicious at how well their captors had managed to conceal any monitoring equipment. Rubbing his eyes gingerly as he cut off the flow, Harry turned to see Georgia looking at him curiously. 

“Care to cast any detection charms?”

“I don’t have a wand,” she pointed out dryly, causing Harry to nod, inwardly scoffing. “Still, I don’t see anything particularly suspicious, save for the pornography.”

“Considering what they put into our rooms, this feels tame,” Harry pointed out, drawing a snort from the witch. “Anyways, let’s see what else there is to this place.”

Harry walked along the cubicles, paying particular attention to the edge of the wall. The framed posters all were magically glued on, resisting his attempts to pry them apart. Punching one caused his fist to bruise up, a pang of pain shooting up his hand.

“What are you doing?” 

“Checking for anomalies.”

“So suspicious,” the witch sighed wryly, glancing around the room. “Though I can’t blame you. If it smells of beer, you’re probably not in a monastery.”

Harry hummed in agreement as he slowed in front of a section of cubicles, narrowing his eyes at the wall. Pumping a brief jolt of magic in his eyes, he could see no difference compared to the remainder, though instinct told him to inspect. 

Wandering forward, Harry climbed onto the desk, brushing aside the large television set as he rapped his fist on the panel. 

Solid, which meant that there was nothing behind…or it was hidden very well.

“What are you looking for?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be doing this, would I?” Harry retorted, shaking his hand and wincing at the lingering pain. “Still, let’s move on. We still have to clear the other room.”

“Just…what sort of life have you been living?” Georgia asked hesitantly.

“One where there were those who wanted to do my family harm. Someone had to step up from the circling vultures.”

“Harry…dare I ask your last name?”

“Potter,” Harry answered, causing Georgia to snort before scoffing.

“You could have just declined to answer.”

“Where’s the fun in that,” Harry shrugged, causing the witch to crack a smile. “Whatever our past, I doubt we’ll be able to return. Best to forget it.” 

“You…know something, don’t you?”

“Know? No. Suspect? Absolutely. You think that amount of food…all this facility comes cheap? Not to mention these screens. They’re called CRT monito-”

“I know, I’m not ignorant to muggle technology,” Georgia interjected. Harry nodded.

“Then you will know just how difficult it is to shield it against magic. This couldn’t be cheap, and they’ve literally provided a unit for all of us. A generous size too. You don’t make such investments unless you’ve got something to gain.”

“From us? I get that we’re all geniuses, but I can’t see it.”

“And that should worry you,” Harry smiled grimly, his gaze piercing Georgia as the witch unconsciously took a step back, gulping. “They’ve scouted us from across the world, talented individuals who won’t be missed. What does that tell you?”

“That…no one is coming for us,” Georgia answered weakly. 

“That’s right,” Harry nodded. “So it’s up to us to figure out what this place…what our captors want from us. Until we do-”

“We’ll be at a massive disadvantage,” Georgia finished knowingly, smirking at his widened eyes. “You’re not the only one with intelligence here.”

“Good, if I was surrounded by idiots I might have killed myself in despair,” Harry pointed out dryly as the two began to ascend the stairs. This got a genuine laugh from the witch.

“I get it. Still, it feels weird not being the smartest one in the room anymore. It’s…not humbling, per say, but something to get used to.” 

“You could ignore it, dive into the pig trough like those people,” Harry pointed out as they reached the top. 

“Ugh, just how did those types of people get involved?”

“You shouldn’t be so hasty to judge,” Harry advised, his lips thinning as he watched two wizards fighting over a piece of lobster. 

“There’s no way I’d scrap like those…creatures,” Georgia scoffed. Harry inwardly sighed, though perhaps it wasn’t unexpected. If this was really a gathering of geniuses, then it was hardly surprising that many would be prideful. As for those letting loose? Too strict an upbringing and suddenly being given seemingly complete freedom? Honestly, at least a few should still be within their rooms. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I’m rather cynical,” Harry shrugged as they descended down the second set of steps. 

“Arrogant, perhaps.”

“Arrogance is the unjustified belief in one’s own superiority. I hardly see myself above,” Harry returned. Georgia paused, almost tripping before Harry’s hand shot out, steadying her. “I don’t know if your attitude is arrogance or confidence, but friendly advice, tone it down.”

“Oh? And why should I listen to anything you have to say?” Georgia spat, though Harry could see the shimmer of doubt in her eyes. It was more out of spite than anything. Harry retracted his arm, walking down and not deigning to look at her.

“I just don’t want you dead yet,” Harry mused airily as they arrived at the bottom, being greeted by a huge arcade. There must have been at least a hundred gaming cabinets, with another row full of slot machines, a poker table and enough flashing lights to outshine Vegas. 

“What…what do you mean?”

“When you don’t know the rules of the game, the last thing you want is someone to do something too extreme. For all we know, the experiment will fail and everyone will be terminated,” Harry pointed out dryly, causing Georgia to still, as though the weight of the situation had finally become apparent. Her knees buckled, goosebumps forming on her arms. 

Harry walked towards one of the larger cabinets nearby, featuring a toy rifle that linked to the screen. Lifting it to his eye, Harry couldn’t help a snort. Unlike the earlier area, this place was littered with cameras, sensors…all manner of gadgets. This gun alone was definitely tracing the user’s heartbeat and sweat. The lens of the motion sensors also seemed to be cameras.

What baffled Harry more was how there seemed the be a distinct lack of ability to interact with magic. 

“Let’s go back, it’s almost the meeting time,” Harry instructed, turning around and heading up the steps. 

“Aren’t you going to inspect the place?” Georgia frowned, though nevertheless following him.

“Not yet,” Harry answered, inwardly already trying to better assess the situation. In truth, he was already doubting his decision to provoke Georgia into a state of alertness, though the girl would undoubtedly succumb to some sort of vice without intervention. Considering how few individuals had maintained their composure even in the opening stages, Harry needed more information.

Ascending the steps, it seemed they were one of the last to arrive. The others quietened as Harry arrived, though his first observation was that they were missing two members. 

“I assume Lex and Victoria will not be joining us,” Harry scrutinised, causing some of them to glance at each other uneasily. 

“They’ll…come back, probably,” Obertine shrugged, his eyes darting to one of the witches grabbing fistfuls of fried foods and shoving them into her mouth, chunks falling down her torso and onto a small pile on the ground. 

“Well, let’s summarise. Georgia and I found a cinema and an arcade.”

“We found a spa complex and some…waterpark, I guess? It’s not particularly big, but there are a few slides, a lazy river and…well a few other things. Lex is…well, he wanted to try the lazy river.”

“For us, it was some garden greenhouse and an infirmary. Victoria refused to leave the greenhouses.”

“We found an aquarium and some sort of bar…wine cellar…pub, whatever you call it.”

“We only found one of the two open, it was some sort of…boutique? Department store? They have everything from packs of trading cards to jewellery to an assortment of clothes,” Obertine explained with a frown. “Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if we’re in some sort of gameshow.”

“Unlikely,” Georgia observed with narrowed eyes, twirling a strand of hair on her finger. “The cost would be too high, just consider how big this facility is and what they’ve put into it. They’d never make money on it.”

“Then what do you think?” Obertine challenged. “You seem to have a lot of confidence, let’s see if it’s bluster.”

“Me?” Georgia balked. “Hmpf, if you’re too dumb to come up with ideas, just admit it.”

“You seem to have a lot to say,” the German raised a challenging eyebrow. “Surely you should grace us with your intellect, no?”

“I…if I had to guess, this is some sort of test,” Georgia answered simply.

“A…test? How generous of you to share,” Obertine smiled mockingly. “Truly, we must have all misjudged you.”

“This isn’t about me. Who knows if we’re only competing against each other,” Georgia countered, her gaze flickering to Harry for a moment, yet not a hint of guilt. Harry didn’t mind, because ultimately, he had planted that idea in her head precisely to get Georgia to speak it out. What interested him far more was the flicker of annoyance on Sarah’s face, even if it was quickly gone. “We’re all smart people here, you all can sense this.”

“That…”

“It could make sense,” Paul acknowledged in the ensuing silence, giving Georgia a glance. The girl sniffed, turning away. “Building up such a facility wouldn’t be expensive per recruit if we stayed for, say, two weeks before the next batch came in. Food isn’t particularly expensive in the magical world, and conveniently the…others have largely gorged themselves here like blushing virgins in a brothel.”

“But where would they find so many recruits? We’re all magicals, and it’s not like whoever did this could get away with it,” Olivia pointed out skeptically. “Actually, now that you mention it-”

“None of this is productive,” Sarah interjected firmly, taking a deep breath. “Right now, speculation won’t get us anywhere. We need facts.”

“Sarah is right,” Harry acknowledged, inwardly smirking at the faint twitch of surprise from the girl. Only Georgia seemed to have an inkling, the others having turned to stare at him. “So let’s look at the facts. A large amount of unhealthy foods designed to encourage excess. Facilities meant to encourage us to be passive. No access to magic. They’re trying to turn us into slobs…for what purpose, we can only speculate.”

“You’ve given a lot of thought into this,” Sarah raised an eyebrow towards him. 

“We all have. Or rather, should have,” Georgia stepped in. A flicker of annoyance over Paul’s face, catching the eye of Sarah and himself. “I’ve been thinking about this too. Someone wants something from us, and I’m not inclined to simply walk into the boiling cauldron.”

“Georgia’s right, we need to work together, particularly given some of us have already succumbed,” Paul nodded. 

‘Simp,’ Sarah mouthed to him, nearly causing Harry to choke. Resisting the urge to fight that smug gleam in her eyes, he waved off the concerned looks of everyone else.

“Apologies, seeing some of our…peers gouging themselves on food still hits a nerve,” Harry sighed, causing them to nod in understanding.

“Indeed, perhaps we should get some rest? It’s probably a lot to take in thus far, and I know I’d like to personally look at all the rooms,” Sarah proposed. On the surface, it was a reasonable suggestion: that was what made it so deadly.

Yet at the same time, he could now face off against a competent opponent: this was simply two thrilling. It seemed she echoed his thoughts; as the others dispersed, she lingered, taking a piece of cake and nibbling at it. Harry turned away from her, taking a few steps towards the aquarium before a voice called out.

“Going to look at fish, really?” 

“It soothes the mind,” Harry answered airily, not slowing down. 

“So you’re not going after Lex?” This time, Harry did slow, turning around with a faint smile on his lips. Sarah raised an eyebrow, casually walking towards him with a faint sway on her hips. “I would have expected you to prefer Victoria.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she’s a girl all alone, with some potential,” Sarah pointed out, a gleam in her eye. “You’re different from the others. You know something, don’t you?”

“I should be asking you that,” Harry responded casually, unconcerned as she closed the distance between the two, reaching out for his hand and placing it on her breast. “Trying to blackmail me?”

“That’s your first thought?” Sarah quipped, though Harry could detect a hint of surprise. 

“You didn’t deny it, nor do you seem offended.”

“You seem to have some social smarts, unlike most of the others here. So let us dance carefully between us, you and I.”

Harry leaned forward, just an inch from her ear as he whispered, “And what if I decide that I prefer to work alone?” 

“You know better than anyone that what we prefer is far different from what we get in life, isn’t that right, Harry Potter?” Perhaps she had intended to intimidate him. But in truth, Harry couldn’t only let out a faint chuckle, which slowly turned into a full laugh.

The confident grin on her face faltered, a half-step back before Sarah caught herself. 

“Please, think you have the advantage,” Harry licked his lips. A part of this was just an act to knock her further off balance, but in truth, Harry couldn’t deny enjoying this. His fingers reached out, ignoring her flinch as he faintly touched her skin. “It’s no fun if you just roll over and die.”

--Break--

“Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine. Ninety,” Harry huffed, sweat dripping from his body onto the wooden floor as he gently lowered himself to the floor. His arms had definitely filled up, muscle quickly getting more defined, and certainly far more than it should have for his age. Georgia and Olivia watched him with disbelief as they were slumped against the wall, faces flushed. Obertine had passed out, slightly frothing from his mouth.

“What in Morgana are you?” Georgia wheezed, Olivia grunting in agreement. 

“I was used to a threat or two,” Harry shrugged, wiping the sweat from his brow and taking a deep breath, growing. “The shitty food they’re giving us isn’t helping, that’s for sure.”

“Huh…I thought it was just me feeling bloated,” Georgia mused thoughtfully, barely flinching at the fart that squeezed out. “I even stripped the fried coating from the chicken like you suggested.”

“Um…is he going to be alright?” Olivia tilted her head towards the unconscious Obertine before raising her arms. Harry's eyes flickered to her chest, noticing that the top seemed a bit tighter than before. “He seems worse than usual.”

“Serves the peacock right,” Georgia muttered, though both Harry and Olivia turned her disparaging out. Harry narrowed his eyes in contemplation before observing Olivia, only to see she was staring at him, a faint blush on her cheeks. 

“You need a drink, Olivia?” he called out, causing the witch to snap to attention.

“Um, yeah, that’d be great,” she smiled as Harry poured out a glass of water, handing it to the witch. 

“And what am I? A statue?” Georgia grumbled. “But seriously, he looks like he might choke to death. Ironic, a pig exercising so hard it chokes on its own sweat.” 

“I’ll have to give him some massaging so his muscles untangle, but he’ll live. Just a bit too much exercise. That, and the food they’re giving us,” Harry assured.

“Idiot was trying to preen in front of us, no doubt,” Georgia dismissed, drawing a roll of the eyes from Olivia. “Hey, you know it’s true.”

“You’re-gah-really a bitch, you know?” the girl sighed, before adding as an afterthought, “in a good way, of course.”

“You can’t just add ‘in a good way’ and wave off the insult,” Georgia huffed. 

“Well, seems like neither of you gave it your all unlike Obertine,” Harry mused, causing both girls to scoff in unison.

“Neither of us are going to fully expand ourselves. What would we do if you tried something?” Georgia huffed. Olivia smiled apologetically at him.

“Some skepticism is good,” Harry acknowledged, hardly offended. “But you’re asking the wrong question.”

“So what’s the right one?” Olivia asked. 

“Don’t just go begging for an answer,” Georgia chided.

“I’m not prideful enough to discard that time is our second most valuable asset right now,” the brunette scoffed, surprising Harry with her level of insight. Georgia seemed caught off guard. “As you said, we’re all smart people here.” 

Georgia’s eyes narrowed, though she swallowed any retort. 

“Seems like the bitch can heel,” an amused voice called out as Sarah entered, leaning against the door frame.

“What did you say?” Georgia scowled, attempting to shoot to her feet before crumpling back to the ground. Olivia bit on her lip, her body trembling with chuckles as Sarah rolled her eyes, giving Obertine a glance before turning to Harry.

“So, you’ve started this…exercise club?” she arched an eyebrow. “It’s not a bad idea, mind if I join?”

“Sure, any particular muscles you have in mind?”

“How about a spar, if you’re up for it?” Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, before a faint smile formed on his lips.

“I ask that you be gentle.”

“Lack that much confidence?” 

“I doubt you’d propose a spar if you didn’t have some training. I daren’t compare.” Sarah’s eyes turned contemplative for a moment. “But I suppose you might not have the control to hold it back. No worries then, a little pain wouldn’t be unwelcome.”

“Kick her ass!” Olivia cheered lazily, pumping a fist into the air. 

“Hmm, you have a fan, best not disappoint her now,” Sarah teased, raising her fists in a protective posture, her knees slightly bent. “Don’t worry, I’ll kiss you better…that is if Olivia there doesn’t do so first.”

With that, she darted forward, telegraphing a left hook. Harry frowned, unable to tell if it was a feint or not. Thus, he took the safe option and retreated: one step, then two, then three. Sarah’s movements in pursuit were so smooth that one might think this was her plan all along. 

But Harry decided to take a chance on something: physics. Or more precisely, momentum. His retreating steps had not been linear, forcing Sarah to pivot once, then twice. 

With such a momentum towards him, Harry stepped on the ground, vaulting forward, half-extending a punch before raising his foot for a firm kick.

Unfortunately, Sarah only smiled as she twisted her body slightly, locking her arm around his knee as she yanked herself-and him-to the ground.

Harry let out a grunt as his body contorted in an attempt not to have its leg snapped. But she had already moved forward, closing the distance and ramming into him with an elbow to the gut. He couldn’t avoid it, but as he jabbed both hands forward straight to her neck, Harry knew he’d give as good as he got.

Just as her elbow slammed into him, choking the breath out of his lungs and sending him tumbling to the ground, Harry caught Sarah clutching her neck, stumbling and wheezing. Thankfully, that damage she inflicted was only superficial. After several deep breaths smoothed out his breathing, Harry forced himself up, prepared to help Sarah adjust her windpipe.

Snap. Clack.

Harry watched with morbid fascination as she slammed a palm on the side of her neck, readjusting it herself. A true professional, which left him even more wary…yet also more curious. 

“It’s my loss,” Harry conceded. “You alright?”

Sarah craned her neck to the side, letting out a soft sigh at the loud crack that followed. “I’ll be fine, you caught me off guard. Ack, that was a good move.”

“Hardly, you merely forced my hand, that’s all.”

“A cornered beast is the most dangerous.”

“Oh, so I’m a beast?”

“In a true fight, we devolve to instincts. When your lungs burn to squeeze out a bit more oxygen to the blood, your body is more open wounds than skin, your mind has no more thought than to survive and to win, isn’t that, by definition, what a beast is?”

“I hardly think I pushed you that far,” Harry deflected humbly, causing Sarah to roll her eyes.

“In a real fight, my next move would have killed you outright.”

“Then I should be grateful to your mercy, senior.” Sarah’s lips twitched, a light shake of her head. “Perhaps you’ll indulge me in a spar now and again?”

“Sure, it’s not like we have much to do here, anyhow.”

Offering a lazy wave as she walked out, Harry finally felt the fatigue catch up as he stumbled to Olivia’s side, sliding down against the wall until he was sitting. 

“Damn, what a crazy bitch,” Harry sighed. “In the best way.”

“She might be one of the few who can stand up to you.” Olivia let out a chuckle. “Makes me wonder, do you two know each other?”

“I know less about her than I do you,” Harry answered dryly, though Olivia merely smiled, perhaps not believing him, perhaps uncaring. He felt little need to continue justifying himself. “Rest up enough yet?”

“Sure, if you want to go exploring.”

“Wonderful, then leave the massaging to Georgia. I’m sure she’ll take real good care of Obertine there, the tsundere,” Olivia grinned, lifting one foot. Harry bit down his laugh seeing Georgia scowl, all but shooting up to her feet, not seeing the wink Olivia shot him.

“What the heck is a tsundere?” Georgia frowned. Olivia’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

“Ah, it’s when you are extremely harsh and critical of someone.”

“Hmm. then I guess I am?” Georgia shrugged. You deal with it, I wouldn’t touch him with a pole,” Georgia scoffed, walking towards the door before turning back to him. “Come on, let’s go.”

“As you wish,” Harry chuckled wryly, following the girl out of Obertine’s dorm and down the steps. “You seem to have strong thoughts on Obertine.”

“He’s fat, lazy, rude and lecherous,” she scoffed. 

“And yet he was part of this experiment. And in any case, at least with a stronger will than some of the others present.”

“That…well he’s still not particularly pleasant to be around,” she huffed, folding her arms over her chest. Harry thought it was rather ironic, but didn’t point it out.  

“From ten to eight to five to four…perhaps you don’t realise the gravity of our situation,” Harry lamented, causing Georgia to frown. 

“What…do you mean?”

“So, what are your thoughts on Sarah?”

“What-”

“You think you’re hard to read? Get over yourself. You have thoughts, I want to hear them,” 

Georgia’s face turned sour for a moment, before the witch sighed. “Fine, something’s very wrong with her, moreso than even you. She only interjected when you took leadership. If…if this is some sort of experiment like porkers thinks, then perhaps she might be here to keep us in line.”

“And what do you think we should do about it?” 

“We?”

“I’m open to being convinced, despite your…charming personality.”

“Hmph, you could learn to keep your thoughts to yourself,” Georgia huffed.

“Are you po-”

“I am not!”

“Perhaps if you believe that and I believe that, it’ll become true.”

“Quoting Orwell now? Come on, at least show some originality.”

“A thousand knives that miss an inch, how could they compare to even a needle that pricks an open heart?”

“Hmph. Far too flowery.”

“You still think this is a game, don’t you? Perhaps it is that all our lives are just some figment of imagination in the mind of a bard. You believe yourself a mastermind, when you are a bishop when they are a pawn: more powerful but ultimately still expendable, still nothing more than a tool in a game you could not possibly comprehend.” Harry gave her a pitying glance. “You still cling onto memories of a past life. But don’t forget, in here, you’re nothing. You’re no better than those fools stuffing their faces…no, you’re worse in fact. Because you see others succumbing to the gluttony of food. But while they stuff themselves with food, you gorge yourself on that sense of self-superiority; they at least embrace their indulgence, while you lack even the self-awareness to acknowledge your own state. Maybe one day, you’ll look in the mirror and realise that for how pathetic much of this world seems to you, that you are below even that. So enjoy this pride you have now, because in time, you’ll realise just how fleeting illusions can be. That when the mirage finally cracks, you will be left as less than even those you view beneath yourself now.”

“Y-y-” Georgia’s cheeks were flush, her fists clenched and her entire body trembling. “You think just because you stick out and take charge that you’ll amount to anything? You underestimate how many upstarts get pruned.”

“Perhaps,” Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement, yet his smile only grew as he turned, walking towards his destination. It took several moments for the hurried footsteps of Georgia’s slacks to give chase. “But unlike you, I care little for the opinion of those inferior to me. And even if I did, between us, you’ll never escape my shadow, because at least I had courage to realise my conviction, while those games you pride yourself on? They’re nothing but crutches of the weak.”

“The Romans thought that ambushes were a dishonourable tactic. You talk about my arrogance, but what about your own?” Georgia challenged. “You talk about your big game, yet you’re still stuck in here with all of us. Despite your efforts, you’re no closer to figuring out this place and its secrets. So how dare you call me pathetic, when you’re clearly also inadequate!”

Inadequate. 

That word left a lingering echo of a past he’d thought buried. But human emotion was rarely that simple. Georgia let out a soft gasp as he stopped, turning to her with a chilling smile. Unconsciously, she took a half step backwards.

“If I’m inadequate, then why do you care for my acknowledgement?” He deliberately stayed still, allowing the silence to linger. He waited, letting Georgia stew until she cooked herself into a feast for him…handing her own head on a silver platter. 

“I…” No more words came out as sweat formed on her forehead, her eyes narrowed, unfocused. Harry watched with mild curiosity as the pillars of her identity shook, tremors cracking the very foundations of her everything she knew.

As he turned to walk away, a hand reached out to his back, clenching on the fabric. Unseen by the witch, his smile widened.

“Don’t…” she choked out weakly. Harry slowly turned around. “Don’t leave me.”

“Georgia,” he called out softly, not without warmth as his hand reached out to cup her cheek. She stared at him as though he was her salvation manifest. “You know what you must do, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she swallowed. A tremor cracked her voice. “Will you help me?”

Harry gently pulled her into an embrace, allowing her to rest her head on his chest as he ran one hand down her back and let the other gently massage the back of her head. Allowing her grating attitude to push several others away…indulging her antics for two weeks on end…everything was coming together.

“Of course,” Harry smiled, cradling her as he might a child. As she relaxed into his touch, Harry’s eyes lost their warmth even as he continued his hands’ motions. “So trust in me.”

--Break--

“Alright, what are we doing today?” Olivia queried excitedly, bouncing from one foot to the other. 

“Maybe you’ll finally get that rematch you wanted,” Obertine goaded Georgia smugly, causing the girl to huff.

“How was I supposed to punch through that much blubber?”

“Hmph, spoken like a whining loser,” Obertine dismissed smugly. Olivia shot Harry an amused eyebrow, silently questioning whether he was going to intervene. Honestly, Harry was tempted to, but nine mothers can’t make a baby in a month. 

“You realise your fitness is the worst out of all of us, porkers. You’re the designated sacrifice.”

“Dream on, tits-for-brains. Oh…wait, that’d imply you had either.”

“Well at least I put in an effort.”

“Hmph, the fool who takes pride in failure. Fitting, I suppose.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Harry sighed tiredly, raising a hand. Georgia gave him an unhappy glance before looking away. Obertine seemed surprised, before giving him a firm nod. Olivia was taking way too much joy from this. “I thought today a bit of a change of pace would be good. Instead of sparring, let’s try to dance.”

“What?” Georgia blinked in confusion. Olivia had a thoughtful smile while Obertine couldn’t hide his delight.

“Yes, an excellent idea!” he clapped. “It is good to change to something cooperative rather than confrontational for once.”

Harry found himself somewhat surprised that the wizard’s reasoning was aligned with his own, even if he harboured reservations as to what the boy was prioritising.

“Well that’s perfect. I’m sure you would delight in teaching Olivia, Obertine. Harry can teach me.”

“That sounds agreeable,” Harry nodded with a faint smile as Obertine bobbed his head up and down. Though Olivia’s smile grew strained, she nevertheless conceded with a nod. If Obertine noticed her hesitance, it didn’t dampen his mood at all. “Why don’t we split up today, Obertine, I believe your room was rather sparse the last time we were there.”

“Of course, care to follow, Olivia?” he offered a dramatic bow. Olivia’s lips twitched as Georgia turned towards him with a triumphant grin. Harry sighed inwardly, merely giving a neutral nod. As the two left and the door closed behind them, Harry finally allowed himself to shake his head.

“You really do need to stop pissing people off.”

“What do you mean? I’m the bad girl and you’re the good guy,” Georgia dismissed airily, though Harry was hardly fooled. At his unimpressed stare, her grin grew sheepish. “Alright, I’ll try and play nicer.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Harry acknowledged, gesturing for her to join him at the centre of the room. “Can I assume you have no dance experience?”

“You’d be right in that,” she flushed slightly, glancing at her feet. Harry cupped her cheek, guiding their eyes to meet.

“Hey, no shame in that. For me, dancing had always been a formality,” Harry assured warmly as she looked at him with wide eyes. Sometimes, it really was too easy. “But I’m glad that I get to share it with you now.”

“I…” she bit down on her lip, a faint blush on her cheeks. 

Too easy.

But Harry relegated these thoughts to the back of his mind, refusing to allow cracks to form so early. The shell of the fruit had been peeled apart, yet tempering it into what he desired was at least an equally daunting task. How easy would it be for someone else to swoop in and displace him. His thoughts briefly flickered to Sarah.

“Are you thinking of another woman?” Georgia raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you think that?” Harry queried.

“Woman’s intuition. And you didn’t deny it.”

“Just wondering if Olivia has resorted to violence yet,” he joked, causing her to smile.

“You don’t need to lie.” At his brief flicker of surprise, Georgia lightly shook her head. “I’m clueless, but not that clueless,” 

As he guided her hands into the traditional waltz hold, Harry wondered if she would press him on the matter. Yet she remained content in silence. 

“Have you ever wondered why people dance?” Harry queried. “Some may enjoy it yes, but I imagine there are far more who’d much rather not.”

“I didn’t expect you to start going into philosophy,” Georgia teased. Harry chuckled.

“In my old life, I hardly ever got the chance to converse properly about such thoughts. It’s only natural that when met with intellectual peers I’d indulge. Perhaps this is my gluttony, my greed.”

“If it’s with you, I don’t mind,” she admitted shyly, her eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I suppose the logical answer would be a performative function? While there are individual, couple, group dances of all varieties, most involve the idea of an audience, real or imagined.” 

“It seems we are aligned on that belief,” Harry nodded. “Now, my left foot will take a step forward. I want you to take one back when you feel me start to move.”

“Sounds easy, though I imagine it’s not,” Georgia mused dryly, leaning perhaps a bit closer than strictly necessary. Harry felt little need to correct this. Harry gently leaned forward, allowing her to catch the signal and shift her body. Without glancing down, he knew she’d taken too big a step back, wobbling slightly. He gripped her, helping the witch keep her footing as she flushed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s always a challenge to turn two into one,” Harry assured, continuing at her evident confusion. “A waltz, along with certain other dances, are regarded as particularly intimate. The tango or foxtrot too. Between two partners, it demands at minimum compromise, at its pinnacle, oneness. A full understanding of your partner and their intentions.” 

“Oh, should I infer this as a proposal then?” she teased coyly. 

“Where’s the fun in answering?” Harry leaned forward, their lips almost touching. “Let’s leave that to your imagination. Now, let’s try again.”

Despite her shuddering breath, Georgia gained a determined look, once again waiting until he began to kilt forward, this time taking a smaller step. The tip of their shoes touched, just brushing against each other. 

“Better already,” Harry assured warmly. “Now, I’m going to take a step to my right, follow. Eyes on me.”

“Right,” she swallowed, her gaze slightly unfocused. Yet as he shifted his body to the right, Georgia followed flawlessly. 

“Wonderful. Now bring your right foot back into a neutral position,” Harry coached. “There, you’ve learned the basic step of the waltz.” 

“Huh…it’s…not as…”

“Complicated?” Harry supplied, drawing a nod from the witch. “It is like trying to visualise a puzzle when you don’t even have any of the pieces. Only when you start filling the blanks can you begin to understand. And that brings us to the previous topic.”

“Hmm?” she cocked her head to one side. 

“The performative function of dance. Much like the trinkets one adorns themselves with, the people one associates with, the diction one employs, dance is yet another ritual that segregates those within a community from the outside.”

“Hmm…” Georgia nodded thoughtfully before smiling faintly. “If you think about it, dance is absurd. A set of rules based on nothing more than common understanding. Yet people follow the whims of dead men.” 

“Can the same not be said for morality?” Harry challenged, causing Georgia to chuckle. A teasing glint formed in her eyes at the slight surprise that leaked from him.

“Come on, you’re not that unpredictable.” 

“Hmm,” Harry hummed in amusement. “Now, let’s try a quarter turn. Feel.”

“Alright,” she closed her eyes, following in his movement. The first turn was clumsy. The second slightly less so. By the time they’d returned to the starting position, Georgia had gained confidence and he acclimated to her steps. 

“Not bad at all,” he praised, raising an eyebrow at her pout. “You did well.”

“That’s more like it,” she huffed, though her lips twitched traitorously. “You know, this isn’t too unlike a duel.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before Georgia narrowed her eyes at him, searching. “Why…no, was this to lay the groundwork for paired duelling?”

Harry smiled, an answer in itself. 

“You sly demon. I was wondering why you’d propose such an activity. And here I thought you could be romantic.” 

“Oh, so you’re telling me I have no effect on you,” Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking at her sputter. “My dear, I fear your heart couldn’t take it.”

“Someone’s awfully confident,” she huffed as they began to repeat the basic steps again, though there wasn’t much bite in her voice.

“Relax yourself, you’re far too tense,” Harry advised, trailing his hand along her back and gently pinching a bundle of tight muscles, causing Georgia to shiver, letting out a ‘eep’ before she bit down hard on her lip. “Relax, I won’t bite…not unless you ask nicely, anyhow.”

“Fuck you,” Georgia grumbled with a roll of her eyes. Harry’s lips twitched.

“Now, now, I’m not that easy.”

“Oh? You’d deny this poor maiden? Shall I beg?”

“Maiden, you?” Olivia snorted from the corner just as they were about to turn, causing Georgia to stumble. Harry sighed inwardly, wondering just why his latest acquisition seemed unable to control her emotions…and when the other witch had shown up.

He should have been able to keep them both up. But as she briefly experienced the sensation of falling, Georgia’s instincts took over and she began flailing helplessly, not stopping even as Harry caught her in his arms, sending both of them tumbling to the ground. Olivia howled in laughter, causing Olivia to glare at the witch.

“Hey, did you have to interrupt?”

“Why are you complaining? You’re now all tangled up, if you just take off your clothes, you’d be a step away from boosting the experiment’s population,” Olivia stuck her tongue out, giving a thumbs up. 

“Shouldn’t you be with Obertine?” Georgia queried, causing Olivia to shrug lightly, giggling. 

“I can’t exactly dance. His poor toes couldn’t take much more,” she shrugged unrepentant.

“Sadistic bitch,” Georgia muttered, though not particularly quietly.

“Thank you,” Olivia grinned. 

“That’s…ugh, forget it.”

“As…delightful as some may find contact, I would appreciate being able to breathe,” Harry called out dryly, causing Georgia to squeak, almost leaping off him.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Huh, you really managed to tame her. Should I be worried?” Olivia wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Seriously, do you want something, or are you just here to bother us?” Georgia demanded, stalking towards the other witch. “Why don’t you give porkers some attention?”

“Still have to fix that temper, it seems,” Olivia sighed with faux disappointment before cracking a smile. “Let’s see how long that fire burns. The brightest ones often find themselves snuffed out the quickest.”

“Oh, Harry. If you want a competent partner, I’m happy to make time for you.” Before Georgia could retort, Olivia had waltzed out the room, one last mocking grin as she curtsied before leaving. 

As Georgia slammed the door shut, Harry let out a faint sigh.

“She was right about one thing, at least,” he mused, causing the girl’s shoulder to slump. Harry gently hugged her from behind, his arms around her waist, feeling the slight trembling. “It must be hard adjusting to this.”

“How…how can you be so calm?”

“For me, this was a second opportunity. A chance to relinquish the shackles of responsibilities,” Harry smiled faintly. “In here, my family name, my wealth, my family…none of that matters anymore. Even my intelligence may well be inferior to those present, geniuses of all calibres. In this hellscape, I am truly free.”

“I…see.”

“Then what about you, Georgia? What of your past?”

“What does it matter? As you say, it’s all in the past.”

“What the mind thinks and what the heart feels are often dissonant.”

“You really should work on offering comfort,” she sniffed. Harry let out a faint chuckle.

“Be honest, you don’t want to be coddled like you were in the past, put on a pedestal. No matter how sharp your words, a part of you,” he leaned right next to her ear, “wants this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she squeaked, her body trembling. It was as though he were a snake coiled around a rat. 

“So talk. I’m here to listen,” Harry assured. 

“I…” Georgia swallowed, though he merely waited patiently. “All my life, I was praised…almost worshipped. Trying to claw my way out of the slums one scheme, one job at a time.”

She choked on her breath, Harry gently running his hand down her back.  

“But in the end, power is all that matters. Magic is all that matters. No amount of…smarts or luck or knowledge can change that,” she chuckled bitterly. 

“Do you really believe that our destiny is confined at birth?” Harry queried, causing Georgia to shrug.

“Genetics. Parental care. Most of human experience can be explained by these factors. Sixty percent of healers had a parent that was a healer, despite being less than one percent of the population. To a lesser extent, it’s the same for aurors, for many careers.”

“You’re right, of course. That’s what the statistics say,” Harry acknowledged with a nod. “But also consider it from a different perspective. Among children of healers, less than a fifth end up as healers. And for magic…the few studies that were conducted properly show little correlation between parent-child magical aptitude.”

“That…but it…”

“It’s alright,” Harry assured warmly, still stroking her hair. “Our thoughts…our feelings, not everything is a debate to be won. Sometimes, it’s hard to coalesce them into something coherent. That doesn’t invalidate your feelings, your instincts and beliefs.”

“I…” Georgia’s voice trailed off, something shifting within her aura itself. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, her eyes fluttering shut as she simply leaned into his chest. 

Chapter Text

“You know, we should practice magic as well as our fitness,” Obertine pointed out to Harry, causing him to eye the German curiously. The four sat at a table, Harry indulging in a piece of duck, having stripped the skin and all of the sauce. Running it through a towel, he’d seemingly sucked out most of the fat injected. “Even without wands, we’re still magicals.”

“You’re not wrong, but how do you propose to do so?” Harry sighed. One of his laments was being too busy to really grow advanced enough in runes and other esoteric magic. The German wizard took a hearty bite on 

“Well, we have all the time in the world, so why not incorporate it into our training?” Obertine queried, a hint of eagerness in his voice. 

“If you have something, spit it out. It’d certainly help your waistline,” Georgia snarked, causing the wizard to huff indignantly, holding out a clenched fist as his body trembled, sweat oozing out as a faint light flickered in his palm. Harry watched intrigued, even as Obertine all but collapsed to the floor seconds later. 

“That’s impressive,” Harry complimented.

“Yeah, wandless magic isn’t easy to channel,” Olivia eyed Obertine with renewed curiosity. Obertine puffed up slightly, wiping the sweat off his brow as he climbed back into his seat, hurriedly gulping down a few mouthfuls of juice. “Where did you learn this?”

“Just an extension of meditation practice. It’s good to understand how your magic flows,” he explained. “It’s not particularly complicated, but does takes patience.”

“It’s an impressive trick, but what else can you do besides a lumos? Can you create a flame or something?” Georgia pressed, causing the wizard’s cheeks to flush.

“True, or even moving things,” Olivia chimed in, a glint in her eyes. Seemingly oblivious to this, Obertine shook his head, slumping in his chair. “Or is that too challenging?”

“Why don’t you just give it a try?” Obertine pointed out with a hint of annoyance. The three of them stared at him, causing him to squirm slightly. Harry’s foot lightly tapped Georgia’s. “What?”

“Where do we begin?” Olivia asked dryly after a moment of silence. 

“Ah…well…it really does begin with meditation,” Obertine admitted weakly. The witches stared at him in disbelief, though Harry gave a thoughtful hum. His own meditation had been focused on his mindscape, enhancing his processing ability to keep up with the demands of his lifestyle. If it was true that the same could apply to his magic, then it would be an unexpected boon. “I’m not kidding!”

“So…”

“Alright, then what should we meditate on?” Georgia pressed. 

“Try and concentrate on your senses,” Obertine instructed. “Wands are a useful conduit, similar to a barrel on a cannon. Without the barrel, it’s much harder to fire in the correct direction, meaning that you have to concentrate the metaphorical explosion far more carefully. It’s the same with your magic and meridians. Apparition is a form of this, with the tugging sensation on most people’s stomach being the rough centre of the body’s meridians.”

“So we’re trying to sense the magical circulation in our bodies?” Harry questioned, causing Obertine to nod. 

“Exactly. It’s not particularly quick, though,” the German wizard warned. Harry nodded thoughtfully, closing his eyes and beginning to sink deep into his consciousness. Rather than focusing on his mindscape, Harry instead delved deeper into his tactile senses. The faint thump of his heart, the slight whoosh of blood with each pump, the quiet stirring in his stomach, faint twitches in his eyes and the thump of outside sounds pressing on his eardrums. 

And also, a faint trace of something rippling through, passively oozing out of his body into a loose measma around him. It wasn’t something Harry had paid particular attention to before, but now that he further analysed it…perhaps this was the ‘passive aura’ magicals possessed, giving them a degree of endurance beyond their muggle peers. 

Taking a breath, he began welling up stress in his body, ripples growing more violent as his magic responded to the stress, radiating out and stirring the magical ambience as they leaked out further and further. Briefly, the magic emitting from his left palm increased, though that quickly reverted to the norm as a burning sensation caused his fingers to curl up.  

With his senses now attuned to trace their movements rather than block them out for his occlumency, Harry was able to quickly grasp the flow within his body. Though seeing a river and redirecting its flow were tasks separated by enormity, for Harry, the challenge wasn’t unwelcome. 

Thinking back to when he wielded a wand, the magical flow almost naturally directing itself to the wood, Harry tried to replicate its magnetism, feeling faint ripples along his body as the magical flow flickered. He tried to imagine pinching some of the meridians, constricting their flow, though each sensation proved unpleasantly painful and ultimately unsustainable, a burning sizzle that threatened to damage his body as though he’d put a few sticks in front of a mighty river barreling towards it. 

Breathing heavily, Harry opened his eyes, grabbing a table cloth to wipe away the sweat on his brow, only to glance down and realise that his entire body was drenched in sweat, his chest rising up and down as his skin burned, angry red blotches swelling across his body. Glancing at the three, he saw that Obertine and Olivia were still in some sort of discussion, while Georgia had closed her eyes, her body still. Injecting a bit of magic into his eyes, Harry observed the circulation, surprised to see that she’d seemingly reached a similar state to him, faintly rippling against the magical ambience.

Unlike him, it seemed she didn’t have the realisation to withdraw, her body burning up as it consumed itself. 

It would have been truly a spectacle, but Harry needed Georgia intact, and thus stepped forward, pressing his palm on her forehead and feeling the skin burning up. Taking a glass of water, Harry dunked it on her head, causing the witch to let out a startled yelp.

“What the fu-”

“Deep breaths,” Harry encouraged, refilling the empty glass from a pitcher of juice and handing it to her. “Compose yourself.”

“Wha-why did you do that?” she frowned. Harry let out a cold snort.

“Unless you’re trying to transform into an incandescent or a particularly bright firecracker, I thought it prudent to interject. You’re overheating.”

“I’m…ack-” Georgia hunched forward, spitting out a mouthful of blood as her hands desperately floundered for leverage. “W-”

“Save your strength, drink,” Harry instructed, tilting her head up and pouring the juice down her throat before massaging her neck, forcing the witch to swallow. Moments later, her body’s tremors began to settle down, just as he poured her another cup. “Better?”

“Y-yeah,” she nodded shakily, taking deep breaths. “Merlin, how close was I to…”

“To turn into a living bomb? Probably a few hours more,” Harry offered a guess, drawing a blanch from the witch. He couldn’t deny some morbid amusement at that. “Let’s go for a walk. It’ll calm your mind.”

“Are you alright?” Obertine sputtered, Olivia rushing to her side. Harry lightly swatted at her arm.

“Don’t touch her, the burning sensation will last for a few more minutes at the very least,” Harry advised, causing Olivia to reel back, confused annoyance morphing into horror.

“Sorry, I didn’t know!”

“It’s fine,” Georgia assured, lightly waving her hand in the air. “But really, Harry? A walk? In my condition?”

“Perhaps you would like to be carried?” Harry offered dryly, causing Georgia to snort in amusement, lazily raising the middle finger at him. “Well, your spirits are high, at least.”

“How…what did you do?” Obertine questioned. Harry inwardly rolled his eyes, but refrained from commenting. “This shouldn’t happen, not with meditation!”

“You don’t have to worry, she’ll be fine in a few days at most,” Harry assured, standing up from his seat, barely standing straight as his legs strained to fight off a jelly-like sensation. The lingering burn of magical exhaustion sapped strength away from his muscles, though through sheer will Harry forced himself to stand with some exertion.

“Sit down, stop being stubborn,” Georgia advised. After a moment of hesitation, Harry reluctantly collapsed back into the chair, his legs singing in relief at the reduced stress. “Heh, so you can still listen to reason.”

“You go, girl,” Olivia gave a whistle, causing Georgia to roll her eyes, a tinge of pink on her cheeks. Obertine’s lips thinned, his eyes distant. “So…what exactly happened.”

“Well…” Georgia gave him a quick glance. Harry shrugged. “I probably immersed myself too quickly in magic to realise my body couldn’t handle it.” 

“I…see,” she pursed her lips, turning to Obertine. The German quickly hid his scowl behind an apologetic smile. 

“I did not know the reaction could be so violent. Perhaps it has something to do with compatibility. After all, you seem rather fine, Harry.”

“That’s possible, though I didn’t really manage to sink into my magic that far,” Harry answered. He found himself mildly surprised that Olivia seemed to catch the twitch in Obertine’s eyes, though she barely showed any reaction. Perhaps this could be used, after all, just like he was roping in Georgia, she seemed intent on tying a leash on Obertine. “What about you, Olivia? Did you manage any progress?”

“I…” To her credit, the witch caught herself quickly, a pleasant smile on her face that didn’t quite match the coldness in her eyes. “Don’t worry, I was unfor…well, perhaps fortunate enough not to make much progress thus far. Georgia, you must be really talented!”

The gushing clearly caught Georgia off guard, a dour look flickering on Obertine’s face as the witch’s attention pivoted. “And to think most of us probably thought Harry was the genius amongst geniuses.”

“It’s…” Honestly, Harry was curious to see if his conditioning went deep enough. Truly, if General White did this experiment for his own entertainment, Harry could begin to see the appeal. The human psyche was truly curious, neither consistently rational nor emotional. Perhaps some cosmic die was truly embedded in every mind, making the unthinkable reality. “Just a fluke, I’m sure. After all, in the end, I would have gotten myself hurt otherwise.”

“That is true…” Olivia let out a thoughtful hum, never leaving him out of her gaze. “I have Harry to thank for that.”

“True, I’m surprised you didn’t notice, Obertine,” the witch pointed out with a tut. “I appreciate your attention instructing me, but that could have been dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, we all pick up on different things,” Harry assured, narrowing his eyes at Olivia before leaning back with a faint chuckle. All three watched him with confusion 

“Just one of our compatriots diving into the cheese fondue. Perhaps they think themselves a fox, pouncing,” Harry dismissed easily, with a faint wave of his hand, turning to Obertine as his leg slipping beneath the table and lightly tapping on Olivia’s exposed thigh, causing the witch to yelp. 

“Olivia?” Obertine yelled with worry, hurrying to the witch’s side as his hands began running over her body under the pretense of checking her over. Not facing his scrutiny on her eyes, her eyes glared at him, a contrast to the fond exasperation on her lips. A quick glance at Georgia showed even she was fooled. 

“It’s nothing,” she assured, playfully shoving Obertine away, her eyes warming up with alarming efficiency. “Just caught me off guard, after all. Harry really is observant, isn’t he?”

“I suppose,” Obertine acknowledged as Georgia coughed into her hand, failing to hide a snort. The German eyed him with furrowed brows. “Why pay attention to the others though?”

“You never know what a deranged person might do. Who is to say that no one might sate their lust for violence? Or perhaps even lust for their bodily pleasure.”

“If you mean sex, you could just say that,” Georgia teased, as Obertine’s expression grew ashen. Olivia’s attention was solely on him, wariness evident. Harry smiled inwardly: undoubtedly, she was wondering why he’d fan the flames of Obertine’s lust, placing the German wizard firmly in her camp. But managing relationships was never easy, and even ignoring her pride and decency, this laid a crack in the foundation for what he planned soon.

“Don’t worry, Olivia, I won’t let anything happen to you!” he assured, the smile on the witch in question surprisingly convincing. Harry might have almost believed it. 

“How admirable,” Georgia raised an eyebrow, the sarcasm almost thick enough to taste. Olivia was not amused, though Obertine seemed to take it at face value. Lust seemingly really did snuff out neurons by the bundle. “It must be nice, having someone fawn over you.”

“Jealous?” Harry’s lips twitched, almost instinctively wanting to correct it. She would be envious, not jealous. Perhaps he imagined it, but Olivia also seemed to perk up at that, even if she didn’t outright comment.  

“Not particularly, fruits that fall into a basket may not be sweet.”

“But better something to eat than not, no?” Olivia countered, turning to Obertine. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, of course,” Obertine nodded quickly, lips curling into a grin. “Besides, you’d hardly expect a beggar to critique the clothes of a noble.”

“Now, now,” Olivia chided with little sincerity, lightly swatting him on the hand. To Harry’s surprise, Georgia seemed nonchalant, if anything “A position of privilege should not be flaunted.” 

“How…charitable. I’m surprised you haven’t stepped in, Harry,” Olivia raised an eyebrow towards him. “Trouble?”

“It would hardly make a difference,” Harry shrugged lazily, rolling his shoulder and releasing a contented sigh as he felt his muscles finally stop trying to rip themselves apart. “As you said, a position of privilege should not be flaunted.”

Her smile froze as Georgia failed to hide her chortle. 

--Break--

“That conniving bitch,” Georgia groused, letting out a soft moan as his fingers gently pressed into her back, kneading the muscles so they’d slacken. Harry gave a noncommittal hum, shifting towards her shoulder blades, flaring a bit of magic on his fingertips. “Ahh, that’s the spot…you’re surprisingly good at this!”

“You really don’t like Olivia, do you?”

“She swapped targets faster than a baby niffler between a pot of gold and a pot of leprechaun gold,” Georgia snorted, not hiding the venom in her voice. “It’ll be curious to see if she risks blowing herself up, with how incompetent Porkers is.”

“I doubt she’ll be that reckless.”

“Why do you keep practicing with them around? Honestly, we’d probably make more progress between the two of us.”

Objectively, that was likely true. Obertine, beyond the initial impetus, was practically useless in instruction on wandless magic. Perhaps worse than useless, given he knew just enough to be confident and hardly enough to be capable. But once again, she was not looking at the wider picture. 

Though, Harry supposed he could not blame her.

When shown a blank canvas, one would describe it as ‘white’ or ‘empty’. A normal person could hardly be expected to visualise the final picture. Even among those who could understand the potential for change, few could be counted on to visualise the process. 

But that was fine.

Not everyone in the world was destined for the same greatness. He would not begrudge others for the pursuit of their own truth, their own fulfillment and happiness.

“Because, sometimes you need someone you can count on to do the wrong thing,” Harry answered simply. “Now, let’s continue doing the rounds.”

“I’m not sure what you’re after,” Georgia sighed, easing herself off the bed. “Sometimes, I wonder if our perception is really that different that I can’t even begin to understand. Is it that wide a chasm in ability that I can never hope to surmount?”

“Isn’t that the beauty of perspective though? To some, a flower is just a meaningless token, a convenient gift that can be disposed of soon. For others, it is the impermanence of a flower that represents beauty, a parallel to the fragility of relationships. Yet others might see an opportunity for profit, or to learn. In that, each person is the culmination of their memories and experience. A thousand shades of rose, ten thousand possibilities blooming.

So ability may be a factor, but don’t demean your own value. It is far too easy to succumb to the pressure to compare to your peers. Best in your town, best in the nation, best in the world. Yet even the latter might not help themselves from comparing across the spectrum of history. 

There are topics that you would far exceed my knowledge in, things that may appear to be common sense in your mind that I simply couldn’t begin to imagine. So keep that curiosity of yours: learning what questions you should ask is the first step to enlightenment.”

“Why…do you speak so eloquently?” Georgia queried after a moment of contemplation. Harry allowed a faint smile to rise on his lips. “I suppose that must be a good question.”

“I’d be inclined to agree,” Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement as the two began to walk down the steps, faint echoes lingering on the walls. “Human thought is far more complex than what most words can describe. Language is a compromise between precision and practicality. Rather than burgundy, brick, barn or berry, we simply describe something as red. Of course, language often falls into a spectrum of this: Kanji characters are logogrammic while English is syllabic. Their term of ‘mono no aware’ refers specifically to the feeling of melancholic appreciation for the impermanence of things, though you’d be hard pressed to describe this feeling in English without much effort. 

If I were to abstract ‘The Warlock’s Hairy Heart’ as simply a story about a dark wizard who failed to transplant a young maiden’s heart into his own, I would objectively correct, yet at the same time lose all meaning behind the story: the fragility of humanity, the perils of pride, the tragedy of mistakes compounding into an insurmountable cage.

And so to speak artistically need not be merely out of hubris and delusion, but a means in which to truly convey one’s thoughts, giving hints to the roots of a flower that a listener, should they choose, may elect to dig deeper, to uncover not just the literality of a conversation, but a piece of the speaker, of how their lived experience has been condensed from a vast lake into a single cup. To understand what was spoken, how it was spoken and perhaps most important of all, the words that never were.”

“You…honestly sound like someone far older, in a good way,” Georgia admitted wryly, a contemplative expression as she observed him. “I suppose, if nothing else, I am grateful that I got to meet you. How many others live their lives never experiencing a profound epiphany: to realise their boundaries and fight against them…how many others never even contemplated such a thing? And yet here I am, given it on a silver platter, while even the pigs had to at least waddle to their sty before gouging themselves.” 

The faint melancholy in her voice surprised Harry. Wistfulness and lament that honestly felt out of place for Georgia. Perhaps he’d been too hasty to write off this investment. As his gaze lingered, she offered a smile.

“Anyways, I’m not oblivious to the fact that you know more than the rest of us. Conviction from someone like you…well, you’re not the time to go all-in on the first round, not without good reason, anyhow,” she reached out, grabbing his hand and placing it on her breast, her smile never wavering. “So keep teaching me, alright? That I might finally be able to share some of the load.” 

“You’ve gotten better at hiding your emotions, at least when we’re with them.”

“That’s good then,” Georgia perked up. “It means I’m doing something right.”

“And yet you see no reason to hide yourself from me?”

“I’m not foolish enough to think that you would prune me if I outgrew my use. Leaving this vulnerability to you…is a promise, to hand you the noose around my neck, and my gamble that it will be enough so that you never feel the need to snap my neck.”

Harry found himself impressed by the reasoning, having expected something along the lines of her wanting to vent. It wasn’t particularly going to change his assessment of her threat level, but it was good to see that she was getting smarter. Huh, maybe Obertine was unknowingly onto something, given the food they consumed also seemingly caused her chest to fill up.

“You just thought of something unflattering, didn’t you?” Georgia asked dryly, poking him on the cheek. Harry arched an eyebrow. “Woman’s intuition.”

“Though you should give some credit to your instinct because it also incorporates sensory feedback that doesn’t pass the conscious mind, you should always be cautious of trusting any sensory information too much,” Harry chided, causing Georgia to let out a hum.

“You didn’t deny it,” she pressed with a grin. This time, Harry rolled his eyes even as his traitorous lips twitched.

“It was a flattering thought, I assure you.”

“When you add some subjectivity, most things can be stretched to be true, if only in technicality,” Georgia playfully accused. Perhaps she was trying a bit too hard, but it wasn’t bad to see her improve. She’d be a useful lieutenant to whatever General White’s schemes demanded…or at least a scapegoat or bait. “If I may make an observation, you seem to be more expressive when you’re listening. I wonder if you’re letting your guard down, or if perhaps it’s just another layer of deception, letting people think they’ve found something.”

He’d definitely reconsider. Georgia was too valuable to waste easily. It was definitely worth finding a few other pawns, not just to stir up some competition and challenge this experiment, but also because he had decided to invest more in her, and he didn’t like losing things.

Briefly, his thoughts wandered. If he’d broken down Rose, would she have become malleable if he’d decided to break the witch. Perhaps she should consider his mercy recompense for the care she’d provided him in the earlier years. Just as quickly, he shoved these useless thoughts away.

“Perhaps one day you’ll figure it out,” Harry answered, drawing a faint snort from the witch. “Now, let’s begin our spar.”

“Really? You realise that my body is still worn out.”

“Even a whore manages a couple of rounds a night,” Harry answered dryly, causing Georgia to sputter for several moments before swallowing her spit. “It seems that you still have some control left to learn.”

“Hey fuck you. Anyone would be surprised at that, and frankly insulted, mind you,” she huffed. “I take back everything nice I’ve ever said about you, prick.”

He briefly wondered whether to press the insult: after all, even a whore had to be likeable enough to be chosen. Georgia was still too prickly for any ordinary person to pick…voluntarily, at least. Even though the thought was quickly dismissed, Georgia’s eyes gained a gleam, as though declaring she knew he was thinking something unflattering of her. 

“If you don’t want to be insulted, don’t give others a reason to insult you.”

“You know, if you want to kick my ass, you don’t have to make up excuses. Not like I could stop you either way.”

“Fights aren’t about strength or technique,” Harry reminded, causing Georgia to let out a sigh, before nodding. It was as though all her petulance and childishness had been exorcised in that breath, her eyes gaining a determined glint as her body gently bounced on her heels, a standard fighting stance. 

Without any further hesitation, she threw a punch straight towards his throat, having closed the distance with two quick skips. Harry simply took a step back, the air displaced from her punch just enough to tickle him. He aimed for her wrist, but she quickly retracted her arm enough that only their fingers collided, a brief pang of pain that neither reacted to.

“Come on, you can do more than tickle me, surely,” Harry mocked as he swatted another punch to the side, landing an elbow on her stomach even as she arched her body, diffusing most of the impact as she planted a foot on his stomach, sending him tumbling back several steps as he struggled to remain upright. 

On the other hand, she skid painfully on the ground, her back tearing against the wooden planks. Harry darted forward, ready to pin her, but Georgia rolled to the side, throwing a kick and forcing Harry to twist and avoid it, buying her precious time to tuck into a crouching position.

She was winded, breathing heavily as her legs trembled from the exertion. Nevertheless, Harry found himself impressed. Even if he considered the fact that they really didn’t have much else to do: neither felt particularly inclined to spend hours gouging themselves on food, lobotomizing themselves to movies or succumbing to the lust of sex. Having narrowed down the ‘safer’ foods, they’d actually seen an increased metabolism and elevated energy levels, reducing the need to sleep. 

Which left training. 

And considering there was very little they could do in terms of academics given the lack of material to study…that really just left sparring.

Harry slapped her ankle as she tried to extend a kick at him, taking a step forward and closing the distance as he launched a barrage of punches. She desperately tried to hop backwards, her body kiltering dangerously close to keeling over, hastily retreating in an attempt to throw him off as her forearms began to burn.

One step. Two steps. Three steps. 

Harry did not relent, even as his knuckles began to protest, bone pressing against bone. Peering through the gaps, she managed to adjust her arms as he alternated between higher and lower punches.

Feinting a punch, Harry instead took a risk, his palms reaching for the side of her head and slamming down on her ears. But the satisfying thud that would have surely knocked her out never came, the impact blunted as she pried his arms apart, slamming forward so they were in some sort of awkward embrace.

Wham! 

Harry was caught off guard as she slammed her forehead on his nose, a crack as he winced from the pain. Pinching her wrists enough to cause her arms to spasm, losing strength, Harry rammed forward, using his weight to knock them to the ground, pinning her down even as he fought the disorientation brought by her headbutt.

“Yield?”

Blood trickled down from his nose, streaming onto her chest and colouring her white shirt red. Dazedly, she nodded, her chest heaving up and down. Harry rolled off her body, sitting on the ground, his left hand pinching one part of the nose before the other gave it a hearty slap, returning the dislocated bones back into position. Pinching his nose to stem the bleeding, Harry glanced to see that she had fallen unconscious. 

“Typical,” Harry sighed, a hint of fondness in his voice as he shakily stood up, scooping up the unconscious witch into his arms. She curled into his touch, her lips rising into a smile as she let out a cute mewl. As his fingers traced over her neck, Harry confirmed: her pulse had decelerated far too rapidly, well below the normal resting rate. Her breathing also slacked, despite the lingering muscle spasms that betrayed an overflow of lactic acid yet to be dispelled. Glancing at the walls, his fingers tightened. Yes, if they wanted her, it would have to be for a very high price indeed.

--Break--

“Curious,” Harry mused, wearing a thick leather trench coat, damp towels wrapped around his head and face, a pair of goggles protruding out. It’d only been a few minutes since entering this particular greenhouse, a labyrinth of exotic fauna that seemed to have a mind of their own. Vines slithered away from his feet as some flowers dropped as he neared.

Several bottles of vodka were tied to a belt on his waist along with a patch of matches, ready to burn this place if it came to it. But he dared not light a fire yet, not when some plants preyed on specifically that. And while he doubted the Soviets intended to expend the lives of child prodigies by having them eaten by plants in a single chomp…well if it breathes fire, flies and fits a snack of two dozen sheep in its belly between tea and supper, it’s not a damn niffler, is it?

As he rounded a corner, Harry found himself in some small courtyard. A small fountain at the centre was being strangled by several vines coiling around it, sprouts penetrating through the cracked stone and allowing a strange lindworm-green pus to drip out. A faint orange mist lingered in the air, though the deceptive calm was consumed by a rapid fizzling across most of his body. 

The water smeared around fizzled slightly, green droplets peeling off the cloth and dropping to the ground as his nostrils began to foam up, a pleasant citric smell only serving to heighten the urgency of the situation. At best, he had a few minutes. 

But for now, his attention was on an unconscious and naked Victoria laying on a bed of flowers. Her skin was slick with sweat, having gained a greyish tone. Narrowing his eyes, he cautiously stalked to her side, attempting to scoop up the body.

Thwack!

Harry leapt to the side as several vines lashed out towards him. Two chains of flower buds hanging from the archway he’d entered now rapidly bloomed…or rather swelled, the petals hardening into a seemingly formidable barrier. 

Without more time to waste, Harry lit up a match, dropping it into the first bottle of alcohol and setting it ablaze, hurling it towards the exit in hopes that it’d have some time to burn before picking up a second bottle, dousing it on the vines below him. 

They didn’t seem to care as they were doused, which was fine for Harry as he lit his second match, setting it on fire.

Kweeee! 

An odd sound that was somewhere between a deflating balloon whizzing around the air and nails on a chalkboard assaulted his senses, a faint ringing even through the muffled layers of cotton he’d shoved inside. If it was exposed…well, Victoria’s ears were already trickling blood out. 

Taking advantage of their momentary retreat, a part of his mind idly noting how the retreating vines were quickly wrapped out by more shooting out of the ground, snuffling out the flames in a pile, he yanked Victoria into his back, carrying her as his feet darted straight for the exit. More blooming flowers were threatening to engulf the exit, causing Harry to light another cocktail.

But he was forced to skid to a halt as this time, the flames only licked the surface, unable to penetrate some sort of translucent mucus. 

If it weren’t such danger, he’d be impressed. Honestly, even now, it wasn’t just fear that surged through his body, but…

Dismissing these thoughts for later as he ripped off the half-burned glove on his right hand, Harry ignored the pleasant sensation diffusing through his quickly numbing hands, forcing his magic to flare and attempting to divert their flow. 

But something was blocking their flow, as though water was rushing against a wall. Flaring twice, then thrice, the results grew increasingly dire, his magic now unable to reach to his elbow as the clog climbed its way through his veins.

Clamping down on the rising panic, with his left hand, Harry quickly grabbed a bottle from his waist, dowsing his right hand before smashing it on the ground. His third match was lit, though it did not have the intended effect, no measure of pain being felt by his body. At least, it seemed to be slowing the transmission of whatever toxin had been afflicted on him.

Briefly contemplating an amputation, Harry hesitated. It was not out of reluctance for sacrifice, but more a consideration of what the plant seemed to want. Victoria’s body had seemingly been preserved well despite everything, which meant if the plant thought it would subdue him through this toxin, it might be more restricted in fighting.

But he needed more information, and thus in perhaps a final act of stupidity, Harry held his left hand between his thighs, yanking off the second glove and allowing the toxins to quickly diffuse into his skin.

Fighting down the sheer euphoria, Harry’s mind was stretched to its limits consciously analysing every sensory input on his arms, his eyes beginning to instinctively blink and his legs spasming in absence of proper motor function control.

Identifying the mechanism of the spread, of how the clog spread through his body, Harry knew that there was only one chance to get this right. The plants adapted far too quickly, leaving him a wounded animal with a final chance to land a lethal strike.

No amount of occlumency would save him: even a perfect mindscape was helpless without a physical body. And with the flesh incapacitated, that left his magic.

But what occlumency could do was empower multiple streams of thoughts simultaneously, processing with speeds that a normal human couldn’t imagine. Even now, his skull felt as though it was burning, trying to break free from the confines of his skull.

Yet Harry persisted, trying to find the key, when he spotted something interesting.

The magical flow actually accelerated with the toxin spread. While this might be dismissed as simply being the result of the toxins reaching closer to his meridial epicentre, Harry had familiarised his body enough to sense the difference, minor though it may be.

Without a change in his output, Harry took a leap of faith:

Some mechanism of resistance, or rather backflow, was being suppressed by the toxins.

The plant was targeting this backflow because it viewed it as a threat.

Conclusion: the flow of magic along his meridians was enforced not through valves or constriction as he tried to regulate, but rather manipulating the backflow at the ends. 

Could he be certain? 

Absolutely not.

But Harry had little more to gamble at this point, and thus as the vines began to engulf him, slowly shredding his protective clothing as the abrasion against his skin was marginally dulled by the sheen of sweat, Harry had one last gamble in mind.

Gathering all the magic he could, rather than attempt to decrease the resistance of flow, Harry instead commanded his legs, his head, all the other parts to increase resistance towards magical flow, cutting off those streams as more and more pressure accumulated in his epicentre. 

The plants seemed to grow restless at this, several flowering buds blooming in front of him as black pus spurted out. 

This gave Harry more confidence, focusing all his body’s conscious effort on fighting natural instinct. Even as his legs protested, losing sensation and all but wilting, Harry forced his body to submit to his will, more and more magic being channeled near his heart.

Just as a vine stabbed through his chest, Harry did it, forcing a narrow beam of magic to blast out and latching onto it as it blasted through the plants. Even surrounded by complete darkness, even as the toxins seduced his mind into slackening, even as his body failed, Harry continued to force everything into following this tendril of magic, the tugging sensation yanking him through.

In truth, what felt like an eternity was but a second.

Crack.

Tumbling to the ground, Harry took several deep breaths, groaning as his vision cleared, revealing himself at the corner right before entering the archway. Whatever this accidental apparation was, Harry didn’t complain, stumbling forward and squeezing every last drop of magic remaining in his body towards his legs. 

The moments of hesitation from the plants behind soon gave into wrath, a rumble as the walls began to close in on themselves. 

Forward.

Crack. A vine constricted around his ankle, crushing the joint.

Forward. 

Crack. A flowerbud exploded his his left eye, black pus eating away at his eyeball.

Forward.

Crack. Several thorns pierced through his abdomen, each the size of a beater’s bat.

Forward!

Crack. In the darkness, hundreds of tendrils attempted to rip his body apart, like a pack of wolves fighting over prey. Firing off another bolt of magic, the brief glimmer of escape in his swollen right eye was enough, even with his magical senses going haywire.

Crack.

Forcing his body to apparate multiples times in quick succession, he ignored the momentary sensation of thorns embedding themselves into his skin, or how every fibre in his body yearned for surrender. His body had already been peeled like a potato, chunks of flesh shredded off and exposing shards of bone. But he continued.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

At last, Harry stumbled out of the greenhouse, slamming the door shut behind him and all but collapsing onto the ground before falling into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

“W-ugh-huh?” Harry snapped up, magic thrumming through his body as he found himself in a bed. He seemed to be back in his room, safely tucked into bed. Even his blanket was tucked the same as it always was, his feet half-dangling off the edge of the bed. Nothing amiss and just another day. 

Or he’d say that, save for the fact that there was a completely naked Victoria next to him.

Harry was pretty sure he hadn’t blacked out drunk. He’d been running away from that strange plant monstrosity…his mind felt somewhat uneasy, as though pieces had been scrubbed. Neural circuits forcibly rerouted, though the unfamiliarity of the flesh did not lie. 

Delving into his mindscape, he sighed inwardly, knowing there would be a lot of work reordering everything. Flickers of his escape, burning up everything with his magic, flashed before him. In a way, perhaps this was a small mercy. It gave him some impetus to reorganise his mindscape.

Sitting up, Harry quickly checked himself in the mirror, tracing his body and failing to find any injury. Not even a lingering soreness; it seemed he was healthier than ever. Even his muscles had filled up a bit. His steps felt lighter, his magical circulation more smooth. 

Narrowing his eyes, Harry concentrated on the edge of the room, focusing his senses. It was like pushing through a thin, slick membrane wall. As soon as he managed, a tugging sensation grabbed his abdomen, causing his body to lurch forward. With a soft crack, he appeared on the other end of the room.  

“Hmm,” Harry hummed in thought, rather pleased with the outcome. It wasn’t perfect by any means, neither silent nor particularly smooth, though at least managing to replicate what he’d achieved as a fluke in his escape wasn’t unwelcome. It was a shame that he was too out of it to get more information on what happened. His best guess was that White sent some sort of retrieval team, suppressing the plant and extracting Victoria and himself. 

Which proved that he still had value to this experiment.

Several others had already been retired with no reaction save for their corpses disappearing, so Harry knew this was a deliberate action. And whatever they’d pumped him with…needless to say, it seemed to be a concentrated version of whatever they’d injected into the food. Victoria’s body, significantly more filled up than literally days ago from when he’d taken her from the greenhouse, confirmed as much.

Of course, a part of Harry worried about the long term effects of this. Enhancement magic, whether rituals or potions, were considered ‘taboo’ for very good reason. Whether it was stopping a muggleborn prodigy from going out of their depths and transforming themselves into some human-monster hybrid, or to ensure that the astronomical acquisition cost for proper materials wasn’t any higher than it already was, even he dared not rush into this field in the past. Which brought even more questions: why was the reaction of each body seemingly so different from everyone else? 

Some had literally turned into a blob of blubber, drowning as they inhaled chocolate with their last breaths. Georgia had gone from lanky to curvacious in a short period of time, while Obertine had hardly grown half as fit as Harry did despite both doing a decent amount of training together. 

Sensing someone approaching the door, Harry quickly put on a set of robes, turning around just in time for the handle to twist. 

“Georgia, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Harry! Where in Morgana hav-wait, why is…no, you didn’t!” The witch stumbled over her words as she saw him, then a naked Victoria lying on the bed. “What is going on?”

“If you’d lower your voice and calm down, then perhaps I can explain,” Harry assured dryly as the witch in question took several deep breaths before giving a curt nod. “First off, how long was I missing?”

“You…by my guess, at least six days,” Georgia answered through narrowed eyes. “What…exactly happened?” 

“Are Obertine and Olivia aware of this?”

“I don’t know. I’ve covered for your sake, but I can’t guarantee they don’t have doubts. You’re welcome, by the way.” Harry inwardly snorted: this was undoubtedly as much for her own sake as his: having aligned herself to him, admitting she now lost her patron would leave her extremely vulnerable to Olivia’s oppression. Still, it proved to be quick thinking on her part, at the very least. A knife may have no loyalty, but so long as it remained sharp it remained useful. “So…what happened?”

“I had a walk in one of the greenhouses and found Victoria being prepared as a plant’s dinner. It took offence when I tried to retrieve her. After suffering injury, I barely managed to escape immediate danger, though how I got here…I honestly couldn’t say.”

“Huh…so…” Georgia bit on her lower lip, eyebrows furrowed as she considered the situation. “Someone must be watching over us.”

“Unless you were the one to move me?” Harry raised an eyebrow, inwardly knowing the answer. But rather than spoon-feed it, Harry knew it would be all the more effective if he allowed her to find the conclusion on her own. That, and also plausible deniability. 

“I did not,” Georgia assured, her gaze lingering on his body. “Did you grow again?”

“It feels like it,” Harry nodded, raising his arms and stretching, feeling a slight pop in his back. “Have you kept up with your training?”

“Of course that’s what you ask,” she snorted dryly. “I was trying to discreetly locate where you were. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I’d perhaps be more grateful if you actually found me,” Harry teased, causing her to snort, huffing and turning away as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling the witch into a hug. Despite her indignant pout, she nevertheless relaxed into his touch. They truly were a symbiotic duo…though where Victoria came into the picture…he could not predict.

That was a lie, of course. He had many variations on how the power dynamics would change, calibrating his own willingness to gamble Georgia’s loyalty with acquiring Victoria’s. Still, he was rather interested in seeing Victoria’s condition after undergoing presumably similar treatment to himself. 

“You’re thinking something unflattering, aren’t you?” Georgia mumbled into his chest. Glancing at the mirror behind, Harry confirmed that the witch hadn’t observed his expression at all. Honestly, though she wasn’t precisely correct in her assertion, her sensitivity towards it was undeniable. Was it just in females? And could it be replicated? Another avenue to investigate. 

A soft poke to his side took Harry from his thoughts.

“You have a girl pressing herself against you, and yet your thoughts still stray. It’s not a flattering thought.”

“Do you want me to?” Harry challenged as she leaned back, their hips still lightly touching as their bodies formed a ‘y’. “Look at you lustfully, that is.”

“It might be hard for someone logical like you, but women are often creatures of contradiction,” she laughed softly, running a finger along his jawline. “My pride is hurt when you don’t, yet if you did I’d nevertheless be unhappy.”

“I think you overestimate the mystery of the human mind. People like being victims because it absolves of the need to be proactive. You can rail against the injustice of your powerlessness without consequence, yet when you have power, when you have control, you must take accountability,” Harry smiled faintly, leaning forward so that their breaths were tickling the other’s lips, his arms around her waist. She gave him a challenging smile.

“Oh, then surely you must know everything.”

“I know enough to know what I know and what I don’t. That alone is enough to create the illusion of infallibility if I so choose,” Harry smirked, closing the distance just enough for their lips to graze each other, a hitch in her breath before he leaned back, watching the pink dusting of her cheeks flicker. “In the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.”

“And you see yourself as that king?”

“You tell me, Georgia.” 

“Urgh-wh-Morgana,” Victoria’s disoriented voice caused Georgia to startle, losing her grip on his waist and her legs flailing as she nearly fell back onto the ground. Harry intentionally allowed her to slip, the sensation of freefall across her body for a moment before he caught her again, hoisting the witch back up. Even as she still wobbled slightly, Harry relinquished his grip, walking over to the bed.

“Ah, Victoria. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“H-hwah?” she stared at him confusedly as she sat up. A moment later, the cool breeze of the fan gently brushed against her bare skin, causing her to glance down before letting out a yelp, hurriedly grabbing the blankets and covering herself. “Wh-”

“Deep breaths,” Harry instructed, cutting through her confusion. Watching her breathing slowly regulate, her eyes slowly taking in the room before finally lingering on him, Harry allowed a faint smile. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Victoria?”

“Wh-how did I get here?”

“On a trip to the greenhouse, I found you slowly being prepared as some sort of food for the plants. It was draining you dry, and I managed to extract you from there,” Harry answered simply. Letting out a soft gasp, Victoria trailed a finger along her face, eyes unfocused as she let out a shudder. “You’re welcome by the way.”

Georgia let out a snort behind him, though Victoria seemed to distracted to notice. Walking to the closet, Harry pulled out a robe, tossing it to the witch. 

“I’ll give you some privac-”

“Wait!” Victoria called out, her voice somewhat scratchy, the pronunciation a bit jumbled. Swallowing, she repeated, “Wait, please. Don’t go.”

“Alright,” Harry nodded. “If you want, I’ll stay.”

As she quickly wrapped the robe around herself, the article several sizes too big, Victoria kept glancing at him before looking away. The meekness was rather amusing, even if Harry did have other things he wanted to do.

“Perhaps you can tell me about your adventures in the greenhouses some time, but for now, I’ll give you a brief overview of the situation. Several individuals have already died, most due to the food, some due to the food, others due to…different excesses,” Harry explained, watching her eyes widen in shock. “Whatever the purpose of this facility, it seems that we are expendable.” 

“I…then what do we do?” she swallowed. Harry shrugged.

“Exercise. Train. Try to keep each other sane,” Harry shrugged, a faint smile forming on his lips. “Perhaps those who embrace death in such a circumstance are truly the lucky ones.”

“I don’t think avoiding death is cowardice,” Victoria shook her head wryly. “And thank you, by the way. I…well, I just spent time exploring the plants. At first, things were normal. I felt my body more at peace and full of energy than ever before. It was as though…I must sound insane, but it was as though the plants were talking to me.”

“Hmm,” Harry hummed thoughtfully. Honestly, that wasn’t the craziest thing. To a muggle, transfiguration would be far more ‘out there’. “And what did the plants try to tell you?”

“It’s…hard to describe. It wasn’t so much coherent thoughts as they were flickers of sensation,” Victoria struggled. If anything, this only increased Harry’s curiosity, though he resisted the urge to press her any further, instead lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed, close enough for her to feel his presence without intruding. Even without speaking, this seemed to give her the impetus to continue. “It was…as though I found a different part of myself. One free from the limits of my body. But now…I a-argh!”

Harry shot up with alarm as she clutched her head, spitting out black sputum. Gently patting her on the back. His senses tingled even looking at the puddle, causing him to re-evaluate his earlier assumptions. Though he continued to appear concerned, inwardly he couldn’t help but be glad.

--Break--

Walking along the aquarium, Harry couldn’t help but trail his finger along the glass, watching a bubbly spikeblubber following his movements, its mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as bubbles occasionally blew out. 

Giving a little tap, the startled creature retreated a centimetre back, its quills rippling along its surface, an original obsidian skin revealing a mesmerising rainbow effect. Its body shook side to side, its wide eyes staring at him with confusion, a sharp contrast to its seemingly lethal body. 

“You’re back,” a voice called out as he rounded the corner, seeing Olivia leaning against the glass, one hand behind her head as the other traced circles, amusing a small school of fish. “Been a while, hasn’t it, Harry?”

“Miss me?”

“It’s not the same without you around,” Olivia shrugged, a faint smile on her lips. “Without a bit of challenge, one goes insane. Besides, whatever our differences, I hope neither of us wants the other dead. If nothing else, Georgia would probably crumble. It’s adorable how she thinks she could pull one over me.”

“You’re awfully confident,” Harry arched an eyebrow as she let out a tinkling laugh. It wasn’t unpleasant to listen to, though what surprised him was that Olivia’s eyes didn’t lack warmth. 

“It’s not bad to be confident, is it? Some of history’s greatest feats have been rooted in bluff and deception,” Olivia smirked, sauntering over to him with a sway in her hips as the school of fish, now left alone, dispersed back to their coral. Three steps, two steps, she didn’t stop until their clothes lightly brushed over each other, where just the slightest kilt would press them together. Her neck tilted up to stare at him as one hand lazily twirled a strand of hair while the other lazily supported the back of her head against the glass. “On the other hand, you seem intent on holding yourself back. I thought it only courtesy to answer your call to play.”

“And you believe you can overcome the disadvantage?” Harry arched an eyebrow, intentionally giving her body a once-over. Despite her confident smirk, he didn’t miss how the tip of her ears reddened faintly. “You don’t seem like the type going in to lose.”

“Now who’s confident?” Olivia laughed.

“To rely on an outsider like Sarah,” Harry mused, lazily reaching forward and placing a finger just to the left of her chin. To her credit, she didn’t betray any discomfort, instead taking a half step forward, lightly ensnaring his right leg between her thighs as her own was in his. Despite both of them willing to weaponise sex, neither were fully immune to its effects. Her face grew flush, slight twitches in her body. Harry didn’t doubt he was in a similar state. “You’re rather bold for someone who hid so meekly before.”

“With someone so willing to take the spotlight and illuminate the boundaries of this world, why wouldn’t I be gracious to accept such an offer?” she purred. “Though I will return the question back to you. Why are you willing to stand out? It doesn’t fit someone like you, no?”

“You’re right of course,” Harry admitted freely, causing her eyes to flicker in surprise. Lies had their place, but selective honesty always left its mark. She waited for him to continue explaining, though he felt no need to. As she realised this, a pout formed on her lips. Surprisingly, he didn’t find such a sight unseemly. 

“You know, I never understood why you chose to stand out,” she admitted easily. “Why not wait until the others root themselves out before making your move?”

“For the same reason I spend my time talking to you now,” Harry returned with a smile, causing her eyes to narrow. “You could conceivably view everyone else as a tool and a liability. Some of the most successful people in the world have done that. Human emotions are superfluous, promises worth less than the oxygen they consume. You can believe that everybody views themselves as a victim, that no one is worth trust.”

“Are you going to say that’s a sad existence?”

“Not necessarily. The choice to isolate oneself is very much that: a choice. And when you see another being betrayed by a loved one, being deserted by a supposed ally, you will only affirm this belief. But do not forget that humans were born social creatures for a reason. We are not individually the smartest, the fastest nor the most resilient creature. And yet we’ve driven beasts of myth and legend into extinction through collective effort. Perhaps it is this inherited impulse that makes us want to believe in things like justice, in the good of humanity.”

“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” Olivia pursed her lips, casually resting a hand on his chest. Did she feel his elevated heartbeat? Harry contemplated how to retaliate. “I thought you were a natural leader before…but that doesn’t fit. Even now, you act like a grey cardinal, wearing the facade of a leader.”

“Or perhaps you chase shadows that don’t exist to affirm your own beliefs,” Harry replied casually. Despite sensing that the witch seemed faintly insulted, her eyes merely shone with triumph. Still, he decided to check, passing the initiative to her in this game of bluff. Neither felt the need to move, gambling on the other to succumb to the intimate position first. It wasn’t a bad way to learn about the art of seduction: women were no more immune to losing than men. 

“Do you want me to beg?” she bit her lip, leaning forward, having tilted her head to the side so the edges of their lips touched. “Is that what you want, Harry? For me to surrender myself to you? I wouldn’t mind if it’s for you.”

Her fingers trailed up his body, causing a flicker of surprise through him. Harry expected she’d go for his crotch, but it seemed at least in this field, Olivia had much to teach him. Her eyes shone with amusement as her finger concluded its upward journey to the bottom of his chin, her lips meeting his as they submissively sucked on his lower lip. Their crotches met, both feeling a faint moisture that neither could claim innocence in. 

“Olivia,” Harry whispered softly, the warmth not entirely untrue. 

“Harry,” she returned warmly, breath hitching as he leaned past her lips, his breath tickling her right ear, some of the warmth slipping into her ear canal. Honestly, learning about the intricacies of sex wasn’t unwelcome. Despite everything, Harry didn’t doubt her inexperience as well. 

“Let us dance carefully, you and I.” Harry leaned back, gently untangling himself from her grasp. Olivia let out a deep breath, a mixture of disappointment, confusion and relief. He wondered if her pride would be bruised, if she would lash out. With Georgia all but domesticated, he really did want to study the differences of female neurology. “Disappointed?”

“I didn’t expect you to accept. But I respect it. If you change your mind, I’ll match you stroke for stroke in bed as an equal,” she admitted, giving a soft laugh, stretching her arms above and puffing out her chest. It was undeniable she’d grown slightly, though far from the prodigious rate that Victoria had. “Take care of yourself, alright? We might be rivals, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends too.”

“The same to you,” Harry returned lightly. “Be careful with Obertine. If you let your guard down, even a meek dog may not resist the temptation to bite.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she dipped her head in acknowledgement. Harry truly hoped she did; Olivia was rather refreshing to be around. Letting out a soft yawn as her palm covered the mouth, she smiled at him. “You’re always welcome to join me in bed.”

“Sweet dreams, Olivia,” Harry chuckled, causing her to let out a faux-annoyed sigh.

“I imagine they’ll be the spicy variety now that you’re in my mind,” she returned, a sway in her hips as she brushed past him, walking away. Harry waited several moments, allowing a sigh to escape his lips.

“Are you going to come out, Sarah?”

There was silence for several moments. In truth, he hadn’t even seen her at all. But considering everything, Harry was willing to gamble despite the risk that being wrong would blunt the sharpness of any future bluff, if Sarah truly was linked to the observers of this experiment. 

“How did you know?” Sarah let out a sigh, the grate above moving to one side as she dropped down gracefully, unbothered by the five meters as her feet absorbed the impact. With his recent advancements, Harry managed to detect the flicker of magic right before her toes touched the floor. An impressive feat from training. 

He wondered if he could hold his own in a fight against such an opponent.

“When you have reliable sources, it’s natural to be on top of things, no?” Harry challenged, causing the witch to smile, feigning confusion.

“Whatever do you mean, Harry?”

“I wonder, would someone intervene if I tried to harm you?”

“You’re welcome to try, though I can’t promise you’ll like the result,” she smirked, absolute confidence as she leaned against the glass, seemingly watching the fish. Glancing at her reflection, she didn’t have the angle to visually observe him. Being roughly two meters away, a gap that could be closed in a second, Harry wondered where this confidence arose from: did she believe he wouldn’t attack? Or did she believe that her other senses could compensate?

“I suppose I shouldn’t hurt my saviour,” Harry offered, causing her to let out a faint laugh. “Are you not going to deny it?”

“Anything I do, you’d twist to affirm your own beliefs,” Sarah shrugged lazily, echoing his own words. Harry’s lips twitched, though she didn’t glance at him, seemingly content silently observing the fish. 

He briefly considered probing her, before deciding against it. He doubted he’d gain much, nor could he afford to surrender the few chips he had. Turning towards the exit, he began to walk away, onl-

“Leaving so soon? I’m hurt,” Sarah mused aloud. Unseen by her, Harry’s lips formed a smirk, morphing into a confused smile as he turned to face her. She was now staring straight at him, a hint of annoyed tension.

Harry observed her calmly, watching as she sauntered closer towards him, a finger on her lips before planting it on his chest, enough for him to feel her touch without it being painful. Keeping her eyes on him, she slowly traced her finger down, only stopping as she touched the moist spot in his pants, beginning to teasingly trace circles.

“Did poor Olivia leave you hot and bothered? I could take care of that for you,” she assured sultrily, licking her lips. Strangely, Harry found himself less aroused than before, despite Sarah clearly knowing what she was doing. “No strings attached. You must have felt it, the food amplifies our bodies’ growth, among them the development of our sexes.”

“I’ve learned that free things,” Harry mused, a hand gently cupping her right breast, his thumb tracing over her nipple. Her face was unflinching, regvegaling to Harry his inexperience. A light pinch finally drew a soft gasp, though she merely smirked at him, gently squeezing his shaft with enough pressure to weaken his footing. “Are often the most expensive.”

“They say that with a whore, at least you know the price upfront,” Sarah agreed, stalking forward and closing the distance. Harry belatedly realised he’d taken a step back, though her left leg had curled itself around his waist, trapping him as she pressed their bodies against each other, his excited shaft trapped between her thighs. “But don’t you want to learn about the art of seduction? To build up resistance?”

Harry was surprised she found this angle, which only increased his weariness at this mysterious witch’s abilities. She was far too aware to be unconnected to White and this experiment, which left only one question: how could he use it to his advantage.

“Why so eager?” Harry queried, reaching his hand to cup her cheek as a finger began tracing the edge of Sarah’s ear. Her soft purr wasn’t entirely forced, but Harry doubted he was anywhere close to clawing back control. 

“You’re not unattractive. Is indulging a bit of pleasure that foreign to you?” 

“I trust aligned incentives more than anything else. Until I can figure yours out, I’m afraid you’ll find me rather cautious.”

“Perhaps you should take the advice you give,” Sarah pointed out, tilting her head to one side. “You don’t have to trust me for marriage or anything like that. Just enough for a bit of harmless fun, no?”

“Fun? Perhaps. But harmless, that I have to doubt.”

“So cynical. Don’t tell me you swing the other way…at least your body is honest.” Her voice trailed off as he leaned in, planting a kiss on her lips, one arm circling her waist and the other pinning her wrists as he slammed her against the aquarium glass, causing her to gasp into his mouth. Her thighs clenched against him, the leg against his butt pulling him into her as their eyes, barely an inch apart, searched each other. 

“Why now?”

“Well, Olivia’s already stirred the pot. I’d be foolish not to take advantage of that final sprinkle of pixie wings,” Sarah laughed heartily, still no outward reaction, completely relaxed despite their positions. Harry inwardly admitted to some frustration, wondering if Sarah could sense it. “Go on, I won’t resist…well, unless you want me to. Who knows? You might receive some epiphany with post-nut clarity.”

Harry arched an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by her vulgarity. Without asking, it seemed she understood his question, smiling innocently in complete contrast to her hips tracing circular motions to grind against him. 

“Your inexperience shows, Harry. Abstinence is cowardice…are you really in control if you haven’t tested yourself?” she challenged, her hands cupping his cheeks. “Are you willing to leave yourself vulnerable just because you doubt me?”

“I’ll consider it,” Harry said, side-stepping to escape her embrace. Sarah stood up, lightly dusting off her chest with nonchalance. Sarah shrugged, a helpless smile. 

“That’s all I can ask. But if not that, perhaps a spar?”

“That I can agree with,” Harry nodded, bouncing on his feet as he approached Sarah. The girl didn’t look phased as he approached, still casually leaning against the aquarium glass. Three steps away, Harry began to lunge forward for a punch, all the while concentrating his magic into a beam, focusing on the space behind her. As she raised a guard to defend, Harry apparated right behind, fighting down the disorientation and swinging a punch.

Wham! Harry’s wrist twitched as several fingers dug into his nerves, causing uncontrollable spasms. 

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Sarah laughed, not hesitating to launch several jabs towards him. Harry quickly retreated, one step, two steps, three steps, forcibly channeling a burst of magic into his limp hand and regaining sensation. Using his weakened hand to grip her wrist, Harry twisted to the side as he attempted a palm to her locked elbow. 

Thwam! Thwam! Thwam! Harry was left reeling as three rapid kicks landed on his stomach in quick succession, trails of magic rippling on her leg. Stubbornly, Harry held onto his grip, infusing magic into his foot and attempting his own kick.

Despite still being in his grip, she twirled to the side, dancing harmlessly to the side of his kick as she attempted to sweep his feet. Infusing magic to his fingers, he hardened his grip, causing a crunch as bone snapped, even as his fingers popped in protest. 

At the same time, she kicked towards his abdomen, managing to follow up once, then twice as he shirked each time, the distance closing in rapidly until Harry yanked on her wrist while kicking off from his heel, darting forward with the assistance of a burst of magic, intent to knee her in the stomach. Instead, her legs coiled around his waist, dragging them both to the ground, tangled up so they were unable to gain any leverage on the other, flopping uselessly against each other as their fingers tried to seize the advantage, trying to grip the other’s wrist and avoid their own being ensnared. 

Harry fought the increasing distraction in his groin, the friction undeniably sending pleasurable sensations through her body. The moistness was not solely his own, even as she attempted to roll them over. Rather than resist, he leaned into the momentum, the two tumbling on the floor until her back unceremoniously rammed onto the glass with a solid ‘clunk’. 

“Truce?” he offered, to which she nodded, grinning.

“Trying to stab me?” she teased, blowing a kiss as he rolled off her. Harry rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched in amusement. Perhaps in another type of story, this might be the beginning of a romance. But he knew fate had determined his genre long ago. “Not bad.”

“You were holding back,” Harry pointed out, something shy didn’t deny. “Just what training did you undergo?”

“I’ve dabbled in various martial arts. You, on the other hand, are essentially learning the same way thugs do in street brawls. Sparring against your other friends can only get you so far,” she advised, stretching to one side as she let out a faint groan. “At least you didn’t headbutt me this time.”

“I’m learning to spar rather than fight. Doing such a thing would be counterproductive,” Harry pointed out, causing her to snort.

“Finally got it through that thick skull of yours, huh?” she laughed, a glimmer in her eyes. “Got some energy left?”

“Sure, what do you have in mind?”

“You’re good at avoiding blows, but your attacks lack the proper speed. You do have decent strength and reach behind it, but it’s pointless if it’s so easy to dodge. You should try training that. Watch,” she instructed, planting her left foot on the ground as her right foot kicked six times in rapid succession, cutting through the air without touching the ground once. And all that without the infusion of any magic. “Focus your exercises on certain muscles so that it becomes reflex.”

“So I should do something like leg curls?” Harry queried. Sarah shook her head.

“Save time by doing it in stance instead. I’ll help. Do a kick,” the witch instructed, moving to his side, one hand on his stomach and one on his back. Just as his leg reached its limit and was about to retract, she held him in place. “Hold it!”

“Huh?” Harry grunted as she moved one hand underneath his calf, poking up with a finger. 

“Hold it in place. If you want options in a fight, train your body to be flexible. Otherwise, an opponent will know that you have to retract after a kick,” Sarah explained. Harry felt his leg trembling…actually, his whole body was trembling, his core straining to hold it up. The strain was building up. “Five seconds! Four…three…two…one…alright!”

Harry barely noticed her cheer, almost curling up on himself as he finally let his leg down. 

“Now the other,” she instructed, smirking at his glare. “Aww, do you want me to kiss it better?”

“I’ll pass,” Harry grunted, switching his foot and kicking with his left leg. Still fatigued, his stance was notably less stable, right leg buckling under the weight and causing his body to sway uncontrollably. His core, taking the brunt of the strain, rippled uneasily, being stretched to the limit.

“Hold it…hold it…shake less,” she chided, one palm on his back and the other prodding up at his calf. “Come on, you talk so big about endurance, yet you can’t compete against little old me?”

“Fuck you,” Harry grunted, squinting his eyes as he willed his body to cooperate. The shaking lessened as he squeezed his final reserves dry. 

Brush. A faint tickling sensation caught Harry completely off guard as her index finger lazily traced back and forth on his right leg, causing it to lose rigidity and his whole body to crumple to the floor.

“Merlin…” Harry grunted, strewn on the floor. “You can laugh.”

“Honestly, you’re not bad,” Sarah assured with unusual candour. “Be sure to knead your muscles a bit. I’m sure Georgia will be happy to return the favour.”

“Not going to offer?” Harry tilted his head up to look at her, seeing Sarah’s eyes shine with mirth. The rest of his body was still too exhausted to move. 

“This was a warm up for me, I have to actually break a sweat,” she teased. Perhaps he should have been discouraged, but honestly, Harry felt the thrill of a challenge, shimmying against the glass wall and hoisting himself up. 

“Mind if I watch?”

“Hmm…sure, why not?” Sarah agreed after a moment of thought, before a mischievous smirk spread across her lips as she began to strip. “I’ll give you a show, but pay attention to my muscles. Or you can look at other things, I won’t judge.”

For all her movements, he also didn’t miss the faint glint of light against her sex. 

--Break--   

He’d walked through each room hundreds of times, becoming intimately familiar with each corner. Thus, as he walked past a wizard lying in a puddle of drool and ejaculate, the porn film still playing on the monitor, Harry paused, seeing that there was something different. It was subtle, perhaps shouldn’t have even been noticed, but Harry ignored the confused murmurs of his comrades, shoving the boy to one side and climbing up onto the desk, fiddling with the movie poster frame hanging.

Rather than being firmly stuck, this time, it had a slight give. Just as Harry’s mind raced with excitement, several fingers latched onto his foot.

“Eh? Wha-” Harry didn’t waste a second, a single kick to the boy’s head flooring him back into unconsciousness again, a sickening crunch on his nose as blood spurted out. 

“Georgia, get up here,” he instructed, the girl blinking away her surprise to join him on the desk on the other side of the painting, mirroring his motions of tugging. Olivia and Obertine stared dumbly, but two people were enough for this. There was a gentle creek, slowly sliding further and further out until it finally popped off, revealing a small cabinet with several dozen books with various titles.

‘A beginner’s guide to Persian Runes’, ‘Origins of Northern Chinese Martial Magic’, ‘Intersection between Healing and Herbology’, ‘Advanced Arithmancy and Applications to Alchemy, Rituals and Runes’ and many more. Harry flipped through the pages, his occlumency allowing him to quickly store the images for future study. Though he might not have the ability to process information this quickly, his training had at least given him the capacity for incredible memory.

It took all of three minutes for him to flick through each volume before handing it to Georgia and the others. By the time he was finished, Obertine had immersed himself in a volume about transfiguration, while Olivia was flipping through one on charms. Only Georgia was still watching him with curiosity, shrugging with a smile as he arched a questioning eyebrow.

“It seems they’re finally giving us something to study,” Harry pointed out, causing her to give a thoughtful hum. Climbing down from the section, he gestured for Georgia to follow, causing the girl to cock her head in confusion, nevertheless heeding his instructions. As they left the room, Harry let out a faint sigh. “What do you think?” 

“About…?”

“We both know that compartment hadn’t been accessible before,” he pointed out, causing Georgia to nod slowly, chewing on air. “So why now?”

“What…do you mean? This is good, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Who is to say? I am far more curious why they decided to offer books rather than something else, exercise equipment, for instance.”

“If I had to guess, we can’t hurt each other as much with these?” she postulated. On the surface, it wasn’t far-fetched. While some of the others had assaulted each other, they didn’t provide wands, knives, forks or other potential weapons. 

But that was hardly true if you even peered beneath the surface. Bottles of alcohol were more than effective enough as clubs, not to mention flammable. Whips, though seemingly designed for fetishes, were still an effective weapon. With even the slightest motivation, turning this place into a killing field wouldn’t be a particularly difficult task. 

“And other possibilities you can think of?” Harry encouraged, causing Georgia to hum.

“Maybe it’s to test our mental capacity?” Georgia reasoned. Harry nodded encouragingly, causing her to perk up. “It makes sense that we’re already doing our own thing with fitness. It makes more sense to test our aptitude for other things.”

“A good theory.”

“Well…what do you think?” Georgia queried after a moment of silence. “Surely you have your own thoughts.”

He didn’t blame her for being curious, even if he wondered how much he should reveal. By now, the suspicions on the nature of their condition should be rooting in her mind. He’d expected Obertine rather than Olivia to take up the mantle of rival, and certainly not at the current pace. Nevertheless, it wasn’t an unwelcome development…now he just had to test the limits of this place.

“How has your meditation been going?” Harry queried, causing her to blink blankly. He didn’t miss the flitter of frustration as he deferred his answer, though she controlled her facial tick relatively well. 

“It’s…progressing,” she hesitated, flinching as he opened his mouth. Inwardly rolling his eyes, Harry nevertheless lifted his lips in a smile, allowing warmth to inject his expression as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a particularly easy process. It can often feel like you’re actually regressing, but it’s natural,” Harry assured. And he was speaking from experience. Attempting to force his brain to take on more tasks at once had only resulted in a splitting headache that knocked him unconscious, bleeding out of his eyes. “Still, the benefits are worthwhile.”

“You mean like your photographic memory?” Georgia piqued, causing Harry to chuckle. She had grown more observant, at least to things related to him.

“You know, some children can actually remember their time in the womb,” Harry mused, causing Georgia to raise a disbelieving eyebrow. “I’d tell you to look it up in a library, but that probably doesn’t help here.”

“How…why do you even know these things?”

“Heh, even amongst abnormal individuals I am still abnormal,” Harry chuckled, causing her to snort.

“Don’t lump me in with you, buddy. I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly normal.”

“Isn’t that a rather sad thing to admit?” Harry challenged, causing Georgia to hesitate before shrugging. “Why did you let them have the books?”

“It won’t help much, in truth. The knowledge they’ve given is all purely theoretical, and none of it is advanced enough to make much of a difference to our situation. Our best strategy is to train up our mental acumen.”

“Then…what’s the plan?”

“I want to gather a team,” Harry explained, causing Georgia to frown. Slight jealousy, slight disbelief.

“From where?”

“Let’s start by looking into the various specialisation rooms,” Harry proffered after a moment of thought. “It proves they’re at least not just dumping themselves into food.”

“That’s a…low bar,” Georgia frowned. “I don’t get it, why are you so obsessed with the dregs?”

‘And am I not enough?’ He could hear the unspoken question. 

If this were merely a test for individuals, it wouldn’t have been designed like this, not unless they were horribly incompetent. And there may come a time when we need numbers. 

“Do you know the rules of this place?” They reached her room, with Harry pulling out a stack of cards, over three hundred in all, beginning to shuffle as she went to pour out two glasses of milk. As he split the massive deck in half and began a ripple shuffle, Harry noticed that the deck didn’t have the right amount of cards. It was only two, almost unnoticeable if he wasn’t actively counting.

“It’s fitting for you to say something like that,” Georgia mused, before giggling to herself. “Us mere mortals can’t truly understand the magnificence of your thought process.”

“Enlighten me on how it feels,” Harry deadpanned, causing the witch to snort in amusement, setting a glass in front of him before taking a sip of her own. “Maybe you can finally force a stalemate on me.”

“Hey, I was close last time! I’d have won if you weren’t cheating!” she huffed as she grabbed several handfuls of cards from the middle, setting them to the side. He did the same, meaning neither knew the compositions of the deck. Nevertheless, Harry’s mind was already at work, noting thirty seven total cards removed. That left one hundred seventy seven left, with two jokers per deck. It was amusing to see her try and cheat her way to an advantage, but far be it for him to stop her. 

“How many cards this time?”

“Why don’t we do twenty? I’ll bet on red.”

“As the lady commands,” Harry agreed, dealing each of them a deck of twenty before lifting the top card to reveal an eight of hearts.  She took out a pouch, holding it to him. Glancing inside, he saw that there was a red, blue and white poker chip, each representing a ‘power’. At least in this, she hadn’t cheated.

“I’ll pass,” Harry waved off, causing her to narrow her eyes. “Tell you what, I’ll let you choose which one you want.”

“Aren’t you looking down on me too much?” Georgia raised an eyebrow. Harry shrugged.

“Then show me.”

“Fine, I’ll take the tunnel,” she sighed, taking out the black chip and setting it on her side. It was the most ‘powerful ability’, with the red chip drawing a new card from the deck as a starter card while the blue chip allowed one to peer into the next five cards in the deck.  

Harry picked up his cards, though his focus was foremost on Georgia’s reaction as she glanced at hers. Moving several around, Harry didn’t doubt she at least wasn’t ordering from smallest to largest like she did at first. A nibble of the lip, a flicker in the eyes, by his guess, it wasn’t an easy deck. She either had a lot of gaps in between clusters of cards, or she just had a cluster of cards that wasn’t anywhere near eight. 

Tapping her finger on the chess-clock, she started her timer, the countdown from twenty minutes beginning.

“Three nines,” she called out, lifting three cards and placing the face-down on top of the starter card. Harry suspected she was lying, though calling her out this early had little impact. If anything, drawing a new origin card gave her the advantage. Glancing at his own cards, Harry inwardly sighed.

Two twos, a three, five fours, one six, four eights, one jack, two kings, three aces and a joker.

“One ten,” he called out, pulling out a two and sliding it forward before tapping the timer. Georgia bit on her lip, a thoughtful hum as her eyes stared at him for several moments. 

Taking a pair of cards from her hand, she called out, “Two jacks.”

“One jack,” Harry echoed, sliding forward his jack and tapping the timer. She hesitated, finger brushing the edge of her card for a moment before her lips twitched. 

“Two jacks.” She pressed the timer, leaving Harry to let out a thoughtful hum.

“Interesting strategy,” Harry mused aloud, moving several of his cards around, unfazed by her observant eyes. “One queen.”

He slid his joker forward, tapping the clock.

“Bull,” she called out, reaching forward and flipping the card, letting out a ‘tut’ at the mocking face of the joker. “Playing that card so early?”

“I do try to be a good sport,” Harry teased, causing her to huff, her legs stretching over towards his crotch, a smirk on her face. “Trying to distract me?”

“Do be a good sport,” she returned, causing Harry to snort, even as he felt his arousal begin to faintly stir as her legs wrapped around the outline of his awakening shaft, sliding forward and backward. He briefly contemplated whether he should return the favour, but decided to hold off for now. Flipping over the new starter card from the deck, it was a three. She also flipped over five of the discarded cards. A two, a four, a seven, an eight and an ace.

“Four fours,” she slid forward cards, causing him to arch an eyebrow as her finger tapped the clock. It seemed improbable that she’d employ a joker here, and the likelihood of her actually possessing the cards didn’t seem high. Four decks discounting the thirty nine missing cards. Sixteen fours with four already in his hand. 

But she had made a high number for a reason. If he called her out now, it would betray his confidence, one that could only arise from possessing a large number of fours. He knew of five already, with four in hand and one revealed in the discard pile. 

“One three.”

“One two.”

“Three aces.” He’d slid three eights instead.

“Two aces.”  

“Five aces,” Harry called out. It was five fours instead. As he pressed the timer, Georgia didn’t hesitate to follow up.

“Four kings.”

“Two kings.” He’d put a two and a six.

“Two queens,” she slid forward after a moment of hesitation. Harry opened his mouth, his hand reaching to the centre of the deck as he cautiously observed her reaction. There was no flicker of excitement or nervousness, causing him to let out a dramatic sigh, retracting his fingers and drawing two cards.

“Two kings,” he played honestly.

“Bull!” she pounced, flipping the card over only to let out a groan as the cards revealed his honesty in this round. “Dammit!”

He flipped over five cards from the discard pile: five eights. As she scooped up the cards in the middle, glancing through them, her lips twitched. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“I doubt you were fully honest too,” Harry countered as she flipped over the new starter card. An Eight.

He’d given her at least three eights. One was the first starter card. One was in his hand. Six in the discard pile. She could account for ten of the sixteen eights, not including however many she initially had. With him down to four cards, it was a do or die moment, which is why he smirked.

“Two eights,” he called out, sliding a pair of aces forward. He saw her brows furrow, no doubt considering the game theory behind his moves. If she didn’t contest, he’d only have two cards left. If she assumed he had a final card near the range, he’d keep it for the final round, given she’d have no choice but to call him out when he played his last cards. 

“Two nines.”

“One eight,” he pushed forward an honest eight. She sucked in a breath, with him only left with one card. No doubt her mind was pondering why he was keeping them hovering around eight. Unless she called him out now, she’d be forced to deal with whatever card he played at the end. He watched her eyes contemplate based on the cards jumbled in her hand. So distracted, her feet had fallen still. Taking this opportunity, he slid his foot across, his big toe beginning to trace circles around her crotch.

“Shit!” she hissed, her breath hitching and several cards falling from her hand. A pair of fours and a six. Hastily picking them up, she scowled at his smirk. “You’re a real jerk, you know?”

“Going to call me out?” Harry taunted, causing her to let out another sigh. The seconds ticked by on the clock, even though there was still well over fifteen minutes. A shame, adding time pressure would have been truly interesting.

“What would you do?”

“Depends on what you think you know. I’d be very unlikely to lie on my last card because once it’s revealed, you could easily control the game. Of course, I could have taken account of this and swapped the order precisely because of this.”

“Ugh, I…dammit.”

“Take your time,” he soothed, causing Georgia to huff as her feet began to move with purpose again. “As much as I may enjoy this, don’t you have more things to worry about?”

“Fuck off,” she groaned, refusing to push his foot away and concede on that front even as her face twitched in agitation. He felt a faint hint of moisture on his toe…truly, what in Morgana’s name did they put in the food? Harry was almost afraid to find out. 

“You’re getting better at this,” Harry let out a soft grunt, leaning back. “Maybe we should do this naked next time.”

“Ufgh, so you are a pervert,” she grunted, the irony not lost on either of them. Harry arched an eyebrow. “Ugh…hmm…bull!”

Harry’s hand reached out, interpreting her wrist. “What caused this decision?”

“Huh?” she eyed him sharply. A smirk formed on her lips. “Why do you ask? Scared?”

“I just want to see your thought process,” Harry shrugged, releasing her grip. She didn’t make a dive for the card, instead retracting it to her side. “Empathy towards the less fortunate is an admirable quality, or so I’m told.”

“Hmph, you’re too smug, you know that?” Georgia huffed. Harry arched an eyebrow, causing her to blush, looking away. “I know I’m the l-”

“Hey, you’re making progress. You can be proud of that,” Harry interjected warmly, causing her to turn back to him in surprise. “I’ll give you one chance to take back your decision.”

“You had to ruin the moment,” she groaned. “Fuck it, bull!”

She reached forward for the card. This time, Harry didn’t stop her. 

As the face of the eight of clubs stared back at her, she let out a long groan. “Fuu…how?”

“The game isn’t over yet,” Harry encouraged, flipping over the new starter card. The four of spades. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile, pulling out three cards. “Three fives.”

“Bull!” Harry called, catching her completely off guard. If she was being honest, then he would be stuck with three fives alongside his ace. It’d be troublesome, but also force a redraw. But he was counting on one more thing.

Reaching forward, he flipped over the cards, smirking as he saw that it was a random assortment of cards. Based on the principle at the start of the game, it made little sense for him to call her out. The discrepancy in card numbers didn’t change even if he was right. He glanced over at the discard pile, noting how they were a bunch of low cards. Georgia flipped over a seven. 

Not great, not terrible. If she decided to put a five or six, he would need to force a redraw. But Harry was confident for one simple reason: she would kilter to something she felt was in her control. Which meant she was going to use her power. 

“You wish you’d taken a power, don’t you?” Georgia smirked, blatantly showing six face-up eight cards, pushing the pile of cards towards him, an eagerness outsizing the pile of cards. “Six eights. I’m using the tunnel.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Harry revealed his final card, the ace of eight. Her breath hitched, several cards slipping from her grip as her jaw dropped. Nonchalantly flicking it with his fingers, it landed spinning atop the pile of cards. “Game over.”

“Heh…heh…that’s…ugh,” Georgia fell on her back, resembling a starfish twitching on the grounded. “Fuuu…I thought I had you. Morgana’s tits.”

“Don’t be so dour, you’ve improved. After all, you know not to arrange your cards in order anymore,” Harry chuckled. She let out a groan, lacking the energy to retort. A soft knock on the door caused Harry to look up. “Come in!”

“Am I intruding?” Victoria queried softly, peeking her head in. Her eyebrows arched at the sight of a deflated Georgia, turning a questioning game to Harry. Her skin seemed to flake around the eyes, the colour of her hair not as bright as they were a few days ago. He smiled innocently.

“Hardly, Georgia and I were just playing some card games. Care to join?”

“Sure, if you go easy on me,” she chuckled, rubbing her eyes tiredly as she arched her back, a faint pop echoing in the room. “Damn, my head still hurts.”

“Perhaps you-”

“I’ve been sleeping for at least a day, I need to exercise my brain a bit,” she dismissed quickly. “So, what are you playing?”

Chapter Text

“You really should eat at least something,” Georgia advised between bites of a chicken breast. Harry let out a non committal hum, tracing his finger along the edge of the doorframe. “The meats are actually somewhat decent now. Maybe they realised we’d all turn into bloated balloons if they didn’t ease up.”

“I’ll have a bite in a bit,” Harry assured, though this merely drew a snort from the witch.

“You said the same half an hour ago. Do I have to feed you?” she teased, poking at the side of his lips with a piece of chicken.
“Fine, fine,” Harry set down his pen, rolling his eyes at her smug grin. Feeling a bit mischievous, he opened his mouth, giving er finger a lick as she fed him the piece. She sputtered in shock, frozen in place as he leaned back, chewing before swallowing. “Huh, it’s not as bad.”

“Wh…wha-”

“You know, it’s somewhat adorable to see you so flustered,” Harry pointed out wryly, causing her to huff, tilting her head away in annoyance. “Very kawaii.”

“Hmph, you’re so proud of learning these weird words, aren’t you?” she sniffed. “You know, if you want to read pornographic magazines, you don’t have to pretend it’s for research.”

“Who knows what symbolism the masters of this world left for us to find?” Harry shrugged, causing Georgia to roll her eyes. “Would you believe me if I told you that weeks after searching the room several times over, we’d find a compartment full of books?”

“Well…you’re challenging causation with correlation. Apparently in the Pacific, there are islanders who made wooden replicas of planes and airstrips in an attempt to summon aircraft, which contained food, weapons, radios and other supplies,” Georgia challenged, causing Harry to give a thoughtful hum.

“Interesting, you are familiar with this piece of muggle history?”

“Some veteran who I talked to mentioned it in a conversation and it stuck in my mind.” 

“I am unfamiliar with the details, but from what you said, it only affirms my beliefs. Perhaps to the outside world, they must have seemed like fools. But isn’t that rather arrogant of us to think?” Harry pointed out with a smile. “Are the borders of knowledge not defined by those who dared to careen off the precipice, whose sacrifice illuminated the way for those who followed? Though they may not have succeeded in their original intentions, I think the reason such a story resonates within us is due to the unique human ability to be bored.”

“Bored?” Georgia tilted her head. “I…don’t follow.”

“What are the most successful species in our world right now? Humans, goblins, dwarves…and various half-breeds too. But none of these are particularly strong or remarkable, save for one thing: the capacity to become bored. The hedonic cycle that makes us gradually become dissatisfied with our present situation, to seek out more. It is our greatest weakness…but also our greatest capacity. That, more than anything else, seems to be the impetus for us to alter the conditions around us. Not just adapting, but seeking to alter our environment. Rather than accept our current boundaries, we are pioneers, innovators, the best and worst of all that exists. All because of this capacity to question and doubt and test and persist. And as of this moment, we are the fools…those in the dark, never knowing if the next step is solid ground or a thousand foot fall. Many of our compatriots have forsaken this pursuing quality, content to feed and fuck and fight till they die, no different than an ant who doesn’t question why they must support the hive, a niffler on why it is interested in gold, a demiguise on how their ability to tell the future works…but I believe you’ve still retained that quality just like I have, even if you might think to deny it. Because you stand here with a fire in your eyes, seeking to discover the nature of this place, the intentions of its creators, to build a tower to stand on equal footing with God.”

“And in the end…if you don’t find the answers that you’re looking for?”

“I imagine it would be utter despair, a mental breakdown,” Harry shrugged. “Look at how cultists in the past have reacted when their mythos and religion crumble under the weight of objective reality. As I said, this fire within each of us is the best and worst of our qualities, one that nourishes us and feeds us yet threatens to engulf and consume us too. It may be the case that all our efforts in life are meaningless, that it will amount to nothing, a forgotten speck in the sands of history’s shore, swept away by the rolling waves of time. For those who dare to introspect, many will fall into despair and nihilism. But for those who believe it is this struggle that gives us meaning…it tempers us, makes us stronger and more resilient. When you fell into despair and I offered you my hand, you chose to take that step in the darkness, because deep down, you feel the same, don’t you?”

“You’re determined to see this through, aren’t you? I wonder if you will follow the path of Icarus.”

“If I burn, then at least I believe I will do so, very brightly.”

“Alright then, mister bonfire. Better fuel yourself up with some food,” she teased, forking another piece of chicken and holding it towards him. Harry opened his mouth, only for her to instead take the chicken for herself. “Hmph, you have arms, don’t you?”

“Fair enough,” Harry snorted in amusement, standing up from the desk, his bones popping softly. “By the way, do you think we’ll get replacements?”

“Re…placements?” Georgia pursed her lips, letting out a hum of contemplation. 

“How many are left? Probably no more than twenty at this point.”

“Hmm…you thinking of recruiting the next batch?”

“Have you considered why they let so many die?”

“I…hmm,” she hesitated. “I don’t think it’s just for sadistic amusement. Best guess? We’re…hmm, that doesn’t make sense though, does it? If it’s just an experiment of food, why use geniu…perhaps…surely no…”

“It seems you’ve come to a conclusion.”

“But it’s…absurd, isn’t it? Multiple experiments to examine how different conditions affect its subjects…the amount of resources, even if you assume there’s only another control vault…” Harry’s lips twitched, wondering what the expressions of the observing scientists would be. He didn’t imagine it would improve Ixel’s seeming distaste for him, though White would probably be amused. But that was just a hunch. “So…have we been captured by some dark elves or something?”

“You regret not listening to the children’s stories now, don’t you. I guess we’ve all been naughty boys and girls,” Harry mused, causing Georgia to lightly smack him on the shoulder, a snort escaping her lips. “But…unless they plan to gas all of us first, Interrupting the experiment would ruin the validity of the results.”

“But that assumes this is an experiment, doesn’t it? If it’s some sort of selection…given the dismal rate right now, wouldn’t it make sense to change things up?” Georgia pointed out, causing Harry to hesitate before giving a thoughtful nod.

“That is a good point. Which makes it more imperative that we build some momentum, lest the second batch end up a repeat of the first.”

“So, what exactly are you trying to find?” Georgia frowned as Harry set down his plate. In truth…Harry himself didn’t know: he already knew this was some sort of caged experiment. 

But that didn’t mean that he was doing this solely for boredom: Harry knew that General White and the Soviets wanted something from him, and he needed to figure that out fast. Considering all the variables, he had several theories.

First: Endurance. In such a case, he simply needed to maintain a resistance against hedonism for an unknown duration. In such a case, truly most of the investigation he took was pointless. However, there were two problems with this argument. On the theoretical side, it didn’t make sense to have a shared facility in which the results might be contaminated. Solitary ones would allow for far easier observation. On the practical side, this was a best case scenario in which he didn’t have to do any additional work. But if he was wrong and the experiment ‘failed’, then would everyone here be disposed of as rejects? The Soviets were hardly the charitable type.

Second: Network. Or rather, peer influence. Considering the different levels of resilience between individuals, various hedonistic traps had been set up, perhaps this was an observation on whether social contact would amplify or negate such results. While there were some elements of the facility that matched this, for instance having all the individual quarters connected with the massive atrium and buffet, this still didn’t account for just how well equipped the rooms were. At least four or five individuals hadn’t come down yet, and plenty more who had quickly disappeared back into their rooms. If this were the case, keeping Georgia, Obertine and Olivia sane would be a boon. Sarah was excluded in this consideration for obvious reasons.

Third: Insight. The most abstract possibility, and also seemingly the most unlikely. Beyond simply enduring, perhaps it was trying to evaluate their capacity to look beyond the situation and try to find more information…perhaps even escape. This was the most and least likely in his mind: General White bringing him to this facility seemed to be a last-minute decision, not to mention Sarah’s presence as an inexperienced handler, suggesting this wasn’t the original plan…or at least that there was a substitute for him. And yet, it was precisely the same reasons that made Harry suspect this was the reason: why risk compromising the entire experiment unless there would be substantial gain? And if there was a substantial gain, then there must have been some characteristic within him that attracted General White’s attention.

Taking her hands in his own, Harry ignored the flustered blush blossoming on her cheeks, concealing their thumbs inside as he began to trace English letters.

‘Smile’. Five letters traced in the course of roughly seven seconds. Despite her confused gaze, her lips twitched into a smile. ‘Frown’.

She complied, a hint of contemplation in her eyes before they widened. Slightly clumsily, she moved her thumb, taking a bit of time. ‘Being listened to’?

Harry nodded, causing her eyes to narrow. 

“You’re so easily flustered,” he teased, even as he traced his finger on her palm. ‘Focus’. 

“Hmph, it’s not nice to tease,” she quipped, her voice a little shaky. But it’d get better with practice. ‘OK’.

“You’re right, I apologise,” Harry pulled her in for a hug, trapping their hands between their chests. ‘Keep talking’.

“As if I’d forgive so easily. You’ll have to make it up to me,” she huffed haughtily, her thumbs twitching. It was slightly garbled, though Harry could surmise what she was trying to say. ‘Who is listening?’

“I’m sure I will,” Harry laughed easily, feeling some suspicion as there was a knock on the door. Untangling his hands from hers, he called out, “Come in, Sarah.” 

“How did you know it was me?” Sure enough, the familiar figure of Sarah walked in, a hint of curiosity in her eyes as she eyed the two of them. “Harry, what a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“I knew you two were close, but not this close,” she shrugged, giving a faint smirk. “Am I interrupting something?”

“It’s a bit late to ask now, isn’t it?” Georgia retorted. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. I’d ask who’s on top, but the answer is pretty obvious, isn't it?” Sarah raised an eyebrow. 

“Envious?” Georgia smirked, leaning on Harry’s side as she draped an arm around his waist. “Even Obertine has been taken by Olivia…what are you left with? One from the pigsty?”

“As if I have the time to worry about romance. Or have you given up on figuring out the truth of this place?” Sarah scoffed. “Thought I’d have some fun with you, but guess all you can do is hide behind Harry. Some genius.”

“To know what you know and concede on what you don’t is a sign of intellect, not weakness,” Georgia retorted, surprising Harry just as he was about to step in. “But I suppose you wouldn’t understand, for all the games you play.”

“Oh, games?” Sarah flittered her fingers airily, though Harry could still see her carefully watching their reactions. Harry lightly squeezed Georgia’s hand. “And what games would that be?”

“Do I really need to spell it out?” Georgia retorted. “We all know.”

“Do you?” Sarah smirked. Harry gently squeezed Georgia, feeling some of the tension slump. “Know, that is.”

“You’re not as smart as you think,” Georgia sniffed. “Now if you’d kindly get lost?”

“Hmm, it seems that at least he calms you down,” Sarah acknowledged thoughtfully, giving Harry a meaningful look. 

“You overestimate me,” Harry assured, causing the witch to smile. She was undoubtedly unconvinced, though that left Harry wondering why she had interrupted. If she was an agent, surely any information could have been observed by the scientists.
“Keep her on a tighter leash, or you might come to regret it,” Sarah let out a tinkling laugh before waving as she turned towards the door. “Just friendly advice, take it as you will.”

Neither Harry nor Georgia responded, Sarah’s footsteps leaving a lingering echo until the two were left alone again. Harry could feel the slight tremble in her body, lightly squeezing.

“You did well,” he praised, causing Georgia to jerk her head sharply, staring at him with a confused expression. His lips rose into a faint smile. “It must not have been easy.”

“I don’t understand…just how you can stand it, you know?”

“You mean the insults?”

“Yes, but also the feeling of being played,” Georgia spat. “It’s plain as day that the bitch is stirring up trouble. How can you stand it?”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Huh?” Georgia blinked at him.

“Playing games, aren’t we all doing that?”

“What…what do you mean?” Georgia questioned, loosening her grip on him and hesitantly taking a step back. 

“When you see someone you like, don’t you subconsciously try to be your best self? Maybe laugh at a joke that’s not particularly funny. Allow topics that once bore you become fascinating, so long as they’re the speaker. Manipulations large and small, conscious or instinctive, it’s baked into our DNA, is it not?”

“That’s…different.”

“How so?”

“It…she’s trying to divide up. That doesn’t make sense!”

“You trust too easily,” Harry chided, causing Georgia to let out a disbelieving snort.

“Trust? Me?”

“Yes. You trust her enough to assume that she has the same goal as us. You trust her enough to believe that you can operate on good faith,” Harry pointed out, causing Georgia to still, her eyes wide but unseeing.

“I…” Despair settling in, she stumbled towards the bed, all but collapsing on the mattress. 

“You know, I envy you,” Harry admitted freely, causing a muffled groan to rumble from her. “I’m serious, to be able to have such a positive…albeit naive outlook on the world. It is a gift, ignorance.”
“You’re not making me feel better,” Georgia groaned. 

“You should know I’m not insulting you.”

“That’s what makes it worse.” Groaning as she sat up, Georgia gave him an annoyed glare. “You should know.”

“Does it?”

“What part are you so envious about, then?”

“Innocence, naivety…these are the absence of taint. To have been shielded from pain, to have been coddled from suffering.”

“How dare you. Free from pain?” Georgia hissed. “You know enough about my past, so how dare you. I grew up in the slums. I had to fight for every scrap I had. Claw my way from the bottom atop a mound of maggots, only for all my work to be torn away and dumped in this place. So how dare you say that I lived a life free from pain when you clearly come from privilege!”

“Because you cannot lose something that you never had,” Harry smiled bitterly, causing Georgia to still, anger giving way to wariness. “Because pain was all you knew. But I once had family love…only for it to crash down. And how no matter how hard I tried, I could never overcome the cracks of a shattered dream.”

“I…” Georgia swallowed, awkwardly moving forward and wrapping her arms around him. Harry stilled, causing the witch to stumble back, her cheeks inflamed as she mumbled incoherently, in what Harry assumed were apologies.

“I didn’t dislike it. You just caught me by surprise,” Harry assured, a smile forming on his lips. She cautiously observed his face, searching for any signs of deceit before her guarded expression relaxed. “Thank you, Georgia. Really.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?” Her expression gained a bit of mischief. “But I surprised you?”

“You did,” Harry acknowledged, chuckling at the cheeky smugness oozing off the witch. Briefly, he felt his mind flicker to years ago, a red-haired girl proud that she’d won a game of chess. Just as quickly, Harry brushed those thoughts away. But it seemed not fast enough, seeing Georgia’s worried expression. “Is something the matter?”

“I…you seemed…wistful, I suppose. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I had an older sister. Rather stubborn and brash, a fiery spirit,” Harry answered with a shrug. “But that’s all in the past.” 

“I see,” Georgia answered unsurely. 

“Anyhow, I confess my surprise. Someone finally knows the difference between envy and jealousy. Perhaps it isn’t so bad to be here after all,” Harry chuckled. Georgia let out a hearty laugh, lightly punching his side. “It’s a compliment!”

“I was going to ask!” she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. “It always drives me insane when people aren’t pre-wait, wait, accuracy, wipe that grin off your face!”

Harry mimed a zip across his lips, causing Georgia to roll her eyes. 

“Ass. Now you’ve got me fired up, care for a spar?”

“It’s good to see such fiery determination,” Harry complimented as the two stepped off the bed. “It will be satisfying to see that turn into frustration.”

“You know, you can be so childish,” Georgia pointed out dryly, causing Harry to arch an eyebrow. But on second thought, Harry conceded the point. He could be really petty at times. Such as now, with renewed determination to kick her ass.

Feeling her inhale as the air shifted, Harry lazily sidestepped, avoiding her tackle as he flicked his wrist, smacking her on the back of her head as Georgia stumbled past, tripping over her feet and landing with a resounding thud. 

“Not bad timing, though the execution could use work.” 

“Uugh,” Georgia groaned, gingerly hoisting herself back to a standing pose. Harry didn’t bother waiting, launching a kick straight towards her head. “Aieee!”

To her credit, Georgia ducked under the kick, darting forward to slip past his guard as she extended a punch. Grinning, Harry leaned back, catching her wrist and deflecting her punch harmlessly to the side, thrusting his elbow follow towards her chest. Shirking backwards, Harry barely managed to graze her side before his momentum faltered. 

Raising her knee, she tried to catch him, though Harry caught her leg in his own, their thighs twisting around each other and locking them in place as their arms caught each other, neither able to garner a decisive advantage. 

“Ho-this for a challenge?” she huffed. Harry took a breath before bending his other foot, yanking backwards with his momentum and causing her to stumble forwards, Georgia stumbling uncontrollably forward straight into a punch to the gut. 

“Hck-fu-ck-ah,” she grunted, stumbling back as she clutched her stomach, wheezing. “Ack…fuck.”

“You talk too much,” Harry panted, wincing as he rubbed the side of his leg, which was beginning to swell with a bruise. “Very aggressive today, I hit a nerve?”

“You have more experience. I decided to compress the timeframe,” Georgia answered, kicking her leg a few times as her knee let out loud pops. “Damn, that was not a good idea.” 

“You good?” Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“More alive than ever,” Georgia grinned, beginning to stride towards him, beginning to extend her right fist forward before shifting her weight, darting to the right and swiping at his feet with a low kick. Rather than meet her challenge, Harry launched a jab straight for her head, forcing Georgia to awkwardly tuck her leg to a defensive parry, knocking his strike to the side but leaving her on her last leg. 

Pressing the advantage, Harry took two quick steps forward as she stumbled one step back, side-stepping her kick and slamming an elbow on her knee, causing it to spasm and lock in place. The punch she managed to his elbow was weak, what little she could muster powering through the shock in her body as Harry closed the distance, landing two punches straight to her stomach and causing her to hunch over, leaping fast and ramming her head against him.

Caught off guard, Harry hastily shrunk backwards, blunting some of her momentum as the two tumbled to the ground, Georgia on top of him, their arms and legs coiled around each other as they tried to seize the advantage while preventing the other from doing the same. Yet all this did was leave them flopping against each other ineffectively. But what caught Harry’s attention was the rapid flutter of arousal flooding his body, and how her nipples seemed to dig into his chest. The two looked at each other, somewhat flustered. 

“That…”

“Um…”

“Did your chest grow?” Harry queried, causing Georgia to let out a startled gasp before crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Pervert!”

“No, I’m serious,” Harry narrowed his eyes, mind already running through the possibilities. “Our bodies…they’re being stimulated to grow. Something really is wrong with the food.”

“I…huh?” 

“You must have noticed it too, our spars. We’re literally growing too fast to adapt,” Harry pointed out. Georgia stilled, her brows furrowing before she slowly nodded. “Whatever they’re feeding us…it’s not natural.”

Hsssst…the vents began to release a faint red gas, descending from the top of the room. 

“Wha-”

“Calm down,” Harry instructed, taking her hand and pushing the door to their room open, hurriedly descending down the steps to the main atrium. Gasses were still pumping out of the vents, though Harry didn’t stop for more than a second, continuing even as a faint citrus smell tickled his nostrils.

“Wh-”

“If the whole facility’s being gassed, there’s not much we can do,” Harry admitted, loosening his grip on her hand. However, she maintained her grip on his hand, her body trembling. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m afraid,” she admitted, causing him to nod, cradling the back of her head and pulling it into her chest, stroking her hair. Her shivering calmed as her warm breath brushed against his chest, wisps of air sneaking through the fabric of his clothes. The scent of oranges grew, a pleasant tingle spreading through his body. 

“It’s alright, I’ll be right beside you,” he assured, gently sitting down, cradling her in his lap. In that moment, she was just another scared little girl unsure of what would happen. “Close your eyes.”

“Alright,” she murmured, already beginning to drift in and out of consciousness. Moments later, Harry laid down on his side, the last vestiges of energy sapped from his body. 

--Break--

Blinking awake, Harry found himself suspended in the air, a bright white light shining straight at his eyes and making it impossible to do anything but squint. Trying to calm the twitch in his eyes, Harry slowed his breathing, trying to get a sense of his bearings. A metallic pressure clenching on his wrists and ankles, some sort of restraint on his forehead, chin and neck. The irritating whir of machines began to quieten down, the light gradually fading to reveal a white ceiling. He was unable to move at all, a quiet flex of his arms and legs betraying even more restraints he hadn’t initially detected all along his arms and legs. 

“Ah, you’re awake!” a familiar voice called out. Sarah…well, it seemed that she was alright, at least. However, he found himself unable to speak, his vocal cords failing to move. “Don’t worry, your body is just under a sedative…in truth, I’m not sure how you’re awake. I guess one of the scientists here is going to be in trouble.”

Harry thought that she sounded oddly cheerful about a colleague potentially getting condemned to a fate many would consider worse than death. Perhaps it was a way to cope with the insanity of the contradictions inherent within the Soviet Union. If the muggles were any indication, at least. He couldn’t presume to know much about the magical side, which was secretive enough that even the most fantastical theories seemed too lacklustre. 

And now, he was within this side of the Iron Curtain. 

“You know, I’m honestly not sure if this experiment should be considered a success or a failure. It seems basically all of the others are no longer viable candidates. Victoria will be dead in a matter of weeks. The others have maybe months.”

“Canary, regu-”

“Oh be quiet,” Sarah snapped dismissively. Harry inwardly filed Sarah’s codename for future reference. He also wondered if he was an exception, or whether he now had an expiry date a little longer than frozen poultry. As the table rotated, his was finally able to observe the facility, a mixture of large canisters filled with strange bubbling fluids and various scientists scurrying about, holding a strange assortment of tools that ranged from the mundane to bastard cross-breeds between medical devices and torture equipment. 

In front of him, Sarah stood observing, a faint smile on her lips. She looked far more at ease in a black bodysuit, strange runes glowing on its surface. Black and red…how fitting for someone as deadly as her. 

As a needle was injected in his neck, Harry felt a strange gargle rise up in his lungs, the sensation of swelling and drowning clogging his body. Harry fought down the instinct to struggle, forcing himself to relax, allowing the sensation to slowly pass over. 

“Try speaking,” Sarah encouraged. Harry opened his mouth, faintly trying to force some words out but only to be met with soft wheezes. The witch covered her mouth, barely stifling a few chuckles. “Heh…so different from the eloquent monologues you love to give.”

The door to the room opened, with all the scientists and Sarah standing to attention as General White entered the room. 

“Ah, I’m glad I arrived early. It seems that you’ve recovered ahead of schedule,” General White commented aloud, his gaze lingering on several of the scientists. 

“Unfortunately, his vocal cords haven’t recovered yet, General,” Sarah informed, causing the man to let out a thoughtful hum, lightly shaking his head.

“A shame, but no matter. I must admit, it was rather interesting watching you operate, Harry. I truly understand why we struggled so much against you in the past,” the man let out a chuckle. “Your body has also proved remarkably resilient…no, it would be better to say that you seem strangely unaffected by the enhancements. It is curious…but the reason seems to be the lingering effects of soul magic. Perhaps…you might actually be the one who resisted the titan Voldemort’s curse.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated this information. He doubted the General would lie about something like this: there was simply no benefit…at least not that he could tell. Still…that did come as somewhat as a surprise. Harry’s memories of that time had completely disappeared, a void that no amount of occlumency could help recover. He could only infer its existence by the void in his mind, a darkness around the bursting light of neurons firing off around it.

Ultimately…it held little significance. Harry briefly wondered if Voldemort would have come to a similar conclusion. It was a distant thought, of course. Multiple assumptions would have to be upheld, not least that Voldemort has survived whatever ritual he’d attempted to conduct that night. Yet…for some reason, Harry got the feeling that this piece of information may yet come to haunt him.

“Of course, this is just speculation. Ultimately, the result is all that matters,” General White dismissed, his lips twitching. Harry wondered if it was truly that simple. He stalked forward, closing the distance until he was barely an inch away from Harry’s face, the indent of wrinkles visible to Harry’s eyes as the older wizard scrutinised him closely. “That leaves me in a dilemma.”

“Do you intend to dispose of me?” Harry rasped, his voice barely a whisper. Behind White, Sarah tensed as the scientists observing hastily looked away. General White took a step back.

“Heh…” the General snorted, before beginning to chuckle…slowly crescendoing into a full blown laugh. It seemed that all of his subordinates were frozen in terror, Sarah’s face losing several shades as she steadfastly looked forward in a thousand yard stare. “Ha ha ha! Even in the face of death, you seem utterly unconcerned.”

Should he be more worried about his own mortality? 

Inwardly, Harry pondered. Of the things he enjoyed in life…he supposed it boiled down to being a mentor. To cultivate people as a farmer might his crops, a financier his wealth, a socialite her status. And in the past months…Harry confessed his contentment. It was only a shame that the lives of those individuals would likely be prematurely ended. 

What a shame.

The General eyed him with questions. Harry understood, wondering whether he was regretting his words. If he’d try to find some verbal escape. He smiled.

“You will do what you will,” he answered simply.

“I admit it. It was disappointing to see the failures of the others. To be honest, I had felt it somewhat a waste to put someone of your calibre in this experiment…and yet, you defied my expectations. No, it is to say without you, perhaps the experiment would be truly…wasted.” The General let out a long sigh, clasping his hands together. “Of those who were in the experiment aside from you, of all the candidates, it is actually Georgia who has shown the most resilience against corrosion. Someone who, by all accounts, should have succumbed the easiest, instead now the envy of the group. Obertine too…of those you had nurtured properly, it is actually Olivia who seems the weakest. Care to guess why?”

Harry inwardly pondered: the sample size was small, but undoubtedly White had given him this much for a specific reason. Either there simply wasn’t more data…or among this was enough was enough already to form a judgement. 

At first, he considered the timeline of exposure to himself. It was true that he and Georgia had physically been proximous, meaning that perhaps his supposedly immunity to the corrosion described might have transmitted. But just as quickly, he set that idea aside. It wasn’t an impossibility, but not something he wanted to default to. The General’s words also brought him pause. ‘Aside from you’. 

Then, he considered the behaviour. Georgia had developed an…obsessive dependence in him. Obertine had burgeoned his lust for Olivia. Though Olivia might have an interest in him, it was far less remarkable than those of the other two. 

“You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?” General White peered at him. “Say it…say the word.”

“Purpose,” Harry answered, causing White to let out a long sigh. Harry wondered if he’d been mistaken, though he kept an impassive face as he observed the General turn around, his back towards Harry.

“Purpose.” He whispered, a strong bite in his words. Harry saw several of the scientists flinch at their consoles, Ixel standing deathly still as General White circle the man like Basilisk coiling around its prey. “Clarity of mind. Resilience. Tell me, Ixel. How is it that an outsider with no formal scientific training and scarcely any information was able to figure out what took you thousands of workers, dozens of experiments and untold amounts of resources to fail at? Hmm?”

The scientists swallowed, unable to form words as General White stood behind the man. Even White’s guards standing at the door were tense, leaving Harry to wonder just what sort of capabilities he possessed. 

“Nothing to say?” White scoffed. Taking off his gloves and tossing them to Sarah, Harry noticed the hands revealed were decayed, a strange white pus forming on its surface, fingers looking like a half-eaten chicken bone. Even from a distance, the stench of sulfur assaulted his nostrils.

“Gene-”

“If you’re not a saboteur, you missed your calling,” General White hissed into the man’s ear. In the silence of the room, the words were clearly heard by all. His hands gripping the scientist’s face, Harry watched with surprise as he was lifted into the air, the General’s thumbs digging into the scientist’s eyes as blood spewed out. Ixel’s flailing legs and arms didn’t even cause a flinch in the General, seconds passing by until his body fell limp. “Hmph.”

Thud. General White dropped the body contemptuously onto the ground. Was it a trick of the light, or did it seem that White’s complexion had gotten slightly healthier. Holding out his hands, Sarah hurriedly slipped the gloves back on. The General seemed distinctly unconcerned about the half-melted corpse on the floor, walking back over towards Harry with a smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s delighted by his long requested retirement,” White assured, snapping his fingers. Moments later, the restraints on his body unlatched, causing Harry to experience a brief fall before landing on his feet. Despite the faint strain, Harry nevertheless managed to stand upright with a bit of shaking. 

“You’re smart enough that you wouldn’t believe me if I told you that you were free to go,” White admitted with a smile. “So, where does that leave us?”

“I suppose I will offer to join you?”

“That is inevitable. The question is how your loyalty can be assured.”

“Is that what you want though?” Harry raised an eyebrow, causing White’s smile to freeze. 

“Elaborate.”

“You put me in this experiment precisely because every calculation you made suggested failure was inevitable. It would be pointless to make me subservient, because then nothing changes,” Harry answered simply. The General’s face remained impassive, before with a sudden burst of speed, his hand clenched around Harry’s neck, hoisting him in the air.

The mana flowing through his body was potent, far more than Harry could hope to break through. He restrained his magic tightly, refusing to allow his limbs to flail, simply relaxing his body despite the dark energies sizzling against his body, infecting his pores and poisoning his flesh, air becoming scarce in his lungs. Against such a display, Harry merely smiled, completely relaxed.

Because if he’d been wrong, such a reaction wouldn’t have been necessary.

A moment later, the grip withdrew and he was back on his feet, a hand lightly reaching up to his neck and massaging the spot.  

“I could kill you right now.”

“You could,” Harry agreed, feeling no need to elaborate. The entire room was silent, the scientists not even daring to breathe. The guards were stiff in their posture, staring resolutely forward. But everyone knew the General would have already killed him if it were that simple. 

Despite this, the calm smile on the General’s lips gave Harry pause. It was an indomitable confidence. Harry’s mind began racing: what had he missed? What leverage did White possess over him?

Was it a bluff? 

“You must be doubting my words,” White crooned knowingly, slowly clapping his hands. “I must confess, you even made me doubt myself…in the kingdom where I am god and you…but a guest.”

White’s eyes showed his acknowledgement, though Harry confessed for the first time, he felt…at a loss. A missing piece where once there was no gap. It was…disconcerting.

“The food that you’ve eaten, the energy that I have infused unto you…the effects might not have shown, but you are as damned as the rest of us here. You will begin to feel it, the ripples against your mind, the scratch against your soul. As piece by piece gets taken away, displaced by something foreign, you’ll be driven into insanity wondering if you are yourself,” White explained with a casual wave of his hand. Internally, Harry felt a faint stirring, the energy that White had infused unto him lingering, ever present yet elusive to expel, like a shadow growing with the setting sun. It seemed that this was no bluff.

“Are you not afraid of what I’ll do when I have nothing to lose?” Harry challenged, causing the guards and Sarah to tense up, reaching to their holsters. White stayed their hands with a single raised finger, never looking away from Harry, eyes unblinking.

“You could kill me. Perhaps you might even successfully escape. But I’ve been watching you closely, Harry. And I’ve come to a realisation, one that I suspect even you haven’t reconciled. You claim to desire to become a teacher, a mentor. But in reality, that is manifesting your inner curiosity. To see the limits of human growth, to satiate the hunger of your curiosity. And a part of you enjoyed your time in this experiment precisely because of that same hunger. You could have destroyed the system…and yet you watched as one after another, the others dropped dead. You could have rallied them, yet you watched as they drowned. You could have saved them, and instead you guided them straight towards the guillotine. Because you want to see the best and worst in humanity. All the things you did as a Potter, can you truly claim that they were only for their sake? All the murder, all the betrayal, all the scheming…face it, tossing off the shackles of humanity was the best thing that happened to you.”

“You might be right,” Harry conceded as he swallowed, the General somehow vocalising the whispers that he had long ignored. He should have a lingering sadness, a longing to be back with Rose…with his family. And yet, all he could lament was the wasted time…the wasted potential. That wasn’t love. “But what makes you think I will join you?”

“Because with me, I will give you the tools to find your answer. The Soviet Union is built on the bricks of sacrifice. More than any other nation, human lives are the cheapest commodity, a system where you can push humans further than ever. Because here, you can embrace this depravity to your heart’s content without fear of judgement. Because even now, you have not rebuffed me.” General White turned around, exposing his back to Harry. “I have long made peace with the fact that I am a monster. That in my desperation to claw out of the mess, I only dig myself further into the grave. That I am damned for what I do, that I sit on a mound of salt in the middle of the ocean, sinking further into desperation. It is an impossible situation. All the parameters say that the Iron Curtain will burn and the Soviet Union will fall. I know all that, just as I know the impossibility of this struggle only attracts you all the more, like a moth to a brilliant fire. Because you cannot help it, no more than a drunkard that next bottle of vodka or a beggar the sound of a jingling money pouch. I have gambled all my hopes on you, no different than a gambler betting it all on one last game. So let us reveal the cards, Harry. Have I expended my final chip, or clawed that elusive gasp of air to fight against the drowning sea for yet a few moments more?”

--Break--   

“Alright, so you know some of the principles of occlumency, but in truth, that only makes you more vulnerable than the average individual,” Sarah advised, causing Harry to nod in thought. “While a normal person’s mind is jumbled, layered with nuisance and distraction, the augmancy you’ve inadvertently employed has reduced this waste…and in turn the bait that might obfuscate a legilimens’ probe. Try sensing my intrusion,” she encouraged. Harry nodded, sinking into a trance as he muted the noise from his physical senses, focusing more on the internal streams of thought within his mind. 

Contemplations on how he should aim to pursue his occlumency. Ambition on how he might further enhance his mind. Considering the difficulty of employing legilimency. He sensed no foreign thoughts or presence, which left him slightly confounded, wondering if she was simply baiting him.

“I’m not, I can probe your thoughts well enough,” Sarah assured, causing him to redouble his scouring. After minutes without success, Harry reconsidered his approach.

If she was merely observing, it was possible that like his own descent into the mindscape, simply observing for disruptions on the flow of thoughts would not be possible. Thus, he instead began to wrangle beneath his streams of consciousness, a hand plunging below the torrent to reach the riverbed that underpinned his mind. 

Clusters of neuron circuits and the gaps between. Like digging for a buried seed, Harry sifted through each grain, still feeling little success. The strain on his mind only grew with this added task, though he did not relent, pushing through the pain.

“Enough!” Sarah called out, a warmth on his cheek that dragged Harry back to reality. Belatedly, he realised that she had put a cool towel on his forehead. His shirt laid in a corner, soaked in enough sweat that it was more damp than dry. His lungs burned and his head throbbed, though nothing could contend with the sting of disappointment. Not even a faint grasp, not even a hint of a promise that he might succeed. Sarah’s finger lightly pinching his cheeks, caused Harry to look at her with bemusement. “Hey, no need to be so dour. Proper occlumency takes weeks to manifest in the best of conditions. Considering how…complex you’ve already augmented your mind, it’s natural that it will take much longer.”

“I see,” Harry sighed, inwardly running the calculations as he glanced down at the notes again. He knew he hadn’t missed anything, but it was a comforting habit…perhaps he should purge this before it becomes a problem. But then again, having some sentimentality might be useful as bait for a future enemy. 

Based on the diagrams, Harry considered the diagrams of the brains, highlighting how different densities and types of neurocircuits could be translated into an occlumenic structure. For instance, someone with a compartmentalised mind might segment off each section individually, building barriers that only reinforced the division. Someone that had a more balanced mind might focus on one external barrier and reinforcing internal connectivity. 

It was not an understatement to say that the route one took with their mindscape.

In fact, some of the examples of mindscapes listed in the ‘exceptions’ focused primarily on individuals with relatively chaotic minds that had been dissected by Soviet scientists, revealing how the brain tissue had legitimately been altered to become almost unrecognisable from a normal biological human.

But that didn’t solve his current predicament: either unwind his neurocircuits to reduce the density and structure the layout or press on and attempt to adapt the techniques to work, potentially creating an unstable aberration. 

Both approaches had their limitations: precisely why he rejected this, determined to find his own way.

Taking his pen, Harry began to sketch out his inner mind, appearing similar to a bunch of moons orbiting various stars. Rather than a central node, bound simply by his philosophy and certainty of self, Harry had managed to cobble together various clusters, individual segments slingshotting to reroute and form new connections as needed. 

Glancing through his diagram, Sarah let out a thoughtful hum. “What are you thinking now?”

“Couldn’t you read my mind?”

“Well, it’s not polite.” 

“I appreciate the thought,” Harry thanked dryly, drawing a faint snort from Sarah. “Right now, I’m wondering whether I can trust the estimations.”

“You mean the processing heat density curve?” She taped her lip. “I suppose it makes sense, you’re way beyond the data range after all. But what will you do with the lack of information?”

“It is a…” Harry paused, considering his options. While it was hard to force a foreign mind to bend to one’s will, hence the difficulty of the imperius curse, he didn’t need their cooperation. If the problem was simply about the strain caused by neurons firing, using electrical shocks on a test subject could just as easily get the results he needed. Perhaps he’d propose this to the General as an experiment. Filing that thought away, Harry pivoted. “I’ll find a way.”

Instead, he turned his attention towards the anomalous case studies, particularly intently studying the photos of the dissected brains. It was quite interesting…and the Soviets had really poured effort into this: they had muggles, squibs and non-occlumenic magicals, the data highlighting how within each group, lower neural density was positively correlated with intellect. 

But it wasn’t that simple: when jumping from muggle to squib or squib to magical, there was a ‘gap’, a leap which meant that at the same neural density intellect was far higher. The curves also grew more shallow, meaning the ‘penalty’ for higher neural density was largely flat in magical individuals. Was it magic making neurons more efficient? More resistant to interference?

That was where the final set of data came in, the most important of all: occlumenic individuals. To put it bluntly, the data was too noisy to be much use, which intuitively made sense. Someone who compartmentalised segments of their brains might have areas of extremely high density surrounded by a sea of low density areas. But while others might be disappointed at this, Harry knew that this was the key to what he wanted to achieve.

Precisely because the data was so noisy, the fact that the breakdown of the correlation between neural density and intellect was evident proved that the key to genuinely successful occlumency must lay in the fundamental change in the biological state of his neural circuits. 

Setting aside the thought, Harry instead turned his attention to a book on runes. 

“No…surely you can’t be th-”

“It’s just a thought,” Harry waved off, flipping through the information. If other occlumenic practitioners could modify their minds, who was to say he could not reconstruct his own? The possibilities were endless, though he’d have to consider how to undergo such a procedure. Right now, he needed something more concrete. “So, can you teach me legilimency?”

“It…is possible,” she acknowledged, causing Harry to arch an eyebrow.

“If you are uncomfortable, I won’t press the issue.”

“It…is usually advised against conducting legilimency before you’ve built your own occlumency,” Sarah pointed out, chewing on her lip. “Immersing yourself in the thoughts of others, it is easy to lose yourself and go…insane.”

“I…see,” Harry pursed his lips, letting out a sigh. It seems that he would have to wait a bit. Taking another moment to contemplate if there was anything that he could do, Harry let out another sigh. “Do you have any live samples of brains?”

“I…would have to ask about that,” Sarah shrugged. 

“Forget it then, I’ll just ask the General during lunch,” Harry waved off, arching an eyebrow at the strange look she gave him. 

“Not everyone can be protagonists like you,” Sarah smiled, a hint of melancholy at the admission. She seemed oddly undisturbed, in truth…in fact, it would be more accurate to describe her appearance as content. 

“Are you really alright with living your life like that?” 

“It’s not like I have a choice.”

“It’s rather sad to believe that, isn’t it?” 

“The truth is often disappointing.”

“Truth…what a strong word to use,” Harry mused aloud, drawing a raised eyebrow from the witch. He did not elaborate, allowing the silence to linger, watching as the curiosity, initially barely flickering above dismissal, slowly sparked its embers. Her lips twitched, no doubt at least somewhat aware of his intent, yet even this realisation wouldn’t change the outcome. She wasn’t prideful enough to give up on seeking answers. 

“Go on, surely you want to enlighten me,” Sarah casually trailed her hand onto his side before lowering her voice huskily, “or would you rather I beg?”

“An ant does not question its existence. It simply heeds the commands of pheromones. In the absence of such, entire colonies have been known to form a death spiral, simply following in a circle until they die of hunger or exhaustion. Humans are different: the fact that so many of us have the capacity to contemplate suicide, let alone going through on it, is evidence enough. That is why Descartes says that ‘I think therefore I am’, in that by questioning whether doubt exists, it implicitly proves that doubt must exist, in turn inferring that there must be one to doubt.” Harry carefully observed her expression, watching the witch take in the words. “On a spectrum ranging from a rock to a rose to a rabbit to our human selves, there exists an increasing ability to feel complex emotions. A rabbit might feel fear of a fox or despair at a dead offspring, but it lacks the capacity to question whether it should reproduce, if its survival has any inherent meaning, that it might choose to refuse the instincts that guide it. As a human, is it not remarkable that we possess such ability to doubt the biological inheritance imprinted on us?”

“And yet humans are still vulnerable to the same madness, are they not? The rich indulge in debauchery and gluttony, the poor restrain themselves in the faint hope that they might one day be rich, knowing that the dice are rigged and the game is a lie. For humans, the idea of justice and meaning serve as a crutch: those living in the dregs of Africa surrender immediate gratification, however small, living as pious as they can in the hopes of a better afterlife, simply because they cannot comprehend the possibility of improving their own situation in this life,” Sarah countered, leading Harry to nod thoughtfully. It was a reasonable rebuttal, and he felt a faint satisfaction at having someone to truly exchange ideas with. 

“Have you heard of Pascal’s wager?” 

“I…have not.”

“There is no shame in it,” Harry reassured warmly. “After all, there must be plenty of skills you possess that I can’t even imagine yet. It was simply a thought exercise postulated by a muggle philosopher: that one should believe in god simply because if they were wrong, there would not be any negative consequence, while in the case that god exists, a disbeliever may be punished.”

“That is…” Sarah hesitated. Harry understood, giving a faint chuckle.

“Please do not hesitate to criticise. I have my own reservations on such an argument too.”

“I see…in honesty, wouldn’t the intent be understood by a supposedly omniscient god? Could a loyalty born out of such calculus be considered genuine?”

“What a fascinating question,” Harry chuckled softly, drawing a strange look from the witch. “Think about it, you could just as easily apply this to a pair of lovers. How many strong marriages simply began because of a transaction? Or just a coincidence? If the root of intent alone is sufficient to invalidate meaning, then I fear that there would be no blasphemy in this world.”

“Hmm…I was thinking more along the lines of whether we can truly be held accountable for the actions of our past and future selves.”

“That too is an excellent point. Ultimately, perhaps such contemplations are pointless. Much like a two dimensional drawing cannot comprehend movement along the third axis, perhaps we are chained by our own physiological limitations. But I think it is healthy to at least acknowledge the conversation, even if one doesn’t intend to dwell on it.”

“Circling back, I suppose your point is that I should have more courage?”

“Not necessarily,” Harry shrugged. Sarah nearly tripped, though Harry quickly caught her shoulder, steadying the girl. “Surprising, isn’t it?”

“You don’t say…sometimes I wonder if we’re truly having the same conversation.”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it? That we can come away from the ideas we’ve painted together confident in the shades of colour we perceive, failing to realise the divergence in objective reality,” Harry laughed, causing her to join in with a chuckle. “Nevertheless, I firmly believe that to be alive, one must have the willingness to suffer for the sake of what they hold dear, to suffer for the things they refuse to compromise upon. A conviction that might be as simple as chasing survival under the belief that the ends justify the means to as complicated as a moral framework on resource redistribution. Ultimately, you must decide what things matter to you and how much you will endure for their sake.”

“And what if one runs away from all that?”

“Failing to make a choice is a choice in itself. If you ask a child to choose between killing their father or mother, they might refuse to shoot either or attempt to shoot themselves to avoid the dilemma. Some may call it moral rigour, others cowardice. If you simply wish to preserve your life, then laying low and feigning obedience is a choice, even if others may not perceive it as such.” 

“Your conviction on this matter seems surprisingly resolute. I did not take you for the sentimental type,” she glanced at him before averting her gaze. “I wonder why you choose to tell me this.”

“If I were simply telling lies, you’d see through them easily enough,” Harry pointed out. Sarah hummed noncommittally. “In my past, I have primarily focused on the mind, moreso than the body or magic. At times to my detriment, I admit, but also to much success, as the reports you’ve read on me must detail. I hope, at least, I might have given you something to think about.”

“You have a high opinion of yourself,” Sarah teased. There was some truth to her words. “Is such verbosity necessary?”

“Both General White and yourself listen closely to me, weighing every word, slicing open similes and dissecting diction to grasp my words. I therefore conclude I must hold a certain value and esteem. Though I may exceed these limits, isn’t finding the boundaries of a system half the fun?”

“Fun?”

“Does it not arose your sense of wonder? Trying to translate the complex, abstract thoughts and feelings into something comprehensive and communicable?”

“Do you not fear overstepping?”

“Of course I do,” Harry admitted easily, smiling at the blink of surprise on Sarah’s face. “It is natural to feel fear, doubt…the hormones and neural circuits that create such a sensation exist as an evolution of our ancestors’ survival instincts. But for me, it is precisely the possibility of failure that gives success meaning. The ability to reject our basic instinct that empowers us with choice and consequence. Perhaps it is my sentimentality speaking, but more than any impossible choice, I fear losing the capacity to make one in the first place. Because then, what difference can I claim to a pebble indifferent to the abuse of eroding winds, simply existing?”

“I wonder if you will feel the same way when you face utter defeat,” Sarah pondered. Harry gave a thoughtful hum: it was an interesting question. If he was faced with such despair that the convictions he now held were broken, was that a reflection of the invalidity of such convictions, or was it simply that the physical manifestation of such beliefs had been killed, replaced by a puppet wearing the same body? 

“The US military’s studies on soldiers, among other things, revealed something rather fascinating. People would rather choose pain than wallow in apathy. Thus, they found that forcing meaningless rituals such as a morning muster reduced the frequency of troops acting out by over thirty percent.”

“So what you’re saying is…that your monkey brain can’t stop gambling,” Sarah teased, causing Harry to let out an amused snort. For all her claims of indifference, weren’t these small things her own way of resisting. But he didn’t point it out, content to allowing her to continue as is. After all, it was rather amusing to have someone not largely docile like Georgia. “Who knew that for all your sophistry, the great Harry Potter is still nothing more than a degenerate.”

“Everyone has their own vices.”

“Then what do you think mine is?” 

“Do you really want to know? Or shall I give you a flattering answer instead?”

“Hmph, you really enjoy teasing me,” Sarah rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not vain enough not to appreciate feedback.”

“In my experience, people tend to invite feedback in the belief it affirms their own perception of perfection.”

“Just…how many…you know, nevermind. I suppose for someone who is willing to use their own blood as an experiment, I shouldn’t be surprised,” Sarah mused airily. Inwardly, Harry mocked her for the sloppy attempt at provoking him. Judging from the twitch in her eyes, she must have been at least gleaming his thoughts, though Sarah couldn’t call him out without destroying any pretense. 

“What a fascinating conversation,” General White’s amused voice called out. Harry blinked, having been completely oblivious to the wizard’s presence. He took some comfort in that Sarah seemed surprised as well, though she hid it well, only a slight stiffening of her body betraying this. “I hear that you have some interesting thoughts on occlumency, Harry. You require brains, correct?”

“It would be much appreciated,” Harry nodded, causing White to smile.

“What you ask for, I shall provide. Give me a few days.”

“I offer my gratitude, General.”

“The others will be woken up soon. I suggest you wrap up things that you don’t want to share.”

--Break--

Tapping his wand on the brain, Harry faintly injected a jolt of electricity, barely flinching as it shook violently before exploding in a violent shower. Letting out a sigh, he summoned some of the more intact fragments, vanishing the rest as he put it under an enchanted magnifying glass.

“What is that, number thirty seven?” Sarah mused in exasperation as Harry tuned her voice out, squinting his eye through the lens to observe the structure. Unlike before, this time, the several chunks representing the high-density clusters had stayed largely intact. It was like beads on a broken string still intact. His eyes lit up as he turned to his notes, now focusing specifically on the low density neural areas. “You know the definition of insanity?”

“I’m not just repeating the identical parameters,” Harry dismissed, causing the witch to let out a snort. 

“Be honest, you’re maybe made three major changes among all the brains you’ve used up. At this rate, maybe General White will conduct another purge just to harvest them. If I end up becoming lab materials for your experiment, I will come back as a ghost to haunt you.”

“Please do, I should think that some experiments on their ethereal nature would be valuable,” Harry answered dryly. Sarah snorted in amusement, falling back on her chair and spinning around. 

“That’s such a…clinical answer. Maybe not for me, but tell me, do you feel anything for the likes of Georgia? You see her like a daughter, don’t you…or would a pet be more appropriate?”

“Using such labels is rather pointless, isn’t it?” Harry mused, re-running some calculations as he scribbled out several numbers, replacing them. “Though that does sound like someone who’s trying to avoid answering.”

“Stole the words from my mouth,” Sarah chuckled wryly, leaning her head back to stare at the ceiling. Harry hummed in acknowledgement, turning to the metal tubes, interlocked and with runes inscribed all over them. “So, what’s the problem now?”

“I thought you weren’t interested.”

“Well, seeing you so engrossed in the challenge has piqued my curiosity. That, and honestly I’m not used to having nothing to do.”

“Should I ask the G-”

“No, no, no!” Sarah shoots from her chair quickly. Perhaps if she were a less nimble individual, the witch would have collapsed to the ground with a splat. Instead, she manages to balance herself remarkably. The door opened, though Sarah ignored it, continuing. “And you wouldn’t want to be stuck with Swallow anyways. The stuck up bitch is weirdly perverted, I tell you. She actually prefers fucking her targets before killing them.”

“Don’t worry, I can play nice too,” the woman in question drawled, wearing a tank top and shorts. “Besides, isn’t it a mercy, giving them a bit of pleasure before ending their lives? I’m sure for at least a few, it’d be considered an explosive climax. Don’t worry, I’m sure there are some men who prefer…plainer women like yourself. Don’t give up on seduction just yet.”

“Piss off, Swallow.”

“Do you get to pick your own codenames, or are they given to you?” 

“Ohh, so you’re the new toy General White has been obsessing over. Have you made Canary sing for you yet?” The witch turned to him. Harry doubted she hadn’t noticed him, though seeing Sarah’s reactions was far more interesting to him. “Yep, care to guess the origins of my name?”

“Swallows are monogamous…I wonder if there’s a bit of irony there,” Harry pointed out, causing Swallow to let out a sigh as Sarah snorted in amusement. “Unless you’re looking for true love? They do say love sucks but true love swallows.”

Both witches stared at him with wide eyes, to which Harry shrugged. It was a corny line from a novel, but honestly he thought it was rather clever. Ap-

“I like you. Want to fuck now?” It was Harry’s turn to be stunned into silence. Sarah let out an amused snort, eating the metaphorical popcorn. “You never know if you’re going to live to tomorrow, might as well as enjoy your time here. The General doesn’t mind.”

Harry suspected the General allowed, perhaps even encouraged these vices precisely because they were an obvious weakness that allowed him to keep the leash and deflate some of the pent up pressure. 

“I’ll consider it in the future,” Harry smiled neutrally. Swallow arched an eyebrow, her lips rising into a smirk. “Should I assume that you have another reason to come here, or just to inspect the fresh meat?”

“Bold of you to assume the offer will still be on the table. Don’t be scared, if you’re a virgin I’ll take extra care of you,” the witch assured. Inwardly, Harry wondered just how old she was…maybe seventeen at most, even if her features were that of a fully grown adult woman. If she was really that sex-crazed like Sarah described, then Harry would be somewhat curious to see how broken her mental state was.

“Hey, you shouldn’t think about a woman like that,” Sparrow chided, causing Harry to shrug. “Seriously…stop thinking about poking my brain. I’d rather you poke a different place.”

“Good luck with that,” Sarah snorted in amusement, giving Harry a fond smile. “Maybe he’s stringing you on just to make you hungrier. That, or maybe he has standards.”

“Hmm…has my cute little junior finally learned a thing or two,” Swallow perked up, hardly offended. Harry filed that titbit of information for later. “Anyways, I can’t stay long.”

“Thank Lenin,” Sarah muttered, though Swallow conveniently ignored this.

“So I’ll be seeing you around. Do try and stay alive, fresh meat.”

With a blown kiss, she sauntered off, a sway in her hip. Unbothered, Harry turned back to the papers on his desk, his fingers twitching as they itched to write something down. But though the body was willing, the mind was unable, leaving him irritated at the helpless situation.

“There’s simply not enough surface to work with,” Harry sighed, causing Sarah to eye him strangely. “You asked what the problem was. The reality is that the energy I’m trying to push through simply can’t be handled. I’ve looked at the hardened structures, the mutations and the alterations, but the numbers simply don’t add up.”

“Why are you so obsessed with this? You realise that the brain scans you’ve referenced are actually showing the extreme cases.”

“That we know of.”

“Considering these are the results of experimentation, I’d say they’re already at the limits of healthy human progress…if they haven’t long gone past. Have you considered scaling things up? Attach another brain?”

“It’s not a bad thought, but without advances elsewhere, you run into the same problem. Increasing the distance reduces the efficiency and increases the lag. Beyond a certain point, the tradeoff isn’t worthwhile anymore. That’s why you see that the difference between muggles, squibs and magicals isn’t a larger head, but the density of neurons.”

“But how many tasks…well, I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t you just add more dense clusters?” Harry bit on his lip, contemplating how best to explain this. He could understand why Sarah might be thinking along those lines. Unfortunately, ‘common sense’ rarely went hand-in-hand with the frontier of innovation.

“Some tasks can only be done in sequence rather than in parallel. Let’s use cooking as an example. If you’re cooking up a three course meal, then having more appliances will help. You could be boiling soup on one stovetop, frying the steak on another while the brownies are in the oven. For instance in a fight, you might be analysing the environment, your opponent’s movement, your own body’s condition and many other things. Each of these can be done in parallel, which means more and varied clusters in the brain helps. Now imagine you’re trying to fry an egg. Splitting it into three and heating it in three different pans won’t meaningfully speed up the time you're able to eat. Having an oven, a kettle, or a broiler won’t be particularly useful either. Take writing a story for instance, until you decide on the beginning, all the thinking in the world won’t translate to meaningful words.”

“I…see. Then maybe you should think about thought optimisation?” Sarah proffered. Harry gave a hum of encouragement, causing the witch to continue. “If the problem is that you can only run a certain amount of current through a neuron in a given moment, then why don’t you focus on making it count?”

“That’s a good thought,” Harry agreed with a smile. “But have you considered what that would involve researching?”

“I…” Sarah’s brows furrowed. “Huh…”

“Again, it’s not a bad thought. But what I’m trying now is far easier compared to trying to involve breaking down how thoughts are encoded into electric pulses. You’re right, in the muggles, it’s speculated this is the very reason why those with lower neural density are more intelligent. Less neurons passed through means greater speed and efficiency.”

“I…see,” Sarah slumped in her chair, a sigh escaping her lips. “You know, considering your obsession with superhuman enhancements, there are few places better than this.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Harry chuckled. “By the way, was Swallow your mentor?”

“She was one of the instructors when I was inducted, yes,” Sarah nodded. The silence after that lingered, the witch feeling no desire to elaborate. Harry didn’t pry further. He was missing something…now to figure it out.

--Break--

“I regret ever bringing that up,” Sarah groaned as they entered the room. Piles of ice and snow gave off white mist, rolling to the floor. In only a pair of boxers, Harry laid down in the middle of the room. Sarah at least had a tank top, though that still left both shivering. “Fuck you and your insanity. Endurance training my ass.”

“I’ve assured you that I won’t tell the General if you wear more clothes.” Interestingly, it was so cold that it felt like his body was burning up. The human senses were truly fickle at the extremes. Or was it the brain’s inability to fully comprehend such sensations. People did go insane from extreme situations as a coping mechanism after all. “Don’t forget, you were the one who insisted that I work on my occlumency.”

“Like an ordinary individual. Building a normal fucking mindscape. Not…whatever strange abomination you’ve imagined in your twisted head. I’ve legilimenced you and I still don’t understand.”

A ‘traditional’ approach to occlumency, if subjects on the mind could ever claim to have a ‘standard’, would be to simply imagine a solid barrier that separated the outside from inside. Others might favour a ‘liquid’ approach, aiming to blunt any intrusion long enough to eject them, giving ground without gifting gratification. But ultimately, these were all approaches that were limited only to the mindscape. 

For Harry, it was hardly enough. 

“The whole point is to have all of them interlock,” Harry pointed out, drawing a sigh from the witch. Harry didn’t blame her exasperation, though it was somewhat amusing to watch that faint twitch in her eyes. “Without a body, magic and mind do not exist. If one falls, so do the rest. Thus, I may as well interlock them to be stronger together.”

“Your unchecked ambition will burn you one day.”

“We are all corpses on borrowed time.” Harry smiled dryly. “Like a flame on a rope, we can only burn faster than that which chases us. I would have thought that you’d have overcome you fear of death.” 

“There is a difference between bravery and suicide.”

“Victors shall not be judged. And if I’m dead, well I hardly have the capacity to care for the opinions of the living, do I? I won’t be denied my pursuit of greatness,” Harry resolved, taking a breath, his breath misting up the air. 

“Why can’t we go back to runes on brains?”

“I have days left before our schedule will be taken up by other things, and the General’s patience for my resource expenditure isn’t infinite,” Harry answered dryly, drawing a snort from the witch. “You might see me as wasteful, but I don’t throw away resources for amusement.”

“No, no. You’ve explained well enough, and the General must have been convinced to give you his blessing.” 

“It’s only natural. The biggest issue with superhuman research is when people go insane after the enhancements. If we better understand the brain, then that can be mitigated.”

“Save the sermon for White,” Sarah sighed, causing him to chuckle. “I must again express my reservations about this.”

“Duly noted,” Harry answered dryly, causing the witch to sigh again. “Now let us begin.”

Taking a deep breath, the burning chill against his windpipe barely registered in his overloaded mind, failing to provide any relief. After reconsidering the data, he’d spotted a potential flaw: the brains were all the result of artificial experimentation, not natural grown. Thus with regard to the issue of the endurance of neurons, he decided to test his hypothesis: the brains couldn’t sustain the current not because of any inherent physical limitation, but because of the mindscapes. 

It tied back to the point of neural efficiency that Sarah had brought back to the forefront of his attention. 

If he returned to the food metaphor, it didn’t matter if you had a state of the art kitchen with a dozen stovetops if you still insisted on cooking with one pot at a time. Attempting to simply jolt more current in strengthened neurons without also considering the challenge of re-aligning neural circuits was folly. 

As he began to commit his mind to running calculations, Harry’s mind roared to life, neurons firing off as each part of the brain began to churn. Creating multiple runic sequences in different language families to solve similar problems. Deriving variations of arithmetic sequences of ever increasing magnitude, attempting to reach and breach the precipice of knowledge. Numbers in the quadrillions that had to be manually computed against various benchmarks by brute force to demonstrate their inviolability and suitability. 

Fluctuating emotions brought about by a wave of memories forcibly back to the surface: simpler times with the Potter family, the frustration at Rose’s lacklustre attitude, the disdain for his father’s uselessness, the hope that Lily Potter would somehow manage a miraculous recovery, the apathy towards the suffering he inflicted, the cost of lies to safeguard the Potter fortune. The liberating feeling of joining the Soviets in this experiment, the thrill of being able to finally fully unshackle himself from the past. 

Harry threw a punch towards Sarah, the magic flooding his muscle tissues amplifying the strength behind it. The witch nimbly side-stepped, attempting to catch his wrist and press down on the median nerve. His other hand moved in, intercepting her attempt as a kick to her chest was diffused by taking a step back, barely grazing the fabric of her top.

He could feel his head begin to throb. The human brain wasn’t designed to be strained so much: contrary to popular myth, the brain used for more than ten percent of the brain at any point, proven just months ago by Soviet MRI scans borrowed (without permission) from the Americans. Nevertheless, there would always be areas of prioritisation and de-prioritisation, no different to how the muggle brain only consciously recognised 4 in a million bits of information sent. By actively forcing his conscious mind to take in more, he was warping his mindscape to be malleable to change. 

Frontal lobe: memory, behaviour regulation,decision making, movement and many other ‘higher functions’ that most people believed to be ‘thinking’.

Parietal lobe: language, numbers, spacial perception and touch.

Occipital lobe: visual information.

Cerebellum: balance and coordination.

Brainstem: automatic functions such as heart pumps and breathing.

Temporal Lobe: sound and visual memory.

In the modified brains, the clusters hadn’t fundamentally changed, only facing reorganisation within each area. Harry considered upsetting this balance in a bid to defy failure. “Didn’t you complain about having nothing to do? You should be thanking me.”

“Oh I’ll show you some fucking gratitude,” Sarah growled, striking a kick towards his jaw. Harry danced to the side as she continued pressing the offensive, a flurry of kicks and punches. Put on the defensive, Harry evaded and deflected the strikes, feeling the tension across his entire body grow. The biting chill against his skin warred with the burning heat of energy pouring through his body, forcing him to go faster, harder, further with every punch, every kick, every step. “Are you going to dodge all day?”

“Try and catch me then,” Harry taunted, brushing past a punch as he missed a slap to the side of her head. “Dog goes woof, cat goes meow, so does the canary sing or does she tweet?”

“You’ve been reading too much degenerate content. I’ll have to bleach that mouth of yours,” Sarah growled, even as her eyes shone with faint amusement. The pounding against his skull grew more fierce, his entire body yearning for more nutrients, more oxygen, more energy. He could feel his mind begin to spin, spots in his vision as sequences of numbers began to blur together. 

“Do it now!”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Sarah groaned, nevertheless locking her eyes on him. “I’ve got it.”

“Alright,” Harry acknowledged, his conscious mind forcibly retreating from the various mindstreams. Despite some wavering, the flashes of thought continued to sustain, though his presence in the mindscape grew unshackled. He weaved through the gaps, now focusing his attention on his mind. 

His grip on his magic tightened, enveloping his brain and mapping out each individual neuron, each node and its connections. Prodding with his magic, he began to gingerly push, breaking several connections. 

The structure held.

Now more confident, he began to truly push, beginning to forcibly bring various neuron clusters closer together, pruning various synapses and shifting material around as he began to shape his brain to his own design.

“I can’t keep this up for much longer!” Sarah called out, causing frustration to well up in him. He needed more time…but if it was really crunch time, the least he could do was get something out of this. Focusing his efforts on his cerebellum, he began to reknit various pathways, rewriting the code to his body and watching as tingles of electricity jolted from his various muscles back and forth. 

His body had fallen completely limp, though Sarah kept her calm, holding her legilimency and keeping his mindscape operating at its capacity. He continued to prune, snapping useless connections and optimising others. 

“Relax your mind,” Sarah advised, straddling his lap as her hand wiped away the sweat on his forehead. Even with the piles of ice in the room, Harry still felt as though his skull was about to melt, neurons lighting up his brain like a star. “You’re burning up.”

“Just a bit…more,” Harry insisted, redoubling his effort. As magic swelled into his brain, Harry felt several cells burst in overload and forcibly restrained himself, taking a moment to compose himself and assimilate the destroyed fragments, rewiring other circuits in their place. 

He could feel his body beginning to shut down, even the heat and touch of Sarah slowly losing its anchor. On the slow drift towards the edge of death…and precisely the fleeting feeling he was chasing. 

While his body froze, his mind ached as it was forcibly split into multiple streams. Maintaining a conversation with Sarah, observing the magical flow on his body and the faint ripples of demonic energy, attempting to eject the legilimenic probe she’d planted, computing the arithmetic seed of the upcoming ritual. Hundreds of individual mindstreams, each shouting louder than the next in an effort to be heard in a chorus of chaos. 

His blood flow began to drop precipitously as the heart began to slow. It was a bad sign for survival, given the cardiomyocytes that forced the contractions were amongst the most resilient cells in the body. His skin had already begun to flake and peel, eyes growing blurred and unable to focus. A lingering citrus taste deluded his tongue and the faint drum of organ notes bled into his ears. 

But though his body on the verge of death, now ripe for the taking, his mindscape did not break, buckling under the strain yet no different than the webbed surface of a tapped egg, unable to release its yolk. 

The sensations in his body became more acutely felt, the faint prick of icy air against each pore individually distinguishable. As his muscles spasmed, the articulation that had been missing with his uneven growth harmonised once again, 

As his mind began a cascading collapse, Sarah beating a hasty retreat, various mindstreams imploding on themselves, thoughts destroyed with the only proof of their existence being a sudden blankness where once there was substance. 

Each second was split into a hundred, then again into a hundred pieces. A moment stretched more and more towards infinity as his magic raced to complete their work and seal the section. Retching the strength from his starving muscles, Harry dedicated every last fibre of his being to focusing on ensuring the neural circuits were properly secured again.

Against the encroaching darkness, the loss of his senses, the loss of everything…only magic and conviction in his design carried forth, the final lingering ember moments away from being snuffed out. 

Author Notes: (too long for AO3 lol)

So there’s quite a bit to get through, but foremost, I do wonder if I rushed the introduction too much. For all the things that happened, it’s evidently more tame than what you saw in Raven. Rather than purely on existential crisis (e.g. Raven surviving Kolyma against literally freezing or starving to death), I feel that balancing both will aid in transitioning between phases of the story, making it more organic as Harry achieves success in certain respects while regressing in others. As I highlight, while this might have stemmed from an initial rewrite of Raven, Jackdaw has diverged into a remix of certain motifs, hence the name.

On the mind arts, as I’ve recently experimented with local LLMs and also various AI technologies, I’ve been fascinated by the parallels between neurocircuits in our own brain. Having been through emotional ups and downs, I feel like this would be a great opportunity to apply some of the things I picked up on. Experiments such as World 25 by Calhoun truly do fascinate me, and I want to intertwine more of the ideas on purpose and meaning with the physical aspects to develop a metaphysical presentation of this world. I do try and bring in some real-life research on this, though obviously neuroscience is still a developing field. For instance, a 2018 paper actually suggests that higher ‘IQ’ individuals have a lower density of neurons and fewer connections, which makes it more efficient. This is offset by a higher greymatter mass, though still a cool titbit. I do have my scepticism on the research methodology, not least their use of the Bochum Matrices Test to determine IQ. Given the popularity of psychometrics (for instance in job applications) and research literature which casts significant doubt into their effectiveness, I’m sceptical. Then again, maybe I’m still influenced by the ‘common sense’ feeling that more circuits and connections must be better. If you consider something like TSMC’s advanced 3nm nodes, they’ve actually had to intentionally leave gaps between transistors to help with heat dissipation. It’s not unthinkable that for neurons, maybe this has to do with the insulation around the neurons (the more of which would naturally lower density). As always, if you’re interested, do your own research. Anyhow, I suppose we’ll see in time whether I can deliver.

Also for full disclosure, during the time period, I am not aware of any actual US military study for soldier behaviour. Considering the difference in condition between a WW2 Vet vs a Vietnam returnee (due to, among other things, the time troops had to decompress during the return trip), by the time a US military study was released to the public, it is questionable whether the lessons would be still applicable. The figure I cite is loosely related to a 2014 paper that shows a substantial minority of individuals would choose mild pain over numbness. Participants actively chose a mild electric shock because they were bored. Very interestingly, the proportion of men who chose pain was substantially higher than women. If you want to read it, it’s titled ‘The challenges of the disengaged mind’ by TD Wilson.

Some of the facts are actually from later, for instance the information on the percentage of conscious thoughts. For instance, Zimmerman’s paper ‘The nervous system in the context of information theory’, which estimates the amount of ‘bits’ worth of information from each sensory organ and the proportion processed by the conscious mind, estimates it at 0.0004%. That’s roughly 4 in a million, though it’s split up. For instance, the eyes give 10 million bits per second, but only 40 bits goes to the conscious mind. Taste gives a thousand and smell a hundred thousand bits per second, yet both only send one bit per second, representing orders of magnitude difference in proportion. Despite the complete falsification of certain experiments on subliminal messaging in advertising (search up James Vicary), research suggests that information that isn’t ‘processed’ by the conscious mind might still be referenced (though this remains contested). They demonstrated this by testing blind people’s ability to distinguish emotions and other tasks, whose difference in results compared to a random distribution (which we would assume if subliminal messaging had no impact) were statistically significant. I’ve geeked out enough, but you can search up ‘blindsight’ to learn more about the area. All this is to say, I’m not confident enough in trying to come up with a historically accurate scientific perspective from the Soviets in the 1970s because even back then the research was, to put it mildly, highly contentious. Thus for my own sanity, in this area I’ve largely tried to incorporate more modern knowledge, even if you can argue that scientists back in the time couldn’t possibly know. Especially for Soviet science, who’s to say what they knew and what they didn’t? Though people laugh at the US military for still using XP today, they’re also the same people who invent crazy technology like GPS. Fun fact, GPS is intentionally made worse to conceal the true capabilities of the technology which the military can use. The US had a cap of 25cm for a long time, with the actual maximum capability unknown. Trump caused quite a kerfuffle tweeting a picture of an Iranian rocket launch site taken from what appears to be a classified US briefing, showing the resolution of the image (taken from a US spy satellite) to be less than 10cm. Don’t be surprised by what the government knows and doesn’t.

I’ve been immersing myself with different works, most recently Classroom of the Elite (light novels). For its many flaws, I was genuinely thrilled by some of the depictions of mind games, and it has given me a bit more confidence to lean into delivering Harry’s internal thoughts. Previously, immersing myself heavily in film and animation critique has somewhat skewed my perceptions, making me neglect the fundamental advantages of writing prose compared to other medium. It is precisely a certain leniency in what you can put on the page explicitly that lets reading persist, and I intend to more fully lean into it.

The Harry Potter and Star Wars crossover, initially planned to be the next work of the Nest, stalled precisely because I hadn’t overcome this barrier, leaving me unsatisfied with the lack of differentiation between character POVs. I am optimistic that in refining this writing here, I will be able to do justice to the plotting I’ve already done for that story. It is also precisely because of that false-start that I only publish this on AO3 after completing 5 chapters, which were released on discord upon completion. For my discord followers, thank you for the support thus far; this will be the final preview chapter, and I’ll see you on AO3 for chapter 6.

On a related note, I endeavour to give at least one accompanying discord chapter to each mainline chapter here, with these being more substantial compared to Raven or Eagle. While not strictly necessary for the enjoyment of the work, I nevertheless encourage you to have a try for yourself. Due to reader feedback, I will also offer chapter summaries so it is easier to pick up from where you left off between chapter releases. 

This is the last of the discord preview chapters.

Chapter Text

“You’ve only just survived one gamble and you’re already onto the next,” Sarah lamented. Harry let out a faint chuckle at that, setting down the steaming cup of water onto the table. “And here I thought you were one of the calculating ones.”

“Those who are not fully familiar with the subject naturally cannot accurately judge the scales of probability,” Harry assuaged, causing her lips to twitch. 

“You nearly died. Or rather, you did. You were medically deceased for three hours.”

“Then perhaps I should start a religion,” Harry responded dryly. The witch let out a snort. “Care to be my priestess?”

“Need I remind you that the Soviet Union is officially atheist?”

“To the muggles, the witchcraft we practice must be heresy. By our very existence, we prove their biological inferiority. The Soviet government tolerates our existence in the same way that Stalin rehabilitated the church during the Second World War, only to discard them once again afterwards.”

“If you’re still so verbose, then at least your brain hasn’t been fried…in that sense at least,” Sarah poked his forehead, smirking as he raised an eyebrow at her. “Still, something must be defective if you’re so insistent on gambling your life away.”

“That’s a rather harsh word to use, isn’t it?”

“Are you projecting? Defective simply means a deviation from the norm. Mutations can be positive, after all.”

“Your smugness shows you’re in good spirits, at the very least,” Harry nodded thoughtfully. Though Sarah was still a bit too chirpy for his liking. Harry certainly wasn’t projecting, and such an insinuation was just offensive! “That’s good, I wouldn’t want my helpful assistant to have brain damage.”

“Hey, I’m not a cheap girl, you know. I better be seeing some return on my investment doing all this crazy crap with you,” she poked a finger on his cheek. Harry let out an amused snort.

“Is this any different from risking your life on the field? But where flinging spells destroys, here we create, we evolve. Limitless pot-” Sarah gently pinched his lips together, tutting at his frown.

“I don’t need the sermon. Just focus on replicating the feat…preferably without the extreme conditions,” she sighed, giving him a pitying look. “Preferably before the General decides to dissect you.”

“It could be possible,” Harry conceded, taking a breath. 

“Oh? That’s not what you told the General during lunch. And here I thought you were just pretending to go along with it. Well, let’s hear it. Did you get some sort of epiphany?”

“From what I know so far, it is impossible for an outsider alone to harmonise the body with the mind. That, I have no solution for. But what I can propose is to manufacture that desire,” Harry explained, causing Sarah to still. “You understand, don’t you?”

“You mean to…torture?”

“A controlled environment that manifests the desperation of the individual. Throughout history, we’ve heard anecdotes of impossible feats. Parents lifting impossible weights to save their children. Individuals surviving without water for weeks. Without food for years. So by most definitions, yes. Torture. Perhaps worse.”

“But that…the vaults already push the limits of what can be achieved. You’re living proof of defiance.”

“In every production process, there will naturally be defects. Failures, if you’d like. And in our world far more so than the muggle, one titan is worth more than a thousand aces, and an ace worth more than a hundred prodigies,” Harry dismissed. Where there was a will, there was a way. “The answer is simple: force compliance. If they fear not losing their own lives, then threaten those they care for. If they don’t have those they care for, then make them care for someone before taking it away. If that cannot be achieved, then make defiance a fate worse than death. Caesar once said, it is easier to find men willing to die than to endure suffering.”

“You’re…really something, you know that? But I wonder, when truly confronted with suffering, if you can truly steel your heart. In the past, you’ve never dirtied your hands. Always through a proxy,” Sarah observed, giving him a strange look. “I’ve met enough people who can talk about it…order it even. But to cast that killing spell? Few are truly capable…in the long run, anyways.”

“I do not deny, in the past I had hoped to cling onto some of my humanity. If for no one’s sake than my family’s. But that time has passed, and I have heeded the world’s call. In the merciless machine of progress, I am but a cog, someone that will be churned and discarded in turn. Such is the sacrifice that many have borne in history. That is something I have made peace with. That my purpose is to do the unthinkable, to damn myself into a legacy of either being forgotten or reviled. I will conduct my life for a future generation that may never know, let alone thank me for. Because to me, the trivialities of pleasantries, legacy and honour, they are shackles I have cast aside. So as gratitude for the amusement you’ve brought me, allow me to offer this final piece of advice. Run far away from me and don’t look back.”

“Just as you have made your peace, I have made my own. In my history, I have killed everyone from infamous murderers to pregnant mothers pleading on their knees. If there is a god, he has long given up any hope of redemption on me. If there is an afterlife for which my life will be judged, then I am already beyond the precipice,” Sarah chuckled, a hint of melancholy in her voice. Harry was somewhat surprised, now wondering just how much of her teasing demeanour was a coping mechanism. “I don’t want your pity, nor your sympathy. Just that you remember we aren’t that different.”

“But we are,” Harry pointed out with a chuckle. 

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Sarah,” Harry’s lips twitched as he met her gaze. The witch unconsciously tensed. His hand reached forward, gently cupping her chin as his thumb traced a circle on her left cheek. A faint hiss of air betrayed the gasp forcibly swallowed back down. How amusing, that even with years of training, it wasn’t particularly hard to put someone in their place. “Do not forget that I came to this place of my own volition. You were shepherded along this path, only knowing how to go forward until it was too late. You had no more choice than a log floating down a river. I chose this life. To step off the riverbank and into this fiery stream. That is the difference between you and I.”

“You were lured by the promise of resources and freedom. Are you really as different as you make out to be?”

“With the resources, position, status I had…do you think it would have been hard for me to experiment like this?”

“You’ve already conducted some, I know that much. Attempting to see how to condition your sister. The various shell companies and charities weren’t particularly hard to unravel with what we knew. But I suppose…I am curious why. Why give up being Harry Potter? With how useless the Girl-Who-Lived became, it wouldn’t have been hard to turn her into a puppet. Your father’s bravery on the battlefield is only surpassed by blunders in finance and politics. And your mother…well, it’s not like anyone would be surprised if she relapsed, no?”

“Indeed. But I could never dream on the scale that the Soviets could. Perhaps under the tutelage of someone like Voldemort, it might have come close. Grindelwald too. A chef fully able to focus on the craft of making food, rather than worrying about smelting the steel for a knife, raising and catching game. To be able to fully devote myself to the specific task of manufacturing human excellence…now isn’t that something wonderful?”

“So why reject the offer to join the science division then?” Sarah frowned. “And don’t give me that crap of keeping yourself sharp in various skills.”

“It was not a l-”

“But not the whole truth either,” she interjected. Harry nodded, a smile on his face as he retracted his hand from her cheek, lifting the cup for another sip of water. The frown marring her face only encouraged him to stretch the movement out just a bit, allowing the silence to languish. “If you’re too afraid to speak the truth, just say it. I’ll refrain from pressing.”

“Really?” Harry smirked, arching an amused eyebrow. Her eye twitched, a faint tap from her left foot. “You don’t believe that, do you? At least try to have some conviction in your words.”

“Don’t test me,” Sarah warned, stalking forward, her wand drawn into her hand and pointed right underneath his chin, an uncomfortable prickly sensation from the faint red glow of a spell being held back. But even in this position, both knew that she had lost. While war was the continuation of politics through other means, violence was the fallback for reason and influence. He didn’t even bother with words, merely smiling at her scowl. 

Moments later, she withdrew her wand, letting out a huff. 

How disappointing. If she’d actually done something, it would have been rather interesting. 

“You might be the General’s favoured for now, but don’t think it’ll always last.” Some might take it as a threat, but it was, in truth, merely an observation. For the same reason she was now by his side, for the same reason he was given the resources others could only dream of…in this kingdom, General White was the sun around which everything orbited. 

“You’re not very good at provoking with threats. Try sticking with your strengths,” Harry observed, causing her fingers to twitch. It seemed that the lingering effects of performing legilimency on his unstable mind had unsettled her. “It seems the General agrees, considering he sent someone else to watch over you. Do come out, if you would be so kind.”

There was a lingering silence, the seconds ticking by with no movement. Harry wondered if his bluff had truly failed. But then, with a faint groan, one of the wall panels slid to the side, revealing a cloaked wizard with a silver mask covering the left half of his face, three gleaming red mechanical eyes mounted on a spinning gimbal with various lengths of lens. About half a head taller than Harry, the wizard looked ready to keel over any moment, his frame far too thin and the non-covered side of his face so gaunt his sunken face highlighted the outline of bones.

“Streamertail, the Ge-”

“Let me worry about that. Your incompetence is enough as it is,” the wizard reprimanded coolly. Sarah scowled, though Harry found it interesting she didn’t refute it. Was this genuinely a power play he witnessed, or simply yet another performance? It was hard to tell, not least because Streamertail had a silver mask covering the left half of his face.

“It’ll be your head if anything happens to him,” Sarah warned, glancing between the two of them uneasily. “I’ll just be outside, call me if you need to, Harry.”

Stalking out of the room, only the faint sound of ventilation could be heard as Harry took the time to observe this agent. The wizard, equally, didn’t show much interest. “Streamertail? I’m not familiar with the species.”

“So it’s true,” he muttered, ignoring Harry completely. “Interesting…very interesting.”

Moments like this made him wish he had legilimency, but then again there would always be opponents who he couldn’t read. Better to eliminate such a dependency. Stepping forward, he sniffed the air, sliding a finger across the side of his left ear before giving it a lick. Though it definitely was unnerving, Harry didn’t back down, curious to see where this would go. If it was an intimidation tactic, then it certainly had its effect in confusing Harry. But he suspected that Streamertail was genuinely curious. 

“How did you do it? How did you synchronise your body?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s obvious. There’s no excess biomarkers leaking out. All previous records of treatment show that. Yet you…what did you do?”

“Classified. You should ask the General if you’re curious,” Harry dismissed, causing the wizard to scowl. Harry wasn’t in the business of volunteering information for free without understanding the consequences. For all he knew, this agent might see him as a competitor to take care of. Sarah’s warning certainly came to mind.

“Considering you’ve taken up quite a few resources, isn’t it natural to share the results?” Streamertail ground out. Harry inwardly affirmed his earlier beliefs…unless they were really trying to put on a performance. While he did seem a fair bit older than even Swallow, Harry felt that the barely concealed rage was genuine. 

“Unless General White countermands his previous order, I will not be sharing any further information,” Harry affirmed. 

“Watch yourself,” Streamertail grunted before stalking out of the room, slamming the door as he left. Moments later, Sarah returned inside, worry evident as her eyes checked over his body quickly and her wand moved to cast a variety of diagnostic charms. 

“He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

“Aside from some verbal threat, not much,” Harry dismissed. Sarah arched an eyebrow. 

“You’re not wrong, but I find it curious. Usually, you’re so eager to engage with others. Georgia, for instance. She was a bitch, and yet you still took the time. Why the difference?”
“In my assessment, Streamertail is more a force of nature than someone to connect with. A man whose passion is solely dedicated to his craft…an artisan, if you will. For them, people like me and you are no different from a rock on the side of the road, either an asset, an obstacle or irrelevant. Devoting effort to such individuals is rarely rewarding.”

“That’s…surprising, coming from you.”

“I’m not saying there’s no value, of course. Indeed, if you manage to become one of their confidantes, it can bring a great many benefits. By their nature, it’s relatively simple to keep them isolated and controlled.”

“You see a bit of himself in you, right?” Sarah observed. It was a shrewd deduction, and not far from the truth. “Should you be commenting on your own weaknesses so easily?”

“Devotion to mastery is something that can be universally appreciated. A painter may not understand the nuances of a violinist’s playing, but nevertheless appreciate the devotion to the craft, the mastery of its nuances. Even if we follow different paths, I can at least acknowledge their journey towards ascendancy.”

“Ascendancy? An interesting choice of words.”

“Shakespeare, Twain, Tolkien, Orwell and Doyle. They never died, they simply became the stories they wrote, the ideas they propagated. Where their mortal bodies succumb, in the written word they have achieved eternity. Is this not ascendancy to a higher level of being?”

“So now you talk about legacy? What happened to being damned to be condemned or forgotten?”

“You miss the point then. I do not need them to know the name Harry Potter. We do not know the inventor of the killing curse, yet it endures.”

“An…interesting choice as an example. Dare I ask why?”

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it? That such a curse would develop as it has thus far. There are far greater ways to harm, to kill…to strike fear. In fact, many who have studied the literature speculate that the original killing curse was a coup de grace. And yet, it has evolved from those humble beginnings into something that strikes fear and…awe, even if few will admit it,” Harry mused aloud, a faint wisp of longing. Sarah let out a thoughtful hum. “If I can be a part of such a legacy in my own experimentation, I hardly consider that a wasted life.”

--Break--

They were all gathered in a large hall. Five Soviet banners hung on the wall of each side. They were all wearing form-fitting black tracksuits. A single grey circle on their right arm, a faint shine contrasting to the matte surface of the rest of their clothes. There was well over a hundred here, roughly evenly split between male and female. They were all in their teens, likely no older than fifteen. Harry was among the more physically fit, nearly among the tallest overall. 

No one really talked, most people simply sizing each other up. A few girls gathered in one of the corners, while there were some more pairs, but the interactions were hardly intimate. A few stragglers filtered into the room, including the familiar face of Georgia. Her eyes scanned across the room before finding him, expression lighting up. A few gave her strange looks, though she didn’t seem to care, weaving her way through the others towards him.

“Harry, you’ve made it too,” she greeted warmly, holding out her hand. As Harry took it, she began writing. ‘What’s going on?’

“As have you. It seems we’re at the next stage of this experiment,” Harry answered neutrally, pulling her into a hug. Her breath hitched for a moment before Georgia relaxed into his touch, though Harry was far more interested in the bewildered expressions of those around him. Leaning into her ear, he whispered, “I’m glad you’re alright. A shame the other two succumbed.”

‘Be careful, the previous vault was just a trial run.’

‘Got it.’ As they pulled apart, Georgia let out a light chuckle. “Still stiff as ever, Harry. Not going to give me a kiss?”

“It seems in poor taste to flaunt,” Harry returned, unable to stop his lips twitching into amusement even as he questioned her with a look. Acting oblivious, she instead pouted, twirling into his arms and wrapping them around her waist without any hesitation, her back against his chest. “I’ll spoil you later.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she laughed, finally untangling herself from him. Despite her jovial manner, Harry could see her eyes scanning behind him for the reactions of those around. It was a good habit, even if she could be more subtle. “I didn’t get rid of Olivia and the others just for you to have wandering eyes, after all.”

“My eyes are on you, are they not?”

“For now, at least,” she let out a dramatic sigh. Any further interaction was ended as the doors to the balcony above opened, two agents entering and flanking to the side before a man in a white cloak stalked forward, his narrowed eyes scanning the room, lingering a moment on him.

“Welcome to the Crypt. I am overseer Hawk. The rules of this place are simple:

Each block will be divided into four segments: three two-day segments and one one-day segment for a total of seven days. After a term made from four blocks, you will be examined in a three day period. Those who do not meet benchmarks will be barred from continuing on that particular class. For each segment, you will have the choice of three classes. They will be broken down into two sessions of eight hours. After six terms, you will be examined. You may attend as many or few classes as you wish.”

There were a few shuffles, some furrowed brows out of the corner of his eyes. It was fascinating that they were replicating a similar system of self-discipline. From the reactions of those around, this hadn’t been the case with the others. 

There are opportunities for those who excel. If you choose to, you may pursue your own training with the available facilities. Conflict and sabotage outside explicit training exercise is forbidden. Those who prove problematic will be dealt with. You may not enter another cadet’s private dorm without permission. Food and drink will be available at all times in the canteen. Nothing is to leave the canteen without explicit permission. No food. No forks. Not so much as a fleck of pastry on the lips.”

Someone let out a faint chuckle, though it quickly suffocated in the silence of the room. Hawk’s eyes twitched as he glanced somewhere to Harry’s left. No one else dared to do anything but stare forward. It seemed the overseer was meticulous in cleanliness.

“Rest assured, each one of you will be watched very, very closely. If you eat more than usual, if you pay less attention in class, if you so much as twitch under your blanket in your sleep, I will know. Rest assured, I could care less if you decide to mastrabate or if you oversleep. The only result I am concerned with is the examination. You will earn victory through merit, not sabotage.

One hundred and seventeen of you are present. In six months, this number will be reduced to sixty, though there are no explicit eliminations planned before that. There are fifty slots for combat specialists and ten slots for researchers. 

Your provisions are in your room. The list of classes will be posted tonight in the canteen. Training begins tomorrow. That is all.” 

Without another word, he stalked back through the doors, his guards following a moment later. Georgia couldn’t help a snort of amusement, shrugging as Harry arched an eyebrow at her.  

“Have you had a chance to explore the facility?” Harry queried. Georgia shook her head. “Then we should probably start with that.”

“You’re not interested in exploring our rooms?” Sarah seemed somewhat surprised as she followed his lead, the two making their way out of the room. A few others gave them scrutinising looks, though Harry ignored them with ease. They were among the first to leave the room, with many others unwilling to make the first move. “How surprising.”

“You know the value of being first.”

“I see,” she nodded with a smile. In truth, Harry already had a rough idea on the layout of the facility based on the various observation windows from the staff section. But it was always good to confirm. “Ah, that must be the canteen. It’s not so different from when we were first in the vault, no? You think it’d kill them to give us a map.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, my dear? Our muggle counterparts conquered from Argentina to Afghanistan, surely you must have inherited some sense of wonder.” Georgia lightly elbowed him on the side. “And it seems this is the gym…a sparring area, nice.”

Weights, treadmill, pull up bars, punching bags and an assortment of other equipment were organised into various sections. Several large rings were dug into the ground, about twenty metres in diameter. A short corridor at the far end led to a pool.

“They haven’t spared expenses here. Guess we don’t have to use makeshift equipment,” Harry smiled faintly. Georgia let out an approving hum. The two walked out, making a left turn as they continued down the corridor. Various lecture halls, the infirmary, a library, a garden and various other rooms, though none held a particular draw until they arrived at the weapons range.

The room, or rather, the complex, was massive. They’d arrived at a higher floor, with walkways spiralling down, revealing a series of doorways that led to armouries, firing ranges, storage and other facilities. But the centerpiece was a multi-storey building at the centre, dozens of rooms interlinked by hallways, doors, stairs and more. Pieces of furniture that belonged in a normal home decorated the arena. Moments later, the entire structure dissolved into a large black puddle, sloshing against the wards and causing them to hiss purple before it reformed into a completely new structure, a pair of buildings with exposed sides, balconies and windows, as well as a skybridge near the top. 

“This is…something,” Georgia gasped softly. Harry hummed in agreement, genuinely impressed by the facility. While aurors often trained in changing duelling rings, simulating everything from a sandstorm to rain to hail to earthquakes, those facilities were usually no more than the size of a small house. In contrast, this arena had enough volume to store a dozen dragons comfortably. 

“Outside of the ICW, I imagine this is one of the most advanced facilities,” Harry acknowledged, frowning as his eyes darted around. A few others were already present, glancing at the gun racks in the locked armory, behind a rune coated grated door, though most simply marvelled at the centerpiece. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. 

“Is something wrong?” Georgia narrowed her eyes, glancing around and scrutinising. Harry let out a sigh: even if he could sense something was wrong, there wasn’t much he could do.

“Just a feeling,” Harry shook his head. “But we’re being watched anyways, one more pair of eyes makes little difference.”

‘Act natural.’

“It’s interesting, isn’t it?” Georgia mused, leaning on his side. It seemed she simply wanted the excuse to be close, though Harry didn’t distance himself. “The Soviets seem to be interested in muggle weaponry, despite…well, rumours of their experiments. Given what we’ve seen, it doesn’t seem to be far off..”

“It makes sense, if you think about it,” Harry pointed out, causing Georgia to look at him curiously. 

“You mean because they’re on average weaker?”

“That too, we all know about the Revanchists. But it’s about symbolism. Unlike the other ministries, the Soviets are linked to their muggle counterparts. Now, every kill by such a weapon is steeped in that mythos.”

“So a calling card like the Dark Mark,” Georgia caught on. Harry nodded. “But would muggle weapons even be effective on magicals? Wouldn’t our passive aura render them obsolete.”

“I’m sure we’ll get to find out that secret soon. Exciting, isn’t it?” Harry smiled faintly.

“Don’t start drooling on me,” Georgia teased dryly. Harry let out an amused snort, ruffling her hair. After indulging for a moment, she furrowed her brow, swatting at his hand. “Hey, I’m not a kid.”

“Of course,” Harry assured in an equally dry tone as the two walked out. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Georgia agreed, retracing their steps back towards the canteen. “By the way, what’s your dorm assignment?”

“Sixty nine.” Seeing her surprise, Harry turned to her. “What?”

“That’s…my room number.”

“It seems our overseer has some sense of humour. I wonder if there’s only one bed,” Harry mused, unable to help a bit of amusement. Georgia rolled her eyes, even if Harry could see the tip of her ears turn pink. 

“You wish, pervert.”

“Oh, don’t sound so opposed to the idea,” Harry chuckled. “You might hurt my feelings.”

“Really? Your feelings?” Georgia raised an eyebrow at him. “You’d probably be more interested in the security of us watching each other’s backs than even the hit of ego from being turned down, let alone feelings.”

Honestly, if anything, Harry was rather flattered. Georgia had grown both the acumen to observe such, and the spine to point it out. 

“I suppose this is what my kouhai thinks of me.”

“Don’t pretend you take it as anything other than a compliment. And really, you’re addicted to those Japanese light novels, aren’t you?””

“Fine, fine,” Harry humoured as the two entered a large dojo. A large array of knives, swords and exotic armaments that looked like they would hurt their wielder more than any opponent were locked in various see-through cabinets. Several racks of training dummies were stored neatly in one corner, though most of the room was a wide open space, a rectangle of about sixty by forty meters. Georgia’s eyes shone with curiosity, walking towards one of the cabinets showing a blade that was a cross between a sabre and a straight-sword. The etch of runes was faintly visible if one squinted close enough. 

“You’re interested in this sword?”

“Its design is…interesting, wouldn’t you think? There is a slight curve. That means it’s designed for slashing as much as stabbing,” Georgia pointed out. Scrutinising closer, Harry gave a thoughtful hum, acknowledging her deduction as sound. “Are you not interested?”

“In context of the vast array of tools available with magic, it seems a rather…moot point, don’t you think?” Harry shrugged. “We can conjure things into existence, transfigure reality itself. Fire off spells or use runic equipment at range. A blade is useful in the narrow instance in which you must overcome heavily runic engraved or charmed equipment.”

“It seems even you have your points of ignorance, my friend,” Georgia tutted, grinning. Harry shrugged, not denying it. Besides, it was amusing to see her in such a mood. “Blades are some of the most important weapons in any good fighter’s arsenal. Even the likes of Amanda Hurst and Sirius Black were known to wield them despite their prowess. They are a far more powerful conduit than a wand. From cleaving apart incoming spells to penetrating wards, they’re excellent all-around tools.”

“I don’t deny that,” Harry acknowledged. “But don’t you think that there are far better substitutes? Even if you had to carry a specialised piercing rod for wards, manage spell deflection with your wand…it seems rather inefficient.”

“I might not know enough, but I doubt that Amanda Hurst and Sirius Black would do this for no reason?”

“Really?” Harry arched an eyebrow. “Try and think harder, then.”

“You’re an ass,” Georgia huffed. “Go on then, enlighten me.”

“It’s a great statement piece, isn’t it? From Curtana to Musou Isshin, from an age where conduits were hardly as refined as the modern wand, using such a weapon entangles oneself with such a legacy. It becomes a symbol on the battlefield, one that inspires allies and dispirit foes,” Harry observed. “Hardly what comes to mind when you think of our current benefactors, no?”

“That’s true,” Georgia conceded, before perking up. “But why then establish such a facility?”

“I could be wrong, of course. But if I hazarded a guess, to study the enemy, for one. Besides, though there are blades here, far more space is taken up by all manner of exotic weapons. I spot flails, whips, darts…all manner of weapons.”  

“So you concede that it’s worthwhile to study such a weapon.”

“I never objected to such a notion. I merely asserted that devoting yourself to using it as your primary might be disadvantageous,” Harry pointed out dryly, though Georgia had plugged her ears with her fingers.

“I was right, I was right,” she sang. Harry snorted in amusement, lightly bopping her on the head. “Owie, you’re mean.”

“Yes, I’m a big meanie,” Harry deadpanned. “Let’s move along now.”

“I am right,” Sarah muttered under her breath, before yelping as Harry looped his arm around hers, dragging her out of the arena.

--Break--

There was one bed.

And Georgia really liked to cuddle.

“Georgia, time to wake up,” Harry sighed, gently shaking the girl. Her arms reached underneath his armpits, locking behind his back while her legs coiled around his waist. He could feel the damp patch on his chest, no doubt her drool. 

“Mhph,” she grumbled, shifting against him as though trying to find a more comfortable position to burrow. Harry let out sigh, feeling both fondness and exasperation. Really, was this the same prickly girl who seemed to take everything as an insult? “Mmmmh.”

He felt a bit bad…actually that was a lie, but at least he could humour the idea. Honestly, she should be thankful he wasn’t more forceful. Grabbing the cup of water on the bedside, he dumped it on her head.

“Gah! Wate-what the fuck!” Georgia startled, her arms and legs flailing about, eyes darting around before landing on his. “Harry, what the fuck? Why am I wet?”

“You must have manifested your dream,” Harry responded dryly, drawing a scoff from the witch. “Were you swimming?”

“Fuck you!” she grunted, untangling herself from him. “At least you make a good pillow.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t deny it,” Harry smirked, causing Georgia to huff, turning away even as he could see her ears turn pink. “I don’t mind, by the way. Even if you drool.”

“I…I’m going to shower,” she squeaked, rushing into the bathroom. Harry let out an amused snort, taking off his wet clothes and slipping into a new set. Grabbing the wet bedsheets, he bundled it all up before hurling it down the laundry chute. Left with nothing better to do, Harry went into the bathroom, quickly brushing his teeth and relieving himself. Moments later, Georgia emerged from the shower, heading towards him. Harry didn’t think much of it until she stopped behind him. 

“Do yo-” His query was interrupted as she leaned forward, pressing her chest against his back as her arms circled his waist. He could definitely feel the outline of her generous chest. “Georgia?”

“I don’t mind…relieving your stress, if that’s what you want,” she whispered into his ear. The mist fogged over the mirror, but he imagined her face was flushed. Honestly, sex wasn’t something he was particularly sentimental about. The Soviets probably drugged their food to prevent pregnancies…or perhaps they’d want such children as future subjects. Honestly, it was a coin toss. But Harry was far more intrigued by this sudden move. “You don’t have to be shy.”

“Georgia, what are you doing?”

“Seducing you,” she responded dryly. “And not very well, it seems.”

“Oh you’re doing just fine,” Harry assured, a tint of amusement in his voice. “But you should reconsider your approach.”

“My approach?”

“You’re afraid I’ll leave you behind, right? Find some new stray to adopt among the others,” Harry queried knowingly, feeling her stiffen against him. “Georgia, do you think I publicly showed affection between us just because it felt nice?”

“I…yeah, I suppose that does fit you. Should have suspected something was up.”

“I’d normally prefer such things in private, in all honesty. But the reason you display a relationship is to establish it. And now, our credibility is intertwined. If I deserted you, then the credibility of any promise, any alliance would be diminished in the eyes of others. The same applies for you.”

“You know…for not saying much, you’re oddly romantic,” Sarah murmured. Harry turned around, pulling her into a hug, his chin on her head and her head nestled in his neck as a hand ran down her bare back. 

“I’m not abandoning you so easily, Georgia. You’re stuck with me for a while yet.” Feeling her calm down as the minutes passed, Harry didn’t find the situation particularly uncomfortable, though there was no pleasure either. “Now, get changed. We’re not particularly early already, and who knows if there’s a quota for the classes.”

“Right, right,” she nodded, quickly putting on her clothes before the two departed their room, heading down the corridor. The sterile metal panels gleamed malevolently, strobes of light pulsing through diffused glass from their feet and ceiling. 

It was about a three minute walk from their bedroom to the canteen, being one of the furthest from the ‘core’. A few other cadets were present, some similarly heading to the canteen, though most were returning to their rooms. 

Inside the canteen, a long row of buffet options were laid out. Harry grabbed a plate, loading up some beef and a smattering of vegetables. They didn’t seem to be tainted like what had been experienced in the vault, with even the smell far less enticing. Georgia took some bacon, eggs and carrots. 

“The food doesn’t look as good, does it?” she mused aloud. Harry hummed in agreement as they walked past the notice board, to see a large table with various class options listed. Just as Hawk had stated, there were three sets of two days and a final singular day. The first set offered a choice between martial arts, sword fighting or runes and arithmancy. The second set offered healing, potions or gun handling. The third a choice between wanded combat, transfiguration or physical strengthening. The final day offered a choice between seduction, oration and physical aptitude. “Interesting, they really do lean into the idea of two tracks, don’t they.”

“I’m interested in the fact they’ve offered a choice. Perhaps they’re looking for….something more,” Harry pursed his lips before allowing a faint smile to rise on his lips. “Nevertheless, we are at an advantage.”

“Because there’s two of us,” Sarah grinned knowingly. “So, how do we divide them between us?”

“Well, we don’t have to choose the rest for now. You favour swords so I imagine you’ll leap at the chance. For today, I think I’ll go with runes.”  

“Runes?” Sarah asked disbelievingly. Harry took in a forkful of beef, taking a moment to chew. The cut was lean enough to be slightly too chewy, but he couldn’t complain. “You’re smart enough for it, but I don’t see how they’ll help in a fight.”

“In a fair fight, perhaps,” Harry acknowledged. “But if you have time to set up traps, if you need to escape an enemy’s wards, in all manner of circumstances, having an alternative can be extremely valuable.”

“Fair enough, that does seem like your style,” Georgia conceded wryly. “Still, in my eyes, he who holds the wand holds the power.” 

“I’m not disputing that. And if anything, it’ll be good for us to develop different skillsets to compliment each other,” Harry agreed, arching an eyebrow as her shoulders slumped.

“Aww, aren’t you going to say ‘the quill is mightier than the wand?” she pouted, stabbing her carrot with more force than strictly necessary. Harry let out an amused snort, feeling her leg kick his shin underneath the table. “Hmph, well I had a really good comeback, I’ll have you know.”

“Alright, isn’t the quill mightier than the wand?”

“Well often the one with the wand determines who holds the quill,” she preened. Harry nodded seriously, letting out a thoughtful hum. 

“Very true, very true.”

“Hey, I thought it was a good line.”

“To have wits is the summation of intellect, humour and adaptability. Alas, if you lack the latter, you will often find yourself trying far too hard.”

‘Summation’? Really? You’re taking the piss here,” she crossed her arms, sulking. “But anyways, we should be going. Let me know how it goes.”

“If our lunches align, we could meet up. Otherwise, I’ll see you tonight,” Harry nodded, standing up. The empty tray in front of him disappeared with a soft pop. “Take care, alright?”

“Right back at you,” she grinned, waving as the two went opposite directions along the corridor. Heading to the designated lecture hall, Harry walked in to see there were ten other cadets already present, rather spaced out in the hall. It was almost humorous, considering the room could comfortably fit a hundred. 

Several witches that appeared somewhat frail. A wizard who was bloated enough to give a porkpuffer a run for its galleons. Another with a metal plate covering the left half of his face and missing all his hair sat at the back, a gleaming red iris in his mechanical eye scanning the room. A witch with burning purple ends on her hair. 

No sooner than he’d sat down near a somewhat normal looking witch near the middle, the instructor began making his way in, boots clicking against the metal floor, echoing painfully against the silent room. A largely white uniform and a white cape, accented by dashes of black, what stood out most was the wizard’s muscular upper torso. 

“I am instructor Rook. In the course of the next four weeks, I will equip you with a foundation in arithmetic principles and three root runic languages. I will be blunt, the time we have is insufficient for most students to keep pace. If you are devoted to this area, I highly suggest you consider leaving at least one or two days free of other classes to study up on the material.” He snapped his fingers, causing a large binder to appear in front of each student. Opening it up, Harry flicked through it, his occlumency working overtime to process the barrage of information.

Starting with basic calculus and general conversion equations, the packet quickly moved onto basic introductions of Anglo-Saxon, Persian and Old Chinese. It was surprising to see the latter, given the pictographic nature. Phonetic languages were generally simpler and consisted of the majority of modern languages. Even the Chinese Communists had cobbled together their new runes based on phonetics. 

A hundred and twenty eight hours to establish their foundation in runes and arithmancy, something that even the bright students of the tier one schools would devote at least their OWLs to manage: for one language. 

“If you quit by the end of tomorrow, I will omit your name from the records, no questions asked. In the last cohort, five students passed the first block among twenty four who did not drop out.  While any good statistician will tell you the risks of extrapolations, I trust you will consider the implications. Now, are there any questions? Cadet 224?

“How will we be assessed?” the purple haired witch queried, lowering her hand.

“The test will simply require you to create an equivalent sequence between the three root languages listed. And before you ask, the output must be identical.” The cadet swallowed, her lips pursed as she lowered her raised hand again. A moment later, she stood up, leaving behind the packet and walking out of the room. No one else spoke, alternating between watching the departing witch’s back and instructor Rook’s stony expression.

“She’s a smart one, or at least with enough of a basic understanding of runes to know that success in this is unlikely. Does anyone else wish to leave?” Glancing around, Harry could see several others were considering it, though ultimately no one left. But if anything, Harry was simply intrigued by the challenge. “Very well. Open your packet to page seven. Let us begin with the Ruben-Vitt law of equivalence.”

Source Strength * Refractive Index * Channel Shape * Material Insulation = Output Magic * Ambience Diffusion 

“It may look simple enough, but most researchers in this field spend their lives looking for even the smallest optimisations. Each individual component has its constituent calculations. Nevertheless, this equation is useful as a guide to understanding how different mechanisms interact,” Rook lectured. Several others were scribbling down notes, though Harry thought it rather pointless thus far. Nothing of substance was added that wasn’t already within the pages provided. “When you change the material, you change factors such as material insulation directly. For instance, switching from a piece of Calcite to Anorthite means your material insulation drops from six to five. Because Anorthite’s structure is less harmonic, this results in higher ambient diffusion and lower insulation. These, in turn, affect the type of channel you will carve with, and thus the shape and refractive index.” 

Harry raised his hand.

“Cadet 350.”

“Why is ambient diffusion and material insulation separated?”

“Because the former is exponential and the latter is linear for most practical purposes. It saves you a lot of hassle in calculations. You might consider splitting channel shape into draw length, depth, ductility and more, as an example. But because they operate on a similar order of magnitude, it is practical to group them together. If you go deeper into research, you will spend plenty of time breaking down each constituent. Cadet 441?”

“How is it possible to calculate for every category?”

“A mix of educated guesses, margin of error and using the research of your predecessors,” Rook answered dryly. “We are already behind schedule, so let us move onto the general constituent of each. Source strength is the simplest in principle. This is the measure of the energy of origin at each runic sequence. Using alchemically pure materials, it is even easy to calculate. But in reality, the purity of the material you use, the ambient magic levels, each of which are influenced by thousands of factors themselves, make any calculations an approximation. Stability and potency is the fundamental tradeoff any sequence will encounter,” Rook explained. “Now, let’s begin reviewing the general approximation table.”

--Break--

“You look tired,” Georgia mused, leaning up from the bed as Harry entered the room. He let out an amused snort, unable to help rubbing his forehead. “Was runes that bad?”

“See this stack? I have to memorise this by tomorrow,” Harry sighed dryly, lifting up the binder in his hand. Georgia arched an eyebrow as he dumped it on his desk. It was nearly half a meter thick, the cover barely snapping shut. “And I already know calculus well enough.”

“That seems rough,” she grimaced as he began flicking through the pages, his head throbbing. The intensity of using occlumency was too much even for him. “Even for you.”

“Well, I suppose my wishes for a challenge have been answered and then some. How was sword swinging?”

“Pfft, if only we got to touch a blade. We were just lifting weights the whole time. My arms feel like noodles,” Georgia groaned. Harry gave a thoughtful hum. “Come on, you could be a little more sympathetic.”

“Fair enough,” Harry sighed, standing up from the desk and sitting by her side, grabbing her right arm, ignoring her yelp, and beginning to knead. “I could use a break as well.”

“Ah-oh that feels good,” she mewled, wiggling her toes and closing her eyes. Harry couldn’t help a fond smile at her reactions, slowly making his way down. One hand supporting her elbow and the other holding her wrist, he gently turned ten times clockwise, then ten times counter-clockwise. “Ah…”

“Feeling better?” Harry queried, one hand kneading her forearm and the other gently rotating her fingers. Georgia let out a low purr. “How many people were there, by the way?”

“Sixty, give or take. I’m probably one of the weaker ones there, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s not surprising,” Harry acknowledged, causing her to lift one eye up at him, a hint of annoyance. “You’re female, even if on the older side among the cadets. Besides, you haven’t got the same killer instinct as the others.”

“You could have just said the last part.”

“Selective honesty can often harm more than lies. I’d like to think that we can engage in good faith.”

“Now you’re making me feel bad after insulting me.”

“It wasn’t an insult, merely an observation. Besides, it isn’t necessarily a disadvantage.”

“How so?” 

“Humans are social creatures, foremost,” Harry explained, switching over to her other arm. “It is wired into our neurology. And around you, a selection of damaged goods that you can pick and squeeze as you like.”

“By your own admission they have a killer instinct. How am I supposed to get close to them.”

“The average human is not meant to be alone. It causes us to become restless. We rely on social cues, extrinsic validation. Those who appear to put up the strongest barriers are in truth the most brittle. For those who have lost all hope in humanity, weaponise kindness. I suspect the unexpected nature of such an act will leave them completely ripe for the picking.”     

“You know, you really sound like a psychopath.”

“In a world full of the mad, perhaps sanity itselfis insane.”

“And what about me?”

“What about you?”

“Do you care about me? Or am I-”

“More than you’d expect,” Harry interjected warmly, causing her lips to still, half open. “Most relationships aren’t born of love at first sight or such nonsense. Those cases are usually nothing more than a gut feeling, attractive appearances and a bit of lust, in the best of cases. Common interest. In Edo Japan, when the various warring clans united, the Shogun wanted to build a sense of union under his dominion through common rituals. When the other nobles didn’t show up, he offered free food, though the nobles in question simply ate the food and left. Can you guess what he did next?”

“Kill a few to set an example?”

“You would think so,” Harry acknowledged with a laugh. “His solution was in actuality to send the gifts in advance, to create the urge to reciprocate. If you think hard enough, love, admiration, respect…don’t these things mean more when they are earnt, or dare I say, cultivated? Let us be honest, our cooperation in the vault started off as nothing but mutual interest. But that does not invalidate our bond’s growth over time.”

“You know?” Harry let out a noncommittal hum, glancing down at Georgia. Her eyes sparkled as she grinned up at him. “You really have a way of saying so little yet so much. I’ve never had to put as much thought into anyone’s words as I have yours.”

“Then I’m glad to have inspired you, if just a bit.”

“Alright, your turn,” she pepped, bouncing off the bed and pushing him down. At his confused hum, she grinned. “I’ve got to return the favour. Now relax.”

--Break--

“Welcome to guns and tools. I am instructor Falcon,” the witch greeted indifferently. Wearing a completely black bodysuit, at least a few of the male cadets were unable to help their looks at her outlined chest. With around forty cadets gathered in the shooting range, Harry found himself somewhat surprised the number wasn’t higher. What was more fascinating was the gender ratio, which actually skewed towards a female majority. 

“Over the next eight sessions, we will focus on basic pistol handling and maintenance. Let’s start with a quick overview. Most pistols you will handle are semi-automatic. This means that it reloads itself, but you pull the trigger on each shot. This is the Makarov pistol. It has eight rounds in a magazine. It is a double action pistol, meaning you pull the trigger and it fires. It is rated to be accurate to fifty meters. There are twenty seven parts to the pistol, in addition to the magazine,” Falcon lectured, retrieving the pistol from her holster and placing it on the table. “Watch closely.”

She removed the magazine, placing it on the table, then gripped the trigger guard and pulled down, causing it to tilt downward. 

“Now this top piece is the slide. It moves back as you shoot, using some of the energy to chamber the next bullet. Don’t be afraid to use a bit of force, these things are sturdy,” she advised, pulling back the slide until it slid off. The interior of the gun was now revealed, a long spring covering a shorter barrel. Setting that on the table, she held up the slide.

“Now, inside this is your firing pin. Push up on the safety until it spins out like this,” she pushed until it popped open, tilting it until a metal pin dropped down, clattering to the table. “The firing pin is what hits your cartridge, turning a squeeze of the trigger into firing your bullet.”

Putting the trigger pin back in, she pushed the slide along the barrel, locking it back in place. “Regular maintenance and inspection is vital to a pistol. Now watch.”

Bang! In one graceful movement, she spun around towards the firing range, firing off a bullet that hit a target plate straight in the centre, a moment before it exploded in a large fireball. 

“Do not underestimate such tools because of their muggle origins. We have found ways to be creative in their use. Enchanted bullets are just one example. Do not load your magazine until I give the order. Now, everyone grab a pistol and magazine, then find a lane.”

Harry leisurely walked towards the armoury, near the middle of the pack. As he took the pistol and magazine, Harry was surprised by the weight, a bit heavier than expected. A brass glint from the magazine showed the top bullet, ready to be fired. 

As he arrived at a free lane, Harry glanced at the target, probably forty meters out. Raising the pistol, Harry aimed it forward, getting a feel for the weight in his hand. 

“Load your magazines. Just push it into the bottom of your handle nice and firm. It’ll click. Turn off the safety and pull the slide back to load your first round. Then fire towards your targets. Try not to shoot yourself.” Harry was somewhat surprised by the lack of oversight. Still, it wasn’t a bad way to eliminate the stupid. With each lane contained in itself, they weren’t going to shoot each other. 

Loading the magazine, Harry adjusted his grip, the slightly increased weight requiring some adjustment. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

The sound of gunfire rang out on either side of him. Taking a breath, Harry narrowed his eyes, bending his knees slightly, both hands gripping the handle. Satisfied, he pulled back on the slide, allowing it to  return to place, his finger now on the trigger. 

The two rear parts of the iron sight now sandwiched the front equally. Levelling them towards the target, he ensured that the front sight was overlaid on the centre.

Bang!

The recoil caught him off guard, causing Harry to stumble half a step back. Thankfully his hands had locked up, or the gun would have been ripped from his hands. Staring forward, he was somewhat displeased to see he’d managed to land a hit only in the second outermost ring, a bit to the left and quite a bit abov. 

Taking a breath, he adjusted his aim slightly, taking a breath and squeezing the trigger.

Bang!

His arms more in control, his shot was on the eight ring, still above the bullseye. 

Reconsidering, he lowered his aim slightly, so that his front sight just bisected the bullseye. 

Bang!

He felt a flicker of satisfaction seeing it was just slightly lower than the center. Taking a breath, he tapped the trigger again, then again, then again.

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

The first shot hit dead centre, the second just a bit above, the third a decent distance to the left and high. It seemed he had to work on recentering his aim. He took a breath, realigning his sights.

Bang! Bang!

His magazine empty, Harry set down his pistol, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t…necessarily thrill, but Harry found a meaty satisfaction with the effects. A soft pop caught Harry’s attention, noticing that a fresh magazine had appeared on the table beside him. 

“Alright, the best way to get familiar is to just keep shooting,” Falcon instructed. “Carry on.”

Taking a breath and picking up the new magazine, Harry popped his existing magazine, catching it with one hand and swapping it in one smooth motion. Click.

Pulling the slide, Harry took a breath.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Emptyping the entire magazine in rapid succession, Harry frowned, seeing that the latter part of his shots had splayed to the 6 ring. Better than when he started, but still far from accurate enough.

As another magazine appeared, Harry considered how to proceed as he reloaded. Pulling the slide, Harry lowered one hand from his grip, turning his body to the side and aiming with one hand.

Bang!

The shot was just off-centre, on the line between the bullseye and 9 ring. Harry adjusted his aim slightly, pulling the trigger again. 

Bullseye.

Lowering his hand, Harry hurriedly raised it up, squeezing the trigger.

Bang!

Way off, barely scraping the seven ring.

But it was fine. He would continue to practice. 

--Break--

“Good morning, Harry,” Sarah greeted as he entered the duelling room. A training dummy lay in pieces, cracked cogs strewn on the floor, metal sheets dented by the imprints of fists. Wiping the sweat from her brow, Harry pulled out a hand towel with the faint septic smell of infused healing potions, tossing it to the witch. Deftly catching it, she smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

“You haven’t gotten any rest, have you?” Harry pointed out, causing the witch to let out a chuckle. “You’ll burn yourself out.”

“We’re all lit matches. If I’m going out, I at least want to burn brightly,” Sarah shrugged. Harry arched an eyebrow, causing her to laugh softly. “I must be tired, if you’ve loosened my lips this easily. Maybe this is your manipulation, lowering my guard with reverse psychology.”

“You overestimate my abilities,” Harry waved off, drawing a soft snort from the witch. “Asking for a spar appears to be in poor taste.”

“A sense of humour…the wonders never cease,” Sarah quipped. “So, what are you doing awake so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Aww, do you want a bedtime story?”

“How about a lap pillow?” 

“You won’t have sex, but you’re comfortable asking for that?” Sarah snorted in amusement. Harry shrugged, his lips twitching in amusement. “I still don’t get why you spend time reading those Japanese light novels, or how you have time considering you’re taking runes.”

“Is it not natural to be curious about topics you are unfamiliar about?” Harry arched an eyebrow. Sarah shook her head wryly.

“You’re the one that refuses to take a course on seduction. I wonder if I should be offended that you’re more interested in some printed word than my body. Makes one think, doesn’t it?”

“Finally decided to ask outright?” Harry teased, causing her to let out a long sigh. “It isn’t simply about seduction techniques and whatnot. For me, it is about the perception of romance…and more than that, understanding the human perspective. You can tell a lot from the stories people tell, and those that they don’t.”

“Oh? Then enlighten me. What could you possibly have learnt about Japan?”

“That they are a grossly unequal society that crushes the individual, where those with power ruthlessly guard it. That the realisation of the reality of their nature, that merit does not triumph above all, that they are likely destined for a life of painful mediocrity no matter the effort they put, that the promise of justice is a lie,” Harry answered, causing Sarah to let out a thoughtful hum. Understanding her unspoken question, he elaborated. “The novels are often set in high school, featuring an unremarkable protagonist. I imagine because deep down, many long for those days of naivete, when they believed that through hard work and academic excellence, anything was possible. That their efforts had meaning, that relationships could last solely on genuine affection and camaraderie. They talk of falling in love, of a union between the remarkable and the unremarkable, between the wealthy or intelligent with the ordinary. Because these are the barriers that they crash into far too clearly in adulthood.”

“How…depressing of you. To think even among what should be light-hearted, dumb fun, you’d see such. I wonder if viewing pornography, you might simply comment on the exploitation of the industry.”

“The most beautiful of dreams are often birthed from the darkest shadows of reality.”

As the door slid open, Harry’s lips raised into a smile. “Good morning, Georgia. You’re up early.”

“And you’re-yawn-already off on your monologues, aren’t you?” her arms stretched into the air as she arched her back slightly. 

“Morning Georgia, you’re looking spry,” Sarah greeted warmly, causing the witch to incline her head. Unbothered by the lack of response, Sarah continued, “I’m going to wash up first. You’re welcome to join me.”

“I’ll see you at breakfast,” Harry responded. 

“Your loss,” Sarah shrugged, sauntering out of the room with a sway in her hips. Left alone, Georgia shed some of her fatigue, walking up to him, offering her his hand. As their fingers connected, he smiled.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I’ve been thinking…you knew something beforehand, didn’t you?” 

“Would you have believed me if I told you at the start?” Harry queried, causing Georgia to pause before nodding, conceding the point. “How are you feeling?”

“Just a bit tired,” she yawned, leaning into his chest as her fingers began tracing words on his palm. ‘Nightmares’.

“Then perhaps you should get more rest,” Harry returned. ‘What kind?’

‘Whispers of another world.’ 

“You’re one to talk. Why are you so fascinated by that agent? Canary, was it?” 

“You should call her Sarah,” Harry chided. Georgia let out a cold snort.

“Is that even her real name?”

“Who is to say the name isn’t real?” Harry smiled, causing Georgia to eye him strangely. His fingers began stroking. ‘What else feels different?’ Her eyes twitched. “Names depend on context. Your first name, your middle name, your last name, your nickname…in certain cultures, we might prefer to refer to each other by title or association.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, but do not forget the best lies must first infect the liar’s mind. Are not all names and titles bestowed by others? What matters is shared experience. ‘Sarah’ may be a lie, but that does not mean that there was no truth to the time we spent in the bunker as both friend and foe.”

“Ugh, I’m starting to feel a bit of a headache,” she groaned.

“It’s understandable.” ‘We’re having two conversations at the same time, after all.’

“How do you do it?” 

“Practice. No different than our daily spars, you must reforge your mind to be stronger, faster, smarter,” Harry explained, causing her to raise an eyebrow. “You may believe the meditation I subject you to is simply for my own perverse enjoyment, but it is no different than the training you pursue with your magic or muscles.

“I wouldn’t doubt you like that,” Georgia admitted wryly, letting out a sigh. “Still, it’s frustrating that progress is far less visible.”

“I think it’s more a matter of perspective. Think about it, you don’t expect your muscle growth to be linear day after day, right? In the same way, the overall trajectory is far more important.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I barely feel like I’ve made any progress at all,” she huffed, before letting out a sigh. “Merlin, even I think that sounded petulant. Don’t say it.”

Harry’s lips twitched. 

“Still, I’m surprised that you’re in the gym of all places. The few others that are awake are all in the weapons range.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“Because I trust that you’ve spotted something they haven’t,” Georgia answered simply. Harry let out a faint chuckle. She had damned herself…but at least she could be reassured that he’d not let her sacrifice be in vain. “I doubt you’re the type to enjoy exercise for its own sake.”

“Awake enough for a spar? Or would you prefer something lighter?”

“My shoulder is still stiff, so I’d appreciate something easy,” she admitted hesitantly. 

“I’m glad you’re being honest,” Harry smiled, patting Georgia on the shoulder and giving her a light squeeze, injecting a bit of magic. A soft groan escaped her lips as she rolled the joint. “This will carry you for the morning sessions.”

“Thanks,” Georgia smiled appreciatively. “So, what exercise have you come up with?”

“A coordination exercise. Go back to back with me and try to guess what direction I’m headed,” he instructed, turning around and pressing his back to her. A moment later, she had done as he instructed, their backs lightly touching. “Let’s start off with a countdown. Three, two, one, now.” 

Harry began to shift the weight of his legs on two. On one, he’d begun leaning to the left. As he reached zero, Harry took a step to the left. Georgia followed a split second later. 

“The goal isn’t to chase, it’s to match,” Harry advised, moving towards Georgia so they were back to back again. “Let’s try again. Ready? Three. Two. One. Now.”

Harry took a step to the left again. Georgia, on the other hand, took one to the right. Harry smiled knowingly at her surprised, then guilty look. “This isn’t a sick trap to make you sad, dear. Alright, I’ll try to demonstrate, alright?”

“You…think you can do it?” she arched a disbelieving eyebrow. Harry shrugged. “No, forget it. I’m not going to jinx it.”

“Don’t bother with a count. Start whenever.” As they went back to back again, Harry simply waited, feeling the subtle tilt of her spine, the beginnings of a shift in direction. By the time she’d lifted her leg, his own was mirroring hers, their backs never leaving each other as she moved right and him left. A few moments later, she took a step, this time to her left, with him following in near perfect sync. “How…”

“You’ve seen the other cadets, tell me what you think.”

“They’re…strong, I guess,” she admitted slowly. “But…not quite right in the head, if I’m being honest.”

“The Soviet system is designed to engineer agents. It is perhaps convenient that most of them can’t function properly. But nevertheless, they’ll be extremely refined at what they do. Which is why we must be smarter.”

“Oh how shall we do that, great wizard? Enlighten this poor mortal,” Georgia drawled, poking him on the side. Harry let out an amused snort. “Let me guess, we’re going to attend different classes and share knowledge?”

“So you do have a brain, after all,” Harry deadpanned. Georgia let out a long-suffering sigh. Feeling slightly bad, he began to pat her head. “I’m sorry, you did good. Be proud of yourself.”

“Agh, get off,” she swatted his hand after basking in the touch for several moments. Harry found it rather amusing, even if he didn’t comment on her delayed reaction. “I’m older than you!”

“Oh, why do you figure?” The witch was likely correct, though neither had really brought up the subject. Harry wondered if she was just probing for an answer. Or perhaps Sarah let something slip? 

“You’re not denying it, that’s always a good sign,” Georgia grinned. “One of the scientists let it slip during my check-up. Mentioned that several of the other boys didn’t have a body as good as yours despite being several years older.”

Harry somewhat doubted this, though it wasn’t completely unthinkable. If the General was trying to isolate him to prevent a repeat of his strategy in the Vault, it wasn’t a terrible plan. Envy was truly the deadliest of sins. Nevertheless, he considered his response for a moment before acknowledging. “You’re right, of course. But considering how all of our growth has been accelerated, the only differentiation is now the mind. We’re getting off topic, though.”

“Trying to avoid the subject?” she preened, her back straightening. Honestly, Harry had to admit she was an attractive woman with curves in the right places. She’d make a wonderful honey-trap…though Harry wouldn’t necessarily say that to her face. Maybe Sarah could. “You’re thinking something unflattering about me, aren’t you?”

Interesting, he’d have to look more into this ‘woman’s intuition’. 

“Quite the opposite really. I was thinking that you’ve grown a bit more in the chest,” Harry answered plainly, hiding a smirk as she sputtered for several moments. “Your butt has gotten bigger too. I felt it just now.”

“You…you perv!” she sputtered, pointing an accusing finger at his chest, though the gleam in her eyes showed Georgia was not particularly angry at that revelation. “Not even you are immune to lust, it seems.”

“Considering I’ve rejected sex multiple times, I’d like to think that I have some control.”

“Bah, we’ll see how long your control lasts. Just let me know, little bro. I’ll be happy to take care of you, no need to go to that bitch Sarah.” At least Georgia used the witch’s name. Progress. “Anyhow, we’ll stick together. That’s our advantage, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Harry smiled faintly. “But we need to be more in sync. If we’re fighting together, you can’t just duck and dodge as carelessly. You must consider my position, my awareness, as I consider yours in turn. If we pull this off…I daresay we’ll overwhelm even four or five opponents of a similar calibre.”

“And you think we can pull this off?”

“With enough persistence, yes. Aurors do something similar, after all. Besides, for all the work we’ve done, you know what the others have gone through. There are at least survivors among the rest, which means they have a killer instinct amongst them.”

“I’m well aware. In a street scrap, it’s not just about skill. Enough bouts and against an opponent reckless or desperate enough, something slips through,” Georgia acknowledged, turning so they were back to back again. “Let’s go again, I want to get this before breakfast.”

Chapter Text

“Welcome to wand combat,” the instructor smiled thinly. The class was surprisingly unpopular, contrary to Harry’s expectations. Thirty cadets in all. He doubted many would risk going into transfiguration, which meant they must have gone to physical strengthening. That, or they abandoned this slot of class to focus on their earlier attempts.

Honestly, Harry thought that wanded combat would be far more useful than either sword fighting or martial arts. Was it sunk cost fallacy? 

“There are many branches you might focus on, of course. From battle transfiguration to casting curses, the near limitless potential is evident. A balance of precision, versatility and power. Not outstanding in any individual category, but on aggregate useful enough that even the titans use them. Over the coming weeks, you will get a basic introduction on standard duelling spells, conjuration and battle transfiguration. As we have very limited time together, our classes will only go over the fundamentals of each piece of magic. While I don’t expect you to catch onto every spell, for those you elect to focus on, you should refine your casting on your own.”

With a snap of his finger, the instructor summoned a list on the wall. 

Week 1: Basic Duelling Spells

Blasting Curse

Petrification Curse

Disarming Spell

Shielding Spell

Week 2: Utility Spells

Basic tracking jinx

Homing tracers

Revealing spell

Concealment spells (sight, sound, scent) 

Week 3, 4: Basic Environmental Adaptation

Elemental Manipulation 

Basic Transfiguration

Basic Conjuration

Basic Body Manipulation

Basic Strategy: Adapting to terrain

Surveillance and counter-surveillance principles

It wasn’t a badly thought out list…though Harry suspected this would take most magical children years to learn. While it wasn’t inconceivable those in elite academies pursuing law enforcement or mercenary apprentices might possess all these skills, they took months to do properly and years to master.

Instead, they were being given four weeks. 

Honestly, Harry doubted he could manage to master all the aspects. Most, perhaps. Some, definitely. But all? Their instructors asked the impossible. And that was with the benefit of some self-defence training, even if it was hardly as much as he liked. From the bitter looks the others had, it seemed most agreed with his line of thinking.

“Your first test will feature a variety of obstacles and challenges. So long as you demonstrate some level of proficiency, you will pass,” the instructor smiled knowingly. A few looked relieved, most looked doubtful. It wasn’t surprising, if the survival rates of the other vaults was anything similar to his own. 

But then, Harry considered the wording. Though they covered a broad range of content, earlier, he had mentioned that they were hardly expected to cover all aspects. And it made sense: one might conjure water, transfigure it from something else or summon it from a nearby source. Lots of magic could overlap, meaning for any one task, there were always going to be multiple avenues to succeed. 

“If it provides any comfort, those who remain in this class have the highest survival rate of the program. But if you do not feel confident, leave now and I’ll forget we’ve ever met.” A few took the opportunity to rush out, chased by an invisible spectre. But most stayed, even if a few looked to be questioning their own choices.

“Right, I’m sure you all have various foundations with magic. But most of these are…to put it politely, inefficient. The method I instruct you on is based on those honed by Soviet agents throughout the years. You may deviate at your own peril. Today, we will learn three spells: the general-purpose blasting spell, the piercing blast spell and the diffused blast spell. Take a stick and line up.”

Another cadet, a young wizard, raised his hand, drawing strange looks from several others. 

“Speak.”

“Instructor, shouldn’t we get paired with custom wands?”

In truth, it wasn’t a bad question from an objective perspective. There was a reason that each community had its own wand maker held in high esteem. The elites would have a custom one crafted from scratch, while the affluent would go to a premier wand maker and find a suitable match. But just as the poor might use a second-hand wand, it was foolish to expect the Soviets to invest anything into them until they’d proven anything. After all, if you could do it with an ill-fitting wand, you could do it with a good pair. 

And that was not mentioning the advantage of being able to use someone else’s wand.  

“If you prove yourself, equipment will be provided,” the instructor answered curtly. The cadet swallowed, knowing better than to press further. Meanwhile, Harry studied over all off the wands, most of them clearly worn and used, uniform in wood species, though there seemed to be some different cores used.

He was not versed in wand lore, simply reaching out with his senses and picking up one that felt just a touch warmer than the others before heading back into the line. At the front, the instructor tapped his foot impatiently. 

“Right, so the principle of a blasting curse is simple. You concentrate a large amount of energy closely and send it out. There are hundreds of variations, but what matters is simply the intent. How much magic you inject, how you weave the integrity of the spell…these are up to you to learn. Observe closely.” The instructor flicked his wand towards a training dummy, casting a thin glint of light that stretched about half a meter, zipping through the air and slamming through its chest. After the millisecond it took for the end of the spell to go through it chest, the front not having protruded from the other side, the training dummy ruptured violently, bits exploding outwards. A second training dummy appeared. This time, the instructor fired a more traditional spell, a flash of light that moved a bit slower than the thin line, slamming it into a dummy, sending it flying into the wall and carving out several inches of materials, leaving a hole that exposed the innards. “If you follow the traditional schooling methods, you might learn wand movements and incantations. These are crutches that allow you to compartmentalise ideas and achieve consistency. However, they are wastes of time that you can hardly afford. My advice? Focus on imaging the damage, point in the right direction and try to regulate the exertion you put in each cast. If you haven’t managed to achieve at least some progress by the end of the day, then reconsider your choice of class. Now let’s get the basics down.”

A row of blackboards appeared, several pieces of chalk hastily drawing various graphs and diagrams. 

“The key to success in this exercise, aside from determining the right amount of magic to invest, is of course the weaving. The intent behind your spell, the agglomeration of magic…all of these can have impacts on how your spell fires and lands.” 

He pointed to the first diagram, which featured a long and narrow chain, with several clusters near the front and a large ovule from the middle to the back. 

“For this, you can see the three main components of my spell. A shell that binds the entire spell together, a breaching component that features small clusters of magic to create an incision and the main charge, which causes the damage. Now, the most obvious thing you change is the composition of the breach. When considering attacking an enemy with armour or alternative protection, you may vary from a single concentrated pin-strike to a large blunt force to multiple subsequent explosions to destabilise a defence that defends extraordinarily against a single strike. You keep the main energy concentration close enough to exploit the gap created, but far enough that it isn’t consumed in the penetrative detonation,” the instructor lectured. “Now, onto weaves. The integrity of spells disintegrates over space and time. There are varied forms of veiling and layering to prevent this, a key advantage with the precision of a wand. However, for now, I advise you to focus simply on creating one that lasts as long as possible, even if it takes a bit more magic. The difference between the concentration of magic should be sufficient to cause a blast, though the ideal remains to be just enough to reach your target rather than inadvertently blunting the explosive force.”

Harry’s eyes wandered, scanning through the various graphs, illustrating the optimal proportion of magical distribution. Among them, a few more complicated that featured overlapping shells with apparently optimised shielding, ‘shedding’ as the spell travelled through the air. It was truly incredible how much testing must have gone into just a minute optimization, one that could have easily been ignored with just a bit of efficiency loss.

But no, even now, the teases were there. Details on spiralling constructs that would reduce the magical cross-section, making it harder for an enemy to ‘sense’ and react. Variations that introduced a ‘homing’ component. 

All of the theory clearly written out, temptatious whispers to those who dared to harbour ambitions. Promise to those who dared to braze the sun’s light. 

“You may begin practicing on your own. If you do blow yourself up, try and avoid collateral damage,” the instructor pointed out dryly. Harry was among the first to leave, his occlumency meaning he could revisit the notes in his mind. Finding a training dummy, Harry concentrated, closing his eyes and feeling the magic welling within him.

Even a weak conduit proved far more easy than attempting to do so wandlessly. Bursts of magic could now be refined, the weave around the spell shaped far more intricately. 

Raising his wand, Harry allowed his magic to surge into the wand, forming through the tip and coalescing bundles of energy together. He began to visualise, densifying several cores to mimic what the instructor had done. 

He didn’t immediately condense a lot of the magic at the centre, wanting to observe the shell of the spell. Yet within a few metres of travelling forward, the spell imploded on itself, fizzling out with several sparks.

Taking a moment to consider, Harry couldn’t help but let out a laugh as he realised his mistake. The shell was already precisely designed to be optimised for a particular package inside, relying on the pressure to keep its structural integrity. By leaving it hollow, the interlocking forces that balanced the spell simply didn’t exist. 

But that raised another question: how should he modify the existing shell design to fit his own desired power output. And as his magical core grew in strength, how often would he need to recalibrate his own weaves to match the increase in output?

So many considerations, and yet, the prospect of cutting edge research right at his fingertips was too much to miss. Whether General White’s design or just coincidence, the fact that they were being given this data and research must mean something.

“Struggling with the spell?” A voice called out, causing Harry to look up. It was the same purple-haired girl who had left the runes class. Harry turned, tilting his head slightly. “I can offer you some tips, if you’re interested.”

“It’d be appreciated, though I wonder if I can afford it,” Harry returned with humour. The witch let out a snort. 

“Well, well. Beneath that cheerful naivete is some level of shrewdness,” she acknowledged, almost as a compliment. “Who would have thought?”

“I might appreciate the beauty of the world, but it doesn’t blind me to its perils.”

“Hmph, we'll call this satisfying my curiosity then. So, what are you struggling with?”

“The right balance of package concentration and shell,” Harry answered, causing her to pause, initial disdain turning into curiosity. “I suppose that’s what most people would be curious about. They’ve given their suggestions, but not the full underlying calculations. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

“If they want us to reverse engineer the process,” the witch finished knowingly, a new glimmer in her eyes. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed. Though the few that now know from listening in to us won’t have the courage to do anything, I’m sure.”

Harry could feel a few embarrassed and indignant head turns, though the witch hardly seemed concerned. He could tell, for her, this wasn’t arrogance, but rather simply acknowledgement of her own value. Whether that was warranted, only time would reveal. 

“Regardless, I’d suggest you get down to the basics before worrying about it. At ten meters, you don’t require much beyond the basic veiling to get off a good curse. Once you have that down, then worry about the optimisations.”

“I appreciate the suggestion,” Harry dipped his head, watching her left eye twitch briefly, offended by his lack of commitment. But he didn’t add any further, curious to see what she would do.

“If it’s too much, remember you can always drop some classes.” Perhaps intended as an insult, but in actuality shrewd advice. “Let me give you a demonstration.”

With a flourish of her wand, a chubby spell materialised, several swirling orbitals around it forming a triple helix around her spell. Harry found himself briefly mesmerised at its spinning, the rippling on its surface almost alive. A moment later, it had darted forward, slamming into the dummy and expelling its components inside-out, a shower of cogs raining down like confetti.

“Impressive,” Harry acknowledged. Despite being older, there shouldn’t have been a way for her to be so advanced…certainly not be caught by the Soviet program if that was the case. Had there been others who had been prepared before the Vaults? So many questions…but not enough time to investigate them all. “You’ve refined your casting already.”

“I have,” she nodded, failing to preen at all at the compliment. Simply an acknowledgement, rather than any celebration. “I’ll see you around.”

Sauntering off without another word, Harry was left to his thoughts. But she was right about one thing. He needed to get back into the rhythm of casting with a wand again before worrying about anything else.

--Break--  

“I don’t want to wake up,” Georgia groaned, sprawled on the bed with her arms and legs strewn out. As Harry straightened his shirt, looking into the mirror, she let out a long groan. “Notice me, notice me, notice me, senpai…”

“You’ve been reading those novels too, haven’t you?” Harry queried dryly. “No wonder you look so tired.”

“It’s not just physical fatigue, it’s everything. Sixteen hour sessions, and then we’re expected to do even more training in our own time. This is insane.”

“Then take a break. I know most people are,” Harry answered dryly.

“You’re supposed to motivate me.”

“No, I’m looking out for you. And that means telling you if you're stretching yourself too thin,” Harry corrected. “Do you want me to bring you some breakfast?”

“Ugh, give me two minutes, I have at least the strength for that,” Georgia grumbled, rolling off the bed and onto the floor before crawling to her feet. Honestly, despite being older, she really was the little sister. It wasn’t so bad, giving him some humour in life. Harry could recognise without such, he’d easily fall into the trap of losing himself into these rabbit holes of discovery. Hiding his amusement to save her some face, Harry didn’t comment, instead taking some time to flick through his notes on runic calculations. 

“Right, let’s go,” Georgia called out, stepping out of the shower. Impressive: in only three minutes, she’d fully pushed away the fatigue. “Are you going to go for physical training? Seduction?”

“Oration,” Harry answered, causing her to shake her head, sighing.

“Honestly, wouldn’t spending that time recuperating be more productive? You’re already verbose enough. I doubt you’ll learn much from that.”

“If it isn’t productive, I can always drop out later,” Harry assured. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to drop physical aptitude? You’ll burn out your body at this rate.”

“I can handle it. Besides, what else am I going to do? Seduction? I’d prefer not to whore myself out,” Georgia sniffed. “If I was going to do that, I’d hardly need much effort into anything else, right?”

“That’s one way of looking into it, I suppose. You could always join me in oration, I suppose.”

“That…well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” she acknowledged as they entered the cafeteria. It was already rather filled, the buffets with less than a quarter of the food left. Harry put a few pieces of meat onto his tray, arching an eyebrow as she scooped on a large helping of eggs. 

Sensing his gaze, she turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re stacking those eggs like pancakes.”

“They’re good for protein.”

“Eating too much can be bad. They’ve got vitamins and other nutrients, sure. But eating chicken is probably the way to bulk up. Even leaner cuts of beef are great.”

“Don’t they have hormones in them that…make breasts grow bigger? You’re not calling me flat, are you?”

“Hormone treatments are ridiculously expensive. They might do that for beef, but definitely not chicken,” Harry assured, tactfully ignoring her latter remark. “It’s little different than worrying about getting radiation poisoning from eating bananas. It’d be in the millions, and by then you have far more other problems to worry about.”

“That’s…fair, I suppose,” she conceded, returning about half her stack of eggs and taking a mixture of other meats. “I was getting tired of eating the same thing.”

“A bit of variety is good for the soul. Besides, in our line of work? May as well take what enjoyment we can.”

“Our line of work?”

“We are the forgotten. Those who can operate faceless in the shadows. Who can look in, but never truly rejoin society. Our benefactors have assured us of that much.”

“Is it that bad?” 

“If you walked out of here tomorrow, would you be able to live the rest of your life without constantly watching over your shoulder? Wondering if the food you buy was tainted? Unable to determine if you were really in some strange experiment? The virginity of your innocence has been raped in a most forceful manner. Even if you were to attempt obliviation, could you really wipe away the muscle memory? Be satisfied with the hollowness that years missing will leave? No, we’re condemned to walk this path, so it is better to look forward than worry about what-ifs that are out of reach for us now.”

“How cynical of you, this early into the morning,” Georgia tutted, biting into a mouthful of chicken. Harry let out a snort of amusement. “Not even going to try and deny it?”

“You’re oddly…accepting of this reality. Sometimes, I wonder if you’re even human.”

“A human chooses. To accept or deny his emotion. To act or reject his impulse. A beast is merely a slave to its instincts, an unthinking machine that can only find comfort in its ignorance.”

“Yeah…you really don’t need to go to oration class. Are you sure you don’t want to consider doing physical aptitude? I’ll go with you.”

“If you think that oration is merely a few verbal tricks, then you truly underestimate our benefactors, Georgia. The Soviets have dissected every bit of magic into its components, stitching and weaving them back together in the most blasphemous of desecrations. I have little doubt they have invested countless resources into figuring out human interaction. The way one’s eyes might flicker, their lips twitch…and no doubt draw upon the obscure and novel among topics to open doors others don’t know exist,” Harry set down his fork, staring straight at Georgia. “History, philosophy, art, alchemy…all pieces of the human experience that form the basis of knowledge upon which verbal tricks can amplify. But without substance, even the tongue of a siren cannot win.”

“Fine, fine. I suppose I should keep myself somewhat mentally stimulated,” Georgia let out a long sigh, following him as they returned their trays, heading towards the designated lecture hall. 

Harry found himself somewhat surprised by the presence of well over a hundred individuals. But upon reconsideration, perhaps he shouldn’t have been caught off guard: for those who lacked talents in other fields, the subjective nature of oration must have seemed an appealing escape. Taking their seats near the back, Harry took some time to observe those present.  

“Words.” As the instructor walked in, the room descended into silence. Only the sound of his boots tapping against the ground echoed in the room until the metal doors slammed shut. “A compromise and a consensus. Words are our pathetic attempt to transmit our own neural impulses into that of others. To convey information, to influence via flattery or falsehood, all lies within this domain. But do not believe it is as simple as a few verbal tricks. Even a monkey can plead for its life in an attempt to elicit mercy. What I strive to equip you with is the knowledge necessary so that you may draw truth from lies, pry secrets from unwitting mouths, cast doubt where there was once certainty and inspire confidence even in cowards. To that end, let us begin with the fundamentals.”

“You were right,” Georgia acknowledged, whispering into his ear as the instructor waved his hand, several pieces of chalk beginning to drag along the green surface. 

“In every society, the elites come up with their own rituals and diction. Ranging from subtle gestures to the right knowledge of historical trivia, it is a way for them to distinguish their peers from the others. Their children are educated in these mannerisms from birth, but you face the challenge of learning not just those of one circle, but all of them. From friends to foes of the Union, we observe and understand so that we may anticipate such that no betrayal is unexpected.  

And thus, let us begin with European architecture. Though they may not admit it, muggle art often echoes in that of the magical world because of common circumstances. Most buildings today have been constructed since the ‘Three Hundred Days of Fire’. The few that survive have become important national treasures in their own right. Only in parts of Scotland and the Nordics did a majority of settlements survive.”

As the instructor began to lecture, many of those around began to doze off, chattering amongst themselves. Despite this, the instructor didn’t seem to care, continuing to describe the importance of half-levels in new constructions.

“And based on this principle, the master bedroom, historically at the peak of the manor, is now in fact often found at its epicentre. This also had implications for wardstone placement, with the previous ‘lattice’ design now displaced by a ‘core’ near the centre of the property, radiating out to orbitals instead.”

“You know…this isn’t what I expected,” Georgia admitted wryly, resting her head on the table. Truth be told, even Harry could admit he might spend this time more productively, a mindstream already working through various runic calculations he needed for tomorrow’s class.  

“Give it some time, if this is an experiment, I doubt there won’t be anything worthwhile?” Harry encouraged as the professor made a brief tangent onto how the Blizzards of 1407 caused many magical structures to incorporate additional insulation, backtracking on some designs emanating from the ‘Three Hundred Days of Fire’ but only after the subsequent year’s blizzard finally got ministries to lift research on new materials and begin the widespread search, acknowledging this wasn’t a fluke.

“And what if this is precisely that sort of test, to see whether you’re determined to find something that isn’t there? Unwilling to let go of the sunk cost?” Georgia retorted. Harry’s lips pressed together as he considered the possibility. In truth, it wasn’t inconceivable for White to do this, if nothing than to cast doubt within the cadets. 

If this were some grand experiment, then it wouldn’t do for them to all form a long column and huddle along. No, he would want them to diverge and experiment. Let those that may die mark the routes to failure for future generations to come. 

But Harry considered the possibility of this: it was too much, even for the Soviets. From a batch of presumably thousands, they now had less than two hundred. If the survival rates were to be believed, perhaps a hundred might graduate into becoming junior agents of the Soviet Union. 

“And ultimately, during the period of 1815-1816, the collapse of a ley line in the Indonesians led to rapid fluctuations that demonstrated the fragility of ward schemes that were thought previously impervious. What was anticipated to be a long siege of France instead turned into a desperate breakout by Napoleon as infiltrators managed to exploit cracks in the capital’s underground runic netting. This unequivocally destroyed any hopes of reviving dispersed runic array formations for decades to come despite their efficacy in the right conditions.”

As Harry listened along, he contemplated how best to address Georgia’s words, speaking aloud the faint sliver of doubt he himself had. Though he believed there had to be limits to how much White would expend, the folly of dealing with the insane was believing you were able to figure out their boundaries. 

“I suppose…”

Harry hesitated as the instructor briefly pivoted to the topic of imported European architecture into North America and the challenges faced by those near the Mexican border.

“I don’t mind spending some time with you, of course,” Georgia assured, leaning her head on his shoulder. “It feels like we barely talk except in the morning or night anymore.”

“That’s how most married couples, most families are, right?” 

“Precisely why husbands knock up their maids and secretaries while wives cuck them with young lovers and gigolos,” Georgia countered dryly. Harry couldn’t help a faint chuckle at that. His cynicism must be rubbing off onto her. “So keep your eyes on me, alright?” 

“Georgia, you don’t need to worry,” Harry assured, giving her thigh a squeeze, just as the instructor briefly mentioned how the Colonial Period led to a strange intermixing of European architecture designed to impose itself on the surroundings compared to indigenous African designs that were meant to harmonise with it. “I’ll be here for you.”

“I believe you,” she murmured, letting out a yawn. “Thanks.”

“If you’re tired, take a nap. I’ll wake you up if anything interesting happens,” he assured. And though she tried valiantly to stay away, the instructor’s monotonous voice and seemingly nonsensical tangents proved too much, with her light snores gently rippling in his ear, even as Harry continued to pay attention.

“Another important component of magical architecture is the idea of harmony. Much like runic sequences, the ambient magic of magicals over time may affect the dispersion of runic channels and ward structures. This was, historically, one of the reasons that annual gatherings were so important. Particularly, the right to host during equinoxes and other important astrological dates was a demonstration of power.”

A few had actually voluntarily left, even if most of the cadets stayed, albeit asleep or otherwise not paying attention. Harry thought he felt the Instructor’s gaze linger on him from a moment, but it may well have been a trick of the light. 

“Now, in the Soviet Union, due to the lack of heritage, we have been able to implement a clean sheet approach. Predicated on the idea of dominating magical outflow, Western design has been unable to break from the paradigm. Instead, we’ve looked towards combining the optimal elements of various designs.”

It must have been an hour in, with Georgia half-dozing off, when the instructor slammed his foot on the ground, the sound startling many cadets. A few comically shot to their feet. A buzzer appeared in front of them, featuring three orbs. Georgia snapped to attention, looking at Harry in confusion. He was equally confused, taking her hand in his own.

“One of the marks of a good conversationalist is to pay attention to even the most mundane and boring of details. If you get a question wrong, leave the room immediately. First question: Why did the development of chained wardstone schemes falter? Red: Because the fluctuations of ley lines in the Western United States during the First Great Quake demonstrated the fragility of interlinks between runic cores. Yellow: Because the advancement in densification meant that for most practical protected areas, it no longer made sense to disperse the various wardstones, making it easier for security and management. Green: Because the massive eruptions and global cooling in Indonesia demonstrated that the purported benefits of load distribution weren’t actually being realised. Blue: Because the infamous weakening of the Parisian scheme during Napoleon’s return and associated propaganda since then has made the practice largely ignored. If none of the answers are correct, do not put in an option.” 

With little hesitation, Harry put in the blue option, signalling for Georgia to do the same. Around the room, he could see many hesitant guesses, and at least a few not tapping any answer at all. Did they wonder if this was some sort of bluff and that through psychological deduction, not answering at all would somehow give them a pass?

“Alright. If your runic pads glow, you may remain in the room,” the instructor announced. Harry glanced down, seeing his own glow gently, a faint warmth emanating. Around the room, maybe thirty had gotten them right, most undoubtedly through guessing. As the remainder shuffled out of the room, Harry saw one wizard think about arguing before deciding better of it.

What a shame. He’d actually been taking notes.

“Fools, you should never lack an answer. Second question. What was the immediate effect of the Blizzard of 1407? Red: The reintroduction of insulation in homes despite the previous fear of combustibility. Yellow: Research into new insulation materials that would not suffer the same dangers as before. Green: The redevelopment of buildings to incorporate air circulation that kept heat trapped. Blue: The widespread adoption of new ward schemes that modulated temperatures.”

Answering red and signalling Georgia to do the same. About twenty remained.

“Third question. Among the six jewels of Europe, which is the southernmost city that was largely unaffected by the ‘Three Hundred Days’? Red: Bruges. Yellow: Novgorod. Green: Lübeck. Blue: Glasgow.”

Harry hesitated. Not once in his speech were the six jewels ever mentioned. Nor were the individual cities. Perhaps the correct option might be to stay his hand. And yet, what he did know was that the instructor had explicitly said that they must answer.

Ignoring the ‘six jewels of Europe’ for now, he could certainly discount Glasgow. It was hardly a major settlement at that point. It was a guess between thirds: Bruges, Novgorod or Lubeck. Novgorod should be the northernmost of the three, followed by Lubeck and Bruges. Bruges couldn’t be the answer, given the magical settlement had been abandoned from the 1300s as a dead zone and only restored in 1600 after a concerted effort. Lubeck was famous for its medieval charm, which meant it was a good candidate. The only question was whether Novgorod had been destroyed by the city. 

Taking a breath, he placed his answer, signalling for Georgia to do the same. 

“Interesting…I suppose I shall indulge you two,” the Instructor let out a long sigh. Most of the others hadn’t seen fit to answer as their units glowed. The shuffle of feet continued until only the three were left. “We all know you have no idea what’s going on, but I’m curious. Tell me, why did you pick that answer?”

“I based everything on our conversation and made an educated guess,” Harry admitted. “It couldn’t be Bruges, which was a dead zone for several centuries. Nor could it be Glasgow, which was a minor settlement at best. I would have considered not answering, but you mentioned after the first question we were expected to fill an answer.”

“Logical deductions and attentiveness. Very useful, right?” the instructor let out a faint smile, turning to Georgia. “You better pay attention to your companion, girl. It’d do you good to learn a trick or two.”

“You’re not an ordinary agent, are you, sir?” Georgia queried. 

“Indeed. My role is simple: turn what we know into actionable items. From making up a believable cover story, trying to piece together various pieces of intelligence, my job is to make the connections no one else can. You may address me as Chiffchaff.”

“They really like the bird metaphor, don’t they?” Harry pointed out with humour, causing the man to snort in amusement. 

“Do you know the species?”

“Not in particular,” Harry admitted. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re extinct. At least on the magical side. Very useful during the Great War because they could be taught to speak incantations. In the beginning, they were useful as lures and decoys. Then over time, they were used as bombs, repeating incantations that would detonate them and the unlucky people near enough. These days, the only survivors are those that have lost their mutations, now their incantations no longer infused with the energy necessary to activate. No better than a parrot.”

“It’s an interesting choice for a name,” Harry acknowledged. He wondered if this particularly historical titbit was truly just casual conversation. “But I’m curious why someone of your abilities is here teaching. I imagine your time must be very valuable.”

“Time…it’s always fascinating to me how there are years that pass in the blink, and yet moments that can stretch for an eternity. Precious moments that shape each of us, our unique perspectives, our lot in life. When the General first decided to invest so many resources in the Vault program, I admit my skepticism. Unless raised from birth, unless each embryo was genetically modified, could any experiment truly guarantee its results? For years, there were none. Unfathomable amount of time and resources poured into the project. Until two decades ago…the first true success. Raven.”

Chiffchaff took a long breath, as though taking a drag from some invisible cigar. 

“In ten years, he achieved what hundreds of agents in the past could never dream of. The Crimson Shadow, they whispered. Nothing unknown to him. Nobody untouchable to him. The vast intelligence network we had cultivated finally put to full use. The final piece to the puzzle.”

“And yet he’s dead,” Harry pointed out dryly, ignoring Georgia’s stiffening. The Instructor gave him an appraising look, taking another deep breath before nodding.

“Yes, dead.” Perhaps it was the flicker of hesitation. Perhaps just the mechanical response. But Harry felt as though there was more that he had yet to unravel. 

But all in good time. 

“Naturally, there were endless debates on how best to proceed. The attempts at cloning failed utterly, creating mindless mutants that had to be put down. No other agent could hope to match his lethality: a combination of talent, intelligence, ruthlessness, cunning and charisma. And so the quest to raise a new Raven began.”

“You believe Harry is a candidate,” Georgia pointed out, causing the man to chuckle, nodding.

“Not completely witless, I see. Make no mistake, you’re hopelessly behind already. But if anyone has a chance…I suppose you’re as good a bet as any. So try not to disappoint.” 

--Break--

“Everyone, how are you all finding the material?” Harry called out. Despite being fifteen minutes early, he was the last of the eight remaining to show up. Though no one spoke up, everyone already knew that the workload was all but impossible to manage. But of course, no one wanted to be the first to speak up. “It’s impossible to keep up. Let’s acknowledge it.”

And it truly was. It wasn’t a matter of talent. Even if one could pick up on the content at a glance, there was physically too much material they were expected to cover. At one page a second, without sleep, they would only be half of the way through reviewing all of the material expected of them this week. 

To put it bluntly, they were being asked of the impossible. And while it may be the case that their grades would be ‘curved’ so that a certain number of them passed regardless, that didn’t make sense for two reasons: First, having more runic researchers at this scale was ideal for the Soviets, who had to contend with hundreds of different runic languages. Cultivating more researchers meant that each could specialise, and that they might build redundancy; Second, that even those weaker in ability could nevertheless offload more menial computations, freeing up others to do more work. Particularly given the current style of lectures, having one student or a hundred made little difference.

And thus, Harry had to wonder what the goal of this exam was. 

For their assessment, the criteria was simple: create the same output sequence in three root runic languages. No quotas, no restrictions, nothing beyond the fact that the task had to be achieved. 

And thus, came to the crux of Harry’s hypothesis: each instructor was a representative from their own factions to assess the candidates they needed. For someone like Chiffchaff, perhaps he didn’t face any urgent talent requisition needs. In wanded combat, they were looking for those with the ability to quickly specialise into a particular niche of spells. Georgia had mentioned that in swordfighting, the goal seemed to be versatile candidates handling multiple types of blades, while healing was focused on those who had the requisite stomach to deal with situations with ruthless calculation, knowing the cost of each potion and the value of each life.

And thus, the question of survival became meeting the needs of their instructors. What would a runes research division in the Soviet Union need?

Researchers, yes. But more than that, those who would collaborate. Who would take their own piece and contribute to a wider whole. And what better way to see if new cadets could assimilate to such a situation by breaking down a clearly impossible task, placing their trust in each other? 

“If we continue as we do now, none of us will pass. It’s mathematically impossible, and you’d either rely on prior knowledge of sheer coincidence. But that isn’t replicable: you pass this month. What about the next?” Harry called out.

“Then what are we supposed to do? Give up?” the pudgy boy let out a long groan. “Most of us are good at this field. We’re screwed trying to go into any other.”

“Speak for yours-” 

“There is a way to get through this. For all of us to get through this,” Harry asserted, cutting through the imminent biting remarks of several others. There was no time for pride. “We have to divide up the parts and share the key points. We need to prioritise only the essential knowledge and filter out the rest. That’s the only way any of us can succeed.”

“And what do you get out of this?” one of the cadets called out. It wasn’t a bad question.

“Another path to the quota. I am confident I can achieve a slot in another program, yes. But having another option is never a bad thing,” Harry pointed out. The other cadets glanced at each other uneasily, not out of a sense of unity but rather to gauge the mood of the room. “There are nine of us here. If we divide the work up by roughly equal chunks, then we should be able to manage.”  

“How about ten?” a voice called out, the witch who had left in the first session returning. “I thought something was different about you. It seems I was right.”

“The more people, the better,” Harry acknowledged, though the others were clearly unsure. Harry contemplated how best to resolve this dilemma: it was always a trust issue. For those who had other avenues, going all-in on this was never going to work. 

“What guarantee do we have that she won’t just leave again?”

“Because the fact that I am here means I am spending time on this. Time not going into refining my other skills.”

“If it is a trust problem, perhaps we should build redundancy into our system,” Harry acknowledged, cutting in right before the next retort. Stopping the conversation at this point allowed her somewhat emotional appeal to linger uncontested. “Instead of ten parts, let’s split the work into five. Everyone takes two parts. That way, if someone falls sick or the like, we’re still able to manage. It will mean more work.”

“That’s agreeable,” she acknowledged. Several others nodded their heads, a new consensus forming. 

“Well that’s good. On the bright side, doing this early means we’re less behind. Let’s divide up the sections now. We should split across the root languages, though someone will have to take the universal sections, does anyone have a preference?”

“You can discuss that later. It seems that you’re all more confident,” Rook mused, seeming rather nonchalant as he entered the room. Again, Harry was taken off guard by the fact he hadn’t felt the instructor’s presence at all. “And even managed to bring back a runner. Regardless, let’s begin with introductory arithmancy.”

The blackboards began to fill up with complex equations.

“Magical numbers form the core of runic principles, regardless whether they are phonetic or pictographic. Chinese and its subset runic languages are principled on the number three. A small number that is remarkably stable and easy to converge magic into, but lacks the strength and flexibility of larger numbers. This is made up for with complexity in the runes itself, lending well to the sheer variety enabled through pictographic runes. Someone adept at runes in the Anglo-Saxon set might know three to four hundred runes. Someone in the Persian set eight hundred. For Chinese, that range would be three thousand, at least. 

By comparison, Anglo-Saxon runes are predicated on the number twenty seven, or better known as three-nines. This high number of synapses means that a lot of power can be channelled through the runes, brute forcing them. The margin of error in carving is also notably higher. There are, however, disadvantages. The efficiency will be lower even with a comparably attuned set of runes compared to a Chinese set. The minimum magical ambiance required to power this also is significantly higher. While this wasn’t a problem because of advancements in runic stone farming originating in the fourth century, it lacks any meaningful versatility when carving, limiting its use in non-traditional shapes such as weapon enhancement. Thus, complex weapon runic enhancements are rarely achieved. 

Persian runes use the number seven, perhaps the most famous magical number today due to its prevalence in mythology. It is a good balance between the two aforementioned root languages. There are thousands of subset languages under the Persian branches, each with a different balance of advantages.”

Harry raised his hand, causing the professor to acknowledge with a nod.

“Has the Soviet system created its own runic system?”

“What a…pertinent question,” Rook smiled faintly. The expression was rather foreign, as though he hadn’t smiled for so long that the instructor’s body could only manage an imitation. “Naturally, the most common example of a modern language is that of the Chinese Communists. They have built a mythos on rejecting history and making their own destiny.”

Rook let out a snort. “Hogwash. The truth was that they needed to quickly pump out adequate runesmiths to build any level of defence against raids from the Nationalist mages. They nearly torched Beijing to the ground, and raids continued well into the sixties. The so-called ‘New Runes’ are, in fact, bastardised versions of old Chinese runes. Drawing on the same heritage, but simplified to reduce the complexity of quick education. The reality is that heritage is the single most important component.”

He paused, meeting each of the cadets by the eye. “If you tell me why, I might consider giving a hint for the examination.”

Glancing around to see the others hesitating, Harry raised his hand. He was surprised to see that the purple haired witch had also raised her hand. 

“Interesting…two contestants. Let’s make this interesting, shall we? Whoever gives the better answer will be given a single free pass for any future monthly test of their choosing.” Harry’s eyes widened as he quickly realised the intention of the instructor. Seeing their fragile unity, the goal was now to sow conflict and distrust. Which meant that he had been on the right track.

“And the loser?” she queried.

“No punishment, just for my own satisfaction. Since you’ve got some experience in the subject, why don’t you go first?” the instructor gestured for her to start. 

“But…”

“If she prefers, I don’t mind going first,” Harry pointed out amusedly, causing Rook to let out a cold snort. 

“I am testing her knowledge. But I want to test your insight. And the more she can list out, the less you can rely simply on knowledge and more on that vaunted ingenuity.” In one sentence, he’d shut Harry’s suggestion down and not so subtly shouted the winning strategy to the witch. Rather blatant, though Harry did enjoy a challenge. 

“Well, then I hope you’ll forgive me for not going easy on you,” she shrugged. “There are multiple perspectives to this. At a high level, you might consider that of all those who have experimented, the most successful runic languages are the ones that will naturally survive, weeding out the rest. With so much computation, it isn’t possible for you to begin to scratch the surface of all the variables. Thus, it’s better to follow those who have succeeded.

In terms of interoperability and collaboration, following a known runic school means you can take advantage of new advancements. Because there are so many variables, it’s nearly impossible for anyone but teams of researchers working together to figure out anything. Those teams are usually only funded by ministries or wealthy patrons, and those tend to congregate around existing runic languages. If you try and create things from scratch, you either have to create every component: runes, bridges, carving techniques, all of it, or you end up taking a collage of existing materials, often riddled with contradictions.

And finally, there’s the fact that runes are inherently already infinitely flexible. There’s very little in the way of massive innovations that can be found because whether you want raw magical throughput or granular precision, there are already runic sequences and methods in every language to handle it. If you know several languages, that’s even less of a reason. Doing so would be nothing more than an ego trip. If you want to hide your intentions, you can always employ various traps and tricks to secure your runes. Trying to create something new merely shows inadequacy in that regard.”

“You’re rather comprehensive,” Harry acknowledged, a bit of humour in his voice. The witch let out an amused snort.

“I don’t like taking chances. As with runes, you have to be thorough. Well, anything to add?”

He might have considered letting her win, giving her the spotlight. It would be good to divert some of the attention. If she had been any more conciliatory, given him a graceful way to bow out, perhaps he’d have conceded.

Or perhaps, that was a lie. 

“Just one thing: why the heritage is important,” Harry answered dryly. Rook’s eyes shone with interest as the witch frowned at him. “Magic is foremost, the manifestation of will. Collective belief. Though in small ways, each added believer manifests just a tiny etch into the fabric of reality, hundreds of millions throughout the ages pooling a part of themselves into magic. Micro-optimisations can be useful in a physical sense. But the reality of magic is dependent, foremost on belief. Conviction and will. By building on the legacy of what came before, we take advantage of that. And when an opponent sees your runes, they inadvertently contribute just that tiny bit to its nature, its power. Isn’t that beautiful?”

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” Rook rubbed his chin thoughtfully, turning to the witch. “Do you think you won?”

“I can lie to others, but I admit my defeat in this. Though detailed, I can’t accuse you of being deliberately verbose. Nor can I accuse you of bad faith.”   

“You concede? How…interesting, Vitali.”

“Survival alone isn’t victory, instructor. True victory can only be achieved through genuine superiority. And failure to acknowledge defeat is nothing more than blind hubris. I’m confident enough in my abilities to pass. Nor would forcing through an unearned reward here be a conducive environment for what is needed for us to succeed.” She stepped towards him, extending her hand out. “Harry, was it? Rosalyn. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Harry, let’s get along well, Rosalyn,” he returned, meeting her handshake.