“Oh, Harry, you think of me as a parental figure? I thought you smarter than this, Apprentice.”
Harry did his best to school his features, to show no weakness, but his teacher, his Master of many years, the closest thing- as always, read his emotions as if he was screaming them.
The Wizard Marshall frowned disapprovingly, “I tolerated your...emotional weakness before due to your youth, Harry, but now you are of age, if you truly want to become a Magus of power, then you must divest yourself of these, they will only bring you down, make you weaker, and no Apprentice of mine will be weak, are we clear?”
His Master’s tone was absolute, the same one he used in his authority over the Association, especially with unruly Magi.
Harry merely nodded, his expression blank, even his eyes, normally bright green, were dull.
“Good, it won’t do to let such emotional attachments get in the way of your training, you have the potential to be an exceptional Magus, to unlock the secrets of True Magic, you’ve let those dalliances with the Edelfelt girl make you fall behind, letting her use you,” he snorted,” and don’t rest on your laurels winning that little war of the Wizards, they won’t carry you through your stay here in the Clock Tower. Neither will your ancestor’s Noble Phantasms.”
The man who raised him from when he was seven fixed him with a disappointed gaze, “At your age, I expected more of you.”
There was a moment of silence, another test, Harry was sure, to see if he would let his emotions get the better of him, he didn’t, hadn’t in many years, but his Master still tested him.
“Remember our ways, Dismissed.”
Harry bowed stiffly, turned on his heel, his Cloak billowing behind him, and left the room, the door opening and closing without him touching it.
He never saw the quickly suppressed flash of emotion in his mentor’s eyes, nor the way he glanced at his jeweled sword.
Fleur Delacour, of the Delacour Magus family, saw her friend Harry leaving the Wizard Marshal’s room in a dark mood, she could tell from his gait alone.
She pursed her lips, missing the carefree and gentle boy that had helped her long ago, always with a smile and kind words, now, he was...different, had been ever since officially joining the Clock Tower.
She blamed the Marshall, the man was never satisfied with what Harry did, the fact he was considered a genius didn’t seem to satisfy the man, nor even Harry being the closest thing to a Third Magician in millennia.
She closed her fists, she wished she could help him, be closer to him, but she was too reluctant, too timid, she lost her opportunity before Luvia got her claws on him.
She closed her eyes, not seeing Harry raise the hood of his Cloak and disappear, how she regretted not being more forward, not having the courage to confess, and now he was distant, and alone, his breakup with that girl having destroyed half their dormitory before he scared her(and the students there) into submission with a glare and magic pressure alone.
“Oh, ‘Arry”, she would talk to him, help him no matter what.
Harry closed the door to his room with a bang, spells activating to muffle any sound.
He sat down in his bed, hating the tip-tap sound of his tears hitting the ground.
Ever since he joined this stupid Clock Tower, no matter what he did, his Mentor was never satisfied, his greatest achievements, far more than any student in the last few centuries, earned him mere nods, as if it was expected of him, to rediscover and adapt mysteries from the Age of the Gods, to adapt Wizard magic to Magi, to defeat every other student.
What more could he do? At 17, he had gone through education at Hogwarts, finishing before most, he defeated the Lich that had murdered his parents when he was 14, the man being dumb enough to start a necromantic ritual while Harry was conscious and able to speak, his followers took some months, but they fell too, Wizards too focused on their narrow ideas of magic, most of them never wanting to delve deep.
But not Harry, he had tamed a Phantasmal Beast, killed Demons, and even killed government officials without being discovered, all this before reaching 15.
His Master had recognized him then, laughed at his adventures, nudged him here and there, he was that old man that had rescued that lonely, mistreated seven-year-old boy from an abusive home to show him a world of magic and wonder.
A boy that had, stupidly, believed he was thought of as something more than another Apprentice, another source of entertainment, another experiment.
Harry hated himself at that moment, hated his weakness, his tears, and even hated his cold Master.
But hatred rarely helped him, nor did getting angry, he had learned that young.
Yet, despite all his training, it was hard not to.
He took deep breaths, his left hand going to rub a ring on his right one, with a black stone, marked with the crest of his ancestors, the Peverells.
The cold stone brought some comfort to him as he calmed himself.
He smiled wryly, all these years and his temper still got the better of him, even if he was able to hide it.
How could he show his Master that he deserved to be there, that he deserved recognition, even praise, and maybe even…
He closed his eyes again and cursed lowly.
What a stupid dream, Potter, your parents are gone, have been for sixteen years and there is nothing you could…
Harry would never know why, but his gaze went to the report on his table, one he had gotten more out of curiosity, using his position as Zelretchs’ Apprentice to circumvent standard clearance.
The Disaster of the Fourth Fuyuki Grail War, and the approach of the Fifth
A dry read, the man’s text made what should be an interesting event, boring.
But the preface about the Grail System, and how the Wars worked, was interesting.
Yes, Harry knew his Master had worked on it, for curiosity and fun, he suspected.
A massive reservoir of prana, that under the right conditions and ritual could grant any wish, using the knowledge of the user, but still…
Harry glanced at his ring, and then at a moving picture on his desk, showing a beautiful redheaded woman and a hazel-haired man, smiling and waving with a baby boy between them.
Harry smiled, he knew what he would do, he knew enough of the Third Magic, and others, to do it, he only needed the right instrument.
Well, at least this time, he would be entering into a Magic Competition involving a Cup(figuratively), willingly, and he had always wanted to go to Japan.
The cave that housed the Greater Grail, or at least, access to it, was heavily shielded, it’s protections designed to prevent any tempering of it.
A green magic circle appeared on the ground, a small tornado of wind blowing around it, in a flash of light, a young man appeared on the center of it, a silver cloak on his shoulders and a satisfied smile on his face.
Harry stepped out of the circle, a gesture of his hand making it disappear as if it had never been there, he approached the walls, another gesture and a sphere of light materialized above his head, illuminating the cave.
“Of course you would have an entrance just for you, Old Man.”
Harry raised his arms, as if he was about to conduct an orchestra, magic circuits covered his hands and face when he fully extended his fingers, and the cave’s walls lit up in front of him, runes, sygils, and formalcraft glowing in various colors, their light making his sphere redundant.
Harry glanced at it, eyes glowing as he used his skills to analyze the magical configurations and patterns of the Grail system.
It was marvelous, among the most complex works of magic, probably since the Age of the Gods.
The Einzbern didn’t have the full dominion of the Third Magic, at least not when making this, but they adapted and organized things in such a way that it fit, like pieces of a puzzle, he wondered how many times they had to try and redo things, until it worked.
With a gesture of his right hand a formalcraft circle appeared in front of him, runes and script scrolling inside it, Harry managed to access what he could call the Grails’ logs. He frowned, he couldn’t read too much, but he could get that the Masters of this War had already been chosen, and he doubted he would be lucky that this one would be inconclusive, and thus that the next one would start in only a decade, instead of six as was the norm.
No, he wouldn’t let himself be stopped here, he had risked too much already by coming here.
Obviously, even with the access he had now, he couldn’t make himself the winner, not only would the ritual be incomplete, but he wasn’t even a Master, but he had other ideas.
Harry glanced at the walls again, he stayed there for hours looking at them, reading, thinking before a smile spread on his face, and he snorted.
“I never thought I would thank Barty Jr. for an idea.”
It would be tricky, and risky, but he could do it.
With a movement of his wrist, a notched Wand came to his hand, Harry closed his eyes and focused his magic, the crescendo of it generating a small breeze in the cave, and his eyes glowed, even his Cloak changed from silver-grey, to look as if it was made of Starlight.
“Elder Wand, Wand of Destiny” he chanted.
Harry waved his wand and hand around, magic script and formalcraft coming to life around him, and sections of the script on the wall began flashing quickly, before they began to glow in various intervals, the colors of the rainbow illuminating the cave.
Harry had a slight sheen of sweat on him when he finished, having to almost hold himself to the wall so he would not fall.
Not wanting to waste any time, the War had already started, for all he knew, Harry stored his wand and with a few gestures, a Servant summoning circle appeared on the ground.
Harry began chanting, not being able to contain his desire to impress his Master while he did so.
“Let silver and steel be the essence…”
Harry could feel the crescendo of Magic coming from it, the forces beyond his ken, why, even the Grail, working to make it work.
And thus, as he ended the chant, the circle shone brightly, the red light enough to make him close his eyes.
And a figure began forming, along with the smile on Harry’s face.
Silver armor took form, kind of bulky, a large sword, point down on the ground, good, a Saber.
As the light dimmed, Harry could see teal eyes, and blond hair in a ponytail, with a cocky smile that already endeared the Servant, her, to him. The summoning was complete, and the figure became clear.
‘Pretty’ he thought, but in a more wild way, the young woman spoke then, and Harry found her accent interesting.
“I am Mordred, the one and true heir of Arthur Pendragon” What? Mordred was a girl? Had he done something wrong? “So I ask of you” the corner of her mouth raised and her teal eyes shone, “Are you, my Master?”
He was very, very lucky, his Master had let him look into his notes on the Eizbern methods all those years ago.
But it was done, Harry laughed as he felt the Command Seals burn into his skin, he felt excited, even.
Fleur Delacour walked into Fuyuki, her extremely developed magical senses already pinpointing several discrepancies, beyond the presence of Heroic Spirits. Something was terribly wrong here.
“‘Arry, what have you gotten yourself into, mon ami?”