Chapter 84: The Ancestor’s Wisdom
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 84: The Ancestor's Wisdom
The early-morning light filtered through the tall windows of the Potter Castle as Harry walked briskly through its corridors.
The castle was particularly peaceful at this hour, the only sounds the distant chirping of birds and the soft crackle of the fires that burned in every hearth.
The ancient stone walls seemed to hum with a quiet, ancient magic, as if the castle itself was breathing, waiting, watching over its last heir.
Harry had made a habit of visiting his grandparents' portraits every morning. It had become a ritual, a way to start his day by connecting with the family he had never known. Today, however, he had a specific purpose in mind.
He entered the study and approached the two large portraits that hung on the far wall. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter were already awake, their painted eyes turning towards him with warm smiles.
"Good morning, Harry," Euphemia said, her voice soft and gentle. "You're up early again. Did you sleep well?"
Harry smiled. "Better than I used to, Grandmother. The castle is so quiet. It's easy to rest here."
"I'm glad to hear, my dear." Euphemia smiled gently.
Fleamont leaned forward in his frame and glanced at him with his sharp, assessing eyes before speaking. "And your training? How is that progressing? Have you learned anything new already?"
Harry's expression turned thoughtful. "It's going well, for the most part. I've been working on three spells from the grimoire. One combat spell, one defensive spell, and one utility spell. I've made progress, but..." He hesitated. "One of them is giving me trouble. The Gladius Incendia. I can summon a blade of fire, but I can't sustain it for long. It keeps flickering out, and I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong."
Fleamont nodded slowly. "I see... You are learning that one. The Fire Blade Charm is a difficult spell. It requires not just magical power, but a certain mindset. You have to be willing to commit fully to the strike."
Harry frowned. "I've been trying. I've been practicing for hours every day. I've gone through the incantation hundreds of times. I've visualised the blade forming. But it just won't hold."
Euphemia's voice was gentle. "Sometimes, Harry, the answer is not in the practice room. Sometimes, you need to seek the wisdom of those who came before you."
Harry looked at her. "You mean that I should speak with the other portraits."
She nodded.
"Dibble told me the same thing yesterday. Actually... that's what I wanted to talk to you about," said Harry.
"Mmm? What do you wish to ask?" Fleamont said.
Harry continued. "The castle is filled with enchanted paintings. Portraits of every Potter who has ever lived. They contain centuries of knowledge, accumulated by our family over generations. Dibble told me that they have been waiting for the day when the last heir of the Potter house would come home."
"That is true." Euphemia nodded. "This is why those enchanted portraits exist in the first place. To guide future generations. That's how the Potter House always did things."
"Yes," Fleamont agreed. "Since the day of our Founder, the Potter House has valued legacy over everything else. Our ancestors understood that knowledge was the greatest gift they could leave behind."
Harry felt a surge of excitement. "So... which one should I start with? Who would be the best to consult about combat spells? There are so many of them."
Fleamont stroked his beard thoughtfully. "There are several ancestors who dedicated themselves to the art of battle. Sir Aldric Potter, the First Knight of the Order of the Lion, is an obvious choice. He was a master of offensive magic and led our family's forces in the great wars of the twelfth century. There is also Lady Isolde Potter, who was a renowned duelist in her time. She never lost a single duel in her entire life... over 200 victories. And Lord Percival Potter, who wrote extensively on defensive magic. He was a scholar and a warrior, a rare combination. You will find them all in the East Wing. But you can also tell Dibble to guide you to them."
Harry nodded, committing the names to memory. "Thank you, Grandfather. I'll speak with them today."
Euphemia smiled warmly. "They will be honoured to help you, Harry. You are the last of our line. They will do everything they can to prepare you for what lies ahead."
<><>
Harry spent the next several hours in the portrait gallery.
The East Wing was a long, sunlit corridor lined with paintings of Potters from centuries past.
Their painted eyes followed him as he walked, and he could feel their curiosity and approval radiating from the frames. Some smiled. Others nodded.
A few whispered to each other, their voices barely audible.
He began with Sir Aldric Potter, the stern-faced warrior who had been the first to greet him. The old knight was gruff but patient, explaining the nuances of combat magic with the clarity of someone who had spent a lifetime on the battlefield.
"Your form is too rigid, boy," Sir Aldric said, his painted eyes sharp. "The Fire Blade is not a weapon you swing. It is a weapon you guide. You must move with it, not against it. Watch me."
The portrait demonstrated, its painted hand moving in a graceful arc. A blade of golden fire erupted from its wand, burning steadily, perfectly controlled.
Harry listened carefully, absorbing every word. He practiced the movements in front of the portrait, adjusting his stance, his grip, his breathing. Sir Aldric watched him closely, offering corrections and encouragement.
"Better," the knight said after several attempts. "But your grip is still too tight. Loosen your wrist. Let the blade flow."
Harry adjusted his grip and tried again. This time, the flame lasted a few seconds longer before flickering out.
"Progress," Sir Aldric said, a hint of approval in his voice. "You will get there, boy. Just keep practicing. Remember...the blade is an extension of your will, not a separate object. You must become one with it."
Then he moved on to Lady Isolde Potter, a fierce-looking woman with silver hair and a scar across her cheek. She taught him about timing and precision, about the importance of knowing when to strike and when to hold back.
"The Fire Blade is a powerful weapon but a dangerous one as well," she said. "Because when you use it, you are leaving yourself open for a counterattack. You should only use it when you have no other choice. But when you do use it, you must commit fully. Hesitation will destroy you. Remember that."
Harry nodded, absorbing her words. "How do I know when to commit?"
Lady Isolde's eyes gleamed. "You will know. Your instincts will tell you. Trust them. And if you hesitate, do not strike at all. A half-hearted attack is worse than no attack."
Finally, he spoke with Lord Percival Potter, a scholarly-looking man with a kind face and gentle eyes. He had written extensively on defensive magic and was eager to share his knowledge.
"The Eternal Mirror Charm is a beautiful spell," he said. "It requires not just magical power, but a deep understanding of your opponent's intent. You must see the spell coming before it is cast. Only then can you truly reflect it. The more knowledge about magic you have, the more effective this piece of magic will become. So you should never stop studying new things."
Harry spent hours with each of them, asking questions, practicing techniques, absorbing their wisdom.
By the end of the day, his mind was buzzing with new insights and his body ached with exhaustion.
But he also felt much more hopeful.
<><>
The next week passed in a blur of intense training.
Harry rose before dawn and practiced until the stars appeared in the sky. He ate quickly, slept just what was necessary to feel rested, and dreamed of fire and mirrors.
The training was gruelling. His muscles screamed, his mind grew foggy, and there were moments when he wanted to give up. But he pushed through by thinking about his goal. He had to stop Dumbledore, and this was just the first step.
He would wake in the darkness, stumble to the training room, and begin his drills. He would practice the Gladius Incendia until his arm burned, then switch to Speculum Aeternum until his concentration shattered, then fall back on Lux Invisibilis as a way to calm his mind.
By the end of the fifth day, he could summon a blade of fire that burned steadily for over a minute.
He could deflect curses with the Eternal Mirror Charm, sending them back at his enchanted dummies with pinpoint accuracy.
And he could create invisible orbs of light that followed him through the darkest corridors, illuminating his path without alerting anyone to his presence.
He had mastered the three spells.
Harry stood in the training room with a triumphant smile on his face. He had done it, and now he felt much more ready.
He made his way to his grandparents' study with quick steps.
Fleamont and Euphemia were waiting for him, their painted faces warm with pride.
"Grandfather, Grandmother!" Harry exclaimed, bursting through the door. "I did it! I mastered all three spells!"
Fleamont beamed. "I knew you would, my boy. I never doubted you for a moment."
Euphemia looked delighted. "We are so proud of you, Harry. So very proud."
Harry's smile faltered slightly. "But I wish I had more time. There are so many more spells in the grimoire. So much more I want to learn. But the mission is in less than a week, and I've only scratched the surface."
Fleamont nodded thoughtfully. "Of course. The grimoire contains a vast amount of knowledge. One must study its contents carefully."
"I know," Harry said, his voice tinged with frustration. "But it feels like I'm running out of time. Dumbledore is out there, and he's not going to wait for me to be ready. The Headmaster has been studying magic for many decades, while I have just gotten started. It's not a fair fight..."
Fleamont was silent for a long moment. His painted eyes studied Harry with an intensity that made the boy feel like he was being measured.
"Are you worried about time?" Fleamont asked quietly. "Is that it?"
Harry nodded. "Yes. Magical practice takes a very long time. Even for the first half of the grimoire, I estimated I would need over a hundred years to go through them all."
Fleamont leaned back in his frame, a knowing smile spreading across his face. "I see. So you still haven't discovered how to truly utilise the power of the grimoire."
Harry blinked. "How to truly utilize the power of the grimoire?" He sounded confused.
And now that his grandfather mentioned it, he recalled his conversation with Tom Riddle, who had said something similar.
"Tell me, Harry..." Fleamont leaned closer. "Have you tried speaking to the grimoire?"
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