Chapter 85: The Voice of the Founder
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 85: The Voice of the Founder
Harry stared at his grandfather, the question hanging in the air between them.
"Have you tried speaking to the grimoire?"
He thought back to the first time he had encountered the ancient book. It had been in the Potter vault at Gringotts, resting on a small pedestal as if it had been waiting for him.
The moment he touched it, it had vanished into his chest, bonding with him in a way he still didn't fully understand.
He remembered the first time he had summoned it. He had been in his bedroom at the Dursleys' house, during the summer before his first year at Hogwarts.
He had known instinctively how to call the book forth, but when he tried to open it, the pages refused to part. The grimoire had spoken to him then, its voice sounding dry and ancient.
"So. A new Potter, at last."
He had been terrified at the time. But the grimoire had been patient with him, explaining that he needed to develop his magical core properly before he could learn anything from it. It had even suggested some books on the topic...that was how he had found Morgana's treatise on magical cores.
The next time he spoke to the grimoire was months later, when he needed to learn the Deep-Water Draught to access the Black Lake cave. The grimoire had provided the recipe, and Harry had used it, with Daphne's help, to find Alistair Parkinson's body.
And then there was the Verbero spell...the foundation spell that had become his most trusted combat magic. The grimoire had taught him that too.
But after that first year, after he had learned the Verbero and mastered the basics, he had stopped speaking to the grimoire. He had treated it like a textbook, a tool to be used, not a companion to be consulted.
"I did try to speak to it," Harry said slowly. "But then I stopped in my second year. Dumbledore was always watching my every move, so I didn't have many chances to practice alone. Did I do something wrong?"
Fleamont shook his head, his expression thoughtful. "No, my boy. You did nothing wrong. You were left with no guidance during your first years of magical education. You had to figure everything out on your own."
Harry nodded, a pang of sadness in his chest.
"I wish I had been there for you, Harry," Fleamont said. "If I had been there, I could have told you about the true nature of the grimoire."
"True nature?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"
Fleamont's expression turned serious. "Harry, do you know how living magical artifacts are created?"
For some reason, the question sent a chill down Harry's spine. "I do not."
Fleamont gestured to his own portrait. "This painting here is called a living portrait, but that name is a lie. This enchanted portrait only contains some of the memories of the person known as Fleamont Potter had when he was alive. This is not a living artifact because it does not contain the essence of the living. It is only something that pretends to be."
Harry nodded slowly. He had always known that the portraits weren't truly alive.
"However," Fleamont continued, "out there in the world, there are some artifacts that truly contain life. The Sorting Hat used at Hogwarts is one example of this."
Harry blinked. "The Sorting Hat?"
Fleamont nodded. "There are very few such artifacts in the whole world. This is because creating one is very difficult. Not just because the ingredients are rare, but because the process often ends in failure. You see... most human beings can never adapt to exist as objects."
Harry's eyes widened. "You mean to say that the grimoire was a person? Like... a real human being?"
Fleamont's expression was heavy with ancient sorrow. "Not just any person, Harry. The Potter Grimoire wasn't merely created by the Founder of the Potter House... the Grimoire IS the Potter Founder himself."
Harry felt the world shift beneath him. "What?!"
Fleamont leaned back, his painted eyes filled with a mixture of pride and grief. "At the end of his life, the Founder of our house did not simply pass away. He chose to give his own soul and life essence to create the Potter Grimoire. He wanted to ensure that the knowledge of the Potter House would be preserved forever, that future generations would always have access to the wisdom of their ancestors."
Harry's mind was reeling. "He... he gave his soul?"
"His soul, his magic, his very being," Fleamont confirmed. "He became the grimoire. That is why it chose you, Harry. That is why it bonded with you. It recognized you as the last of its line and someone worthy of carrying that long legacy."
Harry touched his chest, feeling the warm pulse of the grimoire within him. "I never knew. I had no idea."
"Not every Potter learns this secret. It's only meant for those chosen by the grimoire... by the Founder of our house," Fleamont said. "It is a secret that has been passed down through the generations, known only to the few selected individuals like yourself. Your father never learned about it, because he was lost to Dumbledore. He was never considered worthy of carrying the legacy of the grimoire because of his dark nature."
Harry felt a surge of anger at his father, but also a deep sadness. "What kind of person was he? The Founder?"
Fleamont's eyes gleamed with pride. "Well... for what little pieces of knowledge left behind from that distant era... all I can say is that he was the most exceptional wizard the world had ever seen at the time. Someone to be compared with the likes of Merlin, Morgana le Fay, and other legendary figures. He was a warrior, a scholar, a leader. He built this castle. He established the legacy that has lasted for thousands of years."
Harry felt a strange sense of awe. He had always known that the Potter family had a long history, but he had never truly understood how deep it went. "What was his name?"
Fleamont smiled sadly. "His name is known to very few. But you, as the last heir, deserve to know it. His name was Aldric Potter."
Harry repeated the name silently, letting it settle in his mind. Aldric Potter. The Founder. The man who had given everything for his family.
"Thank you, Grandfather," Harry said quietly. "I will not forget this."
<><>
Later that night, Harry sat alone in his bedroom.
The castle was quiet, the only sounds the soft crackle of the fire and the distant sigh of the wind outside. Harry stared at the ceiling, his mind still reeling from the conversation with his grandfather.
The Founder had given his soul to create the grimoire. He had become the book, binding his essence to it so that future generations could benefit from his wisdom. It was an act of sacrifice beyond anything Harry had ever imagined.
He touched his chest, feeling the warm pulse of the grimoire within him. He could never have imagined that the ancient book held such a secret.
The Founder of the Potter House had not only built this castle and begun a legacy that would last for thousands of years, but at the end of his life, he had also given his own soul and life essence to create the Potter Grimoire.
'What kind of person does that?' Harry wondered. 'What kind of love drives someone to sacrifice everything for their descendants?'
He thought about his grandfather's words. The grimoire was much more than just a recording device. It could be used in other ways, but Fleamont had told him that this was something he needed to discover for himself.
'He gave his soul to protect his legacy. To protect his family. That's what I need to do too.'
Harry extended his hand and willed the grimoire to appear.
The book manifested, floating before him. Its dark purple leather cover gleamed in the firelight, and the symbol of the cloaked stag seemed to pulse with a faint, golden light.
Harry stared at it, his heart pounding. He recalled what he had asked his grandfather. "What was the Founder's name?"
His grandfather's words echoed in his mind. "His name was..."
Harry took a deep breath and spoke the name aloud. "Aldric Potter, I wish to speak with you."
The grimoire reacted instantly.
The book flew open, its pages turning wildly, and a burst of golden light erupted from its centre. Harry felt himself being pulled forward, his mind ripped from his body, drawn into the depths of the ancient tome.
And then he was somewhere else.
Harry opened his eyes and gasped.
He was standing in a vast, endless library.
The ceiling soared high above him, lost in shadow. Shelves stretched in every direction, filled with thousands upon thousands of books.
Some were ancient and crumbling; others gleamed with newness.
There was a golden light that emanated from nowhere and everywhere, casting a warm, ethereal glow across the entire space.
The floor was made of polished marble, inlaid with the symbol of the cloaked stag. The air was still and silent, filled with the faint scent of old parchment and magic.
Harry turned slowly, taking it all in. This place was impossible. It shouldn't exist. And yet, here he was.
"Welcome, Harry."
The voice was deep and ancient, resonating with the weight of centuries.
Harry spun around.
A tall man stood before him, dressed in deep blue robes that seemed to shimmer with stars. A pointed wizard hat sat on his head, and his long white hair and beard flowed like silver rivers. His eyes were kind but piercing, filled with a wisdom that seemed to see straight through Harry's soul.
Harry had never seen this man before. But he knew, with absolute certainty, who he was.
"You are..." Harry's voice caught in his throat. "You are the Founder."
The man gave him a warm, gentle smile. "I am Aldric Potter. And you, Harry, are the last of my line."
Harry felt a bit emotional. "I... I don't know what to say. I didn't know you existed. I didn't know any of this."
Aldric stepped closer, his robes flowing behind him. "There is much you do not know, Harry. But you are here now. That is what matters."
He gestured to the endless shelves around them. "This is the grimoire's true form. The knowledge of our family, accumulated over millennia, preserved for those who are worthy. You have been chosen, Harry. Chosen to carry our legacy forward."
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