Chapter 3: For It Is In Passing That We Achieve Immortality…

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, etcetera, etcetera, was currently sitting in his office, contemplating the events that surrounded young mister Potter. Even thirteen years later, it still was painful for Albus to look at Harry, for it was him that condemned the boy to his miserable fate. On the fateful night of Halloween back in 1981, he learned that his old student and latest Dark Lord, Tom Riddle aka Lord Voldemort, has created Horcruxes in his relentless pursuit of immortality. And that the only survivor, Harry Potter, was an unwitting phylactery for his soul shard.

But even after perusing dozens of tomes so Dark that their mere presence caused him to gag in revulsion, he could not find any feasible way to safely extract the shard from the boy without brutally murdering him in the process. And thus Albus could only resign to the inevitable – the prophecy ensured this way that Harry would not be killed by anyone else than Voldemort himself, all the while keeping his ultimate nemesis alive the whole time.

Truth be told, Albus himself understood Tom's aspirations to become immortal more than anyone else did. He was old and nearing his next great adventure, but sometimes he felt that he had not yet accomplished everything he could in this one. In his youth, when he still was Gellert's friend, he accidentally stumbled upon an old book that described something the author called Aura. But it wasn't what captured his attention, but the wise words that the book said were used to unlock the power of Aura. Even to this day, he still cherished these words and, in times of doubt, he repeated them to himself like a prayer.

"For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all. Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee."

Ever since then, he interpreted death as simply another form of immortality he so strived to achieve yet never could. Albus was convinced that the soul, as the author stated, was "infinite in distance and unbound by death", making his theory all the more solid. Besides, wasn't the existence of ghosts yet another confirmation? They were nigh immortal, and even the spells used to banish them only destroyed their ectoplasm, not the soul itself. Eventually, the ghost would reform its body and continue on as if nothing ever happened.

He never understood, however, the part about releasing the soul. It sounded eerily like killing, which Albus never condoned, but something deep down told him he did not have the vital pieces of the puzzle, thus twisting his perception of the phrase.

The man was torn from his musings, however, when one of his sparkly instruments began to shrilly whistle and, seconds later, fell silent and crumbled to dust. To Albus' credit, it took him only two seconds to realise that this was the charm that monitored Harry's well-being, and it crumbling could mean only one thing – the boy was either dying or already dead. And even the tracking charm applied to yet another instrument could not pinpoint his location, the only thing it displayed being "Hogwarts, location undisclosed".

Albus could not remember the last time he had run to the Gryffindor Tower so fast, hoping against hope that Harry was sleeping peacefully in his dorm and that his charms simply malfunctioned. Of course, as it should have been expected, the boy was absent from his bed, and, to add insult to injury, Harry had the Invisibility Cloak, making him nigh untraceable. At least, until the Headmaster could put the new tracking charm on him.

Dumbledore returned to his office and sat back into his chair, closing his eyes and praying that whatever ordeal Harry had found himself in, he would live. For the help is unable to come this time.

Meanwhile, in the Room of Requirement.

A piercing half-wail, half-shriek of pure, unadulterated agony reverberated in the stone chamber within the Room. It was so strong that, had any living being with ears present within, they would have lost their ability to hear forever. One could hear the vocal cords of the screaming boy literally tear themselves out of his throat.

All around him, the room looked like it was engulfed in a natural disaster on par with the most threatening hurricanes ever known. The space around the bed appeared distorted and twisted in a baffling manner, but, astonishingly, the bed and its occupant appeared to be completely undisturbed, save for the screams and occasional discharges of what looked like bright green lightning emanating from Harry's body. But eventually, the hurricane dissipated, as did the green lightning, revealing what was in the very centre.

The lone figure of a young boy was lying on the bed still and silent, not even a breath or heartbeat disrupting the absolute silence. Harry James Potter, age 14, died from the basilisk poison dissolving most of his vital organs. He was so thoroughly dead that even a skilled necromancer would have had a hard time making a functional undead out of his body. And yet… his soul still lived, clinging to life with all of its determination. It was so persistent and powerful, in fact, that it even devoured the lone shard inhabiting Harry's scar, leaving not even a trace of its existence behind, manifesting as a semi-transparent spectre just above Harry's unseeing gaze. And such a strength could not stay unrewarded by the higher powers of the world.

A disembodied chorus of voices spoke from all around Harry, gradually rising in volume.

"For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all. Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee."

And from the darkness, came the light.

Blinding, green light.

Then Harry awakened.

It is certainly an indescribable feeling, Harry silently mused to himself, lying on the soft covers. He could not compare it to anything else he had ever experienced in his life. The closest approximation would have been to one day wake up and find out that you were actually blind your whole life. He felt like he could run dozens of laps around the Black Lake and not break a sweat or take on a mountain troll barehanded.

… Alright, the last one might have been a bit over the top, but nevertheless. Looking at his body, Harry noticed the soft green glow his body seemed to emit unconsciously, and how the colour was eerily similar to that of his own eyes. He remembered that the colour depended on the person and tended to be the one that he or she liked the most, but he certainly didn't remember of the author mentioning the glow to persist for half an hour. Normally, the glow dissipated several seconds after the Aura was unlocked, and only appeared when it was actively used. There were no reasons for it to stay active, right?

But before he could contemplate on that mystery any further, his stomach growled demandingly, eliciting a fiery blush from Harry. He asked the room for some light snacks and proceeded to devour them voraciously, reminding himself of Ron.

After he finally finished eating, he cast a Tempus, only to find out that his wand was responding sluggishly and, dare he say, half-heartedly. It was a novel sensation, and a very unwelcome one, since it meant that he needed a replacement before the day of the First Task, or he would be in some serious trouble. Sure, he now had Aura, but his experience in using it was comparable to a toddler learning to walk. To even have a fighting chance in the tournament he would need time to master his use of Aura both defensively and offensively, as well as learn stronger and more efficient spells.

So, channelling his inner Hermione, he asked the room for a spare piece of parchment and a quill in order to write a list of things he'd need to do before the Task.

First and foremost on his list was to evaluate his newfound Aura as was described in his books: the amount of time one was able to passively hold it before running out, the average damage caused by a standard 9-mm bullet (he replaced that one with a stinging hex as bullets weren't exactly common in Hogwarts), the percentage added to user's physical strength, etcetera. He did not wish to be caught with his figurative pants down, especially when the available information on the limits of Aura was quite scarce compared to the vast ocean of knowledge wizards amassed on magic over centuries.

Second, but no less urgent, was to get himself a new wand. Harry was reasonably sure that Dumbledore, hearing of his predicament, would allow him to come to Ollivander's for a replacement, as well as to get some money from his vault in order to purchase some spellbooks from higher grades.

Third point was as simple as it gets and stemmed from the second – learn spells. Battling a Class XXXX or even XXXXX creature that were so common to appear in previous Tournaments required a firepower that simply wasn't taught to fourth years. These kinds of creatures weren't called wizard-killers for nothing, after all, and Harry refused to become yet another gruesome casualty. He performed a corporeal Patronus at thirteen, for Merlin's sake, it's not like every Hogwarts graduate could do it at seventeen! He could handle some heavier spells.

The rest Harry had left until after the Task as he had enough stuff to do in the two weeks that remained. Mentally pushing the projection of his own soul outwards, he achieved a bright pulsing halo that outlined his skinny body. It was not flame-like, as the book stated most Auras tended to be. Instead it faintly crackled with energy, reminding Harry of an occasional thunderstorm that graced Privet Drive once in a while, only contained and far more dangerous. The comparison brought a smile to Harry's face, as he liked to listen to the thunder booming up in the sky when he was locked in his cupboard.

Distracting himself from these happy thoughts, he concentrated on the task. Asking the Room for a training dummy, he set it to medium-power, stinging hexes only, following the instruction on the back of said dummy. Returning to his previous position, he cast a low-powered stunner at it, forcing it to activate. With a creak of its wooden appendages, the dummy began its relentless onslaught, showering Harry's Aura with spells while he counted how much of them were stopped by the barrier. After ten minutes had passed without any visible strain or crack in the barrier, he sent another stunner, deactivating the wooden soldier. Now, feeling quite more confident in his abilities, he set it to maximum power, changing the preset spell to a stunner as well. Repeating the activation sequence, he crouched a bit, bracing himself for the barrage that was sure to come his way.

And it did not disappoint. To Harry's amazement, a second wand appeared in the dummy's left hand, effectively doubling the speed of its casting. And oh boy, did the fun then begin.

If Harry hadn't had the mind to reinforce his Aura barrier a bit, he would've been blasted off his feet from the sheer power emanating from the stunners splashing themselves harmlessly against the translucent sheen of Aura hanging in mid-air. But even then, the barrier held admirably, beginning to develop hairline cracks only after a minute of the exercise, and failing completely in exactly eight minutes and forty seconds, prompting Harry to hit the deck lest he be struck by what looked like nine full-power stunners.

As the barrier dissolved, so did the dummy deactivate, and the wands disappeared from its grasp. For the next test Harry had the room supply more unarmed dummies, while he was meditating to refill his depleted Aura stores. At the same time he was mentally analysing the previous test. It seemed like he could completely cover himself with Aura, not worrying about spells slipping past his defences and incapacitating him. And it held for quite some time even under such heavy fire, which meant he didn't need to concern himself with it failing in the middle of a battle.

The rest of the tests proved that physical damage was not negated as spells did, only blunted to the point that near-fatal strikes were much more mild and non-threatening, and superficial damage like cuts and bruises didn't even pass through. However, blocking spells proved to be a tiring ordeal, as they drained his Aura pool like leeches, and the more complex the spell was, the more power it took to block it. He wasn't brave enough to test if Aura could dissipate an Unforgivable, like Crucio, but some of the spells he found in the old seventh-year books supplied by the room were far more taxing than the stunners he used for the first test, further cementing in his mind that the best defence in a spell fight was simply not to be there.

Exiting the Room and sealing it behind him, he cast Tempus again, wincing at the amount of force it took to push his magic through the wand. The clock showed half past two in the afternoon, so he went to the Headmaster's office in order to get to the Diagon Alley.

While he was walking there, leaving his legs to do so on autopilot, Harry thought about what he would say to Dumbledore. How would he react? To be honest, he still harboured some bitterness and resentment for the apparent disregard the Headmaster had for his life. But he could also somewhat understand Dumbledore's point and where he was coming from, seeing as he now knew the full contents of the prophecy and the fact he was a living receptacle for a shard of the Dark Lord's soul. There were so many different things that could go wrong and doom the whole country, and Headmaster was trying to keep the whole thing from falling down on their heads. It reminded Harry eerily of a game he used to play at the Dursleys, where you need to dismantle a tower made of wooden bricks piece by piece without the whole tower crashing. Harry himself was quite adept at it, since if the tower falls, it makes a lot of noise. And a lot of noise in the Dursley household meant a harsh beating.

But returning to the topic, Harry had to give the man credit, he was masterfully trying to delay the inevitable coming of Voldemort while also keeping Harry as safe as it was possible. It wasn't the Headmaster's fault the prophecy just seemed to gravitate them to each other.

While musing, he didn't even notice he had arrived to the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office until he literally smacked his face right into it. Idly noting that the pain from such a collision was almost non-existent thanks to his Aura, he began to name every possible confectionery that came to mind. After exhausting his admittedly short list of magical sweets, he moved on to the mundane ones. And, oh joy, he got it right! Muttering "Mars Bars" to the granite guardian and making it slide open, he proceeded to walk on the rotating staircase. Tapping his wand twice on the door and receiving a nearly inaudible "Come in" in return, he twisted the handle and strode in the office.

Everything was almost identical to the last time he was in here, save for the missing memory bowl and a burnt mark on one of the shelves. Even Fawkes was still suspiciously absent from his perch.

When the Headmaster saw who has just came in, he adopted an expression Harry had never seen on his face ever before. It was something of a mix between utter joy, comical disbelief and some other feeling Harry had no hope in recognising. It brought a small smile onto Harry's face as well, despite the fact that this same person plotted his demise at the hands of Voldemort.

"Harry! How overjoyed I am to see you! And, to think of it, this is the first time you had arrived safe and unscathed from your adventures!" said Dumbledore, twinkling his eyes at Harry in a grandfatherly manner. "I dare say that Poppy dearly misses your yearly presence in her humble abode."

Harry snorted in an undignified manner, amused by the Headmaster's antics. "Yes, I think so too, Professor Dumbledore. Last time I was there, Madam Pomfrey threatened to put a plaque above one of the hospital beds to reserve it for me."

"Oh, truly joyful," the man responded, smiling. "However, I sense this isn't a social visit, am I right?"

"Erm, yes. I have just found out that my old wand became… temperamental, shall I say. I'm in dire need of a replacement, and I need to get to the Diagon Alley."

The smile on Dumbledore's face was instantly replaced by a concerned frown.

"Did it? Could you please cast a Lumos for me, Harry?"

He did so readily, waving his wand and making the ball of light on the tip appear with some force. The only indication that the Headmaster noticed something was a minute widening of his eyes, which then narrowed considerably.

"Well, this is certainly a case of a mismatched wand. Though, to be frank, these occurrences, although not as rare, do not usually happen at such a young age."

"But what is the reason for this, Professor?"

"Well, usually it happens because the wizard or witch in question had a, what is it called, midlife crisis? Yes, yes. They are forced to rethink who they are and what priorities they had in their life, leading to their former wands not matching them as perfectly as they did before. It isn't a complete turnaround, so the wands still work, but not as readily and strongly as before. But it begs the question then, just what happened to you, Harry?"

He simply stood there, gazing in the blue orbs of the Headmaster. Seeing nothing but genuine concern for his well-being, Harry slackened his posture a bit and sat in a chair Dumbledore conjured for him beforehand.

"Have you ever heard about a phenomenon called Aura, Professor?"

Dumbledore widened his eyes at what Harry had suddenly said. How did he find out about a branch of magic so esoteric and mysterious that even he hadn't fully understood? The books that mention Aura are one of the most rare, and none to this day had ever manifested it, as the authors seemed to imply. Rumour has it, that Merlin himself was pursuing the knowledge on Aura, and hadn't succeeded. So now, when he was sitting in the same office as the youth who seemingly had the knowledge, Dumbledore couldn't help but be intrigued and excited. Deciding to be honest with Harry on that, he began to speak.

"I… am aware of its existence, but nothing else. It is something that is shrouded in mystery and rumours, with a handful of books mentioning Aura in passing. But none to this day were able to uncover the secrets to manifesting it, I am afraid."

"Then what if I say that I have these secrets? And that I had manifested it myself?"

That phrase was so unexpected and out of the blue that Dumbledore choked on his own breath. Harry, being the most intriguing child, has managed to surprise the Headmaster so many times he had even lost count. And this was perhaps the most surprising.

"Truly? Then you have surpassed Merlin himself who was rumoured to pursue the knowledge about Aura yet failed spectacularly."

Now it was the turn for Harry to choke. Dumbledore grinned, it was so easy.

"Care to share, Harry? I can swear an Unbreakable Vow, if you so desire. From what I have managed to piece together about Aura, it seemed to be a truly powerful ability, am I right?"

"What is an Unbreakable Vow, Professor? I have never heard about it before." said Harry with a slightly puzzled expression.

Dumbledore then briefly explained the procedure and the repercussions of attempting to break the Vow, then they performed it with Dumbledore's wand levitating in the air.

"Well, Professor, as I found out, the Aura is literally the physical manifestation of a person's soul." Harry began explaining, while Dumbledore was layering the strongest privacy charms over the room. "There are three ways to unlock one's Aura. The first one, and consequently the safest, requires for another wielder to unlock it for you while chanting. The chant is long and philosophical, but I think I can recite it pretty easily." He coughed a little and began, "For it is in passing that we achieve immortality…"

Dumbledore literally froze at these words. They were the ones he had read in that book so many years ago! And, as if in a trance, he joined Harry in his recitation. "…Infinite in distance and unbound by death, I release your soul, and by my shoulder, protect thee."

They stared at each other, surprised that the other knew the words. Then Harry broke the silent stalemate and continued his explanation.

"The second one, while a bit more dangerous, is more rewarding in terms of Aura pool and involves a person to push his soul against the 'restraints', which can take a lot of time and can be done alone. The third one is…" Harry fell silent for a moment, "is far more rewarding but at the same time far more deadly."

At the word "deadly" Dumbledore finally understood what happened with Harry. "Did it involve you dying, by any chance?"

Harry visibly flinched, as if slapped across the face. "Probably? The book said that it was necessary to put oneself into mortal peril for this to work, so…"

"And you threw yourself head first into danger, like a true Gryffindor," Dumbledore softly chastised. "Commendable, but ultimately unnecessary."

Now it was the turn for Harry to become angry.

"Unnecessary? Professor, I had been illegally put into a tournament that routinely had its participants disembowelled, chewed on, burnt to a crisp, exploded by a spell, you name it! And I am not even of age yet! I have to face Voldemort at one point of my ultimately short life whether I want to or not because of a bloody prophecy so don't you dare say it was unnecessary!"

"Harry," tentatively began Dumbledore, "what do you mean by that?"

"By what? The fact that I have a maniac prophesied to come after me and try to kill me, or the fact that I must die for him to die as well?"

Dumbledore visibly sagged in his chair, appearing far older than he usually did.

"I had thought that you were too young to be burdened by this knowledge. It seems I have made a grave mistake in my judgement."

"Not only in your judgement, Professor, but also in your treatment of me. You seem to be under the impression that I am still a child wanting to play quidditch with my classmates. And, to be honest, I was. Until the moment I understood that I needed as much power as possible to survive and eventually defeat Voldemort, for he will not stop in his pursuit."

"I…" Dumbledore exhaled a puff of air in defeat. "You are right, Harry. I was so reliant on the prophecy protecting and guiding you, and yet here you are, ready to take your fate in your own hands."

Then Harry remembered, just why did he come to the Headmaster's office. "Um, Professor? It's all good and all, but I really need to have my wand replaced."

"Oh, forgive this old man, my boy. Yes, you have my permission to go, but before that, can I examine your scar?"

"Yes, of course, Professor," Harry nodded seriously. "I wonder if the Horcrux is still inside as well."

Dumbledore choked again, only to notice a slight mischievous smirk on Harry's face. Realising he has been played like a fiddle, the Headmaster playfully scowled.

"So many surprises for one day cannot be healthy for this old body, Harry. Have you no shame?"

"I do, but you, Professor, are far too resilient to have a heart attack from one small revelation, aren't you?"

"I sure am," he chuckled heartily. Waving his wand over Harry's head in complex three-dimensional patterns, he soon proclaimed Harry to be clean of the parasitic leech of a Dark Lord. Spirits thoroughly lifted, Harry grabbed some Floo powder, and, with a shout of "Diagon Alley", disappeared in a whirlwind of emerald flames.