A/N: I'm back! I'm sorry for the long wait. I hope you think it's worth it. Also, I would like to thank the reviewer Darthas for inspiring me to finally finish this thing.

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Leviathan: the Tempest.

Upon reaching the surface and seeing the pale light of the Scottish sun beginning to peek over the mountains in the distance, Harry concentrated on changing back, as he had practiced countless times with Hermione before. To his great relief, he immediately felt the profoundly strange sensation of compacting back into himself, the corded muscle and grey skin folding themselves neatly back into a bud of power in his chest, ready to bloom again. His relief was short-lived, however, as he realised that his clothes had been torn to shreds the night before and that he was standing waist-deep in the Black Lake barefoot and naked as the day he was born.

With a yelp, Harry jumped backwards into the water, then yelped again as a sharp stone caught in the flesh of his foot. He cast about for a place where he might be able to find some clothes. After a moment or two of panicked searching, he caught sight of a small shed a few hundred metres down the shore. Perhaps it was where the boats that they brought the first-years over the lake on?

Swimming over and reaching the shed, Harry climbed out of the water (making very sure to keep the little building between himself and the castle) and tried the door. It was locked, although looking through the gap between the doors the young wizard could see that the small bolt which kept it so looked quite old and rusted.

Sparing a moment to snort at the negligence of wizards and not putting preservation charms on things, Harry shoved at the door. It rattled, but didn't budge. Huffing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the little bud of power inside him and tried to transform a little, to the 'First Depth' as Alden called it.

He was taken by surprise when the power rushed out in a flood, far more easily than usual, and he had to concentrate not on changing, but on stopping it before he transformed completely. It took a few seconds for him to stabilise himself in the Third Depth, the form he had changed into at the Dursley's earlier that summer. He decided not to tempt fate again before he got a hold of some clothes and slipped the blackened claws of his hands into the gap between the door and the doorframe before heaving.

The old metal of the hinges and bolt resisted for a moment before shearing and snapping with a crack. Harry stumbled back a few steps, getting his balance with the unexpected weight of the door and resting it against the shed. He looked into the little wooden building.

The inside of the shed, which was several dozen times the size of the outside, was full of boats of various sizes and descriptions from tiny rowboats to what looked like a small yacht, along with the equipment for servicing them. The shed was more like an indoor dry-dock than anything else and Harry wondered why it was there. He had never heard of any kind of boating done at Hogwarts, apart from the first years of course.

Getting his mind back on track, Harry caught sight of a set of old overall-like clothes hanging on the wall. He concentrated for a moment again and was astounded with the ease with which he transformed back to human form. A cold breeze made him shiver and he quickly walked over to the overalls, thankful for the smooth floor of the shed. Pulling them down and shrugging them on, Harry felt far better with some clothes on, even if he was swimming in them due to the size. Pulling on the pair of solid leather boots that the overalls had hidden, the young wizard put the door back into the frame so that it looked stable again and made his way back up towards the castle along the path from the landing stage a little way along from the boat shed.

The walk took only a few minutes, but by the time that Harry reached the small door that he remembered going through in his first year, he was freezing beneath the thin fabric of the overalls. Covering they may be, but warm they were not. The dampness from the lake had not helped either.

Saying a quiet thanks to whatever gods were out there that breakfast had not been served yet, Harry quickly followed the well-travelled route up to Gryffindor Tower, before being stymied by the portrait of the Fat Lady. A quick conversation and a number of excuses about being in the hospital wing the night before and not having the password persuaded her though and she let him pass, although not without an admonishment that he should be more careful.

Another prayer of thanks for the laziness of Gryffindors later, Harry crossed the abandoned common room, quietly climbed the stairs to his dormitory and edged the door open.

Peeking through the gap, he thanked whatever god was watching over him, as the four boys with whom he shared a dorm were still fast asleep. Sneaking across the room as quietly as he could, the young wizard crept across the room and retrieved a set of clothes from his trunk, along with his schoolbag. He made his way to the bathroom and changed quickly. He left the overalls in the bin where all dirty clothes were to be put for the house-elves to clean before making his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Over the days following his transformation in the Black Lake, Harry withdrew from the life of Hogwarts. After fending off the inquisitions of Madam Pomfrey with a tale about accidental magic saving him from the Lake, only to leave him on the shore exhausted, he spent another night in the Hospital Wing, so that she could ascertain that he had contracted no disease or suffered a chill from sleeping outside.

While he was there, Hermione had come to visit him and asked him about what had happened on the night of the welcoming feast. He put her off and deflected her inquiries with noncommittal answers and vague responses, fearing that at this latest transformation even she would abandon him. After all, he couldn't even pretend that he was human anymore.

In the hours following his return from the Lake, Harry had begun to feel a… constriction. As if his skin was too small. Where before it had only been great anger or emotion which made his teeth want to turn to needles, now he felt that every time someone irritated him even a little. Draco Malfoy had tried to make fun of him at breakfast, saying that the 'precious Golden Boy' couldn't even go a day without something happening. Perhaps he'd inherited that from his mudblood mother? After all, she'd managed to get herself killed by the Dark Lord himself.

The mocking tone that the platinum-blonde had said that in, as if having Voldemort kill her was the greatest honour he could imagine Lily Potter earning, was enough to make Harry's fingertips ache with claws and his cheeks itch with the wanting to open his other eyes and… what? He wanted to do something, something instinctual like breathing and sleeping, but something nameless to humans. He wanted to rip-tear-dominate-crush-consume the boy. The closest human emotion that Harry could think to what he felt was hate and it was all he could do to clench his fists and let black, hardened nails bite into his palms.

He'd looked in Alden's journal - bespelled to look like the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3, just in case - and the old Leviathan described what Harry had gone through as the Metamorphosis, the last of the great transitions which their kind were guaranteed to go through. It was the change that brought entry into the full extent of a Leviathan's power, a coming-of-age. It was the change that made a Leviathan entirely responsible for what they would become.

Alden warned that he had seen more than one young Leviathan go mad with newfound power and become a monster with the might of a god, seeing all others as ants beneath their feet or, if they were lucky, worshippers deserving of the slightest notice. It was a madness not peculiar to Leviathans, the spidery handwriting mused, but one to which they were prone. Harry vowed that he would not become like those old, mad god-monsters.

So he did he best to get by, going to the classes, eating in the Great Hall and spending his free time in either the library searching for information, on theurgy or the 'primordial sorcery' mentioned in The Empowered Will or pouring over Alden's journal in the Gryffindor common room. Neither expanded a great deal on the magic, nor provided references, with each being unhelpful in their own ways. The Empowered Will claimed that theurgy was only taught directly from a student to a teacher, for fear of overeager or malicious practitioners performing rituals they they were not ready for or worthy of. A little digging in the Wizarding Law section of the library revealed that not only was this tradition, there was actually a law, passed in 1957, that prohibited rituals from being inscribed or recorded.

Meanwhile, Alden claimed that in order for primordial sorcery to work, a Leviathan had to create the rituals himself, as well as have some kind of following which aided in the performance of the ritual. The only exceptions were a few minor rituals detailed in the book, like the one which determined the Strain of a Leviathan. These had been devised by ritualists in the distant past specifically to draw upon the shared blood of Leviathans. The problem was that primordial sorcery hinged upon manifesting the Leviathan's own authority over the world, as opposed to calling upon a desired state - like wizarding magic - or the authority of a Dreaming God, as in theurgic rituals and as the mindset of each Leviathan was different, their sorcery and abilities manifested differently and in separate ways.

Equipped with this knowledge, Harry whiled away the days between classes with attempts to create something of his own, a sorcery that he could use to protect Hermione and himself from the Headmaster's magic. He had overheard one of the older students talking about Legilimency, a form of magic that allowed one to enter the mind of another and, while he doubted that such magic would affect him, given that he wasn't truly human, there was a chance that it would and, after all, his friend was as human as they came.

The difficulty was knowing where to start, though. Wizarding books were of little help, given that they operated on a different system to the one which he hoped to make use of. The forms of magic which had the closest connection to the celestial signs and portents which influenced primordial sorcery were Potions - which Harry had little understanding of and whose teacher seemed to harbour a deep-seated hatred for him - and Divination, a subject taught by a seer who was as close to Sightless as one could be without having no talent in prophecy at all.

It was hard going, but nearly three weeks later (and after he had finally told all to Hermione, a process which had involved a great deal of tears, choked confessions and finally relief as she had, instead of abandoning him, demanded that he let her help with his 'project') they had a ritual which Harry knew, from some unknown instinct, would work. It was a magic intended to let him find a person or a thing, no matter where they went. It was simple, requiring little more than a bowl, some water, a little of his blood and something of whatever was to be found. He didn't know what he would ever use it for, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he would need it, somehow, somewhen.

All that remained was to actually test it, which would require others to help, people who would do as he said and would aid in the ritual.

And so it was that the leviathan and the witch found themselves on the shore of the Black Lake on the night of the full moon, intending to call on the merpeople to help them.

A/N: To the guest reviewer who calls themselves Darthas, I've significantly changed the Wake so that it's an effect whose power builds up over time and with Harry's exercise of his powers and nature. At the current point in the story, his Wake is extremely weak, capable of little more than inducing a shadow of fear and awe in those around him. It won't be capable of producing Beloved for a while yet. It will be eventually, though. That said, I have been considering having wizards have a resistance to the Wake instead, meaning that when Harry returns to the muggle world, he'll have to deal with those issues (although having a refuge from the Dursleys might make that worth it, for him). What do you think?

On a side note, for those to whom this means anything, Harry is incredibly lucky in that Hermione is in fact an Atoll. Or unlucky, depending on your point of view.