In transfiguration, charms, and defense, Harry found himself alternating between dreadfully bored and moderately interested. The theory immediately held his attention; when explained by a teacher who knew what they were doing and loved to teach it, Harry found himself gaining insights his other books skipped, a common occurrence when they generally assumed he was already decently proficient in magical theory. On the other hand, however, he'd already read through his textbooks, so the classes involved a good bit of rehashing.

Practical work was even worse. With the theory usually explained ahead of time, the practical part was more a combination of rote practice and an examination of information retention. In more succinct terms, the parts Harry liked about practical experimentation had been distilled away. What was the fun of turning a needle into a matchstick or a beetle into a button if you couldn't examine the how and why, if the answers were already given to him.

To Harry's growing horror, it seemed as if his classmates were struggling to even draw upon their magic (except for Draco, but Harry attributed that to his own work). Half of the class time seemed to be dedicated to just getting them to coax their magic forwards, to convince them that they could do it. Hell, out of boredom, Harry had sat his wand on his desk and through sheer force of will stared the beetle into becoming a button.

That had amazed the professor, earned his house a lot of points, and earned Harry the ire of his envious peers. The theory was nice, and he could see how the practicals would eventually become genuinely practical with the increasing difficulty, but right now, Harry was bored.

And he couldn't even bring other books to class to read, less the professors get mad at him for not paying attention.

As for Defense specifically, Harry knew he could outperform everything they'd ever be taught this year. When he'd created his Attack and Defense rune sets, he'd started sparring with Jacob, who had a different set of runes, to test them out. This was baby stuff. (Though the week they'd practiced the knockback jinx did give Harry several ideas to expand his own arsenal of blood paper spells.)

On the other hand, Herbology, Potions, Flying, and Astronomy were much more interesting. Having precisely zero experience with the first three and having only used a muggle star chart and phase calendar for the latter, everything was entirely new. Plus, flying was flying; what wasn't to love about that?

Potions was especially fun for Harry. Having temporarily dropped the "storm shield" on his mind, he and professor Snape sparred with each other through legilimency and occlumency, with Harry trying to read the potion instructions out of Snape's mind while Snape tried to dig up Harry's recent memories.

The only class that was irredeemably boring was History. Thankfully, after three days, Harry learned from the elder Ravenclaws that you could read other books in that class. The notes for Binns's class and the answers to his tests were available in a rather ornately decorated and heavily charmed notebook available in the common room library. Apparently, it was treasured by Ravenclaw students almost as much as Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem. Its author even had a portrait in the common room.

Harry's weekends were quickly taken up by Healing with Madam Pomfrey and Slavery Time (a.k.a. scrubbing cauldrons for books) with Snape. And so it was that Harry's time fell into a routine. That is, until a solid two months into his official first year, when Harry found the answers he was looking for.

The book wasn't what he was expecting. It was in the restricted section, yes, but it was not a book on demons, nor a book on magic. No, The Worlds Around Us was a book on planeswalking. It had caught his eye, so Harry opened it up and read the starting passage.

Where does magic come from?

We, the authors of this book, do not know. This book makes no attempt to answer that question, as it is likely something beyond our ability to even attempt to understand. However, the reason we ask this question is the question that it begets:

If magic comes from somewhere, how do we, witches and wizards, receive magic?

That we can answer. In short, the answer is Dimensional Transcendence, the founding topic of this book. The definition of Dimensional Transcendence is as follows: (1) the ability to exist in multiple locations at once and to move between locations without bounds, (2) the ability to move space itself, and 3) the ability to transcend causality via superluminal space-like motion. All of this will be explained in-depth later in the book. But, for now, let us construct an analogy for you.

Let us imagine a canyon in which a river flows and a great wind blows, both in the same direction. Let us also imagine a muggle on a raft and a wizard on a broom.

This river represents the world of the living. By sailing up and down this river, you can get anywhere in the world you want to go. However, if you reach the ocean, you die.

For the muggle in the raft, they can steer themselves to anywhere they wish to go, but the rapids of the river prevent them from turning back. Inevitably, they will reach the ocean. The same goes for the wizard, who will be blown towards the ocean if they do not constantly fight the wind.

But you can see here how the wizard has the advantage. They can fly. Rapids are no obstacle. (As this is a metaphor for location, not time, flying back does not necessarily mean turning back the clock.) What's more, they could fly over the canyon and descend into another fork of the river, a place that the muggle could never reach no matter how hard he tried. And if the wizard wanted too, they could reach up to the clouds and call down the rain to shape the landscape below.

Right there, we have many of a wizard's staple abilities. Extending one's lifespan (flying back), apparition (flying over the canyon walls), magic (the rain), and creating magically expanded spaces (shaping the landscape).

But then, what if a wizard chose to fly to another canyon entirely?

That is what planeswalking is: the ability to change the stream of life you sail. Like how all canyons exist under one sky, all planes exist under the magic of our universe. They might be far apart or they might be very nearby, but they are there.

In some canyons, the wind might not blow or the river might not flow; in others, the opposite might be true, and they blow and flow harder than ever. In some planes, you might never age at all, while in others, you might age so rapidly that you die within the day. Obviously, we will teach you how to recognize and avoid such a fate.

There is one risk, however, that is unavoidable. When you change streams of life, except in a specific set of circumstances, you must become that stream's dominant form of life. We have found worlds of everything from dark elves to spirits and living flame, and to enter any of them, you must first surrender your humanity. This is not as much of a problem as it seems, for even if you cease being human, you cannot cease being a dimensionally transcendent wizard, and returning to this world would restore your humanity immediately.

But recall how dimensional transcendence includes the ability to exist in multiple locations at once. In practice, this is akin to straddling the planes of reality, to be in two planes at once. While a difficult skill that only the greatest planeswalker could achieve, it is immensely useful, as it makes one into a literal doorway between worlds that other people and things can use to cross the gap. But, one should take the greatest care when straddling worlds, for you run the risk of encountering a daemon, a being of great power that exists in any plane at once, yet no plane in particular.

Harry stopped reading. A daemon? According to his other research, a true demon was just a malicious form of a daemon. However, this book gave him an insight into what a daemon actually was. And if it was correct...

He see what was happening to him as his thoughts worked everything out. To use this book's canyon analogy, the runes he'd carved into his body were making him "fly" higher and higher. The seventh set of seven would push him out of this plane entirely, where he would almost certainly crash on the hard "ground" between "rivers." It would destroy him and leave a demon behind.

But if he were to prepare correctly, he could "land" outside of his plane of existence. He could become a daemon.

Harry jotted down some notes — things to research, tools he needed, and the like. Then he eagerly resumed his reading. There was so much to see, so much to learn. He wanted to travel the world — or, worlds, now that he had this book — and to learn everything there was to learn.

True daemons were immortal beings, unkillable because, despite being aware of what was going on at their present location and being able to interact with things there as any physical being was, they weren't actually there. They were nowhere and anywhere at once — dimensional transcendence at its greatest (though not everywhere, as that was omnipresence and something else entirely). You could only define a daemon's location by where it wasn't, not where it was.

And while anyone could become a demon (it wasn't all that hard), it took a lot of preparation to craft a body that could survive the transformation such that they became a daemon instead of a mindless demon. And, from every bit of research Harry had found so far, all possible preparations had the same first step.

Perform the blood demon ritual.

Step one: check.

Harry's leg tapped irritably as he sat in defense against the dark arts. Professor Quirrell's stuttering was unusually irritating to him today, and the subject matter (the curse of the bogies) was irritatingly dull. Sure, the nosokinetic curse shared its foundations with all disease manipulating spells, but Harry already knew this spell and the theory behind it.

Beside him, Terry glanced over to Harry with a worried expression on his face. They might not have been very good friends, but it was obvious to the other Ravenclaw that Harry was at his wit's end. The expression on Harry's face was one Terry (and most other Ravenclaws) knew well: boredom.

The other Ravenclaw first-years seemed bored as well, in Terry's opinion, but none looked like they were ready to claw their own skin off like Harry was.

Terry blinked, then revised that thought. Harry literally looked like he was ready to claw something to shreds; his hands, which were tugging at his robes and shaking with barely-contained rage, had twisted into bestial claws covered in mangy black fur.

Terry swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Then, loud enough to be overheard, Terry asked, "Hey, Harry? Are you feeling alright? You're looking kind of ill..."

"What, no! I'm fine." He didn't sound fine; his voice came out strangely. Harry's eyes widened at the sound.

Terry watched as the transformation on his hands swiftly reversed. "But didn't you say your stomach was bothering you earlier? You shouldn't risk it."

Harry's face went through a mix of emotions before settling on gratefulness. "I guess..."

Then, louder, Terry said, "Professor, can I take Harry to the hospital wing? He's not looking so good."

"O-o-of c-course, M-Mr. B-B-Boot. C-come back st-straight aw-w-way."

Terry grabbed Harry's hand and stood up, dragging Harry with him. The two of them quickly exited the room. Only when they were out of earshot of anyone who might have been listening did Terry say, "You're welcome. I won't tell anyone what I saw."

"What did you see?" Harry asked, his voice strange — though not in the same way had been in the class. It was a normal, healthy, human voice, but the tone sent shivers down Terry's spine.

"Your hands. They changed," Terry explained, suddenly much more nervous. Harry was behind him, and a deep part of him wanted desperately to run without turning back.

"Thank you, Terry. And you're right. You won't be telling anyone. Not a soul."

Terry turned around. There, framed by a writhing mass of shadows, were six glowing eyes.

He didn't have time to scream.

Harry hoisted Terry Boot back to his feet after he'd collapsed. He didn't say anything, and instead just waited for Terry to speak.

Terry groaned, rubbing his sore head. "Bloody Hell..." His eyes met Harry's. He recoiled, but when he realized that everything seemed normal and he wasn't about to be eaten by a shadow demon straight out of his father's book, he relaxed a bit. "What was that?"

"You learned a bit of my secret," Harry replied. "I had to take precautions."

Terry processed that. "You mean that was real?"

"Yes."

"Bloody Hell," he repeated.

Harry grinned. "Hey, funny story: I'm a shapeshifter of sorts. I've been one for years now. The thing is, all my forms except this one and one other are literally monsters. And because of how my transformation works, I often end up without clothes, but I can turn my own skin into a fake cloak. I can also manipulate shadows a bit, which I use to hide my other form's face. I end up looking like a dementor with glowing eyes and a leather cloak. Sound familiar?"

Terry blinked; it did. "My dad's book!"

"Yep. I was out for lunch in my other form and ran into your dad. He thought I looked really cool and asked if he could use my appearance for his book." Harry chuckled, his stress melting away as he spoke. "I may have nicked the book out of your trunk and may have given it a read. Your dad pretty much nailed the persona I was using at the time. Feels weird to be both the hero and the villain of the same book, though."

"No kidding." Terry stood back up with Harry's assistance. "That's really cool."

"You won't tell anyone, right? I'm trying to keep it a secret. The only reason I'm telling you is..." Harry's shadow darkened and started writhing around. Terry jumped back a bit from it. "Like the villain from the book, I'm the Shadow Thief."

"You took my shadow?"

Harry shrugged. "I gave it back. I've already made all the changes I need too anyway."

Terry looked down at his own shadow. He moved around a bit, and though his shadow was a tad darker than it should have been, it moved exactly in time with his motions. "I feel like I should be more upset with you about this than I am."

"That's part of it. The changes keep you from resenting the changes themselves. That, and forcibly readjust your loyalties." Terry's head jerked back to face Harry. Harry grinned, his teeth turning shark-like. "I do hope you weren't imagining that I was the hero, were you?"

"Fuck."

Harry laughed. His face shifted back to being fully human again. "Don't be upset. Seriously, I'm not going to be asking you to do anything except keep your mouth shut about what I am. Hell, I wanted to leave you completely alone, but I screwed up. Plus, I owe you a pair of favors now — one for getting me out of class when I was about to explode and one for stealing your shadow. That last one's worth a lot, so save it for something good."

"Fine," Terry groused. "I'm going to hold you to that. Now, is there anything else I should know before a problem arises?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Snape's the only other person in Hogwarts whose shadow I've stolen and replaced. I got him before school even started; his tormenting me is an act, and because my father bullied him, he has a semi-valid target to let his spite out on who he knows can and will take the abuse. I've got another few things, but you don't need to know about those just yet."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies," Terry muttered.

"Anyway, I'm going to go to the hospital wing and study there for a bit — thanks again for that — just so it doesn't look like we're deliberately skipping."

"I'm coming with you. I'd do anything to get out of there."

"Is there a kid in that room who wouldn't?" Harry retorted.

"Nope."

The two boys shared a laugh and made their way towards the hospital wing. And though Harry knew that Terry's judgement was currently being clouded by his power, he couldn't help but feel a little closer to his roommate.

Harry wanted to celebrate, but he held off until he'd checked his work for mistakes. He didn't want to get trapped somewhere because of a stupid mistake. However, when he ran through his work twice more and got exactly the same answer both times, he finally allowed himself to cheer.

"I didn't know homework was that exciting," Terry quipped.

Harry threw his pen at Terry's head. "I'm not doing homework, you idiot. I've been working on this project of mine for almost a month," Harry replied, casually summoning his pen back with a flick of his wrist as he spoke. "This is for something else."

"Care to share?"

"Nope." Harry stuck out his tongue. "I'm not done yet; this is only one of the last major steps. Unfortunately, the rest is going to take a long time to prepare."

Harry stood from the desk and shoved the books and his notes into his bag. He immediately headed towards the common room door. "Later, Terry."

Harry rushed down the many flights of stairs between the Ravenclaw tower and the Hogwarts dungeons. As he passed through an empty part of the castle, Harry drew his personal wand. Unlike most spells, the simple act of will wasn't enough; he ran through a full incantation and the complex wand motions he'd memorized. His body momentarily blurred and duplicated. Just as the duplicates were solidifying, one of them vanished into the shadow of the other. Harry continued onward almost as if he'd never stopped in the first place, though his breathing was significantly more labored. When he finally arrived down in the dungeons, he jogged to Snape's office and knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The demonic boy pushed open the door. "Professor Snape."

"Yes, Potter?"

"Lucius Malfoy. I assume he has a number of good contacts for — hypothetically speaking — acquiring a rare and potentially troublesome artifact."

"He is a respectable member of society? Why would you even think that?" Severus quipped. "Besides, even if he did, why would I tell you?"

"Because, again hypothetically speaking, I might know a man willing to do some specialized work for the chance to use such an artifact," he smoothly replied.

The potions master's wand flicked to the side. A bubble of energy expanded out from around him, enveloping the two. At the same moment, the door to the office slammed shut and locked itself. "Talk."

"I need access to an Atlantean Glass, and I need it for about six hours."

Severus's jaw dropped. For the potion's master, that was about as extreme a reaction as Neville Longbottom screaming profanities. "An Atlantean Glass?! Do you even know what that is?"

"A seven-dimensional hypersphere of glass manufactured in Atlantis that enables wizards to see and scry into other planes of existence. It also lets a user easily perform dimensional magic. A person looking through the glass without the proper protections runs the risk of being driven mad at worst, and having their perspective on reality temporarily warped at best," Harry casually remarked. He pulled out the planeswalking book and showed it to Severus. "Of course, if I can't get access to one here, I could always go to Atlantis myself and get one."

"You are not going to Atlantis, and you are not getting an Atlantean glass. You are out of your mind already."

Harry didn't immediately respond. Instead, he flipped open the book to a bookmarked page near the beginning and turned the book so Snape could see it. "I just cast this spell on my way here. Let that sink in for a bit."

The spell on the page required an understanding of a few high-level geometric and physical concepts, but for a wizard whose brain was literally hardwired to understand the intricacies required for magic, they weren't all that hard to learn. And once the user knew the concepts, the spell (which served as a stepping-stone to the rest of the book) was easy enough to pull off. Hell, Harry figured that he'd be able to do it without the incantation in a week and with only his blood a few days after that.

The multilocus spell, to the casual onlooker, allowed a wizard to duplicate himself once or twice. In actuality, it allowed the user to exist in multiple places at the same time and interact with both independently; however, the user still had one body. They shared damage, fatigue, form, memories, spell effects, and everything else. Though it served as a powerful tool for a planeswalker, when used such that both copies stayed in the same plane, it had a lot of drawbacks. Case-in-point, Harry was already getting a headache in the time it took Snape to read the spell's description.

"You used this?!" Snape demanded. "Cancel the spell. Discard the other you."

"No, Severus. I won't," Harry insisted. His body stretched upwards, turning into the hooded figure that Snape knew could eat him in a second. "Either you confirm that Lucius has the knowledge and resources I need and help me, or this meeting is just a formality letting you know that I have already things into my own hands."

Snape scowled at the demonic figure. "Lucius might have the resources to get what you're looking for. They won't be cheap."

Harry's body shifted back. He flicked his wand and canceled the spell, causing his body to momentarily blur and eliciting a small pop. "Thank you, Severus. That will be all." He strolled towards the door.

"You are going to get yourself killed."

Harry turned his head back. "My soul is already a hair's breadth away from imploding under the strain of the magic I have on myself and the murders I've committed. I am trying to save myself in a way that I also profit from. Surely you can understand that, Head of Slytherin."

Harry turned and walked out the door without giving the professor a chance to respond.

"Malfoy."

Draco's conversation with his friends, sycophantic yes-men, and/or body guards ground to a halt as the blond turned his attention towards Harry. "Potter. Finally decided to join some worthwhile company for once?"

"Hardly. I'm merely playing messenger today. Mind if we talk in private?"

"If we must." Draco, rather than standing to walk with Harry somewhere more private, shooed the other Slytherins away. They complied without a fuss. "Now, what is this about?"

"A mutual acquaintance of ours wishes to get in contact with the Malfoy family, especially your father. He needs assistance on a project of his, and is willing to go to great lengths to achieve his goal. I think you will find his offer quite... invigorating." Harry handed two envelopes to Draco, one addressed to Lucius, the other not addressed at all. "The blank envelope is proof of its authenticity, one only a member of your family should recognize. The other is for your father."

"I didn't know you knew that man, Potter. You're the light's golden-boy. He'd never bother with someone like you."

"According to Albus Dumbledore, I was kidnapped by him when I was nine." Harry sneered in a decent emulation of Snape. "And according to him, our esteemed potions master found me within days of discovering I was missing. Anyway, he looks forward to hearing back from you."

"I'll pass on the message."

"Thank you, Malfoy."

Father,

Harry Potter approached me today, claiming that he was playing messenger. His letter was from the man we hired earlier this summer, for you. He also had a letter that he claimed was proof. Father, it was a piece of parchment with an exact copy of our procedure detailed on it. I double checked it myself; it's accurate. It even has the exact date and time the procedure was done.

This is genuinely from him. I have not read the letter myself, but Potter claims it is a business deal of some sort. That man needs assistance on a project, and is willing to trade his work for it.

I have included both the letter and the proof for you to see, with the standard protection spells, of course.

And in case you are wondering, I do not know why Potter was the one to deliver this to me. He claims some sort of connection — likely a willing one — with that man, one that a certain leader either does not know about or was told a different part of the story.

I await your response, and I think they do too.

Your son.