XIV. Blessed by Knowledge

🙞 2 September 1991 | Hogwarts, Scotland 🙜

The light was dim inside the classroom, and the air was stale with the smell of garlic. Defence Against the Dark Arts was his first class of the day, taught by Professor Quirinus Quirrell. And, already, it had started with a poor first impression.

The man was eccentric, to say the very least. His turban had a pungent smell of garlic emanating from it, and his magic felt oily, pooling over the floor like tar. It was almost like a substance left to rot at the bottom of the ocean.

Not to mention how much the man stuttered. It was almost impossible to withstand the entire lesson. And it wasn't even the beginning of Harry's problems. Alongside the excruciating boredom, his forehead was itching, almost on the cusp of turning into pain.

'This isn't normal,' He couldn't help but frown. It wasn't a headache. No, it was his scar that hurt. Even Transfigured, he could still feel it, itching in his skin.

Looking around, he took a quick breath.

The lecture didn't add much to the concepts taught in the book used in the class syllabus. If anything, Quirrell was repeating, almost verbatim, the contents of 'The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection.' It wouldn't hurt to not pay attention.

So, without much fanfare, Harry put his hand on his forehead and then looked down at his parchment. Pretending to be reading, focused, he closed his eyes. He didn't feel even an inkling of fear of being caught. Such a technique had never failed him in school.

When younger, it had saved much of his time from hearing things he already knew by heart. He had, most often than not, been ahead of his peers by leagues and not without reason. After all, Harry did spend most of his time in the library, unlike the other children.

Once again, another silver lining to his past life in Little Whinging. There weren't many of them, so he cherished the few he could get.

Soon, the ebb of Quirrell's stuttering voice faded to the background, nothing but a low muttering now. Suddenly, a tower made of stone surged from the darkness, and grass bled away into the void like paint splashed on a canvas.

"Now... what to do?" He wondered.

There were many options. Most important of all, however, was reinforcing more memories. Specifically, the few German lessons Harry had with Aldrik.

The mastery of the language was a crucial point to his fake identity. As someone who supposedly had a childhood in Germany, he had to at least speak the language fluently. Thankfully, by keeping a closed facade - which he already found natural - he had prevented people from asking too many questions.

It was a temporary solution, of course. Regardless, Harry believed it would last long enough. Occlumency hastened the process quite a lot, and it wouldn't take long to learn the language.

But, first, he wanted to check on Omen. It had been weeks since he had last taken a peek through the raven's eyes.

Now in his Mind Palace, sitting in a chair inside the tower, Harry slowly exhaled, focused. Gradually, he felt a buildup in the air. A current of magic stretched out from him like a lattice, searching for his link with Omen.

Then, nothing. The connection suddenly fell short. A frown marred Harry's face, and a slight doubt gnawed at him. His scowl deepened, and he couldn't help but briefly fear the worst.

'No, that couldn't happen. Omen's too smart.' He got up from his chair, exiting through the tower's front door.

A soft wind rolled up the lone hill, embracing his body as soon as he left the tower. Omen's tree stood in the distance, a sheer contrast to the surrounding void. There was something different about it, though.

His eyes could perceive the slightest difference, one he couldn't exactly pinpoint in the distance. Alarmed, he descended the hill, the tower's shadow looming over his back. The walk wasn't long, and soon he reached the tree.

There, he instantly noticed what was wrong.

Hundreds of books were embedded halfway into the tree's old bark. Their cover seamlessly blended with the rough wood, undiscernible in the distance. He ran his fingers through the strange phenomenon, mesmerised.

"𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰." A voice similar to his own spoke from above. Alongside it, a slew of images and memories followed.

"Hi Omen," Harry smiled, staring at the bird. He was perched on the highest branch, eyes as curious as ever.

Omen then spread his black, feathered wings and departed from its high position. It settled in its usual spot on Harry's left shoulder. Somehow, the raven's eyes were even more attentive than they usually were.

There was no denying it anymore. Harry's connection with Omen had changed the bird. He was smarter. Quicker. Beyond simple animal instincts. Maybe it was because of the constant communication. Maybe, it was due to the use of magic. Perhaps even both.

Regardless, a niggling thought crept into the corners of his mind. If his connection had changed Omen, what was there to say it hadn't also changed him?

"How did you get here?" He asked, gesturing around his Mind Palace.

"𝔅𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡." Omen's voice came in multiple different tones. It spoke in the same manner that it shared memories, all at once, "𝔅𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔎𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔩𝔢𝔡𝔤𝔢-𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯."

Harry saw memories of himself. They were hazy, as if distant in the past. Regardless, he could still recognise them. It was the first time he had tried to Apparate alongside Omen.

He remembered it distinctively. That day, a barrier had bounced his magic back on his first try. Then, after a lash of anger, it was shattered, and he could finally take Omen along for the ride.

'It was at that moment that I created a connection,' he realised.

"𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫. 𝔅𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔎𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔩𝔢𝔡𝔤𝔢-𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯." Omen spoke.

Offhandedly, Harry tried to share his memories of the incident, but from his perspective. And, for the first time, he didn't only focus on his basic senses.

Instead, Harry also tried to impart the sensation of magic in the message. He drew inspiration from the sorting hat, which had given him a brief glimpse of Rowena Ravenclaw. Soon, it welled forth through their connection, and the raven stood paralysed for a second.

"𝔅𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡!" Omen abruptly cried out, wings held up in pure adulation. He then took flight, circling around the tree made of books, screaming for the skies to hear, "𝔅𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡!"

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't stay long to witness the bird's enthusiasm.

Someone outside shook him on his shoulder - and rather forcefully at that. It sounded urgent. Thankfully, being inside his Mind Palace, Harry did not need to say goodbye to the flying bird.

Instead, a cloud formed overhead, and the words 'See you later' adorned the skies. Harry just hoped the bird had also learned how to read. At that thought, he spared a single glance at the bark filled with books.

'Something tells me he did learn how to read...'