Breakthrough

Chapter 12. Breakthrough

A terrible event took place in Harry's third year. Something so awful that it would leave a permanent scar on him. And like many bad things, it started with excitement.

The seed of catastrophe was sown when Harry had a breakthrough in Magiscape.

Like always, he sought out his mum at night to test his theory, which he knew was going to work, unlike the previous ones.

"Harry," Lily said with a knowing smile, perched upon the bed with her blood-red hair pulled up in a messy bun.

If it were anyone else, they'd have grown to dislike him for always disturbing them with his nonsensical theories, which never even amounted to anything. But his mum was different. There was no end to her patience—well, not when it was him testing that patience. He was quite sure she'd have punched him in the nose if he wasn't her son.

Returning her smile, he climbed into the bed and sat cross-legged in front of her. "I have a new idea."

"Of course you do." She rolled her eyes. "Tell me what it is this time. And for Merlin's sake, don't ask me to do a handstand again."

He chuckled, scratching his cheek, not very proud of that moment.

Two weeks ago, he had an interesting query.

What if they accessed the Magiscape while upside down? Would the other world turn upside down too? Would the sea become the sky while the golden mist became the ground? Would they plummet through the mist to a no-man's land, or would they hang from the sea like shackled prisoners?

The answer was that nothing changed, and they fell on their faces when they couldn't keep up the handstand.

"You'll never let me forget that, will you?"

She just smirked. And that was enough of an answer.

"Anyways, this idea is not stupid."

"I'll be the judge of that."

He stuck out his tongue childishly before continuing. "We've cleared that every witch and wizard are connected to the sea, right?"

"Right, the golden sea is the source of our magic. Every witch and wizard draws their power from it. The similarity between the colour of our magic and the sea supports my hypothesis," she answered, leaning back, resting against the pillows, and getting into a comfortable position.

"And we stretch our magic in that world by forming tendrils, trying to connect with other witches and wizards, trying to access their minds," he added, his eyes bright, barely restraining himself from blurting out his discovery instead of explaining it.

"Correct. We can't move in the Magiscape without moving in the physical world too. So, we create tendrils to interact with others' magic."

"Unfortunately, every witch and wizard possesses an innate defence, a subconscious shield that blocks our intrusion and keeps them safe from our meddling. This is what has stopped us from advancing forward for nearly one and a half years."

She snorted in response. "For you, yes. But I've been stuck at this point for more than a decade. I'll probably declare it a lost cause soon."

Harry shook his head and jumped off the bed.

Looking at her with glowing eyes, he allowed himself a confident grin. "No more. You'll be stuck no more."

"Oh?" She smiled indulgently.

"If every witch and wizard is connected with the golden sea, including us, and we can't breach their innate shields directly with our tendrils, then we must find another way." He dropped to his knees and leaned forward, pushing his palms on the floor. "We can try to be indirect about it. We can try to push our tendrils into the sea instead, breaking the surface right beneath the others and using their connection to the sea itself as a breaching point."

Lily opened her mouth to say something before shutting up, taking time to mull over his words. It was indeed an ingenious idea. But there was a certain risk to it, namely pushing their tendrils—their very magic—into the sea, which for all practicality was an unknown entity to them. If she wasn't so paranoid, she'd have already experimented with the mysterious sea by now.

"Alright, I'll test it. Come here and sit before me." She would have liked some more time to think about it, but looking at Harry's face, it was clear he would test it himself if she didn't. And that took away her chance to get cold feet. After all, she'd rather suffer these risks herself than allow him to get hurt.

Unaware of her dreadful thoughts, Harry slid onto the bed and sat cross-legged, his lips stretched into an eager grin. "I'm ready."

Giving him a curt nod, she shifted away from him, making space between them.

He was stationed at the foot, while she was at the head of the bed.

Then she closed her eyes before opening them once again and staring into Harry's hopeful ones.

The appearance of her room changed in an instant, the sea blinking into existence around them, its 'water' level high enough to make the bed an island. Swirling mists danced over them and hid the ceiling, fluttering and writhing like sand particles caught in a storm.

But her eyes bore into her son, noting the golden sheen on his skin and ignoring everything else.

A single tendril grew out of her side, golden and ethereal.

Instead of approaching Harry like always, it slithered downward, through the solid bed, and into the viscous sea.

Lily stiffened, and her eyes widened. As soon as her tendril broke the surface of the oily sea, her mind filled with white noise. Not unlike the noise of telly when it doesn't get a signal. She could even picture the white-black pixels on the screen screaming at her.

Thankfully, she was able to ignore it and push her tendril forward, parallel to the bed, so it could find Harry.

Slogging through the sea was far different than simply wishing her tendril to move. Unlike her previous experience with the tendrils in the Magiscape, it was annoyingly different to move them under the sea. There was an opposite force to its movement, as if something was constantly pushing against it to change its direction.

But she persevered, her heart pounding against her ribs and beads of sweat glistening on her forehead. The intense thumping of her heart was far louder to her mind than the static noise, helping her to focus on the task.

When she was sure her tendril was right underneath him, she changed the direction, and the tendril moved upwards instead of forward, towards the surface of the slimy sea.

She sucked in a sharp breath when her tendril immediately rushed up the bed and through Harry's innate shield. And it happened before she could try to breach it herself. Like a vacuum pulling her tendril into Harry's mind. Like a sneaky whirlpool in a quiet ocean.

Miraculously, the tendril connected; it was merged with the golden sheen.

"Mum is the most beautiful woman in the world."

Harry's lips twitched, and he let out a relieved laugh. "It always scares me when my own inner voice is possessed by you. I wouldn't have been able to tell this was a foreign thought if I wasn't expecting it. Tell me something absurd that is unlike me."

"I mustn't spend more than ten minutes in the shower."

"Yes, that's indeed an absurd thought. I'd never think that."

Lily sighed exasperatedly, still not understanding why someone would waste so much time in the shower. And even if Harry actually did use the shower time for masturbation, like boys his age did, it still shouldn't take an entire hour. Reining in her mind before she got distracted, she told him about her experience with this new method, explaining to him what he should expect and what he should do.

"Okay, my turn now."

That night was spent practising this revolutionary method. The power that would put them on top of everyone once they mastered it.

Finally, Lily's persistence in dealing with Magiscape bore fruit. All those years of waiting for a breakthrough finally paid off. And such was the intoxication of this discovery that the two couldn't stop using it, rushing into one another's minds and planting subtle or hilarious thoughts. It was around two in the morning that they resigned to sleep, even when all they wanted to do was keep practising.

~xXxXx~

The next day, something peculiar happened. Something so humorous that Harry couldn't suppress his laughter.

He was sitting between Tracey and Susan at the Hufflepuff table, finishing his breakfast, when Professor Black tumbled down the steps from the head table and face-planted on the floor. What was even funnier was her position: face down and arse up, her robes riding to her waist, baring her smooth rear.

Laughter and whistles surrounded her as she got back on her feet and straightened her dark green robes. Even Narcissa Black—the forever polite and composed lady of Hogwarts—couldn't escape embarrassment, her face reddening as she confidently walked out of the Great Hall, not heeding the jokes of the entertained crowd.

Harry was beating his palm on the table, his laughter among the loudest. It was under his friend and sister's glare that he clamped his mouth shut.

But a smile still remained.

"It wasn't that funny," Tracey said, sympathetic to her professor's misfortune.

"It was. Did you see her blushing face? Or her undies? She really is Narcissa Black." He chuckled, ducking under Susan's swipe.

Tracey rolled her eyes, knowing she couldn't convince him to feel sorry for their professor. Unlike her, he held a deep grudge against the woman for that fistfight incident. And while she was always on his side, she couldn't stop her chest from twisting in pity for Madam Black.

"Enough, Harry, what if that happened to your mum? Would you still laugh?" Susan said in a reproachful voice, her red eyebrows knitted together in a scowl.

And sure enough, Harry's smile vanished, replaced by a displeased frown. He looked at the Slytherin table, where Draco was fuming and glaring at anyone who laughed at his mum. It was good that the entirety of the Slytherin house respected Professor Black more than anyone else. That must be the reason why only the table in green remained silent and brooding while the other three tables laughed and gossiped.

"Fine, I get what you mean, sorry," he muttered, cringing at the image of his own mum going through that. He probably would've cursed half a dozen students by now if he were in Draco's place.

"Good boy, I knew there was a reason I liked you." Susan patted his back with a wry smile.

"You're my sister. You are supposed to like me without any reason." He elbowed her playfully and looked at the head table where his mum was conversing with Professor Slughorn.

As if sensing his gaze, she turned towards him and shot him a wink.

Wait a minute, did his mum cause the earlier incident? Did she affect Professor Black's mind to make her fall? Maybe a minor illusion?

Honestly, the probability of a yes was far greater than that of a no. Just last night, they had a breakthrough in Magiscape, and then Narcissa Black somehow fell on her face this morning. While it could be a coincidence, he was leaning more towards it being his mum's revenge on her for siding with those four boys' and downplaying their cruelty that left him in the hospital. She had both a grudge and an ability to humiliate her.

All in all, it was pretty mild and petty compared to what else his mum could have done. If she even did it in the first place.

His revenge, though, wouldn't be this mild. No, it'd be so severe that it would affect them for the rest of their lives.

Graham Montague. Cassius Warington. Peregrine Derrick. Lucian Bole. The four who had injured him in that fistfight, leaving an invisible mark that always flared when he got near them. He wished that mark was rage, but there was no lying to himself. It was not rage that made his heart race when he looked at them; no, it was unbridled terror. An instinctual fear that they inspired in him by merely existing. And he was ashamed of that. He never wanted to be afraid of anyone, but here he was, always flinching when they looked at him.

His revenge would be far from mild. By the end of this year, he'd give them such despair and anguish that they would be forever depressed and unhappy.

They gave him terror, and it was only right that he return that gift.

'Eight months till this year ends. I'll fill them with such despair and hopelessness that it'll leave a permanent scar on their souls. That would be a fitting revenge. A mark for a mark. Maybe then I'll finally free myself from this terror.'

~xXxXx~

"You coming to the library?" Harry asked, dropping beside Tracey on the sofa in the Slytherin common room.

In a month, they'd have to give their end-of-year exams. So their group—consisting of Harry, Tracey, Susan, Hannah, Neville, and Hermione—had decided to study together. Hermione had been pretty adamant about preparing in advance, and while Harry didn't care about getting top grades, he did want acceptable ones. And these study sessions were a blessing for him, particularly because of Hermione and Susan's meticulous notes. Those helped him save time and effort, giving him the opportunity to cram a year's worth of theories in a month.

The brunette shook her head, giving him an apologetic grin. "Sorry, have to meet with my secret friend."

He made a face at that, his dislike for Daphne still going strong.

Tracey frowned in response. "She is not bad, you know. I wish you wouldn't be so stubborn about it."

"First impressions are hard to forget." He shrugged, getting up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Find us in the library if you change your mind."

He ignored her disappointed sigh, not wanting to argue over it; they'd already done that enough times. Tracey was his best friend, and he liked to forgo heated disagreements where he could. And this was one topic they wouldn't agree on.

Reaching the library, he moved towards the table where his friends were gathered.

As he walked by a group of exhausted seventh-years, he hid a smirk.

It seemed luck was on his side today.

He sat in the chair beside Susan and Hannah, facing the two Gryffindors.

"Where's Tracey?" asked Hermione.

"She's busy," he replied, taking out his book from the bag.

Hermione frowned but didn't press further, offering her notes instead.

He took it like it was a holy relic, much to Hermione's amusement.

As the time passed, his eyes darted from the notes and towards the seventh-years on the table adjacent to them. It was not any seventh-years, but the previous quidditch group that had beaten him to a pulp. Even Marcus Flint was there, repeating the seventh year for the second time. Apart from him, the other four boys looked a step away from falling asleep. There were black crescents under their eyes, and their eyes themselves were sunken in, dim, and bloodshot, as if they hadn't had a single moment of peace in years. Others would think it was the stress of the NEWTs getting them. But he knew better.

For the past seven months, he had taken every opportunity to be near them and supply their minds with thoughts of fear and despair. Whether it be the common room, library, even the hallways, he doggedly followed at a distance and filled their minds with negativity and restlessness.

But he wasn't that cruel, understanding he was on the cusp of overdoing it. Just one more month, and then he would step back, vanishing the cloud of gloom from their minds, freeing them from this ever-present misery. Forgiving them. But until then, he would keep tormenting and exacting his revenge. And these exams allowed for so many new possibilities.

While his eyes returned to his notes, four ethereal tendrils—invisible to others—grew out of his back and dug into the golden sea that had replaced the floor. For the first few weeks, it had been difficult to control the tendrils when they went undersea, but now they moved just as easily as if they were in the air.

As his tendrils reached beneath the table where the seventh-years were seated, a vacuum sucked them up, allowing a breaching point for them to enter.

Now he had access to their minds.

"This is too tiring. I just want to sleep."

"I don't know how I'll pass. I have forgotten all that I have learnt."

"Maybe I should just drop out and stop wasting everyone's time. I'm useless and just a waste of space."

"What will I do after failing? How will I earn enough to survive? What the fuck am I doing with my life? Who will take care of my sisters?"

In the beginning, he had to plant words himself. But he had learnt another trick over the months. Now, he didn't even have to use words and could simply pull on particular emotions, allowing their minds to torture themselves with fears and insecurity.

That was what he did. Tugging on their despair, expanding it to fill their heads, dark and biting, suffusing their every thought with it. Minutes later, two of them were biting back frustrated tears before storming from the library.

He felt a little bad for making grown men cry, but there was a hint of accomplishment too, a warmth of satisfaction that overwhelmed the guilt.

"NEWTs must be torture if it can break them," Hannah mumbled, looking at how the others hurried after those two.

"True," he said distractedly, his focus back on the notes now that they were gone.

'Just one more month, and then I'll show mercy and consider us even.'

~xXxXx~

"Out with it. I know you want to ask something." Daphne looked up from her textbook and peered sideways at her half-sister.

The two were in their abandoned classroom, sitting together on a bench, studying for the upcoming exams. Usually, Daphne spent afternoons on her own, doing her homework or preparations in her solitude. It was at the request of Tracey that she changed her routine and joined her here.

In the privacy of her mind, she accepted that this was far better than being on her own or suffering Pansy's blabbering.

Tracey smiled sheepishly, embarrassed at being caught. "It's fine; we can talk about it later."

"Tell me. Now," Daphne said, her tone demanding.

Tracey worried her bottom lip before giving in. "Is there any type of magic where one can make others hallucinate? That, too, without using a wand?"

The blonde hummed thoughtfully, leaning back on the bench. "Mind arts are complex and powerful. I reckon there might be a way to do that. Though only a legendary witch or wizard can command such power and skill without a wand. Why do you ask?"

Tracey opened her mouth to tell her about the old incident at the orphanage, where Harry scared a group of boys with laughable ease. It was only when she returned home and asked Sister Maria about it that she realised what Harry had done.

The sky splitting open. A demon horde spilling out in hundreds of thousands. Harry becoming Lucifer himself.

What a load of bullshit. But somehow Harry had tricked the other boys into seeing that, into believing that.

And it wasn't just the only instance.

Harry might think he was being discreet and clever, but she knew him the best and spent most of her time with him. So it was inevitable that she caught on to how the four Slytherin boys—the ones involved in that infamous brawl—were becoming more and more depressed. And Harry's barely hidden smirks didn't go unnoticed by her.

She was absolutely sure that he had a hand in making them miserable. Not that she minded; they did deserve some misery for thrashing Harry.

"Nothing. I was just wondering if my mind is protected enough," Tracey lied.

While she trusted Daphne, Harry didn't. And she wasn't going to betray him and share his secrets with her. At least not until these two got on better terms, which seemed impossible at the moment.

Daphne stared at her, catching the lie, but decided against pushing further. "That reminds me that I need to teach you Occlumency. It will protect your mind from being tempered."

A relieved grin flashed over Tracey's face. "Thanks, Daph."

Although her trust in Harry was strong, she still desired a safety net. After all, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he might change in the future and exploit her unprotected mind.

He was her friend. Her best friend.

But life had taught her to always be on guard. Neither Daphne nor Harry had earned her absolute trust. She didn't think anyone ever could.

~xXxXx~

The morning following the last exam, Harry woke up a bit late, allowing himself this small luxury.

There was a lightness to his steps as he climbed down to the common room.

Now that the annoying exams were done, he could simply laze around.

'Hmm, what should I do? Flying with Tracey sounds fun. But she might already have plans with Greengrass. In that case, I can go on a relaxing walk with Susan and Hannah. Those two do like their strolls around the lake. But they too might have plans not involving me. If even they are busy, then I can drag Neville and Hermione from the library. And there is the option to spend time with mum if nothing works.'

With a rough day-plan formed in his head, he started for the sofa where Tracey was seated. As he slumped beside her, a commotion drew his attention.

A group of pale-faced seventh-years were running down the stairs.

He shared a shrug with Tracey as those seventh years halted and knocked on Professor Black's door.

By now, everyone was staring at them.

As the door slammed open to reveal their irritated head of the house, the boys rushed into her quarters.

The door remained open as she followed after them.

"Good morning. Any idea what this is about?" Harry asked, lounging on the sofa.

Tracey shook her head, wearing an intrigued look. "No, but we'll learn soon enough."

It was only minutes later that Professor Black strode out with a stricken look. She hurried up the stairs with the boys on her heels. He blinked at the intensity of her emotion. His surprise only grew when a bright flash of fire lit up the giant common room. The flare of warmth reached him, even though he and Tracey were near the wall.

Headmaster Dumbledore hastened towards the boys dormitory, ignoring the phoenix's sad trill as it vanished away.

"Something big has happened." Tracey mumbled, her concern clear on her face.

She gasped when the group slowly returned.

Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Black were in the front. The entire common room filled with shocked whispers and sad murmurs when they saw three bodies wrapped in pure white hovering after the teachers.

"Everyone, stay in the common room until further notice," Dumbledore said solemnly.

The procession went out of the Slytherin common room, leaving everyone dumbstruck and not knowing what happened.

They didn't have to wait too long for the news. A seventh-year girl revealed that Graham Montague, Cassius Warington, and Peregrine Derrick committed a group suicide.

Harry froze beside Tracey. And his heart began pounding relentlessly.

He pressed his palm on the left side of his chest. And tried to calm the violent thumping. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he clawed, his heart refused his plea, continuing in its desperate attempt to tear out of his chest.

A strange unease grew in his stomach. Like spiders multiplying and crawling in the inner lining of his belly, trying to consume him from within.

As the hundreds of arachnids climbed up his throat with their disgustingly hair-thin legs, he stumbled out of the sofa and threw up on the floor.

He was surprised that all he expelled were fluids.

There were no spiders.

Only Tracey's comforting hand on his back and her gentle whispers kept him from sinking into his suffocating guilt.

What have I done? What have I done? What have I done? What have I done? What have I—

~xXxXx~

Harry was in his mum's bed with her arms tightly wrapped around him.

"I didn't mean to bully them into killing themselves," he whispered against her chest, the scent of rosemary soothing his inner turmoil.

"I know," she whispered back, cradling his head on her bosom.

"I didn't think they would kill themselves." He bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, his tears seeping into her shirt.

"Shh… it's alright. You made a mistake. It's not your fault." She kissed his head.

"But they are dead."

"And they deserved it," she said darkly.

He looked up from the perch on her chest. "They did?"

"Of course. They would have killed you that day in their mad rage if the Head Boy hadn't interfered." She smiled tenderly, cupping his face.

"So I did nothing wrong?" He asked, his teary eyes hopeful.

"You did nothing wrong. You just got even."

"Oh." He exhaled and rested his face again on her chest.

"Now sleep, love. You cried too much for them."

As Harry's heavy eyelids closed and he dozed off on her, she continued muting his guilt and nourishing his sense of accomplishment.

The golden, ethereal tendril grew out of her side and was buried in his back.

"It's for your own good, Harry. You're too soft."

She broke the connection and hoped it was enough.

"For your own good."