25

XLVIII. Documentation

Of course, leaving records of your nefarious schemes before you come to power is a risk… but afterwards, once you have ascended, a carefully curated record of your exploits might be nice, so that your legacy stretches on. Sure, there are other, flashier ways of making sure you will never be forgotten… but living on in a book is something, at least.

Be sure to exert some influence over your biographer, if you're not writing it yourself… it would certainly be a shame if they wrote with any unfortunate misconceptions about your person in their mind. You are, of course, interested in nothing more than the truth.

For what it was worth, Dennis took up mapping with a surprising zeal, going as far to acquire an underwater camera. Admittedly, getting pictures of Atlantis was… difficult, but certainly not impossible. He was also more than happy to use the camera in other places, like the Mermen community that still thrived around Doggerland, or while visiting Kumari Kandam, as part of the whole getting them ready to interact with the outside world plan.

There were definitely some personal reasons behind him taking up the camera, but it was certainly something to do between getting kicked around in duels or exploring the library that Harry had accrued. He was even playing some small part in helping to fill it.

Taking photos for Luna's journalism projects wasn't too bad, actually. It started with newspapers, of course, but there was all sorts of mumbling going around the island about book writing and such. Harry was planning… something about Atlantis, everyone knew that, but that was a major project, even bigger than the guide to Parseltongue he had written. Dennis was the picture man, obviously, and helped Luna when it came to things like typesetting and all that.

Dennis thought that Harry could write an absolutely killer memoir, if he wanted to, but at the same time… well, if Harry wanted to live a completely normal life from now on- the sort of unremarkable one that would never necessitate a biography- he probably deserved it. Still, writing a book about Harry sounded like an interesting challenge.

He also got a few pictures of that awesome crystal canyon in Atlantis- oh, the lighting was hell to manage, but somehow it worked out- before people started shaving off pieces. Well, he supposed that technically it was glass, or whatever, but that (and whatever magic the crystals had) was for other people to worry about.

Dad was doing… alright. Admittedly, Harry didn't really need the skills of a milkman (magic could do the job of a fridge with ease), but there were apparently some minor improvements made to the logistics of Doggerland and its growing collection of smaller islands scattered around the world. Harry did genuinely want to make the place inviting to non-magicals, and having a muggle run into everyday problems they couldn't just fix with magic made them rather obvious.

Dennis saw his dad commiserating with Ms. Andromeda Tonks sometimes, almost certainly about the misery of losing a child, and hoped that it helped. Some things, he figured, were equally miserable for both magicians and muggles.

It was summer, so the portion of the population who could manage to get out into the sun took the opportunity to do so. Harry actually had to go and do some magic to expand the beach; of course, making sure not to make the Merfolk upset by lifting their homes to the surface. Margaret could observe bits and pieces of it through magical means, and she couldn't help but feel a prickle of jealousy.

Admittedly, that jealousy was not (entirely) due to missing out on traipsing around in swimwear near Potter- although she imagined the good master was probably enjoying the sights, so to speak- it was more a matter of not being able to go out in the sun. The three hundred odd years without so much as a drop of sunlight had gotten her rather used to it, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Some of their research into Hogwarts and the roof over the Great Hall showed promise, although they'd have to make sure the sunlight it made wasn't the real deal, or otherwise close enough to cause problems.

But that wasn't really important at the moment. While Margaret may not have been capable of observing directly, she could watch through magical means, and it certainly seemed that Harry was enjoying himself. Greengrass seemed rather vexed that she wasn't always the center of his attention, though. Veela were something else…

Well, it was good to know Potter was a red-blooded male, even if he occasionally stopped to focus on other things. Margaret thought that his attempts at being a good god-father for Teddy were admirable, and promising, if he were to raise any future heirs… However, she certainly wished he had a bit more drive, so to speak, but what could she do? Well, she supposed it was a matter of what she could do without breaching his trust.

She didn't quite understand his squeamishness about love potions (times had changed, she supposed), but she was smart enough to know that attempting any business with potions of that sort would evoke the good master's ire. Better not to risk it- or at least chose something where it could be misconstrued as a reasonable mistake. Contraceptive potions could be quite finicky, if she remembered…

Those were the potions of her day, of course, so she might have to do some research… However, that was a matter for another time. There was much to do- if she remembered correctly, they needed to restock one of the ships for one of the good master's adventures…

Perhaps taking a break from Atlantis to go sailing seemed a little silly- there seemed to be far too much water in Harry's life recently- but that didn't really matter. Jean Paul- after nearly blowing his lid when he realized Harry discovered Atlantis- suggested that any searching for the isle of Avalon would be made more efficient by more boats.

It wasn't even that bad of a way to spend the summer, and it seemed like the ghosts enjoyed sailing instead of sitting around. They just seemed content to sail, although that seemed like more of an eternal punishment to Harry than anything else… Well. He shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, he figured.

In theory, they only had a very limited area they needed to search- it couldn't be that far from Britain, right?- but Harry a bad feeling that the island, if not completely sealed off from the world somehow, would be an absolute pain to find, like, they'd have to run into it to find it.

It took quite a bit of sailing- and Harry sniffing out traces of magic- but they eventually caught a trail. Old, old magic- obviously- that seemed to trace a sort of path to Avalon. The only path there, as far as Harry could tell, making bumping into it by happenchance basically impossible. Any other path would lead you to nothing but ocean, if his guesses about the magic were correct…

And it definitely seemed designed to throw people off, the path zigging and zagging wildy in a way Harry struggled to follow. Harry imagined the only way a muggle would find their way to the isle was if they were boating under the influence (was BUI a thing?).

Eventually, Harry turned, pivoted, and reversed his way to Avalon… or at least, to a point where he could actually spot it with the naked eye, although Harry would admit his 'naked eyes' were anything but normal. From there, he and Jean Paul convened to discuss their approach- not sure if there was anything else in store.

"I mean, the place was warded by Morgan herself. We can't just sail in."

"Maybe that's why no one ever tried." Harry speculated. "Plus, these wards must be what- more than a thousand years old? Maybe we can crack them."

So Harry began to slowly sail towards the island, not entirely sure what to expect. He had magic and a naval gun if the defenses included some sort of sea monster…

Harry was near the prow of the ship when he first noticed it, climbing up the sides of the ship like a rapidly growing moss, the pristine sides of his ship giving way to reddish rust.

With a swing of his staff, the sea itself bucked, sending the ship backwards at a terrifying pace- but getting them out of the way of whatever sort of magic caused the rusting. Harry let out a sigh of relief before a stinging hex landed on his arm. "What the…" Harry immediately snapped around-

To see a thoroughly soaked Jean Paul making obscene gestures at him between the many drying charms he cast. Woops.

More testing proved what they had kind of suspected: there was some serious magic protecting the island. The rusting effect worked on just about everything- including nails, which meant that the Belle Epoque would fall to pieces even if they attempted to sail over.

Brooms and flying carpets threw their riders- not a particularly fun thing to find out first hand, Harry would tell you- and when you landed, the water would immediately shift from placid stillness to rough chop. Apparition was doomed to failure as well…

They reconvened to find some way around the wards that wrapped the island. "What was with the iron thing, though?" Harry mused.

"Well, she was Morgan le Fay…" seeing Harry's expression, Jean Paul continued. "Morgan the fairy. Of course she's not going to like iron."

Harry blinked. Revelations about the potential nature of Morgan/Morgana aside, the aversion to iron made some sort of sense… after all, what sort of fae would sail in a ship made with iron pieces? "Gimme a minute, would you?"

After carefully flying around the ward, he headed towards the nearest bit of coast, found a tree, and got to work.

"What the hell is that?" Jean Paul looked down at Harry from the deck of his ship.

"An ironless boat." Well, perhaps something like canoe would have been a better word for it, considering that it wasn't much more than a hollowed out log. But hopefully, it would get around whatever magical restrictions guarded Avalon.

Thankfully, Harry didn't have to row the boat forward- courtesy of magic- and when he crossed the otherwise unremarkable threshold, nothing happened. The ship cut through the water comfortably as both Harry and Jean Paul grinned. They were in.

After quickly circling around to pick up Jean Paul, Harry landed the boat upon the fair shores of Avalon.

The island's verdant grass was absolutely covered in windfall apples, what must have been thousands of them… he supposed that the name was fitting. At some point, Harry had just stopped trying to avoid them, focusing on getting a good footing instead, even if that meant leaving a trail of mashed apples behind him.

The trees occasionally gave way to meadows thick with flowers and full with the sound of birdsong, where the air seemed almost unnaturally sweet. If Harry had to use a single word to describe it, idyllic would probably be the one.

"Doesn't it seem a little… too good to be true?" Jean Paul mused, carefully plucking a berry off of one of the bushes and rolling it between his fingers.

"I mean, it's not like we walked into a trap, or something." Harry shrugged. "I mean, if you were a super powerful magician, wouldn't you make your home as comfortable as you could possibly manage?"

"Good point- supposing there's actually a house here."

More searching revealed no sign of a house, or even ruins of what could have been a house… just an island absolutely overflowing with abundance, without a soul to enjoy it. Eventually, they found the entrance to a sort of grotto, tucked away between the (gentle, easy-to-walk) slopes of a few hills.

The cave was surprisingly roomy and well lit for a cavern forgotten to time. Gentle purple light came from glass-like crystals, and the floor was smooth under their feet. Certainly not very cavelike...

Eventually it opened up to an even larger space, one with a very obvious centerpiece: a raised platform, made of smooth white stone and glass which seemed to be the center point of the room, the magical light highlighting its place of honor.

And sitting on that dias, under a layer of frosted glass, was a man. In any other circumstance, Harry would have assumed this was some nutty sort of coffin, but there was something… off about the whole thing. The man looked… well, healthy probably wasn't the right word, but it looked as if he couldn't have been in there for long.

Sure, the hair was starting to gray and the face was covered in wrinkles that hinted at stress, but there was still some color to the man's face… More worryingly, a vivid red stain on the side of the tunic the man wore still looked fresh.

And as Harry considered that this man might have been placed here due to an injury, a story- the only fitting story- came to mind. A story of a king, who had suffered, according to some, a nearly fatal blow at his son's hands before being taken to the isle of Avalon.

Arthur. Looking over, Harry could see a shocked expression on Jean Paul's face. "The king under the mountain…" he whispered.

"I mean, I wouldn't call it a mountain." Harry said.

"It's a motif. You know, a hero waiting under the mountain until he returns to save his people from crisis?"

"And Voldemort wasn't a crisis?" Harry scoffed. "Maybe someone screwed up the settings." He tapped the glass, to no effect.

"I don't want to imagine what would wake him up if Voldemort wouldn't do the trick…" Maybe the magic had a different definition of what counted as trouble in Britain- wizards were a tiny slice of the population, after all- or maybe it knew when it was really, truly needed, somehow.

Did it somehow know that Harry was enough to handle Voldemort?

"You said it was a motif- do you think there are more of them?"

"Maybe." Jean Paul shrugged. "I've heard stories. Charlemagne, Constantine XI the last Byzantine Emperor, Barbarossa…"

"Well, they're kind of late to the party then, aren't they?"

"I suppose so."

They also poked around the room itself a little, looking for any other secrets the room might hold other than King Arthur himself.

There wasn't much, unfortunately, and Harry started to wonder if this was just an antechamber or something, with the real treasures hidden away. There was barely anything in the room at all- much less room to live, practice magic, or whatever else- other than something made of leather hanging from a conspicuous spur of the rocks.

Actually, Harry thought it might be… "You need a magical halter, Jean?"

"You think I have room for a horse?" He scoffed. "It's a shame none of the useful treasures are here…"

"Well, if anyone could have used that faithfulness-detecting mantle, it would have been Arthur."

Looking around revealed no sight of the mantle; obviously, considering that the whole reason Arthur was here in the first place was because of a Lancelot-sparked civil war. No sign of the other treasures, although the chariot's absence was the most apparent. You couldn't exactly hide one of those or tuck it in a dark corner like you could with a knife… Although Harry found the idea of Morgan le Fay herself having to install a chariot garage in her magical cave a little weird.

Eventually, they figured they had found everything. Or at least everything that wouldn't require some extreme investigation- Harry figured that there were probably some secretive grottoes or whatever lying about, and figured he'd eventually go and sniff the place out.

Still, there was the matter of the elephant in the room, or rather, the King of the Britons, and what to do with him."Should we leave a note, you think?" Harry asked.

"Could he even read it?"

"Fair enough." Neither of them knew… what was the language he spoke, Brittonic?

Before they left, Harry made sure to cast a spell that would alert him if anything was up with this place. If Arthur would only awake for Britain's greatest need… well, Harry would certainly want to know when it happened.

Harry hoped it didn't happen while he was around, simply for the fact that he already had way too much excitement in his life. Well, excitement of the nearly fatal and potentially disastrous sort, not the fun sort, which he certainly wouldn't mind more of.

McGonagall was happy to let him poke around the castle a bit, especially if Harry promised to do a bit of teaching here and there. It wasn't an awful deal, Harry thought, and he certainly didn't mind giving people more tools and experience to defend themselves with.

However, he had come to Hogwarts with a particular motive in his mind other than just helping out McGonagall. He wanted to investigate the Room of Requirement.

Harry paced in front of that familiar stretch of hallway, one thought on his mind: show me how you work.

Eventually, the door to the Room appeared, and he went inside to find… a room that was only slightly larger than a closet, the walls all painted a brilliant white. In the middle of the room sat a podium, and on that podium sat a book.

Was it really that easy? The secrets of the room, laid bare? Well, he supposed that he would have to read it first, to see that the room wasn't playing a prank on him.

Could the room play pranks? Was it intelligent enough for that? He supposed that the best way to find out would be to read the book….

Everything was there in the book. That was not to say that the process of building his own Room of Requirement would be easy, just that the process was described in detail. Strangely, the book wasn't composed of notes from the builders, as he expected, but was rather in an almost autobiographical style.

"I was the brainchild of Helga Hufflepuff, who wanted a space in the castle where any student could find succor; however, she could not do it alone. If any pair of people could be pointed at and called my parents, it would have been Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw…"

Thankfully- perhaps intentionally?- the room didn't put any magic on the book that prevented him from making a copy with his own magic. Tucking the time under his arm, he gave the walls of the room an appreciative pat, feeling only a little silly. The room seemed intelligent in its own way, at least enough to be helpful.

There was something kind of reassuring about Hogwarts, although that was probably due to it being benevolent. Living in a building with the sort of intelligence that Hogwarts seemed to have while the building didn't like you… well, you'd probably end up splattered against the floors in minutes.

You could probably write an entire book on Hogwarts, trying to understand the vagaries of the castle and find some sort of greater meaning in the patterns of those ever changing stairwells… but Harry had other projects he wanted to focus on at the moment, like Atlantis. Not to mention that 'cracking the code' when it came to Hogwarts would rob future students of the… joy of learning the tips and tricks to navigating the castle. If there was ever any sort of logic to it in the first place, even.

Harry wondered if his own castle would eventually gain that sort of personality- was it just a matter of being lived in for quite a while, or was there some long forgotten spell that would imbue a place with life?

He'd have to check out the Great Hall as well, to see if he could spoof those particular spells- after making sure they wouldn't fry vampires, of course. How would he even begin to test that, actually?

Meanwhile, there was the matter of the ICW to worry about as well. Thankfully, there was no funny business with new countries or anything like that- Doggerland and Kumari Kandam joining in such rapid succession was unusual- although business as usual proved almost pleasantly boring.

That was an odd thing to say, he supposed, but not having to worry about anyone dark lords screwing with the Statute of Secrecy. Sure, there were still issues: the ICW told him frankly that he had to not be too aggressive with the weather magic. The muggle "meatierlogists" were getting worried, apparently- Harry barely managed to hold back his snickering to give an appropriate response.

Oh, he wasn't going to stop, but he figured he could maybe… make it more subtle? He couldn't exactly let flooding or something happen while he had the means to prevent it… would the muggles really complain about temperate, easy weather? Maybe they'd find a way.

Other than that, most countries could handle whatever little breaches happened here and there, leaving the ICW to handle big things and international cooperation. Thankfully, no one was quite dumb enough to attempt to revive the Triwizard… Harry would have been the first person to vote no, obviously.

Seeing people get into massive rows about dragons was pretty funny, though. He supposed that he'd have to keep his own on the down low… Fittingly, the discussion of dragons got heated. So heated, in fact, that a recess was called after the Hetman of Magical Ukraine pulled out a wand. He was disarmed almost immediately, of course, but the Supreme Mugwump decided they all needed a minute to let tempers cool.

During said recess, Harry found himself talking with the Supreme Mugwump. Their conversation was surprisingly casual- although maybe that was because Harry had a hard time putting someone with the title of Supreme Mugwump on too high of a pedestal.

"You're not going to believe me." Harry warned.

"I'm a magician, Mr. Potter. I don't think you can surprise me."

"We've found Atlantis, and we're starting to explore it."

The Supreme Mugwump's eyes widened, and he froze. "You've… you've found Atlantis?" He gulped. "You're certain?"

"Positive. I could get you photos, if you'd like."

"Alright." The Supreme Mugwump inhaled deeply. "You've found Atlantis. What are you going to do with it? Are you going to claim it?"

"I mean, can I?" Harry asked. He wasn't entirely sure of the specifics on this one…

"If nothing else, you need to keep it hidden from those muggle submarines." The Supreme Mugwump explained. "And at that point… well, you're protecting it, you're exploring it…"

"Then it's Doggerland's." Thinking about it, Harry figured it would be like a historic site, or something. A piece of magical history… Harry supposed he could keep it secret, like some of the other treasures he had sitting around, but it wasn't like you could write a book about Atlantis without revealing the existence of said city.

"Now I'd certainly like to see it, if you're allowing visitors…" he grinned, "However, we should probably get back to business." He wandered away, leaving Harry to consider how he could possibly stake a claim to Atlantis without making everyone go crazy.

As the recess drew to a close, Harry walked over to Dennis. "Could you go and grab some of those photos of Atlantis you took?"

"You're going to-"

"Yeah." Harry nodded. He supposed that if he had to reveal it, he could build up a little hype. Muggle countries thrived off of tourism, right?

POTTER'S ATLANTIS

[The picture's quality is hampered slightly by the water, but what is depicted is undeniable: a city of foreign architecture, immersed in the sea, fish flitting through ruined doors and windows.]

At the most recent ICW meeting, Harry Potter has made a stunning announcement: he has found Atlantis, and he plans on keeping it.

Potter has claimed responsibility for both the underwater city and the Mermen who live on its periphery, and has promised to keep the site secret from any muggles who would attempt to find it, using their "submarines [sic]".

In addition, he hinted that visits to Atlantis would be possible in the future, although the situation would have to be allowed to develop first. News about Atlantis, other than the pictures provided, is still quite limited. Keep on reading!

(For a recap of Potter's recent discoveries, including Kumari Kandam, turn to page 5.)

Dudley Dursley derived some meager enjoyment from just knowing about the magical world. Sure, it wouldn't really impact his life that much unless he sent a letter to Harry pleading for help or something, but he knew it was there.

Perhaps it made him feel a little smarter, a bit more enlightened, as he struggled with an otherwise mundane life. Maybe it was a source of hope, a promise that life was not nearly as dreary and dreadful, as painfully normal, as it seemed…

It also made reading the papers more interesting, although that wasn't always a good thing. Especially during the wizarding war, every mysterious death in the papers sent a chill down his spine. How narrowly did he and his parents manage to escape that?

But since that whole mess was over now, the news was actually kind of fun to read. Was that weird unexplained event the result of magic, or was it just nutters being nutty?

Sure, the obvious explanation for that bloke who caught a picture of something blue-green flying over Mexico was probably a bit of grass on the photographer's camera lens or something, but wasn't it fun to imagine? The idea of some tabloid discovering dragons or something seemed kind of crazy.

Wasn't the whole world a little crazy, though? He wouldn't be completely surprised if a lot of major muggle mysteries were just wizards taking the piss…

After a long day, a citizen of Kumari Kandam sat down to write in their journal, the paper soon filling with Kumari Parselscript (not to be confused with Dogger Parselscript, although the writer had picked up bits and pieces of that, too…)

Life outside of Kumari Kandam is… odd. The world stretches further than even the greatest reaches of the Kumari tunnels, and is far vaster than even the greatest cavern. It was certainly a shock, and I recall my panic attack at the top of Potter's tower with some embarrassment now. In all my life I had never imagined such incredible depth. At the very least, I hear that fear of heights is not particularly rare.

Potter himself is an interesting figure. He took the time to help us get adjusted to the outside world- and was the first visitor from there, of course- which is apparently something he's done before. Among his retinue, there were several women of particularly pale complexion, with unusually sharp teeth, called vampires(the word is written in Dogger Parselscript, and sticks out like a sore thumb. The margins are filled with possible ways to write the word in Kumari) who possess incredible longevity. They had been held captive for some time, and when they reentered the world it was like a different country…

The fashion and people were quite odd there, but Potter had no small number of snakes on his island, who were more than willing to talk and even visit Kumari Kandam. I have found a particularly handsome one with bands of red, gold, and black, who has accompanied me. He is from a land called America, which was named for an adventurer of some renown.

There is much to learn, and I am rushing to pick up Potter's original tongue, English, as well, considering that many texts seem to be written in it. He does not have much time for translation, meaning any texts we do get from the world are ones he considers important. Potter does not seem a bad fellow, of course, but I cannot help but feel that he considers himself obligated to protect us from the outside world while we do not comprehend it fully.

Perhaps I will eventually come to regret digging too deeply without understanding what I am getting into, but now that I know the scale of the world beyond Kumari Kandam, I cannot help but want to see all of it.