It is, Harry thought, the hardest thing to ever acknowledge, that you aren't all that different from your sworn enemy after all. Situated atop a hill overlooking the research facility he was observing, Harry found he had a lot of time to reflect.

After Voldemort's fall at the lauded Battle of Hogwarts, peace had seemingly been achieved. The survivors had begun rebuilding their lives, full of triumph and vigor – only to find they had been too late. The lengthy campaign that Voldemort had waged against both the magical and muggle world had, at last, shown the repercussions everyone had feared. After some seventeen years of peace and slow rebuilding of all that was lost, the world around Magicals all over the globe had exploded in heat and fire and ash.

The muggles, as had later been concluded by tech-savvy muggleborns, had reviewed the data of Voldemort's terroristic attacks, cross-referenced their satellite imagery and very old maps and, quite correctly, come to the conclusion that there were parts of the world they simply could not see. Some of the more liberal higher-ups and businessmen and -women invested in the muggle world had tried to call attention to the fact that something was happening, but both the governments and the public had closed ears and eyes to the, in their eyes, nonsensical claims of the muggles having found them. In the beginning it seemed like the doomsayers had been wrong after all, until magical enclaves all over the world had been attacked in one fell swoop.

Harry let out a heavy sigh. He'd been in Egypt at the time, researching old magic with Bill at his side. Chaos, he mused, isn't strong enough a word for what came after.

The attack had the International Confederation of Wizards on high alert at once. Magical governments all over the world coordinated with one another on a scale not seen since the founding of the ICW itself. The problem had been, quite a lot of those in power had perished in the initial attack, which had mainly been directed at big blind spots on the muggle's maps. This – both fortunately and unfortunately – meant, that singular wizarding homes had been largely unaffected. Community hubs such as Diagon Alley had been hit hard however, thus maximizing casualties on the Magicals side.

In the chaos that followed, the ICW stood in as the coordinative head of the countereffort; prioritizing resources, assigning tasks and balancing the demands of the different nations. Research teams had been sent on a fact-finding mission of an incredible scale – muggle weaponry, tactics, numbers, morale, spy networks, military networks, chains of command, political inclinations and so on.

The ICW's envoy to Harry had arrived not three days after the initial attack. Harry had been generally treated like a dangerous animal by the wizarding world. They hadn't ever had the gall to call him a dark lord to his face, or even in public at all – he was after all the lauded victor of the second wizarding war. There had been a noticeable rift between him and the general public, however. Hermione, Ron, the rest of the Weasley family and Harry's other friends had all made efforts to keep in contact and stay a part of his life, but it had proven difficult with them settling down and starting their respective families.

Harry meanwhile had had his own hardships to endure at the time. The Deathly Hallows had been one of them. They had, after he had left them behind, begun appearing on his person after not even a day of him not carrying them. He'd tried everything – breaking the Wand, pulverizing the Stone, even burning his cloak – nothing had worked, which had ultimately led him into the Department of Mysteries. Knowing the Unspeakables were mostly researchers with access to knowledge not readily available to the general public, he'd applied for a job and it was only there that shit had really hit the fan, as the saying goes.

It turned out that there was a mandatory test of one's magical power when applying as an Unspeakable. Harry had easily consented to the ritual, not thinking much of it. While not considering himself level with Albus Dumbledore or Voldemort, he was sure he'd do fairly well on the power-scale. He really should have known better.
The ritual to measure one's magical power would, in essence, draw magic from the leylines spanning the globe to metaphorically "press in" against the magic of the tested witch or wizard. The seven runic arrays making up the ritual would activate one after the other. Once one array was fully powered, the second would start absorbing magic and add it to the ritual and so on, until the witch's or wizards magic could no longer hold out and the tested individual would fall unconscious. The ritual worked on the premise that the natural magical field surrounding and pervading a witch or wizard would naturally try to repel any foreign magic without clear or with harmful intent.

The average witch or wizard would usually not quite outlast the second array. Albus Dumbledore, who had according to the Unspeakables consented to the test out of sheer curiosity, had made it to mid-way through the fourth array. The ever factual Unspeakables were under the assumption that Voldemort would've lasted a bit longer had he ever taken the test, but not by too much.

Harry distinctly remembered seeing worried faces once the sixth array had started glowing. When the seventh finally began doing the same after almost two full hours into the ritual, the Unspeakables had broken into a form of controlled panic. People were suddenly scurrying everywhere, almost tripping over one another and the supplies they'd brought into the ritual chamber, hastily working on drawing three more arrays surrounding the initial ritual setup. This served, as Harry later found out, to absorb the excess magic should he manage to hold out against the seventh array as well. Harry, always having had his very own brand of bad luck, had of course done exactly that. The main problem at this point had been that the ritual would stop only once its purpose had been fulfilled – in this case rendering Harry unconscious. Due to Harry still holding out without much of a sign of strain showing at all and the ritual being self-contained for the moment, a planning session was called with all Heads of Research and Development in attendance.

The idea to expand the ritual to suit the situations specific needs was proposed and quickly scrapped. As it turned out, ritualistic runic arrays could only be expanded exponentially. For a ritual with three initial arrays this meant the next step would be nine arrays. A ritual with four arrays would already need sixteen arrays to be expanded. In Harrys specific case it meant that a whopping forty-nine runic arrays would be needed to expand the ritual, for which there simply wasn't enough space in the ritual chamber.

Other avenues were discussed and explored, such as getting Harry to overpower the ritual – which would likely flatten the Ministry building and all around it in a ten mile radius, should he not be able to keep his focus and fail – depowering the ritual through other means, which was dismissed on the same premise or, as Harry had later found out to his consternation, simply closing off the chamber and leaving him there.

In the end, they had enlarged the ritual room and worked in the additional ritual arrays after all. Now, casting spatial expansion charms in a room as permeated by ambient wild magic as this was a recipe for disaster all on its own. The risk was however deemed negligible compared to the other possibilities.

Harry spent a full thirty hours watching the Unspeakables work around him, before they removed the three containment arrays. Everything else was a blur, to the Unspeakables as much as him. The devices observing the ritual recorded it lasting eight hours after the containment arrays had been removed.

When Harry and the Head-Unspeakable, who went by the codename "Watcher", had later discussed Harrys results, there had really not been too much to say. Still, Harry remembered the words quite clearly.

The man had taken five minutes to just stare at him before saying: "Listen, Mr. Potter, because I will say this only once. We do not actually know how high you scored, nor how long you actually lasted due to the added strain of holding back the seven-array pressure for so long… But I know this. You are the single most powerful entity on this planet. Do you realize what that means?"

Harry had swallowed heavily and spoke after a moment of silence: "No one can know."

Watcher had let out a short, barking laugh at that. "It's far too late for that, Mr. Potter. The magical disturbance has likely been recorded in half the world's magical research facilities. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was down here with all hands the minute we lifted the containment arrays," he confessed with depreciating shake of the head before continuing. "You know full well that this government has leaks to the media everywhere. By tomorrow, all of magical Britain will be aware. The rest of the world won't be long to follow."
Before Harry could begin to fully consider what would await him in the near future, Watcher continued to talk: "You, however, are here to apply for a Position in the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable."

The man gave a long, drawn out sigh before waving his wand at a device positioned on the desk between them that was responsible for recording the conversation. Then Watcher stood, walked to a side table and poured a good measure of an amber liquid into two glasses. He handed one to Harry, who sniffed curiously at it. Brandy or something like that, he wagered.

Watcher walked back to the chair behind his desk, sitting down heavily. He heaved another sigh before pulling back the hood obscuring his face with a measured movement. Harry eyed him curiously. Watcher seemed to be a man in his fifties, which could really mean almost any age from fifty to ninety by wizarding standards, Harry reckoned. He had dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes and the look of a man that didn't smile too much in his life.

Watcher had peered searchingly into Harrys eyes for a good minute. Then he'd drained his glass, leant back in his chair and said: "Officially, I have to tell you I'd accept you readily into the ranks of the Unspeakables. Indeed, with your magical potential I'd be remiss in my duties should I not quite literally fall to my knees and beg you to stay, should you decide you've lost interest in the position."

Harry absorbed this quietly, looking on as Watcher slowly and deliberately leant forwards in his chair. The man rested his elbows on the desk, leaning in towards Harry before speaking again.

"Unofficially…", Watcher sighed again. "Unofficially, I ask you this. Can you, in good conscience, lay all this power you command into the hands of a government that – however it may have changed since the war ended – has been so closeminded and swayed so easily to the side of the ones they should have fought in the past? Can you imagine what is bound to happen? What manner of message you will send?"

Harry had swallowed heavily at that. "It'd turn the political arena completely on its head." Watcher nodded fervently. "Yes! That is exactly what would happen. International politics would turn into a farce. Other nations would feel threatened by the fact of you being any kind of underling to the government at all, while our own leadership would become ever bolder when dealing with them. We'd have a war on our hands within a few years, if not months!"

Watcher had taken a deep breath, before continuing more quietly. "All this being conjecture at this point, of course. I try to keep abreast of these things, though. As should you, from now on."

Harry had looked at Watcher for a moment longer, before giving a small nod and rising from his seat. Watcher shook his hand once, leading him over to the door. A few steps before reaching it, Harry turned to the other man and asked: "You say you keep abreast of our national political arena, yes?"

Watcher gave a short nod. Harry continued: "I have two seats on the Wizengamot to claim, should I be so inclined. What do you make of that?"

At Watchers gob smacked look, Harry'd had a good chuckle. It would probably be the only time he'd see such an expression on an Unspeakable. The discussion had devolved into the finer points of politics then, but the result of the conversation remained; Harry would not join the Department of Mysteries.

After giving himself some time to come to terms with all that had happened, Harry had concluded that he'd put his own effort into travel and study. The answer had to be out there somewhere, he reasoned. Plus, he felt he was literally made for exploring the mysteries of magic. Thus, began just short of sixteen years of magical study all over the world and Harry found, once he'd started, he could hardly stop. Everyone he learned from told him to stop and rest at some time or other, but for Harry it wasn't work at all. He loved what he was doing, pursuing not only knowledge, but finding ways to better himself at the same time. Today, he would readily acknowledge that it was possibly some kind of flight from his past – becoming powerful, so no one could ever again threaten what he loved or manipulate or take advantage of him.

But that was what it had been at the time. His accumulated knowledge, both books and his own notes and experiments, had soon become cumbersome to carry around. Harry had taken one look at the trunks that the average wizard seemed to favor and immediately dismissed them. While quite a sight to behold the first time, trunks could always be stolen, lost, destroyed or simply become too unorganized for his needs. He'd had no wish to carry countless trunks with him everywhere. Also, a trunk simply didn't have a very magical feeling to it.
Some research had yielded not really a spell, but more of a ritual really. By way of spatial manipulation, he'd managed to create a sort of dimensional pocket that seemed to bend space itself in some manner not all that different from apparition. The ritualistic part of the process had been binding the setup to himself, so his belongings would not be irrecoverably lost. Both Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort had likely made use of the same magic to store at the very least their wands, or so Harry suspected. The whole thing had been incredibly useful and, Harry would readily acknowledge, a neat party trick as well. Some peoples gob smacked staring whenever he pulled something from seemingly thin air always put a smile on his face.

His wandering and learning had also had the effect of keeping him from most of the assorted attempts to recruit him for one thing or other, which was at the very least a nice bonus. He'd always gone to great lengths to obscure his identity and quickly moved on once was found out. Some of his various teachers saw right through his disguises, but fortunately it had been mostly those that didn't care.

Years later, when things got worse for magicals around the world and the ICW envoy came to almost beg for his help, Harry couldn't in good conscience say no. He didn't outright say yes either however, but traveled to the ICW's current seat atop Mount Everest. The scenery aside, he hadn't been too impressed by what he'd found. When he told the assorted officials that if they wanted his help, he'd choose his own battles and would not be the underling of some moron that commanded fighters by virtue of his pedigree, they'd immediately accepted and thrown as much responsibility at him as they could conceivably get away with.

Over the next four years Harry would go on to win most of the battles he fought, both alone and with others. Sadly, he'd also go on to lose the war at the same time. As the numbers of the magicals dwindled ever further, spies and researchers were sent out to assess the morale and loyalty of the enemy and try to recruit from them or the few neutral nations around the world.

The breaking point of it all, Harry mused on, still observing the research facility.

Loyalty had indeed been the gamechanger, only it hadn't played into the wizarding worlds hands at all. Muggleborns that had close ties to their home, or were simply not on board with the way the wizarding world had been going about things defecting to the enemy were one thing.

Defecting Purebloods had been another problem altogether. Carrying vast amounts of knowledge with them, both in their heads and their libraries, they defected in hopes of breaking the Wizarding Worlds back and rebuilding it anew in their image after all. The muggles had, at the time, welcomed them seemingly with open arms. In mere hours the Magicals tactics, numbers and abilities had been exposed to their enemy. What followed was a bloodbath. The ICW headquarters had been completely wiped off the map, the magical war effort collapsing in the aftermath without a clear command structure to coordinate it. From this point on, Harry had worked alone.

Not having to answer to the ICW anymore had its advantages. Not having to care about any magicals surrounding him, Harry had been able to really let loose for maybe the first time in his life. The results were devastating. Virtually nothing that the muggles threw at him could truly harm him for any length of time and the magicals that had defected were leaves swept away in a hurricane.
Not having to answer to the ICW had also increased his workload though, such as acquiring his own intelligence and resources.

Acquired Intelligence from one of the wizards supporting the muggles was what led him to this research facility somewhere in southern Germany. According to the wizard's memories, the muggles had put more and more pressure on the wizards siding with them to find a way of stopping Harry. Being told that "If you cannot find a way to neutralize this threat, you are of no more use to us" had sent them into a frenzy until they managed to throw together a half-assed plan and that actually, at least partially, succeeded.
They'd managed to open some sort of dimensional gate. The plan from there was to summon some powerful being through and bind it using an ancient Egyptian slave-bonding ritual. In the end, they had actually managed to summon four beings. They hadn't, however, managed to bind any one of them and Harry knew why; the ritual they were using would only work on a willing participant or one who owes the caster a life-debt.

Tough luck, Harry snorted to himself. Had they translated the whole damn text; they would have known that little detail.

Seeing the guard getting ready to change, he knew it was time to act. He didn't actually know what he would do once he got to wherever they kept the beings they'd summoned, but he'd cross that bridge once he got there. Focusing briefly on Deaths Cloak, he turned himself invisible and silently apparated right before the wardline. Usually he'd simply blast them apart and raze the building, but with four beings of unknown power, affiliation and personality inside he'd have to move a bit more stealthy this time.

Calling the Elder Wand to his hand, Harry carefully prodded the ward scheme with a tendril of magic. They'd recently been strengthened, but there were obviously no learned warders present. Harry managed to widen one of the weak-spots far enough to step through, after which he carefully returned the scheme to its previous state. As the guard ambled through the door into the facility, Harry slipped inside right behind him. Once the door had closed behind them, he cast his magic out in a non-verbal Homenum Revelio. Sensing no one nearby, he threw an overpowered silencing charm at the guard shuffling along before him, before tapping him on the shoulder.

The guard whirled around, looking confusedly left and right. Harry let out a low chuckle that caused the guards eyes to widen. They never expected the invisibility cloak.

"Legilimens," Harry murmured, tore into the guard's mind and started sifting through his memories. The guard seemingly didn't know exactly who or what had been summoned from the portal, but he knew that the lowest level had been off-limits ever since. Maybe he's been Obliviated, Harry mused before dismissing the thought. If only the lowest level was off-limits, then both the portal and the summoned beings had to be there, so that's where he would go. Tearing from the guard's mind with no finesse whatsoever, he watched the man fall to the floor letting out silent screams and holding his head between both hands.

How pitiful, Harry thought with a disgusted expression. I endured worse when I was half your age, you waste of magical talent. Considering for a moment, Harry decided to use a spell he didn't use all too often. It simply was neither destructive nor large-scale enough for the kind of battles he usually found himself in. But the need for silence and an easily covered trail called for it, so there really was nothing for it.

"Avada Kedavra," came out in a low hiss, a brief green flash and then nothing. Harry transfigured the body into a small pebble with a wave of his wand and kicked it into the corner, then he moved on. Making his way down to the lowest level – which was three levels below the point where he started –almost seemed a bit too easy to him. He came across almost no one and those he did come across were easily avoided or redirected.

Taking the last steps into the lower level he looked around. The place was all grey walls, dimly lit and beyond the short corridor in which he stood were two identical steel doors. Probing with his magic, he found a proximity ward on both doors and several sealing and containment wards on the left one.

The portal must be in there. I bet they were afraid of anything else coming through there, so they sealed it off as tight as they could, he reasoned to himself. Better have a look at the Portal first. I might have to banish those beings through there.

Carefully lifting all the wards surrounding the two doors in the span of the next ten minutes or so, he slowly opened the left door and peered inside. The room was about ten to ten meters big and almost barren, but for the back wall. Blue glowing runes were etched all over the wall and in its center was the portal Harry had expected to see. It was circular, about twice Harrys height and was sporadically emitting energy in a greenish-blue mist that vanished almost immediately. Harry stepped closer and inspected the runes etched around the portal. To his surprise, the basic arrangement reminded him eerily of his own ritual in the Department of Mysteries so long ago.

Very clever, he admitted. Seven intersecting runic arrays for almost infinite power, three around it to contain it. As long as the portal doesn't collapse, the ritual will keep drawing magic. And as long as the ritual keeps drawing magic, the portal cannot collapse.

Some of the runes surrounding the portal were not glowing at all, Harry realized. The runes for power and obedience for one were not correctly aligned to the fourth and fifth array and had with a high probability shorted out before the ritual had sufficient power to open the portal. What worried Harry more was the runes that stood for "immortality" and "night/darkness" that were glowing savagely right above the portal.

"Overpowering this thing and blowing the whole place to kingdom come shouldn't be too hard," he mused. "But first I'll have to take a look at those beings that were summoned with this… abomination." Turning on his heel, he spotted something in his periphery. In the corner to the left of the door stood a small table that looked like it was overflowing with books and parchment. Harry moved over and scanned over some of the handwritten notes.
These morons actually stored their research in the same room they conducted the ritual in. I can't believe these people, Harry thought in exasperation. Storing all the parchment and the five or six books in his dimensional pocket, he walked quickly towards the door and peered outside. No one had seemingly come down to check on their prize, but Harry cast a revealing charm just to be sure. Not sensing anything, Harry slipped out of the portal room and closed the door behind him before stepping in front of the other door and stopping to take a deep breath. He was fairly confident in his power and skill, but depending on whatever awaited him beyond the door, this place might just become his tomb.

If I can't defeat them, I'll just have to go down with them, he thought resolutely. Then he steeled himself and opened the door. It swung open and Harry peered into the room, wand extended before him. It was pitch black. There was no light at all and Harry couldn't see anything. He didn't move though, and strained his ears instead, picking up a small noise from somewhere to the right. Carefully and silently casting another revealing charm, he picked up four signatures not even ten meters in front of him.

Taking a careful step forward, the noise became more distinct. Harry stopped breathing, trying to hear with all his power when it suddenly hit him. It was whimpering. Something was hurt in there. With that realization, the smell hit him. A rancid combination of blood, sweat, piss and shit that stung in his eyes and made him want to retch. Harry pushed it to the back of his mind, it was not the first time he'd inadvertently stumbled into a torture chamber.

A small flick of his wand sent a low light to hover at the ceiling, slowly growing in brightness. In the half-dark he could now make out four tables towards the back of the room, on which four vaguely human shaped forms seemed to lie. As the light grew in brightness, so did the whimpers increase in volume. Harry took another step forward and strained his eyes to see what was in front of him. He gave a sigh, finally submitting to his fate and walked to the rightmost table where the whimpers were loudest.

Even after all he'd seen in this war, Harry had to release a shaky breath at the scene before him. The figure was actually quite human in appearance. Judging by its body, it seemed to be a female with long green hair of all things, that was matted with blood and grime. She was completely naked and covered in bruises and cuts almost from head to toe. She was tied to the table she was laying on by her arms, legs and stomach and all around her several devices were scattered that seemed to have been used to torture her. Taking a closer look under the brightening light, Harry realized that the skin of… whatever kind of being this was, was actually a rather intensive shade of lavender.

Get a grip, Potter. Helping now, gawking later, he admonished himself sharply. Casting an assessing glance at the other four tables, he saw one man and two more women that seemed rather similar in appearance to the first one. None of them seemed in as bad a state as the one he'd first checked on, so Harry decided to take care of that one first.

He carefully laid a hand on the woman's underarm, eliciting another whimper. "Hey, can you hear me? I am here to help," he enunciated clearly and carefully. The woman gave another whimper, eyes still closed. "Something to lessen the pain first, then," he said more to himself than to her. He called a bottle of pain-relief potion from his dimensional pocket, and took out the stopper. Carefully prying open the woman's mouth with both hands, he directed the bottle with his magic to pour itself inside while gently massaging her throat to get her to swallow it. It took him a few minutes, but in the end the whimpering died down noticeably.

He gently shook her arm again to wake her, but her eyes remained closed. Must've put them to sleep so they wouldn't try to escape, Harry realized. Aiming his wand so it wouldn't be right in her face when she opened her eyes, he intoned: "Rennervate."

Her eyes snapped open at once, no pupils in them. Instead, they emitted a silvery-blue glow and small wisps of silvery mist dispersed outwards from them. When she saw Harry, she bared her teeth and all but growled at him.

"Whoa! Calm down! I'm here to help," Harry said in a quiet tone, raising his hands in a calming manner. She spat something so full of vitriol at him that he actually recoiled a bit. The woman spoke in a language that, while quite pleasant sounding, he sadly couldn't understand at all. Harry sighed. "You can't understand me. Figures."

He thought for a moment, before picking up one of the knives resting on the table beside her. She flinched a bit but didn't take her eyes off him. Slowly and deliberately, Harry raised the blade to his left hand before making a deep cut. Blood welled out and dripped on the floor. The woman sent him a look which he could only interpret as "carefully questioning your sanity", then he set the knife back down on the table. He called the Elder Wand back to his hand and this time, the woman flinched violently and some fear seemed to break through her aggressive façade.

Harry, again slowly and deliberately, raised his wand towards the cut on his left hand, taking care not to point the wand in her direction at all. Then he raised his hand so that she could clearly see the cut, before starting to intone: "Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur…"

The woman watched on, seeing how the wound closed more and more with each intonation of the healing charm, the blood around it being pulled back into his body. When he was finished, he showed her the healed palm of his hand for a moment longer before simply pointing at one of her deeper cuts with his finger. Her eyes narrowed a bit, but no other reaction was forthcoming.

Harry gave a shrug. That was probably as good as he was going to get. He slowly pointed his wand in her general direction and summoned power to himself, his green eyes starting to glow not unlike hers and his robes billowing lowly on a nonexistent current. Then, quietly but with a voice full of power and command he started chanting.

The woman gasped in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut as the charm began healing wounds all over her body. The chant was designed and used for healing serious wounds and damage inflicted by dark magic. Being on the receiving end of it was generally a pleasant feeling – the sudden lessening of pain, slow return of one's strength and a soft warmth around the wound being healed. Of note was, however, also the slight itching feeling of skin, muscle and sinew knitting itself back together, swellings receding and bruised areas fading. Slight, if used for healing one wound of average or negligible size, that is.

Her whole body looks to be one great fucking wound. That has to hurt like hell, Harry thought distractedly, his full concentration still on pushing as much magic into the spell as he could manage. When the woman's breathing became freer and more comfortable, Harry slowly let the magic trickle away into nothing. The woman kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, taking a few more deep breaths, before looking at Harry with an unreadable expression.

Harry looked back at her for a moment before he raised his wand once more, this time prodding the shackles that bound the woman to the table with his magic.
Hmm, a magic-suppression charm and a fairly strong locking charm. Nothing too challenging. With another push the shackles sprung open. The woman didn't seem to believe she could actually move for a few seconds, before cautiously pushing herself up into a sitting position.

Looking her over once more, Harry conjured a top, pants, socks and some shoes before holding them out to her. While holding out the clothing, he summoned his magic once more and let a massively overpowered cleaning charm wash over the whole room and its occupants, the grime and filth fading to nothing in its wake. It was a thing he had always found to go a long way in building trust and a good initial rapport with victims of torture. The woman looked at him flabbergasted for a second, then all but ripped the clothing from his hands and started putting it on. Once she was done, Harry threw a size-adjustment charm her way and began inspecting the… people on the other three tables. They seemed to be in good enough condition.
Seems like those damn animals didn't have the time yet to get to these ones, Harry thought with some disgust directed at the traitor-wizards.

He turned his attention back towards the woman he freed and found her gazing at him with a calculating look. Harry thought for a moment before muttering to himself: "I wish I knew a translation charm for your language." He sighed heavily before tilting his head upwards and continued as though speaking to the heavens: "Oh, for fucks sake, why does everything always have to be so fucking complicated? Can't anything ever not be any harder than it already has to be for one damn time?" Silence followed his statement. "Fate, you are a miserable bitch and I hate you," he added with resignation after a few moments. Only, to his surprise, to be met with a snort and a low, melodic chuckle. Harry stared at the lightly smiling woman for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "You do understand me!" he accused her with a bit of elation. That problem had seemingly solved itself after all, so he tilted his head back up and half-shouted: "I take it back! Thanks for the save!"

At that, the woman started laughing lowly. It was really a rather pleasant sound, Harry thought. Maybe we can push that one a bit further, he mused. He proceeded to look at her deadpan and addressed her incredulously: "What? Never seen a man argue with fate before?"
Got you, Harry thought when she erupted into full-blown laughter. I was right, it is a nice sound.

He reckoned her abrupt swing in mood was due to the healing chant having been performed on her, which could leave one feeling a bit giddy and generally relaxed. Make that a lot relaxed, in her case. "Ah, where are my manners?! Allow me to introduce myself. Harry Potter, at your service, my lady," Harry said measuredly with a slight bow of the head.

The woman eyed him for a few more seconds before speaking in a voice that seemed to echo around in his head slightly. "Well met, Harry Potter. My name is Tyrande Whisperwind. To answer your question, I have seen men gripe about their lot in life before. Never have I seen them address Fate herself directly to go about it before." She took a small step closer, tilted her head and looked into his eyes. "I am reasonably well informed however, that she is neither miserable, nor a bitch. Certainly not both at the same time," she added with another chuckle.

"Now that I have answered one of your questions, can I prevail upon you to answer one of mine, Harry Potter?" Tyrande asked with a slight mischievous glint in her eyes. Harry let out a bark of laughter. "Well played, Lady Whisperwind. Just Harry will do, though. Ask away," he answered while holding his hands out at his side invitingly.

"Tell me, Harry, are you affiliated to this group of..." Tyrande seemed to be searching for a word strong enough to describe how she felt about her captors. "Fucking wastes of life? Damn animals? Maggot-ridden, filthy, spineless cowards?", Harry supplied. Seeing a small smile tugging on Tyrande's lips, he added with a grin of his own: "Miserable bitches, perhaps?"

"Well said. I usually tend not to make as much use of profanity, however," she answered with a smile. Harry shook his head and grinned sheepishly. "Apologies, my lady. My tongue tends to run away with me in high stress situations such as this. To answer your question; I am not, nor will I ever be aligned to such traitorous filth."

With a searching look she asked: "Traitorous?" Harry gave a short nod. "It is a bit of a long story and we are pressed for time, as it is. The columniation of their betrayal is what you have seen and endured, though. They brought you here through a dimensional gate of a sort, in hopes of summoning someone or something that can aid them in defeating yours truly."
At that, Tyrande's eyes narrowed. "Defeating you? Are you waging war on those people?" Harry just smiled sadly and shook his head. "No, the war is long lost. My people have been all but wiped off the face of this planet. All I am doing is taking as many of these monsters with me as I can." After a moment of being lost in thought, Harry shook himself out of it and added: "It doesn't matter. You have neither part nor stake in this and I shall get you back to… well, wherever it is these morons took you from."

With that, he conjured several more sets of clothing and handed them to Tyrande. "The portal is in the room next door. I have looked it over and I'm confident that they didn't make any changes to it since you came through. I will wake your companions and I'd be very grateful if you could explain to them what's going to happen." As Harry turned back towards the tables, she asked: "And just what exactly is going to happen next, Harry?"

"I will escort you over to the portal and keep watch as you pass through. Then I will overload the focusing rune and blow this place and everything surrounding it to high heaven. It'll keep them from either following you, or trying to summon you or someone else through again," Harry explained, then he flicked his wand and the shackles burst from the forms of the other three people. Another flick and their eyes snapped open.

"Explain what is going to happen, but tell them to save their questions until you're all safe. This is no place for you to linger," he added and swiftly walked towards the door to keep watch, when an irate voice stopped him: "How dare you order Lady Whisperwind to do anything, you big fucking brute?" Harry whirled around to the eyes of one of the other females sending him a death-glare. Thankfully, Tyrande broke in before the situation could degenerate any further: "Be at peace, Sentinel. Please help yourselves to these clothes, while I explain the predicament, we find ourselves in."

Harry wandered over to the door. Figures I would disrespect some sort of noble and insult her in the process or something like that, he thought, grumbling to himself all the while. She didn't seem to mind too much herself, though.

Casting a searching look out the door, Harry saw no sign of activity at all. I might just be able to pull this off without too much trouble.

"Harry?" came the ethereal voice of Tyrande and he turned back towards her. Seeing the big clothes on her companions, he flicked his wand in their direction and the clothes resized themselves. Tyrande gave him a thankful smile. "I have informed my people of our course of action. I do have one more question to ask, however," she said and stepped closer to him. "If your plan comes to fruition and you manage to… 'blow this place to high heaven'… what will happen to yourself?" Tyrande asked with a slight frown on her face, eyes looking searchingly into his. Harry gave her a sad, tired smile.

"I have been fighting this battle for a long time, Lady Whisperwind. My friends are dead, my family is dead, my people are all but extinct. All that you have endured has shown me that those idiots will stop at nothing to find a way to get rid of me and at some point, they'll go too far and destroy the world with their foolishness. I don't want that. The world has done nothing to me and I'd rather not see it burn in the wake of my passing," he told her with conviction and purposefully turned around and walked towards the door.

Tyrande didn't answer him, barking a command in her own language at her companions instead. Guessing that they were ready, Harry opened the door and stepped out.

Only to be met with about forty black-robed people aiming their wands in his direction. Reacting purely on instinct, Harry let loose a "FUCKING HELL!", a wide-area bludgeoning curse and a massively overpowered Sectumsempra, all in the same instant. Then he intoned "Aedificum Murum!", causing a massive wall to tear from the ground upwards, sealing the attackers away from them for the moment.

"Quick, get to the portal room! This won't hold them for long! Now!", he commanded his companions. From behind the wall, muffled explosions could be heard, indicating the enemies attempts to break through. He flicked his wand, vanishing the door to the portal room and hastening through after his companions. As he came to a stop, a massive crack boomed from behind him. He whirled around to the sight of the wall he summoned breaking apart and threw up an Aegis-Shield charm in the door, before summoning another, smaller wall for himself to take cover behind.

He positioned himself, turned to Tyrande and barked: "Go!" Tyrande in turn shouted "Belore!" to her companions, who wasted no time in sprinting through the portal. Harry meanwhile was busy trading curses with their assailants. Them being underground at the moment and having to protect both Tyrande and her companions, as well as the portal, limited his spell repertoire a fair bit. He could manage though.

"Dilacera!" Harry barked, full of vicious intent. The wide-area bone-ripping curse did, in a spectacular fashion, exactly what its name suggested it would do. He managed to get eleven people caught up in it, whose bones were ripped from their bodies in a spray of blood and flesh. It was a spectacular feat of dark magic at its finest, or so Harry thought with savage glee. The enemy disoriented for the moment, he turned back towards Tyrande, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

"What are you waiting for? Get moving!" Harry shouted, throwing more non-verbal curses over his cover that was slowly but surely crumbling apart. As Tyrande began moving toward the portal, Harry readied himself for his final gambit. It was absolutely insane. After all he'd learned, it was still one of the most dangerous spells in the history of magical spellcasting. It was insanely hard to control under normal circumstances, never mind in the thick of battle.

Luckily, losing control was exactly what he intended to do. Raising his wand in the direction of his assailants one last time, he hissed out with savage satisfaction: "Maledictus Gehenna!"
The cursed fire erupted in their midst, consuming them all in seconds. The screams echoing in his ears and fighting the flame for control until he was ready to let go, Harry turned to look if Tyrande had made her way through the portal. He found her standing right in front of it, staring at him with wide eyes. He caught her eye and gave her a small nod. She gave him back a shaky, yet thankful smile and made to step through.

That was when Harry closed his eyes and let go. He could feel the cursed flame billowing in triumph, the heat rising to unimaginable levels, the dark magic approaching from behind, drawn towards the nexus of energy that the portal was, wanting to consume and consume and consume until there was nothing left-

Which was when he was suddenly tackled from the side. His eyes snapped open to see Tyrande shouting something unintelligible, then suddenly they were both flung towards the portal. Harry's head rested on Tyrande's shoulder and he could see the cursed flames coming closer and closer, then they were almost upon them and – a sense of cold washed over him before his back hit the ground hard, all air escaping from his lungs. Harry took a moment to regain his breath before opening his eyes. There, laying on top of him, face nose to nose to his and breathing heavily was Tyrande.

Suddenly, an incredible spike of pain shot through his body from his toes to his head. Harry gasped in a sharp breath, then he knew no more.

When Harry next opened his eyes, he had time to register that he was in a dimly lit room, before all his senses seemed to be assaulted and he let out a groan. Everything was too loud, the smells too intensive, even the dim room's light too bright for his eyes. Someone touched his shoulder, possibly to calm him down, but the touch sent spikes of pain through his body and he groaned once more, pulling away from the touch. His movement caused his body to register his back touching a soft surface, which sparked another wave of pain that caused him to whimper slightly.

Not wasting any mental capacity on coherent thought, Harry began taking deep breaths and started slipping into a calming technique taught to him by a Tibetan monk a few years ago. Ideally, it would allow him to consciously enter his mindscape and take control of his body's responses from there. After a while, he felt a soothing warmth surrounding him and started to slip away.

He 'opened' his metaphorical eyes to find his mindscape a mess. In the past, it had resembled Hogwarts with a few changes, to improve his recall and make defending his mind easier. Now, there were wide holes blown into said defenses and his previously neatly organized memories were scattered everywhere. Deciding to leave it as is for the moment, Harry began to probe for his mind's connection to his physical body. What he found surprised him a fair bit. He had played around with this part of his mind in the past, to suppress pain and emotional turmoil in battle mostly, so he quickly realized that from a mental perspective everything was as it should be.

That can only mean one thing, Harry reasoned. My body is the problem. I can't find any sign of injury though. Harry pondered the problem for a bit, taking another look around his mindscape. His face went slack and his eyes widened when he raised them to the 'sky'. Well, that's new at least.

In the sky seemed to be a concave vortex of purplish-blue energy of some kind that seemed to flood inside. Curious. It doesn't seem to get into conflict with my magic at all. Rather, it seems it… is adding to it?

After giving it a bit of thought, Harry came to the conclusion that he'd have to sit this out. Messing around with such magic was dangerous enough in normal circumstances. When the same was happening inside his mind, he'd rather not risk anything going wrong. Better do something useful then. This place needs cleaning up, badly. With a sigh of resignation, he got to work.

Harry didn't know how long he was in trance – time passed curiously in the mind – but when he opened his eyes the light in the room was still dim. His body's responses had been dulled a bit by reorganizing his mindscape and rebuilding and fortifying his defenses but it was still fairly uncomfortable. He shifted a bit and consciously felt his body for any sign of injury. While everything seemed to be in working order, he could actually feel the influx of magic now that he knew what to look for.

Feels curious. I swear I've felt this kind of magic before, he mused. Then he cautiously opened his eyes, to be met with a white stone ceiling that seemed to be made from some kind of marble. Flicking his eyes around the room, he could see one window through which moonlight was shining in. There were bobbing magelights in the corners of the room, giving off a soft, silvery glow. The room itself didn't seem to be too big, maybe five to ten meters with the ceiling being fairly high up.

"I see you have awakened at last, Harry," an ethereal voice spoke from his left, just behind him. He turned his head a bit and recognized Tyrande, who had a book in her hand and sat in a chair made of dark wood. She wore a rather revealing white robe that seemed to glow softly in the moonlight. Leaves and this silver chains were decoratively affixed in her green hair, giving her an almost otherworldly appearance. Harry thought she looked breathtaking.
After a moments silence, she continued to speak. "I must admit, I have never been rejected quite this harshly in my lifetime. On the other hand, however, I have never been paid a compliment quite like a man fainting because of my touch before, either," she addressed him with light teasing clear in her voice.

Harry blushed a bit and chuckled. "I quite distinctly recall you laying on top of me, Lady Whisperwind. I'd say that qualifies as a bit more than a mere touch."

"Mere trivialities, I assure you. My advances did not seem to be welcomed either way – never has a man I lay on top of flung me off him with such force – or at all, to be perfectly honest," she answered, teasingly again.

Harry coughed a few times to hide his embarrassment. "I, uh, did that? You have my deepest apologies, Lady Whisperwind. The last thing I can remember is looking into your eyes and a sharp spike of pain racing through my whole body, then nothing. I hope I didn't hurt you?"

"My, you can be quite romantic once you set your mind to it, can you not?" Harry blushed deeper. I must resemble Ron on his worst days by now, he thought with embarrassment. "You may breathe easy, Harry. No harm came to me, nor anyone else. The bridge leading towards the central isle shall need to undergo repairs, however."

Harry gave a small, relieved sigh. "In that case, let me aid you in repairing the damage I've caused, at the very least." With that he began pushing himself into a sitting position. Something feels… off, he thought.

"Harry…" came the reluctant voice of Tyrande. "I am not entirely certain what transpired once we got to my world, but you may want to steel your resolve before next looking down upon your body or gazing into a mirror."

All blood drained from Harry's face at that. A lump formed in his throat and he had to cough lightly before trusting his voice again. "How… how bad is it?" he asked, all the while knowing that with his particular brand of luck, he likely would've grown horns and a tail.

"I do not think 'bad' is a fitting description at all. You have… changed a bit, however. I have taken the liberty to have a mirror set up in the corner of the room," Tyrande reassured him, pointing towards said mirror.

Harry got up and was immediately assaulted with a sense of vertigo. The world around him somehow felt smaller than it should be. Tyrande was there immediately and caught him by the shoulders when he stumbled. It hit Harry when he realized that Tyrande, who had formerly been noticeably taller than him, came up to just his chin. "Bloody hellfire," Harry breathed. Tyrande chuckled. "Still with the profanity, I see."

"Forgive me, my lady. I think this situation is even more high-stress than the last one I found myself in," he answered with another sheepish smile. Her smile got a bit wider when she added: "I have acquired some clothing for you. You will find it on the bedside table."

Harry looked down on himself in panic for a moment and all but dove for the clothes laid out for him. He hurriedly pulled them on, seeing they were mostly black which was his preferred color anyway. The outfit consisted of a simple linen shirt and pants, wool socks, some underwear and almost knee-high leather boots.

After he'd gotten dressed, he took a moment to get his bearings and walked towards the mirror in the corner adjacent to the door. It took him quite a bit of concentration just to walk without stumbling, his legs being obviously longer and his center of gravity higher up than before. When he reached the mirror, his breath left him again.

He'd been right, he was a fair bit taller than before. His body had filled out a lot, his shoulders becoming broader and all the rest of him was packed with lean muscle. His black hair seemed to have grown a lot and reached about midway down to his back. His skin seemed to have darkened and he had the beginnings of a beard, something he had not been particularly blessed with before.

The most striking feature however, were his eyes. No pupils could be seen, instead they seemed to be flooded with the same purplish-blue ethereal light he had seen in his mindscape. The light wavered outwards from the corners in swathes of glowing mist, dispersing after a few moments.

Tyrande stood beside him, obviously waiting for a reaction of some kind. Harry turned his head into her direction, only belatedly remembering to look down as well. "I- I don't really know what to say…" he got out after a few seconds. Then he murmured to himself: "This is a new level of weirdness, even for me."

"Such things happen to you often?" Tyrande asked with a bit of a smile. "Having witnessed some of your power firsthand, I really should not be surprised. Unforeseen circumstances such as this do seem to have a tendency to hound powerful individuals such as yourself."

"I don't think there are any more individuals that are being hounded quite as much as me. Not that I'd wish it on even my worst enemy, anyway," Harry muttered with a shake of his head. "Well, it is what it is. Can I prevail upon you to answer a few questions of mine, Lady Whisperwind?" he added with a sly smirk.

Tyrande laughed at that. "Gladly, Harry. Ask away." With that she held her hands out at her sides invitingly in a callback to their earlier conversation.

Harry walked back over to the bed and sat down heavily. "Well, first of all I'd really like to know what happened. You managed to take me with you through the portal, so I suspect we are in your world now. What happened after we got through?"

Tyrande seemed to collect her thoughts for a moment before answering. "After I took you through the portal, we landed on the bridge connecting the central isle of the city to its outskirts. As I said earlier, I do not exactly know what happened. From what I can surmise, some sort of magical discharge ran through your body and I was flung off." She took another moment to consider her words. "The discharge splintered part of the bridge we were upon and you fell into the water below. I am not quite sure why no one dove in after you – perhaps my people thought you an enemy of some kind – so I did it myself. When I arrived at the point where you had come to rest on the lake's ground… Well, the discharge had not stopped yet. The water surrounding you was bubbling as though under a great heat. Lightening the color of your new eyes was running over your body, as well. It took a good ten minutes until I was able to get near you, let alone get you out of the lake. After that we brought you into this very room in the Temple. You have been fast asleep for about a week now, Harry," she ended with a worried look sent his way.

Harry laid a reassuring hand on her hands, that were resting on her folded lap. "I assure you; I am fine. Thank you for saving me, Tyrande. I'll take care of repairing the bridge as soon as I'm able."

"Breathe easy, Harry. You went to great lengths to save my life as well, if you recall," she retorted gently but firmly.

Harry just pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly. "You wouldn't even have been there, hadn't it been for me. You owe me absolutely nothing."

"Quite the contrary, Harry. I do realize, you do not put much stock in fate or the will of the gods. I assure you, however, that I do. You were sent to me, or I to you as the case may be, for a reason I believe," Tyrande told him with conviction, lightly gripping his hand between hers before pulling away.

Harry just gave a snort and lowly said: "And what purpose should that be? I have had my share of dealings with fate. It brought me nothing but bloodshed and death and misery. I've paid my dues to fate in full and I want no part in her schemes anymore."

Tyrande looked at him with an unreadable expression, so he continued. "I was what they labeled a 'Child of Prophecy' in my world. Prophesized to be the only one with the power and ability to defeat the darkest lord in centuries," Harry elaborated mockingly. "The people were fast to turn their backs on me, or laude me as their savior whenever a change in mood suited them. Men that had no stake in my life saw fit to manipulate me into doing their dirty work for them all the while. I left that life behind a long time ago." Some bitterness had crept into his voice at this point, so he quickly decided to say nothing more. He had no wish to insult either Tyrande or her beliefs.

"Do not worry, Harry. I shall not be insulted so easily, much less by one I owe my life to. You are, of course, entitled to the opinions wrought from your life's experience." Did she just…?
Tyrande leant towards him a bit. "Nevertheless, I think fate has pulled her strings to bring you here. Give it but a thought – by your own words, your world was lost to you. Your people were gone, you had no one and nothing left there to live for. You even wished to go out in a blaze of glory, saving mine and my Sentinels' lives before sacrificing your own."

There was a soft smile playing on her lips again. Eyes tracing the line of her lips, Harry thought to himself that Tyrande smiled rather a lot. A good trait to have, in my book. Tyrande's voice tore him from his thoughts. "Now, you have been granted a new chance in this world. It is far from peaceful and most certainly not perfect, but your slate has been wiped clean. You may settle down, far from the worries of the world if you so wish. You can form new connections, find new people to consider your own, make your own family… the possibilities are endless!"

Harry considered her words for a moment and almost whispered: "Some peace after all the bloodshed would certainly be appreciated." He sighed a bit and sent a wan smile her way. "Knowing myself though, I'll end up in some kind of battle or other sooner or later. Helping people is… Well, it's kind of what I do."

"I was rather hoping you would say that. I couldn't bear sending you out into a world so foreign to you, however, without any aid, contact or… education," she laughed softly.

"Well," Harry said cheerfully. "I always did enjoy learning. If we could grab a bite to eat somewhere, that would be appreciated though."

"That can be arranged. We shall take dinner out on the terrace, so you will be able to get your first conscious look at the city," Tyrande decided easily and rose from her seat. "Please, accompany me outside. I shall send for dinner on the way."

At that, Harry rose and offered his left arm to her with a smart "My lady." He imagined he could see her blush a bit, but really it was hard to tell with her tone of skin. Would her complexion get lighter? Darker? He'd have to find out some other time. She took his arm nonetheless and together they made their way through the, in Harry's opinion, rather grand temple. Part of him wondered what deity would be worshipped in a building such as this, but decided to hold his questions until they reached the terrace. He'd likely have a lot more to ask before the night was out.

The rest of the temple was kept in the same style as the room he'd been resting in. High ceilings and white marble were everywhere. As were pillars made from the same stone, that vaguely reminded him of the designs of the ancient Greeks. When they left the building through a high open archway, Harry stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Tyrande, having seemingly anticipated his reaction, didn't stumble a bit and said cheerfully: "Welcome, Harry Potter, to Darnassus, capital of the Kingdom of the Kaldorei."

"It's absolutely breathtaking," Harry breathed, eyes jumping rapidly from one sight to the next. There were buildings made from that same white marble everywhere. Other buildings seemed to have grown right from out the trees themselves. Tyrande's people – the Kaldorei, he reminded himself – were milling about everywhere. In the center of the city stood an absolutely massive tree, from which's roots a purple glow seemed to shine. The air was fresh and crisp and so full of life and nature Harry had neither seen nor felt in many, many years. Darnassus seemed to be caught in perpetual twilight, which Harry thought oddly fitting to the whole place.

Then his eyes fell on about twenty or so Kaldorei working on a wooden bridge that connected the city's outer ring to the central island with the massive tree on it. Wincing a bit, he turned to Tyrande. "I thought you said: 'The discharge splintered part of the bridge.' It looks more like it absolutely obliterated the whole thing."

Tyrande chuckled. "Yes, well, I had no wish to upset you any further. You had more than enough to adjust to, as it stood." Harry smiled slightly at her and called the Elder Wand to his free, right hand. Tyrande seemed to get a bit giddy at that. "More incredible feats of magical prowess?"

"This," Harry explained easily. "is actually a fairly easy charm. In my world, it was taught to children at the age of about thirteen, or so. The incantation is 'Reparo' and it does quite literally exactly that." Harry raised the wand, and made to summon his power. The sudden surge that flowed through his body made him grunt in surprise. He lowered his wand swiftly.

Tyrande was looking at him with wide eyes. "I did actually feel that, even though my talent with the arcane arts is rather limited. Does this usually happen to you?" Harry assessed the feeling of the magic flowing through him and said. "No, I- Well, I know I am quite powerful, obviously, but this is… I'm a bit taken aback by it, to be honest."

He raised his wand again and called his magic more carefully this time until he got to the level, he had first been wanting to reach. Then he spoke measuredly: "Reparo."
The Kaldorei working on the bridge jumped back in surprise as the pieces of stone and wood scattered everywhere began to rise into the air and swirled around the area the bridge hat formerly been in. Then, like a jigsaw puzzle they began to rearrange and reattach themselves to one another, starting from the outside and finally meeting in the middle of the lake.

Harry kept the magic up for a few moments longer, to make sure any structural deficiencies inside the bridge were repaired in full. Then he lowered his wand and looked at his handywork. The Kaldorei were all staring in Tyrande's and his direction incredulously, so he gave a small bow and dismissed the wand. Tyrande laughed at that.

"That was quite the spectacle, Harry. Come, let us eat." She pulled him over to a table that had been set up. The meal was delicious, even if Harry couldn't name any of the dishes. He thought the meat was cooked to perfection and the vegetables, whatever they may be, had a unique bite he hadn't ever felt before on earthly dishes. He stayed away, however, from what looked to be some sort of worms that were obviously still alive. Harry knew this because they were moving around in the bowl quite vigorously.

When they'd finished their dinner, someone brought them two glasses of wine with a rather fruity taste to it. After another moments silence, Tyrande spoke. "You must have a lot of questions, Harry, so… Ask away."

"Well, I don't actually know where to start… Let's go with the basics first. What world am I on? What is it called? Do you maybe have a map I could take a look at?" Harry responded a bit uncertainly.

"Of course, I shall show you a map later. The world you find yourself in is called 'Azeroth.' It was originally one large continent, until some ten-thousand years ago when…"

With that, Harry got a rundown of Azeroth's history, layout, races, dangers. When confronted with both Tyrande's age and position, he could've smacked himself silly. Should've cut back on the profanity after all…
In return, Harry told Tyrande about his own world and his own life. The wars he fought, the friends he found and lost, the things he had heard and seen and learned. She seemed spellbound by what he had to tell.
All in all, Azeroth seemed like a fairly dangerous but wonderous place. Magic was much more commonplace here – as were people using magic for their own, less than savory ends, sadly. When the discussion turned to the humans of this world, Harry had had a slight sense of Déjà-vu. He had neither love nor acceptance in his heart for warmongers of any kind, which was the impression he got of the reigning King Varian Wrynn.

After long hours of talking deep into the night – not that he could really tell in the present environment – Harry let out a long sigh.

"Well, this place seems to have enough problems everywhere. I guess I'll get caught up in it all sooner rather than later anyway, so I might as well do it on my terms," he reasoned, more to himself than to Tyrande.

"Do you wish to return to you own race to do so, perhaps? I am quite certain that King Wrynn would welcome a mage as powerful as yourself with open arms. Not that I would wish for you to leave, but…" Tyrande trailed off.

Harry sighed again and took a moment to consider before he answered her. "You worry about the difference in lifespan between me and your kind." It was more of a statement than a question. Tyrande only nodded with an unreadable expression.

"Neither of us will have to worry about that too much, I think. You see, I have not been aging for… a long time," Harry reluctantly confided in her.

"How so?" Tyrande asked curiously.

Harry gave a little smile and inquired: "Well, knowing humans as you do, how old did you guess I am, back when you first saw me?"

She seemed to consider for a moment before saying: "I thought you might be about twenty years in age. Certainly not much more."

Harry laughed at that. "I am actually closer to fifty, my lady, but I thank you for the compliment. Though I did guess your own age around twenty as well, so I can wholeheartedly return it," he finally answered with a wink.

"I did tell you about my acquiring the Deathly Hallows, yes? The Wand, the Stone and the Cloak?" he inquired after a moment.

"Yes, though you did not mention what that title actually meant," she responded thoughtfully.

"It was actually an old tale of my people. Or, maybe more of a legend really. I certainly didn't put much stock in it when I first heard it," Harry carried on with a sigh. "More fool me." He added depreciatingly after a moment.

Then he called the Elder Wand to his hand and waved it over the circular table between them. Black smoky mist began dancing on its surface and Harry began animating conjured smoke figurines as he spoke.
"Our tale begins with three brothers. One day, three brothers were traveling along a lonely, winding road when they came upon a wide, deep chasm." The three smoke figures walked along the road Harry had projected on the table using an illusion, before stopping before the deep chasm on which's bottom ran a raging river.
"The chasm was much too deep and the river on its bottom much too treacherous to cross. The three brothers though were skilled magicians, so from thin air they conjured a bridge to cross over safely." At that, the three figures built a bridge in a process that looked not too dissimilar from what Harry had done earlier in the evening. He chanced a look at Tyrande, who seemed to be engrossed in the illusion on the table, before continuing.
"They crossed the bridge, congratulating themselves for their ingenuity, when from behind an elder tree Death itself appeared before them." A smoky, floating form appeared in front of the three figures, looking eerily like a dementor holding a scythe.
"Death felt cheated by the three brothers for surmounting an obstacle that had granted it many souls to reap in the past. Outwardly though, Death congratulated the three brothers for outwitting it and offered each of them a boon of their choosing." Harry looked at Tyrande and found her staring deeply into his eyes.

"The first brother," Harry continued, holding Tyrande's gaze. "who – above all else – valued power, demanded of death a wand that would make him unconquerable, so death fashioned for him a wand from the branch of an elder tree." The illusion on the table collapsed, shadows dancing in dark flames on the surface. The wand rose out of Harrys hand and hovered between his and Tyrande's faces with its tip pointing up.

"The second brother," Harry spoke on voice lowering. Tyrande seemed spellbound. "who wished to humiliate death even further, demanded a way of bringing past loved ones back to the land of the living, so death took a stone from the riverbed and imbued it with the power to recall souls from the afterlife." A ring materialized on Harry's hand and out of its face rose a pitch-black stone and hovered next to the wand between them, rotating slowly on its high axis. Harry regarded the two items for a moment, then he looked back into Tyrande's eyes.

"The third brother," Harry's voice was barely more than a whisper now. Tyrande leant forward unconsciously to hear him better. "was a humble man however and did not trust death, so he asked for a way to go forth without Death being able to follow in his wake. Death, most unwillingly, gave the third brother a piece of its very own cloak of invisibility." A shimmering light briefly seemed to engulf Harry before the cloak parted from him like a second skin and hovered, softly billowing, next to the elder wand as well. Harry gazed deeply into Tyrande's eyes, who regarded the items in front of her with fascination and seemingly had even stopped breathing.

"The first brother," Harry narrated, calling her attention back to him. "went to a lonely village, to challenge a wizard, with whom he had quarreled once, to a duel." The smoke wafting about on the table morphed into a road with a few houses along it and two forms facing each other, one visibly holding the Elder Wand.
"The first brother cast a deadly curse with his unbeatable wand, killing the other wizard instantly." A sickly green curse flowed from the smoke-figures Elder Wand, hitting the other form and dispersing the smoke. The scene instantly shifted to the inside of a tavern, all occupants and furniture made up of the black smoke.
"Later that evening, the first brother drunkenly boasted about what had transpired and his invincibility, granted by Death itself. Later, in the dead of the night," Harry told on, while the display shifted to the first brother sleeping soundly in his bed, the Elder Wand resting on his bedside table. "one of the patrons of the tavern snuck into his room, while the first brother was fast asleep. He slit his throat and carried the Elder Wand away into the night." The figure abruptly brought down a shadowy knife on the first brothers throat, dispersing the whole image into swathes of smoke.
"Thus, Death took the first brother for his own." A pillar of black smoke swirled up from the table and engulfed the Elder Wand hovering between them. Both the wand and the smoke engulfing it vanished with a sudden crack. Tyrande recoiled violently. Taking a deep breath, she quickly leant forward again, intent on Harry as he was recounting the tale. The Stone and the Cloak, still hovering between them moved a bit closer together after the Elder Wand vanished.

"The second brother," Harry carried on, smoke display shifting to a lonely figure sitting inside a dimly lit room. "full of elation, called back the soul of the girl he had loved and hoped to marry." The white figure of a woman appeared before the second brother, white and see-through and distinctly out of place in the black swathes of shadow.
"But she was no longer part of the world of the living, so she was cold and suffered greatly for every moment spent with the second brother. He could not touch her, mere shadow of her former self that she was." The display shifted to show the second brother falling to his knees in despair in front of the white figure.
"The second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, joined her in death by hanging himself from the rafters of his home." The shadowy figure of the second brother plummeted, its fall abruptly broken by the noose around his neck.
"Thus, Death took the second brother for his own." The Stone between them slowly turned white and see-through, before vanishing into nothingness.

"Once Death had taken the second brother, he searched far and wide for the third brother, but he could not find him." The display showed the ghastly form of death flying over different towns and landscapes, visibly scanning the ground underneath.
"Only once he had lived to a ripe old age, did the third brother take off the Cloak and give it to his son." The display showed a hunched figure handing the Cloak to a figure that stood tall and strong.
"When Death arrived, the third brother greeted him as an old friend and they left this world behind, departing into the afterlife as equals." At that, a soft golden glow surrounded the Cloak, slowly dispersing the shadows on the table, before vanishing in a flash of light.
In barely a whisper, Harry ended: "Ever since that time, it is said that he who unites the Deathly Hallows shall become the Master of Death."

Tyrande let out a long, shaking breath. Then she said quietly: "You, Harry, should have become a storyteller. That was absolutely peerless, if I may be so bold."

"Thank you, Lady Whisperwind. Praise from you is always appreciated," Harry returned with a smile and a wink.

She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I must say, your new voice lends itself greatly to narration."

Harry was gob smacked. "My… new voice?"

"Indeed. You must not have realized yourself, but it has become rather deep. The ethereal echoing, of course, adds to the effect as well," she teased with a smirk.

"So, I sound more like you now?" Harry retorted with a smirk of his own.

"No, not quite. Your voice is echoing a fair bit more, I'm afraid," she replied without a moments hesitation. "Returning to our earlier conversation, however… I surmise there is more to this legend than you first believed there to be?"

Harry nodded. "Exactly. I should have died numerous times ever since first gained possession of the Deathly Hallows, but I never did. Poison, deadly wounds, ambushes… I was even decapitated once," he explained with a slight shudder. "Me not having aged a day ever since I got the Hallows only reinforces the theory that I have."

She considered him; head cocked to the left. "And what theory is that?"

"Well, I traveled the world trying to find a solution to this particular problem for years. That I got distracted more often than not, by other things I wanted to learn, is neither here nor there," Harry explained with a smile. "I found out, however, that the Deathly Hallows were first mentioned at the time of three brothers by the name of Peverell, who – and now, get this – are actually ancestors of mine that lived some one thousand years ago."

"An interesting coincidence," Tyrande said, obviously baiting him to explain more.

Harry grinned at the transparent attempt, but carried on nonetheless. "The Deathly Hallows have been united by more than one wizard in the past. All of them died, though – be it in battle or of old age. I believe this to be Death's doing. A final revenge on the line of the three brothers, if you will; to make their descendant see his loved ones pass into the afterlife, but never able to join them."

She looked at him curiously. "You truly believe Death gave the brothers three gifts to deceive them?"

Harry shrugged lightly, answering: "I believe Death is a thinking entity that was involved in this in some way or other. Just like I am fairly certain that Fate has an embodiment of some sort as well. Everything I have found and learned, all over the world, supports the theory of higher beings having dealt with mortals at pivotal points in history."

"Well," Tyrande said with a happy glint in her eyes. "I can attest to Fate being real and interacting with us all, at the very least." She seemed lost in thought for a moment. "If you are indeed correct, then you have gotten the better of Death at last." she exclaimed with serene excitement.

Harry eyed her curiously. "How so?"

"No longer are you caught in a world with only your own race for company. Instead, you are here on Azeroth, with races such as mine that are –" Tyrande spoke, when she was interrupted.

"- immortal!", Harry exclaimed in understanding, jumping up from his chair and doing a little jig. He turned his eyes to the sky with a cackle and shouted: "I win, bitch!"

Tyrande laughed at that. "Or, at the very least, as close to immortal as one can conceivably get. Violence and sickness can end our lives, but age will never take us."

"In that case," Harry said seriously but full of joy. "I know where I shall stay."

Tyrande stood and walked over to his side. They both looked out on the city for a few moments, then she asked softly: "And where will you stay, Harry?"

Harry turned and looked deep into Tyrande's eyes. "Here," he murmured softly, "with you and your people, Lady Whisperwind."

Tyrande smiled softly at him for a few moments before he heard a murmur, so soft, he almost missed it.

"Call me Tyrande."