A Soul at Rest
Before Harry could follow Ichigo, he turned back toward the spirit—the terrified man with the severed chain.
He was still there, standing frozen in place, wide eyes flickering between Harry and Ichigo. Even though the Hollow was gone, fear clung to him like a second skin.
Harry took a slow step forward. “It’s alright,” he said gently. “You’re safe now.”
The spirit trembled. “But… but that thing… it was after me…”
Harry’s chest tightened. This soul had been wandering, alone and scared, probably for a long time. He had no idea how long spirits remained in the world before turning into those creatures—Hollows, Ichigo had called them—but he could feel it. This man had been close to becoming one.
A familiar warmth spread through Harry’s fingers. Magic. It had always responded to his emotions, and right now, all he wanted to do was help.
The spirit flinched as Harry raised a hand, but there was no wand—just his palm, open and steady. “You don’t have to stay here,” Harry said. His voice was softer now, the way he used to speak to frightened first-years at Hogwarts. “You’ve been stuck in between for too long, haven’t you?”
The spirit’s form flickered, as if the wind might carry him away at any moment. “I… I don’t know how to move on.”
Harry wasn’t sure how he knew what to do, but instinct guided him. Maybe it was because he had spent too much time around death. Maybe it was something deep within him, some connection to the veil between worlds.
Either way, he took a step forward and placed a hand on the spirit’s shoulder.
It was cold. Light. Almost not there at all.
Harry let his magic flow—not a spell, not an incantation, just intent. A gentle warmth, a silent reassurance.
The spirit gasped softly as golden light flickered around him, wrapping him in something soft and unseen. His fear melted away, replaced by something else.
Relief.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Then, like mist caught in the morning sun, he faded—his form dissolving into shimmering light that drifted upward, disappearing into the sky.
Harry exhaled, lowering his hand. His magic settled inside him again, like it had just done something right.
Behind him, Ichigo let out a low whistle. “Well. That’s new.”
Harry turned, still processing what had just happened. “Did I… just send him on?”
Ichigo gave him a long, calculating look. “Yeah. That was like a Konso, but…” He crossed his arms. “Shinigami do that with their Zanpakutō. You just willed it to happen.”
Harry frowned. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”
Ichigo smirked. “Dunno. But it means you’re definitely not normal.”
Harry snorted. “Hate to break it to you, but I figured that out years ago.”
Ichigo rolled his eyes before jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Come on, Potter. If you’re gonna be running into Hollows, you need to know what the hell is going on.”
Harry glanced once more at the spot where the spirit had been, then nodded.
Whatever was happening to him, whatever this new ability was—he’d figure it out.
For now, he had a feeling Ichigo Kurosaki was about to give him one hell of a crash course.