Chapter 16
A Promise Given
Chapter Sixteen
……
Harry found himself seated at a familiar table in the Hogwarts library. Stacks of parchment, ink bottles, and an assortment of rune references lay scattered between him and Daphne, who was bent intently over a faded tome. A slant of golden light from a high window cast her in a gentle glow, softening her features as she studied the ancient symbols before them. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and the sight brought a faint, involuntary smile to his face.
He felt calm, at ease. They exchanged a quiet, knowing look, a language of understanding and camaraderie that had been growing with each study session. Her hand paused over the page, and she looked up at him, her eyes bright with something he couldn’t quite place—a mix of curiosity, warmth, and something deeper. The faintest smile traced her lips, a smile meant just for him. He felt the pull of it, that warmth drawing him in like a spell.
Without thinking, he found himself leaning forward. She didn’t look away; instead, her gaze held his, the softness turning sharper, as if she’d been waiting for this. His heart quickened, and he could feel his pulse in his fingertips as he reached out toward her, his hand lightly brushing hers. She tilted her face up toward him, her eyes softening, inviting, until only the slightest breath of distance remained between them.
Then, just as their lips nearly met, the dream fractured.
“I do hope I’m not interrupting,” came an amused female voice, causing Harry to snap his eyes open to see that Daphne was no longer in front of him, and he was no longer in the library. Instead, he stood in a space that was pure white, without walls or ceiling to be seen. The floor, however, was made of mirrored glass, perfectly smooth and reflecting the blank void around him. Harry glanced around, disoriented by the vast, surreal clarity of the place; it defied the usual haziness of dreams.
“Who are you?” he called out, instinctively reaching for his wand, only to find it missing—no familiar weight in his hand.
“You don’t need your wand; I can’t hurt you here… or anywhere, really,” the voice responded, this time coming from behind him. He spun around to see a young woman, no older than her early twenties, with blonde hair and brown eyes and a youthful grace tempered by a knowing expression that suggested wisdom beyond her apparent age. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Harry.”
“Who are you?” he replied after a pause. “Where am I?” He looked around again, his initial surprise giving way to curiosity.
“I’m Amelia Wellesley, and we’re currently in your dream,” she replied with a calm smile. As surreal as the experience was, Harry didn’t sense any danger from her. He found her oddly familiar, and then he remembered. The book!
“Wait, I know that name—the book I found in my bed the night I came back to Hogwarts. That’s yours?”
“It is indeed,” she confirmed with a small nod. “Though before that, I was tucked away on some forgotten shelf in the Gryffindor common room for over a century—until you, of course, activated it again.” She waved her hand, and with a flick of her wrist, a pair of tall, elegant chairs appeared with a small coffee table between them. “Come, sit; we have much to discuss before you wake. It’s nice to see Gryffindors haven’t changed much since my time at Hogwarts.”
Harry, keen to understand exactly what was going on, wasted no time in taking a seat across from her.
“I have so many questions,” he began, leaning forward in his chair, remembering the flashing images.
“I can imagine,” she replied, amused. “And you’ll get your answers, but I think it’s best if I start.”
Amelia settled into her chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap, her expression softening as she considered where to begin.
"I suppose it’s best to start with who I am—or rather, who I was,” she began. “Like you, I was once a student at Hogwarts, many years ago. But I was also something more—a Keeper. Specifically, the last known Keeper of ancient magic."
Harry blinked, the words tumbling over in his mind. “Ancient magic?” he repeated, curiosity sharpening his voice. “What’s that, exactly?”
Amelia’s gaze grew distant, as though recalling a memory she had tried to leave buried. “Ancient magic is… well, it’s not something taught at Hogwarts, nor is it understood by most wizards. It’s a primal force, embedded in the world around us, woven through life itself. It exists beyond our standard spells, wands, or incantations and is immensely powerful. Ancient magic taps into raw, untamed energies, allowing a wizard to affect life, memory—even the very elements.”
She paused, giving Harry a moment to absorb the enormity of what she was describing. “Centuries ago, a small group of wizards known as the Keepers—were entrusted with safeguarding this magic, to keep it hidden from those who might misuse it. Only a few wizards could even sense ancient magic, and fewer still could wield it safely. I discovered I could, early on, when I was just a student… I killed a troll in Hogsmeade, smited it down” she said, her tone heavy. “I hadn’t known what it was at the time—just that I’d felt a surge of power. My spells and movements were different, as if the magic had shaped itself to my will.”
Harry leaned forward, captivated. “I felt something like that, recently… twice during practice duels, where my spells seemed to go beyond what I intended—and once when casting my Patronus. I killed a handful of dementors with it.”
A faint smile tugged at Amelia’s lips. “I know. That’s why my book awoke. It was charmed to respond only when ancient magic was sensed again on the ancient leylines of this world.”
Harry’s brow furrowed as he took in her words. “When… did you die?” he asked quietly, not wanting to appear insensitive in his questioning..
“In 1894,” she answered with a small, sad smile.
He did the quick math. “A hundred years, and no one else has wielded it in all that time?”
She shook her head. “Apparently not,” she said, her eyes glinting with a mix of mystery and pride.
Harry glanced at her book, then back to her, his thoughts racing. “But… if it’s that powerful, why isn’t it better known?” The idea that even Voldemort hadn’t tapped into this ancient power brought a faint sense of relief.
Amelia’s gaze returned to him, laced with both regret and caution. “That’s precisely why we hid it, because it was that powerful. Ancient magic, in the wrong hands, could have devastating consequences. It could be twisted to overpower others, corrupt reality or could be used to subjugate. Our responsibility as Keepers was to guard its secrets and, when necessary, keep it far from those who would exploit it for harm.”
“So, you hid it?” Harry asked, struggling to wrap his mind around the depth of their duty. “All of it?”
“As best we could,” she replied. “We put protections in place, spells that would remain dormant unless unlocked by those who understood the balance and responsibility it demands.” Her voice softened as she looked at him. “The last time ancient magic was openly wielded was during my time, over a century ago. A battle ensued, and many sacrifices were made to keep its secrets buried. After that, I became the last of the Keepers.”
Harry’s eyes lingered on her face as he processed everything she’d shared and there was a pause for a moment. “So, who were the other Keepers?” he asked finally.
Amelia sighed, a look of mingled pride and sorrow passing over her face. “There were four of them. Percival Rackham, Charles Rookwood, San Bakar and Niamh Fitzgerald—they were my mentors, each possessing incredible skill and wisdom in their fields. They understood ancient magic’s allure, its depth, and the dangers it posed.” She hesitated, her expression darkening. “And then there was someone before me who wielded it… Isidora Morganach.”
“Isidora?” Harry asked, picking up on the shift in Amelia’s tone.
“She was the most naturally brilliant,” Amelia said quietly, “and the most tragic. Isidora found her way to ancient magic through pain and grief, hoping to rid the world of suffering after seeing how ancient magic restored her village but her young brother passed away shortly after. She believed she could harness it to remove pain from people’s lives, even to change their very memories to bring them peace. But the magic—” She paused, her face tight with an old regret. “It doesn’t work that way. She was warned, they tried to help, but in the end, Isidora believed too strongly in her vision to see the risks. Her work became dangerous… consuming. She created a depository, a place to store and concentrate ancient magic. It became her downfall and nearly theirs as well.”
Harry leaned forward, caught between sympathy and disbelief. “A depository… it’s still out there?”
“Yes, sealed away, its location hidden with protections even we Keepers could not pass.” She looked into his eyes, serious. “You would have gone through trials, as I did, to see if you were worthy to learn the secrets of ancient magic. But…” Her gaze softened, a trace of weariness flickering there. “I have seen enough of your memories to know you do not have the luxury of time. Not while the threat of this Voldemort hangs over you.”
Harry stiffened at the mention of Voldemort. “So why are you telling me all of this now?” he asked, his voice low.
Amelia’s gaze held his with quiet resolve. “Because I believe that with Voldemort alive, the ancient magic in that depository is in danger of being unleashed again. If the depository is discovered, or if he finds a way to sense it…” She trailed off, her eyes darkening. “In my opinion, it should be destroyed, released back into the natural world where it belongs, rather than left to tempt those who seek power.”
Harry felt a chill, but he nodded slowly. “And you think I should be the one to do it?”
“You are the first since me to be able to wield it Harry, No one else can know about this, you saw in those flashes of my memory about the Goblin and the Dragon?” she replied, her voice grave.
“I did”
“Ranrok sort to use it, twisting himself into a dragon of pure chaotic magic, to destroy wizardkind and would have succeeded if not for the Hogwarts professors and I. If this Lord Voldemort is anything like the goblin then this world is in grave trouble” she explained “They may not have the natural ability to pull on ancient magic naturally, but if Voldemort got to the the depository he could absorb the extracted power held within … There would be no stopping anyone with that kind of power. She explained.
Harry paled at the thought, Voldemort was already incredibly powerful alone, he had personally killed talented wizards and witches and his brief duel with Harry had shown him the fear around his name was well justified.
But there’s another reason I’ve come to you. You’ve begun to access this magic on your own, and while that makes you powerful, it is dangerous. Ancient magic—especially if used without proper understanding—takes a toll on the wielder, one that can consume them over time. That is why you must learn to control it.”
She paused, as if weighing something silently. “To misuse it, Harry, can cost you more than you know. I paid that price myself.”
Harry felt the weight of her words settle on him, questions swirling in his mind. He was beginning to understand: her urgency wasn’t just about Voldemort or the depository. She wanted him to avoid the same fate that had claimed her.
“So,” he said finally, meeting her eyes. “Where do we start?”
Amelia’s gaze held his with a fierce determination, a glimmer of the Keeper she’d once been. “We start with understanding ancient magic’s place in our world and learning the balance it requires. Your magic is already active, Harry; now we need to teach you how to guide it before it begins to guide you.”
Harry hesitated. “I can’t just vanish from classes, and there’s a curfew.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow, her lips curving in faint amusement. “Curfew, you say? I seem to remember a certain disregard for that rule in your memories”
Harry flushed slightly, but a small grin tugged at his lips. She had him there.
“But if you’re concerned about trust,” she continued, her tone serious once more, “you may need someone within Hogwarts to help, like I once had Professor Fig. Is there anyone you trust completely?”
Harry’s mind went immediately to Dumbledore. “Professor Dumbledore. He’s—well, he knows more than anyone else, I think.”
Amelia nodded, thoughtful. “Dumbledore, then. But for your lessons, you’ll need privacy. Go to the Room of Requirement and ask for ‘The Keeper’s Room.’ You’ll find my portrait waiting for you there.”
Harry blinked, surprised. “You know about the Room of Requirement?”
“Of course,” she replied with a smirk. “I spent more time in that room than I’d ever admit to the professors. That’s where I kept the tools and books I needed at school.”
Harry’s mind whirled. The Room of Requirement had always offered what he needed, but the idea that it could contain Amelia’s hidden work excited and unnerved him. He glanced back at her. “So… once I’m there, we can start?”
Amelia’s gaze softened, yet a spark of determination remained. “Yes, Harry. Once you’re there, we can finally begin.”
Harry woke with a start, the weight of Amelia’s words lingering in his mind. She had spoken with such urgency, her resolve matched only by the determination in her eyes. He pushed back his covers and sat up, rubbing his face. Even as he shook off sleep, his thoughts turned immediately to Dumbledore. He needed to speak with him. Now.
Stepping lightly to avoid waking his dorm mates as it was still the early hours of the morning, he grabbed his robe and headed through the common room and out of the portrait hole. The corridors of Hogwarts felt almost otherworldly this late, with only the flicker of torchlight and the occasional whisper of movement from the castle’s enchanted staircases breaking the silence. Harry's heartbeat echoed in the quiet as he made his way to the Headmaster’s office, racking his brain for the current password.
It wasn't much longer before he stood before the stone gargoyle, trying to remember what it might be. “Sherbet lemon,” he whispered, and, with a sigh of relief, the statue shifted, revealing the winding staircase that led to Dumbledore’s office.
As Harry reached the top, he found the Headmaster awake and at his desk, as though he had been waiting for him. Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes met Harry’s, brimming with curiosity.
“Harry,” Dumbledore greeted, his voice warm. “To what do I owe this early morning visit?”
Harry took a seat, gathering his thoughts. “Professor, I had a… vision, or something like it. I met someone—a former Hogwarts student, I think. She said her name was Amelia Wellesley.”
Dumbledore tilted his head, his expression one of intrigue. “Amelia Wellesley… I cannot say I recognise the name. Please, Harry, tell me everything.”
Taking a deep breath, Harry launched into the story. He described how a dream he was having was shifted; he certainly wasn't telling Dumbledore what he had been dreaming about, how it had shifted into a vast, mirrored space where Amelia appeared. He explained Amelia’s mention of ancient magic—a powerful, raw force beyond typical wizardry—and her warning about Voldemort’s potential interest in such power. Lastly, he relayed Amelia’s invitation to learn, to control his own growing connection to this ancient force, starting with a visit to the Room of Requirement.
When Harry finished, silence hung between them as Dumbledore processed his words, his gaze distant. Finally, he spoke, his tone thoughtful but grave. “This is… quite an extraordinary experience, Harry. I’ve heard of such ancient forms of magic—raw forces that exist beyond our usual spells. But I’ve never encountered anyone who could wield it or even found solid examples of it in history, nor any group that claimed to protect it. Keepers, you say?”
“Yes,” Harry said, nodding earnestly. “She called herself the last Keeper of ancient magic. She said it’s dangerous, Professor, even to those who use it. And that there’s a place—a depository—where some of this magic is stored, hidden away.”
Dumbledore’s face became pensive. “If such a place exists… then it would indeed be a formidable temptation for anyone, let alone Voldemort.”
Harry hesitated before voicing the question that had been on his mind since he’d awoken. “Professor, I think I should go. Amelia said I should go to the Room of Requirement and ask for ‘The Keeper’s Room,’ where she’ll be waiting. But… I’d like you to come with me.”
Dumbledore met his gaze, studying him thoughtfully. “Are you certain, Harry?”
“Yes,” Harry replied, his tone firm. “I trust her. But this isn’t the sort of thing I can—or should—go into alone. If this magic is real, if it’s as powerful as she says, then I think it’s important we both understand it.”
Dumbledore nodded, a quiet smile of approval softening his expression. “Very well, Harry. Let us see what the Room of Requirement has to show us in these early hours.”
They made their way through the castle, the silence around them broken only by their footsteps. Harry’s nerves eased slightly with Dumbledore beside him, his presence a reassuring reminder that he wasn’t facing this unknown force alone. They reached the seventh floor, and as they stood before the familiar stretch of wall, Harry took a deep breath and focused, walking back and forth.
“I need to find the Keeper’s Room,” he murmured, picturing Amelia’s calm but determined face.
A moment later the wall shimmered, and slowly a door materialized before them. Exchanging a look with Dumbledore, Harry reached for the handle and opened it.
The room within was unlike any version of the Room of Requirement Harry had ever seen. At first glance, it felt like stepping into a forgotten conservatory, where nature and ancient magic intertwined seamlessly. Lush greenery filled the room, vines spiraling up trellises along the walls, their leaves glowing faintly in the candlelight. Towering potted ferns and exotic flowering plants formed quiet alcoves, each seemingly concealing secrets. The air was rich with the scent of damp earth and herbs, giving the space a feeling both alive and timeless.
Near the center, amidst rows of potting tables cluttered with ceramic pots, jars of strange ingredients, and books open to animated pages, hung a large portrait in a polished wooden frame. The young woman in early-twentieth-century attire looked back at them, her gaze keen with interest. It was Amelia Wellesley.
Her expression brightened as they entered. “Ah, Harry. I see you brought company.” Her gaze settled on Dumbledore, focusing with a flicker of approval. “A wise choice, I think.”
Dumbledore stepped forward, intrigued yet respectful. “Miss Wellesley,” he said with a slight bow, “I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even if under such… unusual circumstances.”
Amelia inclined her head with a polite smile. “The pleasure is mine, Headmaster Dumbledore. You seem a much better improvement than the headmaster of my day.”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with curiosity. “And who was that, Miss Wellesley?”
“Amelia, please,” she corrected gently. “He was Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black.”
“Black? A distant relative of Sirius?” Harry glanced at Dumbledore, brows raised.
“And of yours, distantly,” Dumbledore noted.
“Yes I saw your godfather in your memories, it seems the apple did fall very far from the tree with your godfather” Amelia replied, her painting smirking. Amelia folded her hands in her lap, her expression grave. “But I am sure my headmaster is the least of your questions? I’ll answer what I can.” She looked at Dumbledore with a glint of apology in her eyes.
“Headmaster, there’s a chance none of this will align with your knowledge of wizarding history. But that, I assure you, is by design. The Keepers—myself included—were tasked with shielding this magic from public knowledge. It was our duty to ensure that ancient magic’s allure wouldn’t tempt those without the balance required to wield it safely.”
Dumbledore nodded, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “This balance you speak of—it is what draws Harry here, isn’t it? You believe he can handle this power without succumbing to it?”
Amelia’s gaze softened as she regarded Harry. “Ancient magic has always required more than mere skill. It demands understanding, control… and a profound awareness of consequences.” She looked back to Dumbledore. “And yes, Harry has this potential. But without proper guidance, the same force that grants him strength could consume him.”
Harry’s heart pounded. “What happens if I misuse it?”
Amelia’s expression darkened, her gaze becoming distant. “The more I used it, the more it took from me, draining my own vitality. There are ancient energies in this world that, when wielded incorrectly, can strip away one’s very sense of self. In essence Harry, it will kill you and that is why I died, that one year of usage meant that my life ended at the age of twenty-two”
Dumbledore’s gaze grew somber as he took in her words.
Amelia's eyes reflected both sorrow and resolve. “But in the right hands, it can become a powerful means of protection, healing and combat. When it chooses a wielder, as it has Harry, it grants them the responsibility of balance”.
Harry swallowed, the gravity of the situation settling over him. “I understand,” he said quietly, glancing at Dumbledore for reassurance.
Dumbledore met his gaze, his expression warm. “Whatever path you choose, Harry, remember you are not alone. It is wise to learn from those who came before, and Amelia is offering you that chance.”
Amelia nodded, her tone gentle but firm. “And, Harry, ancient magic cannot simply be learned, you have it or you don't; it must be discovered within yourself. I can guide you, but the path is yours to walk.” She hesitated, as if gathering her thoughts. “But as you well know if Voldemort discovers this repository, he will seek it out. He’ll crave its power without regard for the price. That’s why it’s vital that you learn to control this magic.”
Harry took a deep breath, nodding. “So, how do we start?”
Amelia smiled faintly. “We’ll start with understanding, with grounding yourself in the nature of ancient magic. It exists beyond wands and words, woven into the very fabric of life.” She looked between Harry and Dumbledore. “Each lesson will bring you closer to its essence.
Harry felt both anticipation and a surge of nerves. “Then… I guess I’m ready.”
Amelia’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and caution. “Then I will need you here at least three times a week, I trust Headmaster Dumbledore, that you afford Harry some extra time after curfew?”
“I believe I can make suitable arrangements” the headmaster replied with a twinkle in his eye. “Though I would like it if Harry were still able to have somewhat of a normal student experience here at Hogwarts”
“I can have a normal life once Voldemort is gone Headmaster” Harry replied gently with a small smile. Though Harry noted a shift of emotion behind the older wizards eyes.
“Quite, but you have so much on your shoulders my boy, living a little is no bad thing” he replied softly.
“I rather quite agree with the Headmaster Harry” Amelia’s portrait added.
Dumbledore placed a steadying hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I think you ought to get back to bed Harry, there is still some twilight hours before dawn and I have a question for Miss Wellersley I’d like to ask privately”.
“Alright” Harry replied before looking to Amelia’s portrait and nodding. “I’ll see you soon Amelia”
“That you will” she smiled in response.
And with that Harry left the room of the requirement to return to his dorm room. His already hectic school year just promised to get that much more so.
……
Hope you enjoyed it.