Chapter 18
A Promise Given
Chapter Eighteen
Remus settled back into the one remaining armchair in Grimmauld Place’s living room, exhaling a long breath. He and Sirius had spent the entire morning tearing the house down to its bones, stripping each room back to the brickwork. Dust still lingered in the air, floating in beams of midday light that streamed through the grimy windows. The only piece of furniture left was the chair Remus now occupied, its faded upholstery sticking to his arms. Though magic had certainly lightened the load, it had still been a hard, exhausting morning.
The plaster they'd applied throughout the house was now drying in thick, freshly smoothed layers that clung to the walls like a protective skin, but no spell could speed up the wait for it to set. Once it did, they’d tear up the warped floorboards and replace them with the pale oak Sirius had insisted on—he wanted everything brighter, cleaner, something Harry could feel was truly his.
Sirius, who had thrown himself into the renovation with almost reckless energy, had taken particular satisfaction in torching the portrait of his mother, Walburga Black. She had shrieked her curses to the last, her face twisted in fury as flames finally consumed her. He had tossed the charred remains into the garden without a second glance. Sirius wanted every trace of his family’s dark legacy erased from the house, every reminder of its cold, joyless past gone. For him, Grimmauld Place was no longer a place of punishment or judgment—it was the place he planned to rebuild, bit by bit, into a sanctuary for Harry.
Remus watched his friend bustling about the house, brow furrowed and sleeves rolled up, and couldn’t help but smile. Grimmauld Place had once been a prison of Sirius’s childhood, but he was reshaping it with a fierce determination, tearing down walls as much inside himself as around him.
Sirius had been in an awfully chipper mood since reading Harry’s letter he received last night, updating him on his sixth year lessons and progression with Ancient Runes, including his and Daphne’s project to weave protective runes into ordinary items of clothing, and he referenced an ancient book, a dream and then a portrait of a former Hogwarts student from over one hundreds years before and something about ancient magic, Remus chuckled at the memory of Sirius reading out the letter to him.
Sirius had already skimmed through it but was now reading bits aloud, delighting in every line. He cleared his throat dramatically, as if ready to put on a performance.
“Right, where to start?” Sirius murmured, eyes darting down the parchment. "Ah, here we go—'Ancient Runes.' You’d like this part, Moony.”
He straightened up, imitating Harry’s formal tone with a slight smirk. “‘Daphne and I have started a project in Ancient Runes—don’t laugh—to weave protective spells directly into clothes. Like, charms to repel minor curses and things that dampen any magical interference.’"
Sirius glanced up, amused. “Can you imagine? Sounds like a little thing, but it’s got Daphne’s parents so impressed they’ve offered him their old spell books. He goes on about it, saying how tricky it’s been to work out which runes hold under enchantment and which ones need careful tuning. Apparently, last week he burned through two pairs of gloves and an entire jumper testing it out! Without Daphne around it seems”
Remus chuckled, picturing Harry and Daphne laboring over runes and charms. “Very ambitious,” he remarked. “But I suppose this is the same Harry who got his Patronus down by thirteen.”
Sirius nodded, pride flashing in his eyes. “Of course. Seems he’s inherited our knack for bending the rules, too. Just this week, he says, they tried weaving ‘Ansuz’ and ‘Algiz’ into a pair of socks. Ansuz for clarity, Algiz for protection. The socks caught fire! Nearly set his dormitory ablaze. Daphne wasn’t thrilled.”
They both laughed at the mental image of Harry hastily dousing his enchanted socks in a bucket of water. Sirius continued, scanning further down the page until something else caught his attention.
“Oh, here’s that bit I told you about—the odd bit with this Amelia Wellesley. And ancient magic, he does go on quite a bit about that but said he will floo us when he starts learning more …”
Remus’s brows lifted, intrigued. “Old magic. Rare and powerful. You think it’s genuine?”
“Harry thinks so”
They both paused, pondering the possibilities. It was dangerous, but undeniably fascinating. Harry’s curiosity about old, bound magic was the kind of curiosity Sirius understood well, maybe a little too well.
Sirius continued, clearing his throat with a lighter tone. “Then, of course, he has to write about classes,” he sighed, skipping ahead. “He’s doing well in Defense, of course”
“Good for him,” Remus murmured, smiling. “Sounds like he’s got plenty to keep him busy this year.”
“Too busy, maybe. But that’s the thing about Harry.” Sirius tucked the letter away, smiling fondly. “Never just a student, is he? Always got a bit of us in him—a little spark for the things beyond textbooks. Makes you proud, doesn’t it?”
“Indeed it does”
Safe to say, Remus only got the full picture of Harry’s letter when he finally had the chance to read it himself—Sirius’s dramatic summary, after all, had skipped quite a few details.
Remus was lost in thought, smiling at the memory of Harry’s trials with the rune project, when Sirius’s voice suddenly echoed from upstairs.
“Remus, stop slacking! I need your help ripping these window frames out!”
“The what?” Remus called back, looking up in surprise.
“You heard me—just rip them out!” Sirius shouted, and then added, in a slightly hushed tone, “Quietly, though. Last thing we need is a Muggle wondering why a bay window frame just crashed into the street from thin air!”
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a grin as he muttered to himself, “And he says Harry’s taking on too much…”
With a reluctant sigh, Remus rose from the armchair, pulling out his wand as he made his way up the stairs. He could already hear Sirius upstairs, grunting with effort, likely wrestling with the stubborn window frames by hand. As he reached the landing, he found Sirius halfway through the process of dislodging a particularly hefty bay window, his sleeves rolled up and a look of sheer determination on his face.
“Are you planning to toss it out the window, or do you have an actual plan?” Remus asked dryly.
Sirius shot him a grin. “Just thought we could use a little ‘levitate and toss’ to speed things along! Besides, don’t tell me you’re not dying to get this stuffy old place some air.”
Remus raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help a chuckle. “Fine. But if we get any curious Muggle neighbors, you’re explaining why there’s an antique window frame floating outside.”
Sirius only laughed, giving Remus an exaggerated wink. “With you at my side? Nothing to worry about, Moony.”
With a flick of their wands, they began to loosen the window from its ancient frame, sending dust and splinters everywhere. Remus caught Sirius’s expression as they pried it loose, both of them suppressing laughter, feeling like two students up to mischief again.
“Quietly, remember?” Remus whispered, even as he knew their effort was anything but subtle.
…
The Room of Requirement shifted, becoming a wide, stone-walled chamber lit by torches flickering from sconces. In the center stood a conjured suit of armor, waiting to be Harry's practice target. Mounted on the wall nearby was a grand portrait of Amelia Wellesley, who watched Harry with a knowing gaze, her robes painted in shades that seemed to glint as though they, too, held ancient magic.
"Ancient magic, as I have said, is incredibly powerful," Amelia began from within her frame. "But if wielded carelessly, it will drain you before you can master it. Today, we're starting simply—working on amplifying the power of an everyday spell, like Diffindo. Over the next few weeks or months I will teach you the more powerful spells”
Harry took his stance, aiming his wand at the armor as he usually would. With a focused sweep, he cast the spell, and the armor gave a sharp clanging sound as a dent appeared in the breastplate, as though struck by a heavy object. It was an effective enough cut, but nothing that went beyond what he’d done in previous lessons.
“Alright,” Amelia said, nodding, “that was a textbook cast, and not bad at all. But now, we’re going to tap into something far more potent—the power of ancient magic.”
Harry listened intently as she stepped closer. “Most wielders draw on ancient magic instinctively, often without realizing it,” she explained. “Moments of great stress or fear tend to bring it out, usually in combat. But I’m going to teach you to call upon it intentionally, on your terms.”
“How?” he asked, intrigued but cautious.
“Ancient magic flows through the body and is part of you,” Amelia said. “Picture it as a river beneath the surface, one you can tap into if you reach deep enough. When you cast, don’t just channel magic through your wand like you usually do—imagine reaching down into your core, where this magic rests, and pulling it up. It’s not about forcing it, but more like… inviting it. It shouldn’t feel like a rush but like a summer breeze.”
Harry closed his eyes, following her words. He took a breath, centering himself, and pictured this deeper current of magic within him, lying quietly like an untapped well. As he raised his wand, he focused on that inner well, letting its power rise within him. He could feel it, humming just below the surface, both thrilling and slightly overwhelming.
He opened his eyes, exhaled, and cast, “Diffindo!”
The spell shot from his wand in a powerful arc of light, so forceful that it cut clean through the suit of armor. The thick metal split instantly, the upper half of the armor crashing to the ground with a deafening clatter. The spell didn’t stop there; it struck the stone wall behind it, leaving a deep, jagged gash embedded in the stone.
Harry lowered his wand slowly, wide-eyed at the destruction he’d caused. He looked back at Amelia, who wore an expression of faint surprise, though she quickly composed herself.
“Well I didn’t expect it to be that powerful,” she muttered. “Well done,” she said, her voice calm but carrying an edge of approval. “Ancient magic can amplify even the simplest spells to extraordinary levels of power.”
Harry shook his head, amazed. “Wow.”
“Ancient magic responds to your will,” she explained. “It’s clear your instincts are developing. But you also see now why caution is crucial. This magic doesn’t discriminate—it will empower whatever you call upon it for, which is why mastery is essential. The last thing we need is you casting Bombarda and blowing up the common room.”
Harry nodded, the remnants of amazement still buzzing in his veins. He steadied his grip on his wand, feeling an almost magnetic pull toward the well of ancient magic he had touched moments ago. It had been exhilarating but… strange, too, as if he were holding onto a thread of raw lightning. Still, he couldn’t deny how satisfying it had felt to wield that kind of strength.
“Right then,” he muttered to himself, turning back to Amelia’s portrait. “What next?”
Amelia observed him, her eyes gleaming with a blend of pride and caution. “You’ve just witnessed the sheer force ancient magic can impart. But force alone is seldom enough—it’s control that truly defines a master. Let’s see how much control you can bring to your next cast.”
She gestured with a painted hand toward a row of statues that lined the wall, each one carved in different poses, depicting various magical creatures and wizards. With a flicker of her gaze, one statue—a wolf in mid-leap—shifted and came to life, padding over to the center of the room where it stood still, as if frozen in an attack stance.
“Try Impedimenta,” Amelia suggested, “but focus on tempering the ancient magic. Hold it back just enough to stop the wolf without breaking it to pieces. A fine line to walk, but essential.”
Harry swallowed, nodding. Aiming his wand carefully, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, reaching inward, feeling for the calm pulse of ancient magic, and then guided it to the surface again. He tried to draw less this time, like tipping a small portion of water from a heavy pail rather than dumping the whole thing.
“Impedimenta!”
The spell shot forward, slamming into the wolf with a pulse of blue water. This time, the statue was held in place, mid-lunge, frozen but unharmed. The restrained power had worked—it stopped the creature exactly where it stood without shattering it. Harry lowered his wand, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Well done,” Amelia said, her voice carrying a note of approval. “The ability to temper it requires a degree of precision that most wizards only dream of mastering. Even with great power, restraint is what often separates victory from ruin.”
Harry’s confidence swelled a little, though he kept it in check, already anticipating her next challenge. Sure enough, Amelia’s painted eyes sparkled with a new idea, and with a wave of her hand, the wolf returned to its statue form and padded back to the wall.
“Now,” she continued, “let’s try something a bit more complex. Multiple targets, Harry. Take your time. The spell will be Stupefy—try and stun each statue individually without letting the magic surge out of your control. These are charmed like their real life counterparts, which you will note are highly resistant to magic, so if you don’t channel this correctly they won’t be stunned.”
With a swift blink, four more statues stepped forward, taking positions at various distances in the room. A dragon, a centaur, a basilisk, and a phoenix—all unmoving but poised, waiting for Harry’s spell.
Harry felt his pulse quicken. This would be his first attempt at using ancient magic across multiple targets. Taking a steadying breath, he reached inward once more, this time sensing the deep reservoir of power and allowing it to flow just enough, keeping it close and controlled. With a sweeping motion, he aimed his wand at the first target.
“Stupefy!”
The spell shot from his wand, stunning the dragon statue cleanly, knocking it back just a little but otherwise leaving it unharmed. Encouraged, Harry pivoted quickly to the centaur.
“Stupefy!”
Another flash—but this time, the spell wavered slightly. The centaur staggered but didn’t freeze. Harry frowned, realizing he had let his concentration slip, drawing either too little power or too much at the wrong moment. He recalibrated, feeling for the core again and grounding himself.
“Stupefy!”
The second cast hit cleanly, freezing the centaur mid-step.
He was feeling the rhythm of it now, controlling each cast, focusing the magic like a thread he was winding and unwinding with his will alone. He took aim at the basilisk and the phoenix in turn.
His first attempt at the phoenix missed entirely, the spell skimming past its wing. Harry cursed under his breath, re-centered, then fired again.
“Stupefy!”
This time, it struck true. But just as the spell hit, Harry misjudged his power and let the magic surge too violently. The force of it shot back through him, throwing him off balance. Before he could even blink, he was launched backward, crashing into a stack of practice dummies and tumbling to the floor in a heap.
He groaned, rubbing his head. “Bloody hell…” His body ached from the sudden jolt. Looking up, he saw Amelia’s painted face, her lips twitching as she fought back a laugh.
“That… was rather enthusiastic,” she remarked, eyes twinkling. “Remember what I said about restraint? Ancient magic responds quickly, sometimes too quickly.”
Harry rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. “Noted. So, less power next time.”
“Precisely.” Amelia stifled a chuckle, watching Harry with a mix of pride and amusement as he stretched out his shoulder. ”
Harry nodded, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the bruise forming on his arm. “Alright. Let’s try that again.”
Harry shifted, taking in Amelia’s words as he eyed the statues now positioned at various points around the room. They were no longer still; each flickered into different poses in a way that was strangely unnerving, as if they were vanishing and reappearing in a blink.
Amelia noticed Harry’s focus, a subtle smile tugging at her lips. “Ah, you’re noticing their movement. It’s a skill some ancient magic wielders have mastered, myself included: blinking, or short-range teleportation. An advanced technique—if you can grasp it, it may save your life in a duel.” She raised a hand to forestall his excitement. “It’s not as simple as a common Apparition; it requires deep concentration, and, well… you’ll see.”
Harry’s face lit up. “So, you’re saying I can disappear and reappear instantly, like them?” He pointed at the statues, which were still shifting in and out of different spots, occasionally flickering to the opposite side of the room without warning. He could already imagine its usefulness.
“Something like that. Try it, but start small—focus your magic on the movement itself. Imagine where you’d like to reappear, and don’t try to travel too far in one blink,” Amelia advised. “Oh, and a small warning—this maneuver takes more energy than you think, so prepare yourself.”
Harry nodded eagerly, gripping his wand as he zeroed in on the far side of the room, near the stone wall. Concentrating on the ancient magic inside him, he envisioned himself moving directly there. He felt a surge of power build up, and, with a quick twist, he leaned into the magic—
—and suddenly, the world lurched as he felt himself pop from one spot to the next. The stone wall approached far faster than he’d anticipated, and in an instant, he smacked straight into it, the impact sending a shock through his entire body.
“F-” he paused “Bloody hell!” he muttered, groaning as he peeled himself off the wall, feeling a rush of embarrassment. He shook his head to clear the stars dancing in his vision, then glanced over at Amelia, whose portrait was struggling to keep a straight face.
“That… was rather enthusiastic,” she remarked, eyes twinkling. “Remember what I said about restraint? Ancient magic responds quickly, sometimes too quickly.”
Harry rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. “Noted. So, less power next time.”
“Don’t be discouraged—I didn’t even a partial blink on their first try. You’ve grasped the concept well; now it’s a matter of smoothing it out.”
Harry nodded, sinking to the floor and leaning back against a stone wall. He exhaled heavily, letting the ambient warmth of the Room of Requirement seep into his muscles. “So what was your time at Hogwarts like? Did you have loads of friends or anything like that?
Amelia’s expression softened, her gaze becoming unfocused as she sat in her painting, settling in. She was quiet for a moment, then looked at him thoughtfully. Her expression briefly shadowed before she brightened slightly, her voice wistful as she added, “I had a small group of friends, we were all so different—yet we found each other, somehow. Poppy Sweeting was my closest friend, a Hufflepuff with a heart as big as any I’d known. Natti was always one for adventure and became a brilliant auror a fellow gryffindor and held a special place in my heart. There was Ominis Gaunt, a Slytherin with quite the strong sense of right and wrong, despite his family.” She laughed lightly. “Always pulling us out of mischief and trying to keep Sebastian on the right path.”
Harry chuckled, leaning in. “Sounds like a good group. And Sebastian—he was a Slytherin too?”
“Yes, a Slytherin,” she replied, her voice softening with a hint of sadness that Harry could sense she wasn’t ready to explain. “He was passionate, stubborn, and... let’s say he was willing to do anything for the people he loved.”
A flicker of understanding crossed Harry’s mind, but he said nothing, sensing it wasn’t a subject she was ready to delve into. Instead, he offered a gentle smile, shifting to a lighter topic. “Sounds like a mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin combined. You’d all have given Fred and George Weasley a run for their galleons.”
Amelia’s eyes brightened at the mention of the Weasleys, and she let out a small laugh. “Weasley, you say? I remember that name,” she said, clearly pleased. “There was a Weasley in my year, his aunt was a professor at the school in my time.” She paused, a glimmer of warmth in her gaze. “Nice to know mischief still runs in the family. Fred and George, are they?”
“Twins,” Harry replied with a grin. “And if Hogwarts has a history of pranksters, they’re definitely in the hall of fame by now.”
Amelia chuckled, a fondness in her eyes as she seemed to imagine it. “Good. Every school needs its tricksters; sometimes they teach us the most.” “Well, perhaps we had our fair share of adventures,” she conceded, her gaze distant as though lost in memories both sweet and solemn. After a moment, she turned back to Harry, the flicker of her memories fading as she focused once more. “But I suppose enough about the past for now.”
It was later when he muttered the password, pushing the portrait open, and immediately the familiar warmth of the common room washed over him. Across from him, he spotted Ron and Neville hunched over the battered chessboard by the fireplace, muttering intensely over their strategies, while Hermione was curled up nearby, nose deep in a book as usual.
Harry crossed the room and dropped into the armchair beside Hermione, letting out a satisfied sigh as he sank into the warm cushions. The dying embers of the fire cast a cozy glow, and he could already feel the heat working its way into his tired muscles, melting away the strain from his evening's training.
Hermione looked up from her book, studying him for a moment. "Rough session?" she asked, her brow creasing with a hint of concern.
“Something like that,” he said, smiling faintly. “Dumbledore really doesn’t know the meaning of taking it easy.”
Ron, who had been watching Neville intently as he made his next move on the chessboard, glanced over with a smirk. “That seems to be a theme with him, doesn’t it? Throws you in the deep end, lets you struggle a bit, and expects you to come out better for it.”
Harry chuckled. “Yeah, well, let’s just say I got plenty of ‘hands-on’ practice.” He stretched his legs out, still feeling a faint twinge in his shoulder. “But enough about that. Who’s winning?”
Neville grinned, moving his bishop with a sense of quiet satisfaction. “I might have Ron this time,” he said, and for a moment, Harry could see that fierce glint of determination he’d come to admire in Neville.
“Not a chance, mate,” Ron replied, narrowing his eyes as he considered his next move. "I’ve got a strategy all lined up. Can’t let my guard down now.”
Harry watched as Ron and Neville continued their match, the low murmurs and crackle of the fire wrapping the scene in a cozy calm. Hermione, having turned her attention back to her book, glanced up just once to give Harry a reassuring smile. Harry leaned back, closing his eyes briefly and letting himself relax fully for the first time that evening, grateful for the simple comfort of his friends and the common room.
…
The next morning in the Great Hall, the usual murmur of breakfast conversation quieted as Professor Dumbledore rose to speak. His voice, carrying its familiar warmth, projected effortlessly across the hall.
"Good morning, students! I hope your studies are progressing well as we begin our march toward the colder months," he began, his eyes twinkling as he surveyed the gathered students. "I’m pleased to announce that this Saturday, there will be a Hogsmeade visit for all eligible students. Please remember to bring your signed permission slips to Professor McGonagall no later than Friday evening. Additionally, be advised that we’ll be implementing a few new classroom safety measures—details of which will be posted in your common rooms.”
Excited whispers sprang up across the tables, especially among the younger students eager to explore Hogsmeade for the first time. In the middle of the Slytherin table, Daphne Greengrass listened to the announcement, though her gaze drifted now and then toward the Gryffindor table. She watched Harry, who seemed more relaxed than usual as he chatted casually with Hermione and Ron.
Beside her, Tracey Davis was chattering on about her own plans for the weekend, completely oblivious to Daphne’s wandering attention.
“I mean, can you believe it?” Tracey said, jabbing her fork into her eggs. “I hear Zonko’s has some new joke products that are supposed to be hilarious—oh, and we have to stop by Madam Puddifoot's this time. It’ll be brilliant!”
Daphne nodded absently, occasionally murmuring a polite “Mm-hmm,” while her eyes kept flickering back to Harry’s reactions. When the breakfast plates began vanishing from the tables, Daphne rose with the rest of the students, gathering her things and joining the flow of students toward their morning lessons.
As she made her way down the corridor toward Charms, she heard footsteps approaching quickly from behind. She glanced over her shoulder just as Harry appeared beside her, his stride easygoing as he fell into step with her.
“Hey, Daphne,” he said, a grin on his face. “Got a minute to talk runes?”
“Depends,” she replied, smirking. “Are you finally admitting my script suggestions are better than yours?”
“Oh, we’ll get to that,” he replied smoothly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. They walked a little further before he glanced around to make sure they were alone in the corridor as students filtered to their classes. Satisfied, he leaned closer and dropped his tone. “Actually, I wanted to ask if you’d like to come to Hogsmeade with me. You know, to check out some fabrics and get supplies for the project.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow, feigning mild surprise. “So that is your excuse. And what, pray tell, will Witch Weekly think when they see Harry Potter browsing textiles for his ‘new wardrobe’?”
“Oh, they’ll live,” he said with a shrug, his grin widening. “So, what do you say? Are you in?”
She paused, making a show of considering it for an exaggeratedly long time as they walked, watching Harry’s amused impatience out of the corner of her eye.
“Hmm. Yes,” she said finally, with a practiced air of indifference. “That would be… acceptable. I’ll meet you outside the castle at ten on Saturday.”
As she began to turn down the corridor toward Charms, she heard Harry call after her. “It’s a date, then!”
She turned back just enough to toss him a smirk. “In your dreams, Potter.”
She left him chuckling as he veered off to his own class, and as she walked to Charms, she felt a little thrill at the thought of Saturday—and the fact that she was already looking forward to it.
……
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