Questioning

oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…………………………………

oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…………………………………

It was everything and nothing. Harry was everything and nothing. The chaotic cosmos and, at the same time, the blankness of nothing. No thoughts, no sensation, just the knowledge of being. He is not he. Harry is not Harry yet the knowledge of greater then. Knowledge that tells tales of the start of everything and the end of everything and the in-betweens. Knowledge suggests he is just part of the one. The One.

Time seemed to stop. Seconds, minutes, hours—they all became meaningless. And then, suddenly, Harry regained consciousness, his awareness flooding back in an instant. He found himself staring at a blank landscape, stretching out into infinity. Slowly, he became aware of his body—the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, the feeling of every muscle and nerve. His mind was a still, calm pool, empty of thought.

“Harry” the deep voice called him, and Harry turned to see a tall, imposing figure standing nearby. The man was dressed in a simple, black tunic, his tanned skin and high cheekbones lending an air of nobility to his features. But it was his eyes that caught Harry’s attention—eyes that shone with an intense, bottle-green hue, the exact shade of his own.

Harry’s gaze lingered on the man’s face, seeing more and more similarities between their features—the shape of their lips, the contours of their noses, the depth of their green eyes. The man’s smile was gentle, full of warmth, and he reached out, his rough but warm hand cupping Harry’s cheek. The touch was gentle, and Harry felt a flood of emotions course through him. This couldn’t be real, could it?

"A different version of me?" Harry guessed. The man gave a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. Overcome by a sudden wave of emotion, Harry stepped forward, wrapping his arms around the man’s torso and burying his head into his chest. He felt strong arms encircle him in a warm, protective embrace, the man's presence exuding safety and a sense of belonging that Harry had never experienced before. "You can call me Hadrian, Love."

“Why? How?” Harry stammered, still struggling to grasp the situation. Hadrian's hum seemed to indicate that he understood, and he gently pulled away from the hug, a soft smile still playing on his lips. Harry clung to his arm, reluctant to let go of the comforting warmth, but Hardian ruffled his hair and guided him towards a bench that materialised out of thin air. They sat down, Harry leaning against Hardian’s side as the older man draped his arm around Harry.

“It is a long story, but I think you will want to hear every part of it,” Hadrian began, his voice low and measured. “A long time ago, a powerful wizarding family lived on the island you were taken to. Their magic was different from that of most wizards, more closely connected to one of the entities that give shape and meaning to our world. While these beings lack physical forms that we humans can perceive, they are a fundamental part of the universe and all its workings. Today, many cultures see these entities as gods and goddesses."

"It was obvious to magical people and creature beings to understand the truth of this concept because of their various gifts to perceive magic and nature around them on a greater scale than non-magical' s." Hadrian explained while Harry was enamored with the new knowledge. Hadrian's voice took on a more solemn tone, his words echoing with the weight of history. "Magic is a force that pervades every aspect of our world—it runs through trees, soil, and even the air we breathe. But not all things created by humans, especially those without magical ability, can conduct magic in the same way as nature does."

"This family of witches and wizards, who we are descended from, was entrusted with a sacred responsibility. They served as priests and priestesses of death, bridging the gap between life and the afterlife and curing illnesses caused by curses and black magic. They practiced necromancy in its most pure and untainted form, guided by Death. They were the eyes, ears, and hands of Death in the physical realm," Hadrian explained.

"Their power was immense, their influence vast. But with such great power came great danger."' Hadrian continued, his words steeped in sorrow and loss. "The family's power and influence attracted the attention of those who coveted their abilities, and soon they were targeted by those who sought to control or destroy them. After all, one who masters death has little to fear from life's lesser perils.

"In the end, human nature proved its dark side yet again. The family was forced to abandon their sacred duty and practice of necromancy, becoming wanderers without a home. "Some members of the family integrated into society, while others vanished into the shadows, but the knowledge of necromancy remained buried within the very land where the family had once thrived. You should be able to remain safe on the island from everyone. No letters will reach you, nor will the Ministry track you. You can learn about our ancestors and many lost magics. You can make it your home and finally rest from all you have been put through. No golden boy bullshit or endless chores with abuse. A safe haven."