The Origin

“You know what, fuck Grindelwald.”

Harry banged his head against his book, over and over, screaming internally. It was all his fault to begin with. So Harry had every right to curse the man to be the culprit of his most recent headache. 

It all started in 1945, ironically, with the end of the first Magical War. Authors loved to give the event different names, delighted to give their own analysis; some called it the great beginning, others, the Fall and Rebirth of the Magical World, Harry would rather close his eyes and be thankful that he was no longer at Hogwarts burning his eyelids trying to remember all the theories for his History of Magic final exam. 

Anyway, in the end, little mattered the analysis, the facts were the same and nothing could change what happened. 

Gellert Grindelwald was a powerful wizard, but a complete cheeky bastard who thought he had the right to decide who was and who wasn't a worthy wizard or witch. Harry still finds it hard to believe how someone who supposedly possessed a superior intellect could have made such a huge mistake. In the end, it was his own speech that led to his death. 

In other circumstances, he would probably have perished at the hands of some wizard brave enough to stand up to him, but in the end it was magic itself that put an end to his growing power. Historians used to put too much emphasis on that part of the story, on how Grindelwald fell to his knees before the overwhelming presence of Lady Magic, furious and indignant with the children she loved so dearly. Harry vaguely recalls Bathilda Bagshot mentioning at one point that Albus Dumbledore, the current headmaster of Hogwarts, was present that day. Even with rescued images of the historic event, Dumbledore preferred to pretend it wasn't him in them. 

Harry found the witch's insistence on mentioning Dumbledore ridiculous, always with expectant eyes and a maniacal grin, as if she knew a secret that only she was privileged to know, always on the verge of confessing it, but not doing so. Harry hated her analysis more than that of any other historian, and the sentiment was strongly influenced by the woman's notorious lack of good judgment. 

On the other hand, he completely preferred Scamander's version. The Magizoologist decided to tell his version of events from a more academic point of view (Harry does not want to admit that he prefers this version specifically because of the complementary information of the animals that accompanied him in his battle, although the gleam in his eyes gives it away), therefore, it is the version that remained engraved in his mind.

Lady Magic, after centuries of not having physically manifested herself to her people, decided to make her first appearance since her story with Merlin and Morgana in front of a dumbfounded Grindelwald and a handful of mages who did not die of shock by pure chance. Scamander recounts that it was practically impossible to look her in the face, her magic suffocating and yet comforting, and that with a clear and firm voice she determined the new path of the magical world.

From magic they all come, and from magic they all will go. 

Some called it a Blessing. Others, the Great Curse. Scamander called it The Origin.

At first, no one noticed the change. Too many were stunned at the all-powerful being that disappeared in front of them, leaving the dying body of Gellert Grindelwald on the ground, losing life and magic. Chaos erupted next, when countless witches and wizards began to present attacks of their own magic, losing control of it and dying from it. 

It took almost a full year to determine a cure, when a specialized group of Unspeakables presented to the entire magical world the alteration of their kind. 

In the end, Lady Magic's words made sense; for the prejudice of blood was left behind and the only thing that remained was the magic. 

Origin. The beginning of life as Harry knew it. 

“Harry, honestly, I think you're going through a manic episode.” Hermione said, closing her own book and looking at him in exasperation. “Unjustifiably, if you ask me.” 

Harry lifted his face from the book, raising his head and staring into her eyes. Her friend looked perfect, as always. With her curly hair neatly combed and her silver earrings that sparkled without outshining the already obvious shine of the ring on her finger, which contrasted with her black silk gloves. “I hate you.”

“Oh?”

“If only you had stopped me when I decided to apply to St. Mungo's Institute, I wouldn't be suffering like this.” 

Hermione laughed without thinking. “Harry, even as a Hufflepuff, you can't deny your stupidly strong Gryffindor roots; and I really appreciate your dad, but James Potter isn't exactly wise. No matter how hard I tried to change your mind, you weren't going to do it. You're too impulsive and foolish.”

“Are you my friend or my enemy?”

“Depends on the day.” Hermione said, smiling sweetly at him. “Today I'm feeling kind enough to snap you out of your self-pity. So listen to me carefully, Potter. You're incredibly smart and powerful, and no matter how many times you read those books, I'm sure you know them perfectly. Fortunately, you have the influence of great minds equally to questionable ones, and there's no way Professor Snape, Lily Potter, and Regulus Black would raise a dumbass. All you're managing to do is reach mental exhaustion before you've even started. You need to calm down, because you'll do fine. You are naturally good at healing, you need to trust your abilities and talents more.” 

Harry met Hermione on the express to Hogwarts; the memory is lovely and nostalgic to him, because if he compares the Hermione of then with the Hermione of now, it is noticeable that many things have changed. 

Hermione attached herself to him instantly, and without asking his opinion declared herself his best friend after only a few minutes of engaging in conversation. Hermione was too intense and effusive for her young age, a thing that overwhelmed him too much, but he didn't dislike it. It was a balance he actually liked a lot, because he didn't usually talk too much and she loved to talk. Hermione had influenced him too much, and his mother adored her, so their friendship simply remained. 

“I'm afraid of messing things up.” Harry admitted, closing his book carefully. “My job is too important, what if I end up hurting someone?”

“You won't.” Hermione insisted. “You have control over your magic, Harry.”

“But I've hurt someone before!”

“You were thirteen.” Hermione snapped back, her tone tired. The conversation had gotten too repetitive for her liking. “You were young, stupid, and like all of us, we didn't yet know how important it was to control our magic. I hurt someone too, Harry. We've all hurt someone, it's normal. We were growing up and settling in.” 

Harry wants to argue back, but he doesn't. He knows Hermione has the answers to any and all of his complaints, even the ones he doesn't think of yet. Besides, she was right. Unlike Harry, Hermione's mistake had ended her friendship with Ron. 

Ron Weasley had been a Gryffindor in his year, and part of their group of friends during the first few years at Hogwarts. As the only Esper of the three, Harry and Hermione used to alternate to balance Ron's magic, even though it wasn't compatible with either of them. The magical affinity was too low, but that didn't stop Hermione and Ron from trying to make it work. Evidently, it didn't happen. Ron suffered from constant outbursts of anger and his magic was volatile and dangerous; and when Hermione decided that she would no longer exchange magic with Ron, he nearly went mad. 

It was a before and after at Hogwarts for their generation. However, the professors looked at them with sadness, having gone through similar cases so many times. 

Ron distanced himself from them, regretful, having come to his senses. Their friendship never blossomed again, and he found the balance he needed in Lavender, a Gryffindor.

Harry had also made a mistake in his second year; he had too much natural magic and still couldn't quite control it, but his classmates seemed much calmer after holding his hands for a few minutes, so he thought everything was fine. But he was wrong. Not being in control of his magic, the guidance he offered was not compatible with that of the rest of the others, so he tended to pass on more than necessary. With some of his classmates the effects were not as noticeable, but Cedric Diggory's magic had become addicted to Harry's. 

Professor Sprout scolded him severely, and his godfather, Professor Snape, spent long hours explaining to Harry what he had done wrong. 

If you don't control it, don't use it. He had told him. 

Even after so many years, guides of different ages continued to use gloves to avoid causing an accident. Harry could control, reduce and amplify his magic now, but his blue gloves remained on his hands. 

“Harry, you prepared for this moment. Be proud of yourself, not all guides are capable of doing what you do.” Hermione said, gently.

“I would have loved to stay at Hogwarts.” he admitted. “It's easier to start with children, and I feel comfortable with the staff, because I know them. St. Mungo's is...too big and imposing.” 

“Well, you can apply as an assistant to Madam Pomfrey after a year. Surely, they'll be delighted with you.” She said, waving her wand suddenly, the time appeared in front of them, and Hermione sighed. “I need to go, but you must promise me that you're not going to drown yourself in that book again. I don't want to go to Potter Manor tomorrow and get you up myself to make you get there on time.”

“As if Regulus is going to let me be late.” He muttered. “You're going with Draco?”

“Narcissa.” Hermione replied, partially annoyed. “Apparently none of the things in my closet are fit for dinner tonight with her French business partners, so naturally it's an emergency to get a new dress. Or ten. Merlin, sometimes I wonder what I was thinking when I said yes.”

“I told you I could object at your wedding. You hit me and said no.” Harry waved his hand, disinterested. “Besides, stop pretending you don't adore your life. You're married to Draco Malfoy, with whom you have a generously high affinity, and your in-laws practically kiss the ground you walk on. You can handle a few shopping trips and important dinners perfectly well.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “ Prat.”

“I love you too.” 

Hermione stood up, waving her hand in a lazy goodbye as she put her book away in her bag. Harry watched her go, alternately flicking his gaze between her and the book he'd previously attacked with his head. 

Muggleborn. Mudblood. 

Two terms for which, today, you would immediately be imprisoned. Though no one in their right mind would be stupid enough to say it to begin with, they all found it horrifying to remember that they were once used. 

Harry even found it hard to think of those words, too sad to imagine his fabulous mother, a respected Ancient Runes Mistress, cowering because of her blood. At the same time, he found it stupid to think of a life where Hermione would be targeted, questioned and hated; according to the books, even by Draco himself. A thought without a head or a tail, because the boy loved her dearly. 

From magic they all come.

Yes, blood did not matter. 

From magic they all will go. 

x

Regulus doesn't need to wake him the next day. By the time his uncle knocks on the door, Harry is ready and dressed in the white robes characteristic of St. Mungo's healers. 

After an embarrassing half hour, in which Sirius took too many pictures with inexplicable tears in his eyes, hugging an equally emotional but more controlled Remus, Harry is ready to leave. 

His father sends him off with a tight hug, murmuring in his ear how proud he is of him and how much he has grown, his mother sends him off with a kiss on the cheek and sparkling eyes. 

“I still remember the tiny, frail little boy lurking in the halls of the castle.” Severus said, folding his arms and glaring at him before Harry could make his way to the Floo. “And now he's a healer.” 

Harry then turned, directing a smile at his family. “See you all tonight.” 

Disappearing into green flames, Harry takes a deep breath until the typical hospital noise causes him to open his eyes. George Weasley greets him with a warm smile. 

“Wow, we've got the first one here.” Harry rolls his eyes, but smiles back. “Excited?”

“More like terrified.”

“Nah, it's okay.” George says. Extending his arm towards the door inviting him to walk, Harry lets him lead the way. “If you're as good as the teachers say and brag, you'll have no trouble adjusting. Besides, almost everything falls back on practice, you'll be fine.”

Harry nods, pursing his lips. George greets a few people, and Harry mimics him, though he has no idea who they are. Fortunately, the tour isn't very long, as he soon stops at some huge double doors. “Here is the Guides' room. You can go in and wait for the rest of your teammates, who I hope won't be long in coming. I must go back and wait to bring them in, but if I am not mistaken the instructor in charge of you is Fleur Delacour. She should be inside by now. Be nice, though it's not something I should say to you, is it?” George ruffles his hair a bit, and Harry laughs as he watches him go. 

Deciding there's no point in delaying the matter, Harry opens the doors. 

A blonde girl in the same robes as him, but with blue lines around the edges of the sleeves greets him with a small smile. “Oh, I know you.” Her voice is sweet, but with a heavy accent. “You're Harry Potter, aren't you? Congratulations on your first place in the selection exam.” 

Harry can't help but blush. “Thank you very much, Miss...”

“Fleur. Fleur Delacour.” The girl, Fleur, approaches him. “I'm a third year resident, and I'm here on an exchange from France. I'll be the instructor this year.” 

Harry nods, not knowing what else to say. Fleur seems content with the short introduction, resuming reading the documents in her hand. Harry decides to fill the time to inspect the room. It is, naturally, much larger than it appears to be on the outside. 

It has a long hallway, with a reception desk to its right. There are different corridors with different doors on the walls. There is not much else, everything is too white and blue for his taste, definitely Hermione would be delighted, being a Ravenclaw, but Harry spent 7 long years surrounded by plants, different colors and figures, so the contrast is disappointing.

Slowly Harry hears voices, and carefully moves to the wall. The doors open again, and a group of eight witches and wizards make their way through. George winks at Harry before walking away.

“Well, we're all here.” Fleur says. Which puts to death what little conversation there is among his peers. Harry is just as surprised as they are. He only recognizes two, Pansy Parkinson and Dean Thomas. “Oh, I know what you're thinking. There's too few of you compared to how many there were in the Institute, right? Just because you're training to be a certified guide doesn't guarantee that you are one. Not everyone is qualified, after all, to be one. No matter how hard some try.” Fleur explains, slowly. “And it has nothing to do with intellect, although that's a factor that brought you here. No, the important thing, guys, is magic.” 

Harry moves slowly in his place, as Fleur continues. “Many Guides dream of doing good, guiding the Esper and balancing their magic. However, not everyone possesses enough magic to offer guidance to different Esper's. There are wizards and witches who only find affinity with a specific Esper, there are Espers who only find affinity with one Guide. There are Guides who can offer their magic to two or three different people, but nothing more. You are special, your magic is strong enough to balance several Esper.” 

Murmurs erupt; and Dean seems too pleased with himself, despite the fact that everyone there possessed the same ability. Fleur ignores him completely. 

“St. Mungo's expects great things from you. Harry Potter, as first place in the selection exam, you are chosen as your year's representative. Pansy Parkinson, as second place, you will act as vice representative. Each of you will have your own offices, and you will receive Esper's at random. Over time, you will build your own portfolios with the patients you are most successful in stabilizing. Receiving gifts within St. Mungo's is strictly forbidden, and any courtship proposals must be given outside of the hospital. If any Esper attempts to....overstep, you must report him or her immediately. As this is your first year, for the first week you will be accompanied by second year Guides as you adjust to working on your own. Within your offices will be the person who will be assisting you this week. I will also be in this corridor if you need me".

Fleur nods, and Harry moves through the rest of his peers to find the door with his name on it. 

POTTER, HARRY.

GUIDE. 

The smile on his face is impossible to hide. The same smile that fades immediately he looks at the person inside the room. 

Bellatrix Lestrange looks at him with a playful smile, arms crossed and leaning against the desk. 

His relationship with Bellatrix has always been odd. When they were children, the tension was too intense. She used to blame him for stealing her right of succession, even though it was never really hers in the first place. Sirius was the Lord of House Black, and Harry, as his only godson, was his legal heir. That hadn't made Bellatrix's parents happy, something that caused the girl to always treat Harry coldly during family gatherings.

“Surprised?” she says, playing with her curly hair. “When they asked me if I wanted to assist the first years, I was going to refuse. But I saw your name and couldn't resist. First place, huh? Fascinating.” 

“Thank you.” He replies, dryly. Bellatrix rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, little Potter, there's no need for that.” She waves her hand, with a disdainful expression. “We're two mature adults, aren't we? And fortunately, I'm not the one trapped in that crazy family. My parents have spent a lot of time dictating my life, but I'm a Lestrange now. I can do whatever I want and talk to whomever I want. Even the little Potter. Definitely more with little Potter, if they find out, they might die of annoyance. I dream about that.” 

Harry wisely decides to keep quiet, and slowly approaches Bellatrix. The witch steps from the desk and moves to one of the chairs, gesturing towards the desk. “Go ahead, it's yours.”

Harry discreetly casts a few detection spells, but everything seems to be in order. He confidently sits back in his chair, with Bellatrix glaring at him. 

“Probably not many Esper's will arrive today.” Bellatrix says, bored. “Not everyone is comfortable with first years, many prefer to go to a consult with guides they already know. Most of the stabilizations you'll do will be emergencies, or with kids who are just starting to manifest their magic and need professional stabilization. But it doesn't happen often, do you know the requirements for stabilizing a minor?”

Harry nods, but asks her to mention them to him even so. Harry takes the paper at his side, the ink, and starts to write down the important things Bellatrix has to say. Slowly, they fall into a circle of questions and answers. It's not as horrible as he imagined, and he can't believe this is the same Bellatrix who used to put spiders on his pillow when he slept. 

She's right, after four hours, Harry had only given consults to two Esper. The first, an old witch who talked too much, delighted to meet the new hospital staff, and the second, a young Hogwarts boy who was having trouble stabilizing his magic with any of his peers. Bellatrix watches everything in silence, and Harry tries not to be proud of the slight but obvious smile of approval on her face. As soon as the young man stands up, thanks him, and leaves Bellatrix looks at him, with a worried expression.

“You're too good at this.” She admits. “Usually, the first patients are always the most difficult. Not because of their magic, but because we have to level ours to get from one amount to another in a short period of time. Do you feel tired?”

“Not particularly.” Harry says, confused. 

The concern on Bellatrix's face deepens. Glancing slightly to her sides, the witch draws her wand and recites privacy spells. 

“Listen to me very carefully, Potter. Because there's no way I'm repeating this again under any other circumstances or place, understood?” As soon as Harry nods, Bellatrix continues. “There's something Delacour didn't mention to you, something that, honestly, there was no way in hell she was going to tell you. No one is going to tell you until it happens to you and then you are separated to sign a confidentiality clause. But I can't see a Black fall to him, so if I can help it, I will.” The determination in her voice is practically palpable. “There is an Esper that no one can control. His magic is too...heavy, strong, and oppressive. The story I know is that, when he was young, the mate he chose died trying to control his magic. They were not compatible, but he insisted on bonding with him even so. I feel sorry for the poor bastard who died for a jerk like him.” The hatred in her voice increases, and her hands turn into fists. Harry fears her fingernails will draw blood from how hard she seems to clench them. “He pretends too well that he controls his magic, but he doesn't. The only reason he hasn't been arrested is because of his great influence in the ministry and because he regularly attends stabilization sessions. He has seen almost all the guides at St. Mungo's, from here and from different countries. Those with whom he has little affinity he only visits once, but if someone can stand his magic a little more than the others he visits them constantly, until he gets bored and finds another guide.” 

Harry watches her take a breath, as if she's having a hard time continuing the story. “At first, he visits you regularly. Then, he asks to see you outside the hospital and proposes to be an intimate...guide. Some people refuse. Others, those who are already sufficiently intoxicated with his magic, accept. But no one can stand his magic during the intimate guide, so they end up in delirium. After that, he stops visiting them altogether.” Bellatrix looks up. “I was one of the idiots who thought that I could control that beast, but I failed. Fortunately, I met my husband and managed to overcome my addiction to his magic.” 

Harry looks into Bellatrix's delirious eyes, and wonders if she really, deep down, is over it. 

“You are the new folks and he won't be long in coming for a session. You need to be careful. Try not to get his attention too much, but don't be scared either.” Bellatrix says, gently.

“Who is he?”

“Tom, Tom Riddle.” 

X

Tom Riddle, as Bellatrix mentioned, is stupidly powerful. 

When at dinner he asks about him, Regulus chokes on his food, before asking where he had met him, visibly concerned. Harry explains to him roughly that he is a frequent patient at the hospital who seems to be very important. His response seems to calm his uncle, and he willingly decides to share the information with the rest of the family. 

Regulus mentions that Tom Riddle is the International head of Unspeakables, Lord Slytherin and British ambassador to the International Magical Council. His father decides to fill in the information, telling him that he served for two years as an Auror, before suddenly switching departments. 

His mother tells him to be nice to him. Harry has to bite his tongue to keep from sharing the information Bellatrix gave him. 

Harry is thankful that Severus put all his strength into making him learn something about being a Slytherin. After all, he didn't want to oppose such a powerful wizard on mere words and rumors. 

Harry applauds his decision weeks later, Bellatrix's warning all but forgotten in his head amidst all the hard work. 

His first week was successfully completed, along with the rest of his colleagues. So Fleur allowed them to give consultations on their own, dropping in unannounced to observe their development. Harry performed his consultations efficiently, and soon found himself surrounded by the rest of his peers asking for advice, which allowed the trust and friendship to flow. Harry regularly bumped into George, who took it upon himself to introduce him to the rest of the hospital staff. 

The guard he had been keeping was slowly crumbling, none of his colleagues seemed to be going through a difficult situation where they were experiencing symptoms of addiction to an Esper's magic, relaxing even more. 

And, one day, he just appeared. 

Harry had to hold his breath when he looked at him. Tom Riddle was a handsome man and he knew it, his confidence increasing the attractiveness he already possessed. Harry avoids looking him as much as possible in the face, trying to look natural. 

“Harry Potter? I have an emergency session booked today. You're my assigned guide. It's a pleasure, I'm Tom Riddle.” Harry directs his gaze to his extended hand, noting the spasms he was suffering. 

If he was spasming, it meant his magic was about to go off the rails. Concerned, Harry looked up, meeting a peaceful face. 

Dangerous. His instincts told him. 

This man is dangerous. 

There was no way he could be so calm in a situation like this. For much less, other Esper would be losing their minds. 

Harry nods, expression neutral. “It's a pleasure.” He shakes his hand quickly, still wearing his gloves. “Are you ready for guidance, would you prefer to sit or lie down?”

Harry tries to comply with protocol, though internally he's eager for the session to be over as soon as possible. 

“I'd rather take a seat.” 

“Go ahead.” Harry says, pointing to the chair. Tom, despite shaking, sits gracefully. Harry hurries to take the seat to the side. 

“Mr. Riddle...”

“Just Tom, please.” 

“Tom.” He says, forcing a smile. “I will be performing guidance for 5 minutes, if our magic is not compatible, the session ends. If our affinity is high, I will ask you if you wish to continue the session, do you understand?”

“Perfectly.”

Harry withdraws his glove slowly, and reaches out to Tom, who takes it quickly. 

What Harry feels is beyond words. 

The first few seconds almost take his breath away, and he lets out a gasp of surprise at the suffocating magic running through him, unlike the level at which he held it with the previous patient. However, it doesn't take long for him to stabilize. Harry concentrates on increasing the level of his magic without going to extremes, trying to stay in a neutral zone, wanting to calculate at what level it is prudent to reach in order to help him without capturing his interest. 

After five minutes, Harry withdraws his hand. Tom seems unwilling to do so, judging by his brief expression of fury before returning to his peaceful face. 

With a wave of his wand, Harry conjured up the preliminary report. 

“We have an affinity equal to or higher than 63. Do you wish to continue with the session?”

“Yes.” His response is straightaway. 

Harry has to blink in surprise, worry growing exponentially inside him.

Merlin, he'd had an affinity of 70 with other patients, had he done something wrong? 

Harry offered his hand again, and Tom took it so quickly that Harry didn't have time to process that he had practically pulled him in. Harry tried to maintain a neutral expression, stabilizing Tom's oppressive magic, not analyzing it. He feared that, like Bellatrix, he would find it tempting and addictive. In contrast, Tom stared at him, shamelessly.

The sound of the small clock on his desk was like a blessing. Harry withdrew his hand immediately, ignoring Tom's resistance for a few moments. Rising from his seat, he conjured the new report. 

“Your magic has stabilized at optimal levels. I can note that your eyes have stopped being red, so you are out of danger. I will keep a copy of the session report in my file, and give you a copy to include in yours, so you can compare it with your next guide's report.” Harry commented, avoiding looking at him. 

“'Go out on a date with me.” 

“Excuse me?” Harry said, raising his head so fast his back cracked. “You're not allowed to make such requests inside St. Mungo's.” He added quickly. 

“I can do whatever I want.” He replied, softly.

Harry looked at him, before answering. “Then my answer is no. You don't need me to show you out, there is only one door.” With a wave of his hand, the door opened. 

“Go out on a date with me.”

“No.” He repeated. “And no matter how many times you ask, my answer will be the same. I'm asking you to leave before I call security.”

Tom stared at him, his expression full of anger, before he rose from his chair, squeezing his copy of the report tightly. 

Harry knew that wasn't a victory. Tom's magic, after all, was still running through his body.