Beneath the Lamb's skin is a Wolf's mind

Learn from your mistakes.

Magic is strange, almost fickle in a way. Sentient and not, so malleable and uncontrollable. A Paradox in the world that they struggled to understand. 

Hermione always questioned the science in which that explains magic. There's no proper science, of course. Her Les fondements de la magie professor would skewer her if she were to start finding logic in magic through muggle science. There were times she could correlate them, sure, but could she even begin to worry for the times that science itself could not make sense of how flesh could be woven back with blood rather than thread. 

Inherently, Hermione worries for herself and her family. They were good. Daniel and Monica Granger were kind people, amazing dentists to be honest. They were always so supportive of her, worrying and fretting whenever she went to Hogwarts. They loved her regardless. 

So it had pained her when she had to forsake her name as Granger to be a Peverell. 

Some things just had to be done for the ones you love… Safety and Security was her priority and having allied herself with her new brother has made her a target for the ire of many. Her parents were her weakness and they would be used against her when the day comes. 

Lacing her fingers together, Hermione took in a deep breath before shaking her head. She felt someone sharply poke her side, earning them her annoyance as the strange person beside her grinned sheepishly. 

“Mia!” 

Oh heavens, she never liked that wretched nickname. It made absolutely no sense to her. How could the name Mia be taken from Hermione? Ridiculous really. 

René tilts her head, smiling as per usual as her eyes shifted from blue to a greenish hue. She can't help but sigh, knowing that her brother has gone and done something stupid—per the letter from Headmistress Aleksia. 

“Professor Verne is looking for you. I think it was something about the recommendations.” She simply waves, tilting her head to the side before her hands slip behind her head to adjust the red ribbon that ties her pastel purple hair. “Oh! Did your brother send you a letter? I heard from my cousin in Durmstrang that Lord Peverell has once again decided to put the rest of the purebloods in their place. Like—can you believe it? One person decided that he's so annoyed with pompous brats that he might as well put some weight on them to keep them from going up.”

Yes… her brother's siege. She can't particul fault him but at the same time she could. Why had he even chosen Durmstrang? There were other schools that could cater to his hunger—yet once again, she cannot blame him. Durmstrang wad—if not—the best school for anyone interested in the dark arts. Hyperion was exactly that—hungry. Harry was not originally known to be an academic but something had snapped inside of him two years ago, manifesting a sort of hunger in him that Hermione could not understand. 

René walked beside her, continuing to ramble about their most recent homework from Elementalism class. Professor Chapelle had been horrifically strict about the ethical uses of light magic. Hermione still frowned upon such a system that France shares with Italy and Romania. She really needed to get more books on what was dark and what was light for different countries. She had heard from Harry that there was a country that used the seasons to categorise their magic. Which was strange to be honest. 

The door to Professor Verne’s office was as imposing as she remembered. For a plain white door, it still felt like one to the afterlife rather than the office of her TFoM professor. Grimacing, she quietly tells René to remain outside, knocking soon after. There's a reply that follows, leading Hermione to open the door and hurriedly dipping her body into the best curtsy that she could ever muster. 

Yvonne Verne sat behind her desk, magic whirling around her as her books and documents remained floating with quills writing on parchment. It was a wondrous spectacle of procrastination and just how quick her professor's mind worked. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Peverell.” Verne says, staring straight at her with her usual contemplative look. She sets her quill down—not the ones floating around—and promptly gestures to the seat in front of her. 

Hermione smiles, lacing her fingers together once more as she keeps them from shaking. Her signet ring feels heavy upon her finger but it had been a gift from Hyperion, showing that she was a Peverell no matter what anyone said. 

“Miss Peverell, it has come to my attention that you were recently contacted by a member of the ICW’s…” she trails off, peeking into the document, “International affairs department to be an ambassador of your home country.” 

Hermione stiffens, a smile frozen in place. True, it had been a strange summer when the ICW had suddenly attempted to recruit her into their political department. An ambassador for goodness sakes. Harry had been both ecstatic and concerned, being a Durmstrang student himself. But they had decided to put that on hold, having written to the person—an Avery apparently—that she had to focus on her studies before an internship could commence. 

“Am I to understand that the person who had previously written to you was…” again, Verne trails off to glance back at the document. “—a Sullivan Avery. Yes, him. International affairs and all that. I would have preferred if Grimsrud from the Law Enforcement would recruit you but blasted Sridhar got to you first.” She scoffs, tossing the document back to her desk. “None of that now… I wanted to know why you have postponed such an opportunity.”

The circumstances were confusing, to be honest. Prophecies weren't particularly welcomed in their world—Britain specifically. But then Harry had to end up dabbling in them and here she was, deciding that getting involved in international affairs when she was clearly unprepared was the worst thing possible. Back then, she would have grabbed at this opportunity like it was a lifeline, a purpose, a reason. She would have been able to prove herself—to the purebloods, to the world that she was just as good as the rest of them. That she could be better. But what was the point of being better when the possibility of crashing and burning looked over her? 

“The time isn't right.” She vaguely explains, smiling sadly at her professor. “I don't have a proper grasp of the world, yet. I need more time, more knowledge, more experience. My brother discussed this with me considering there have been recruitment letters pouring into our home. Both for him and I… Professor… you know my past. You know my brother's past.” 

She sighs and suddenly it feels like a decade had passed rather than two years. 

“We were ambitious and reckless children. We know very well that experience and knowledge is required if we must survive in this world.” Hermione reasons, gesturing as she spoke. “Besides! Would you prefer for me to be trained in politics and diplomacy rather than focusing on my research paper and your tests? Please, professor. I crave to know your knowledge.”

Verne shook her head, fond and amused. “Troublesome girl. The way Demetrius Tasev described your brother in his letters shows that you two are truly alike. Brats… Brats I say.” With a sigh, Verne rubs her chin before levelling her with a stare. “Well then, what are your thoughts in your career? After graduating, which occupation will you pursue?” 

What did she want to do?

Hermione had thought about this numerous times. 

She wanted to be Minister of Magic. She wanted to teach. She wanted to work for Gringotts. She wanted to be a solicitor. She wanted to be a healer. 

There were many dreams that flitted across her mind while growing up. Her desires felt obscure at best, wanting many things yet only able to chose one. Working for the ICW would be the best course of action with the salary and reputation that you can garner. However, the department was her issue. She was suited for Law enforcement and international affairs. Maybe even working on sustaining the stature of secrecy with the Department of Magical catastrophes. 

“I have many possibilities.” She hums, “But I want to be able to… sustain the magical world itself. Evidently, we are deteriorating. Our world is not as advanced as those of muggles, leading us to be quite ignorant to the weapons and inventions they have. Muggles have discovered faster way of communication with their telephones and the creation of the internet. What I want is to advance us but at the same time, I want to keep us safe from being found. They have more lethal and wide-area weapons and they outnumber us…”

Verne nodded, looking troubled by Hermione's words but they were the truth. Spending time with a cynical and nihilistic brother impacted a person greatly and Hermione could barely cling to what little optimism she had. 

“That's a rather big dream, Miss Peverell… but… you have set yourself in a good path. An evolutionary one.” Verne softly explains, smiling again as she tucks her hands behind her back and paces across the room. “I hope to know that in the future, I will hear your name spoken reverently as a witch who bettered the world. Don't forget me, yes? Tell those at Hogwarts that you learned about magic from me.” 

Hermione giggles, nodding fondly at the teacher. 

“Now shoo. Miscreant child. Your little shapeshifter might run a hole outside my office if she continues to pace like that.” 

For a moments she didn't know who Verne was talking about, before her eyes widened. Right. René was still outside. She bowed politely before hurriedly exiting the room. Verne had been correct, considering how her friend was pacing like she had been sentenced to her last meal. Hair shifting from shades of purple before their eyes meet. Purple changed to pink, then to bright blue as René launched herself at Hermione. 

“Did she sentence you to eternity behind a desk?” René screeches, dragging her across the halls in the most uncouth manner she could muster. Horrific, to be honest but there's no blaming her for it. They get some scrutinising looks but Hermione could care less for their judgement. “I mean like—you’re her favourite. Yes! I'm sure about that, Mia. Allard and Blanchet bitch about it thrice a week and it's AWFUL!” 

“Tragic.”

“Yes! True. Anyways—you won't leave, right? I know about Lord Peverell basically putting a bunch of Durmstrang kids on a leash but you won't leave me, right?” René gnawed at her lip, batting her lashes at Hermione. “You're doing good here…”

“I'm not leaving, René. My brother has his little kingdom in Durmstrang. I don't think he'll take kindly to me meddling with it.” Hermione shakes her head. She ought to write a letter to Hyperion to tell him off about letting himself be sent back. If Ron doesn't write to her about it then she must persuade the Headmistress to visit her troublesome brother on the matter. 

“But it would have been okay… right?”

“You don't know the interworkings of Durmstrang. Even I am not privy to that but what little I have gained from my brother is information that scares me. They have a subtle… hierarchy. Someone who gets to play king, so long as he is not overthrown, of course.” Her gaze shifts down to the signet ring, the Peverell crest made out of gold as she plays with it, adjusting the ring around her finger. “He was fifteen when he humiliated a young man, you know. He proclaimed himself king back then,the little leader children turned to. The poor thing hasn't recovered, from what I know. No peep from him in society whatsoever.” 

René winced, looking wary. She was right to feel that, of course. Harry wasn't kind. As she's said, Harry was hungry. 

“That bad? Professor Verne mentions him from time to time, you know. Even Chapelle seems to talk about him too… the infamous Hyperion Peverell who can shift water to fire in mere seconds…” she whispers, awed and a tad fearful from the way her eyes shifted back to a deep hue of purple. Nervously, René smiles at Hermione who can barely return it. 

Hermione shook her head. Oh—dear gods, no. Harry was possessive of things he's conquered. Even towards his closest friends—to her, his sister. Durmstrang is something he's conquered, a place that has succumbed to his words and tenacity that the unfortunate students who received his ire were being dragged to the bottom of the steps of greatness. They were damned by simply garnering his attention and Hermione just knows that she wouldn't be good there. 

Hyperion stopped sharing a long time ago.

“You've never met my brother. Pray that you never will.” 

Okay… change of plans….

They were being made to stay for three days, maybe five. That sucked. 

Harry wasn't exactly pleased when Katya explained this to them after he had to almost hexef Abbott for trying to make them spend the night at Hogwarts. Hogwarts! His bitchiness pulled through, of course, after he scoffed and told him that he had his own manor in Britain or they could stay Lady Morganach until they had to return. 

Why was this even being entertained? Harry was sure that it was stupid because first of all, he had a research paper to attend to! The library at Hogwarts was just trash, utter and embarrassing trash with so little information that he might actually be able to recite the first chapter of every book in that god be damned place. What did he actually want to do? Bury himself on a book about necromancy so he could finally start on observing it! But no! Katya decides that they have to stay, Szekeres decides that he should pity them. 

Ugh.

“Rion… you've set the bloody tapestry in fire again.” Aurelia blabs, gesturing to the burning tapestry that Genevieve was desperately trying to put out. The flames were green and blue, of course they were! 

Irritated, Harry snaps his fingers, glaring at the familiar classroom with such a ferocity that he might actually set it in fire too. Unfortunately, that could not be arranged as Roksana barges into her classroom, takes one look at the burnt ends of her little tapestry decoration, then proceeds to glare at him. Harry only grinds his teeth and everything as he tilts her head at her.

“Cease your nonsense.”

“The only reason why we're even allowed here is because Szekeres and Romanova pity these loathsome and bigoted fools!” Harry spat, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Surprised Dumbledore even let us stay to begin with. His little golden boy helped teach the dark arts. Wonderful!” 

“Don't be a bitch.” Aurelia rolls her eyes, earning her a little indignation from Genevieve who—once again—reminds them to reduce their cussing in front of children. Not that the people would give a damn, unlike Durmstrang who drilled manners into their kids the moment they stepped foot on the castle. “Anyways, what's your plan now? We've been spread thin. You're the only one we can trust among the teachers, you know that… right?” 

Roksana lets out a frustrated noise, “Yes, I understand. But Flitwick will keep Vance safe. I doubt Baumer will try anything with Rowle… you three wouldn't even need to worry with your own experience.”

“I'm stuck with Snape!” Aurelia screeches, looking horrified as she collapses on a chair. They all had specific specialties and Aurelia unfortunately and fortunately was one of the best potioneers in Durmstrang.

“Condolences.” Harry drawls, but she's right with being devastated. Snape was a cunt. “Don't think Minnie will try to hurt you, Vivi. She's great, for the most part.”

“Wonderful…” Genevieve mutters, shaking her head. “Lucky you that you've got Roksana.”

Harry smirks, turning to Roksana. “You'd think that but I'd be cussed out the moment they saw me. Saviour of the light helping teach Dark Studies. What a fucking joke.” 

At least he'd get to see Ron. 

“Enough… All three of you.” The woman already looked exhausted from their complaining alone. If this was the effect they had on her, then what happened when defecting lions became her issue? 

Suddenly, Harry was overcome by anger. Maybe determination. Or spite. Whatever it was, he wanted to wrangle every little Gryffindor that tried to skip her class, stick their asses to the chairs, and have the other houses drag them out once the lesson was done. If that didn't work then he'd knock them out and personally tutor them on the importance of studying about Dark Magic. It would be easy. String a bit of magic, slip it into their minds and they'll drop like flies immediately. 

The world jolted as he looked around. That blasted voice again…

“It's good that Durmstrang and Hogwarts have similar systems in categorising.” Harry sighs, rubbing the thin trail of lightning that was his scar. “Emotions and intent… Funny considering they're bloody good at mixing what's dark and what's light.” 

“Yes… I wish to address that, actually. Would it be possible for you to show them your Fiendfyre? Specifically your capability to shift elements.”

“About that,” he cuts in, looking warily at Roksana. “My Elementalism isn't too stable right now. Stress and all from being in Hogwarts but if there are proper regulations and enough protective spells, then I might be able to cast one on the grounds.” 

Roksana frowns at him, contemplating his words before she sighs. “Alright, no manipulation of the elements inside.” There's a tinge of disappointment in her voice that makes him fidget, gritting his teeth as she paces the room. Classes would start soon; Genevieve and Aurelia would have to get moving. “Girls, go find your respective classrooms…”

“Aurelia can't go alone.” He quickly says, getting up fast enough to grab Aurelia's sleeve. “Her family has not reacted kindly to her arrival.”

Again, Roksana looked terribly stressed. She rubs her temples before waving them off. Genevieve is hesitant to let them go alone but he's quick to tell her that he wasn't the type to stay idle if someone tried to attack them. Harry knows the halls of Hogwarts far better than anyone alive does and quickly navigates Aurelia to the closest secret passage. It surprises her, of courses but quickly shushes her when she attempts to question his knowledge. Thank you Marauders for your genius—minusing Peter because that one was a shithead that tempted him to commit murder in broad daylight. 

The passage to the dungeons were flights of stairs that Harry had to carefully navigate her through. With his voice strung out and magic leaking into his throat, he hisses out commands after commands. Often he found himself frustrated when a simple ‘open’ needed to be rephrased into ‘I seek exit/entry’ depending on whether he was going out or in. Damned castle and it's need for fancy words. What was wrong with ‘open’? It was simple and concise! 

The dungeons were as cold as ever with students rushing in and out of it. Those clad in green were more accustomed to prancing around the dungeons without a worry, a little arrogant but understandable. Snape's classroom was here somewhere. Hopefully he could remember it. 

“D'you think he'd cuss me out?” Aurelia mutters, frowning to herself. 

“Nah. He's too much of a ponce to do that. He's… er… a cunt. Yeah. That's all I have to say about the bloody bastard.” Harry snorts, shaking his head as he adjusted the blood red uniform of Durmstrang. “Wait, no. He was in love with my mother and my father was as much of a cunt as he was. James Potter was a fucking bully, did you know that?” 

“Really? All I've ever heard about your dad was that he was a saint.” 

“He's no more of a saint as me.” Harry cackles, before ignoring the gaping looks of students who watched them pass. 

They arrived to the classroom with no other issues. With students still trying not to inch too close to them after Harry slapped a kid's hand away from trying to grab at his robes. He glances at Aurelia, shrugging before he knocks in the most polite way he could when it came to Severus Snape…

Which meant he wasn't. 

As expected, the door slammed open, revealing a particularly irritated Snape. 

“Good morning Professor!” Harry cheerily says, “I've come to deliver your little assistant. Treat her well and I might just keep your lab intact from a sudden explosion.”

“Insolent boy. You've gotten more arrogant, I see.” Snape sneers and Harry knows. He knows that Snape sees his father in him.

“No more than my father.” He repeats his own words, reversed. For James Potter was no saint and neither was his son. “But at the very least I am better than him. Don't forget, professor, half of me is my mother.”

Snape flinches, glaring at him before assessing Aurelia with a scrutinising look they were familiar with. 

“You were in my house, were you not?” 

“Being Slytherin never helped with my father wanting to keep me.” Aurelia scoffs, shaking her head before her gaze levels with Snape. “Which group am I stuck with today?” 

“For the time being? Be thankful it is Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.”

Harry grimaces, “Good for you. I'm stuck with the hell duo.”

“Lions and Snakes?” 

“First day and I end up with those two. What say you, professor? D'you think that the little lions will attend class now?” He grins, tilting his head while Snape shakes his head in exasperation and—dare he say—amusement. 

“Unlikely… but your friend will have dragged them by their legs like last time.” Snape sighs, sounding both irked and impressed. 

Whatever Ron had done while he was gone had apparently gained him the approval of the resident dungeon bat. Good for you, Ron. Again, he really needed to get some alone time with his best friend to have a… what did Hermione call it again? Right. A heart to heart.

“Psst…” Aurelia nudges him, frowning.

"Sie werden zu spät kommen. Roksy wird nicht glücklich sein, wenn du zu spät kommst."(You will be late.Roksy won't be happy if you're late.) She says, sounding worried an amused. Well, how considerate of her whilst being a little shit yet again. It was a talent of hers at this point. 

Internally, he recoils at Roksana’s lecturing. With a halfhearted wave, he starts walking away from the potions lab, quietly hoping that Aurelia would be fine with Snape. He's never trusted the man, not really. His intentions always seemed to be obscure and his morals were utter shite (not that he could judge him on that part). But he was a ridiculously petty and immature adult—Harry hated those. 

He already misses Durmstrang. He misses the lab. He misses his tinkering. He misses his mechanisms and that unfinished doll he has lying there, waiting for him to finally fix. He swears, if anyone touched that damn thing, he's chop their fucking hands off. Little inventions, prototypes especially were fragile things and Harry was never one to easily forgive anyone who tampered with one of his creations. Even Katya knew never to meddle with the ‘forge’—well, that's what the strange children of Durmstrang called it. 

The Dark Studies room was—thank fuck—not stereotypical. With the workings of Hogwarts, he assumed that Dumbledore would stick Roksana to a dreary and dark room in the dungeon. But no. Her classroom was located on the fifth floor with enough sunlight to go by. 

“Mister Peverell,” She snidely says, displeased with his tardiness. “I hope that you had a riveting conversation with Professor Snape.”

“I did, actually.” He chuckles, passing by the centre, between tables and chairs of lions and snakes who's eyes followed his every move. “He’s just informed us of the class groups for the day and Aurelia is often forgetful when it comes to names, as you know. I had to be there, professor.”

It's easy, really. Bending the truth—no it is not lying when there is truth in it. Rude. 

“Tsk… Come now, I'll have you set up.” Roksana says, gesturing to a suitcase that he's sure is filled with some dark artefacts—approved by the ministry and all. “Yes… apologies for the interruption, students. As you may know, students of Durmstrang have been tasked to assist in integrating dark magic into Hogwarts for a few days. They will be assisting teachers and providing insight regarding their experiences and knowledge. My assistant here, Hyperion Peverell, is one of the best students that Durmstrang can offer. Be mindful as he's allowed us to borrow his precious time from continuing his required research paper.”

“That's an understatement…” Harry grumbles and gets a glare from Roksana. 

“Proceeding…” she curtly says, “A little review, then. Who can tell me what categorises dark and light magic? The first one to answer both gets ten points.”

Hands shot up immediately and Harry notices, almost loathingly, that the majority of Gryffindor remains quiet or whispering to one another with judging looks. He smiles, directly at one boy he doesn't even recognise, and watches as he flinches and lowers his head from whispering into his seatmate's ear. 

“Mister Weasley.” 

If anyone had seen the speed in which his head snapped towards the boy, they'd have assumed Harry had broken his neck. He was taller, more lean than he remembered with a uniform that actually fitted him. Harry highly suspected that the twins had a hand in their brother's clothes. Maybe Ginny's too if he ever saw her.

“Er… Light magic is more on purpose… wait… intent! Yeah. Light magic runs on intent, like what you want and just that. Dark magic uses a lot of emotions and stuff as power. And… wait…” Ron frowns, before he beamd up at Roksana. “Grey magic uses both intent and emotions. That's why a lot of spells are grey instead of just dark or light.”

Roksana smiles, “Could you give me an example for each category?”

Ron stood there, thinking long and hard before he glances at Harry who merely smiles. The other young man looked nervous but answered with as much honesty as possible. “For light is… Wingardium Leviosa.” Harry almost snorted at that. “Grey is Finite Incantatem since you need both will and… uhm… hope, I think, to cast it. And for Dark is…I think Orchideus is considered Dark since it uses either happiness or love to conjure the flowers.”

“Very good, Mister Weasley. Fifteen points to Gryffindor.” Roksana grins, clearly fond of Ron. “Now, as you've heard from Mister Weasley, Orchideous is a dark spell. Yet, when one casts it, you'd immediately assume it was a light spell due to how harmless it is. That, children, is currently how you view dark magic—harmful. That couldn't be any far from the truth. Emotions, they are powerful. Emotions fuel dark magic and why is it considered dark?” She turned to the class, expecting an answer but many were hesitant to speak. 

Roksana tries not to frown, before gesturing to Harry. 

“Because of how your core manifests.” He explains, “The earliest wixen to have been born had abilities to see magic. One's magic core was dark when they are overcome by emotions, while the core is light when they are driven by intent. It is said that Morgana Le Fay had a magic core that was pitch black, as her magic was driven by her emotions which caused many incidents when she could not keep them under control. Meanwhile, Merlin Emrys had a light core due to his ambitious nature in uniting Albion, his greatest goal and the source of his intent.”

Most of it was true, of course. His little visit to Alexandria had been interesting, to say the least. 

“But neither were truly dark or light. Morgana had her goals and her intent, while Merlin was empathetic to even some of his enemies.” He drawls, “There's a ratio to it, right?” 

“Yes. As Mister Peverell said, there is a ratio to whether you are more dark then you are light. They work in threes, usually. Two-to-one, three-to-one, or one-to-one. For the two, it means you are grey but more inclined to a certain category. The three refers to your obvious and deep affinity to this type of magic. But for the balanced one to one, it means that you are equally dark and light. Pure grey, if I must explain.”  Roksana carefully elaborates, conjuring three balls of magic. One black, one white, and another grey. She divided them into groups, visualising the ratio of a person's magic. 

“It's easy to misunderstand but that does not change how awful it truly is to not know something.” She tuts, vanishing the coloured spheres. “There are Dark spells that are mistaken for light due to the effects and results of it. Orchideous, as I've said, is one of them. Would anyone like to give more examples for spells that have been mistaken for different categories?” 

This time, numerous hands shot up. Some from Gryffindor. Harry could recognise Seamus Finnegan in the group, as well as Dean Thomas. The two boys looked enthusiastic about answering the question, whispering to one another before they beamed at Roksana. 

“Hm… Miss Brown.” Roksana says, pointing at a girl with a silky red headband. 

“Skurge, ma'am. It's the charm that frightens ghosts and other spirits. A lot of people think it's dark cause of… y'know… the ghosts. But it's a light spell since all you want is to scare them away. Don't think there's much emotion there.”  Lavender says, looking hopeful. 

“Correct. Anyone else? Miss Davis.”

“Duro, ma'am. The stone transfiguration spell. It's a light spell, ma'am, but since it's similar to the Medusa curse, people assume it's dark.” 

“Excellent work! Yes, Duro is quite different from Pétrefo. Duro is considered light due to its only fuel being the intent to turn an object into stone. Pétrefo—better known as the Medusa curse, petrifies living, breathing creatures. It requires a set of emotions to turn someone into stone. Anger, specifically, is its fuel—reminiscent of the fury of the  infamous Medusa in which it is named after.” Roksana smiles, pleased by the growing engagement of the students. “What about a dark spell mistaken for light? Can anyone give me an example?”

Harry doesn't think much before his hand is raised. Roksana notices, raising a brow while he grins at her. The professor shakes her head, gesturing to him to continue. 

He's intimately aware of dark magic. His emotions had driven him to madness in a future he has suffered from. This new world remains and still he is driven by his feelings. Yet it's what makes him powerful. The human side of him feeds off emotions that gradually corrupt it. He wonders what will happen when they find out what he's done. 

“This spell is easily mistaken for light due to its nature. Its very purpose is to protect and the stigma of Dark Magic being harmful and evil has ensured that many perceive this spell as light.” Harry smiles, a grin across his face that shows his teeth. “But really, it's dark. It feeds off emotions, it is fueled by the feelings invoked by your memories. It's what defines dark magic as the intent does not matter for this spell, so long as you can feel.”

He hums, recalling the thumb of magic upon the tips of his fingers back when he was merely thirteen. The silvery light had been a comfort for him many years ago. 

A shame that silver was tainted red not so long ago. 

“The Patronus charm.”