A Return Of Power And Lust
Deep in a dark and unsuspecting forest, far away from the tent no one could see, stood a man. His nude skin shone in the pale moonlight, the blood of an unsuspecting werewolf gracing his front - the lycan wasn’t careful of who he came across. - His body bore many scars and tattoos while his left hand held a beautiful staff, the right holding a long, thin, and pale wand.
Harry had just finished the runic circle. It was all nearly done, he was so close! In between some of Little Harry’s training sessions and his own Fade-Walking, he had come across an ancient ritual far in his own psyche. The ritual called for a powdered skull be used to trace the circle, then carve into the earth just outside of it and fill the crater with, surprisingly, floo powder. After that, all that was needed was a blood sacrifice and meditation. The one that conducted the ritual had to be very powerful, but Harry had that down.
While Harry was meditating, he thought back on the last two weeks and what he had been doing.
The day after his date with Tonks, the two of them spent the whole day together just talking, mostly about ‘Harrison’s’ odd life. She was, at first, concerned about the fact that he had custody of the child, but Harry had been thinking it over before their date, and he decided to tell her the truth.
So, Harry and Tonks dedicated the day to outlining his past life, the reason he was here now, his current goals, and answering questions about his life. She was quite content to stay with ‘Harrison Peverell’ even with all the baggage he carried, to which he was ever grateful.
Tonks was also quite ecstatic to hear all the dirty things her other self got up to with himself and even her aunts, which resulting in a lot of sex. Harry pushed and did his absolute best to entirely wear her out, which wasn’t very hard at all; they fucked on the bed, the floor, over the kitchen sink, even outside the tent, and Tonks gave Harry a very quick reminder of just how flexible she was. Harry enjoyed himself fingering her to orgasm three times, his fingers completely pruned afterward, and he ate her out until his jaw clicked every time he spoke, Tonks particularly enjoying his Parseltongue.
Suffice to say, after their conversation and sinful evening, Tonks was firmly entrenched in Harry’s camp.
After he had a home-cooked meal with Tonks, he took her home then set off to Gringotts once again, intent on freeing Sirius. The less time he spent in that prison, the better. No matter how happy he was in Harry’s world, that much time in Azkaban was far too much for any man, never mind an innocent man. That talk with the Goblins hadn’t taken long, and as Harry walked out of Gringotts, they were already working to set him free.
Other than that, Harry spent his time writing letters, speaking to lawyers and officials, training Little Harry, and planning his moves against Voldemort. Normally, Harry would have been able to just deal with Voldemort, but the rituals and knowledge the man had were untold, and he had hidden his secrets so far into his own mind that Harry couldn’t find them. Perhaps he could create a spell to detect Horcruxes? Then, he could search all the other places Tom had hidden them before, but there was no guarantee.
Harry was truly at a loss on that front, so he went another route. He began forging a mask, not dissimilar to a death eater’s mask, made from gold and inlaid with a beautiful, intricate design. The sigil of the deathly hallows rested on the forehead. Inside the mask were spikes, two inches in length, covering the entirety of the face other than the mouth and eyes. Reaching into the mouth was a long rod, covered in spines rather than spikes. Underneath the first layer of gold, the mask was covered in rune chains to replenish the wearer’s blood, and to keep them alive and coherent. This addition would add a form of mental torture, sleep deprivation wearing down the mind. Harry also made a set of handcuffs that matched the mask, laid with compulsion runes and a magic draining rune.
His musings were cut short, as the ritual he was doing had finally powered up. Harry stood, planting his staff deep in the center of the runic circle and holding it while channeling his magic through it. His other hand raised his wand and he began to chant, a flowing and cohesive rumble of a lost tongue that made the air heady and shimmer with magic. As Harry repeated the chant the second of three times, he felt the earth groan beneath him, many stars in the sky shining brighter. As the second repetition ended and the third began, Harry’s eyes started glowing and his staff shot a bright green ray into the sky, the magic leaking from his wand floating towards the ray and connecting.
Once the third chant finished, Harry fell to his knees as the powder lit beneath him and he was flamed away.
When he woke, he was laying in a familiar golden throne, draped in the finest silk he had ever felt.
While slightly egotistical and pretentious, Harry was painting the scene from the Fade right outside of the tent. He didn't particularly want paint and the such all over the tent canvas. He depicted himself, battle-scared, lightly glowing, and draped in heavenly silk laying across a golden throne, the seat of a God, while many smaller, less ostentatious thrones sat spersed around his own, vaguely depicting his past lovers. Outside of the main focus was a view of the Gates to the city, showing demons and broken spirits having been laid waste to, beaten, and bloodied as they were driven from the Golden Halls. The only other scene of note was what looked like the world, seen from a balcony.
While Harry painted, the entire wizarding world was experiencing something not seen in ages. Witches and Wizards across the world lay in their beds, dreaming in a world lived, lost, dead, and brought back to the living. Magicals walked the lands of the fade, marveling and wide-eyed in wonder at this dreamland that felt so real. Some of them faced trials, some of them were given truths of themselves, and some few didn't wake up, being taken as fuel for the Fade and penance for their sins.
As they woke, every single one of them felt stronger, closer to their magic.