Musphelheim

Harry could always tell when he was dreaming or rather seeing a forgotten memory. When it first occurred, panic had overwhelmed the young man until Balder’s spirit appeared and told him that every once in a while, he would have these dreams as a warning. A way to weaponize information the brain deemed useless. Now though, the young Sage watched as a young self and Ryan stared at each other.

“Ryan. You’re keeping secrets.” His younger self stated, his face exaggerating the motions needed for Enochian. Ryan looked up from his notebook, his silver eyes filled with amusement as if he was looking at someone  else at that moment. A younger sibling that had said something hilarious.

Harry never noticed that before.

“Yes, I am. And you’re facial motions are hilarious whilst butchering the language.” His amusement bleeding through despite the bland facial expression.

“Then teach me how to not do that, Ryan! And whatever it is can’t be that bad.” The younger Harry starts only to be pierced by those eyes. The eyes had quickly gone from bemused to horrified as he seemed to remember something truly horrifying.

“No, it’s not a bad secret. Just bad memories. Trauma is like that you know. Everything has layers, Harry.”

It was then that the younger Ryan turned to Harry and gave him a mournful smile and mouthed two words.

Forgive me.

Harry’s eyes snapped open as he sat up. He couldn’t remember if that last part had actually happened or if it was all fabrication. He would think about that last part later, right now, he had no idea where he was. All he knew was that it wasn’t home despite the feelings in his chest. The feeling that begged to give him comfort and feeling of warmth.

It coaxed him to go back to sleep, surrounded by fur-lined sheets and cream-colored walls that paintings of wild-looking creatures. Moving paintings.

Holy shit, he was in a wizarding home.

HOLY SHIT, he had been abducted by wizards!

Harry knew that technically he was a wizard, just like Ryan was a wizard, just like Adrian was a wizard. Ryan didn’t like to talk about it beyond a quick mention that he had somehow stolen a quarter of his uncle's inheritance with nothing but a key. A solid gold key, but a key and a drop of blood nonetheless.

Leaving the bed Harry found that he was still dressed in the clothes from the party, more than a bit rumpled and creased from whatever happened. Harry could feel the magic running through the veins of this place, the very essence of the ley lines that kept this place together.’

Ryan told him once, that when wizards realized that technology was advancing rapidly they had tapped into the power of the ley lines to create pocket realities. To take the already existing folds of reality that were denoted by thousands of charms, wards, and enchantments to craft actual pockets of sub-realities.

Ryan was smart. He was able to make complex magical theory simple in a way that helped Harry to understand it and every once in a while he would veer into wizarding magic although it often made him look pained. For Harry magic… it was instinctual… something that he could do as easy as breathing.

This place amplified the feeling over a thousand times. It felt like he could summon Balder, Sapientia, and Jubileus herself. It made Harry’s magic shudder with anticipation even as he simply drew his hand through the air, the golden lights of Paradiso sparked into existence as simple orbs before disappearing once more. 

“Well if you aren’t a spitting image of James and Monty.” Harry turned quickly summoning his glaive from pocket space as he turned towards the soft but weathered feminine voice. She had warm blue eyes and deep smile lines from what Harry could see. Her skin had a soft tan that complimented the pearls on her neck and the white streaks in her wave hair.

She was so lifelike that it was hard to believe that she was just a painting, the plaque beneath the frame reading, ‘Euphemia Mallory Potter’.

Harry felt bewilderment take him as he eyed the portrait with suspicion never letting go of Sky. 

“Do I… do I know you?” Harry asked taking in how the painting seemed to be genuinely morose as she took in his question. She exhaled slowly and shook her head.

“Mayhaps in another life. Maybe even if things were different in this life but no. That man had too much of a hold on James by then… and Lily. Well, Lily was still unwell. That’s beside the point now, and if I were still alive I would have greeted you with a hug. I am your grandmother, or at least a facsimile of her likeness.”

And Harry? 

Well, Harry didn’t know how to respond. As far as he knew his parents were dead from a drunk driving incident and the Dursleys had taken him in and all he knew were disparaging remarks and their names. But the way she was speaking… made it sound like they were still alive.

“Are they alive?”

“Whom are we talking of?”

“Lily and James. My parents. Are they alive?”

Euphemia looked like she had been backhanded at being asked such a question and she didn’t speak.

She didn’t have to speak. The look of heartbreak in her eyes, now covered by a light gloss as if she was going to cry, it spoke enough.

And Harry.

Harry just shattered.

The glaive gripped by his hand fell to pieces, the engraved ‘Sky is The Limit’ vanishing from the body. The rounded half-moon heads of the glaive clicked together as the golden letters that made up the name ‘James’ turned rusted and black. The polearm that once made the body shrunk and withered as it became a simple athame dagger that a snake-like blade, The filigree of lilies slowly withered and fell off as the faith that once imposed the image unto the weapons became nothing but bitter ash on Harry’s tongue. 

He had never been an orphan.

The Dursleys were right.

Everywhere he went.

He was just unwanted.

His own parent had abandoned him.

The Dursleys hated him. To them, he was no better than a slave.

And Ryan. He was a wizard.

He even spoke about how his family was well-connected.

Did… he know?

Why wouldn’t he tell Harry?

Was it just a cruel trick?

A game to play?

All he wanted to know was why.

“Because I didn’t want to think about the Wizarding World or Wizards ever again.”

Harry glared at the amber shadow that was the form of Ryan, his left eye behind a swirling mass of red energy. 

“I suppose you want an explanation them?”

“How are you even here?”

Ryan’s image shrugged and spoke once more, “I’m not. Accidental magic is a powerful thing and you are a powerful wizard. They call you the boy who lived. The only person to ever survive the killing curse.”

“And you knew they were alive.”

“Alive, but reclusive. And whilst your family is now iconic, Potter is somewhat of a common last name due to your family’s free-roaming nature and the Potter promise; that whether married in or out, Potter once with remain a Potter always, leading to the spouses often taking on that name. Adding to the family tree and giving them a heritage to fall back on. You probably have more relatives than you can count but none were most likely close enough in blood to suit necessity or some other requirements.”

Harry was silent for a second turned moments turned minutes turned hours and yet Ryan’s image wavered but never vanished as he muttered absently in Enochian. Why was he speaking the language in the first place? Harry asked him that question and was somewhat surprised by the answer.

“Harry you being a magical powerhouse surrounded by your bloodline’s Ancestral Land is what enabled you to project me, but I have to actively work to stabilize the connection. I’m relying somewhat on the power of the Left Eye and using the Language as a focuser because I need to be here for any question you have.”

Harry went silent. He wanted to be grateful that Ryan was here now but it didn’t hide the bitterness of the betrayal on his tongue. It didn’t stop the feelings of resentment that he felt and he made sure to let it be known.

“You’re a bad friend, you know? The type to only show up after the fallout and try to pull me together. You could have told me, Ryan, you should have because it was never your choice. You didn’t have to protect me or whatever you used to justify this. You should have told me, brother. ”

The projection of Ryan's face never shifted or moved but somehow he could tell that it was pained. That his words had stuck their mark. And yet Ryan said nothing. He could have said sorry, he could have come up with some bullshit explanation but he didn’t say anything.

Because he knew that sorry wouldn’t make it any better.

“I think… I think you need to leave me alone.”

It wasn’t even a breath later that he was alone once again, the frame that once held Euphemia, blank beyond the simple chair that was within it.

Pulling his knees close into his body and burying his face, all Harry could do was ignore the burn behind his eyes as a single thought swirled around his mind.

You should have told me.