The tears tasted like liquid starlight. The moment they touched his tongue, Harry's perception exploded outward. The classroom, Pythia, the ancient students - all dissolved into streams of pure possibility. He saw...
Himself, through countless eyes. A small boy demanding respect for his power while those around him exchanged worried glances. Nicolas Flamel's patient smile hiding concern as Harry bragged about improving potions. Dumbledore's quiet sadness watching Harry measure everything in terms of strength and weakness.
"No," Harry tried to turn away, but the visions were everywhere. "That's not- I'm not..."
"You are," Pythia's voice echoed. "See truly, little seeker."
The scenes shifted. Charlotte, lying in the hospital wing, whispering to Penny: "Sometimes I think he only helps because it makes him feel powerful." Chiara, confiding in Tonks: "He's kind, but... there's something cold about how he views people." Even the Grey Lady, watching him practice his mist: "So much like Salazar, measuring worth only in power..."
Each memory struck like a physical blow. Harry saw himself through their eyes - not the confident young prodigy he imagined, but a child so afraid of being weak that he'd built walls of arrogance around himself.
"Stop," Harry whispered, but the visions continued mercilessly.
He saw possible futures now. Himself growing stronger but more isolated. People's faith in the Boy-Who-Lived turning to fear of what he might become. Dark wizards seeking him out not as an enemy, but as a potential ally who understood their hunger for power...
"Enough!" Harry shouted. "I'm not- I wouldn't-"
"Then See deeper," Pythia commanded.
The visions twisted. Now he saw the source of his fears - that terrible night when Voldemort came. But through his new sight, he could See more than just his mother's pleas. He saw the Dark Lord himself, twisted by the same hunger for power that now drove Harry. Saw how Tom Riddle had once been a brilliant young boy who measured everything by strength, who thought love and friendship were weaknesses to overcome...
"I'm not like him," Harry insisted, but his voice shook.
"No," Pythia agreed softly. "Not yet. But every step on that path begins with the same belief - that power alone brings worth."
The visions shifted again, but now they went further back. Harry saw himself as a toddler in the sky, the first time his instinct to sense danger had activated. He watched his younger self recoil from Hagrid's friendly approach, suddenly terrified of the half-giant's raw physical power.
"Your gift of sensing danger," Pythia's voice was gentle now, "it changed you before you could even understand how. Every day surrounded by people who could destroy you with a thought. What child wouldn't learn to value power above all else?"
Harry saw himself growing up at Hogwarts, constantly aware of the deadly potential in every person around him. Each spell he witnessed, each casual display of magic, had reinforced the same lesson: power was everything. The weak died, like his parents. The strong survived and thrived, like Dumbledore.
"But See what else was there," Pythia urged. "Look again."
The scenes replayed, but now Harry noticed details his younger self had missed. Hagrid's genuine tears of joy at finding him alive. McGonagall's fierce protectiveness disguised as stern discipline. Flitwick spending countless hours helping him practice control, not to make him stronger, but to keep him safe. Not just from others, but from himself…
"They saw a child who needed love," Pythia said. "While you saw only threats to overcome and power to gain."
Fresh visions flowed. Charlotte facing the Boggart-Voldemort despite her terror, not for power but to help her brother. Penny brewing healing potions late into the night, not for fame but because she couldn't stand seeing others hurt.
"True strength," Pythia's voice echoed, "comes not from making others fear your power, but from having something worth protecting."
The visions shifted again, showing Harry hunting mice near the lake. He watched himself play with the prey, letting it think it had escaped before swooping down again. At the time, it had felt natural - he was the predator, they were prey. Simple.
But now he Saw the truth beneath that simplicity. How his transformation hadn't just given him an eagle's body, but its instincts too. How those predatory urges had merged with his growing obsession with power. Even his mist spell, born from fear, had become another way to prove his strength by making others afraid.
"See deeper still," Pythia commanded.
The scene changed to the Ministry gathering. Susan Bones stumbling, tears in her eyes after bumping into him. He remembered thinking how rabbit-like she'd looked, how disappointed he'd been that he couldn't play with her like he did with mice. Only the presence of powerful adults had stopped him.
"I was..." Harry's voice cracked. "I was going to hurt her. For fun. Like... like the mice..."
"The eagle's instincts gave you permission," Pythia said. "But the choice to view others as prey was yours."
More memories surfaced. Theodore Nott's cruel comments about Harry's parents, and Harry's immediate response - not anger at the insult, but cold calculation about how to best use his mist to demonstrate superiority over the weak. He'd felt proud of his restraint in using only a small amount.
"Merlin," Harry whispered, really seeing himself for the first time. "I'm a monster."
"No," Pythia's voice was firm. "You are a child who learned the wrong lessons from necessary gifts. Your ability to sense danger could have kept you alive in dangerous situations, but it taught you to see threats everywhere. Your eagle transformation gave you freedom, but it made others seem like prey. Even your mist, born from the need to defend yourself, became another way to prove dominance."
"But..." Harry fought through the shame, trying to understand. "The memories... they show a world where the strong do rule over the weak. Where power is everything. Wasn't I right to-"
"Look again," Pythia interrupted. "See truly."
The visions shifted to Snowdragon Mountain. But this time Harry saw beyond the surface memories of powerful elders and mighty techniques. He saw disciples sharing cultivation resources with their friends despite the competitive atmosphere. Saw elders spending decades teaching rather than pursuing their own advancement. Even that memory of the young disciple being killed by the leopard... he now Saw the grief in the other disciples' eyes, carefully hidden lest they appear weak themselves.
"They built walls too," Harry realized. "Everyone pretending not to care, but still..."
"And what of your own world?" Pythia asked. "See again with clear eyes."
The visions shifted to Hogwarts. Harry saw Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful wizard alive, spending hours carefully teaching Occlumency to a spoiled child. McGonagall, who could defeat most dark wizards with ease, patiently helping him choose a belt in Diagon Alley. The Flamels, with centuries of magical knowledge, delighting in teaching him basic potions and herbology.
"Power without purpose is meaningless," Pythia said softly. "See how they use their strength."
Harry watched Nicolas Flamel, who could have been the richest wizard in the world, living a humble and small life. Saw Perenelle, who could have ruled magical France with her husbands help, instead tending her garden and teaching Harry the joy of taking care of plants.
"But they're still powerful," Harry argued weakly. "They're not... weak."
"What is weakness?" Pythia challenged. "See truly."
The visions shifted again. Charlotte, scarred but refusing to give up searching for her brother. Chiara, facing monthly transformations that would terrify most adults, yet still finding time to help younger students. Even Penny, brewing backup healing potions despite her own fears after the Vault of Ice incident.
"They're all stronger than me," Harry whispered, understanding finally dawning. "I've been... measuring everything wrong."
"The gift of Seeing danger is valuable," Pythia agreed. "But you let it become all you could See. Now look deeper - what lies beneath the surface of power?"
The visions blurred again, but this time Harry tried to See beyond his usual measure of strength. He watched Grandpa Dumbledore defeat Rookwood at the Ministry, but now he noticed how the Headmaster had positioned himself to draw fire away from the children. Saw Aunt Min's transfiguration skill, but recognized how she used them primarily to make her students laugh and feel comfortable with magic.
"They all have power," Harry said slowly, "but that's not what makes them... them."
"And what of your own powers?" Pythia asked. "See their true nature."
Harry's abilities appeared before him like threads of light. His mist, born from fear but capable of showing people their deepest terrors. His flames, fueled by passion rather than anger. Divine healing, drawing on others' faith and hope.
"They're all... connected to emotions," Harry realized. "To understanding how people feel, not just overwhelming them with power."
"Yes," Pythia smiled. "Now See what could be."
The visions shifted one final time. Harry saw himself using mist not to terrorize, but to help people face and overcome their fears. Saw his flames lighting the way for others rather than just proving his strength. The divine healing growing stronger not through fame, but through genuine connections with those he helped.
"I still want to be strong," Harry admitted quietly. "I still want to help Charlotte and protect myself."
"As you should," Pythia nodded. "But See the difference between seeking power to dominate, and seeking strength to protect. One path leads to isolation and fear, the other to understanding and growth."
The visions began to fade, but Harry caught one last glimpse - himself slightly older, surrounded by friends who saw him as Harry, not just the Boy-Who-Lived or a powerful prodigy. He was still strong, still capable of sensing danger, but it no longer defined him.
The ancient classroom reformed around them, and Harry felt… different. Not completely changed - he knew his habits and fears wouldn't disappear overnight. But for the first time, he could See beyond them.
"The tears have opened your Inner Eye," Pythia said, her body beginning to fade with the rest of the vision. "But what you choose to See with it... that remains your choice."
The ancient classroom now faded completely, leaving Harry standing in darkness once more. But now he could See tiny motes of light drifting through the air - remnants of possibility, Pythia had called them. Most were too faint to make out clearly, and trying to focus on them just made them scatter like startled fish.
"Is this... all I can See?" Harry asked the darkness, but Pythia's presence had faded with her visions. Only a lingering warmth in his chest where he'd drunk the tears suggested any of it had been real.
He tried reaching out to one of the brighter motes, but the moment he concentrated on it, his head began to ache. The mote itself seemed to blur, showing only vague impressions - someone walking down a corridor? Or was it just a shadow?
"Right," Harry muttered, rubbing his temples. "Not exactly the powerful gift I was expecting."
But then he remembered Pythia's lessons about measuring everything by power. Maybe the point wasn't to See dramatic visions of the future, but to notice the small patterns that were always there. Like how he'd finally Seen the truth about himself through all those memories...
A distant rumbling interrupted his thoughts. The chamber around him began to shift, walls grinding against each other. Light poured in from above as sections of ceiling retracted.
"The spells are failing!"
"Get those stabilization charms up now!"
"Someone find Alexandros - the whole system is collapsing!"
Harry looked up through the opening ceiling and managed a weak smile. "I suppose this is going to be difficult to explain..."
The chamber's ceiling continued retracting, revealing more stonework above. Harry was about to call out when a soft mewling sound caught his attention. One of the light motes he'd been seeing suddenly brightened, drawing his gaze to a dark corner he hadn't noticed before.
There, curled up on what looked like a nest of old prophecy scrolls, lay the golden-furred Nemean Lion cub Alexandros had mentioned. It couldn't have been more than a few months old, barely larger than a house cat. As Harry watched, it raised its head and mewled again, clearly hungry.
"You've been down here all alone?" Harry asked softly, careful not to make any sudden movements. The cub's fur gleamed like metallic silk, and even at this young age, he could sense it was far more dangerous than any normal lion cub. Yet something about it pulled at him - not his usual predatory instincts, but something deeper.
One of the brighter motes drifted between them, and for a moment Harry Saw a flash of possibility - the cub growing alongside him, both of them learning to be more than what others expected. Not predator and prey, but companions walking the same path.
The cub stood shakily, and Harry noticed it favored one leg. No wonder it hadn't left the chamber - it was injured. Without thinking, he gathered some of his divine energy.
"It's alright," he said gently, letting the warm light flow toward the cub. "I used to think being hurt meant being weak too. But I'm learning better now."
The cub watched the approaching light with intelligent eyes. Rather than backing away, it stretched its neck forward to sniff the energy. The moment it touched the golden fur, Harry felt something click into place - like two pieces of a puzzle finally meeting.
Above them, the voices grew louder:
"The inner chambers are opening!"
"By the might of Zeus - there's someone down there!"
"Sir Flamel, wait! The structural integrity-"
But Harry barely heard them. He was focused on the cub, which had limped over and was now rubbing against his leg, purring with a sound like distant thunder. He could feel their connection forming - not the master-and-servant familiar bond he might have expected, but something more balanced. Equal.
"I suppose we both need to learn about real strength," Harry told the cub, carefully picking it up. It weighed far more than its size suggested, and its fur was surprisingly warm. "Though I should probably warn the Flamels about you before they panic..."
"Harry!" Nicolas' worried face appeared at the opening above. "Don't move - we're stabilizing the chamber!"
Harry looked up, absently stroking the cub's fur. "I'm fine, Uncle Nicolas. I found someone here, but it's not dangerous…" His voice carried an unusual melodic quality for just a moment, making Nicolas pause briefly before continuing his spellwork.
The chamber walls groaned as magic poured through ancient channels, forcing the structure to hold its shape. Greek wizards in official-looking robes rushed around the edges above, casting stabilization charms while arguing in rapid-fire Greek about "seal degradation" and "temporal anomalies."
"The Nemean cub!" Alexandros appeared next to Nicolas, his eyes wide. "How did you... no, never mind that now. Can you reach the rope ladder?"
A steel ladder unfurled from above. Harry secured the cub carefully against his chest with one arm, noting how naturally it settled there, as if they'd always been meant to find each other. As he climbed, he felt the last traces of Pythia's visions fading from his mind, leaving only the faint ability to See those scattered motes of possibility.
Harry climbed the final rungs into what appeared to be a massive circular chamber filled with marble pillars. Greek wizards were working frantically at various points along the walls, their wands trailing lines of light that seemed to stabilize the enchanted stone itself.
"A Nemean Lion cub," one of the officials breathed, lowering his wand. "And it's... bonded to you?"
Harry nodded, still cradling the cub. "We found each other down there. I healed its leg."
"Extraordinary," Alexandros moved closer, studying the pair. "Nemean Lions haven't been seen in centuries, let alone as familiars. The bond itself should be impossible - their pride makes them resist such connections."
"The boy is exceptional," Nicolas said quietly, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Though I'd very much like to know how you ended up down there, child."
Several officials gathered around as Harry explained about finding the entrance, carefully leaving out any mention of his Hero's Journal. When he described the battle with the marble serpents - how they could transmute their size and petrify with a touch - Alexandros actually dropped his wand.
"Impossible," one of the Greek wizards muttered. "Marble Serpents are guardian constructs, barely more dangerous than animated statues. But what you're describing..."
"Living stone," another official finished. "True Marble Serpents from the ancient times. They were said to guard the Oracle's most precious secrets."
Harry shifted the cub in his arms with a delicate touch. "There seemed to be lots of old scrolls down there," he said with a soft smile, swaying slightly as he spoke. "All about the true history of Magical Greece..."
The officials exchanged excited looks, but Nicolas was watching Harry carefully. "And did you see anything else unusual down there?"
"Just old chambers and corridors," Harry said easily. The cub bumped its head against his chin, as if in agreement. "Though everything's a bit blurry after fighting the snakes. I was pretty tired."
"The boy needs rest," Perenelle stepped forward, clearly not accepting anything other than agreement. "You can excavate your historical treasures after he's had a proper meal and sleep."
The Greek officials looked ready to protest, but one look at the Flamels' firm expressions changed their minds. After a brief discussion, they agreed Harry could keep the cub - partly due to the already-formed familiar bond, partly due to the Flamels' reputation, and largely because no one wanted to try separating a Nemean Lion from its chosen companion.
The Flamels took Harry to their home through an emergency portkey, leaving the Greek officials to their frenzied documentation of the chambers. The cub remained calm during the transport, as if magical travel was perfectly natural for an ancient magical creature.
"You should rest," Perenelle said, guiding Harry toward his room. "We can discuss everything tomorrow."
Harry nodded, feeling strangely disconnected from his own movements. The motes of possibility still drifted at the edges of his vision, but they seemed... different now. Darker somehow, though he couldn't explain why.
"The cub will need food," Nicolas said thoughtfully. "I believe we have some preserved griffin meat that might-"
"Raw venison," Harry interrupted, then blinked in surprise at his own certainty. "She... prefers it fresh." He wasn't sure how he knew that, or when he'd decided the cub was female.
Nicolas and Perenelle exchanged a quick glance.
"I'll fetch some from the market," Perenelle said carefully. "Why don't you get settled in your room? Nicolas can help ward it properly for your new friend."
Harry climbed the stairs, the cub padding silently beside him. His room felt different somehow - the paintings on the walls seemed to shift slightly when he wasn't looking directly at them. Or perhaps he was just tired.
"We'll need to name you," he told the cub as she explored his room. "Something fitting for what you truly are..."
He trailed off, frowning. What had he meant by that?
oo0ooOoo0oo
After making sure Harry's room was well-protected in case the cub tried to harm him - though it seemed remarkably well-behaved - Nicolas descended to his study. Perenelle was already there, organizing her thoughts while preparing a fresh pot of tea.
"Something's different about him," Nicolas said quietly, settling into his favorite armchair. "The way he speaks sometimes... it's almost like..."
"Like someone else's words are mixing with his own?" Perenelle finished, handing him a steaming cup. "I noticed. And that business with the cub - knowing exactly what it needs, as if the knowledge was simply placed in his mind."
Nicolas took a slow sip, considering. "The chamber shouldn't have opened for him at all. Those spells were clearly designed to keep out anyone who wasn't..." he paused, then continued more carefully, "who lacked certain qualities."
"You mean anyone who wasn't her," Perenelle said bluntly. "We both know what those chambers were really built to contain, Nicolas. The question is, why did they open now? And for a child?"
Nicolas set down his cup with a slight frown. "Did you notice how he described finding the entrance? Following carved patterns, using his breath to activate them? That's not something a seven-year-old should intuitively understand, no matter how brilliant."
"And the marble serpents," Perenelle added. "True living stone, not mere constructs. They haven't awakened in..." she trailed off, looking troubled.
"Not since she was sealed," Nicolas finished quietly. "The question is whether they awakened to stop him, or to test him."
Perenelle stood and walked to the window, watching the stars twinkle in the darkening sky. "Do you remember what Alexandros said? About the failing protective charms around in the ruins of Delphi?"
"You think they weren't failing at all," Nicolas said. "They were being deliberately weakened."
"By something that wanted to be found." Perenelle turned back to her husband. "But found by whom? And why a child?"
"I've already checked for the obvious," Nicolas said, rubbing his temples. "No direct possession, no direct influence on his mind, nothing that I could find. Whatever happened down there was far more subtle."
Nicolas traced the rim of his teacup thoughtfully. "Do you remember Alexandria? 1732?"
"The temple incident?" Perenelle's eyes widened slightly. "With the possessed priestess who spoke in ancient tongues?"
"We thought we understood ancient magic then too," Nicolas said quietly. "Spent decades studying those ruins, thought we knew everything. And yet..."
"We nearly died," Perenelle finished. "Because we assumed ancient magic would work like modern magic."
"Exactly." Nicolas stood and walked to one of his bookshelves, running his fingers along leather-bound spines. "The Oracles of Ancient Greece didn't think of magic the way we do. To them, power wasn't just about spells and rituals. It was about..." he paused, selecting a particularly old tome.
"Resonance," Perenelle said. "The way all things echo through time."
"And space," Nicolas added, flipping through brittle pages. "Here - look at this passage about the original Oracle."
Perenelle moved to read over his shoulder, frowning at the ancient Greek text. "It says she wasn't just a prophet, but a... nexus? That can't be right."
"The translation is tricky," Nicolas agreed. "But I think it's suggesting she was a focal point where different kinds of magic naturally gathered. Not just divination, but..."
A soft thump from upstairs interrupted them. They both looked up, listening intently, but only silence followed.
"The cub," Perenelle said. "Probably just settling in."
Nicolas nodded, but his expression remained troubled. "We need to be careful how we proceed. If what I suspect is happening..." he trailed off, then shook his head. "No, best not to even voice it yet. We need more information."
"Should we tell Albus?"
"Not yet," Nicolas decided after a moment. "Let's observe first. The boy seems stable enough, and whatever happened down there isn't obviously harmful. If we raise alarms too quickly..."
"We could make things worse," Perenelle agreed. "But we should set up some monitoring charms. Subtle ones."
"Already done," Nicolas smiled slightly. "The moment I warded his room. Though..." his smile faded. "I'm not entirely certain they'll work as intended."
Perenelle returned to her seat, picking up her cooling tea. "We could be overreacting. Perhaps it's simply another… gift affecting his behavior."
"Perhaps," Nicolas agreed, though his tone suggested he didn't believe it. "But there's something else bothering me. The timing."
"How so?"
"Think about it - protective charms failing, ancient creatures appearing, sealed chambers opening... all just when a uniquely gifted child arrives in Delphi?" Nicolas shook his head. "That's not coincidence. That's..."
"Resonance," Perenelle whispered. "Like calling to like across time itself."
They sat in silence for a moment, considering the implications.
"We'll need to be subtle," Nicolas finally said. "Whatever is happening, confronting it directly could be disastrous. We need to guide him, protect him, while we figure out exactly what we're dealing with."
"And hope," Perenelle added softly, "that we're not already too late."
Nicolas closed the journal with a sigh. "We need more eyes on this. Not Albus yet, but..."
"Alexandros?" Perenelle suggested. "He knows the old magics of Delphi better than anyone."
"No," Nicolas shook his head. "He's too close to it. Did you notice how excited he was about the chambers opening? He'd want to study everything immediately, consequences be damned." He traced a pattern on his teacup thoughtfully. "I was thinking of Mohan."
"The hermit?" Perenelle raised an eyebrow. "He hasn't left his cave in the Nilgiris in decades."
"Exactly. He's removed enough to be objective, but experienced enough to recognize ancient magic at work. And he owes me a favor from that business with the naga temple in 1843..."
oo0ooOoo0oo
Upstairs, Harry froze mid-motion, his hand hovering above the cub's fur. His bright green eyes darkened. The cub nuzzled against him, waiting patiently.
[Snow in Summer - I Shall Seal The Heavens] – Costs 100CP, 150CP available to spend.
"Snow will only appear during winter," he said quietly, "and can only exist in the cold wind. Therefore, its life exists only during the depths of winter."
"Snow can only live in the winter. When it nears a fire, it dies. That is its life. It may yearn for summer, but... it can only desire it."
"Yearning for summer," Zheng Yong murmured to himself, "but only able to exist in the cold of winter. Only able to look off into the distance... that is snow."
In much the same way, humans change with every moment, and the man that is can only ever stare wistfully at the man that was. Unless it's you. Because in you there remains something altogether... stronger, something deeper. No matter what you undergo, how many trials or tribulations you endure, there remains a clump of snow that just will not melt. There is a kernel of you that remains you, come hell or high water, or the end of all things. This is not to say you can't learn from life's lessons, or that you can't change or grow. But no amount of change will ever erase the base of what makes you, you. No curse will snare your mind for very long, and no experiences will make you give into despair or drive you insane for any meaningful duration.
That is, all those things might still happen, this doesn't make you immune. What it does is to make sure you always, always recover from any such things. No matter how far gone you may be, such is your mind that you'll always rise again, refined and improved by the experience.
After a long moment, Harry smiled and accepted the offer. Then he blinked, a small frown crossing his face as he resumed petting the cub.
"You need a name," he said softly, scratching behind her ears. "Something that fits..." He trailed off, still frowning slightly.
The cub bumped her head against his hand, purring that strange thunderous purr. Harry's frown deepened for just a moment before clearing entirely.
"Chrysa," he decided suddenly. "Your name is Chrysa."
The cub - Chrysa - purred louder, as if approving the choice. Harry didn't question how he'd known the name, or why it felt so right. He was too tired to think about it now.
He lay back on his bed, and Chrysa curled up against his side, her golden fur gleaming in the lamplight. Within minutes, they were both asleep.