---Two Weeks Later. June 24th, 1988 ---
Preserved artworks filled the shelves of Harry's practice room - lightning sculptures frozen mid-strike in Artisan Crystals, flame paintings captured at the peak of intensity. The space had changed considerably since his return from travels, now split between artistic pursuits and a space for his healing work. Comfortable chairs nestled in one corner while meditation cushions and low tables occupied another.
Harry sat cross-legged on a cushion, four perfect spheres of silver-white quintessential flame hovering around him. No shadows fell from the pure light, making the stone floor seem to glow. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he maintained each sphere's internal balance.
The door groaned open, a familiar sound that usually preceded Charlotte's arrival. Her head popped in, eyebrow arched in amusement at the spectacle. "Putting on a light show for us today, are we?"
"Just practicing," Harry mumbled, not opening his eyes. "Couldn't sleep."
Charlotte's sigh was barely audible as she took the chair beside him. She lightly touched the scarred skin of her arm. "You do know most seven-year-olds actually stay in bed, right?" she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.
Harry cracked one eye open, a hint of a grin on his face. "Yeah, but most seven-year-olds aren't doing this, are they?" He hesitated for a beat before continuing, "Anyway, I had an idea about how to combine-"
"Hold up." Charlotte leaned forward, a hint of a frown forming. "That look. That's your 'about to attempt something ridiculous' face."
"It's not dangerous," Harry countered. "More like… experimental."
Charlotte's foot tapped lightly against the stone. "Going to share, or do I have to guess the specifics of your genius?
Harry slowly stood up from his cross-legged position on the cushion. "Remember how I managed to clear that tiny spot last time? I've been thinking about why it worked."
"Wasn't that because you nearly collapsed from exhaustion?"
"No, it was because I separated a portion of the dark magic using my Inner Eye." Harry's hand moved slightly towards the silver-white spheres. "These flames reveal things truthfully. If I can combine that with my Inner Eye, and maybe glimpse a moment forward…"
Charlotte toyed with a loose thread on her sleeve, a nervous habit. "And how many separate techniques are you intending to juggle simultaneously?"
"Just three?" Harry offered, almost apologetically. "The spheres, the Inner Eye, and the healing."
"Only three completely taxing abilities. Nothing much." Charlotte's tone was wry but she also settled more comfortably in her chair. "Fine. But the minute you start faltering, we're stopping."
"Deal." Harry straightened, the four silver-white spheres surrounding Charlotte. "Ready?"
Charlotte rolled up her sleeve, the twisted dark lines of her scars exposed. "Ready."
Harry closed his eyes, reaching for the collective faith that flowed toward him - thousands of praises and thanks directed at the Boy-Who-Lived. Through his Hun soul, he refined this raw belief into pure divine energy, visualizing each stream of faith as brushstrokes on a gigantic canvas. Some strokes blazed golden with deep thanks, others glowed silver with quiet trust.
"Hold still," he murmured. "I'm trying something different."
Instead of pushing against the curse aggressively, Harry approached Charlotte's arm as he would a blank canvas. The divine energy flowed from him in gentle strokes, building layers of healing light. Where before he'd fought the dark magic, now he simply painted around it, letting the curse become another shade in his palette.
"That feels... warmer?" Charlotte whispered.
"The curse isn't separate to you," Harry said, surprised by the realisation himself. "It's another part of you, a layer on this canvas we call Charlotte, isn't it? So, I don't have to destroy it - I can just build something new around it."
He could observe the darkness's different reaction with his Inner Eye. It seemed to move along the edges of his own strokes of magic, showing cracks in structure he hadn't perceived before.
"Like some kind of restoration," Harry murmured. "Cleaning away the discoloured varnish to expose the true art underneath…"
The Albedo spheres cast pure revealing light across Charlotte's arm, and Harry saw beyond the surface of the curse. Each bit of dark magic contained small fluctuations - places where the malevolent energy faltered in maintaining perfect form.
"The curse pretends to be absolute in its belief," Harry said quietly as divine energy poured from him in minute movements. "But nothing truly is. Even the deepest shadows have changes within..."
Charlotte shifted almost imperceptibly. "You're rambling now, Harry."
"Imagine," Harry said, as he sought the words while still keeping his magic in balance. "Imagine a brushstroke, It has the painter's intent with it, yes? The curse desires the same - to never alter - But that need creates the places where it cannot flow smoothly."
Energy followed his thoughts, finding these tiny openings. Before, he had concentrated on overwhelming each part individually, but now the focus had widened. The energy flowed to these cracks, seeing how sections of curse related to the whole.
"The truth is in what's between these lines," he said, sweat starting to bead down his face. "Absolute form exists only in an artist's mind. What we have to explore requires… space."
The Albedo spheres flickered as Harry pushed his Inner Eye further, tracking multiple flows of dark magic. His hands trembled with effort, but he could see the curse beginning to lighten across a much wider area.
"Harry, maybe you should-" Charlotte started.
"No," Harry gritted out. "I see it. The curse, because it desires to be perfect, becomes… nothing." As if using paint, he said, "If you attempt pure black...then the darker you push, the easier it is to observe the flaws."
Divine energy flowed through these gaps, not fighting but filling - like water seeping into parched earth. Harry's vision blurred as he maintained all four techniques simultaneously, but he pressed on, feeling through his divine energy as sections of curse simply... dissolved.
"It's always there, in-between moments," Harry breathed, words slightly slurred by exhaustion. "In-between breaths. In-between all that we think we are."
The Albedo light winked out and Harry slumped forward, Charlotte's hand coming out to catch him before he reached the ground.
"You absolute idiot," she said, though her voice was soft. She helped him settle into the chair, then glanced at her arm and caught her breath. Almost a quarter of the scars were gone, smooth skin where they had been.
"Did it…work?" Harry mumbled, eyes barely staying open.
"Yes, you absolute nut," Charlotte shook her head. "And… I have absolutely no clue what you mean by the 'emptiness between spaces' idea."
"Made sense to me," Harry murmured and finally closed his eyes with exhaustion.
oo0ooOoo0oo
Later that evening, Charlotte paced the empty third-floor corridor while waiting for Tonks. The torches cast wavering shadows against the stone walls, and portraits pretended to sleep in their frames.
"There you are!" Tonks appeared around the corner, today sporting shoulder-length purple hair. "I got your message. What's the rush?"
Charlotte glanced both ways down the corridor before pulling up her sleeve. "Look at this."
"Merlin's beard!" Tonks drew closer, her eyes widening. "The scars... they've actually faded? I mean… part of them?"
"A whole quarter gone." Charlotte gently touched the now clear skin. "Harry did this this morning."
"That's incredible! But…" Tonks frowned, taking in Charlotte's expression. "Why do you look like you've lost a galleon, and not like you've gained something?"
Charlotte started to pace again. "You should have been there, Tonks. He was juggling three completely different kinds of magic, rambling about emptiness and the space in which everything exists, all while talking about needing space for things to be real..."
"Sounds like typical Harry," Tonks shrugged, falling into step with Charlotte. "We know he goes like that during his training sometimes."
"This was… different," Charlotte stopped by a window overlooking the grounds, the darkness outside reflecting in her eyes. "He practically collapsed after, completely drained. I've never seen him like that before, not to such an extent."
A faint scraping sound echoed down the corridor, making them both turn, but nothing moved within the shadows.
"He's pushing way too hard," Charlotte continued more quietly. "Between these plans for the Exhibition and now these healing sessions… I'm worried he'll burn himself out trying to do everyone at once."
"Have you actually spoken to him?"
"You know Harry - he'd just say he's fine and keep going anyway." Charlotte sighed. "I just keep forgetting that he's only seven years old. He seems so mature and wise at times, but..."
"Until he isn't," Tonks finished with a gentle smile, remembering. "Last week, he spent an hour hunting for butterflies with Chrysa, didn't he?"
"Exactly! That's what seven-year-olds should do, not…" Charlotte gestured to her arm. "Not wearing themselves thin in order to fix this mess, regardless of my gratitude."
"Maybe we should speak to Professor McGonagall, or Flitwick?" Tonks suggested. "They'd know better than us on how to approach this."
"Perhaps." Charlotte pulled her sleeve back down. "I just don't want him hurting himself while trying to help me, that's all."
oo0ooOoo0oo
Two days after the healing session, Harry wandered the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, Chrysa padding silently beside him. The Nemean lion cub had grown to the size of a large dog, though around Harry, she was still very much an oversized kitten. His workroom shelves displayed various experiments – fire paintings, lightning captured within clear crystal, amalgams of the two – yet something felt incomplete.
"What do you think?" Harry asked Chrysa. "Everyone else will use real spells in their artwork for the Exhibition, and all I can really do is make pretty lights…"
He trailed off, thinking of the first and only spell he had ever learned to control. It had begun wild and near uncontrollable, but years of working with it, it has become… Harry raised his hand, conjuring a sphere of mist that hovered just above his palm.
"I wonder…" he murmured as the mist began to take a new form. He shaped it into a small dragon that began to fly, circling around Chrysa's head. The cub's jaws opened wide in a playful attempt to grab it, but the mist dodged out of reach before Chrysa's mouth could make contact.
"How nostalgic," a feminine ghostly voice commented. The Grey Lady drifted through a nearby wall. "Though perhaps the Bloody Baron would appreciate that particular medium more."
"Lady Helena!" Harry's expression brightened. "I've actually been thinking… what was art like when you were alive? Did the Ravenclaw house have any particular magical approaches to creation?"
The Grey Lady studied Harry for a long moment, silvery eyes searching his face. Something in his earnest gaze made her shoulders soften.
"Come," she said, turning to drift down the corridor. "I might have something worth showing you."
Harry followed, Chrysa hopping ahead, exploring every new corner. They moved past portraits who whispered and gestured with surprise at the strange little group.
"My mother held little value for the arts," Helena began as they climbed the stone stairs. "Her drive was understanding – raw knowledge, magic itself in pure form. But in chasing that end…" She paused before a blank section of wall on the seventh floor. "She may have created something which might appeal to your own interests."
"A wall?" Harry asked, then quickly added, "Sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Pass by this section three times," Helena instructed, a ghost of a smile playing across her face. "Consider what you require – a space where the worlds of art and magic can collide."
Harry followed her instructions. On his third pass, a simple wooden door formed in the stone.
"The Room of Requirement," Helena explained. "Some call it, The Come and Go Room. It gives what is needed at any given time."
What Harry saw when the door opened, took his breath. Walls pulsed and shifted like liquid metal, while the ceiling opened up into impossible visions – the deep ocean one moment, distant galaxies the next.
"My mother believed in adapting magic," Helena explained, drifting toward the room's heart. "She created this room, after long, arduous work teaching it to understand, respond, and provide, according to what is truly desired in this very moment."
Harry reached out to touch a wall, watching watery ripples spread from his fingers. "It's beautiful."
"Beauty was never the objective." Helena 'settled' onto a bench that formed beneath her. "But in her pursuits..." She gestured to the constantly shifting space. "she created something that surpassed practical use alone."
Chrysa padded carefully around the room's edges, pawing gently at the changing sections of the floor. Harry, almost instinctively, sat cross-legged onto a cushion, that seemed to form just for him.
"What was she like?" he asked, looking around him. "Rowena Ravenclaw?"
Helena remained silent for a long moment. "She was exceptional. Compelling. Often very distant." A sad smile briefly appeared at her mouth. "She viewed the world as one gigantic collection of equations – puzzles to break open, secrets to be learned. Where Gryffindor sought glory, and Slytherin power – my mother looked for the truth."
"And Hufflepuff?"
"Helga?" A sound that could only be described as a soft, wind-chime laughter came. "She kept the rest human. Reminded them that life wasn't just about their grand plans."
"The four of them built Hogwarts together, and from the ground up," Helena continued, watching how the room responded to what seemed to be her own unconscious thoughts.
"They brought with them different magic, different dreams. Godric enchanted the staircases, saying he wanted to 'keep students alert'… in truth?" her expression became a little mischievous. "He simply enjoyed the resulting chaos."
"And what of Slytherin?" Harry asked, looking towards her, while Chrysa curled up beside him.
"Salazar worked serpents into every element that he ever created. If you really want to know it, the dungeons whisper in Parseltongue if you listen deeply enough. But mother…"
"Mother pursued an endless desire to let magic respond to a thought," Helena stated, as her gaze settled upon Harry and the way he started to explore the room. "She viewed wands as... obstacles. The way they are used held wizards back from what could be done. The sad fact was, there was no other viable means"
"This room is the result of that attempt?" Harry questioned, letting a wall transform into a glistening waterfall with nothing more than the movement of his thoughts. "It shifts to what is needed?
"Far more than that," Helena murmured as she drifted closer to him. "This space… it also gains in time. Every person here provides something to its nature. Century upon century of students brought with them unique desires, and ways of doing things." A hand slowly moved across the area. "My mother started it, but what it has become far exceeds her original intent."
Harry absorbed this idea, relating to the nature of the work he himself does. "So, magic isn't always about spells and wands?" he asked, thoughtfully.
"Magic is intent shaped into a form," Helena answered. "The founders all knew this, but every single one applied their own particular angle to its meaning. Gryffindor through action, Slytherin with willpower, and Hufflepuff by way of kinship…" she took a pause, as her focus seemed to be on her inner thought. "But mother desired the inner truth. To take it apart so it was only the intent – nothing else was needed"
"Lady Helena..." Harry stood slowly, green eyes bright with understanding. "Thank you. Not just for this space, but also sharing these memories of your mother with me. I know this cannot be easy."
Helena seemed to pull back slightly, as if to take a breath. A subtle shift moved across her expression before she replied with, "Sometimes you... remind me of her. That method you have when seeking insight, by paths that others might have avoided."
"Would she have approved? Using magic for art instead of knowledge?"
Helena turned fully to face him, and something that could be considered a smile, or a close approximation, softened the transparent angles of her face. "I think she would have seen the knowledge in your art. The way you blend different forms of magic, seeking new ways to express what you understand..." She drifted closer. "That is exactly what she valued - not just learning, but discovering."
"Could I... would it be alright if I came back here sometimes? To practice?"
"This room stands for any who find a requirement for its purpose," Helena said, a barely there shift in her voice. "Though, I may visit now and again. To see what discoveries you stumble upon."