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Harry's eyes fluttered open to find the enormous blue moon hanging above him like a luminous portal. For a moment, he didn't know where he was, but then he remembered. This was Loretta's Realm. The Blue Moon illuminated the place in blue light.
Rising to his feet, Harry took in the endless fields of golden grass that rippled like waves in an invisible breeze. The ancient castle loomed in the distance, its spires reaching toward the oversized moon that dominated the sky. Harry noticed with curiosity that the castle seemed closer than in previous dreams, its weathered stones more distinct against the perpetual twilight.
He spotted her then – Loretta Emrys, sister of Merlin himself, reclining on her silver-white dress spread across the grass like scattered moonlight. The massive form of Azash, her Nundu companion, lay beside her with his great head resting on her knee. Unlike Itisa, who maintained her housecat appearance despite her true nature, Azash embraced his fearsome visage. His black fur was traced with golden lines, and his face bore the noble, wild features of a lion rather than any domesticated feline.
The Nundu's amber eyes tracked Harry's approach with lazy interest. Harry found himself wondering, not for the first time, about the strange bond between Loretta and her magical companion – so similar to his own relationship with Itisa.
"Lady Loretta," Harry began uncertainly, "why am I here?" He hadn't dreamed of this place in months, not since his fight with Professor Quirrell and Voldemort. The timing seemed significant, but with Loretta, nothing was ever straightforward.
She turned her face up to him, and Harry felt that familiar jolt of awe at her otherworldly beauty. Her features held a perfection that made him wonder if Veela blood might have run in Merlin's family line.
"Thy questions draw thee here, young voice-speaker," Loretta replied; her voice sounded like music, a beautiful one. "Not mine own summons, though I did await thy coming with certainty."
Harry lowered himself to sit cross-legged in the grass beside her, noticing how it never bent or broke beneath his weight in this dream-place. "The Leviathan," he said, the word still tasting of salt water and power on his tongue. "How did I call it? I didn't even know I could do something like that."
Azash rumbled, a sound like distant thunder, and Loretta's fingers traced patterns in his dark fur. "Thy gift runs deeper than thou knowest," she said, tilting her head to study Harry with eyes that seemed to reflect the impossible moon. "The voice of power speaks not merely to beast and bird, but to the very soul of magic itself. When thy need was greatest, thy voice reached into the ancient depths where such creatures dwell."
"But I didn't know what I was doing," Harry protested, remembering the desperate moment when the Dark RSH had surrounded them, when Crystal-Harmony's ice magic and his own spells hadn't been enough. "I just... called out."
"Ah," Loretta's smile widened, "and therein lies the true power. Think thee not that I had mastery of all creatures from my first breath? Nay, young Harry, such gifts grow as doth a seed in fertile soil." She gestured to the endless fields around them. "The Leviathan answered thy call because thy need was pure, thy heart true. Such creatures respond not to command, but to resonance."
Harry absorbed this, thinking of how the massive creature had appeared, larger than Hogwarts itself, its presence sending shockwaves through the deep waters of Abyssantica. "Could I do it again?"
"Mayhap," Loretta replied cryptically, "though I counsel thee to treat such power with reverence. The great beings of the deep are not common pets to be called at whim." Her expression grew serious. "Each creature that answers thy voice forges a bond, however brief. Thou must be prepared to honor such connections."
The golden grass whispered around them, and Harry felt the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. He thought of Itisa, of their connection, and began to understand what Loretta meant. "Is that why you're teaching me? To help me understand these bonds?"
"Thou art learning already, young one. But know this – I teach thee not merely for thy sake, but for what is to come." She raised one elegant hand toward the looming castle. "The threads of fate weave patterns beyond thy seeing, and thy gift shall play its part in the tapestry."
Harry frowned, frustration bubbling up. "You always say things like that, but you never actually explain what's coming."
"Some truths must be lived, not told," she replied, and Azash lifted his great head to regard Harry with ancient eyes. "But fear not – thy path, though challenging, leads true. Remember always that thy voice speaks not just to creatures, but to the very heart of magic itself."
"What about Prince Henri?" Harry asked, remembering the tales he'd heard in Abyssantica. "How could he speak with the Royal Sea Horses three centuries ago?"
Loretta's expression softened. "Through the ages, there have been those blessed with the gift of speaking to specific creatures. Some could converse with dragons, others with unicorns, others with snakes, and Prince Henri with the denizens of the deep." She leaned forward, her silver dress shimmering like moonlight on water. "But thou art different, young Harry. Since my time, thou art the first with the potential to speak with all magical beings, be they of water, air, or earth."
"Who was he really?" Harry pressed, curiosity burning. "Prince Henri?"
"A noble soul who wielded his water-speaking gift in pursuit of peace," Loretta replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "Yet tragedy befell him – struck down in his slumber by his own flesh and blood, his son's hand bearing the blade." She shook her head. "Beyond this tale, I know not more."
Harry opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Loretta smoothly changed course. "Tell me of thy companion, young one. How fares Itisa?"
"She is fine. We visited a city underwater, and I don't think she was a big fan of that place, but I still don't understand why she was able to use wings that one time against Professor Quirrell and Voldemort."
"I have theories," Loretta replied carefully, "but certainty eludes me in this matter."
Harry felt the familiar frustration of being kept in the dark. He could sense she knew more than she was saying, but experience had taught him the futility of trying to press her for answers she wasn't ready to give.
"Guard her secret well," Loretta cautioned, her tone growing serious. "Keep her true nature hidden for as long as fate allows." She paused, then added with that maddening air of mystery, "When the time comes, seek the peak of Thundermourn Mountain."
"Thundermourn Peak?" Harry frowned. "I've never heard of it."
"The highest mountain in all the world," Loretta explained, "home to creatures unknown to muggle eyes. Thy path shall lead thee there, when the moment is right."
The moonlight began to fade, and Harry felt the familiar pull of waking. "Wait," he called out, "I still have questions!"
Loretta's voice followed him into consciousness, growing fainter with each word: "And when the time is right, young voice-speaker, thou shalt find thy answers in the asking..."
Harry woke to find Itisa curled against his side in their room at the French Ministry's guest quarters, her purring a comforting counterpoint to the lingering echoes of Loretta's voice in his mind. Through the window, the normal moon hung small and white in the pre-dawn sky.
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The morning sun cast a golden glow over the cobblestones of magical Paris as Harry sat across from Newt Scamander at Café de la Magie Dorée. Their small wrought-iron table floated a few inches off the ground, gently bobbing like a boat on calm waters. Around them, other tables did the same, creating a whimsical scene that still made Harry smile even after a month in magical France.
A warm breeze carried the mingled scents of fresh-baked pastries and exotic magical spices. In his carrier beside Harry's chair, Itisa dozed contentedly, her disguised cat form purring after enjoying a breakfast of enchanted cream that had changed flavors with each lap. Harry watched in fascination as his own pastry, a Papillon Sucré, fluttered its delicate sugar-crystal wings before settling back onto his plate.
"Go on, try it," Newt encouraged, his own plate featuring a croissant that slowly changed colors like a chameleon. "The flavor changes depending on your mood."
Harry took a bite, and his eyes widened as the taste of sun-warmed strawberries filled his mouth, followed by a hint of something that reminded him of laughter and summer days. "It tastes like... happiness," he said wonderingly.
"Ah, French magical pastry chefs are artists in their own right," Newt replied, his weathered face crinkling with amusement. "Though I must say, Harry, you've shown quite the artistic touch yourself this past month. Particularly with the Royal Sea Horses – I've never seen anyone adapt so quickly to underwater communication."
Harry felt his cheeks warm at the praise. "I just tried to listen, like you taught me. Though I still don't understand how I called the Leviathan."
"That's just it," Newt leaned forward, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "You have an instinct for magical creatures that can't be taught. The way you handled that situation with the Dark RSH, how you've bonded with Itisa..." He gestured to the dozing Nundu. "You remind me of myself at your age, but with talents I could only dream of."
Taking another bite of his pastry (this one tasting of pride and possibility), Harry reflected on the past month. From the underwater city of Abyssantica to the diplomatic ball, from battling Dark RSH to forming friendships with Crystal-Harmony and Fleur – it felt like he'd lived a lifetime of adventures in just four weeks.
"Speaking of talents," Newt continued, absently breaking off a piece of his color-changing croissant, "I've been thinking about possible expeditions for next summer, after your second year."
Harry leaned forward eagerly as Newt flipped through the pages. "There's a dragon sanctuary in Romania I've been corresponding with – Charlie Weasley works there, actually. And the magical forests of Japan have some fascinating creatures we've barely begun to understand. There's also..." he paused, studying a particular page, "an interesting peak called Thundermourn Mountain. Highest in the world with unique magical properties."
Harry nearly choked on his pastry. Thundermourn Peak – exactly where Loretta had told him to go in his dream. Before he could ask more, their attention was drawn to a commotion at a nearby table, where a young witch's Tarte Volante had escaped her plate and was performing aerial acrobatics above the café's striped awning.
"There's also the Wizarding School of Italy, they say half of the School is underwater, and the other half is above the surface, there's also rumors that a wizarding and witches school somewhere in Europe is in the clouds."
Harry was sure he had heard him wrong. "What do you mean the school is in the clouds? Like...are you saying that it's just floating there!! How is that even possible?? Unless there are thousands of brooms undernearth the school, how can it just float there?!" Harry asked incredulously, feeling that Mister Newt was just pulling his leg, but he shook his head.
"I assure you, Mister Potter. This school is very much real, but unfortunately, getting to this school is quite difficult, and is never said where this school is exactly, but I have a feeling you and me will find, and see what the big deal is." Newt reassured him with a smile and started reading again.
Harry could not help but wonder how a school could be floating in the air and why someone would build a school there. It sounded very dangerous but amazing at the same time.
As the pastry was eventually coaxed back down with the help of a laughing waiter, Harry felt a profound sense of contentment wash over him. Just one month ago, he'd been nervous about traveling with Newt, unsure of himself and his abilities. Now, he'd helped forge peace between nations, discovered new applications for his voice magic, and even danced with a part-Veela at a diplomatic ball.
"You know, Harry," Newt said softly, seeming to read his thoughts, "you've grown quite remarkably this summer. Your parents would be proud – and not just James and Lily. Ted and Andromeda too. They consider you their son in all but blood."
Harry felt his pastry's flavor shift to something warm and sweet that reminded him of home. "I never thought I'd have any of this," he admitted. "Family, adventures, friends... it still feels like a dream sometimes."
"The best adventures often do," Newt replied, raising his teacup in a small salute. "And speaking as someone who's had quite a few – I'd say you're just getting started."
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The International Portkey deposited Harry and Newt in the Ministry's arrival chamber with the usual sensation of being hooked behind the navel. Harry managed to keep his feet this time, thinking wryly that weeks of underwater acrobatics in Abyssantica had done wonders for his balance. The room was markedly different from its French counterpart – where the Parisian chamber had featured elegant marble and enchanted mirrors, this one was all dark wood paneling and brass fixtures.
"Welcome back to British soil," drawled a bored-looking wizard at the check-in desk, barely glancing up from his copy of the Daily Prophet. "Move along, then."
Harry exchanged an amused look with Newt. After the rigorous security checks they'd faced in France, the casual dismissal felt almost jarring. But then, Harry supposed, that was British magical bureaucracy for you – simultaneously overly complicated and oddly lax.
"Your papers, Mr. Scamander?" the wizard asked with marginally more interest, though he was already stamping them before Newt finished pulling them from his coat pocket. Harry noticed the man's eyes flick to the legendary briefcase in Newt's hand – the one currently housing Itisa – but he made no comment.
As they made their way through the Ministry's winding corridors, Harry found himself unconsciously cataloging the differences from when he'd last been here.
"Mr. Potter!" called out a tall Auror as they passed, her hand automatically rising to touch something at her throat. Harry recognized his talisman hanging there, the silver metal gleaming with a soft light. "That invention of yours saved Jenkins last week – warned him about a nasty cutting curse that would have taken his head clean off."
"Glad to hear it worked as intended," Harry replied, trying to match her professional tone despite being nearly half her height. He'd noticed at least six other Aurors wearing his talismans just in this corridor alone.
Not everyone's gaze was friendly, though. A group of older wizards in expensive robes watched him pass with barely concealed disdain, while a witch with a clipboard sized him up with the kind of calculating look he'd learned to be wary of. Harry heard snippets of whispered conversations:
"—just a boy, surely can't be—"
"—making a fortune off the Ministry—"
"—dangerous, giving that much power to—"
"Ah, young Harry Potter and Newt Scamander!" a familiar voice cut through the murmurs. Amelia Bones strode toward them. Despite her formal robes and stern demeanor, Harry could see the warmth in her eyes. "I heard you'd be returning today. Susan's been quite excited about your impending return – she's hardly talked about anything else at breakfast."
"Lady Bones," Harry greeted her with a small bow, just as Andromeda had taught him. "Actually, I wanted to ask – how are the talismans performing? There haven't been any malfunctions, have there?"
"Quite the opposite," Amelia replied, her usual severity softening slightly. "They've proven their worth several times over. Just last month, three of my Aurors would have fallen to dark magic if not for the emergency healing function. Though," she added with a slight frown, "watching the talismans crumble to ash afterward was rather dramatic."
"Better the talisman than the Auror," Newt observed mildly, though Harry noticed his grip tighten slightly on his briefcase where Itisa was hidden.
"Indeed." Amelia's gaze swept the corridor, taking in the various observers trying to look like they weren't listening. "A word of caution, Mister Potter – there are many in the Ministry who have taken a keen interest in your... talents. Not all of them have the Department's best interests at heart."
Harry nodded, thinking of the greedy looks and whispered conversations. He'd seen similar expressions at the French Ministry's ball, though they'd been better hidden behind diplomatic smiles.
"Will that be all, Madam Bones?" Newt asked politely, and Harry recognized the subtle shift in his mentor's stance – protective without being obvious about it.
"For now. Do give my regards to Ted and Andromeda." She straightened her monocle. "Good day to you both." With a swish of robes, she strode away, the crowd parting before her like water.
Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Great. So now I have to deal with Ministry politics and whatever Voldemort's planning."
Newt patted his shoulder. "Welcome to adulthood."
Harry groaned. "Can I get a refund?"
Newt chuckled, guiding him toward the exit. "Afraid not."
Near the main atrium, they passed a wall displaying the latest Daily Prophet headlines. Harry caught a glimpse of his own name: "BOY-WHO-LIVED'S TALISMANS: MIRACLE OR MENACE?" accompanied by a photo from the French Ministry ball where he was dancing with Fleur.
"Interesting how they never seem to run out of hyphenated names for you," Newt commented dryly, steering them toward a Portkey. "Shall we head home? I believe Andromeda mentioned something about preparing your favorite dish."
Harry smiled, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease at the thought of returning to the Tonks' house. Still, he couldn't shake the memory of those calculating stares, or Amelia's warning. He had a feeling his second year at Hogwarts might be even more complicated than his adventures in France.
Harry stumbled slightly as the Portkey deposited him and Newt in the Tonks' garden. Before he could fully regain his balance, a blur of pink hair collided with him.
"You're back!" Tonks exclaimed, nearly knocking them both over. "Tell me everything! Did you see any Veela? What about the underwater city? Did you fight any sea monsters?"
"Nymphadora, let the boy breathe," Andromeda chided, approaching at a more dignified pace. Her stern expression melted as she looked Harry over. "Merlin's beard, you've gotten so thin! Didn't they feed you in France?"
"The French cuisine was actually quite—" Harry began, but Ted cut him off with a laugh.
"Let me guess – lots of tiny portions arranged to look pretty on enormous plates?" Ted's eyes twinkled. "Did they serve you escargot? Frog legs? Perhaps some jellyfish since you were underwater?"
Harry grinned, having missed Ted's humor. "Actually, the Royal Sea Horses' cuisine was quite interesting. They have these kelp-based dishes that—"
"Never mind the food," Tonks interrupted, her hair cycling through excited colors. "Did you really summon a Leviathan? The French papers have been full of rumors!"
Before Harry could respond, a familiar screech drew everyone's attention upward. Hedwig swooped down from her perch on the roof, where she'd been watching their arrival. She landed on Harry's shoulder, nipping his ear affectionately before fixing her amber eyes on Itisa, who had been disguised as a regular cat throughout their travels.
Itisa, finally free to be herself in the privacy of the Tonks' garden, transformed back to her proper Nundu size. Harry groaned internally as his two familiars engaged in their usual antics. Hedwig launched herself from his shoulder, deliberately flying low over Itisa's head, while the Nundu attempted to swat at her tail feathers.
"Some things never change," Harry muttered, watching as Hedwig performed a series of increasingly elaborate aerial maneuvers while Itisa pretended she wasn't impressed.
"Come inside, all of you," Andromeda insisted, ushering them toward the house. "I've prepared a proper English dinner. You're practically skin and bones, Harry!"
"I assure you, Andromeda, Harry was well-fed during our expedition," Newt said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Particularly at the farewell celebration in Abyssantica. The Princess seemed quite concerned with ensuring he tried every delicacy available."
Harry felt his face heat up, knowing where this was going. "Mr. Scamander—"
"Princess?" Tonks latched onto the word immediately, her hair turning a bright, interested pink. "What princess?"
"Oh yes," Newt continued, clearly enjoying himself. "Princess Crystal-Harmony of Abyssantica. Quite taken with our young Harry here. Even gave him a traditional farewell kiss on the cheek during the ceremony."
"WHAT?" Tonks squealed as Harry groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Harry James Potter, you've been holding out on me!"
"It wasn't like that," Harry protested weakly. "It was just a formal goodbye—"
"Oh, nothing formal about the way she blushed afterward," Newt added helpfully. "Quite pretty when Royal Sea Horses blush – and I saw the way her scales disappeared, making her seem more like a human just for our Harry."
Ted was laughing openly now as they settled around the kitchen table. "First the French Minister's daughter at the ball, and now an underwater princess? You don't do anything by halves, do you, Harry?"
"The French Minister's daughter?" Andromeda raised an eyebrow, temporarily distracted from piling food onto Harry's plate. "You mean Fleur Delacour? The Daily Prophet's front page is all about you and your little adventure in France and your attendance at a ball."
"That was just a dance!" Harry protested. "They wanted to see me dance for some reason, I didn't have a choice!"
"No choice in the dancing, perhaps," Newt mused, accepting a cup of tea from Andromeda. "But I don't recall anyone forcing you to spend an hour discussing magical theory with her on the balcony afterward."
Tonks was practically bouncing in her seat. "This gets better and better! Tell me everything. Don't leave out a single detail!"
Harry shot Newt a betrayed look, but the magizoologist merely sipped his tea with an innocent expression that reminded Harry eerily of Dumbledore.
"Well," Harry began reluctantly, knowing Tonks wouldn't let this go, "it started when we arrived at the underwater city..."
He launched into the story, carefully editing out the more dangerous parts about the Dark RSH and the battle that had led to him summoning the Leviathan. However, Newt kept helpfully filling in details, especially about Harry's interactions with Crystal-Harmony and their adventures teaching her to embrace her unique ice powers.
"And then," Newt added just as Harry thought he'd successfully glossed over the farewell ceremony, "there was the matter of the traditional gift exchange."
"Mr. Scamander, please—" Harry tried to interrupt, but it was too late.
"The Princess gave Harry a Pure Aqualis crystal, one of the rarest magical artifacts in their kingdom," Newt continued. "And then, well... I believe her exact words were 'May the currents bring us together again, my surface knight.'"
Tonks collapsed into giggles while Ted gave a low whistle. Even Andromeda looked amused as she continued to pile food onto Harry's plate.
"'Surface knight?'" Tonks managed between laughs. "Oh, that's precious!"
Harry slumped in his chair, wondering if it was possible to die of embarrassment. Itisa, who had finished her game with Hedwig, rubbed against his legs in what he chose to interpret as solidarity but was probably amusement.
"Well, I think it's sweet," Andromeda said, finally satisfied with the mountain of food in front of Harry. "Now eat up, before it gets cold. We can discuss your underwater romance after you've had a proper meal."
"It wasn't a romance," Harry muttered but dutifully picked up his fork, knowing there was no arguing with Andromeda about food.
As conversation flowed around him, punctuated by Ted's jokes about fish-based courtship rituals and Tonks' endless questions about both the Princess and Fleur, Harry couldn't help but smile despite his embarrassment. It was good to be home with his adopted family, even if they were going to tease him mercilessly about this for the foreseeable future.
Above the table, Hedwig preened smugly from her perch while Itisa's rumbling purr carried just a hint of laughter. Harry had a feeling that neither of them was going to let him live this down.
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