Hello, AMagicWord. I'm happy to publish another Chapter of Blood of the Veil
If you want to Read 6 More Chapters Right Now. Search 'Patreon.com/AMagicWord' on Websearch
The following 6 chapters are already available to Patrons.
Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, and Chapter 11 are already available for Patrons.
The next morning brought two developments. The first was Dobby appearing with a crack that nearly gave Harry a heart attack.
"Harry Potter sir!" the elf squeaked, bouncing on his toes. "Dobby has been thinking about what Harry Potter asked!"
"Bloody hell, Dobby," Harry gasped, lowering his wand. "Little warning next time?"
"Dobby is sorry! But Dobby has had an idea about the books Harry Potter wanted!"
Harry's interest sharpened. He had asked the elf yesterday about texts on wandless magic, knowing that Hogwarts' library would be limited. "What kind of idea?"
"House-elves is not supposed to take from wizard libraries," Dobby said carefully. "But Dobby knows that many old families has books they is not reading. Books that is forgotten in attics and cellars."
"And these families wouldn't notice if such forgotten books went missing?"
Dobby's tennis ball eyes gleamed. "What is not being missed is not being stolen, Harry Potter sir."
"Dobby, you magnificent little criminal." Harry grinned. "What did you find?"
The elf snapped his fingers, and two ancient tomes appeared on Harry's bed. The first was bound in what looked like dragon hide, its title barely visible: Mens Super Materiam: The Mind Over Matter. The second was smaller but somehow heavier, wrapped in black cloth: Sanguis et Voluntas – Blood and Will.
"Dobby is finding these in the Black family house," the elf explained. "Nasty Kreacher is not even knowing they are there."
Harry picked up the first book carefully, feeling the magic thrumming through its pages. "These are perfect, Dobby. Thank you."
"Dobby is happy to help Harry Potter! Is there anything else Harry Potter is needing?"
"Actually, yes." Harry thought quickly. "Can you get messages to people without them being traced? Like, if I wanted to send a letter without using an owl?"
"Dobby can do this!" The elf puffed up proudly. "Elf magic is not being tracked by Ministry!"
"Brilliant. I'll have some letters for you later." Harry paused. "And Dobby? Be careful. I don't want you getting in trouble for helping me."
"Dobby is not caring about trouble if it helps Harry Potter sir!" The elf declared, then disapparated before Harry could argue.
The second development came an hour later in the form of letters from his friends. Harry recognized Hedwig's snowy form approaching with two other owls, and quickly opened the window.
Hermione's letter was exactly what he expected—neat handwriting covering three pages of parchment.
Dear Harry,
I hope you're doing well and that your relatives are treating you better. I've been thinking constantly about everything that's happened, and I wanted to share some thoughts.
First, I've been researching wandless magic as you suggested. It's fascinating! Did you know that most cultures practiced wandless magic before European wizards developed wands in the 4th century? I've found several theoretical texts that suggest wandless casting is actually more powerful than wand magic, just harder to control. I'm attaching a list of books you might find helpful, though some are restricted...
Harry skimmed through her detailed notes on magical theory, appreciating her thoroughness even as he noted she was approaching it as an academic exercise rather than survival necessity.
...which brings me to my other concern. Harry, I understand your anger at Professor Dumbledore. I truly do. But I can't help thinking that completely cutting him off might be shortsighted. He's not perfect—the past year proved that—but he does have knowledge and resources we need. Perhaps instead of burning bridges, you could maintain a strategic relationship? Use his experience while keeping your own counsel like I already told?
I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I'm worried about you. Ron is too, though he's worse at expressing it. We're your friends, Harry. Whatever you're planning, you don't have to do it alone.
Please write back and let me know you're okay.
Love,
Hermione
P.S. - My parents want to know if you'd like to visit later in the summer. They remember you from the train station and would love to have you stay for a week or two.
Harry set aside her letter and opened Ron's, which was significantly shorter and written in his friend's familiar scrawl.
Hey mate,
Hope the Muggles aren't being too awful. Things at the Burrow are mental—Mum's in a right state about everything, and the twins keep setting off experimental products when she's not looking.
Charlie's here for a visit. He's teaching me some wicked moves he uses with dragons. Did you know you can use a Flame-Freezing Charm offensively? He showed me how to freeze fire around someone's wand to make them drop it. Brilliant!
Ginny keeps asking about you. I think she's worried, but you know how she is—too stubborn to just say it. Luna came by yesterday with her dad. She left you something but made me promise not to open it. It's in a separate package.
Dad says the Ministry's gone completely mad trying to catch up after denying You-Know-Who was back. Percy still won't talk to us, the git. But Bill reckons Scrimgeour will sort things out once he's made Minister.
Anyway, Mum wants to know if you can come for your birthday. I know things are weird with Dumbledore and all, but the Burrow's not Headquarters. Just family, yeah?
Write back when you can.
Ron
P.S. - Hermione's driving us all mental with her studying. She's checked out half the library already. Whatever you said to her about getting stronger really stuck.
Harry unwrapped Luna's package carefully, unsurprised to find a bottle of what looked like silvery mist and a note in her dreamy handwriting.
Harry,
The Thestrals at Hogwarts tell me you've been touched by the Other Side. This is essence of morning fog collected during a lunar eclipse. It helps one see clearly when caught between two worlds.
Also, Ronald's Pigwidgeon reports that you're learning to fight without a wand. The old ways are returning through you. Be careful—those who came before were often too powerful for their own good.
Your friend,
Luna
P.S. - The Nargles suggest you look for allies in unexpected places. The new Minister might be an ally, or an enemy, but he is no friend.
Harry reread Luna's note twice, filing away the cryptic advice. The girl saw more than most people realized, even if she expressed it strangely.
He pulled out parchment and began drafting responses. To Hermione, he wrote of his training regime and thanked her for the book recommendations while carefully ignoring her suggestions about Dumbledore. To Ron, he expressed interest in Charlie's techniques and said he'd consider the birthday invitation. To Luna, he simply wrote "Thank you for seeing clearly when others don't."
But as he sealed the letters, Harry felt the growing distance between himself and his friends. They were preparing for war like it was an academic exercise or an adventure. He was preparing like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
Three Days Later
The first wandless magic book proved to be a revelation. Written by a Roman wizard named Cassius Meridian, it detailed the fundamental differences between channeled and raw magic.
The wand, Harry read by candlelight, is both gift and curse. It focuses magic into precise forms, yes, but in doing so it limits the wizard's true potential. Consider: accidental magic performed by children often exceeds what they can accomplish with a wand. Why? Because in those moments of pure emotion and need, they touch their core without the filter of wood and core.
To cast without a wand, one must first understand that magic is not separate from the self. It is not a tool to be wielded but an extension of one's own will made manifest. The wand teaches us to think of magic as external. This is the first lie that must be unlearned.
Harry closed his eyes, thinking of all the times his magic had responded to emotion. Blowing up Aunt Marge. Apparating onto the school roof. Growing his hair back overnight. Each time, he hadn't thought about the magic—he'd simply needed something to happen, and it had.
The book went on to describe exercises for accessing one's magical core directly. Harry tried the first one, a meditation technique that involved visualizing his magic as a pool of light within his chest. It took three attempts before he could feel it—a warm, pulsing energy that seemed to respond to his attention.
Now, the book instructed, extend a tendril of this light through your arm, but do not push it from your hand. Instead, let it pool in your palm, growing denser and brighter with each breath. When the pressure becomes almost unbearable, speak your intent and release.
Harry followed the instructions carefully. The sensation was entirely different from wand magic—more intimate, more taxing, but also more natural. When he finally whispered "Lumos," the light that erupted from his palm was blindingly bright and tinted green like his eyes, and he made it shoot from his hand like a ball. It went near the ceiling, before it expanded, increasing the brightness, and the dimming, until it vanished like it never existed.
"Brilliant," he breathed, staring at his glowing hand.
The second book was darker, dealing with magic that drew on the caster's life force rather than their magical core. Harry read it with growing unease and fascination.
Blood magic is the oldest form of spellwork, predating even wandless casting. It is magic at its most primal—life force given form through will and sacrifice. The Ministry has banned its practice not because it is Dark, but because it cannot be regulated. A wizard who masters blood magic answers to no law but his own will and the limits of his life force.
The spells described were brutal in their efficiency. Wards that would stand for centuries, fueled by a few drops of blood. Curses that would follow bloodlines for generations. Healing magic that could regrow limbs at the cost of years off one's life.
Harry thought of the red chains that came so naturally to him now. Was that blood magic? It had first manifested in a moment of pure rage, wanting to bind and hurt. The book suggested that spontaneous blood magic often reflected the caster's deepest desires.
A soft tapping at his window interrupted his reading. Not an owl. Harry moved cautiously to the window and bit back a curse.
Tonks hung from his window ledge, her face red with exertion. "Little help here, Potter?"
Harry quickly levitated her inside, trying not to laugh at her disheveled appearance. "Why didn't you just apparate into the room?"
"Your wards," she gasped, sprawling inelegantly on his floor. "Bloody things nearly fried me when I tried. Had to climb the mundane way."
"Why are you here? Training isn't until Thursday."
"Couldn't sleep." She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. "Kept thinking about last time. We need to talk about... boundaries."
Harry's stomach sank. "You're quitting as my trainer."
"What? No!" Tonks looked genuinely shocked. "Merlin, Harry, I just meant... look, I'm twenty-two. You're fifteen. That's a seven-year gap that matters right now, even if it won't always."
"I know," Harry said quietly.
"Do you?" She leaned forward, her hair shifting through several anxious colors. "Because the way you look at me sometimes... and the way I'm starting to look back... it's dangerous territory."
"I'm not asking for anything," Harry said carefully. "I need a trainer more than I need... anything else. But I won't pretend I don't notice you're beautiful, or that I don't feel something when we're close. I'm not that good a liar."
Tonks laughed, a slightly shaky sound. "Beautiful? Harry, I change my appearance like other people change clothes."
"Exactly." Harry met her eyes steadily. "You could look like anyone, but you choose to be yourself around me. Pink hair, clumsy grace, terrible jokes and all. That's beautiful."
"Damn it, Potter." Tonks buried her face in her hands. "You can't just say things like that."
"Would you prefer I lie?"
"No," she said quietly, her voice muffled by her hands. "I... I appreciate that you see me that way. More than you know. But Harry, the problem isn't you, or your age, or even what I might feel." She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "The problem is me. I'm a mess right now, and the last thing I want is to give you false hope when I don't even know what I want or where my head is."
"Nothing in my life has ever been simple," Harry said with a wry smile. "Why start now?"
"Because you deserve better than someone who is--" Tonks straightened up, visibly pulling herself together. "So here's what we're going to do. We're going to keep training because you need it and I'm good at it. We're going to maintain professional distance because anything else wouldn't be fair to either of us right now."
"And?" Harry prompted, hearing the unspoken addition.
"And maybe, after a few months or maybe a year and if we've both figured out what we actually want... we can revisit the conversation." She stood abruptly. "Deal?"
"Deal." Harry stood as well, extending his hand formally.
She shook it, her grip firm and warm. "Good. Now, since I'm here anyway, want to show me what you've been reading? Those books look older than Hogwarts."
Harry hesitated. The books were definitely illegal, and Tonks was still an Auror. But she'd already proven she was willing to bend rules for him.
"Promise you won't arrest me?"
"Harry James Potter, what have you been reading?" But she was smiling as she said it.
He handed her Mens Super Materiam, watching her eyes widen as she recognized the ancient text. "Dobby acquired them from forgotten corners of old libraries. I'm learning the theory behind wandless casting."
"This is... this is supposedly a myth." Tonks flipped through the pages reverently. "The Department of Mysteries has been looking for this text for decades."
"Well, they can keep looking." Harry's voice was firm. "I need this knowledge more than they need to lock it away."
Tonks looked at him over the book. "You're playing with fire, you know. This kind of magic... it changes people."
"I've already been changed." Harry showed her his palm, conjuring the green-tinted light. "Might as well lean into it."
She watched the display with professional interest. "That's third-year spell work performed at NEWT level without a wand. In a week."
"I'm motivated."
"You're bloody terrifying is what you are." But she was smiling as she said it. "Show me what else you've learned."
They spent the next hour going through the exercises from the book, with Tonks offering suggestions from her Auror training. She was impressed by his progress and slightly unnerved by how naturally it came to him.
"Most wizards take months to produce a reliable wandless Lumos," she said as Harry conjured his fifth perfect light sphere. "You're doing it like you've been practicing for years."
"It feels familiar," Harry admitted. "Like remembering something I forgot I knew."
Tonks gave him a sharp look but didn't pursue it. "Right. Well, I should go before someone notices I'm missing. Thursday night?"
"I'll be ready."
She paused at the window. "Harry? Be careful with the blood magic book. That stuff... it's seductive. Powerful, but with a price that's not always obvious until it's too late."
"I know," Harry said. "I'm just reading, not practicing."
"Good. Because I'd hate to have to arrest you after all this." She gave him a cheeky salute and disappeared into the night.
Harry returned to his books, but his concentration was shot. The conversation with Tonks played on repeat in his mind. Two years until he was of age. It seemed like an eternity and no time at all.
Focus, he told himself firmly. You need to survive the war before you can worry about after.
But as he practiced wandless spells late into the night, he couldn't quite banish the memory of her fingers on his skin or the way she'd said his name like a confession.
By the end of the second week, Harry had established a routine that pushed the boundaries of what his body and magic could handle. Physical training at dawn, wandless practice until noon, studying the ancient texts until dinner, then more magical practice until exhaustion forced him to sleep.
The Dursleys had adapted to the new reality with surprising speed. Petunia left meals outside his door without comment. Vernon avoided him entirely. Dudley actually nodded when they passed in the hallway—the closest to civility they'd ever achieved.
Harry's wandless casting had progressed from simple spells to moderate hexes and charms. He could summon objects from across the house, cast a weak shield, and even manage basic transfiguration. The magic came easier each day, as if his body was remembering skills it had always possessed.
The dreams continued as well, bringing fragments of knowledge from those who'd passed through the Veil. A hedge witch who'd discovered how to brew luck itself into a potion. A dark wizard who could command shadows like living things. Each memory came with understanding, though Harry was careful not to practice the darker arts... yet.
Thursday night's training session started like the first—Tonks attacking from ambush, Harry responding with increasingly competent counters. But this time, he sensed her approach and had a cushioning charm ready when she tried to tackle him.
"Getting paranoid, Potter?" she asked from her position.
"Getting smart," Harry corrected, lowering her gently. "You telegraphed your approach. Stepped on that squeaky board by the garden gate."
"Damn." Tonks looked impressed. "You're learning faster than any trainee I've worked with."
"I have good motivation." Harry dropped into a combat stance. "And an excellent teacher."
"Flattery will get you extra bruises," Tonks warned, but she was smiling.
They sparred for an hour, and Harry noticed the difference immediately. His movements were more fluid, his responses faster. The wandless magic integrated seamlessly with physical combat—a shield here, a tripping jinx there, all cast with gestures that flowed into his fighting style.
"Time," Tonks called, breathing hard. "Bloody hell, Harry. You're keeping up with a trained Auror."
"A junior Auror," Harry pointed out, accepting a water bottle.
"Who graduated top of her class in combat training." Tonks studied him with an unreadable expression. "This isn't just about revenge anymore, is it?"
Harry considered the question. "It started that way. Wanting to be strong enough to kill Bellatrix, to make Voldemort pay. But now..." He gestured vaguely. "Now it's about being strong enough to protect the people I care about. To never be helpless again."
"That's a better reason," Tonks said softly. "Revenge burns hot but fades quick. Protection? That's a fire that can last forever."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, cooling down from the intense session. The night was clear, stars visible despite the light pollution of Surrey.
"Can I ask you something?" Harry said eventually.
"Shoot."
"Why did you become an Auror? With your abilities, you could have done anything."
Tonks was quiet for a long moment. "My mum's a Black by birth. Disowned for marrying my dad, but still a Black. I grew up hearing stories about what that family was capable of—the darkness they embraced, the pain they caused. I wanted to prove that blood doesn't determine destiny. That I could use my gifts to protect instead of destroy."
"And have you? Proven it?"
"Some days." She smiled wryly. "Other days I'm teaching an underage wizard combat magic in direct defiance of Ministry regulations and wondering if the Black madness just manifests differently in me."
"This isn't madness," Harry said firmly. "This is necessary."
"Keep telling yourself that, Potter." But her tone was fond. "Ready for round two?"
The second hour focused on magical combat rather than physical. Tonks conjured obstacles and attackers, forcing Harry to respond with increasingly complex wandless magic. His stamina was improving, but by the end he was swaying on his feet.
"Enough," Tonks declared, vanishing the training dummies. "You're about to collapse."
"I can keep going," Harry protested, even as his vision swam.
"No, you can't." She steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. "Pushing past your limits occasionally is training. Pushing past them constantly is stupidity."
Harry wanted to argue, but exhaustion was hitting him like a brick wall. He'd been running on adrenaline and determination for two weeks, and his body was finally demanding payment.
"Come on," Tonks said, guiding him toward the house. "You need food and sleep. In that order."
She helped him to the kitchen, where Harry fumbled with making tea while she raided the refrigerator. They ended up with an odd midnight feast of leftover roast, fruit, and biscuits that Petunia had hidden behind the flour.
"Your aunt's a good cook," Tonks observed, demolishing her third helping.
"She has to be. Uncle Vernon would leave her if she couldn't keep him fed." Harry pushed food around his plate, almost too tired to eat. "It's the only thing he values about her."
"That's... deeply sad."
"That's the Dursleys." Harry forced himself to take another bite. "They're small people living small lives, terrified of anything that might make them special."
"Yet they raised you."
"They fed and housed me. There's a difference." Harry met her eyes. "I learned about family from books and from watching others. The Weasleys showed me more love in five minutes than the Dursleys managed in a decade."
Tonks reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. "I'm sorry. No one should grow up like that."
"It made me who I am," Harry said simply. "For better or worse."
They finished eating in companionable silence. As Tonks prepared to leave, she paused at the back door.
"Harry? What you said about protection rather than revenge... hold onto that. It's easy to lose yourself in the darkness when you're fighting monsters."
"Speaking from experience?"
"More than I'd like." She gave him a sad smile. "See you Tuesday. Try not to exhaust yourself completely before then."
After she left, Harry dragged himself upstairs and collapsed on his bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, and for once, his dreams were peaceful.
The weekend brought an unexpected complication in the form of a Ministry owl. Harry read the official letter with growing unease.
Dear Mr. Potter,
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has detected significant magical activity at your residence over the past two weeks. While we understand that protective wards and accidental magic are not violations of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, the level of activity has raised concerns.
As such, a Ministry representative will visit your residence on Monday, July 15th at 2:00 PM to assess the situation and ensure compliance with all relevant statutes.
Please be advised that interference with this inspection may result in formal charges.
Sincerely,
Amelia Bones
Head of Magical Law Enforcement
"Shit," Harry muttered. He'd known the wandless magic might attract attention eventually, but he'd hoped to have more time.
He spent Sunday carefully hiding the illegal books and removing any obvious traces of his training.
A letter to Tonks brought a quick response: Don't panic. Amelia Bones is fair. Be honest about the protection, vague about the training. I'll try to be there but no promises. Whatever you do, don't mention the books.
Monday arrived too quickly. At precisely 2:00 PM, the doorbell rang. Harry answered it to find a severe-looking woman with a monocle and an aura of authority that made McGonagall look cuddly.
"Mr. Potter," Amelia Bones said crisply. "May I come in?"
"Of course, Madam Bones." Harry stepped aside, noting how her eyes were already scanning the house. "Would you like some tea?"
"That would be acceptable."
Harry led her to the living room, where the Dursleys sat frozen on the sofa. Vernon's face was an interesting shade of purple, but he'd clearly been warned to behave.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," Madam Bones acknowledged. "This is a routine inspection. I'll need to speak with Mr. Potter privately."
"The freak can—" Vernon started, but Petunia elbowed him hard.
"Of course," Petunia said tightly. "We'll be in the kitchen."
Once alone, Madam Bones fixed Harry with a penetrating stare. "The magical signature around this house is... unusual. Particularly around your room."
"I've been having nightmares," Harry said, sticking to the story he'd prepared. "About the Department of Mysteries. Sometimes my magic reacts while I'm sleeping."
"Hmm." She didn't look entirely convinced. "And the wandless casting detected on Thursday?"
Harry's mind raced. They could detect the magic but not necessarily see what he was doing. "Accidental magic, mostly. When I'm upset or frustrated, things happen without my wand."
"At your age, accidental magic should be nearly extinct."
"With respect, Madam Bones, nothing about my life has been normal. I watched my godfather die three weeks ago. I think some accidental magic is understandable."
Her expression softened slightly. "A fair point. May I examine your wand?"
Harry handed over his holly wand, watching as she cast several diagnostic spells. The wand hadn't been used since term ended, which seemed to satisfy her.
"Your wand shows no recent usage," she said, returning it. "Which corroborates your claim of accidental magic. However, the sophistication of the wards around your room suggests otherwise."
"I don't know what to tell you," Harry said honestly. "I didn't consciously create them."
"No, I don't believe you did." Madam Bones studied him intently. "Mr. Potter, are you aware that exposure to certain magical artifacts can permanently alter a wizard's magical signature?"
Harry's blood ran cold, but he kept his expression neutral. "No, ma'am."
"The Veil of Death is one such artifact," she continued. "Theoretical texts suggest that anyone who came into contact with it might experience... changes. Enhanced magical sensitivity. Instinctive casting. Protective magic manifesting without conscious direction."
"That's... interesting," Harry managed.
"Indeed." She stood abruptly. "I'm satisfied that no violations have occurred. However, Mr. Potter, a word of advice?"
"Yes?"
"Power without control is dangerous. If you find yourself capable of things you don't understand, seek help. The Ministry has resources for unusual magical conditions."
"I'll keep that in mind."
She moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing. Minister Scrimgeour wishes to meet with you next weekend. He'll be in touch to arrange a time."
"The new Minister?" Harry tried to sound casually interested. "What does he want?"
"That would be for him to say." Madam Bones gave him a sharp smile. "Good day, Mr. Potter. Try to keep the accidental magic to a minimum."
After she left, Harry slumped against the door. That had been too close. If she'd pushed harder or searched his room...
"Either she bought it," Harry murmured to himself, "or she's just letting me have enough rope to weave a ladder... or hang myself."
Either way, he needed to be more careful.
That night, Harry shared the encounter with Tonks during a brief visit.
"I'm still surprised that Amelia Bones visited you personally," Tonks looked impressed. "That's not standard protocol. Usually they send a junior officer for underage magic complaints."
"She knows something," Harry said. "About the Veil, about what it might have done to me."
"But she didn't push it." Tonks frowned thoughtfully. "Amelia's not stupid. If she suspected you were lying, she'd have brought Veritaserum."
"So why didn't she?"
"Maybe because she's more interested in what you might become than what rules you might be breaking." Tonks gave him a significant look. "The DMLE has been trying to understand the Veil for centuries. You're the first person to ever come back. From their perspective, you're not a problem to be solved—you're a resource to be studied."
"Wonderful," Harry said sarcastically. "As if I didn't have enough people wanting to use me."
"Hey." Tonks touched his arm gently. "That's not what I meant. Amelia's tough but fair. If she's giving you space, it's because she thinks you deserve it. But Harry... be careful. The Ministry's tolerance has limits."
"I know." Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Maybe I should take her up on the offer. See what resources they have."
"That's... actually not a terrible idea." Tonks looked surprised. "Playing multiple sides isn't very Gryffindor of you."
"Good thing the hat wanted me in Slytherin then."
They both laughed, but Harry filed the idea away for serious consideration. He was building his own power base, slowly but surely. Tonks for training. The ancient books for knowledge. Soon, maybe, Ministry connections for political cover.
Dumbledore had taught him one thing, even if inadvertently: in war, every alliance mattered.
Even the ones that made you uncomfortable.
If you want to Read 6 More Chapters Right Now. Search 'Patreon.com/AMagicWord' on Websearch