The small, red-glowing pyramid hovered in Harry's hand like it was alive.
And from its apex, the ghostly figure of Salazar Slytherin—or rather, Darth Bane—stood tall, proud, and judging.
"Of course I am Salazar Slytherin… or rather, I was," the spectral image said in a deep voice. "This device is called a Holocron. I created it to store my memories, knowledge, and instruction. I have waited… centuries… for one of my descendants to return and reclaim what is theirs. Tell me your name, boy."
Harry hesitated for only a breath.
"Harry Potter," he said.
There was no reason to tell the truth. If the ghost believed he was Slytherin's heir, maybe it would leave him alone. Or maybe it would teach him something useful—without trying to possess him like the diary had done to Ginny.
The projection tilted its head sharply.
"Harry… Potter?"
"What sort of fool of a wizard names their son Harry? It sounds like a farmer's dog. What happened to proper names? Names of power?"
Harry crossed his arms, leveling his wand slightly. "It's been nearly a thousand years since you died. The world's changed. 'Potter' is a respected name now—one of the most well-known pureblood families in Britain."
The figure narrowed its eyes.
"Pureblood? What is that nonsense?"
"You don't know?" Harry blinked. "I thought you were all about blood purity. You're the one they say wanted only purebloods at Hogwarts."
"I've never heard of blood purity," the projection sneered. "And I do not know what this 'pureblood' is. Explain."
So Harry did.
He explained what Muggle-borns were—children born to non-magical parents who had magical powers. He explained half-bloods—wizards and witches with one magical parent. And purebloods—families who only married other magical folk, preserving their magical lines.
Darth Bane—Salazar—looked increasingly disgusted.
"They built categories?"
"They created classes out of who was born with what blessing?"
"Fools. Idiots."
His small form turned, pacing on the surface of the Holocron as though walking on air.
"They divided themselves by blood… when the true division was always the Force."
"The Force?" Harry echoed.
Salazar turned, and his golden-red eyes burned with purpose.
"Yes. The Force. What you call 'magic' is merely the shadow of the true energy that surrounds all living things. It flows through everything—between matter and mind, between stars and spirits. The Force binds the world together, and through training, through will, it can be shaped."
Harry listened, skeptical but curious. "But I read wizards have… a magical core. That's where our magic comes from."
"Exactly. A core is a reservoir. A structure built within the body. It allows you to draw magic from within. That is your world's blessing. But you rely only on what is in you—your wand, your focus, your core."
"I was not born with such a core. I am not a wizard. I am something… more."
Harry stepped closer. "Then what are you?"
"I am Darth Bane, the last True Sith. I reshaped a crumbling empire into a legacy. I learned to shape the Force directly. No wand. No incantation. Just will."
"The only thing I know about you is that," Harry said. "You… created Hogwarts"
The image snorted.
"I helped build it, yes. But it was not a place of strength. Not in the way you imagine. The others—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw—they sought knowledge, honor, balance. I sought power. And I found it, buried in the ancient forces of this world. The leylines, the deep energy. What your kind calls 'magic'—I saw the Force."
Harry was silent. The last time he had trusted a magical object, it had nearly killed someone. But something about this projection—this Holocron—felt different. There was no immediate pull, no mental whisper. Just… knowledge. Power.
Caged in crystal.
"You carry power in you, Harry Potter," the Holocron said slowly. "I can feel it—your anger, your confusion, your isolation. You've been lied to. Held back. Fed scraps of knowledge from masters who fear what you might become."
Harry's jaw tightened.
He thought of the way people looked at him after the Dementor incident. The way they whispered about Sirius Black. The way people always spoke in riddles. The secrets they kept from him.
He thought of Dumbledore. Of how no one believed him at first. Of how Ron and Hermione looked at him like he was fragile.
"I'm tired of being lied to," Harry said quietly.
Salazar smiled. A slow, knowing, dangerous smile.
"Then let me teach you. Let me show you the truth your world has forgotten. Become my apprentice—my descendant. Learn not just to defend… but to command."
Harry hesitated. "And what do you want in return?"
"Your loyalty. Your discipline. And your name."
"Abandon this foolish title—'Harry'—and take a name worthy of your destiny. A name of strength. You are not a child anymore. You are my heir."
Harry looked down at the Holocron. He saw his reflection in its red glass—wand drawn, face pale, but steady.
He didn't know if he believed everything Salazar said.
But he wanted to learn. And if this was real… if this Force could free him from the rules of wands and cores, from the limitations of a world that never told him the truth—
Then maybe… just maybe… it was worth the risk.
"I'll learn," he said. "But I'm not giving up who I am."
Salazar's eyes narrowed.
"Then I will call you Haraldin Slytherin… form now on. But your training begins today. And by the end, you will have a name that others will fear."
The new name echoed in Harry's mind long after it was spoken.
Haraldin Slytherin.
A name chosen not by blood, but by legacy. A name wrapped in expectation and weight. Salazar Slytherin—Darth Bane—had named him heir, not because of his lineage, but because of his will.
And Harry—Haraldin now—had accepted.
The Holocron rested safely in his hand as he made his way back to the central chamber of the Chamber of Secrets. Dobby followed closely behind, still in awe of what they had seen, still trembling with anticipation.
The chamber had changed. It was cleaner now, brighter. The dark corners had been cleared, the statue of Slytherin stood less like a grim warning and more like a solemn guardian. The massive stone floor, once stained by blood and venom, now became their training ground.
Haraldin placed the Holocron gently on a stone pedestal he had cleaned earlier.
The crystal shimmered, and the ghostly figure appeared again—tall, robed, with burning golden eyes that glowed like twin suns.
"Good," Salazar said. "You've taken the first step. From this point forward, Shed the name they gave you. You will craft a destiny of your own."
Haraldin nodded slowly, grounding himself.
Salazar's eyes turned toward Dobby.
"And you. Elf. You have been wronged by your kind's ignorance. Overlooked. Feared. Leashed. But I know your kind's power. The old texts I gathered in this world speak of elf-magic—wild, raw, and pure. You are more attuned to the Force than most wizards realize."
Dobby blinked rapidly. "Dobby… Dobby always wanted to learn. But no one ever taught Dobby how to use much magic. Only what he must learn to be a servant."
"Then you shall learn alongside my heir," Salazar said. "Haraldin Slytherin will not rise alone."
Haraldin turned to Dobby, smiling. "We'll learn together."
Dobby beamed, chest puffed with pride. "Dobby will try his hardest, Master Haraldin!"
"Just call me Harry," he said with a grin.
Salazar lifted a ghostly hand.
"Before you can wield the Force, before you can command it, bend it, fight with it—you must feel it. Meditation is the foundation of all Force training. But not the kind your so-called 'wizards' speak of."
He walked slowly in a circle around them, his form flickering but his voice steady.
"Wizards teach you to look inward—to draw from your magical core, like draining a well. That is limited. Short-sighted. The Force is not a well within you—it is an ocean around you. You must cast yourself into it. Not to take, but to listen."
"Sit. Now."
Haraldin and Dobby obeyed immediately, settling on the stone floor, cross-legged.
"Clear your mind. Do not seek spells. Do not summon memories. Listen."
"Can you hear it? The breath of stone? The heartbeat of the earth? The water dripping behind you? That… is the Force. It is not some mystery locked inside your chest. It is all around you. Every sound. Every shadow. Every breeze."
For a long while, there was silence.
Haraldin closed his eyes, unsure at first. But then—something shifted.
The cold beneath him no longer felt dead. It felt… alive. Like the ground pulsed gently. Like the air had weight, movement, rhythm.
He could feel Dobby's energy next to him—not just as a presence, but as a brightness. He felt the vast, empty quiet of the ancient chamber stretch around him like a cloak. The torchlight behind the statue flickered with intention.
His heart no longer pounded—it pulsed in sync with the chamber.
The Force.
Not inside.
Everywhere.
Dobby gasped quietly. "Master Harry… Dobby… Dobby feels the stone breathing."
Haraldin opened his eyes, and they locked with the flickering gaze of Salazar.
"You've taken the second step. You've touched the current."
"From now on, you do not channel power from inside you. You shape what is already there."
Salazar's projection faded slightly, and the pyramid dimmed.
"Close the Holocron now. You are not ready for the next teaching until you live this lesson."
"Return only when you can move the Force around you. When you can lift a stone without a wand. When you can will something to bend—not because you shouted a spell, but because you commanded reality itself."
"The Jedi sought balance. The Sith seek strength. And strength begins with control."
The Holocron's corners folded inward, and the red glow faded.
Silence returned.
Haraldin breathed out slowly. He was no longer just Harry Potter.
He was something else.
And the world had no idea what was growing beneath its feet.
Meditation became everything.
Every moment Haraldin—Harry, still, to the outside world—could spare was spent in stillness. Whether it was under the large oak near the Black Lake, in the shadows of the library's high shelves, or curled silently in a window seat overlooking the Quidditch pitch, his eyes would close and his breathing would slow.
He reached outward.
He stopped drawing from his magical core. He stopped channeling spells from memory. Instead, he listened. Listened to the whispers in the stone, the currents in the air, the heartbeat of the world beneath his feet.
It wasn't easy.
The Force was subtle. Alive. It didn't answer to demands or incantations. It responded to will. And focus.
And focus was hard.
Because everywhere he went, whispers of Sirius Black followed.
"Did you hear? He was spotted near Nottingham last week—looking wild, like a beast."
"My cousin saw a paper. Said he's heading north. Looking for someone."
Harry heard the rumors and felt their weight. The looks of pity hadn't gone away. If anything, they'd grown heavier. People watched him like he might break. His friends tried to be supportive—too supportive.
"Harry," Hermione had said one morning at breakfast, lowering her voice, "are you… alright? I mean, you've been sitting with your eyes closed all the time. You look pale."
Ron had leaned in with a mouth full of toast. "Yeah mate, it's a bit creepy. You're not... hearing voices again, are you?"
"No," Harry said quietly. "I'm just... learning to listen."
They didn't understand. He didn't expect them to.
But Dobby understood.
The house-elf meditated just as often, down in the Chamber beneath the castle. Harry could feel it—whenever he opened himself to the Force, there was a spark, a gentle echo of another presence reaching outward from the deep stone beneath Hogwarts.
Still, it wasn't enough.
One night, in the secrecy of the Chamber, he turned to Dobby.
"I need somewhere else," Harry said. "Somewhere... peaceful. Quiet. The castle's full of people and distractions. Can you find us a place? Somewhere we can learn together?"
Dobby's eyes gleamed with purpose. "Dobby knows secret places, sir. Dobby will find the perfect spot. Away from everyone. With no whispers."
"Thank you, Dobby."
But even as he meditated more deeply and opened himself to the Force, something gnawed at him.
The Holocron.
He trusted Salazar Slytherin's knowledge—but not Salazar himself. And if there was one thing last year had taught him, it was that magical objects with minds of their own were dangerous.
Possession, manipulation, dark influence—it could happen. It had happened.
So he turned to the place he trusted most for answers: the library.
For several evenings, Harry combed through thick volumes. Magical Mind Theory, Advanced Spell Resistance, Psychic Barriers in Magical Duels—nothing gave him what he needed.
Then he found it.
One passage. Buried in the back of a dusty tome on defensive rituals.
"The discipline of Occlumency shields the mind from magical intrusion. Opposed to Legilimency—the art of reading or attacking the mind—Occlumency is essential for resisting possession, mind control, and memory manipulation."
That was it.
Exactly what he needed.
But there were no textbooks. No guides. Just mentions, warnings, and vague commentary. Nothing useful.
So, the next day, after Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry stayed behind.
"Professor Lupin?" he asked quietly.
Remus Lupin looked up from stacking papers. "Yes, Harry?"
"Do you know anything about… Occlumency?"
Lupin's face shifted subtly—an expression caught between surprise and wariness.
"That's not something most third-years go looking for," he said carefully.
"I have my reasons," Harry said. "And I don't want to learn Legilimency. Just how to protect my mind."
The professor studied him for a long moment. Then, with a quiet nod, he moved to his satchel and pulled out a small, leather-bound book.
"It's not illegal," Lupin said. "But it's not easy either. It's like building a wall inside your own thoughts. Quiet. Still. Strong. Like meditation, but... deeper. Harder."
Harry took the book gently. "Thank you, Professor."
Lupin placed a hand on his shoulder. "Just promise me, Harry—whatever you're doing, wherever you're going… be careful."
"I will," he said.
But in truth, careful was no longer enough.
Because deep beneath the castle, in a forgotten chamber where snakes once ruled, Haraldin Slytherin was learning how to command the Force. How to build his mind like stone. And how to resist the will of even the darkest teacher in history.
He would not be possessed.
He would not be controlled.
He would rise.