Young Celestial Wizard [Celestial Grimoire, Harry Potter]

Harry Potter Universe, India

Universal Time: January 10th, 1989

Current Time: Ancient India

Time until Hun and Po souls are deemed suitable by the laws of the Harry Potter Universe to learn structured HP magic: July 31st, 1991

Harry's Physical/Mental/Emotional Maturity: 13 years old

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The grass felt cool beneath Harry's hands as he sat down, still reeling from the sudden shifts in reality. One moment he'd been in the Black Family Library discussing magical theory, then witnessing the aftermath of nuclear apocalypse, and now... here.

Wherever here was...

"I don't understand what's happening," Harry said shakily. "Everything keeps... changing. First I was visiting someone, then I saw- I saw everyone dead, and my future self gave me these eyes, and now..."

He trailed off, realizing he was babbling. The young man - Siddhartha - opened his eyes, revealing dark irises that seemed to contain infinite depth.

"Take a breath," Siddhartha suggested. "Ground yourself in this moment. Feel the earth beneath you. Listen to the birds. Sometimes the best way to understand chaos is to first find stillness."

Harry tried to follow the advice, pressing his palms more firmly against the ground. The solid earth did help anchor him somewhat.

"Where am I?" he asked after a moment. "When am I?"

"You are in a grove near Uruvela," Siddhartha answered. He pulled out a simple wooden wand, using it to conjure a cup of water which he offered to Harry. "As for when... that seems to be a more complicated question, doesn't it?"

Harry accepted the water gratefully, realizing how thirsty he felt. "You said you felt Time's disturbance. What did you mean?"

Siddhartha lowered his wand, placing it beside him on the grass. "Time flows like water through many channels. Sometimes these channels meet, creating ripples that extend far beyond their origin. I felt such ripples growing stronger, and so I came to this grove to meet whoever might arrive."

He gestured at the space around them. "The question is not just what brought you here, but what lessons you might learn from this journey."

Harry took another sip of water, trying to organize his scattered thoughts. The grove felt peaceful… birds chirping in the trees, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of flowers... completely different from the horror he'd witnessed in that future version of Hogwarts.

Wait.

Harry's eyes widened as his mind finally caught up with everything. Siddhartha. Uruvela. Wasn't that the ancient name for Bodh Gaya? The calm way this man spoke about enlightenment and lessons...

"You're..." Harry started, then stopped himself. If this really was who he thought - if he really had traveled back to before Siddhartha became the Buddha - then he needed to be incredibly careful about what he said. The entire future of Buddhism might depend on him not messing anything up.

But hadn't the future already been changed? His older self had even given him his own eyes...

"You seem troubled by recognition," Siddhartha noted. "The nature of impermanence teaches us that all things change. Names, titles, meanings... these too are subject to transformation. What matters is not who I am or will be, but what truth can be found in this moment."

He needed to be careful here… this wasn't just any random encounter, and he should probably do his best to minimize changes.

What name could he use? Not Potter, obviously. Nothing English at all. Maybe something Japanese? No, wrong region entirely. He needed something that would fit this time and place, but he also didn't want to use something random...

Harry thought carefully about the Sanskrit he knew. The name needed to reflect something true about himself - lying to someone like Siddhartha felt both dangerous and disrespectful. His Hun and Po souls were deeply important to him, and flames were something essential to his very being that were refined through attempting to understand Life and Death. Even his mist abilities worked through soul resonance.

The word for soul... ātman. And fire... agni. But just combining them felt clumsy, like something a foreigner would construct. No, Sanskrit had deeper layers of meaning. There was a more poetic way to express the concept of fire born from the essence of being.

He remembered discussing Sanskrit poetry with Nicolas, how single words could carry multiple meanings depending on context. The term he needed would speak of both illumination and inner nature, of power and understanding...

"I am called Soulfire," Harry spoke in Sanskrit, choosing words that suggested both spiritual enlightenment and the burning essence of existence itself.

Siddhartha's eyes crinkled with amusement. "A name that speaks of both illumination and essence. You choose your words with purpose, young one."

"May I ask what you seek to accomplish by remaining in this grove?" Harry gestured at the peaceful surroundings.

"Ah!" Siddhartha stood up. "It would be easier to show you. There is a place I wish you to see, if you would permit me to guide us there through the space between spaces?"

Harry nodded, curious about what this ancient master wanted to show him.

The world twisted and compressed, but differently than apparition. Where wizard teleportation felt like being squeezed through a tube, this was more like... walking through a door that happened to lead somewhere else entirely.

They appeared in what looked like a typical village for this time period. Small mud-brick houses lined unpaved streets, while people went about their daily routines. Women carried water from a nearby well, children played with wooden toys, men worked at various crafts.

But something didn't feel right.

He could picked up absolutely nothing from these people, just a complete absence of fear. And not like Siddhartha's emptiness which felt like a state beyond measurement. This was... wrong.

"You notice something unusual about these people," Siddhartha smiled. "What do your senses tell you?"

"They feel no fear," Harry frowned, watching a child walk past them without any reaction to the strangers. "These people... they feel nothing at all, don't they?"

"Correct." Siddhartha walked toward the well where several women drew water. None looked up at his approach. "These people continue breathing, continue eating, continue working... but only because the body remembers it must do these things to survive. They hold no desires, no ambitions, no attachments."

A man stumbled while carrying pottery, dropping several pieces that shattered on the ground. He simply looked at the broken clay, then walked away without any sign of disappointment or frustration.

"How long have they been like this?" Harry asked, disturbed by the complete lack of reaction.

"Three days," Siddhartha turned away from the well. "Before that, this was a normal village filled with life and emotion. People argued over water rights, children cried when they fell, lovers met in secret... all the ten thousand joys and sorrows that make up human existence."

He gestured at the villagers going about their routines. "Now they are like empty vessels. The form remains, but the essence that makes each person unique has been... removed."

"Removed by what?"

"That is what I hoped you might help me discover." Siddhartha pulled out his wand, twirling it between his fingers. "I have encountered many beings during my travels… those like us, spirits, beasts. But this? This is something new. Something that does not simply kill the body or steal the soul, but removes the very spark of consciousness itself."

A group of children walked past, playing some kind of game with stones. But there was no laughter, no shouts of victory or groans of defeat. They moved the stones according to rules they remembered, but found no joy in the activity.

"All beings are bound by desire," Siddhartha continued. "Even the highest gods still want something, still feel something. But these people... they have become unbound. Not through enlightenment or understanding, but through... unnatural emptiness."

"This village is not unique," Siddhartha's voice grew heavy. "Similar cases appear across many lands. The other Immortals and I have searched for answers, yet found none. Whatever causes this... emptiness... leaves no trace we can follow to its ultimate source."

"Immortals?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Just how old are you?"

Siddhartha laughed softly at that. "Old enough to have seen empires rise and fall many times over, young one. Numbers mean little when discussing such spans of time." He shook his head. "But such matters hold little relevance to our current situation."

Harry watched another blank-faced villager walk past.

The whole village felt wrong on a fundamental level… like watching a puppet show where all the strings had been cut, leaving the puppets to fall into meaningless motion.

"You know I'm from the future," Harry spoke carefully. "Wouldn't it be better if I didn't interfere? My presence here could change everything..."

"Ah!" Siddhartha raised a finger. "But consider - if you were not meant to be here, would Time itself have brought you to this moment? The river of causality flows in many directions. Could your presence here not be a deviation, but instead the fulfillment of what was always meant to be?"

A woman walked past carrying an empty pot, heading toward the well. She tripped on a loose stone and fell, the pot shattering beside her. She stood up, looked at the broken pieces without expression, and continued walking to the well... without a pot to fill.

"Besides," Siddhartha added quietly. "If this issue is not stopped, there may not be much of a future left to change."

Harry watched another villager walk past with empty eyes. "We should discuss this somewhere else. Being here..." He gestured at the unsettling scene around them.

"Ah, yes." Siddhartha nodded. "The absence of emotion can become... overwhelming. I know a place where people still laugh and cry as nature intended. Would you join me for a meal? Clear minds often come from full stomachs."

At Harry's agreement, Siddhartha guided them through another of those strange not-quite-apparition movements. They appeared in a busy market street that immediately felt more alive with all the merchants calling out prices and the small children playing some ancient version of tag.

"Welcome to Varanasi," Siddhartha smiled at Harry's visible relief at being surrounded by normal human behavior again. "Come! I know a place that makes excellent daal."

They found seats at a small restaurant where the owner greeted Siddhartha by name, bringing out fresh flatbread and spiced lentils without being asked. The owner did take multiple glances at Harry, but that was probably because he was clearly a foreigner here.

Harry took a small bite out of the flatbread when the Hero's Journal in his Hun Soul gave a small pulse. He quickly pulled it out, hoping it might offer some insight into this situation. New words appeared on the page:

"The cycle of existence spins eternal,

Yet shadows grow between the spokes.

When stillness comes not from acceptance,

But from the death of motion itself,

Look to where the wheel first turned."

"What texts do you read?" Siddhartha asked, noticing Harry's frown of concentration.

"It's... complicated." Harry closed the journal. "But it might help us understand what's happening. Tell me more about how these cases started?"

Siddhartha took a sip of water before answering. "The first case appeared in a monastery near the mountains. The monks simply... stopped meditating one morning. When asked why, they responded that they saw no purpose in seeking enlightenment anymore."

"At first we thought it might be a crisis of faith," Siddhartha continued. "But then we noticed the monks had stopped doing everything else too. No more debates about scripture, no more joy in copying texts, no more anger at novices making mistakes. They continued eating and sleeping, but..."

"But only because the body remembered it needed to," Harry finished. He pulled apart a piece of the lentils, thinking about what he'd seen. "And after the monastery?"

"Trading caravans brought news of similar cases. A village in the south where people stopped celebrating marriages. A city in the west where musicians forgot why they played music. Each time, the emptiness spread from person to person until entire communities became... like what you saw today."

The restaurant owner brought more food, some kind of spiced vegetables that smelled amazing. He smiled broadly at Siddhartha. "Extra chilies, just how you like it!"

"Thank you, my friend." Siddhartha's eyes crinkled with genuine warmth. "Your cooking brings joy to many hearts."

"Ahhh, now you're just flattering an old man!" The owner laughed. "But keep doing it!" He walked away with a spring in his step.

"See how life should flow?" Siddhartha gestured at the retreating owner. "Pride in work, happiness at praise, friendship formed through small daily interactions... all these little moments make us human. But in those affected places?" He shook his head. "The wheel of emotion stops turning completely."

Harry frowned at those words. The wheel... that connected somehow with what the journal had said about spokes and shadows. "Has anyone recovered? Found their emotions again?"

"No." Siddhartha's expression grew serious. "Once the emptiness takes hold, nothing we have tried can bring back what was lost. Not magic, not medicine, not even the most powerful spiritual techniques passed down through the ages."

"But we do have one lead," Siddhartha leaned forward. "Pythia of the West, one of our newer Immortals, has divined several locations that might hold clues to this mystery."

Siddhartha looked him in the eyes. "That is to say… would you join me in investigating these places?"

Harry's blood ran cold at that name.

Pythia.

The Oracle who had tried to steal his very existence in the future. The one who had created those silver tears, who had attempted to make him into a vessel for her pattern to continue existing...

The spices in the food suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth, and bits of azure flames poured out of his nose and then turned to little clouds of black smoke.

"Soulfire?" Siddhartha's voice cut through the haze of rage. "Your flame speaks of great pain. What memories does this name stir in your heart?"

"Pythia..." Harry forced the flames down with effort. "Let's just say in my time, she and I had a... disagreement about the nature of existence."

"Ahhh… Please do set aside any grievances you hold," Siddhartha said. "Pythia provides invaluable aid to our cause. Whatever conflict exists between you in your time... that future has not yet come to pass. The death of an Immortal now would create ripples through time that none of us could predict."

Harry gripped the edge of the table, watching small scorch marks appear under his fingers. The owner glanced over with concern, but Siddhartha waved him away with a reassuring smile.

"She tried to-" Harry cut himself off, taking several deep breaths. "Fine. You're right. Different time, different circumstances. But I won't meet with her directly."

"The Middle Path teaches us to avoid extremes," Siddhartha nodded approvingly. "Neither complete trust nor total rejection, but a balanced approach to achieve what must be done. Will you help us investigate these locations she has identified?"

Harry nodded and released the table, noting with embarrassment that he'd left permanent burn marks in the wood. He pulled out his pouch to leave some gold for the damage, but Siddhartha stopped him.

"I will handle any repairs needed," he smiled. "Now, shall we discuss where our investigation might lead us?"