NOVEL NEXT WORLD Chapter 51: Soul Resonance
--- A Few Days Later. June 28th, 1988 ---
"Ready?" Dumbledore asked, that familiar twinkle in his blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. It was a twinkle that suggested he already knew the answer, or at least thought he did.
Harry nodded, settling into the armchair. He'd learned not to fight the process at this point of his training, relaxation let him pick up on the subtle mental nudges far more effectively.
The first probe slipped in, delicate as morning mist, so subtle Harry almost missed it. There - a flicker of interest directed toward memories of yesterday's painting session. He tracked the probe's path, feeling it meander as if simply browsing.
"You're looking at the new fire-lightning piece," Harry said, keeping his voice level. "But that's not really what you're after, is it?"
A second probe brushed memories of Charlotte's healing session, while the first one abruptly shifted, digging into recollections of his Exhibition preparations.
"The healing was a decoy," Harry continued. "You're actually searching for… ah, my conversation with the Grey Lady."
"Very perceptive," Dumbledore's mental touch grew even lighter, almost a feather-tickle. "Though perhaps-"
"There's a third probe," Harry interrupted, catching a whisper-soft presence examining childhood memories. "That's new. You've never gone for multiple time periods at once."
The probes' presence was nearly imperceptible, each so subtle that tracking them demanded intense focus. Harry glimpsed one second ahead with his Inner Eye, anticipating movements as best he could without straining himself too much.
"The Exhibition memories are shifting toward my training with Nicolas," Harry reported. "The healing probe splits into two, both moving faster now. And the childhood one..." He frowned. "That one vanished completely."
"Are you certain?" Dumbledore asked mildly.
Harry's eyes snapped open. "It didn't vanish. The probe's texture changed – it started pretending to be my own thoughts. That's why I lost track of it."
"Indeed." Dumbledore smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. "Perhaps we should stop for today. You've managed to track increasingly subtle probes while remaining aware of your own thoughts. Quite impressive, really."
"Though perhaps," Dumbledore added, reaching for a tin of sherbet lemons, "you could explain what gave the third probe away? Most would struggle to even feel one like that, let alone track it."
Harry accepted a sweet, considering the question. "The childhood memories felt… warmer, I guess? Like someone was viewing them with fondness, not just analyzing them." He unwrapped the sherbet lemon. "That's how I knew it wasn't my own thinking. I don't usually get sentimental about memories while defending against mental probes."
"Good, good," Dumbledore clapped twice. "Emotions often betray even the most skilled Legilimens. Now, I believe you have an appointment with the Room of Requirement?"
"The Grey Lady's helping me prepare for the Exhibition," Harry explained, standing up. "She knows so much about art from different time periods."
"Indeed?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Helena rarely takes such interest in students."
"She said I remind her of her mother sometimes." Harry paused at the door. "Though I'm not sure if that's a good thing."
"Perhaps you should ask her," Dumbledore suggested. "Though do remember - even ghosts can be surprised by new perspectives."
Harry nodded and slipped into the corridor, where Chrysa waited patiently. The Nemean lion cub, having long grown bored of watching them both stare at each other for so long, refused to stray far from Harry. Together they headed towards the seventh floor, passing students making their summer vacation plans.
Harry stopped mid-step, green eyes darkening as words popped into his mind. This offer felt different, heavier somehow. The CP cost was higher than anything he'd seen before, even the Elixir of Life.
[Blessed with Fortune - Gourmet Of Another World] – Costs 400CP, 450CP available to spend.
There are a number of factors that can be used to determine the strength of an individual. One of the more mysterious factors is fortune. This perk grants you luck on par with the best children of heaven. Whether it's your luck in general or finding ancient inheritances it truly shines brightly. Similarly anything that relies on chance such as the Flatbread of Primeval Chaos will be far more beneficial. For example, you would be far more likely to receive permanent abilities and to gain stronger abilities from consuming it. Other opportunities and events that are reliant on the user's luck will be affected similarly.
Chrysa nudged his hand with a wet nose.
He leaned against the cool stone wall, the choice turning over in his mind. Luck versus skill… it felt almost insulting at first. He'd worked hard for everything he'd gained, spent hours upon hours honing control. Why depend on chance?
But then, a memory - Felix Felicis, gleaming like liquid gold in his potions book. That potion proved luck was a real force, not just an abstract concept. And this wasn't just about luck, was it? The name specifically said Fortune…
"Fortune," Harry murmured, fingers finding Chrysa's favorite spot behind an ear. The word resonated in different languages in his mind. Fortuna - the Roman goddess of destiny. Tyche - the Greek embodiment of chance and prosperity. Yuanfen - the Chinese principle of fated connections…
Not just luck. This was something deeper, the force guiding paths, deciding which doors opened and which remained closed.
Would refusing this be like trying to paint blindfolded? Or worse, like ignoring opportunities that might otherwise appear?
"What do you think, girl?" Harry asked Chrysa, scratching behind an ear. "Is it cheating to accept help from Fortune herself?"
The Nemean lion just purred, radiating contentment. Harry smiled slightly. Maybe that was answer enough. He'd accepted other gifts, after all. His artistic talent, his enhanced mind - those hadn't been purely earned either.
"Yes," he decided firmly. "I accept."
Nothing changed. But Harry hadn't expected it to, Fortune was a concept that couldn't be directly felt, after all.
The Room of Requirement's door appeared after his third pass on the seventh-floor corridor, smooth wood gleaming in the torchlight. Harry pushed it open to find a very large space - mountains rose in one corner while mist-filled valleys stretched toward the opposite wall. The ceiling opened into a storm-dark sky where lightning struck between clouds.
Harry stepped into the shifting landscape, Chrysa padding silently beside him. Azure flames burst from his fingertips, forming the base structure of a mountain range while fear mist rolled through imagined valleys. Lightning sparked between carefully placed chi points, illuminating the scene in brief, brilliant flashes.
"Not enough," Harry muttered, letting the creation dissolve. "The pieces work together but..." He thought back to L'Académie Lumière, where paintings sang with magic that reached beyond mere visual appeal. One piece had made him taste childhood memories, while another filled the room with the scent of spring rain.
He tried again, this time placing delicate ribbons of flame through banks of mist. The effect looked impressive - blue fire cutting through grey fog while lightning punctuated key moments. But it remained just that: impressive-looking. No deeper resonance, no magical interaction with viewers.
"Maybe if I..." Harry concentrated, willing the mist to take more solid forms. Animals formed from the fog - deer drinking from streams of azure flame, birds soaring through lightning-lit skies. Yet something still felt missing.
Chrysa let out a long yawn, settling against the wall. The Room, ever obliging, molded a soft cushion beneath the cub, then conjured tiny butterflies of light that danced just out of reach. The Nemean lion batted playfully, a soft meow escaping her.
Harry watched this casual display of interactive magic, frustration tightening his jaw. "That's precisely what I need," he muttered, pacing, flames flickering in his wake. "But how? I can't rely on magical paints or enchanted canvases. What I want to create exists purely as energy…"
A stray butterfly light drifted toward Harry's latest attempt at combining mist and flame. He barely noticed, too focused on trying to make the intertwine in better ways. The light passed through a tendril of fear mist, and for a brief moment, the butterfly's light dimmed with what seemed like... fear. Harry blinked. That shouldn't be possible - the Room's creations weren't alive, couldn't feel emotions.
Yet as he watched, the butterfly's flight became erratic. More butterflies approached the mist, each one reacting differently - some grew brighter in response, others dimmed, a few changed colors entirely.
"Wait..." Harry stepped closer, studying the interaction. The mist wasn't just affecting the butterflies' appearance - it was changing how they moved, how they responded to the environment. Almost as if...
"The Room has a soul," he breathed, the realization striking like lightning. "Not a human soul, but something built from centuries of requirements, desires, and dreams." He remembered Helena's words about how the Room had grown beyond Rowena's original intent.
Harry conjured more mist, watching intently as it spread through the space. The Room's responses became clearer - areas of light and shadow shifted subtly, temperatures changed, surfaces transformed. The mist wasn't just touching a single soul anymore, but interacting with thousands of layered impressions left by generations of students.
"That's what I've been missing," Harry whispered. "The mist doesn't just create fear - it reveals what souls already contain." He thought back to the Boggart incident, how the feedback loop had grown out of control. "It magnifies what exists beneath the surface..."
Chrysa meowed, drawing his attention to where she'd been playing. The butterfly lights had merged with his mist, creating luminous shapes that carried emotional weight. Joy, curiosity, wonder - all the feelings previous students had experienced in this room now sparkled in the air.
"The offer's name was Mist: Phobia… Fear was just the initial form!" Harry's eyes were opened wide. "The mist resonates with souls, amplifies what they hold..." He grinned wildly now. "Which means if I can control that resonance..."
Harry directed tendrils of mist toward different butterflies, watching each reaction carefully. A golden butterfly carried the pure joy of a student who'd found exactly what they needed. When the mist touched it, the butterfly's light grew warmer, radiating happiness that filled the nearby air. Another butterfly held determination - a memory of someone practicing spells until they succeeded. The mist amplified that drive, making the butterfly's flight become focused and direct.
"More," Harry whispered, and the Room obliged. Hundreds of butterflies appeared, each one carrying a single strong impression. Excitement from finding Knuts, peace from finding quiet study spots, triumph after mastering difficult magic...
"What are you doing?" Helena Ravenclaw drifted through a wall, observing the scene with raised eyebrows.
"The mist doesn't create fear," Harry explained rapidly, barely glancing up. "It magnifies what already exists in souls. Look-" He guided some mist toward a butterfly shining with curiosity. The light grew brighter, more inquisitive. "See? The Room preserved these impressions, and the mist brings them to the fore…"
Helena frowned slightly. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow. These are merely enchanted lights…"
"No, they're memories. Feelings. Traces of everyone who's ever used this room." Harry gestured excitedly. "The mist resonates with souls - or in this case, soul-impressions - and amplifies whatever emotion dominates them."
The Grey Lady watched silently as Harry continued experimenting. Over the next hours, he refined his control, learning to adjust how strongly the mist amplified each emotion. Some butterflies now radiated gentle contentment while others blazed with fierce determination.
"Soul Resonance Mist," Harry declared finally, watching the amplified butterflies fly through the air. "That's what this really is. Not fear mist at all."
But something still nagged at him. The butterflies worked perfectly because they each carried just one strong impression. But real souls were far more layered, filled with countless emotions and memories. And more importantly...
"The mist needs direct contact," Harry muttered, shoulders slumping slightly. "It can't affect anyone unless it physically touches them. That won't work for an exhibition piece - I can't just spray mist at everyone who views my art..."
"Perhaps another approach..." Helena suggested gently. "The butterflies are merely enchanted constructs, after all."
Harry slapped the side of his head. "No, that's exactly it! The butterflies proved something crucial." He started pacing. "They don't just contain emotions - they radiate them when amplified. Which means..."
He stopped abruptly, green eyes widening. "The Soul Resonance Mist resonates with emotions and amplifies them. But I've never..." A short laugh escaped him. "I've never tried using it on myself."
"Mr. Potter?" Helena drifted even closer, hovering a hand above his shoulder.
"Think about it," Harry said, more to himself than to her. "Soul. Resonance. The mist doesn't just amplify emotions - it creates a connection between souls, mine and theirs." He took a deep breath. "So what happens if I resonate with my own Hun first?"
Before Helena could object, Harry surrounded his head in Soul Resonance Mist. He closed his eyes, deliberately relaxing every muscle. His breathing slowed as he cleared away all thought, all worry, all expectation.
"Harry Potter, what are you-" Helena started.
"Shh," Harry murmured. "Just... staying calm."
Chrysa pushed against his leg with one paw. Harry maintained his peaceful state.
Calm.
Deeper calm.
When the tranquility filled every corner of his mind, Harry directed the Soul Resonance Mist to amplify that peace. The sensation grew stronger, wrapping around him like a warm blanket until he nearly drifted off to sleep.
Then, carefully, he reversed the flow. Instead of getting lost in it all, he pushed the amplified tranquility back into the mist itself.
Harry opened his eyes and guided the mist away from his head. The grey fog now glowed with soft blue light. More than that - it radiated peace outward, touching souls with just the faintest brush of serenity.
Helena and Chrysa stared at the transformed mist. The Nemean lion's tail had stopped twitching, while the ghost stilled completely.
"It works both ways," Harry whispered in wonder. "The mist doesn't just amplify emotions it finds - it can carry them too."
He created another batch of mist, this time focusing on his wonder at discovering something new. The fog took on a silvery sheen, radiating curiosity that made even Helena lean forward slightly.
"Interesting," the Grey Lady murmured. "Though I must ask - are you certain this is safe?"
"Safer than just fear, anyway," Harry said, a thoughtful tone to his voice. "And look—" He carefully guided the two mists together. Where the silvery wonder and the peaceful blue met, they swirled, creating an entirely new shade, like a watercolor painting coming to life. "They blend, almost like paints."
Chrysa padded over, sniffing at the merging mists. The lion cub's eyes grew heavy, a sleepy contentment settling over it as the peace mixed with curiosity.
"But this is just the beginning," Harry said, ideas already bubbling up. "If I can infuse different emotions into separate streams..." He paused, remembering the art he'd seen at L'Académie Lumière. "What if each piece told a story through feeling, rather than just through sight?"
Azure flames sprang from his fingertips, quickly shaping themselves into a tree. Branches reached towards an imagined sky, while roots spread deep into the floor. Different colors of mist flowed through the structure – peaceful blue in the roots, curious silver in the trunk, and further up, into the branches…
Harry closed his eyes again, thinking of flying as an eagle. The pure joy of soaring through clouds, wind rushing past wings. When he opened them, golden mist streamed from his hands, carrying that exhilaration into the tree's highest branches.
"The emotions are guiding each other," he grinned. "Peace anchors the roots, wonder drives the growth, and joy reaches towards the sky." Lightning crackled between the branches, illuminating every shift in feeling. "It's not just art anymore - it's experience itself."
Over the next hour, Harry refined the technique. Each emotion required perfect clarity before he could infuse it into the mist. Doubt or confusion created muddy colors that failed to resonate properly. But pure feelings? Those sang through the fog like sunlight through stained glass.
"Mother would have appreciated this approach," Helena observed as Harry crafted a small scene - a moonlit lake where different shades of mist rippled across azure flames. "She always said magic was best when perfectly understood."
"I definitely get that now," Harry smiled, guiding streams of tranquil blue beneath the lake's surface while silvery wonder flew above. "It's not enough to just feel something. You have to understand exactly what you're feeling and why."
Lightning sparked across the lake's surface, making the mist swirl in new ways. Each flash revealed deeper layers of emotion - like memories hiding beneath conscious thought in his Occlumency practice.
"The Exhibition piece..." Harry stepped back, letting the lake scene dissolve into colored mist. "It needs to tell a story everyone knows, but through feelings they might have forgotten." He turned to Helena. "What's the most important thing you've learned in all your centuries here?"
The Grey Lady considered this, a long pause stretching out between them. "That wisdom comes in many forms," she said eventually. "Some seek it in books, others in friendship. Some find it through triumph, others through loss." A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "Much like your mist, perhaps - the same truth can resonate differently within each soul."
Harry nodded slowly, an idea beginning to form. "Then that's what I'll show them. Not just pretty lights or clever magic…" He raised his hands, multiple streams of differently colored mist flowing between them. "But how it feels to discover something wonderful for the very first time."
oo0ooOoo0oo
Evening had fallen over Hogwarts by the time Harry left the Room of Requirement. Chrysa padded alongside him as they headed towards the Great Hall, both ready for dinner after the long practice.
Two Ravenclaw students stopped mid-conversation as Harry rounded the corner. He saw a piece of parchment being hastily stuffed into a bag before they hurried away, avoiding his eyes.
"Harry!" A second-year Hufflepuff called out, then seemed to lose their nerve when he looked her way. She stammered something about homework and practically ran down the corridor.
More whispers followed him down the main staircase. Not the usual whispers about being the Boy-Who-Lived or his wandless magic. These were different, with an undercurrent of something he couldn't quite place.
A group of third-years huddled near a window, heads bent over what looked like a letter. One glanced up, saw Harry watching, and quickly folded the parchment out of sight.
"Did you hear about-" Harry caught fragments of conversation as he passed. "My aunt says..." "...might be able to..." "...worth asking, at least..."
Chrysa growled softly at a sixth-year who stepped forward as if to approach, then thought better of it. The student backed away, but kept stealing glances at Harry while whispering to friends.
By the time they reached the entrance hall, Harry felt distinctly unsettled. The usual stares and pointing he could handle - he'd grown up with those. But this felt different, like everyone knew something he didn't.
The Great Hall buzzed with conversation, though several heads turned as Harry made his way toward the staff table. He caught Aunt Min frowning at a group of students who quickly hid something under the Hufflepuff table.
"Everything alright?" Charlotte asked as he passed the Gryffindor table. She'd been watching the odd reactions too.
"Not sure," Harry admitted. "People are acting strange."
"Stranger than usual, you mean?" She smiled, but something in her expression seemed off.
Before Harry could ask what she knew, Uncle Filius called him over to discuss Exhibition preparations. Yet even as they talked about magical art, Harry noticed the tiny professor glancing toward the student tables more often than usual.
A barn owl swooped through an open window, dropping a letter near a first-year Gryffindor. He opened it eagerly, then stared straight at Harry with an odd look in his eyes.
"Perhaps we should continue this discussion in my office," Filius suggested, also noticing the staring from multiple students.
Harry nodded, but movement near the entrance caught his eye. Merula Snyde stood in the doorway, watching everything with an unsettling smile. When she noticed Harry looking back, she raised an eyebrow and disappeared into the corridor.