Son of Magic

Chapter 22

12th December, 1941

Peverell Cottage,

Scotland

It was early in the morning, daybreak a couple of hours away from rising over the clouded, starry horizon.

Harry knew that he should've been at Hogwarts catching up on some much-needed sleep, the bone-deep fatigue he felt promising only to get worse the longer he persisted on standing upright.

He'd already been on the verge of collapse before he spent the entire afternoon and evening reigning in the magic leaking out of him, having not wanted to alarm his company. And while that was typically something he did as effortlessly as breathing, it had suddenly become remarkably harder to keep up.

The power that had filled him when he'd bonded with Excalibur hadn't diminished. If anything, it only grew stronger and more unruly the longer it settled into him.

Harry wasn't accustomed to the tremendous amount of magic coursing through him, constantly cackling under his skin and at his fingertips, begging to be released.

He almost couldn't restrain it, and Harry feared that if he allowed himself to sleep—that if he let go of this vice-tight grip he had on his magic—it would flood out of him in unexpected ways that he didn't fancy testing. So, it wasn't that he didn't dearly crave to rest his head on his soft, feathery pillows and welcome deep slumber like an old friend, but he was afraid.

However, the somewhat expected power boost and his inability to immediately control it wasn't the only thing that kept him awake at these ungodly hours.

There were other gifts that he'd been granted—beyond the reservoir of magic suddenly accessible to him—that were undoubtedly more unsettling.

One of these gifts was a sudden, unforeseen connection he was experiencing. One that had most definitely not been there before, at least, not that he'd been aware of.

This connection, it was profound and infinite. It allowed him to feel everything.

It connected him with every root of every single tree—every blade of grass and flower petal—every river vein that streamed out into the deep oceans—every mountain top and every deepest cave.

Most notably, however, was the connection he felt to each creature that roamed the earth—all types of magical creatures, wizards and witches, muggles, animals.

If he allowed himself to open that door, he could feel them all.

It was all very overwhelming and thoroughly maddening in a way that had him wanting to clamp his eyes shut while pressing his palms against his ears in a futile attempt to block them out.

Everything was just so bright—so unbearably loud.

And his control was slipping further away from him the longer he sat there doing nothing.

Rationally, Harry understood that what he was being allowed to experience was something incredible—something undeniably breathtaking. But it was simply too much.

And then there were the prayers he heard whispered to him, needling into his brain—prayers for clemency and mercy, for aid, for the long departed.

He was drowning under it all, and he had to regularly remind himself to breathe.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

Too many voices calling him.

Too many feelings crushing him.