Of Shadow, Shine, and Shades

Ch.1 Pain in the Beginning

Harry woke up feeling like he'd been crucioed a dozen times, his arms and legs broken, ribcage crushed, organs squeezed through a colander and his head flattened by a boulder.

He had rarely felt so bad in his life. And he'd been through some excruciatingly painful moments in the past.

The young mage simply lay on the ground, groaning and gritting his teeth to the point they were about to break. He wouldn't scream. Screaming would do no good in his position. But he couldn't move, it hurt too much, and even his thoughts were slow from the pain he'd awoken to. At least he was still holding his Mage's Staff and could feel the other magical artefacts on his person.

Holding his breath the young man reached for his magic hoping to use it to ease his agony and this time he couldn't hold in the scream that tore through his throat into the surrounding darkness. The chaos! Utter chaos had taken control of his magic and even his shields, woven through years of concentration and meditation, were beginning to give in. Knowing he'd regret this later, and briefly wondering if he'd finally go crazy of all the pain, Harry flung himself into the centre of his magic and mind. He had a second of lucidity after which the world dissolved into war and chaos and battle for control. His magic was fighting him – almost as if it did not recognize him – and Harry fought back despite the tormenting agony he was experiencing. The young man was vaguely aware of the screams that were escaping from him but inside his mind and among the pain the outside world and screaming lost their importance. The pain, the battle, the chaos... he could not concentrate on anything else.

The mage fought with every inch of strength he had in him. He was willing the magic to trust him, to remember him, but it wasn't listening. His immense power was working itself into a storm that when Harry would finally tire and retreat – and at this rate it would happen soon – the magic would release itself from his body and tore into the world like a hurricane of destruction. Even in his current state the declared Saviour knew he could never let that happen. He couldn't let his magic hurt innocent bystanders.

His magical core was starting to rip itself apart and the boundaries of his mind had nearly disappeared into the chaotic storm raging inside him. Just few more seconds and he would literally lose both his mind and magic and then nothing would stop the storm from being released. An insane squib could do nothing to help. And that was his only reason for living anymore, right?

In desperation Harry flung his consciousness towards the Living Emerald on his mage's Staff. He was connected – bonded – to it, and it had protected him in the past. The jewel had a will of its own and power of the Earth, accumulated during all the millennia it had spent in the pressure in the bedrock, smothered by the Earth's natural magic. This magic he now trusted to help and save him when he himself was powerless.

Harry let go.

The world turned green. Rumbling echoed in Harry's ears as the magic in the Emerald answered him and washed through his mind and magical core, bringing order into the chaos. It flowed through his body, forcing his tortured limbs and organs past their limits and shaping them to its pleasure, using his veins and arteries as conduits for magic, making it feel like molten fire was coursing through them. Had the tortured man had even a shred of sense left in him he might have wondered what kind of being the Emerald was turning him into. As it was, nothing could reach him in the world of green and earthy power, nerve-racking torment and ear-drum blowing rumbling.

The young man screamed, unable to hold the pain inside. His cries echoed in the cold December night until – mercifully – darkness lay claim on him.

oooOOOooo

The morning sun's first rays were what the ruffled mage woke up to. It was freezing – he was freezing – and a thin layer of snow coated the earth. How he was still alive, Harry could not understand. He tried to move his battered body but the pain was great enough to draw a whimper out of him. He blinked away tears, focusing on the Staff pulsing under his left hand. He was almost afraid to reach for his magic but he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.