Young Celestial Wizard [Celestial Grimoire, Harry Potter]

2nd of May, 1986.

The spring breeze ruffled Harry's golden feathers as he soared through one of Hogwarts' many open corridors. Flying was still the best thing ever, even after doing it for years. He liked how the castle looked different from up here - all the little nooks and passages he couldn't reach as a human were perfect for an eagle.

As he glided past the fifth floor, voices caught his attention. A group of students were huddled around what looked like a frozen suit of armor, frost creeping up the stone walls around it.

"Incendio!" A red-headed boy with a Gryffindor tie called out, orange flames shooting from his wand. The ice hissed but barely melted.

"You're doing it wrong," a girl with brown hair said, pushing up her sleeves. "Professor Flitwick said we need to concentrate the flame more, like this-"

Her spell came out stronger, making the ice crack slightly. She paused mid-cast, looking up as Harry flew overhead. "Hey, look! That's Harry Potter, isn't it?"

"Focus, Lottie!" the red-headed boy said. "This ice is spreading faster than last time..."

Harry circled once more, curious. He'd heard the older students talking about something called a Cursed Vault making ice appear everywhere. It seemed silly that Grandpa hadn't fixed it yet - he could probably melt all the ice with just one spell. But grown-ups were weird sometimes.

Flapping his wings, Harry continued up toward the Astronomy Tower. It was empty this early in the afternoon, which was perfect. He landed gracefully on the stone floor, shifting back to human form and straightening his black robes.

"Much better," he muttered, pulling out his special brown pouch. Uncle Filius had made it bigger on the inside last month, after Harry complained about having to drag his art supplies around in a huge bag. Now everything fit perfectly!

Harry hummed to himself as he set up his easel, making sure it faced the best view of the mountains. The tape Septima gave him helped keep the canvas straight - she'd shown him how to measure the angles properly during maths lessons, though Harry usually just eyeballed it now.

His magical paints came next, all lined up on the palette just how he liked them. The blues that would turn purple, greens that became gold, and his favorite - the silver that slowly changed to pink. The bottles sparkled in the sunlight as he arranged them.

After putting on his special paint smock (covered in tiny moving snitches from Madam Hooch), Harry grabbed his favorite brush. It was shorter than the others, perfect for his small hands. He tested it on a paper towel, then started sketching the mountains lightly.

The view never got boring, even though he'd seen it hundreds of times. Sometimes as an eagle among the clouds, and sometimes just sitting up here with his paints. The cursed ice downstairs was already forgotten as he started on the sky, using soft strokes to make silver clouds that would slowly turn pink as they dried and then slowly cycle between both.

Harry mixed his colors carefully, humming a tune he had overheard from the Frog Choir. Painting was the best thing he'd learned since forever ago - well, except for flying. But flying was different. Flying was freedom and hunting and seeing everything from way up high. Painting was... quiet. Safe. Like when Auntie Min would read him stories before bed.

He dabbed his brush in the shifting silver paint, adding highlights to the clouds. Nearly two years ago, when the strange feeling in his head had told him to pick an art to be talented at, he'd chosen painting without much hesitation. Uncle Filius had been very surprised at how quickly he learned - apparently most kids his age couldn't paint much more than stick figures.

The brush moved smoothly across the canvas as Harry added more detail to the mountains. Painting helped him forget about scary things, like what happened at the Ministry. Like how Draco still couldn't breathe right sometimes. At the last gathering, when Harry had tried to show Draco his newest drawings, the blonde boy had backed away so fast he'd bumped into his father. Then he'd started coughing again, that awful wheezing sound that made Harry's stomach hurt with guilt.

Harry shook his head, focusing back on his work. The magical paints shifted and swirled as he added the final touches - a pair of eagles soaring through the silver-pink clouds, their wings catching the golden sunlight. It wasn't perfect, but it was pretty good for someone who'd only been painting for-

The sound of clapping made Harry jump, nearly knocking over his easel. He spun around to find a girl watching him, wearing Gryffindor robes that looked a bit messy. She felt different from other second-years - more like the older students who practiced dueling after classes. Wait, wasn't she the student he saw earlier using the Fire-Making spell?

"That's amazing!" she said, walking closer to look at the painting. "I'm Charlotte Whitewood. Though I already know who you are, of course - everyone does."

"Thanks," Harry said, relaxing slightly when she smiled. "Do you like painting too?"

"Oh, I'm terrible at it," Charlotte laughed. "But I like to think I'm good at solving mysteries. Like the one about all this cursed ice appearing everywhere..." She glanced at him hopefully.

"The ice is weird," Harry agreed, carefully cleaning his brush. "But Grandpa - I mean Headmaster Dumbledore - doesn't tell me about it. He says it's 'grown-up business.'" He made a face at the last part.

Charlotte sat down cross-legged near his easel. "That must be frustrating. You live here all year round, right? So you probably see lots of interesting things, especially when you're flying."

"Sometimes," Harry said, perking up at the mention of flying. "Last week I saw Peeves putting soap in the fountain, and once I found a room full of bouncing balls! But the ice is boring. It just sits there being cold."

"Actually," Charlotte leaned forward, "the ice isn't always in the same place. It moves around the castle. Maybe next time you're flying, you could keep an eye out? Let me know if you spot any new patches?"

Harry thought about it while packing away his paints. It did sound kind of fun, like a treasure hunt but backwards. And flying was always better than walking anyway.

"Okay," he nodded. "But only if you tell me what you find out too. The professors never tell me anything because they think I'm too little."

"Deal," Charlotte grinned, holding out her hand. "Partners?"

"Partners!" Harry shook her hand. After Charlotte left, he nibbled his lip, glancing at the sunny sky. There was still plenty of time before dinner...

Transforming back into an eagle, Harry launched himself off the tower. The wind ruffled his feathers as he climbed higher, scanning for potential prey. He'd been wanting to try more experiments with his mist ability.

A small sparrow caught his eye, fluttering between the towers. Harry's wings tilted, adjusting his flight path to intercept the smaller bird. Within moments, his talons closed gently around it.

Beating his powerful wings, Harry rose higher into the sky where no one would notice. He released a thin tendril of mist around the sparrow, keeping his grip loose enough that it could still move. The high winds kept dispersing the mist too quickly though, making Harry let out an irritated screech.

He focused harder, trying to keep the mist in place like it had done with those Slytherin students. The mist seemed to respond, clinging more stubbornly around the sparrow instead of dissipating. That was interesting - he hadn't realized he could control where it went before.

Harry tried shaping the mist into a dragon, but it just sort of... gathered. Not quite what he wanted. A sharp "kree!" of surprise escaped him when he noticed the sparrow had gone completely still in his grasp.

Diving down to perch on the Dark Tower, Harry examined the motionless bird with a gentle poke of his talon. No response. Was it dead? But he'd only made it scared with the mist...

His stomach growled softly. Well, he hadn't eaten for the better part of a week, so there's no point wasting good food. Harry grasped the sparrow with his talons and opened his hooked beak to rip off a large chunk of meat before tilting his head back and swallowing it down his throat. Harry quickly finished off the small sparrow, feeling satiated.

Tossing the stripped sparrow off the Dark Tower, he looked toward Dumbledore's office before remembering his Grandpa was probably at the Ministry today. Aunt Min and Uncle Filius would be teaching too... He needed help figuring out how to shape the mist, but the new Defense teacher was still basically a stranger even now.

Movement caught his eye - three Hufflepuff girls walking along the Covered Bridge. Maybe they could help instead?

With a quick hop off his perch, he let gravity pull him into a dive. The wind whistled past his feathers as he swooped down, beating his wings back as he landed on the bridge's wooden guardrail.

The girls screamed, jumping back. One of them nearly dropped her books.

Harry let out an annoyed screech. Couldn't they tell he was friendly? He hopped down from the rail, transforming mid-jump and landing on his feet.

"I need help," he announced, not bothering to introduce himself. Everyone knew who he was anyway - he was the only kid who lived in the castle.

The girls exchanged looks before the one with bright pink hair stepped forward. "Wotcher! I'm Tonks. These are Penny and Chiara," she gestured to the blonde girl and the silver-haired one.

Harry's eyes fixed on Chiara. Something felt weird about her. She wasn't super-dangerous like the professors, but... there was something else.

"Why do you feel funny?" he asked bluntly, tilting his head. "Not funny like haha, but funny like... different."

Chiara's face went white. "I- I don't know what you mean," she stammered, taking a small step back.

"Yes you do," Harry insisted, curiosity making him bold. "You feel like two different dangerous things at once. How come?"

"Please," Chiara whispered, her hands trembling slightly. "It's just... something private. A family thing. Can we not talk about it?"

Harry scrunched up his nose, not liking that answer. But the way Chiara hunched her shoulders reminded him of how scared the other kids looked after the bad wizard attacked. He didn't want to make anyone feel that way.

"Sorry," he mumbled, kicking at the wooden planks of the bridge. "I didn't mean to be mean."

Tonks cleared her throat, glancing between them before her hair shifted to a cheerful yellow. "So what kind of help did you need, Harry?"

"I need help with a spell," Harry said, brightening up. "But it's not a normal spell. It's mine."

"Yours?" Penny asked, adjusting her books. "What do you mean?"

"I can make this mist that scares people," Harry explained proudly. "But I can't make it do shapes yet. It just goes everywhere."

Tonks raised her eyebrows. "Er, Harry... kids your age aren't supposed to do magic yet. You need a wand and everything."

"But I can!" Harry protested. "Watch!"

Before any of the girls could stop him, Harry concentrated hard. A thin wisp of grey mist curled from his fingers, making all three girls step back instinctively.

"See?" Harry said, frowning as the mist dispersed. "But I want it to make cool shapes, like dragons! Can you help?"

Mid-sentence, Harry suddenly froze, his finger shooting up to point at Tonks. "Wait a minute—your hair! It was pink before, and now it's yellow! How did you do that?"

Tonks grinned, her hair cycling through several bright colors. "I'm a Metamorphmagus - means I can change how I look whenever I want."

"That's so cool!" Harry bounced on his toes. "Can you teach me?"

"Sorry kiddo, you have to be born with it," Tonks said. "But about this mist of yours... does Professor Dumbledore know you can do this?"

"Uh huh. Grandpa said not to use it on students unless I really have to," Harry nodded. "But he didn't say anything about practicing with it!"

Penny and Chiara exchanged worried looks, but Tonks seemed intrigued. "Well, most magic needs a lot of focus and practice. Maybe try picturing exactly what you want the mist to do?"

Harry scrunched up his face in concentration. Another wisp of grey mist appeared, slightly thicker this time. He tried to make it look like a snake, but it just wobbled in the air before fading away.

"It's not working," he pouted. "How come your magic does what you want it to?"

"Years of practice," Tonks said. "Plus we use wands to help control our magic better. Maybe you should wait until you're older-"

"But I don't wanna wait!" Harry stomped his foot. "The older kids are mean sometimes and I need better ways to scare them away!"

The three girls looked at each other with concern. Penny knelt down to Harry's level. "Are students bullying you?"

"Not anymore," Harry said proudly. "They learned not to after I showed them my mist. But what if they forget? I need it to be scarier, like a big dragon made of mist!"

Chiara and Penny shared another worried look, but Tonks seemed more interested in the magic itself. Her hair shifted from pink to blue as she thought.

"Hey, squirt - before we talk about making scary dragons, how about we try something simpler?" Tonks sat down cross-legged on the bridge, patting the spot next to her. "Come here."

Harry plopped down beside her, swinging his legs through the gaps in the bridge's railing. "But simple stuff is boring."

"Not always," Tonks grinned. "Watch this." Her nose suddenly grew into a duck's bill, making Harry giggle. "See? Simple, but fun. I had to start with easy changes before I could do the cool stuff."

"I guess," Harry mumbled, kicking his feet. "So what do I gotta do?"

"Close your eyes," Tonks instructed. "Now think about something easy - like a ball. Can you picture it?"

"Uh huh. Like the bouncy one Uncle Filius lets me play with?"

"Perfect! Now try making your mist look like that."

Harry screwed up his face in concentration. A thin wisp of grey mist curled from his fingers, wobbling in the air. "It's not working right!"

"You're trying too hard," Penny said gently. "When you draw, you see the picture in your head first, right? Before you put it on paper?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "Yeah! Like when I paint eagles, I think about how I look when I'm flying."

"Try that with the mist," Penny suggested. "Just like painting, but instead of using colors, you're using the mist."

That made more sense to Harry. He closed his eyes, imagining the round bouncy ball Uncle Filius gave him. The mist felt different this time as it flowed from his fingers, gathering into a wobbly sphere about the size of his fist, though it kept trying to drift apart.

"I did it!" he shouted, jumping up in excitement. The misty ball immediately dissolved. "Aww, it broke."

"That was brilliant!" Tonks ruffled his hair. "Way better than my first try at morphing. I got stuck with purple eyebrows for a week."

"Really?" Harry giggled. "Can you show me?"

"Oh no," Tonks laughed. "That memory is staying buried forever. But how about we practice more with your mist? Maybe try making the ball again?"