Young Celestial Wizard [Celestial Grimoire, Harry Potter]

The next morning, Harry sat cross-legged on a cushy purple pillow in Dumbledore's office, trying his very best not to fidget.

"Now Harry," Dumbledore said, sitting across from him on another pillow, "protecting your mind is a bit like building a castle. But before we can build anything, we need to clear the ground. Do you understand?"

Harry scrunched up his nose. "Sort of? Like when I want to paint something new, I need a clean paper first?"

"Exactly!" Dumbledore beamed. "Today, we're going to practice making our minds clean and empty, like a fresh piece of parchment."

"That sounds boring," Harry complained, already starting to wiggle.

"Ah, but it's actually a game!" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he pulled out what looked like a silver bracelet. "This magical bracelet will help us play. When your mind is nice and quiet, it glows green. If you start thinking too much, it turns yellow. And if your thoughts get very loud and jumbled..."

"What happens then?" Harry asked eagerly.

"It gives you a tiny tickle," Dumbledore demonstrated by tapping the bracelet with his wand. Harry giggled as a slight tingling sensation ran up his arm.

"Let's try for one minute first," Dumbledore suggested, setting an hourglass on the floor between them. "Just sit still and try to think about nothing at all."

Harry closed his eyes tight and tried to empty his head. But thoughts kept popping up like persistent bubbles - what he'd paint later, whether Charlotte had figured out the notebook yet, if Yuumi had caught any mice...

Zap! The bracelet tickled him.

"Maybe try focusing on your breathing," Dumbledore suggested gently. "In and out, like waves on a beach."

Harry tried again, thinking about painting waves. But that just made him excited about trying to paint the ocean, and zap! went the bracelet again.

"This is hard!" Harry opened his eyes with a huff. "Can't I just think about nice calm things?"

"The goal is to think of nothing at all," Dumbledore explained. "Imagine you're floating in space, where everything is quiet and still."

"But space has stars and planets and stuff!" Harry protested. "And magical creatures flying about on moonbeams, and-" Zap!

"Perhaps we need a different approach," Dumbledore mused, stroking his beard. He waved his wand, and suddenly the office disappeared. They were sitting in what looked like a blank white room that stretched forever in all directions.

"Ooh!" Harry's head whipped around, trying to see where everything had gone. "Is this real?"

"It's a special magic room where nothing exists except what we put in it," Dumbledore explained. "Now, close your eyes again. There's nothing here to think about, nothing to distract you."

Harry tried once more, finding it easier in the empty space. For a few seconds, his mind actually felt quiet...

Then he wondered if he could paint a room like this, and zap!

"Very good!" Dumbledore praised, even though Harry hadn't managed more than a few seconds. "You're already doing better than most beginners. Shall we try again?"

"One more try," Harry said, determined to beat his record. He squeezed his eyes shut and pictured his mind becoming as blank as the white room around them.

The bracelet stayed green for nearly ten seconds before Harry was disturbed by the sounds of his body in the quiet space. Zap!

"I think that's enough for today," Dumbledore said, waving his wand to restore the office. "You did very well for your first lesson. Remember to practice making your mind quiet before bed."

Harry hopped up from his pillow, eager to get to breakfast. "Can I keep the bracelet to practice with?"

"For now, yes. But remember - no showing it to the other students." Dumbledore stood up as well. "We wouldn't want them all asking for their own magical tickling bracelets, would we?"

---Nine Months Later, March 1987---

Harry's room in the castle had changed a lot since he'd become talented at painting. The walls were covered in his paintings - some moving, some still. Dragons soared across one wall, while the lake and forest stretched across another. One of his newer works showed the cursed ice knights he'd fought last year, though he'd made them less scary in the painting.

At almost seven years old, Harry was pretty tall for his age, and strong and nimble from all his exercises. His messy black hair refused to stay flat no matter what Aunt Min tried, and his bright green eyes seemed to catch everything.

Harry adjusted his black robes while absently making his mist flow around him. He was glad he didn't need glasses like his father had - Aunt Min had mentioned James Potter was practically blind without them. At least he got his mum's eyes, though thinking about his parents always gave him a funny feeling in his chest. He didn't remember them at all, just what people told him and the few moving photos he had.

The mist formed into three perfect pyramids above his head. He hadn't gotten any offers in many months now from the special words. When he'd asked Grandpa about it, Dumbledore just smiled and said to be grateful for what he already had. Still, Harry couldn't help hoping for more.

At least his firebending was getting better every day. Uncle Filius's precision exercises really helped - just yesterday he'd managed to light all twenty candles in the practice room with exactly the same sized flame. He'd even discovered something new about two months ago! If he pooled more chi in his hands or feet before releasing it, the flames became almost solid, pushing things back instead of burning them. It wasn't as hot as normal fire, but it was probably going to be very useful if he didn't want to hurt someone too badly.

The Hero's Journal was fun to read too. Sometimes it gave him little hints about things happening in the castle. Just last month he was talking with Tonks, Penny and Chiara who were helping a first-year Ravenclaw find her lost cat when the journal mentioned something about "Mister Snuffles' favorite sunny spot." And finding the kitchens had been fun - the journal had written something about "ticklish fruit" and "helpful beings," which confused him until one of his caretakers, Mipsy, explained about the pear painting when he complained that it didn't make any sense.

Harry reached for his pouch in the closet, and something burst out at him. He stumbled back, heart racing - then froze.

It was... himself. But wrong. Powerless. The other Harry looked weak and hurt, blood seeping from a chest wound just like what had happened to Draco at the Ministry. The figure coughed painfully, reaching toward him with shaking hands.

Harry's initial fear faded quickly as his instincts kicked in. Whatever this thing was, it couldn't actually hurt him. He'd gotten pretty good over the years at telling just how dangerous things were, and this... this wasn't dangerous at all.

Harry scowled at the pathetic display before him. A Boggart - he remembered reading about them in one of the books Aunt Min gave him. It was trying to scare him with... himself being weak? Being hurt like Draco was?

"That's not very nice," Harry said coldly, his earlier fear replaced with anger. How dare this weak creature, this thing that couldn't even hurt him, try to use his memories against him? The fake Harry whimpered, still reaching toward him with bloody hands.

His mist responded to his intentions, seeping from his skin in thick coils. Harry directed it toward the Boggart, wanting to show it what real fear felt like. The creature, still wearing his face, tried to change shape again but the mist enveloped it too quickly in a spherical prison.

For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then the Boggart screamed.

The sound made Harry jump back. The mist surrounding the creature began to pulse and writhe, growing darker and thicker. The Boggart kept changing forms rapidly - a wounded Harry, a dementor, a dragon, back to Harry - each form letting out increasingly terrified shrieks.

Harry's satisfaction quickly turned to concern as the amortal non-being thrashed wildly in his mist, its transformations becoming more erratic. This wasn't supposed to happen. The mist was meant to show fears, yes, but the Boggart... it fed on fear. His mist was making it see its own fear, which was making it feed on itself, which his mist was then amplifying.

"Stop!" Harry tried to pull the mist back, but it wasn't listening anymore. The Boggart's screams were getting higher and higher pitched, its form blurring so fast Harry couldn't make out what it was trying to become.

Harry stumbled back as the Boggart's screams reached a pitch that made his teeth hurt. The mist swirled faster and darker, almost black now, feeding off the creature's terror and reflecting it back. His bedroom walls seemed to vibrate with each shriek.

"Please stop!" Harry waved his hands frantically, trying to disperse the mist, but it had taken on a life of its own. The Boggart was spinning in place now, its form a twisted blur of colors and shapes that made his head spin. He could see fragments of things - claws, teeth, blood, darkness - all mixing together in a horrible mess.

Something cracked. Harry looked up to see hairline fractures spreading across his painted walls, the pictures warping and twisting. His beautiful dragon painting split in half as the surface buckled.

The door burst open. "Harry! What's happening-" Flitwick's voice cut off in shock.

"Uncle Filius! Help!" Harry shouted over the noise. "It's a Boggart but my mist- I can't make it stop!"

Flitwick raised his wand, but before he could cast anything, the Boggart let out one final glass-shattering shriek - and exploded. Black smoke filled the room as Harry felt himself being yanked backward by a spell. He landed safely behind Flitwick just as all his paintings shattered at once, raining magical paint and canvas across the floor.

When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left of the Boggart except a small pile of dark ash. Harry's mist dissipated slowly, leaving the room in eerie silence.

"I didn't mean to," Harry whispered, staring at the destruction. His beautiful paintings, months of work, lay in ruins around them. "I just wanted to scare it a little, but then it got scared of being scared and my mist kept showing it more fear and-"

"Breathe, Harry," Flitwick said gently, keeping his wand raised as he examined the ash pile. "Are you hurt?"

Harry shook his head, fighting back tears. "Did... did I kill it?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Flitwick admitted. "I've never seen anything quite like that before. We should get the Headmaster."

Flitwick waved his wand in a rotational pattern. "Reparo!"

The shattered paintings and canvas pieces flew back together, mending themselves seamlessly. Colors swirled and reformed, magical creatures returning to their proper places on the walls. The dragon painting's two halves jammed back together and shook itself, as if clearing away dust, before resuming its majestic flight across the restored wall.

Harry wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sniffling. "They're okay?"

"Good as new," Flitwick assured him, though he kept glancing at the pile of ash. "Now, let's fetch Professor Dumbledore. He'll want to see this."

"Can we clean it up first?" Harry asked, not wanting to get in trouble. "Maybe if we just sweep it away-"

"Harry," Flitwick's voice was kind but firm. "We need to understand what happened here. Your mist spell did something very unusual to that Boggart. The Headmaster should examine it."

Harry nodded reluctantly. He knew Flitwick was right, but part of him just wanted to pretend nothing had happened. His chest felt tight, like when he'd accidentally scared that sparrow to death with his mist last year.

"Could you send your Patronus to tell him?" Harry asked quietly. He didn't want to leave his room just yet, not while that pile of ash was still there reminding him what his power could do.

Flitwick nodded, conjuring his raven Patronus with a flick of his wand. After sending it off with a message, he turned back to Harry.

"Would you like to tell me what happened in more detail?"

Harry sat on his bed, legs dangling over the edge. "I was just getting ready for breakfast when something jumped out of my closet. It turned into... me, but hurt and weak."

He glanced at the pile of ash, then back to Flitwick. "I knew it was a Boggart right away. It wasn't actually dangerous. But it made me angry that it was trying to scare me with that, so I used my mist on it."

Flitwick conjured a small chair and sat down. "And then?"

"It started screaming," Harry said, wrapping his arms around himself. "The mist usually just shows people what they're afraid of, but the Boggart... it kept changing shapes really fast. Like it was getting more scared of being scared."

Dumbledore walked through the doorway then, his star-splattered purple robes swishing softly. His eyes went straight to the pile of ash, eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Most peculiar," he murmured, kneeling down to examine it. "Filius, have you ever seen anything like this?"

"Never," Flitwick shook his head. "The mist spell seemed to create some sort of feedback loop with the Boggart's fear-based nature. It kept escalating until..." he gestured at the ash.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore pulled out his wand and cast several detection spells. "An amortal being should not be capable of death. They simply exist or cease to exist. This is unprecedented."

Harry watched them discuss it, feeling smaller by the minute. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, my boy," Dumbledore turned to him with gentle eyes. "This was an accident, and quite an educational one at that. Though perhaps we should not cast a fear-based spell on an entity that feeds on fear."

"I didn't mean to kill it," Harry said in a small voice. "I just wanted to teach it a lesson."

"Perhaps we can learn from this," Dumbledore said, vanishing the ash with a wave of his wand. "Would you show us your mist again, Harry? In a controlled manner this time?"

Harry nodded, glad he wasn't in trouble. He held out his hand, letting the familiar silvery mist seep from his skin. It pooled in his palm like water made of moonlight.

"Remarkable," Dumbledore murmured, raising his wand. Golden light danced around the mist as he cast detection spells. "Filius, look at how it responds to the Anima Revelio."

Flitwick cast his own spell, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Almost like a Patronus, but... different."

Harry sat quietly while they worked, making his mist form different shapes to keep himself entertained. A tiny hut rose from his palm, complete with a garden and pen. When that got boring, he made it into a stick figure made out of cubes.

The sun climbed higher in the sky as Dumbledore cast spell after spell…

"The composition is fascinating," Dumbledore said after what felt like forever. He stroked his beard, watching the mist swirl around Harry's fingers. "It's not purely magical energy. There's something else... something almost spiritual."

"Like ghosts?" Harry asked, bored out of his mind.

"Similar, yes." Dumbledore shared a look with Flitwick. "The mist seems to share properties with ghosts and soul magic, though how you're creating it..."

"I just do," Harry shrugged, making the mist disappear. "Like how I know when someone's dangerous, or how to transform into an eagle."

"I've noticed more Boggarts in the castle lately," Flitwick mentioned to Dumbledore, his small form perched on the edge of his conjured chair. "Just last week we found three in the third floor classrooms."

Harry's eyes lit up, remembering what his journal had written about another vault connected to fear. He squirmed in his seat, catching Dumbledore's eye. "Grandpa, you know... the thing we talked about?"

"Ah yes," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he caught Harry's meaning. "Perhaps we can investigate that connection another time. For now, I believe you're late for breakfast."

"But what about the Boggarts?" Harry asked, sliding off his bed. "Shouldn't we do something?"

"While concerning, a few extra Boggarts aren't particularly dangerous," Dumbledore assured him. "At least, not under normal circumstances." He glanced meaningfully at the spot where the ash had been.

Harry felt his cheeks grow warm. "I promise not to use my mist on any more Boggarts."