Son of Magic

Chapter 14

November 29th, 1941

Northwest Scotland

Everything appeared mostly the same. No different than what it had looked like when he'd come here in 1945, not unless you counted the difference in the season. Right then it was winter and most of the trees had already shed some of their coat, leaving behind a soft bed of dried leaves to fertilise the earth. It was a stark contrast compared to the wild colours of spring and summer, but nevertheless it was beautiful, especially the sparse sun rays glistening off the frosted surfaces. It added a layer of quiet wonder to the place that he'd always preferred.

But yes, other than the change in the season everything else was just as he remembered.

The narrow stream that flowed to the south was where it was meant to be, housing hundreds of water creatures along its stretch. Several willow trees had their roots planted alongside the glittering silver stream as if purposefully grown there to protect the river from its wild surroundings.

Willow trees weren't the only trees in sight. Alder, Ash, birch, hazel—trees upon trees wherever his gaze fell, all with large, sturdy trunks towering several feet above his head. Even the air smelt the same, fresh and earthy.

And the cottage was where it was meant to be, looking far too maintained for the hundreds of years that it had been abandoned. Magically enchanted rose vines were trailing up its left side, covering it in a bright weave of white, purple, blue, and red.

If Harry squinted his eyes, he could also make out the blueberry and strawberry bushes that served as a back fence for the small home.

It was unplottable Peverell land that he was standing on, a spot in the infested world that he lived in that was completely secluded with nothing but several hundred acres of pure nature separating him from civilisation.

The first time he'd come to this place was when his darling godson, Teddy, had passed away.

Right after Teddy's funeral, Harry had gone back in time to the beginning of the Common Era. He couldn't really recall why he'd chosen that particular time, but once he'd arrived at his destination he'd craved solitude more than anything else.

Death had told him of this piece of land that was magically bound to him, and so he'd made his way through the forest until he found the perfect clearing to build his cottage in.

He'd spent weeks building the cottage with his own bare hands and no magic. Well, almost no magic. The trees he'd felled were large, and he was but one man.

It had been the right kind of therapy he'd needed after Teddy's passing and had helped him get through the worst of his grieving.

Once the cottage had been built, he'd picked the perfect spot in his back garden and conjured a beautiful, white marble monument, onto which he'd inscribed the names of everyone he'd loved and lost so that he would forever remember them and honour their place in his heart.

The cottage had become a place to remember his humble and simple beginnings—his first life—the life he'd had before he finally transitioned into his immortal existence.

He'd spent about thirty years in this cottage, learning everything there was to know about the mind arts and potions. Thirty years of almost absolute solitude, before he'd then set out on his quest to learn everything else there was to learn about the world he lived in and was chosen to protect.

Over the decades, Harry had stopped by the cottage to check on it, and to pay his respects to the people whose name could be found etched into the marble monument. He'd also come here when he felt the need for comfort, and whenever he needed to remind himself who he was.