Yo,

I'm back with the Next Chapter of Broken Shackles. I will say one thing about this chapter, I don't like how this turned out to be. I rewrote some scenes 5 times, yet they still weren't satisfactory, but seeing I can't better it anymore, I'm giving this to you. Hope it's at least satisfactory.

Next 3 chapters of Broken Shackles (1 exclusive chapter) are available on my pa#tron page. If you like to stay ahead, you can find them there.

Link - patron blackinfinity1289

Before we dive into our newest chap, there is one thing I like to share-

I've made a new discord server where I'll keep on updating sneak peeks of the chapters, character designs, polls and where you can freely talk and ask things regarding my fics directly from me. I'm most active there.

It's a relatively new server, so please show some love!

Link: discord . Gg / SPsSwAcq4b

Remove the spaces.

Name: Black Dawn

Without further ado, let's get started.

Enjoy.

Broken Shackles

Chapter 39

Eclipse of Destiny

7th July 1994

Unknown Location

In a hidden, shadowy corner where he lingered, Voldemort, now a sinister ghostly figure, boiled with quiet anger. His hideout was filled with the dark whispers of abandonment, disrupted by the alarming news in the Daily Prophet. The words seemed to sing of his enemies' victories and illustrate his failed schemes.

The headlines were like insults, each word stabbing at his ghostly self. The news of Sirius's freedom and Pettigrew's exposure weren't just words—they felt like a mockery of his powerless state, telling tales of freedom and betrayal. Every detail seemed to dance mockingly, telling of the return of his enemies and the uncovering of his plans.

Voldemort, a mere shadow of his former self, was enraged by the words, his red eyes flaming, each word a reminder of the vengeance he longed for. Seeing Harry and Sirius together was a painful reminder of what he aimed to destroy. It wasn't just ink and paper—it was a painful reflection of his lonely, cursed existence compared to their happiness and light.

He was filled with scorn and rage as he read about Dumbledore's rising power and Fudge's demise, hinting at growing opposition to his rise to power. Then, seeing Harry's image was a painful reminder of his past defeat and the love that had beaten him. It was a silent promise of another confrontation with the boy who lived.

His whole being was a storm of anger and determination as he absorbed the mocking words, whispering promises of destruction and conquest. Seeing his enemies' images was like a silent announcement of growing unity against him, a consolidation of strength against his darkness.

Voldemort gripped the paper tightly, his eyes blazing, filled with unspoken promises of vengeance and destruction. He was more than a defeated wizard; he was a whisper from the abyss, every part of him resonating with promises of ruin and domination.

Every thought of Harry was like poison, leading to sinister plans, promising the boy's doom. His mind was a maze of past defeats and future triumphs, whispering silent vows of destruction.

However, within this storm, a cold truth became clear—he was limited by his current state, a decaying refuge, battling against the constraints of his temporary form, his ability to inhabit new forms a fleeting defence against ongoing decay.

His gaze sought forgotten magics and hidden rituals, promising his return to power. He envisioned a new body, a suitable host for his immense power, his name becoming synonymous with fear and respect in every land.

"Harry Potter..." he mused, the name being the constant in all his wicked plans, the focus of his darkest desires and secretive schemes.

"He is the key, present in every one of my dark promises and secret plans. He is crucial for my return and rise to power. Both light and shadow will bow to me, and my name will be spoken with fear and reverence. I-"

While immersed in his thoughts of anger, a bright realization hit him, ideas of ancient blood rituals hinted at possibilities of rebirth and unmatched power.

Excitement lit up in his red eyes, "That's right," this newfound knowledge was a beacon of hope in his dark existence, promising his return to power. He was full of eager anticipation, the details of the ritual promised immense power and immortality, whispering tales of worlds bowing before his might.

His mind visualized a strategy, with all his followers ready to move at his command, each step taken was towards his evil rise to power.

The shadows around him seemed to share his joy, echoing his evil schemes, singing the songs of his soon-to-be rule. In this symphony of shadows and whispers, Voldemort saw his path to rebirth, his eyes burning with the thoughts of his dark future.

14th July 1994

Tonks Residence

Two weeks have flown by since Sirius's trial and the subsequent chaos in the wizarding world due to the revealing headlines of the Daily Prophet. Though these events were emotionally tumultuous, life was slowly returning to its regular pace.

Each day brought new knowledge and experiences for Harry. He was deeply immersed in his apprenticeships at Gringotts, learning ancient wisdom and discovering arcane secrets under the watchful eye of his mentor, Grothnark. Every artefact had its story, whispering of past times and long-forgotten battles.

His time in the realm of Magical Security and Warding was equally rich in learning. He was studying the delicate and precise art of protective spells and counter curses, learning from his skilled mentor, Sharphook, who taught him with a combination of ancestral knowledge and new techniques.

The evenings were filled with intense training sessions with Dora, where they both tested their magical combat skills and metamorphmagus abilities. The energy from their spells created invisible, harmonious patterns in the air. Sirius was always there, sharing his experiences and battle strategies, enhancing their training sessions and delighting them with stories from his school days.

Harry also started slowly diving deep into his Ouroborus of knowledge, going through the ancient wisdom his Ancestor had given him. The experience is thrilling. Harry had to suppress his urge to mindlessly continue on it.

Alongside the training, and learning, they were renovating Grimmauld Place, bringing back its old grandeur. Harry, Sirius, and the Tonks family were breathing new life into the ancient house, turning every room into a symbol of a fresh start. Every repaired part of the house was becoming a symbol of hope and resilience, transforming the once dark and decaying place into a warm and loving sanctuary.

Andromeda's delightful cooking with Sibby's help brought comfort to the household, turning dinner times into moments of shared laughter and stories, reinforcing the bonds of family and love.

In this new chapter of his life, Harry was experiencing a harmony he had never known before, surrounded by friendship and family. Each day was filled with learning and personal growth, with every night bringing new hopes and dreams. Harry was stepping closer to becoming the man he was meant to be, surrounded by the vibrant colours of his newfound life.

As he slept, his mind wandered, unravelling future possibilities. He was whisked away into a whirl of joy and celebration, immersed in vibrant colours and the joyful cheers of victory, symbolic of Ireland's triumph. The environment was lively, filled with dances, songs, and the brilliance of fireworks, lighting the night sky.

Harry could see Sirius and the Tonks family amongst the crowd, their faces illuminated with joy. Their laughter and happiness were a soothing presence amongst the magical energy around them, promising new beginnings and hopeful tomorrows.

But this joy was abruptly interrupted by a bang, the once harmonious environment turned into chaos, filled with screams and panic. Harry, even in his spiritual form, could sense the tension and fear in the air.

He felt an urge to help and was navigating the chaos when he noticed a pair of icy blue eyes with faded blonde hair launching spells with precision, battling the dark figures around them. The screams eventually subsided, leaving behind a haunting silence, only broken by the sight of the Dark Mark in the sky, a symbol of terror laughing in the silence.

The sinister scene engraved itself in Harry's mind, symbolizing the ongoing battle between hope and despair. He felt a peculiar pull, drawing him away from this scene, into a more grand and ornate space – it was the Great Hall, but it seemed larger, more detailed.

Suddenly, the Goblet of Fire erupted in light, announcing "Harry Potter." The hall fell into a chilling silence, with all eyes on him, filled with disbelief. Dumbledore's voice broke the silence, calling him again. It felt like a guiding light in this icy silence.

Harry felt a mixture of confusion and concern as he walked towards the antechamber, his mind racing with possibilities. Throughout this journey, he felt the reassuring presence of the icy blue eyes and faded blonde he had seen earlier, whispering secrets of unseen battles.

Before he could interact with this spectral presence, the scene around him changed again, bringing him to a graveyard, surrounded by eerie whispers of Wormtail, chanting dark magic, breathing life into ancient evil.

Harry, grappling with the shocking and horrific visions surrounding him, tried to make sense of the bleak graveyard scene that enveloped his senses. He could hear Wormtail's chanting distinctly, the words conjuring dark, forbidden magics. Each syllable seemed to echo through the night, sending shivers down his spine.

The ambience was thick with a menacing charge, as the moon shone a pale, eerie light upon the scene, illuminating a cauldron with its malevolent concoction simmering within. This site, grotesque yet riveting, whispered of sinister, forbidden secrets. Wormtail's incantations grew louder, promising darkness, and the bubbling concoction seemed to pulsate with anticipation.

"...Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken... you will resurrect your foe."

These words were like a sinister lullaby, sung by Wormtail as he performed the wicked ritual. The air seemed saturated with dark magic, and it felt like the very fabric of reality was being torn, the barriers between worlds fraying, and Voldemort's nightmare was on the verge of being unleashed.

Even as a passive observer in this nightmarish spectacle, Harry could feel the overwhelming, raw power of the ritual. The darkness seemed to touch his soul, sending chills down his spine. He could feel the anger within him, a desire to punish those who dare perform such a dark ritual using him.

The phrase "blood of the enemy" echoed hauntingly in his mind, reminding him of his inescapable connection to Voldemort. His mind raced through the possibilities of rituals that could be conducted.

Harry's heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the rhythm of Wormtail's chants, painting a picture of despair and doom. He could almost taste his blood and feel the sting of the knife, as his connection to Voldemort seemed to strengthen, a silent reminder of the impending doom.

However, Harry could also sense an inner strength and fearlessness within him. His mind provided answers and clarity, revealing the significance of his upcoming rituals and the true nature of his Magical Animagus.

Suddenly, Voldemort emerged from the cauldron, a figure of pure evil. His laugh, cold and cruel, resonated through the graveyard, promising doom and pain. "Harry Potter…" he hissed sinisterly.

Hearing his name, Harry responded with defiance, "You'll die by my hands, Tom," he promised, his eyes shining with resolve. Voldemort's mocking smile met Harry's gaze just before he was whisked away, but he could feel Voldemort's malignant presence lunging forward in predatory anticipation.

15th July 1994

Tonks Residence

Harry jolted awake, the echo of his haunting dream still ringing in his ears, finding himself back in his room in the Tonks' Residence. The dream's remnants clung to him, whispers of unseen battles and dark prophecies lingering in his mind.

He sat up quickly, his thoughts swirling, racing to make sense of the fragmented visions he'd seen. The echoes of Wormtail's chant and Voldemort's sinister laughter still resonated within him, taunting him.

Harry's seer abilities had revealed a future filled with shadows and despair, illustrating the intertwined destinies of him and Voldemort. He understood his connection to Voldemort clearly now, seeing the play-out of their destined confrontations.

Harry's mind began to organise these revelations, forming plans and strategies to navigate the upcoming challenges. He reached for his notebook, quickly beginning to transcribe every detail of his visions, his quill dancing over the parchment, its tip caressed by ink, whispering the echoes of his dreams, etching the unseen dance of shadows and light onto the crisp paper. His hand, guided by the spectral whispers of his visions, meticulously recorded every detail, every shadow, every whisper of the unseen tapestry of destiny.

"Quidditch World Cup - Death Eater Attack," he wrote, the ink weaving the tales of jubilation turned to chaos, of shadows breaking the symphony of lights, etching the sinister dance of the Death Eaters and the Dark Mark into the parchment.

"Sometime in 4th Year - my name coming out of a Goblet full of fire," Harry continued, his words painting the image of the Great Hall, of faces masked in disbelief and cold silence, of his name resonating in the echo chamber of the ancient walls, whispering tales of isolation and incredulity.

"Soon after - probably at the end of 4th year - Dark Ritual of Resurrection by Tom, and he returns," the quill danced to the rhythm of his thoughts, inscribing the haunting imagery of a graveyard bathed in moonlight, of sinister incantations breathing life into shadows, whispering the return of the spectral serpent. However, he didn't add what he heard as his mind decided to silently search for it.

To the side of the parchment, a blur of faded blonde and icy blue emerged, an ethereal image intertwined with the shadows and light of his visions. "Maybe involved in 2 events but against the Death Eaters," he wrote beside the image, the ink whispering the silent battles and the unseen alliances of the spectral warrior.

The world around him faded as he delved deeper into the unseen tapestry, his mind, and soul intertwined with the whispers of shadows and light, etching the symphony of the unseen realms onto the parchment, a silent witness to the eternal dance of destiny and free will.

Every whisper, every shadow was meticulously recorded, the unseen symphony resonating in the silence of his room, whispering tales of the labyrinthine paths of destiny and the unseen dance of shadows and light.

Harry stopped, reflecting on what he had seen and leaned in, cross-checking it on the parchment. The visions had granted him a deeper understanding of his path and the upcoming challenges. They were like beacons, illuminating the dark and intricate paths of his future, allowing him to navigate them with newfound clarity and purpose.

As he was giving everything a once over, not noticing the break of dawn and the knock on his door, Harry felt excited. He knew what to expect and he could plan accord- his door burst open, startling him from his inner musings.

In her mounting frustration and concern, Dora forcibly opened the door after her persistent knocking received no response, her presence disrupting the serene focus enveloping Harry. "Why you Harry!" she exclaimed, her voice mixed with worry and irritation. Harry turned to her in surprise.

Her irritation dissolved into shock as she saw the various writings and drawings Harry had created. She was drawn into the words and intricate images, feeling a sense of silent tales of unspoken battles and hidden heroes woven through them. It was like witnessing a silent dance of destiny, a battle between hope and despair.

She felt a resonance with the silent stories, entranced by their detail and the silent story they narrated of unseen worlds revealing a dance of fate, shadows, and light. Harry looked up, locking eyes with Dora, their connection deep and silent. He visibly gulped. He was never caught till now when he was scheming his plans and there was the risk of Ted and Andy knowing and getting concerned about his safety.

Desperate to do anything Harry rolled the parchment as he spoke "Dora, we are going somewhere, come," his voice carrying a hint of urgency as he grasped her hand. Before anyone could walk in, Harry shut the door, locked it and with a pop, they were gone.

Dora, her mind swirling with thoughts and revelations, allowed Harry to lead her, her eyes reflected a mixture of emotions, shock, concern, and affection. Harry became her good friend in the short span of 3 weeks he's with them, both becoming close in their spars and his training to become a metamorph.

She was surprised when he changed his hair to match hers, the same bubble gum pink a week into his training. Though he made her promise to keep this silent as he wanted to surprise her family, a good prank idea she agreed to.

Though Dora knew Harry was a secretive person, she didn't think he would be doing such things. She can identify 2 very alarming things in those sketches. The Dark Mark and the Dark Lord and also a line beside the dark lord that made her heart skip in worry, "You'll die by my hands, Tom,".

She didn't doubt Harry's abilities. Far from that. She is very confident in his abilities sparring with him every day, but she is concerned about his safety if he madly pursues that and worried about his mental health. She knew Harry was very mature for his age.

Even though they are close, he doesn't misbehave with her or even attempt to do anything that is normally expected of a teen his age. He is a perfect gentleman, strong, charming, wealthy and overall a good man. Her belief in him is as strong as her trust in her parents as both of them faced death once.

She only hoped Harry would be a bit open with her as she is free with him and shares some of the burdens he is carrying. It's not good for a young man to have so many secrets and draw such sketches.

"You know, you are the first to come here," Harry spoke, after what felt like an eternity. As Dora looked around, they were on an isolated island in the middle of nowhere, a salty breeze swaying her hair.

"Harry, where are we?" she asked softly, taken aback by the sudden change in surroundings and scenery.

With a hint of pride and warmth in his voice, he gestured grandly to the majestic building behind him, which appeared out of nowhere for Dora, "Welcome to Potter Manor, a legacy of the Potters, standing tall on Potter Island, off the south coast of England. This imposing structure is not just a building, it's a reservoir of the history and legacy of the Potters." He said grandiosely.

Dora, clearly amazed, her eyes scanning the imposing structure and the lush green surrounding it, finally spoke, "It's magnificent, Harry! It seems like every stone, every tree here holds a story of its own, whispering tales of the past."

A gentle smile played on Harry's lips as he nodded in agreement. "Yes, each room is a silent keeper of stories, of joys and sorrows, victories and defeats. The walls have witnessed the growth and evolution of the Potters through the centuries."

"Master Harry, sir," Twinkly, Harry's elf popped with joy. This is Harry's first time visiting the Castle after keying his blood and magic.

"How are you doing, Twinkly?" Harry asked with a kind smile and Twinkly gave an enthusiastic nod.

"The beautiful young lady beside me is Dora, my good friend. Treat her with respect." Harry said and Twinkly turned to Dora and bowed in respect.

"Understood Master. Do Master and Mistress need anything?"

"Nothing at the moment. I'll let you know if we need it," Harry said and Twinkly gave a happy nod and disappeared.

They walked through the beautifully maintained gardens, the floral fragrance subtly blending with the salt of the sea breeze. "This island, this manor, has been a sanctuary," Harry continued, "a place of learning and reflection, of joy and solace for every Potter."

He gestured towards the vast sea, "The solitude offered by the endless sea has been a silent companion, a muse to the Potters, helping us navigate through our thoughts and decisions."

Dora, absorbing the elegance and the rich history the place radiated, softly asked, "And you, Harry? Does this solitude, this majestic legacy, inspire you as well?"

Harry, gazing at the imposing manor and the endless sea, after a thoughtful pause, replied, "Yes, it does. It reminds me of the legacy I carry, and the responsibility it brings. It whispers tales of courage and wisdom, of love and sacrifice. It helps me find my path in this intricate dance of destiny."

Her eyes narrowed as she understood the true meaning of what he meant. "So what do you want me to do? It's not out of goodness of your heart you brought me here as it's been here for a while." She asked, her eyes changing into icy blue with her hair mimicking the coldness of a glacier.

Harry raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I don't know what you understood from those drawings, so I wanted to talk to you far away from anyone. The things in them are not exactly safe." He whispered silently.

She scanned him for a minute, the majesty of the castle and the island long forgotten. She sighed after a minute. "Then explain. Tell me what they mean and tell me what you are hiding from us, from me." She said in a sharp tone. Harry nodded solemnly.

Harry explained how he got the Jewel from Mira when the Basilisk bit him and explained the abilities of voluntary transfer of that Jewel including his Flying, Shape Shifting and Seer abilities.

Dora, absorbing the revelation, her thoughts swirling in a tempest of realisation and wonder, finally spoke, "So, you are telling me the drawings you drew are what you foresaw?" she asked, her eyes wide in surprise.

With a solemn nod, Harry confirmed, "Yes, those drawings are fragments of the future I've seen. Do you see now why I can't disclose this to Ted, Andy, and Sirius?" His voice held a pleading undertone, seeking understanding.

Dora's gaze softened in understanding, but her tone held a firm resolve, "That doesn't mean you're alone in this, young man," her stern tone mirrored that of Andy's reprimanding visage, warning him not to take her words lightly.

Harry chuckled. "Yes ma'am. But thank you." Harry said with a smile, hugging her in gratitude and relief. He didn't want to burden anyone with such information and Dora's understanding only made him more relieved as she was thinking instead of panicking.

Though taken aback by the sudden closeness and the hug, Dora gave in, a stray tear rolling down her eyes as it's been long since she was this close to someone. Harry became a constant in her life these days - greeting her, sparring with her, learning from her and most of all, accepting her as herself, seeing beyond her metamorphic abilities and her Nymph identity, valuing the person underneath.

And with peace made, they continued to explore the Potter Castle and plan for the fated future with Harry explaining to Dora what the drawings she saw entailed. Dora didn't feel fearful at the mention of Voldemort. If anything, she felt protective. She will keep Harry safe not just as a bodyguard, but as a friend, as Family.

Meanwhile

With Cho

In the warmth of lingering summer, where the days seemed to stretch in a beautiful dance of sunlight and soft breezes, Cho found herself engaged in her own dance of desire and ambition. The ending of her fourth year had left her with a myriad of days full of potential

and growth opportunities.

Cho spent her days immersed in learning and enhancing her magical abilities, her dedication creating a symphony of unwavering commitment and resolve. She had a burning desire to strengthen her spirit and magic to protect and preserve what she held dear.

However, a shadow of forgotten importance loomed amidst her passionate pursuit of knowledge and power. It was like a whisper, a subtle melody of loss and desire, making her journey bittersweet and fueled by unfulfilled yearning.

Despite this shadow, she plunged deeper into the realms of ancient knowledge and power, with her wand moving gracefully, echoing the forgotten whispers of magic, weaving powerful spells. She embraced the arcane, her soul dancing with the elements, becoming one with the eternal rhythm of the universe.

Books whispered their secrets to her, offering tales and knowledge from bygone eras, enlightening her soul with forgotten truths and ancient power. She became one with the wisdom of the past, her soul painted with the vibrant colours of enlightenment and power.

Every day, she pursued her goals relentlessly, her actions and spirit in sync, reflecting her dedication. The natural world was her refuge, aiding her in her quest for self-discovery and empowerment.

While diving deep into her relentless pursuit of knowledge and magic, Cho felt a surprising sense of familiarity. Each ancient word and mystical energy felt like an old friend, whispering secrets her soul somehow already knew.

Every movement of her wand and every whispered spell seemed to echo in her soul, intertwining with her spirit in a harmonious dance. It felt like she had experienced all of this before—a sense of déjà vu painted in magic and wisdom.

As she stood in the rain, the droplets whispering secrets of the sky, Cho found herself moving to another rhythm, one where her spirit intertwined with the essence of the elements. The raindrops joined her in this symphony, guiding her movements, and reflecting the unseen energies of the universe.

In this dance, Cho saw each droplet as a whisper of magic, a silent echo of arcane spells. Her body responded with a grace and agility that seemed to come from the very core of her being, becoming a manifestation of heightened intuition and reflexes. Every movement was in sync with the rain, a harmonious response to the whispers of the elements.

Her movements were fluid, her body and spirit in unison, moving to the rhythm of the rain. Her intuition guided her, her reflexes responding to each whisper of the unseen realm, each droplet a secret echo, harmonising with her spirit, moving with grace and anticipation.

She moved with ease and fluidity, a silent symphony of the soul, whispering secrets she somehow recognized, whispers of familiarity and harmony. Through her dance in the rain, through her union with ancient whispers, Cho found a silent companion in her spirit, a harmonious connection between her being and the magic in the nature.

She danced in symphony with the rain, doing her best to fill the blank in her mind and remember the source for her iron will to be strong. She knew it might be someone important. Her lost love and cherished man.

Though in her quest to understand and master the mystical arts, Cho often felt a puzzling sense of déjà vu, as if she was relearning something once known. This inexplicable feeling made her journey seem like a path walked in another life, adding a layer of mysterious familiarity to her every discovery.

Her moments of doubt and struggle were often punctuated by thoughts of Harry Potter, the boy with emerald eyes, who had become a symbol of hope and perseverance for her. Whenever she felt lost or overwhelmed, the image of his steadfast gaze would anchor her, silently encouraging her to press on. She didn't know why, but his visage filled her with overwhelming positivity to push herself forward.

Her journey, thus, became a canvas painted with silent musings and unspoken bonds, where the whispers of forgotten knowledge and the guiding light of emerald eyes wove a tapestry of determination and exploration.

17th July 1994

Ministry of Magic

Under the gentle touch of the wind and the moon's watchful eye, two figures, identities concealed, moved stealthily through the well-respected halls of the British Ministry of Magic.

Their mission was secretive, each of their actions was like a soft echo blending with the shadows, adding to a quiet, unseen dance as they infiltrated this place of great influence and power.

Their silent manoeuvring was a hidden dance of manipulation in the revered halls, where secrets and power are usually well concealed. The air was thick with unspoken truths and hidden power, and they moved with eerie elegance, their presence unnoticed but impactful, manipulating the Minister of Magic subtly with whispers of persuasion and silent promises.

Every silent whisper and unseen manoeuvre hinted at a larger, more significant plot unfolding, a promise of change and upheaval in the existing order of the magical world. The air buzzed with the silent energy of unspoken promises and hints of a powerful plot, slowly coming together in the shadows.

They navigated through the corridors, shadows whispering around them of a secret plan being orchestrated in this place of power. The echoes of their actions were like soft murmurs of a looming, unseen event, hints of a future defined by shadows and unseen forces of power and control.

The silent whispers spoke of a storm brewing, an event sequence that would reshape the magical world, echoing promises of a future where the unseen and the unknown would define the narratives of power and control.

After they left, with no trace but the silent whispers in the shadows, the air seemed to be whispering secrets of the larger plan being woven in secrecy, echoing tales of the unseen paths being forged and the silent storm that was about to unleash.

And Cut.

That's it for this Chapter, folks. Hope you all liked it. Tell me, what you think of the chapter and story in general.

Any suggestions are welcomed.

I'll eagerly wait for your arrival in the Dawn!

Link: discord . Gg / SPsSwAcq4b

Remove the spaces.

Name: Black Dawn

See y'all in the next chapter.

Black Infinity 1289,

Ja Ne.