Young Celestial Wizard [Celestial Grimoire, Harry Potter]

Before leaving, Perenelle insisted Harry change into his best robes - which admittedly weren't very impressive compared to what he'd seen some people wear at the yearly gathering at the Ministry. Nicolas disappeared upstairs and returned looking like a completely different person. His centuries-old appearance had transformed into that of a distinguished gentleman in his late forties, silver hair neatly styled and face carrying just a hint of dignified wrinkles. The only trace of his true age was a slight stiffness in his movements, as if his body wasn't quite sure how to be young again.

"Self Transfiguration?" Harry asked, remembering hearing about it from some of the older students a year ago.

"Human Transfiguration," Nicolas corrected with a slight smile. "More permanent than other options, though it does take some getting used to. It's only superficial, so it's not something people can rely on for too long. Especially not Perenelle and I…"

Perenelle joined them moments later, her ancient appearance replaced by that of an elegant blonde woman. Like her husband, there was something slightly off about her movements - too precise, too careful.

They gathered around the fireplace, and Nicolas handed Harry a pinch of golden Floo powder. "We'll be going to Place Cachée."

Harry had used the Floo network before, so he threw in the powder and spoke clearly. The flames turned a brilliant green, and he walked into a space so vast it made Diagon Alley look like a narrow corridor in comparison. Sunlight streamed through enormous glass domes overhead, illuminating wide boulevards lined with numerous shops. The architecture reminded him of the paintings he'd seen of Paris, all cream-colored stone and graceful arches.

"Rather different from London, isn't it?" Perenelle said as she and Nicolas stepped out of the Floo Point behind him. "Place Cachée was built during the height of magical France's golden age. The founders wanted to make a statement."

Harry stared at the magical district, eyes wide as he tried to take in everything at once. Unlike the cramped, cozy feel of Diagon Alley with its winding paths and overlapping shops, Place Cachée felt deliberately planned. The wide streets formed a star pattern, all leading to a central plaza where a golden fountain sent streams of multicolored water dancing through the air.

"First things first," Perenelle said, placing a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. "We simply must get you some proper clothes. Those robes have seen better days, and you're growing so quickly."

Nicolas chuckled. "I'll leave this in your capable hands, my dear. You've always had the better eye for fashion."

While they walked along the side of the central plaza, Perenelle pointed out various establishments. "That's Bibliothèque Mystique - they have a long history in France. And there's Jardin des Potions, where we occasionally get our rarer ingredients..."

She steered them toward a large storefront with windows that somehow showed different outfits to each person who looked through them. The sign read 'Maison Capenoir' in flowing golden script.

"Ah, Maison Capenoir," Perenelle said warmly. "We've been coming here since before young Maurice's great-grandfather took over the business. Must have been... oh, 1740s?"

A bell chimed softly as they entered the shop. The interior reminded Harry of some of the paintings at Hogwarts, with dark wood panels and mirrors that adjusted their height to perfectly frame whoever stood before them.

The shop attendant hurried forward, bowing deeply to Perenelle. "Madame, welcome to Maison Capenoir. How may we serve you today?"

"My young charge requires a complete wardrobe," Perenelle said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's shoulder. "Something befitting his station, naturally."

Harry noticed how Perenelle's fingers trembled slightly despite her elegant poise. She guided him toward a raised platform surrounded by mirrors.

"Arms out," Perenelle instructed, and Harry complied while measuring tapes flew around him. "No, no," she said to the attendant who'd brought over some sample robes. "Those colors won't do at all. Something in deep blue, perhaps? And absolutely nothing with moving patterns - we're not dressing a circus performer."

Nicolas had settled into a plush chair near the fitting area, and he pulled out a small notebook to occupy himself.

"Stand still, dear," Perenelle said, examining different fabric swatches. "The way you present yourself matters greatly in the world. Now, what do you think about this shade of grey?"

Harry sighed and tapped his foot against the wooden platform, already bored of standing still while Perenelle debated fabric choices with the increasingly flustered attendant. With a small gesture, he summoned the representation of the Hero's Journal from his Hun soul, the leather-bound book appearing in a brief flash of golden light.

He'd barely opened it to the latest entry when movement caught his eye. A girl about his height with silvery-blonde hair approached, watching him with undisguised curiosity.

"Are you starting at Beauxbatons next year too?" she asked.

"No," Harry replied, closing his journal. "I'm just visiting Paris for the day."

"Oh." She tilted her head slightly. "I'm Fleur Delacour. Are you getting fitted for school robes anyway?"

"I'm Harry Potter, and no. My… guardian just insisted I needed new clothes."

Fleur's expression shifted from friendly to skeptical. "Harry Potter? Like the Boy-Who-Lived?" She let out a small laugh. "That's not very funny. Harry Potter lives in Britain, and he's only seven. You look the same age as me, and he wouldn't even know French."

"I am seven," Harry said, feeling slightly irritated at being called a liar. "And I do live in Britain. At Hogwarts, actually. Normally."

"Right," Fleur drew out the word. "And I'm Perenelle Flamel."

Harry snorted at that, and held up his hand, letting a small sphere of blue flame float above his palm. "See?"

To his complete surprise, Fleur merely harrumphed and created her own flame - a red fireball hovering above her fingers. "What does that prove?"

Harry stared at her fire, then back at his own. "You can make fire too?"

"Of course I can make fire," Fleur said with an exaggerated eye roll. "Everyone learns that trick. It's like learning to tie your shoes."

Harry frowned, his blue flame flickering slightly brighter. Something felt off about her casual dismissal - the way her eyes kept darting to his blue flame despite her pretended disinterest. His instincts stirred, telling him she posed absolutely no threat. The familiar sensation of knowing he could easily defeat someone usually brought comfort, but this time it just made him more irritated.

"Everyone, huh?" Harry let his flame flow between his fingers. "Then you wouldn't mind showing me how you learned it?"

"It's too simple to explain," Fleur waved her hand dismissively, though her red flame wavered slightly. "Like asking how to breathe. You just do it."

The old familiar feeling crept back - the one he'd worked so hard to control at Hogwarts. The urge to demonstrate exactly how wrong someone was about their own weak capabilities. He pushed it down, but couldn't quite keep the edge out of his voice.

"You're lying," Harry said flatly. "Normal people can't make fire without wands. And they definitely can't maintain it like this."

Fleur's cheeks flushed pink. "Well, maybe you're not as special as you think you are, Mr. Pretend-To-Be-Harry-Potter."

Harry felt his temper rise further. He knew he could end this conversation instantly by proving exactly who he was and what he could do. The urge to do so prickled at the back of his mind, stronger than it had been in many months. He had done his best to put this side of him away, because he wanted the professors to be proud of him…

"Children," Perenelle's voice cut through the tension. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion without the fire? We wouldn't want to singe the new robes."

Harry extinguished his flame first, followed reluctantly by Fleur. A tall, elegant woman approached them, her silvery-blonde hair matching Fleur's.

"Fleur," the woman said with a slight frown. "What have I told you about provoking strangers?"

"But Maman, he started-" Fleur began.

"I saw enough," her mother interrupted. She turned to Perenelle with an apologetic smile. "I am Apolline Delacour. I hope my daughter hasn't caused too much trouble."

"Not at all," Perenelle smiled as she said this. "Though I must say, it's quite remarkable to see such control over her innate magic at her age."

"Yes, though some of it comes naturally to our family," Apolline said, glancing at her daughter. "But I don't believe we've been properly introduced?"

"Perenelle Flamel," Perenelle said, and Harry noticed how Fleur's eyes widened slightly. "And this is Harry Potter, who is staying with us for a short while."

Fleur's face reddened. "But... he really is...?"

"Yes, and I believe you owe him an apology," Apolline said firmly.

"Sorry," Fleur mumbled, not quite meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry shrugged. "It's fine. But how did you make that fire? I've never seen anyone else do it without a wand."

"We're part Veela," Apolline explained. "Fire comes naturally to us, though Fleur is still learning control."

The measuring tapes finally finished their work, and the shop attendant hurried off with the numbers. Apolline apologized once again, and excused herself to handle her own business, leaving Fleur standing awkwardly near the platform.

"So," Fleur said after a moment, "you really live at Hogwarts?"

"Since I was little, yeah." Harry stepped down from the platform. "Though this is only my second week in France."

"Better than Britain, isn't it?" Fleur smirked, some of her earlier confidence returning. "Beauxbatons is much nicer than Hogwarts too."

"You haven't even started there yet," Harry pointed out. "And Hogwarts is amazing. We have moving staircases and secret passages everywhere."

"Beauxbatons has gardens that sing and fountains that dance," Fleur countered, ignoring his remark entirely. "And their uniforms aren't boring black robes."

"But why do you look my age?" Fleur asked curiously, her head tilting slightly. "I thought you were supposed to be seven."

"I am seven. Probably just the way I am?" Harry shrugged, but the question made him pause. He hadn't really thought about it before, but she was right - he did look older than seven. His growth had accelerated after he had accepted the firebending offer, hadn't it? The way the chi flowed through his body, strengthening and refining... but was that the whole reason? Maybe the Hun and Po Souls had a hand to play in it as well?

Before he could think deeper on it, Perenelle returned with an armful of clothes in various shades of blue and grey. "Here we are. These should suit you nicely, Harry."

Harry met Fleur's shocked blue eyes. His vision darkened slightly, and he felt the familiar feeling of an offer approaching.

[Soothing Sunlight - Dark Souls: Covenants] – Costs 200CP, 250CP available to spend.

To stand before the Princess of Sunlight is a wondrous thing, for her very presence is a soothing balm in these uncertain times. In a physical manifestation of this metaphorical quality, you can unleash a wave of divine energy that shall heal yourself and those near you.

Harry considered the offer for barely a moment before accepting. Charlotte's cursed scars flashed through his mind - maybe this could help her.

The moment he accepted, something unprecedented happened. His Hun soul resonated with... something vast. It felt like standing in an endless cathedral built from whispered stories and candlelit prayers. Not individual thoughts or voices, but the pure distilled essence of belief itself.

Every time someone had spoken his name with hope. Every glass raised in thanks that Voldemort was gone. Every parent telling their child about the Boy-Who-Lived. All of it had left traces, like spiritual fingerprints that had slowly accumulated into an ocean of liquid light that sang in harmony with his Hun soul.

Harry's consciousness expanded outward, touching this reservoir of faith. It wasn't raw power waiting to be seized, but rather something that naturally flowed toward him. His Hun soul acted as a lens, focusing and refining this collective belief into something purer.

Meanwhile, his Po soul anchored him firmly to physical reality. Without it, Harry felt he might have dissolved into that sea of light. Instead, the two parts of his soul worked in perfect balance - one reaching toward heaven, one rooted in earth, creating a bridge between divine and mundane.

Just like how his blue flames came from balancing Yin and Yang, this new power seemed to work on multiple levels at once. The collective belief of the wizarding world wasn't just energy - it was a form of natural law, like space or time. People's faith in "The Boy Who Lived" had created something real, something that existed whether he wanted it to or not.

"Are you alright?" Fleur's voice seemed to come from very far away. "You're glowing…"

Harry barely registered Fleur's question about his glowing. He couldn't help but think back to one of the books from Grandpa he had read yesterday about Taoism. The Way that could be named wasn't the eternal Way - and this new power definitely couldn't be named in truth. It flowed like water but burned like fire, yet was neither. The faith of many thousands had crystallized into something beyond normal magic or chi.

"Harry?" Perenelle's voice cut through his thoughts. She reached for his shoulder, but before she could touch him, the power surged.

A wave of golden-white light burst from Harry's body, shining over everyone in the store. Where it touched, minor aches and pains vanished. An elderly witch gasped as the pain from an old scar melted away. The store assistant's papercut sealed itself. Even Fleur's mother's slight limp - so subtle Harry hadn't noticed it before the divine energy had touched it - disappeared.

Harry watched as the golden-white light spread through the shop, but his attention snapped to Nicolas and Perenelle. The divine energy hadn't just healed small injuries - it had found something far more deep in the Flamels.

Their disguised appearances remained unchanged, but something fundamental shifted beneath the surface. Nicolas straightened up from his chair, the careful stiffness in his movements melting away. Perenelle's hands, which had trembled slightly while holding fabric swatches, became steady.

Tears welled up in Perenelle's eyes as she pressed a hand to her chest. "The pain," she whispered. "It's... bearable."

Nicolas walked over to his wife, this time in a smooth manner for the first time since Harry had met them now that he could compare what it used to be and what it was now. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Harry saw tears in his eyes too.

"We didn't want to burden you," Nicolas whispered softly to Harry. "But these bodies... after so many centuries..." He shook his head. "Your Elixir of Life was our first real hope in a very long time. And now this..."

Harry understood then. The Flamels hadn't just been old - they had been suffering. Every movement, every breath had carried an echo of pain built up over centuries of existing far beyond their natural span. They had hidden it well, but now he could see the relief in their faces.

"We were ready to let go," Perenelle admitted quietly. "To move on to the next great adventure, as Albus likes to say. The pain had become..." She trailed off, squeezing Nicolas's hand.

"But now we have hope again," Nicolas finished. "First your Elixir, and now this blessing of light." He looked at Harry with wonder. "You truly are remarkable, young man."

The shop had gone quiet. Everyone stared at Harry, who suddenly felt very small despite his usual confidence. Fleur gaped at him, all traces of her earlier skepticism gone.

"I think," Perenelle said, wiping her eyes and summoning a smile, "we should continue our shopping another day. Perhaps we could all use some ice cream instead?"

Harry nodded, grateful for the suggestion. He had a lot to think about, and somehow, ice cream seemed like exactly the right way to do it.

oo0ooOoo0oo

Note:

Rate of CP gain will be adjusted from 6000 to 8000 words for 100CP.