Hadrian Peverell: High Lord of Skagos

Time was a curious thing for Harry Potter. As the years stretched into decades and the decades into centuries, he had come to terms with an unsettling truth—he was no longer bound by the usual constraints of time or age. His body, still youthful and strong, bore no marks of the years that had passed. While the world outside continued its march forward, with both magical and Muggle societies advancing in ways that would have once surprised him, Harry remained an eternal constant, unchanged, and ageless.

His hair, still jet black and unruly, showed no signs of graying. His green eyes, behind glasses, retained their youthful brightness. Yet the weight of knowledge, the years of study, the solitude of existence, had left an invisible mark on him. With time, Harry had learned to accept the immortality that had been thrust upon him by the Hallows—the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility. No matter how many times he discarded or destroyed them, the wand and stone returned, slipping back into his possession as if they were destined to stay with him for eternity.

In the end, Harry had stopped fighting their return. He had come to realize that they were not curses, but rather tools—tools he could wield with the wisdom gained from centuries of experience.

It was in Gryffindor Castle, his chosen residence, that he truly began to master the magic these artifacts represented. Over the years, Harry had transformed the castle into his personal sanctuary, a place where he could delve into old and obscure magic that had been forgotten by most wizards. The libraries within the castle, filled with books from the Gryffindor, Peverell, Potter, Black, and Slytherin lines, held secrets and knowledge that even the most brilliant wizards of the modern era had never encountered.

One of the most significant discoveries he had made was in the art of staff-making, a craft long lost to time. The idea of crafting a wizarding staff was something ancient, forgotten by the current generation of witches and wizards, but still revered in the pages of history. It was said that Merlin himself had wielded such a staff, shaping it with his own hands to be an extension of his magic. Harry, with the knowledge of his ancestors and his experience with the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone, decided to forge his own.

Using the Elder Wand as the base, Harry worked the stone into its construction, molding the two Hallows together into something new. The staff, once completed, was a marvel—sleek, dark, and deceptively simple in design. It had the power to change its shape depending on Harry's will; it could appear as a long, ornate cane, a stout bo staff, or even the traditional wizard's staff, depending on what he desired at the moment. When not in use, the staff could disappear entirely, only to reappear in his hand when summoned.

What made the staff truly remarkable, however, was the way it amplified Harry's power. The Elder Wand, already the most powerful wand in existence, merged with the Resurrection Stone, allowed Harry to channel not only his own magic but also the energies of life and death. It was an unsettling feeling at first—the sensation of being connected to forces far older and more primal than anything he had known—but as the years passed, Harry learned to control it. He had, after all, come to accept that the Hallows were his companions in eternity.

As Harry's understanding of magic deepened, so too did his exploration of the world.

From the shamans of Africa, Harry learned how to coax plants into maturity in mere minutes. It was a simple, beautiful form of magic, one that required only a deep connection to the earth. With a wave of his hand, he could make a sapling grow into a towering tree, its roots stretching deep into the soil as if decades had passed. In his own gardens at Gryffindor Castle, Harry practiced this magic, creating lush, sprawling groves that rivaled the Forbidden Forest in their density and vibrancy.

In Asia, Harry encountered magical architects who could raise vast structures from the earth itself, shaping stone and wood to their will. They taught him the secret art of fortress-making, a magic long forgotten in the West. With this knowledge, Harry returned to his ancestral homes and tested his newfound abilities. He could now summon structures from the ground—walls of stone, towering towers, and elegant archways—simply by focusing his magical energy. The more powerful the wizard, the larger and more complex the structure that could be created.

Harry's practice of this ancient form of magic took him back to the legendary tales of Camelot. It was said that Merlin had built the great castle for King Arthur, raising its walls with nothing more than his staff and sheer magical will. Though Camelot had started small, Merlin had added to it over the years, constructing new towers and wings as his magic grew stronger. Harry, now understanding the method behind such feats, wondered just how much truth there was to those legends.

However, it was the founders of Hogwarts that captivated Harry's imagination the most. Their creation of Hogwarts Castle, a structure far larger and more intricate than Camelot, had taken twenty years, a collaboration between four of the most powerful witches and wizards to ever live. Each founder had contributed their own unique brand of magic—Gryffindor's strength, Slytherin's cunning, Ravenclaw's wisdom, and Hufflepuff's perseverance—resulting in a fortress that had stood the test of time.

Harry spent long hours in the libraries of Gryffindor Castle, poring over books that detailed the creation of magical fortresses. The knowledge left behind by his ancestors gave him a deeper understanding of how these structures were built—not just physically, but magically. It was not merely about raising walls and towers; it was about weaving magic into the very foundation of the place, imbuing it with protective spells and wards that would last centuries.

With this knowledge, Harry enhanced Gryffindor Castle, adding new wings, hidden chambers, and protective wards. He expanded the castle far beyond its original design, making it a true sanctuary for his studies and experiments. The elves that served him— Tilly, Nobby, Elphie, Mippy, Riff, Toff and Kreacher —kept the castle in immaculate condition, ensuring that no part of the vast structure was ever neglected.

As time passed, the world outside the walls of Gryffindor Castle continued to change. Muggle technology advanced at an astonishing pace. Cities grew taller, technology became more intertwined with everyday life, and the gap between the magical and non-magical worlds widened. The Statute of Secrecy, once a necessary measure to protect the wizarding world, now seemed more and more like a relic of the past. Wizards and witches began experimenting with Muggle technologies, blending them with magic in ways that had never been seen before.

At first, Harry watched these changes with mild interest. He had never been one to shy away from Muggles or their inventions. But as the years went on, he realized that the magical world was beginning to lose its sense of tradition. Old spells, once carefully preserved, were forgotten as new, faster methods of magic were discovered. The libraries of Hogwarts, once revered as the greatest repository of magical knowledge in the world, were being overtaken by the convenience of modern magical innovations.

Harry's own studies, however, took him in the opposite direction. While the rest of the world seemed intent on moving forward, Harry found himself delving deeper into the past. The older the magic, the more powerful it seemed. His research into the founders and Merlin's work had shown him that the most potent spells were not the flashy, quick incantations favored by modern wizards, but the slower, more deliberate magics that required patience and mastery.

One such art that fascinated him was the art of enchantment, particularly the creation of magical artifacts. Harry had learned much about enchanting objects during his studies, but it was only after reading an ancient text on the creation of the Elder Wand that he truly began to understand the depth of this magic. The wand, like all powerful artifacts, was not simply an instrument of magic—it was a vessel, capable of holding and amplifying the power of its wielder.

In his experiments, Harry began crafting his own enchanted objects. He created amulets that could shield the wearer from harm, rings that enhanced magical abilities, and even a cloak that mimicked the properties of his Invisibility Cloak. But none of these artifacts matched the power of his staff, the combination of the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone. It was as though the staff itself had become a living thing, growing in strength as Harry did.

As the centuries passed, Harry had become undoubtedly the most powerful wizard to ever live. His magical prowess was unparalleled, and his knowledge of ancient and obscure magic far surpassed that of even the most revered scholars. And yet, despite all his power, Harry remained humble, using his abilities not for personal gain, but for the pursuit of knowledge.

He had long since accepted his role as a guardian of magic, preserving the old ways even as the world moved on without him. Gryffindor Castle had become a bastion of ancient magic, a place where Harry could continue his studies in peace, far from the distractions of the outside world.

But Harry knew that nothing could remain hidden forever. The magical world, in its thirst for progress and power, would eventually discover that Harry Potter still lived. They would come for him, demanding answers, demanding to know why he had not aged, why he had not shared his secrets. They would accuse him of dark magic, of using the Hallows for selfish purposes.

Harry had seen this day coming for a long time. And when it finally arrived, he would be ready.

As Harry strolled through the grand halls of Gryffindor Castle, it was here, away from the world, that he delved into the depths of ancient and obscure magic, filling his mind with knowledge that most wizards could only dream of.

But not all was solitary. He had company, and not the sort one would expect.

His house-elves had always been his loyal companions, taking care of the castle and its vast grounds with tireless dedication. Over the centuries, Harry had grown fond of each of them, appreciating their loyalty, and he made sure they were treated with kindness and respect—something not often afforded to elves in the wider magical world. Still, something peculiar had begun to happen that he couldn't quite explain.

It had started subtly. Harry noticed that Kreacher, his old and once grumbling house-elf, no longer shuffled as he had in his old age. His gnarled hands had regained strength, his back no longer hunched. The thin wisps of white hair that had clung to his scalp for years had thickened into the coarse strands of his youth. It wasn't just Kreacher. Tilly, Nobby, Elphie, Mippy, Riff, and Toff—the elves who had been with Harry through thick and thin—all showed similar signs. They appeared more vibrant, more full of life, as if the years were melting off them.

The change was undeniable now. When he had first rescued Kreacher from the miserable state he had been in at Grimmauld Place, the elf had been near the end of his life. But now, Kreacher looked as though time had reversed for him by a century.

One day, after finishing his usual studies in his library, Harry decided to bring up this strange development with his elves. He found Tilly in the main kitchen, preparing a meal she insisted Harry try. As she whisked through the kitchen, her large green eyes shone with energy. She looked far younger than when she had first joined him, though Harry couldn't pinpoint exactly when the change had started.

"Tilly," Harry said, his tone soft but curious, "I've been noticing something about all of you recently."

Tilly paused in her bustling, glancing up at him. "Yes, Master Harry?"

He smiled gently. "You look younger. All of you do. I've been meaning to ask... what's happening? Not that I'm complaining, but I don't think it's normal for elves to, well, de-age."

Tilly's large ears twitched, and she exchanged a look with Kreacher, who had entered the kitchen to assist her. The old elf had a knowing glint in his eye, something Harry hadn't seen before. He turned to Harry, bowing slightly as he spoke in his raspy but stronger voice.

"Kreacher was wondering when Master Harry would notice," Kreacher said with a gravelly chuckle. "It's been happening for some time."

"What's been happening?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. His curiosity was piqued.

Tilly stepped forward, a nervous flutter in her movements as she began to explain. "You see, Master, house-elves are bound to their masters in more ways than many realize. Our magic and strength come not just from ourselves but from the bond we share with our masters." She hesitated for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. "And Master Harry... your magic is... different. Powerful."

Harry frowned slightly, not out of concern but out of confusion. "My magic?"

Kreacher nodded solemnly. "Yes, Master. Your magic is stronger than any wizard's. It has grown over the years. As house-elves, we don't feed on it like thieves, no. But we do draw from it—just a little, enough to sustain us and keep us connected to you."

Tilly chimed in, her voice soft and reverent. "Your magic nourishes us, Master Harry. It's been strengthening us, making us more... youthful. It's not hurting you, of course. We would never take more than we need. But it's why we appear the way we do."

Harry blinked, taken aback by the revelation. "So, you're saying that because of my magic, you're... younger?"

"Not just younger, Master," said Toff, who had just entered the room. "We are in our prime. The magic you carry—it's like an endless well. We've never felt stronger, more capable."

Harry took a moment to process this. It made sense in a way, though he had never considered it before. His magic, fueled by the Hallows, seemed inexhaustible. He had felt it growing stronger over the centuries as he absorbed more knowledge, mastered more spells, and understood the true depth of magical power. But that it could have such an effect on the elves around him had never occurred to him.

"But... are you all okay with this?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. "I didn't mean for my magic to change you in any way."

"Oh yes, Master Harry!" Elphie said quickly, his squeaky voice filled with excitement. "We are happy to serve you. Your magic is like a warm light to us, and we thrive under it. We're healthier than we've ever been."

Mippy, the smallest of the group, nodded enthusiastically. "It is an honor, Master. We couldn't wish for a better life."

Harry smiled, though there was still a flicker of uncertainty in his mind. This bond, this connection they shared, was something more profound than he had ever imagined. And though it didn't seem to hurt him or his elves, it served as another reminder of how his own power had changed over the centuries.

The conversation stayed with him long after he left the kitchen. As he made his way through the castle's labyrinth of corridors, he thought about the implications of what his elves had told him. The magic that kept him youthful, that tied him to the Hallows and kept him from aging, had woven itself into the very fabric of Gryffindor Castle and everything in it. His home had become a place of timelessness, not just for him, but for those bound to him.

To the outside world, Harry Potter was long dead and gone. Officially, he had passed away nearly 170 years ago, his grave marked by a simple tombstone in the small village of Godric's Hollow. It was an elaborate deception, one that had taken years to perfect, but it had been necessary.

After all, the longer he lived, the more questions would be asked. Even with his glamours to disguise his unchanging appearance, there were always those who would suspect something was off, who would ask why Harry Potter—the hero of the Wizarding World—had not aged a day since defeating Voldemort. The attention had become too much to bear, and so, Harry had quietly slipped away from public life, faking his death and retreating into the shadows.

With the help of his elves, he had recovered all of his gold and artifacts from Gringotts, relocating them to the vaults beneath Gryffindor Castle. He left no trace of his disappearance, no loose ends that could lead anyone back to him. The world had mourned his passing, celebrated his life, and then, as time does, moved on.