Young Celestial Wizard [Celestial Grimoire, Harry Potter]

ATLA Universe, Spirit World

Avatar Timeline: 98 AG (After Genocide), 11 months before Aang's awakening

Universal Time: October 19th, 1988

Time until Elder Blood Teleportation is available: November 26th, 1988

Time until Hun and Po souls are deemed suitable by the laws of the Harry Potter Universe to learn structured HP magic: July 31st, 1991

Harry's Age: 13 years old

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Black mist swirled around them in thick clouds, obscuring everything beyond a few feet. Harry took a deep breath, closing his eyes to focus. More and more fire began sparking to life around his hands.

"Stay close," Harry told Azula, who had finally stopped trembling. "The mist responds to fear. Don't let it get to you."

"I am perfectly capable of-" Azula's retort cut off as Harry's flames suddenly intensified, burning bright enough to illuminate several yards of their surroundings.

Harry swept both arms outward, sending waves of azure fire cutting through the black mist. The flames roared as they spread, but the fog simply parted and reformed, unaffected.

"Your flames cannot harm me here." The spirit's voice echoed from everywhere at once. "This is my domain."

"Then maybe this will work better." Harry dropped into a familiar stance, fingers extended as he began separating the energies within himself. Chi flowed through his meridians as he guided it toward his fingertips.

Azula's eyes widened. "You can't possibly-"

Lightning crackled to life around Harry's hands, filling the air with the sharp scent of ozone. Blue-white arcs of electricity danced between his fingers as he gathered more power and then amplified it even further through the power of virtue.

"How?" Azula's voice barely rose above a whisper. "Only the royal family-"

Harry released the lightning in a massive burst, the blast illuminating the entire space in stark white light. Thunder crashed as multiple bolts split the air, searching for a target. But just like the flames, the lightning passed harmlessly through the mist.

"So much power..." The spirit's laughter shook the fog around them. "But ultimately meaningless."

Chrysa snarled and leapt at a particularly thick tendril of mist, but passed right through it. Harry felt her frustration and fear through their bond as she landed next to him.

"Now," the spirit whispered, "let me show you true fear."

The mist surged forward like a tidal wave. Harry grabbed for Azula's hand, trying to keep them together, but the fog wrapped around his arm and pulled. He heard Azula cry out somewhere to his left, while Chrysa's presence in his mind grew more distant.

"No!" Harry struggled against the mist's grip. "Azula! Chrysa!"

Their voices faded as the black fog dragged them in different directions.

Harry pulled against the black mist, trying to anchor himself in place. The fog pressed against him from all sides, cold and suffocating. He could no longer see or hear Azula and Chrysa.

One last option remained. Harry closed his eyes and focused inward, reaching for the calm center he'd discovered while painting and worked on through Occlumency practice. Peace filled his mind entirely as he channeled the emotion into his Soul Resonance Mist. Silver-white fog began seeping from his skin, carrying with it a deep tranquility.

"Ah..." The spirit snickered. "How clever."

Harry's peace-mist spread outward, pushing back against the darkness. For a moment, the black fog seemed to retreat.

"Do you truly believe you're the first to try this?" The spirit asked. "I have lived for so many years, little mortal. Every trick you know, I have encountered and devoured a hundred times before."

The black mist surged forward, consuming Harry's silver fog. He watched in horror as the peace-carrying mist turned dark and twisted, becoming part of the spirit's domain.

"Your attempts at resistance only make me stronger." The spirit's laughter filled Harry's mind. "Now, let me show you what true fear looks like..."

Harry blinked awake to sunlight shining through the windows of his room in the Flamel cottage. He stretched and yawned, wondering why he felt so disoriented.

"Harry!" Perenelle's voice called from downstairs. "Breakfast is ready!"

Harry pulled on a clean shirt and made his way down the wooden stairs, each creak bringing him more fully awake.

Nicolas sat at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper while sipping tea. "Sleep well?"

"I think so." Harry slid into his usual chair. "Had weird dreams."

Perenelle set a plate of warm bread and eggs in front of him. "You were tossing quite a bit last night. Maybe too much sugar before bed?"

"Maybe." Harry spread honey on his bread, still trying to grasp at the fading fragments of his dreams. "Where's Chrysa?"

"Outside chasing garden gnomes." Nicolas turned a page in his newspaper. "That cub needs the exercise."

Everything felt normal, yet something nagged at the back of Harry's mind. He took a bite of bread, enjoying the sweetness of the honey. The morning sun warmed his back through the kitchen window.

A knock at the door made them all look up.

"Are we expecting anyone?" Harry asked.

Perenelle wiped her hands on her apron. "Not that I recall."

Another knock, more insistent this time.

Nicolas folded his paper and stood up. "I'll get it."

Harry watched Nicolas walk to the door, that strange feeling of wrongness growing stronger with each step. The door opened to reveal a tall figure in black robes.

"Can I help you?" Nicolas asked.

The figure raised a bone-white wand. Green light filled the doorway.

Nicolas crumpled to the floor without a sound.

"No!" Harry jumped up, knocking over his chair. Perenelle screamed behind him.

Lord Voldemort stepped over Nicolas' body, red eyes fixed on Harry. "The boy who lived... how disappointing to find you here, playing house with old fools."

"This isn't real," Harry whispered, but he couldn't deny what he saw him felt absolutely genuine. He could smell the honey on his breath, feel the warmth of the sun on his back, hear Perenelle's quiet sobs.

"Your parents died to protect you." Voldemort raised his wand. "And you waste their sacrifice learning parlor tricks from has-been alchemists?"

Harry reached for his magic, for his fire, for anything - but nothing came. He stood frozen as Voldemort turned toward Perenelle.

"No, please-" Harry tried to move, to help, to do something.

Green light flashed again. Perenelle fell next to her morning bread dough, flour dusting her still face.

"You see?" Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into a smile. "All who shelter you die. All who love you suffer. That is your legacy, Harry Potter."

Harry stared at Nicolas and Perenelle's bodies. The scent of fresh bread mixed with something metallic - blood, he realized. Sunlight still shone through the windows as if nothing had changed.

"Nothing to say?" Voldemort stepped closer. "No clever tricks? No desperate attempts to fight back?"

Harry backed away until he hit the kitchen counter. The honey jar still sat open next to his half-eaten breakfast. Everything felt so real - the smooth wood under his fingers, the warmth of the kitchen, even the slight draft from the open door.

"You can't be here," Harry whispered. "This isn't possible."

"And why not?" Voldemort reached down and picked up Harry's teacup, examining the delicate painted flowers. "Because you thought you were safe? Because you believed these old fools could protect you?"

The teacup shattered against the wall. Harry flinched at the sound.

"I have always been here, Harry Potter." Voldemort moved closer. "Waiting. Watching. Learning about the boy who somehow survived."

Harry's eyes darted to the door. Chrysa should have heard the commotion. She should have come running...

"Looking for your pet?" Voldemort smiled again. "I dealt with that creature first. Such loyalty deserves a quick death, don't you think?"

Something shifted in Harry's mind. The bond with Chrysa - he could still feel it. Distant and muted, but definitely there. And if the bond existed...

"No." Harry straightened up. "This isn't real."

"Denial won't save you." Voldemort raised his wand. "Just like it didn't save your parents."

Green light gathered at the wand tip. Harry watched it build, frowning heavily. The scene before him stayed perfectly clear, but small details began catching his attention. The sunlight hadn't moved since he'd sat down. The bread dough beside Perenelle wasn't rising. And Nicolas...

"Nicolas would never answer the door without checking first," Harry said. "He's too cautious."

The kitchen flickered. Just for a moment, but Harry saw it.

"Enough stalling." Voldemort's voice gained an edge of frustration. "Time to join your family."

"My family isn't dead." Harry met those red eyes. "And you're not really here."

The killing curse launched forward, but Harry stood his ground. The green light passed through him harmlessly, and the kitchen dissolved into wisps of dense black mist that quickly swallowed Harry whole, and suddenly he stood in an enormous hall carved from white stone. Massive pillars rose tens of thousands of feet into the air, supporting a ceiling that disappeared into clouds. Just breathing in the air could revitalize someone…

Harry blinked. This was the Outer Court of Snowdragon Mountain, where disciples gathered to receive teachings. He wore simple white clothing marked with the symbol of the Snowplume lineage.

"Young Master Harry." A servant bowed deeply. "Your father requests your presence in the Training Grounds."

Harry's stomach clenched. The Training Grounds meant public practice, which meant...

"Tell him I'll be there shortly." Harry's voice came out steady despite the fear building in his chest.

The servant hesitated. "Primal Daoist Snowplume was quite insistent-"

"I said I'll be there!" Harry snapped, then immediately regretted it as the servant flinched away.

Harry took a deep breath, forcing down the anger. It wasn't the servant's fault. None of this was anyone's fault except his own useless body that refused to channel ki.

The walk to the Training Grounds felt both too long and too short. Each step brought whispers from passing disciples.

"There goes the cripple..."

"Can't even become a Houtian Stage Ki Refiner after eating such high quality Diremonster meat..."

"What a waste of Daoist Snowplume's bloodline..."

Harry kept his eyes forward, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He wanted to scream at them, to make them take back every word, every insult. But what could he do? They spoke truth - he was worthless, unable to become a Ki Refiner or Fiendgod despite having one of the Three Primal Daoists as his father.

The Training Grounds extended like an endless plain of white stone. Thousands of disciples filled the designated practice areas, their bodies blurring with impossible speed as they sparred. Harry strained to follow their movements, but it was futile - even the weakest among them moved faster than his eyes could track.

He stood rooted in place, painfully aware of his own limitations. While others harnessed incredible power, he couldn't do anything but eat Diremonster Meat in the hope of fate changing.

"Ah, the useless young master arrives." A boy in blue robes stepped forward, smirking. "Come to watch real Ki Refiners train?"

Ming Cloudspear. Already at the peak of Houtian realm despite being only twelve. He never missed a chance to remind Harry of the difference between them.

"Move aside." Harry tried to walk past, but Ming blocked his path.

"Or what?" Ming's smirk grew wider. "Going to tell your father? Hide behind Primal Daoist Snowplume like always?"

Other disciples gathered around them, eager for entertainment. Harry saw the contempt in their eyes, the mockery. Some didn't even bother hiding their laughter.

"My father requested my presence." Harry kept his voice steady, but his nails dug into his palms hard enough to draw blood. "Let me pass."

"Your father..." Ming shook his head. "Do you know what people say? That your mother must have been unfaithful. No true son of Daoist Snowplume could be so pathetic."

Harry's vision went red. He lunged forward, throwing a punch at Ming's face. The other boy didn't even bother dodging - he just stood there and let Harry's fist connect.

It felt like hitting a wall of steel. Pain shot through Harry's hand as his knuckles cracked. Ming hadn't moved an inch.

"See?" Ming grabbed Harry's wrist, squeezing until bones ground together. "You can't even hurt someone in the early Houtian realm. What a disgrace."

Tears of pain and humiliation burned in Harry's eyes. He wanted to fight back, to prove them wrong, but his worthless body betrayed him again. No ki flowed through his meridians. No divine power filled his muscles. He was weaker than the weakest mortal.

"That's enough." The commanding voice belonged to a woman, and at its sound the disciples vanished like leaves in the wind.

Harry's mother appeared before them, ethereal in her white robes. She maintained perfect composure, yet Harry caught the flicker of anguish in her eyes as their gazes met.

"Ming Cloudspear." She addressed the boy directly. "Release my son."

Ming let go and bowed deeply. "Lady Snowplume, I meant no disrespect. I was merely helping young master Harry understand his place."

"Leave." The single word carried enough authority to make Ming retreat without another word.

Harry couldn't meet his mother's eyes. The shame burned worse than his broken hand. She had to protect him, had to watch him fail again and again...

"Let me see your hand." She reached for him, but Harry stepped back.

"I'm fine." The words came out choked. "I don't need help."

"Harry..." His mother's voice softened. "You know I love you, no matter-"

"No matter how useless I am?" Harry laughed bitterly. "No matter how much shame I bring to father's name?"

"You are my son." She moved closer. "Nothing will ever change that."

But Harry saw the truth in her eyes. The worry. The fear that one day his father's patience would run out. That the other Primal Daoists would convince him to disown his crippled son.

Would she choose Harry over her husband when that day came? Could he bear to make her choose?

The fear of losing her love ate at him every day. Each failed attempt to refine Ki, each public humiliation, brought that day closer. Soon she would realize what everyone else already knew - that he was worthless, broken, unfixable...

"Come." His mother gestured toward the healing pavilion. "We need to treat your hand before meeting your father."

Harry followed numbly, each step echoing across the white stone. Other disciples bowed as Lady Snowplume passed, but he caught their sideways glances. The whispers would start again the moment they were gone.

The healing pavilion was a hundred feet high, built from pure white jade that radiated natural energy. Normally the mere presence of such materials would strengthen a cultivator's Ki, but Harry felt nothing. Just like always.

"Sit." His mother pointed to a bench. She retrieved several bottles from nearby shelves - healing medicines worth more than entire mortal kingdoms. All wasted on him.

"You don't have to keep doing this." Harry stared at his swollen hand. "We both know I'll never improve."

"Enough." She uncorked a jade bottle. "Give me your hand."

Harry presented his broken hand, watching as she applied the medicine. The pain faded instantly as bones knit back together. Another precious elixir used to fix his weakness.

"Your father has acquired something special." She spoke while working. "A Cloudy Golden Sparrow's heart from the Divine Windswept Realm."

Harry's stomach twisted. "Another attempt to fix me?"

"Harry..." She finished wrapping his hand. "We haven't given up hope."

"Maybe you should." The words slipped out before he could stop them. "Everyone else has."

His mother's face hardened. "You are my son. I will never-"

"Stop." Harry stood up. "Please, just... stop pretending."

"Pretending?"

"That I'm not a complete failure." Harry gestured at the healing pavilion. "Look at all this. Divine medicines and elixirs, Diremonster meat from the highest realms available. And none of it matters because I'm broken!"

"You are not broken." She reached for him but he stepped back.

"Really?" Harry laughed bitterly. "Then why can't I sense Ki? Why don't my meridians work? Why am I weaker than a mortal child while others my age reach the High Stage Houtian realm at the very least?"

"The heavens have different paths for different people-"

"The heavens?" Harry's voice rose. "The heavens made me a cripple! The heavens made me a joke! The heavens made me a shame to father's name!"

"Your father loves you." She spoke firmly. "As do I."

"For now." Harry met her eyes. "But how long until that love turns to disappointment? How long until you realize I'll never be worthy of the Snowplume name?"

His mother went very still. "Is that what you truly believe? That our love is conditional?"

"Isn't it?" Harry's voice cracked. "Everyone else abandoned me. The servants whisper when they think I can't hear. The disciples mock me openly now. Even father..." He swallowed hard. "Even father can barely look at me anymore."

"That's not true."

"It is!" Harry slammed his newly-healed hand against the wall. "I see how he turns away when I fail. I hear him argue with the other Primal Daoists about my weakness. I know he regrets acknowledging me as his son!"

"Harry, please-"

"And you..." Tears fell freely now. "You'll leave too. Once you accept what everyone else already knows. That I'm worthless. That I'm hopeless. That I'm nothing but a waste of-"

The slap echoed through the pavilion. Harry touched his cheek, staring at his mother in shock.

"Never." She grabbed his shoulders. "Never speak of yourself that way again. Do you understand me? Never."

Harry saw the tears in her eyes and felt something inside him break.

"I'm sorry." He collapsed against her. "I'm so sorry. I try, I really do, but nothing works. Nothing ever works..."

She held him close as he cried, stroking his hair like she had when he was small. But they both knew tomorrow would bring more failure, more insults, more shame.

And one day, even a mother's love might not be enough to protect him from the truth.

Harry wiped his face and stepped back from his mother. The walk to meet his father still awaited him - a thousand steps of pure white stone leading to the Hall of Clouded Peaks.

"Remember to breathe." His mother smoothed his robes. "Your father means well."

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They passed more disciples who bowed and stepped aside, but the whispers followed.

"Another healing session..."

"Can't even take a single punch..." "

What a burden on Lady Snowplume..."

Each whisper felt like a knife in his back. Harry clenched his fists, focusing on the pain of nails digging into flesh. The physical hurt was better than listening to these insults, better than acknowledging the truth in those words. Every insult burned into his memory, fuel for imagined revenge. One day he would make them pay. One day he would force them to take back every cruel word...

The massive doors of the Hall of Clouded Peaks opened before them. Harry stepped into a chamber large enough to hold entire mortal cities. Above, clouds swirled around pillars that vanished into darkness. The air crackled with power that Harry could never touch.

Two Primal Daoists stood beside Harry's father - Daoist Thunderclap and Daoist Frostpeak.

"Snowplume." Daoist Thunderclap spoke first. "We have discussed this matter at length."

Harry's father nodded, not even looking at his son. "The decision is made."

"Father?" Harry stepped forward. "What decision?"

"You are no longer my heir." The words fell like hammer blows. "You will leave Snowdragon Mountain by nightfall."

Harry's mother gasped. "You can't-"

"Silence!" Daoist Snowplume turned to her. "You coddle the boy. He brings shame to our bloodline with every passing day."

"He is your son!"

"No longer." Snowplume's face might have been carved from the same stone as the mountain. "The servants will escort you to a mortal city."

Something stirred in Harry's mind. A distant memory of another life, another world. Where actions had consequences... where power meant the ability to enforce those consequences.

In this world, Harry was powerless. Unable to cultivate, unable to fight back. Every insult burned into his soul because he could do nothing about them. His only outlet had been dreams of revenge, of making others suffer as he had suffered.

But now...

Harry looked at his father, at the man who would cast aside his own child. At Frostpeak who spread poisonous rumors. At Thunderclap who encouraged this betrayal. Power corrupted them, let them believe they could act without consequence.

Just like those who had mocked him. Just like those who had whispered behind his back. Just like those who thought strength meant freedom from repercussion.

"You dare..." Harry's voice came out barely above a whisper, but this time it wasn't from fear or weakness. This time he understood something deeper. "You dare cast me aside like trash?"

"Watch your tone, boy." Daoist Frostpeak sneered. "You address a Primal Daoist."

Harry's hands clenched as understanding grew clearer. In this world, his other self had dreamed of revenge. But revenge wasn't justice - revenge was just another form of power without consequence.

"And you!" Harry turned on Frostpeak. "You who whispered poison in my father's ear. You who spread rumors about my mother's faithfulness!"

"Enough!" Snowplume's power filled the hall. "Guards, remove this... remove him."

Guards appeared from the shadows, reaching for Harry. His mother tried to intervene but Snowplume held her back.

"If you defend him," Snowplume told her, "you will share his exile."

Harry watched his mother's face, saw the pain there. Even love faced consequences in this world. But was that justice? No... true justice wasn't about suffering. It wasn't about making others hurt.

"I understand now." Harry straightened up as guards grabbed his arms. The truth crystallized in his mind. "Every action demands consequence - but appropriate consequence. Not revenge. Not mere punishment."

The hall flickered slightly. Reality wavered at the edges.

"What nonsense do you spout?" Thunderclap demanded.

"Justice." Harry met his father's eyes. "Not the justice of revenge that I once dreamed of. Not the justice of mere balance that I became obsessed with. But the fundamental truth that actions must have appropriate consequences."

The guards' grips felt less solid. The great hall seemed less real with each passing moment.

"Those who mock others must face judgment - not to satisfy hatred, but to maintain the meaning of respect." Harry continued speaking as the world began dissolving around him. "Those who abuse power must answer for it - not from envy, but because power without consequence corrupts. Those who betray trust must lose what they betrayed - not from spite, but because trust requires foundation."

"How dare you lecture us about-" Frostpeak's voice cut off as black mist began seeping through the cracks in reality.

"This is justice." Harry felt the truth of it resonate through his entire being. "Not personal satisfaction. Not cosmic balance. But the pure principle that actions must have meaningful outcomes - outcomes that maintain the integrity of choice itself."

The illusion shattered completely, leaving Harry standing in the spirit's domain once more. But something had changed. A bright-clear ring of light hung behind his head as Justice became fully codified within him. He had broken through to Second Virtue – Temperance of Moral Codification.

"Interesting..." The spirit's voice echoed from the surrounding darkness. "You broke free... but at what cost? Now you remember everything, don't you? Every insult. Every humiliation. Every moment of powerless rage..."

Harry frowned as black mist swirled around him. The spirit's power pressed against his mind like an ocean of darkness, completely ignoring his Occlumency barriers. These weren't magical attacks - this was something far different, far more spiritual.

"You seem confused." The spirit's amusement filled the void. "Did you think your mental walls would stop me? I am fear itself."

"No." Harry's eyes narrowed. "You're a spirit that feeds on fear. There's a difference."

The mist condensed before him, forming a vaguely humanoid shape. "Such certainty from one so young. Tell me, did those memories help you understand? The worthlessness? The impotence of being unable to strike back?"

Harry remained silent, thinking. The spirit had absorbed his peace-mist earlier, claiming it made the spirit stronger. But hadn't it also said something else? Something about his fear-mist being pure, untainted...

"Nothing to say?" The spirit moved closer. "Has remembering your weakness in that other life finally silenced your defiance?"

"You made a mistake." Harry met the spirit's gaze. "You showed me those memories thinking they would break me. But they showed me something else instead."

"Oh?" The spirit's form rippled. "And what would that be?"

"That fear isn't just about being afraid." Harry smiled. "It's about overcoming fear. About facing it. About understanding it."

The black mist wavered slightly. "You understand nothing."

"Don't I?" Harry took a step forward. "You said my fear-mist was pure, untainted. But you never explained what that meant."

The spirit drew back. "Irrelevant."

"I don't think so." Harry's smile grew wider. "I think you're afraid right now. Afraid because you've never encountered someone who can use emotions as purely as I do."

The mist churned violently. "Enough! Let me show you true terror-"

"No." Harry's voice cut through the darkness. "Let me show you something instead."

Dark-gold mist began seeping from Harry's skin. But this time he didn't try to push the spirit's darkness back. Instead, he let his mist flow naturally, carrying not just bravery but understanding.

Understanding of fear itself.

The dark-gold mist spread outward, meeting the spirit's black fog. Where they touched, a chain reaction began - fear and courage intertwining, each making the other stronger. Harry's halo brightened as the power of virtue flowed into the mixture.

"What are you doing?" The spirit's form flickered. "This... this isn't possible!"

"Must have been difficult." Harry smirked as more dark-gold mist poured from his skin. "Affecting my soul, I mean. Did you have to use more power than usual?"

The spirit's darkness pulled back slightly. "How did you-"

"And that peace-mist earlier..." Harry took another step forward. "You really spent a lot of energy absorbing it, didn't you? If converting emotions was that easy, you wouldn't have needed such elaborate illusions to trap me."

"You know nothing!" The spirit's voice cracked. "I am fear incarnate! I-"

"No." Harry cut it off. "You're afraid right now. I can feel it in your mist."

The spirit's form wavered violently. "Impossible! I do not feel fear! I create fear!"

"Everything feels fear." Harry watched his dark-gold mist continue spreading. "Even spirits of fear itself. Maybe especially spirits of fear..."

"Stop this!" Black tendrils whipped through the air. "I'll show you true terror! I'll-"

"You're already running out of power." Harry smiled. "Between forcing through my soul's resistance, absorbing my peace-mist, and maintaining those illusions... you've used up too much energy."

"You're nothing!" The spirit's form grew more unstable, black mist dispersing and reforming rapidly. "I watched you soar over the ocean as an eagle! I followed you here! I planned everything!"

Harry froze. "What did you just say?"

The spirit seemed to realize its mistake. The black mist churned violently as it tried to recover. "I... you..."

"You followed me?" Harry's eyes narrowed. "From when I was flying over the ocean?"

"No! I meant-" The spirit's form collapsed entirely, spreading out like a pool of darkness. "You weren't supposed to know that! You weren't supposed to be capable of this!"

Harry's dark-gold mist pressed forward, corralling the spirit's essence. "So you've been watching me. Planning this attack." He smiled. "And now you've revealed yourself too early, haven't you? Too greedy?"

"Stay back!" The spirit tried to reform, but Harry's mist prevented it. "Your power... it shouldn't exist! No mortal should be able to manipulate emotions so purely!"

"Maybe that's why you followed me." Harry stepped closer, his halo brightening. "You sensed something different about my soul that day. Something that made you curious..."

The spirit's darkness compressed into a smaller and smaller space as Harry's mist surrounded it. "Please! I can teach you! I can show you secrets of fear that no human has ever-"

"I don't need your teachings." Harry watched the spirit continue shrinking. "I understand fear perfectly well now. Thanks to you, actually."

A strange keening sound filled the void as the spirit's essence condensed further. In the center of the remaining darkness, a small black pearl began to crystallize.

Harry watched carefully, keeping his dark-gold mist ready.

"I am Wei-Ku." The spirit's voice came from the crystallized sphere. "And you, Harry Potter, are far too dangerous to leave alive."

Harry's Inner Eye flared with warning. He started to dodge left, already seeing Wei-Ku's intent to launch the sphere at him.

"Perfect." Wei-Ku's voice held triumph. "Your precognition works exactly as I planned."

The sphere shot forward, but not toward where Harry would dodge. Instead, it curved in mid-air, following a path Harry hadn't foreseen. His eyes widened as the crystallized essence flew straight into his open mouth.

"Now your body is mine!" Wei-Ku's laughter echoed inside Harry's head. "I will- what? No! This isn't possible!"

Harry felt the spirit trying to alter his body, to take control, but the changes simply wouldn't take hold. His Po Soul maintained his physical vessel perfectly, rejecting any unwanted modifications.

"Your body..." Wei-Ku sounded shocked. "It won't change! Why won't it change?"

Harry frowned and concentrated. Dark-gold mist began pouring from every pore, filling his lungs, surrounding the spirit's essence. Fear and courage merged together, powered by virtue, refining Wei-Ku's very being.

"NO!" Wei-Ku screamed as the process began. "You can't do this! I am fear incarnate! I am-"

The scream cut off as Harry's mist consumed the spirit completely. He flinched as new instincts engraved themselves into his soul - how to sense fear in others, how to concentrate it until reality itself thinned between the two worlds...

He could feel fear radiating from everywhere now - Azula's terror at losing her bending, Chrysa's worry about failing to protect him...

The spirit's domain began dissolving around him. Harry straightened up, dark-gold mist still swirling around his body. Time to find his friends and get out of here.