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Chapter Text

AN: The prologue is a bit introspective and dark. Not your cup of tea? Skip to the first chapter instead. You'll miss out on some context, but context is for losers anyway.

Memoirs of a well-lived death

Harry Evans faces a magical world that is both familiar and different from what he remembers. Is it worth the risk of losing everything to try and save it? Does he even have a choice? What binds us to a place are the people that inhabit it and Harry is forced to walk the knife's edge between fear and responsibility as he starts his first year at Hogwarts (and beyond)[/center]

Prologue

All stories have a beginning. The issue is in determining where it lies. Does the life of a tree begin with the conception of the acorn, or when it becomes a sapling? Do the characters of a book already exist before the first chapter is written, in the mind of the author? Where does one draw the line between the blurry boundaries of continuity when looking at something as complex as human life?

For Harry Evans, the story had already been written, in a different time, in a different place.

It had also ended there in a manner that left many dreams unaccomplished and many a person grieving.

He'd died.

A traumatic affair for those involved. Parents having to come to terms with having outlived their child. Classmates being confronted with their own mortality by the empty seat in the lecture hall. Friends with a number on their phone that they will never call again.

But what about the deceased? Do the dead mourn their own death?

Seldom does a person gladly go into the embrace beyond, having done all their work on earth and given all the love they could. They are rarely happy with their last chapter. We are hesitant, however, to consider their opinion on the matter. The dead do not have opinions after all. So is the common consensus.

Rather than entering a theoretical discourse on the autonomy of the deceased, an undoubtedly interesting topic, we here shall look at a certain mysterious case study instead. Why not, after all, when one is readily available.

If someone were to survive their death, through reasons unknown. How would such a person mourn? While the loved ones of the deceased have lost one connection, no matter how dear, the deceased individual has lost everything. Their family, their friends, their life partner, all the way down to their bicycle, notebooks, laptop, career, apartment and their literal body.

How long does it take a dead person to get over having been deprived of everything they'd ever experienced?

1st of November 1987

A boy is kneeling on the ground in a forest clearing. An hour by bike away from his home, so that nobody can stumble upon him. He has been here for an hour a day, spread out over the past month. He has been digging holes.

The child's name is Harry. He is nine years old and wants to move on with his life. He wants to walk towards an uncertain, but existing future, rather than dwell on an unchanging past.

There are three holes and three crosses, carefully bound together from planks and twine.

If it has somehow remained unclear; the holes are graves.

Harry stood up from his kneeling position next to the largest of the graves and discarded the garden trowel he'd been using onto the pile of dirt he'd dug out. He was sure he looked comical in his bright yellow anorak, plastic red pants and green boots with little frogs on them. He wished the context was comical, but unfortunately, it was rather dreary.

"Today we are gathered here to mourn. Fitting, for it is the first of November. The day of the dead on which the connection between the living and the departed is said to be the thinnest," He said in a boyish voice, but with a solemnity and verbosity that would make any adult look twice to see if they had perhaps misjudged the age of the speaker.

"Three loved ones have been taken from me on nearly this very day, nine years ago."

A small notebook was retrieved from the right-side pocket of the anorak. Harry flipped through it, some words sticking out to him from the quick perusal. Apartment, diary, passport and copper cooking pots were some of the notable ones. He threw the notebook into the smallest hole, put his hands together in faux prayer and bowed his head. "We grieve the loss of the material for it has been imbued by interaction with the spirit," he said and held the pose for a minute.

The next item was a drawing of what appeared to be a young man holding a diploma standing in front of a large group of people who were all turned towards him with smiles on their faces. The picture was crumpled up and thrown in the middle grave. "We grieve the loss of the plans we had and the people we leave behind. We grieve the loss of the sweat that has been spilt on defunct goals and the love shared in now severed bonds." The words echoed through the clearing. Harry brought his head down and his hands up to say goodbye to the second grave.

The last one was the one he feared the most. Because there were some things in life, beyond items, dreams, friends and family, that one never got over losing.

He half-hoped that it would be possible to let go, to forget. But the other half of him wanted to remember, to use the suffering as fuel. Integrate it.

After some searching, made harder by the trembling of the small hand doing it, a very realistic doll was brought forth from his pocket. The doll was female and had blonde hair, pale blue jeans and a green sweater. Tiny little slippers adorned her feet. Harry stared at the abstraction as a few tears slid down his face and threatened to obscure his view. A superimposition of the woman that the doll was meant to represent appeared over the lifeless features. The ghost smiled sadly and mouthed something. Harry wasn't a lip-reader. But he thought he could identify the lip movement of the phrases he'd heard often enough.

'I love you and goodbye,' it said and Harry accepted that he had finally gone fully insane.

"I love you too." He whispered to the ghost. The words disappeared like the stillness of a lake under the influence of a skipping stone and so did the apparition. The doll was a doll.

Harry squared up, took back control of his whole body as only adults knew how and threw the representation into the last, largest hole. He was too distraught to bring himself into the proper position and simply began talking without a preamble. "We grieve the most cherished person left behind in another world, hoping that they may find happiness in a well-lived life." He managed to croak out shakily. The feeling that was starting to overwhelm him was hard to describe. If pressed he would have described it as half missing one's heart and half floating away, struck by an unbearably painful lightness of being.

He stumbled from where he was standing and fell to the ground. Rather than just metaphorically feeling as if his heart was missing from his tiny chest, he now felt something very real, if ephemeral, was flowing from somewhere inside of him. It was his magic, the force that had accompanied him since his birth in this new life. He gasped and tried to stop what was happening, but it was impossible. The ground was demanding too much and his magic was too willing to give all that it had. Just about when black spots started appearing in his vision did the event finally stop, leaving him gasping and trembling with his wet cheek turning the earth it was laying on into mud. He managed to force his head upwards to look at the graves he'd dug. It was because of this that he saw a soft green light appearing above them. It floated carelessly in the air for a few moments before apparently deciding that it would rather be in the ground. It tumbled down like a leaf and disappeared into the most important of the graves.

Harry stared, half afraid and half dumb-struck. There was a non-metaphorical gaping void somewhere inside of him but he nonetheless scurried up with an energy only to be found in young children to stare wondrously at the graves. He was about to step forward and try to glimpse inside, see the green light again, discern its properties, but the ground trembled again and he stumbled back instead. It was good that he did because the big pile of dirt that he'd pulled out of the ground heaved to the left, it heaved to the right, it heaved to the sky before suddenly slumping over the graves as if having been kicked by a giant. All the graves were perfectly filled, flattened, as if by someone who had taken great care to do so.

The entire phenomena, short and wondrous as it had been, left behind one stupefied and dirty kid and absolutely no real proof that anything interesting had happened on the 1st of November in a forest clearing one hour by bike away from Privet Drive 4, Surrey. The only curiosity to be found were three crudely made crosses, which a passerby would likely dismiss as a bad prank.

Harry for his part turned around and ran back to his bicycle. If he had stayed a bit longer, he would have perhaps seen a small sapling pushing itself out of the largest grave, defiantly pushing its bud out against the heavens.

31st of October 1981

Harry stared at the fireworks exploding over London from his bedroom window as owls fluttered across Surrey. The three-year-old sighed and clambered down from the small chair he'd used to reach the windowsill. He went back to bed and slipped under the sheets just as his bedroom door creaked open.

"He's somehow sleeping through the racket." His aunt's voice said quietly, eliciting a deeper, male grumble.

"He's the most lethargic boy in England, pet. He'd sleep through a world war if you'd let him." His uncle said, perhaps a bit too loudly.

"Vernon, quiet, you'll wake him up. You don't need to add your shouting to this ridiculous display as well. Really, what are peop-" The door quietly shut, blocking out any further talk.

Harry continued laying there, back to the door, the light coming from the streetlights illuminating just enough of the wall for him to be able to fixate on it. He could make out the grains, the bumps of paint, everything that the wall had to offer.

"The tyrant is dead. Long live the saviour," he whispered and brought up a hand to snap his fingers; a spark briefly lit up his fingertip before disappearing.

"But if this is the Wizarding World celebrating Voldemort's defeat, and I've been living with my aunts my whole life… then who is the boy who lived? And who am I?"

-/-

What to expect from this story: My favorite genre is that of the self-insert. A shameless power-fantasy where someone uses their fore-knowledge and relative maturity to dunk on all others and become the only favored under the heavens. Unfortunately, I am also a writer and reader who loves realism. I dislike plots in which main characters gain a bullshit amount of power to fast. My other pet-peeve, as someone who has touched grass and lost their virginity, is how most of the self-inserts occurring through death simply forget their previous life. Me, personally, I actually have family I talk to, a long-term relationship, and career prospects. If someone suddenly came to me and offered me the ability to reincarnate into a fantasy world of my choice, I probably wouldn't accept, or ask for it to happen in a few years if not decades. Thus, this story is a reflection of something that I myself would like to read. We got over the grief process now in the prologue, and the rest will be a normal Fanfic, although one where power gains will appear natural and plot armor will be minimal. If you're into slow-progression still leading to being overpowered, emotional maturity at the level of at least, a twenty year old, and an imperfect character who makes mistakes as we all do, but still strives to do his best, then this might be a story for you.

Chapter Text

31st of July 1989

"It's helpful to always set one end of the equation to zero unless you're dealing with multiplication or division," Harry explained and scribbled a short example on Dudley's homework sheet, before solving it with the method he'd just described. "The moment one part of the equation is zero, all additions and subtractions become much easier. Less to get confused by."

"Thanks, Harry," Dudley said as he scratched his blonde head with a pencil. "You'll come look over it later?" He asked.

"Of course," Harry replied. "The moment I'm done helping Dad in the garage. We'll get this summer's workload out of the way before you know it and then you can go to summer camp with a clear conscience."

Staying long enough to see Dudley start working on the math equations, Harry gave his cousin an encouraging pat on the back and left the boy's room.

Dudley had grown up much differently in this world than he would have in the books Harry had read. He was a polite, naive young boy, who was aware that one needed to work to achieve one's goals. He was top of his class and had even skipped a grade. This was either due to Harry's positive influence or perhaps the lack of a negative influence from not having a Horcrux in the house.

Popping down the stairs Harry joined Vernon in the garage, where the portly man was inspecting the tools they were going to need today.

The man glanced up when he heard approaching steps and when he noticed who they belonged to, he bellowed, "Finally done helping Dudley with maths I see?! Good, let's get to work," he said enthusiastically and gestured to the very beaten up boxy Vauxhall Viva 1963 they'd recently purchased for a few hundred quid. Half of what they'd earned from flipping the last car. It sat in the garage with space to spare due to its small size while their actual family car was exiled outside, into the merciless summer sun.

"Yeah, let's get to work," Harry said as he picked up a power drill and went over to the rusted front chassis of the old vehicle. "This part will definitely need to be sanded down before we relacquer and repaint it, but we'll need the exterior off first anyway so let's just start with something easy," he quipped with a smile before bending down and loosening the first screw.

"Always hated the rusted ones the most to be honest," Vernon said as he came over and held up the chassis with thick arms covered by gloves so it wouldn't fall on Harry as he unscrewed it.

"Well, we needed to invest in a few stocks to save and grow money. It would be a damn shame if Dudley didn't have his pick of schools due to financial reasons, considering his grades," Harry replied as the chassis dropped into his uncle's waiting hands and Harry made his way to the car doors. "And that means…"

"That more of the money made flipping has to go for stocks instead of rebuying the nicer to work with cars, I know," Vernon said and while Harry didn't have the man in his sight of vision he could feel the eye-roll.

"It's a steadier growth prognosis over the year," He muttered defensively.

Non-blood related uncle and nephew continued chatting amicably as they worked in the garage, dismantling the used car they'd bought from a work colleague. Eventually, the aunt in the equation called them in for dinner and that was that. A quintessential Monday when his aunt and uncle were on holiday, however, it was also the 31st of July, the day that Harry turned eleven. A birthday party would take place in the evening. Unless something happened to disturb it.

-/-

The doorbell rang, very rudely, while the Dursleys were eating lunch. The sound caused the clinking of eating utensils on plates to stop and everyone to freeze. Harry stood up from the heavily laden table. "I'll go get it," he said, at which point his aunt's nose flared and she sprang up with the energy more reminiscent of a professional athlete, rather than a sedentary woman in her late thirties.

"No, I will," she said before rushing off to get the door, the yellow of her dress blurring in with the pastel house decorations from how fast she'd walked. The door slammed shut, leaving the visitor, whoever they may be, and his aunt, outside.

"Dudley, do you want to go finish up and practise the guitar for a bit, I think someone just came for Harry's school admission. You were working on that song… about bluebirds, or rainbows or something," Vernon said seriously while looking down at the table with crossed arms, seemingly frustrated.

It was a testament to how tense the atmosphere in the room had gotten ever since the doorbell had been rung that Dudley simply nodded and went up to his room without protest. Usually, the boy would be much too curious to leave when something unusual was happening.

It was right as Dudley left that the screaming started.

"Impressive volume," Harry muttered, Petunia must have been raving mad to shout loudly enough for her voice to carry into the house and thus definitely to the neighbours as well.

Vernon snorted. "The things they did to her sister, your mother. They deserve more than just getting screamed at," he said darkly. Shortly after the door finally opened and a red-faced Petunia came back into the kitchen, followed by an overweight man with a walrus moustache wearing a green suit that clashed horribly with his anxious countenance.

Harry recognized the character turned real person and sighed. He had wondered if he was going to get a visit from a professor, or if he was going to receive a letter only. He had been expecting a professor since he was just a normal orphan in this world, but he hadn't known which one. Technically it would have made sense for it to be either Snape or Professor McGonagall. One was a childhood friend of his mother, even if presumably estranged and the other was her former head of house.

The man standing in the doorway to the kitchen looking at him with a sad gaze was neither of these people, but rather, Horace Slughorn. The potions professor of Hogwarts from back when Voldemort had been a student there. Harry was a bit disquieted at the apparent change in professorship, but considering he was alive, things were never going to be exactly the same anyway.

"Mr. Evans." Slughorn stepped into the dining room, his belly having entered it first. A furious-looking Petunia stood behind him, looking at him with eyes that could probably induce spontaneous heart attacks in small animals. "You look remarkably like your mother. The same red hair and green eyes," he trailed off and then shook his head as if to reawaken from some sort of dream that he'd fallen into. "Sorry, I got lost in some memories. An old man's mind isn't as robust as it used to be. Nevertheless, I am here to deliver the admission letter to Hogwarts Academy for wizards and witches. I assume your family has told you about your magical heritage?"

Harry considered the man, who seemed more bereaved than excited to meet a prospective student and nodded. "Come, sit. I imagine we have some things to discuss," He said and pointed to an arm-chair in the corner of the room. It was with a certain morbid curiosity that Harry then looked Slughorn in his blue eyes, wondering if the man was a Legilimens. It sounded like the sort of magic a Slytherin would appreciate. He broke eye contact before he could find out. "I will be coming to Hogwarts. Considering my tuition is paid for as a British citizen, I just don't see the need to look for other alternatives," Harry prodded, hiding his true purpose. The real reason he was going to Hogwarts was because he had at least a certain amount of foreknowledge about the castle and its inhabitants, theoretically making it safer than any alternatives. Not that he knew how to contact any alternatives, which was the other reason. "However, is the Wizarding World really safe?"

Slughorn sighed and handed Harry the acceptance letter before stiffly walking over to the arm-chair and sinking into it as if burdened by the mere thought of the topic. "The conflict that raged while your mother was going through her schooling is over, for good. You-know-who was defeated eight years ago and the wizarding world has since been as peaceful as any magical population can be," He eventually said.

"How was he defeated?" Harry asked as he stuffed the letter into his pocket, not bothering to read it yet. He already knew its contents.

"A magical anomaly led to his demise in the end. An attempted attack misfired, thus ridding us of the stain that the Dark Lord represented upon our world," Slughorn explained, wearily. Probably not that amused by the idea of sharing such grim topics with what was essentially a child.

"So you weren't even able to solve your own problems, is what you mean," Vernon interjected from the other side of the table. "You had to rely on a freak accident!"

Slughorn perked up at the insinuation a bit angrily, before falling back into his seat. "Well, we don't know what really happened, it might have been something that Alice did before she…" Slughorn trailed off.

"It wasn't one of these terrorists that ruined my sister's life," Petunia said calmly. "It happened in school, under your supervision, if I recall correctly. I don't see a reason why we should send our nephew there considering what happened, tuition or not. What other options are available?" she asked brusquely.

Slughorn shook his head. "No, no, he should go to Hogwarts, it's his birthright! Lily was one of the most brilliant students to ever grace our halls. There is no war going on that can spill over into the school and distract the professorship. We can protect Harry! Not that there is anything to protect him from," he hastily added.

"What are the other school options?" Petunia asked with gritted teeth, clenching a teacup that she brought up to her mouth, but didn't drink from.

"France or America for the most part," Slughorn conceded, making Vernon cringe and drawing a chuckle from Harry.

"From my understanding of wars, they generally don't start overnight. There is an underlying tension, a build-up. If I notice that the Wizarding World is becoming unsafe again, what's to prevent me from simply leaving the country?" Harry asked.

"That's a good idea. Wouldn't want to leave Britain behind but there's war and there's inconvenience," mumbled Vernon.

"Only the first five years of schooling are obligatory. After your O.W.L's you can discontinue your schooling without consequences, no matter how tragic it would be to see you go. You seem awfully bright, just like your mother," Slughorn prompted, once again striking a connection to Lily.

Harry tilted his head at the man, who seemed fairly insistent on him coming to Hogwarts. It might be explained away by the fact that canonically his mother was one of the man's favourite students, but this seemed like something more.

"These things on the list, cauldrons and wands and books. I assume we'll have to go shopping for them somewhere not easily accessible. Which is why I'll need someone to guide me?"

"Diagon Alley. You will be going with me to the bank first to pick up the funds and then we will buy your school supplies together if you have time right now that is," Slughorn said a bit more jovially now that it seemed Harry was opening up to the idea of actually going to Hogwarts.

"The sooner the better. Let's be on our way then," Harry said and stood up. He noted the fidgeting his aunt and uncle were doing and shot them a reassuring smile. "I'll stay safe," he said and left the house with the professor, knowing that it was better to simply pull off the band-aid than to let them think about it too much. They'd told him about his heritage, from his mother's side and had been dreading this day since he'd been old enough to ask why strange things sometimes happened around him.

Not that he'd had much experience with accidental magic.

Except for one particular instance, all the magic that he'd ever done had been completely intentional.

Chapter Text

​"Diagonally, very clever," Harry said as he took in the magical street for the first time.

It was more subdued than he'd imagined it to be, but he guessed he was here two years earlier than Harry Potter had been in the books. Maybe the next years were where most of the after-war upswing occurred. He scrunched his brows at the intrusive thought that this world was too different for his supposed foreknowledge to be of any help.

Soon, he would find out how much knowledge was accurate. He was just a few news articles or history books away from confirming what was real and what was not.

They started making their way to Gringotts. Harry stepped over a small pack of sugar mice running away from a small child and asked a question that would hopefully lead to being able to ask about the possibility of purchasing Occlumency material. He hoped there was a way to check how far his self-training had gotten him before he went to Hogwarts. He started a line of questioning that should hopefully lead there.

"How do wizards deal with it if a non-magical sees them perform magic?"

"Obliviators, a special department created to upkeep the statute of secrecy. They adjust the memories of the witness. It's a respectable job, perhaps a bit unambitious, since you really only focus on one spell in the end," Slughorn said in a tone that he probably used on his students at Hogwarts. "But this will all be explained in the muggle-born guidebook we will get later. Quite a useful thing, that. Only recently did someone come up with the idea."

"That sounds like a very dangerous magic if misused though. Is there a way to defend one's self from it?" Harry asked.

Slughorn looked at Harry searchingly and slowed down a bit to consider his answer. "The Mind Arts, something one shouldn't be delving into at your age. The possibility of inflicting irreparable damage upon one's psyche is too high."

And that was that. No more answers were forthcoming despite Harry's continued prodding of the topic. All that he was able to find out was that Hogwarts did not have a newspaper collection in their library, which meant he wouldn't be able to check the usefulness of his knowledge at school. He needed to think of another solution. Retracing the history of what exactly was different in this world was one of his most important tasks at the moment.

They'd entered the bank, with its ominous poem and wide white arches, while Harry was stuck in his own thoughts. He only came to himself as the money he was privileged to was handed over by a surly goblin, directly to Slughorn, who stuck it inside his vest. Apparently, the Ministry of Magic had a holding account which needed a Head of House to access. This explained why Slughorn was here. He was the Head of Slytherin, still, or again, Harry hadn't been able to determine.

"Where does the money come from?" Harry asked, curiously, wondering who exactly was funding his schooling.

"Some foundations for muggle-borns, by other muggle-borns and the rest comes directly from the ministry," Slughorn explained as he rushed them out of the bank, apparently unwilling to spend too much time in the presence of the small but ferocious creatures that handled the wizarding's world gold.

"You mean taxes?" Harry asked, receiving a nod. "Guess you can't escape those even if you're a wizard," he mused as they made their way to Madam Malkins, where Harry was fitted for robes made from the lowest quality materials. He wondered if one of the reasons that purebloods hated muggleborns was simply because their taxes paid for their education and they'd rather just keep the money. After his measurements were taken, they moved on to other stores. His garments would be finished in an hour or two, while they completed the rest of Harry's shopping.

They stopped at the apothecary after and Harry paid particular attention to whatever advice the Potions Professor had to give, acting the part of the inquisitive student. It seemed to gain him back a few points that he had lost with his blunt manners and straightforward interest in Occlumency earlier. Harry bought one extra Bezoar and added it to his Potions Kit. He would fashion a necklace out of it back in Privet Drive. He'd been doing a lot of handy work in the garage so he had all the requisite tools.

Poisons scared him, to be honest, and the culturally almost mediaeval wizarding world seemed like it would still use them as a viable tactic against one's enemies. He shuddered to think what horrendous effects magical poisons could have on someone.

After buying the Bezoar Harry managed to convince Slughorn to take him to a second-hand bookstore in which he managed to find most of his textbooks for cheap, allowing him to pick up an additional three books. One on household Charms, one on personal hygiene magic and one on recent history. Nothing on the Mind Arts was apparent and when Harry tried to probe Slughorn on the topic again the man shut down faster than a guillotine during France's reign of terror.

Harry had to distract the professor with other topics, such as saying how excited he was to get the books that he had gotten. He knew that Slughorn likely had a very justified fear of students too invested in material beyond their age which could be used for malicious purposes. He decided to stop prodding.

"Your interest in household Charms, does it have a particular reason?" Slughorn asked once they'd left the store, at which Harry shrugged.

"Time is a precious resource, cleaning up after oneself, folding clothes, cooking, doing dishes, painting walls, brushing teeth. These are all chores, that if substituted with magic would save one perhaps an hour every day. This is 365 hours a year, which is a full 15 days. If one doesn't need to waste time or energy on these menial tasks then one can reinvest in something more important. Also, I imagine magically cleaning something is more effective than doing it by hand."

"Industrious thinking, although you will find that at Hogwarts most needs will be met by the house-elves." Slughorn complimented. "Never thought about it that way actually," he mused.

Harry nodded, thinking of the new learning material he'd gotten. It was probably enough to keep him occupied for a month, especially if he was able to cast spells. He remembered that Hermione had been able to practise at home before her first year. It would require some testing of the Trace.

The last place they stopped at was Ollivanders, a seemingly rickety old shop that nonetheless held a function central to the life of most witches and wizards inhabiting Britain. Harry entered alone, with the requisite money, Slughorn saying that he'd wait outside.

-/-

"What is a wand?" Harry asked as the old proprietor of the wand store set the measuring tape at him.

"Your mother was a curious one as well, willow wand, good for Charms. A wand is a tool to afflict magic onto the world," Ollivander answered as he considered different boxes, taking some out and adding new ones as the measurement tape provided new information.

"How does it do so though? The magic is in me, but I'm being told I need a wand to channel it properly. Is a wand something that resonates with my magic in certain ways, the wavelength created being the magical effect? Is a wand an amplifier, or does it simply enhance a spell? Is it a focal point, does it narrow magic down to create a more concentrated effect? Or is a wand a symbolic tool which helps codify and unify our magic system into something uniform?" Harry asked rapidly, having this one-time excuse to ask the wand-maker some questions that had been brewing in his mind for almost a decade now.

"Curious, perhaps not unicorn then. Too secure in their purity," Ollivander muttered and discarded almost a fourth of the boxes he'd accrued. He peered at the boy over the glasses he wore. Harry made sure to avoid eye contact with the watery blue orbs seeking his green ones.

"Wands are many things. Seldom is a tool prevalent only because it has only one advantage. Wands resonate, amplifying the effect, the focus, the ease of a given spell," he began explaining, Harry nodding along. "They unify the magical system into something comprehensible, predictable, researchable. Something with rules. Staves are powerful but lack finesse. Sorcery, that is to say, wandless magic, is completely and utterly individual, meaning every sorcerer starts from the beginning. What can a sorcerer discover, learn and create in one lifetime that the entire wizarding world working on a unified system for thousands of years cannot match a million times over? Wands are our friends, our allies, our third arm. They are what separates us from magical creatures. Our tool, birthright and gift…" he trailed off, his eyes glazing over. "Does that answer your question?" He asked after he snapped out of whatever daydream his monologue had sent him spiralling into and went back to his assortment of boxes.

"For the moment. I'll research the topic more when I have the chance to peruse the Hogwarts library," Harry said.

"I recommend Wandlore throughout the winding winds of time by Bork Stavenot. Hogwarts should have a copy." Ollivander said before suddenly shoving a box in Harry's face. "Here, try this. Hawthorne and dragon heartstring."

Harry took the dark wooden wand out of the box and for want of anything better to do, swished it in the general direction of the floor. Nothing seemed to happen and the wand was taken away.

It was at the next wand that Harry decided that he needed to take an active role in the process. Perhaps his magic was too controlled in comparison to the average child. It would make sense considering how much he practised what was apparently sorcery.

It only needed a split-second for Harry to concentrate enough to bring about a small part of the power he had available. He focused the energy into the arm holding the wand and flicked the wand at a splinter lying innocuously on the floor.

It burst into hot white flames for but a second, before disappearing, leaving nothing, not even a scorch mark. Harry grimaced. "I was trying to levitate it," he admitted. The wand was snatched out of his hand.

"Hawthorn and phoenix feather."

A stab at the air. The intended effect, a pleasant breeze, the result, one spark.

"We're getting somewhere, definitely not hawthorn, but phoenix…" Ollivander muttered and the next wand he produced from his pile of boxes was oak and phoenix feather.

The game continued, either the wand would not even attempt to reproduce the desired effect, or it would be so weak that it was clearly incompatible.

It was only when Harry received a light brown wand with reddish streaks that he felt something happen before he even attempted to cast anything. He furrowed his brows at the length of wood, about as long as his forearm sans hand, and decided on something more difficult. He began swirling the wand in a downward pointed circle, pulling on only a small amount of magic, something that the wand greedily sucked up, amplified, refined and focused. Water droplets started emerging from the air where the wand was swung and followed the magic stick around like a little colony of ducklings that gradually grew larger and larger, eventually becoming a stream, which became a miniature river. This was the point where Harry elegantly circled the wand upwards in tighter and tighter circles. This caused the gathered-up water to bunch off into a perfect sphere, about as large as a tennis ball. The water sphere hovered where Harry had left it, not requiring much concentration to be kept in position.

Harry felt elated as he looked at the wand in his hand. 'Now this was a tool,' he thought. The water ball exercise was something he'd been working on recently. It was something that had been very frustrating to form and hold in position. The wand had allowed him to gather a larger amount of water in maybe a fifth of the time that he usually needed and the levitation of the ball felt like he could hold it forever. Thinking for a moment if it was the correct decision to try something new Harry decided to let his enthusiasm have its due. With a light smile on his face, he smoothed out the surface of the water sphere and focused on stopping all motion within the localised phenomenon. A white ball began spreading in the middle of the sphere. It extended spindly arms around itself, growing slowly until it filled out the entirety of the sphere, its shell eventually turning to white jagged ice. Harry felt elated and slightly dizzy.

The ball dropped to the wooden floor, shattering into a million little ice crystals and Harry quickly handed the wand to Ollivander before sitting down on the floor and cradling his head. He had suddenly developed a thumping headache, which thankfully lessened with every second.

"Well, that was very impressive. I can't wait to see what you will manage to do when you start learning real spells, Mr. Evans. But for the moment, I believe it was a fitting display for the wand that has chosen you. Elder wood is not something given or taken lightly. One has to wait for a branch to fall off this tree, for if one snaps it, the wood becomes cursed. There aren't many elder wands and there are even fewer elder wand wielders. The core is phoenix ash, something used much more rarely than phoenix feather. Mostly, because phoenix ash is not as powerful as a willingly given feather. However, its symbolic ties to rebirth are much stronger. An interesting wand," Ollivander said as he packed the wand away in a box, apparently unconcerned about Harry's condition. "I'd truly hate to see you again Mr. Evans," he said, paused for a moment, before adding a leather contraption to the box and handing the whole ensemble to Harry, who had by then managed to stand up.

"Here, a wand holster, free of charge. That will be nine galleons."

Harry handed over the money and made to leave, many things on his mind.

"Mr. Evans," Ollivander called out just as Harry had put his hand on the door handle of the store. "Elder wood is suited for healing, protection and funnily enough, music. Phoenix ash on the other hand… I've not made or sold any wands that use the material. However, I imagine that the core will be suited for works of finesse. How that would be expressed I do not know. A warning, however. Phoenix ash holds a residue of death and while it might signal potential to rebirth it might also mean that it would wish to inflict a similar faith on others. Be careful what you cast on people you do not like," Ollivander warned gravely.

"Thank you for the warning, Mr. Ollivander," Harry said and exited the shop. The magical world suddenly seemed much brighter now that he'd gotten a wand. He took a moment to glance at the alley, appreciating its contours and old architectural styles, interspersed with clearly magical colours and effects.

It was in front of the shop that Slughorn was waiting. "Hard find?" The man asked.

Harry nodded. "I feel like I tried half the wands in the store, but we got there eventually."

"There are a few Knuts left from your yearly stipend. Not enough to buy anything worthwhile," Slughorn commented.

Harry shook his head. "I was actually thinking it would be nice to get you something as thanks for the help today, sir. I saw some ice cream on the way here, would you say it's worth trying?" Harry asked, feeling genuinely grateful that the probably busy man had taken time out of his schedule to introduce him to the Wizarding World. The suggestion seemed to be well-received as Slughorn laughed fully, moustache twitching.

"Magical ice cream, Harry, you're in for a treat. Let's go and give it a whirl," he said with a smile.

The ice cream was indeed good.

Chapter Text

It was a worried Aunt Petunia that greeted Harry when he arrived back home in the evening. Slughorn had declined to enter the house again, simply dropping Harry off via apparition. Harry didn't even get the chance to ring the doorbell before he was ushered inside, hot cocoa pressed into his hands, along with a ham sandwich. Harry bit into it gladly. It had been a long shopping trip and he'd only had ice cream.

"Everything went alright Auntie," Harry assured Petunia as he sat down and sipped his drink, causing his aunt to breathe out in relief.

"You'll be going to Hogwarts then," she stated.

"What kid doesn't want to attend a magical academy?" Harry joked, before sighing. "Hogwarts makes the most sense, especially since I finished my non-magical education. Magic is just another skill I can learn to live a better life in the end."

"If you stay alive long enough to use it," Petunia said bitterly. "However, considering how incredibly, ridiculously bright you are, I imagine you'll do fine," she said with a gentle smile and not a small amount of trust. Trust that Harry had carefully built up over the years. Although to be honest, with an adult mind, it wasn't challenging being an exemplary child genius. Rather, it was too easy. If he didn't have his magic to practise he might have gone insane from boredom and grief. Losing everything and every one, one's whole life. It was incomparable to the gift of magic, but at least he'd gotten a gift. He could just as well have been reborn ordinary, or even sick in some way.

Harry still missed his old life, but 11 years was a long time to heal wounds. Magic helped, but what he expected to help more would be getting older and having more options in what to do. Being a child under the authority of others wasn't particularly fun when one had previously enjoyed adult autonomy. Maybe he'd even come to a point where he wouldn't trade this life for his previous one in a heartbeat as he aged.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Harry said after the long break in the conversation during which they'd just both sipped at their drinks, his aunts being considerably more alcoholic. A gin tonic. What Harry wouldn't do to get one as well. "My mother's fate hangs like a dark veil over the whole ordeal and society I will be participating in. Especially since her fate was just a symptom, not the root cause of the disease."

"Just promise me you'll get out if it starts being bad again. God knows when these freaks will start another war."

Harry shook his head. "No worries here. I'm quite attached to my life. Even if I want to participate in the Wizarding World after Hogwarts I probably wouldn't even stay in Britain. Too many problems. There must be other, untroubled countries somewhere out there where I can gain a better impression of the magical community."

"Read up on it and by god, if there's a magical way to learn languages take advantage of it. We'll even go to France if the worst comes to worst. I'm not losing another family member to… that," Petunia said bitterly while looking at Harry as if he would disappear if she let him out of her sight.

"Thanks for worrying about me. You know I'll always appreciate having a family like we have, even if our paths end up diverging," Harry said, making Petunia snort.

"Oh, there's no way you're getting out of visiting at least twice a year, even if you end up in magical China."

"Never wanted to imply anything else," Harry said and finished his hot chocolate. He stood up, "I should be getting to bed now, it's been an exhausting day." He went over to his aunt to give her a hug, before leaving for bed.

"Vernon also told me to give you a message from him," Petunia said as he was just about to exit the room.

Harry paused. "Yeah, what is it?"

"That he'll miss flipping cars with you and to always be the one finishing a fight, but not starting it," she said.

"I'm still here for another month, he could have just told me himself."

"He got emotional, left for the pub and wanted me to speak to you," Petunia replied while rolling her eyes.

"Good night, then."

"Sleep well," Petunia said.

Harry exited the room to the sight of his aunt refilling her gin.

-/-

Harry stared at the tall apple tree that had grown on top of the graves of his past life. The magical phenomenon that had occurred on that wretched day had in the end made something sad into something beautiful. He hadn't been here for a while and the tree had grown even bigger than the last time he'd seen it. Its crown almost seemed to envelop the whole clearing. It's ridiculously red apples gleamed in the sun, out of season, always.

The ground around the apple tree was beautiful, overgrown with wildflowers and berries. Harry had hesitated eating anything growing here for a long time now. He looked at an apple tantalisingly being offered to him by an overburdened branch and didn't grasp for it.

He thought about his partner, and his family and grieved for a second.

The dreams? Not something to mourn too much he'd recently decided, considering he could still fulfil them. He could still go to university after all, and the economy was in better shape than it would be 30 years in the future. Being a homeowner didn't seem impossible.

Magic was the thing that changed everything. Technically he could just put muggle-repelling wards on some abandoned strip of the Mediterranean and magic himself a house. "Moving a bit fast aren't you Evans. Wards, houses, you came here to practise household charms," he chuckled.

He shook his head and with one last indecipherable gaze towards the tree, he picked up his bicycle to go towards his actual destination. A cave a few hundred metres away from the clearing in which he'd buried everything he'd ever had or wanted. Once there he threw a branch into the small rocky crack in the hill, ready to bolt, just in case something had found residency there. Once nothing happened he simply left his bike in front of the cave and entered the shadowed space. He pulled out a lantern from his backpack, turned it on and put it on the ground where he sat down on a flat rock.

Glancing to the right, where one could already see the end of the cave, barely five metres away from its entrance, he began unpacking his green backpack covered in little frogs. Out came the books he'd bought on household charms, two water bottles, one thermos, a box with his lunch in it and last but not least, some miscellaneous items he'd taken from around the house.

"But first the wandless magic," Harry said to himself and lifted a hand, snapping his fingers. A flame alighted on top of his middle finger, adding +5 fire damage to any wordless insults. Harry made the flame glow larger, as big as the finger itself, smaller, as small as a pea. These were easy exercises. Beginning to really concentrate Harry made to change the fire's colour to blue, however, after a minute he only managed to tinge it a bit into yellow instead of its previous orange. Green worked a bit better and normally Harry would have pursued the avenue more, but he had other things to do today. Flicking his hands towards the end of the cave a small fist-sized fireball evolved from the minuscule flame and fizzled out before it reached anything.

Seeing as he was dealing with the elements, the next thing Harry did was swirl his finger in a circle, collecting the moisture from his surroundings. He was barely able to gather a thimble after several minutes of trying, but freezing it was more successful than ever before. Achieving the feat with a wand must have helped get the feeling right.

Harry muttered appreciatively at the success and added the created ice ball into his thermos full of lemonade.

"Last but not least," Harry said as he picked up a metal ball usually used to play petanque and threw it towards the far end of the cave. Before it could smash against the wall he extended his hand into a gripping motion and held the ball in place in the air. With a beckoning motion, he returned it to himself, at which point he made it orbit around his sitting torso. After a few turns around him it fell on the ground, behind his back.

Picking it up again he held the ball in the palm of his right hand and pointed it at the end of the cave. He enveloped the ball slowly with his magic and mind, before pushing as hard he was able. It flew off, as fast as an arrow and crashed against the end of the cave, chipping off parts of the rock and creating an unbearable noise. "Still not able to stop it after a shot like that," Harry muttered before summoning the ball back with a lazy gesture of his arm.

Done with wandless magic he sat down in a lotus position and began to meditate, clearing his mind. Something that had been more difficult recently, since his Hogwarts letter and the accompanying professor had arrived. Who was his father? What was the difference between this world and the one he'd read about? Why had he been reborn? These were all questions that he shunted out of his mind with great proficiency, clearing it as well as he could.

There was a void, for an indecipherable amount of time and then there was something again.

Harry opened his eyes, picked up a chipped plate he'd brought with him and smashed it on the ground. The shards flew in all directions, leaving behind only a memory. With the dull-eyed gaze of someone who had just meditated he extended his arm, his wand and thinking of nothing, flicked it at the plate, "Reparo."

The shards vibrated in place, moving closer together, if one squinted.

The next step was closing his eyes, imagining the shards coming together and fusing back into what they once were. Harry willed it to happen like he did his sorcery, and then he opened his eyes, setting a focused gaze on the former plate. A flick, "Reparo."

The parts of the plate flew together slowly, spiralling in a circle on the floor as more and more pieces mended with each other. Harry didn't have to do anything, just watch the aftermath of something he'd already cast. That was until the charm stopped working halfway through, leaving the object only partially fixed.

Harry furrowed his brows and ran his thumb along his slightly rough-to-the-touch wand, wondering what the problem could have been. The book said that one needed to focus on the effect one wanted to achieve using one's imagination, and then one needed to back up the imagination with willpower and focus.

Perhaps the theory was incomplete? Possible. Harry would find higher-level material at Hogwarts. "Quite likely though. It is simply a matter of practice. Considering this is my first spell it's going very well actually," he muttered, glanced at the half-broken plate and flicked his wand at it, "Reparo," he willed the broken parts together and they did, leaving behind a pristine plate. The success caused Harry to smile. There was a reason he wanted to learn the mending charm first and that reason was simple. It was because Harry was a collector, not even out of necessity, but out of enjoyment.

However, being transported to the past and being able to buy the first edition of any collectable, and then also have a spell to repair it to perfect condition. Suffice it to say, if the whole magic or career thing didn't work out, Harry could probably live out the rest of his life buying antiques from flea markets, casting reparo at them and reselling the result for ten times the price.

Case in point, a broken first edition vinyl of ABBA's Waterloo.

"Reparo."

Correction, a pristine version of ABBA's Waterloo.

"If anything it's the mending charm that I should learn to cast wandlessly," Harry muttered, before turning his attention away from the mending charm to the spell that would save him the most time during his life unless he acquired a house-elf somehow. The scouring charm, a charm that cleaned up dirty shit and funnily enough, if it was cast at a person, would make soap rinse their mouth. Something that didn't really make sense considering a charm that vanished dirt, shouldn't be also capable of conjuring soap, but such was magic, apparently.

-/-
It was a dissatisfied Harry Evans who was found biking home after a few hours spent in a cave practising magic. He'd managed to further refine his mending charm, but the scouring charm had been a complete failure, requiring several casts to remove even a small patch of dust. He thought he knew what the issue was, but that didn't make him feel any better, seeing as he didn't have the tools necessary to alleviate it. See, Harry's thesis was that the scouring charm benefitted from the user having some familiarity with the subset of transfiguration skills called vanishing. If one knew how to vanish an item, one's magic would be more used to the same act when applied to the highly formulaic scouring charm.

The only problem was that vanishing was obviously not first-year material. At least he hadn't found it in his first-year transfiguration book. One silver lining was the fact that if his theory was correct, and that knowing how to vanish would help one's scouring charm, then knowing the scouring charm would be helpful when learning how to vanish. This way attempting to make the scouring charm work would aid him in transfiguration in the future. Although the payoff would probably be higher the other way around?

Without being aware of it Harry started whistling as he drove home, magical theories, his own postulations and plans for future magic learning whirring around in his head.

"That's a nice enough goal. Learning the scouring charm," Harry mused just about when he arrived home and saw how absolutely dirty his mountain bike was. Driving through a forest, be it rain or sunshine, would do that.

Harry quickly deposited the items that he'd repaired in his cave away from home in his room, full of vinyl records, old cameras, coins, trading cards and books.

"Did we get any mail, screaming mail by any chance?" Harry asked his aunt whom he found in the kitchen preparing a meat pie.

"Not that I noticed. How was your bike ride?" Petunia asked without turning away from the forming of the pie.

"Enjoyable and enlightening, very draining," Harry said, mostly referring to the fact that his connection to magic felt sore, as much as a metaphysical state of connection could feel sore. He hadn't gotten physically tired for a while now. Another advantage of magic perhaps? Did it boost one's innate human capabilities? Something to look into after he got his hands on some medical knowledge. Messing with the body was dangerous business.

"Just don't overexert yourself with whatever you're doing," Petunia said before trailing off.

Harry stepped forward and gave his aunt a hug from the side. "What's wrong?" He asked.

A tear fell into the meat pie, Petunia wasn't working anymore but just propping herself up on the kitchen counter. "Just promise me you'll do everything to stay safe," she managed to force out.

Harry continued hugging, an awkward angle due to his size. "I'll prioritise my health over everything," he promised.

Petunia turned towards him to hug him back and to stroke his hair. "You're a brilliant boy Harry. Whatever magic might promise, I assure you, you can be just as successful in this world."

"I love non-magical music way too much," Harry promised, "and by the time I finish Hogwarts I'll be just in time to go to university."

"Good luck explaining where you were for seven years, you dolt," Petunia said as she released him from his hug. She looked him up and down before scrunching her nose. "And go take a shower, you stink," she said with a slight tone of disgust, before looking down on herself and seeing that some of his sweat now stained her apron.

"Universities aren't workplaces. They won't care where I was as long as I have the right grades, worst case, I can just say I first wanted to become independently wealthy flipping cars," Harry said, before noticing that he was overstaying his welcome by tapping his aunt's feet on the wooden flooring.

He went to take a shower.

-/-

"Who in the fuck thought such delicate leaf shutters were a good idea," Harry mumbled as he idly transfigured the tip of his screw-driver into a smaller variation thereof so that he could unscrew the fastening of the lens from the camera to get at the shutters underneath. The chrome steel easily popped off and he got to see what had been blocking the shutters from locking. Solidified oil.

"How German," Harry muttered, "designing an intricate mechanical system and then having it fail you because you used the wrong sort of oil." He tapped his wand on the fastening and the screws that he'd taken off, one after the other, "Scourgify," then he began disassembling the rest of it. It was slow tedious work but there was a reward there, a financial one of a few hundred pounds for this rare camera in perfect condition, but also a symbolic one. Harry liked the idea of photographs and the photo album of his new life was safely tucked inside his trunk hanging overhead in its small compartment. Not being able to afford a magical camera with the leftovers of his muggle-born stipend and not knowing how electricity would work within a place as magical as Hogwarts had left him the option of a purely mechanical camera. Contaflex 1948. Very beautiful chrome, once scourgified a few times. It would help commemorate his time in Hogwarts. He paused at the thought. Wasn't there something to commemorate right now? His first train ride to a magical school. Reality truly was stranger than fiction.

Harry cast a distracted repair charm at the camera that he'd picked apart and cleaned and wound it up a few times without a film roll in it to check if it really worked. Once satisfied with the quality of his repair he stepped out of his compartment. Flagging down the first student he saw, taking care to avoid green ties. Harry ended up engaging a young boy with brown hair and blue eyes who, by the lack of colour on his robes, also seemed to be a first-year.

"Hello, I'm Harry Evans." He said to the boy, who started before turning to him and smiling.

"Hullo. I'm Cedric," the boy introduced himself, extending a hand which Harry shook politely and firmly. "Cedric Diggory," the boy blurted out with a slight flush to his face after the handshake.

"Nice to meet you Cedric Cedric Diggory. Would you mind terribly taking a picture of me in my compartment? I want to commemorate my first train ride," Harry said, at which the boy brightened up again.

"That's a great idea! Why didn't I think of that," Cedric exclaimed as he followed Harry into his compartment. "Wow, that's a really shiny camera," he remarked as the chrome was pressed into his hand.

"Just make sure I'm in the picture and press the button on the upper right corner," Harry said as he let himself fall down on his seat and lean on the little table he'd pulled up with one arm, the other lazily holding his wand to his temple as if he was thinking, or extracting a memory.

"You're not gonna move?" Cedric asked confusedly once he'd gotten into a position to shoot the photo in.

"It's a muggle camera, no point in doing that. It's gonna be a still," Harry remarked and without much preamble, a click was heard.

"That's so cool, how does it work without magic and wait, where's the photo?" Cedric said as he lifted the camera up and checked underneath, looking for a photo. Something Harry would have to develop in his trunk once they'd gotten to Hogwarts. Not that he would bother until he'd actually finished the camera roll.

"Muggle cameras need the photo developed first, it's not instantaneous. Magical cameras make them immediately?" Harry asked.

"Yeah! It's super-fast. Less than a minute, no, less than thirty seconds, no, less than fifteen," Cedric said, jittering in his seat. "Wait, do you think you could take a picture of me? Nobody I know has a camera," he suddenly said before posing, before perking up and jumping to his feet. "Wait, no, you think you could do it in my compartment? I want my friends to be in the picture."

Harry watched, amused to a certain extent, how energetic the 11-year-old boy was. It made sense, he guessed. It was the train ride to Hogwarts, a magical school in the Scottish highlands where they were going to learn how to shoot lightning bolts.

And if lightning bolts weren't in the curriculum? Well, that's what self-study existed for.

"Sure, lead the way," Harry acquiesced and explained all about how muggle cameras branded light reflections onto a dark sleek material.

That was how he found himself taking a picture that made him feel a tiny bit apprehensive. Looking through the small lens at the two identical red-haired twins hugging each other and making stupid faces, Cedric sitting on the ground and a girl he didn't know trying to look haughtily into the camera. Four eleven-year-old children. Two Weasleys, one Diggory, one unknown, but happy-looking girl with a life, a dream, a future, a family.

Two of the four children were supposed to die in the original timeline.

Harry snapped the picture. "I'll get this to you guys when I end up developing the film," he said, quickly excusing himself, but not before being hugged by one of the twins.

A seemingly heart-warming gesture, until Harry noticed something struggling inside of his pocket when he reached his compartment. He pulled out a chocolate frog and stared at it as he stood in the middle of an empty compartment, with only his books, his wand, his trunk and his camera to keep him company.

He popped the chocolate into his mouth. Despite having lived a very long life and having tried many abominable chocolates, this one somehow managed to be the worst one that he'd ever tasted.

It was bitter.

Chapter Text

It was Hagrid who received them at the train station and it was a Harry who was slightly busy admiring his new clothes that went onto a random boat. The robes were so breezy, so elegant. Wizarding fashion wasn't one of the things he'd expected to get excited about, but it was definitely a vibe. He thought he looked quite fetching in his new ensemble plus wizard's hat. He had always managed to pull off a hat, no matter the body, apparently that was a spiritual quality. It was because he was too busy admiring his own reflection, per se, despite there being no mirror, that Harry found himself in a boat with the Weasley twins and Cedric.

He sighed as he forlornly looked around for the other boats, seeing that none of them had a free spot.

"Thanks for the chocolate frog, I guess. My pocket is full of chocolate now," Harry said to the twins sitting in front of him, instead of a greeting, accepting his fate.

"Got you good, didn't we?" the one on the right cackled, "I knew it was a good idea to practise slipping things in people's pockets," the other one said, before they introduced themselves as Gred and Forge.

"Interesting names your parents picked," Harry noted while leaning on the edge of the boat and admiring the perfectly clear sky and the reflection of the bright moon on the placid lake. "Is it intentional that if one switches the first letters of your names one gets Fred and George?"

"Their names really are Fred and George. They just think they're funny," Cedric interjected.

"Haha," Harry deadpanned, "How do you guys know each other, if I may ask?"

"Oh, we're neighbours," Cedric explained, but the conversation was interrupted by Hogwarts coming into view as the boats passed a bend. The rest of the ride remained silent, everyone being too busy admiring the beautifully lit castle. Harry felt touched as if he'd travelled to another world and seen something not meant for his eyes.

They eventually stopped at an underground pier and all the students exited and formed a crowd around a stern-looking older woman with emerald green robes, who had been waiting for them. "All there?" She asked, turning to Hagrid.

She received a nod and off they were.

"Must be nice being neighbours, you can hang out in the summer," Harry remarked. "Hard to keep older friendships alive if you end up in different houses, I imagine. So many new people to get to know. Don't get me started on the different schedules," he mused, not remembering that it had ever been mentioned in the books that the Weasley twins and Cedric had any significant connection.

"Yeah, Cedric's gonna be sorted into Puff and then he'll be too lame to hang out with," One twin said, "a real tragedy," the other said.

"Hufflepuff is not lame!" Cedric protested and made to lightly shove one of the red-heads, who quickly dodged back.

"You guys already know where you want to be sorted then?" Harry asked.

"Gryffindor rules!" the twins shouted.

"My whole family has been in Hufflepuff for a while now. I heard stories about the common house and it sounds really nice. I wouldn't mind. Do you have a preference?"

"Anything but Slytherin is fine, muggle-born and all," Harry replied blasely, only for someone to shove him from behind.

He stumbled forward but righted himself before he could fall. Turning around angrily he saw a pale, dark-haired boy scowling at him. "We wouldn't want you there anyway, mu-" The boy spat, paused, before growing even paler than his already pale complexion. The dude really needed a week in the sun.

Harry rolled his eyes at the situation and turned around in the sudden silence and stillness that had formed to see Professor McGonagall standing behind him, glaring at them both. He huffed. Good that he wasn't impulsive enough to retaliate, physically or verbally, or else they'd both gotten detention. Harry was perfectly fine with not being locked in a room like he had that much time to waste, thank you very much. "Now, now," he said instead, "There's no reason why we can't get along, we're just here to finish our magical education. Wasting our precious time here fighting each other seems contradictory to the fact that school is supposed to be fun," he said, before taking a step towards the boy and extending a hand. The boy looked between him and his hand, confused, but couldn't back away due to the throng of students surrounding them. He looked at the glaring professor standing behind Harry and shook his hand with a scowl. "See," Harry said, "and suddenly we're all friends and don't have to waste several hours of our lives in detention because we broke each other's noses. I'm Harry Evans, by the way."

"Montague." The boy ground out.

"It was nice meeting you Montague," Harry replied and turned around.

"I'm glad you managed to sort that out," McGonagall said approvingly, "onwards then, we've wasted enough time."

"That was wicked," one of the twins whispered to Harry once they were on their way to the great hall again. Cedric seemed like he wanted to add something as well, but a well-timed backwards glance from McGonagall convinced him not to. Overall it was a sombre group of first years that eventually arrived at a great set of wooden doors leading to the great hall.

It wasn't long before the wooden doors opened with an ominous creaking sound. Truly completing the contradictory reality of a castle that was somehow magical, but had rusty hinges. It was definitely a sombre aesthetic, an impression that was immediately ruined by youthful chatter and a bright hall illuminated by countless candles.

-/-

"Hufflepuff," the sorting hat shouted and was promptly removed from Cedric's head by Professor McGonagall.

"Harry Evans," she read from the scroll in her hand and the redhead slowly began making his way to the stool sitting right in front of the staff table. He used this opportunity to observe the professors, the only unknown being a stiff woman who looked to be somewhere in her fifties and in desperate need of a proper meal. Otherwise, it was as he remembered. Hagrid, Kettleburn, Slughorn, Dumbledore, Quirrell…. No Snape.

He smiled forlornly as he climbed the steps to the hat, closed his eyes and cleared his mind.

Nothing existed as he sat and had the hat put upon his head.

Nothing was thought as the hat whispered into his ear. "Look, It's a nice trick, but it'll just hurt if I have to actually break in. So give me something."

Harry sighed and released his hold on the void, it probably would have been too much to hope for to have mastered Occlumency without formal instruction or learning material. 'Not Slytherin,' he thought at the hat, before thinking about how going to Hogwarts to a potentially dangerous unknown exhibited bravery and how his perpetual learning and practice exhibited a thirst for knowledge and an astounding amount of hard work. 'Take your pick,' he projected, not really having a preference.

"Well," the hat said, out loud this time, so the entire hall could hear, "it better be, Hufflepuff!"

Once Harry stood up from the chair, the yellow and black table burst into applause, joined by the corpulent monk floating atop it.

"The applause feels undeserved," Harry whispered to Cedric, who he'd sat down next to. "I just sat on a chair."

"It's more that the house wants the new students to feel welcome I think," Cedric whispered back before they both turned to watch the next sorting.

It wasn't long before all the students were sorted and the headmaster, a man with an impressive silver beard and garishly purple robes stood up and gathered the attention of the room onto himself. Dumbledore, of course, gave a lengthy speech, not anything particularly mention-worthy being situated within it. The only thing Harry paid attention to was when the man introduced the new Defence against the Dark Arts professor, a certain, "Professor Twix." Her background was curiously not elucidated upon and nobody in the great hall seemed particularly excited. The applause was rather middling.

Harry perked up, however, when the headmaster ended his speech with, "Nitment, Bobbsi, Smithens," which caused the food to appear. "Those must be house-elf names," he muttered before quickly securing some roast beef, caramelised carrots and roasted potatoes. In addition to this, he poured a clear tomato soup into his goblet and sipped from it in between bites.

"Does it taste good? Drinking tomato soup like that?" a blonde girl, with her hair in two braids sitting on his.

"Penny, right?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, sorry. Your name is Harry?" she asked, at which he nodded.

"Well, I like tomato soup. Considering the only other options are pumpkin juice and water, I decided to go with the more fun option." He glanced at her plate. Mashed potatoes with gravy. He smiled. "I see you know what you like enough to stick to a single thing though."

Penny turned her nose up, "Hogwarts is awesome, no parents to badger me into eating vegetables," she proclaimed as if being a picky and difficult eater was something to be proud of.

Harry hummed and looked at her sceptically, before returning back to his meal. It wasn't his job to fix anyone's eating habits. "I like your braids, by the way," he said, to not end the conversation on the topic of food. The braids were indeed very cute. Penny had very bright blonde hair, half of which she tied into three braids, two of which rested on her front making sure her tie wasn't lonely. The last one ran from the top of her head to the back, where it joined the follicles that were allowed to swing freely down her back.

"Thanks," Penny muttered with a blush before diving face-first into her mashed potatoes.

Harry returned to his own meal. He was finally here, huh?

Chapter Text

Interlude: Horace Slughorn

31st July 1989: late afternoon, after Harry's trip to Diagon Alley

Loud sounds of banging, exploding, or panging did not generally exhibit any emotions. However, there would be few who wouldn't be able to ascertain the tiredness of the loud crack that resounded throughout the Scottish Highlands that day.

Slughorn waved his wand at the wrought-iron Hogwarts gates that had suddenly replaced the puerile Surrey and stepped through the small opening he'd created. A wonderful view of the beautiful castle in which he was a teacher opened up before him, but the scene left him cold. When was the last time such a thing had occurred?

"Surely not since the end of the war," the old man said as he began walking up to the institute, feeling all his years and weight, metaphorical and otherwise. He could have simply apparated to the three broomsticks and taken a short trip through the floo to his pleasantly cool office in the dungeons. But Albus had wished to speak with him, and he preferred taking a bit longer to get there. He needed to sort his thoughts.

Harry Evans, the problem on his mind. Terribly bright, precocious, and interested in magic beyond his grasp and the grasp of most wizards. Even he at his age had only mastered median levels of Occlumency and he was considered accomplished for the feat.

He brought up a tissue to wipe at his runny nose. The boy. He reminded him of Lily, just that he took all the qualities she'd had and amplified them. Intellect to genius, coquettishness to precociousness and control to mastery. It hadn't escaped him that for their entire interaction, except perhaps immediately after the boy had gotten his wand, Harry had only shown him what he'd wanted him to see. In that way, he reminded Slughorn of another student, one much older now, whom he'd harboured in his house.

He entered the castle and started laboriously making his way upstairs to the headmaster's office. The castle was empty of students and professors alike, the draw of spending the summer elsewhere being too much for the staff. Dumbledore would be in his office, however. Being the headmaster of Hogwarts might not have been the older man's only position, but it was likely the only one that he felt he had left. Slughorn thought similarly; he'd had a chance to run away and leave the life of education and intellectual toil behind. Retire and enjoy the connections he'd made while teaching. Throw elaborate dinner parties with money assured by the semi-regular sale of rare potions like Felix Felicis.

The chance had long passed and the only thing left from the days in which he would have taken that chance was a profound sense of moral disgust. Losing Lily like that, likely to one of his own students, had broken him. Something Albus had used to his own advantage to reform Slughorn into something more befitting his own philosophy. For all that Horace had avoided taking a stance his entire life, preferring to hedge his bets and enjoy the seduction attempts from both sides, the blood war hadn't left him any other choice. The crimes committed had been so hideous he'd become unable to run.

It remained to be seen if Harry Evans would be a student he'd need to go out of his way to protect or one of the students he'd need to protect others from. Horace sincerely hoped his worries were unfounded, but unlike Albus, he didn't have the energy to believe in the innate goodness of humanity, or children anymore. Not after...

"Candy pop," he said to the gargoyle in front of the headmaster's office, paying attention not to lock eyes with any of the paintings present in the corridor. They were entertainment-deprived from how empty the castle was and would take any opportunity to try to involve him in a conversation. The doors opened and he walked up the stairs, greeting the bearded old man sitting at his desk late into the afternoon and writing what seemed like a policy proposal for the Wizengamot if the format of the parchment was any indication.

"Good evening, Albus," Horace said as he sat down in the plush armchair that had appeared under his behind after he'd walked up to the desk. He sighed in contentment as Albus quickly finished up his work before putting away the quill and folding his hands under his chin to lock blue eyes on blue.

"Thank you again, Horace, for undertaking the trip. Considering the circumstances, I thought it better to send a professor."

"Of course, a half-blood whose magical parentage is dead barely has any more knowledge than a muggle-born."

"How has young Harry Evans been doing, he lives with his aunt, correct?"

Horace nodded, "He seemed well informed, as much as he could be. His aunt likely knew at least some things about the magical world from her sister. She was very displeased to see me and wanted to send the boy to another school, but I managed to convince her otherwise." He laughed bitterly, while Albus sighed.

"Despite anecdotal evidence to the contrary in this particular case, Hogwarts is one of the safest, if not the safest school in the world. It's good you managed to convince his family."

Horace hesitated, "It was partially the boy himself that did the convincing, his aunt and uncle seem to trust him a lot. He said that he would leave Hogwarts if another conflict started brewing on the horizon, saying one could see the signs of an incoming war before it happened."

"Even the best diviners cannot predict the specifics of the future," Albus said non-committedly to that factoid. "Otherwise?" he asked.

Horace hesitated again, but this time he gave into his desire to not disclose the full story. For all that, there had been some similarities between Tom Riddle and Harry Evans. Both orphans, intelligent, talented with magic, if the display he'd glimpsed through Ollivander's window was any indication... There was just as much Lily in the boy and most importantly, Harry had grown up in a seemingly loving family. He knew, however, that if he were to say things as they were, Albus would be wary of the boy. The man had a Voldemort-shaped hole in the rational part of his brain and it had been partially his handling of Tom that had contributed to making the man what he was today. Although, who knew, some wizards were simply destined for the wrong kind of greatness. "He reminds me of Lily, he takes after her," Horace thus said instead. "I imagine he'll be a student to look out for."

"We always need more of those," Albus mused and started getting up from his chair. Likely to wish Horace a good night and dismiss him.

"Albus, about the new professor," Horace said before he could be told to leave. He might as well address an issue that he saw if he was already here. The headmaster paused but remained standing, looking at him. "Is it smart to let a ministry asset teach Defence against the Dark Arts? Furthermore, the woman is a curse-breaker not a handler of dangerous beasts, or an auror. "

The headmaster ran a hand through his silvery beard, revealing stripes of lime green on the robe below as it parted. It made the purple ensemble even more questionable. Albus frowned, which was a rare enough thing to happen. Horace knew he'd struck a nerve. "I sincerely doubt that a ministry official was given leave to teach without a reason myself, but you know how desperately we need professors for this subject. Who knows, perhaps she'd break the curse on the position."

"I wouldn't get my hopes up, " Horace grunted, "if we wanted a real chance of getting rid of the curse we'd take a curse-breaker from Gringotts, rather than one from the ministry. Everyone knows that the best ones don't work for the government. The pay is just not good enough. "

"I wouldn't let her hear that opinion," Albus warned, "she seemed quite proud of her accomplishments, which I completely understand. They are why I hired her instead of that charming escaped convict from China who was trying to use the position to gain diplomatic immunity. "

"Good night, Albus, " Horace said with a grimace. His patience with the man always disappeared when he brought up one of the ridiculous applications they got for the Defence against the Dark Arts position every year.

"Good night, Horace, I wouldn't worry about it too much. We've managed before and we will manage again," the man said, standing amidst his instruments as they whistled, blared and jumped. Horace's eyes got stuck for a moment on a silver compass, meant to seek out splintered pieces of souls. But ever since the day it had been created, it had just been spinning around in circles. Useless. A painting sneezed from where it had been listening in on their conversation. It startled him from his thoughts and made him realise how tired he was. He ran a head down his face as he left the office, Dumbledore staying behind, likely to continue working in his tower.

"Don't stay up too late," he muttered in lieu of another platitude, knowing that with Albus' age, the man was likely feeling the bite of the approaching night much more strongly than he.

"For that matter, I can unfortunately make no promises." Was the answer he got.

Chapter Text

AN: It's been brought to my attention that this Grindelwald interlude has some similarities to the Grindelwald interlude in "Harry Potter and the boy who lived," by the Santi. It's a really awesome story, unfortunately its been abandoned for eight years now. I'd definitely recommend a read though, despite that. It was probably at the back of my mind when I wrote this, even though the similarities are kinda only due to the interaction of newspaper + guard. There's only so many ways you can depict a man in prison, so I guess I just struck similarity on accident. Sorry about that? Idk, pretty random.

2nd of November, 1979

Gellert lay in his cot and analysed the ceiling of his cell for the thirty-ninth time that day and as sure as water was water, there was a new crack developing in brick A63. He stared at the furrow and tilted his head, noting that it looked like a lightning bolt and thus, the rune Sowilo. Sun, warmth, positive renewal. He looked outside through the iron bars to the outside. A world of perpetual darkness as the enchantments keeping the sky cloudy around Nurmengard did their work.

He hadn't wanted to give his prisoners the luxury of sunlight. Perhaps if he'd been a less cruel man his own imprisonment would be less dreary. How ironic, that all dark lords ended up being hoisted by their own petard. He sometimes thought that the universe itself might have a sense of irony.

If it did, he would have liked to use the opportunity to tell the universe that he didn't appreciate its sense of humour. He turned his gaze back to the crack, lying stiff and unmoving in the part of the cell that he slept in; he refused to call it a bed.

A rune. He methodically started analysing all the bricks making up his cell, trying to see if any other cracks had formed and if any of the old ones could have meanings attributed to them.

Nurmengard lay still as the dark lord swept his gaze slowly through his room. Hours passed. Guards patrolled past the cell. A piece of mouldy bread was thrown through the iron bars that constituted the entrance. No additional crack of any interest was found on the walls. He idly brought up a bony hand to scratch at the scab that he'd developed recently after cutting himself on one of his overly long fingernails, before deciding against it.

The fact that there were no other rune-like constructs on the wall, made the rune that had appeared, all the more significant in Gellert's mind. If it was not a natural formation, then it meant something. He wasn't the greatest believer in prophecies and divination. He rather thought of himself as a rationalist. But for some reason his mood lifted and he expected something to happen throughout the day, even if it was only a ray of sunshine peeking through the cloud cover.

Nothing of such a nature occurred and the rune was slowly forgotten, dismissed. Another disappointment in a long string of unfortunate and meaningless events. The dark lord returned to doing what he'd been doing since his imprisonment. Bitterly regretting, hopelessly planning and drawing in whatever minuscule amounts of magic he still had access to in his condition and folding it, not letting it dissipate in a pointless attempt at supplementing his health. He kept it all, every drop he had access to. The lake within him grew.

2nd November 1981

A harsh rattle woke Gellert from a dismal sleep and he immediately snapped to attention to stare at the young man making a ruckus by knocking on the iron bars of his cell. A guard, clutching a newspaper and wearing a hateful smile.

"Another one bites the dust," he said while fluffing the newspaper and beginning to read. "The dark lord that terrorised the British Isles for nearly a decade was recently vanquished in a raid gone wrong, by what the British claim was a baby..." he read. Gellert righted himself up slowly with aching bones, gripping the stones that his cot was made of for support.

He looked at the young man, who was looking at him expectantly and tilted his head curiously as if asking, 'What's it to me?' Dismissal was a weak man's greatest weapon. The guard blustered, apparently not expecting the reaction. He looked around, to the left, to the right. He wasn't supposed to be talking to the Prisoner, the only one still held in the square alpine tower of Nurmengard.

The guard looked back at the newspaper trying perhaps to ignore the dark lord's gaze, "Albus Dumbledore expressed his belief that-", he read aloud, before Gellert raised a hand at the boy, expanded a minuscule amount of his magic and ripped the newspaper out of his hands to hold it in his own. The guard's expression turned from blustering to terrified to angry. He pulled his wand and raised it at the prisoner and cast a spell, "accio!" he called, unnecessarily loudly. The newspaper didn't budge and Gellert couldn't withhold a smirk.

"How did you do that?" the guard demanded, "you're not supposed to be able to do magic, let alone summon away a man's possessions," he said, revealing that while he remembered something of his education, he was too dumb to connect the concepts.

"Ownership, magical presence, overlapping over the property. Lessened effects from bad actors on held items," Gellert rasped with an unused voice, causing the boy to freeze up. Perhaps he hadn't expected Grindelwald to rise up to his taunts? "While ownership is a powerful concept, nobody expects a toddler to wrestle an adult, no matter the leverage. In other words, you are obviously lacking in the department that represents mass, or rather, control, in the context of magic," he explained.
The guard banged aggressively on the bars but didn't reach inside. He wasn't that dumb. The cell was Grindelwald's territory and anybody that entered, he could do with what he pleased. Which is why no one did, no matter how stupid they were. "Give me the paper," he hissed.

"No."

"I can make your life unpleasant." Was the threat. An empty one, Gellert's life was already completely shit and beyond repair. The dark lord taunted by waving the newspaper.

"You can't, while I have this, still," he said. The only thing the other man could do was stomp petulantly on the ground, like a child. While Gellert held the newspaper that the idiot had so graciously delivered to him, he couldn't do anything in fear of it being revealed that he'd breached protocol. Assuming of course that the man was invested in keeping his job. The quality of the guards had quickly lessened over the years, as the veterans of the conflict that had been fought retired and the position became something for people too dumb to make anything else out of themselves. Perhaps auror trainees got assigned the task for a bit? He didn't know, he hadn't talked to another human in seven years, since the ICW had last come begging for him to reveal the location of his stashes. A request he'd refused, just like they refused his request for access to books.

Gellert looked up from his musings and saw that the guard was gone. He looked down at the newspaper in his hands and started reading about this so-called boy who lived and the idiot dark lord who'd died at a babe's hands.

Chapter Text

Harry swiped his hand over his face to get rid of whatever was tickling him and tried falling back asleep. It didn't work and the feeling persisted, making him groan and wake up, only to notice, annoyed, that he'd been woken up by his own hair. He got up and flicked his wand, which he tended to sleep with, in the air, "Tempus." A bright blue holographic 5:44 appeared in the privacy of his curtained bed. The time informed him that unless he started going out at night after learning the disillusionment charm, he was going to end up going to sleep early enough to never miss a sunrise ever again. This annoyed him for some reason. He hated having a curfew.

There were advantages to being the first one up, however, he mused as he stumbled his way to the bathroom, past his sleeping first-year compatriots. No one disturbed him as he took a relaxing shower and ended up in front of the mirror on top of the sink. "It'll work this time," he told himself reassuringly before pointing his wand at his mouth and casting a spell, "Dentare." Toothpaste and water materialised in his mouth, which he kept closed for this purpose, before unleashing a localised tornado between his teeth. Harry scrunched his face and spit out the contents into the sink. Bright green foam disappeared into the pipes. He really wished that the taste of the toothpaste wasn't set automatically to anise. A flavour that he despised from his student days after making the acquaintance with a particularly vigorous mixture of ouzo and absinthe which someone had apparently thought would be an incredibly funny cocktail.

He sighed. "I miss alcohol."

"My words!" the mirror replied, aghast. "They start so young," it sighed.

Harry gave the talking mirror an annoyed glance and quickly left the bathroom. "Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to have a talking mirror in the baths. Who wants to be talked to by a random object while naked," he said as he went back to the shared bedroom. His year-mates were still sleeping soundly, so he packed his leather satchel with sheets of white paper, his fountain pen and after a moment's hesitation, his camera. Getting dressed in the uniform that he'd taken a liking to, he headed for the common room. A warm and welcoming space suffused by peeks of sunlight in which dust motes danced lazily. Wooden barrels were installed at large intervals in the walls, although Harry sincerely doubted that they contained anything.

"Swag room," he muttered as he brought up his camera to take a picture. Harry didn't think he would be spending much time here, considering that it was for the most part filled with loud and therefore obnoxious children discussing inanities. He went over to one of the tables and sat down to write a letter to the Dursleys.

Dear family,

I have arrived at the haunted castle safely and have been sorted into the house of the hard-working and the loyal…

It didn't take him long to pen the letter, seeing as not much had occurred yet and he had in fact been dropped off at the train station less than 24 hours ago. He did take special care to include in the letter the fact that he had interacted with Cedric and the twins on the train and that Cedric had been sorted into his own house. Petunia would appreciate thinking that he was making friends, as would Vernon, although the man would never admit it. He tactfully left out the blood-purist child who had accosted him before the sorting. Montongue or whatever his name was.

"Morning," a female voice grumbled from the opposite side of where he had accessed the common room. Harry turned around to appraise the new arrival who was awake shortly after six. Prodigious time for a teenager. His green eyes meet stormy grey ones framed by lilac hair. A cute button nose adorned the aristocratic face which was headed by a body on display by a pair of tight jeans and a form-fitting black sweater. The girl looked to be around 15 years old. A stage of development almost as annoying as all the other ones. "Aren't you up a bit early?" the teenager complained before grimacing, a hand subconsciously going to her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I could be asking you the same thing. I never thought I'd see a teenager wake up before 7 AM," he replied

"It's also a bit early for brats, innit?" the girl said instinctively, before cringing. "You're not home-sick or something are you?" she asked as she sat down next to him, with another grimace of pain, and glanced at the letter he'd just finished writing.

"Aren't you the detective," Harry replied. "Very interesting how you act all snarky but still sit down next to the presumably about-to-cry first-year. Is everyone in this house a goodie-two-shoes, is this what it's all about?"

"Aren't you a little rain of sunshine," the lilac girl muttered as she laid her head down on the table and closed her eyes with a sigh. "You sure you got sorted into the right house."

Harry sniffed disdainfully. "Of course I did, do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull to end up here?"

The girl cracked open an eye to look at him. "Why'd you have to pull strings? Also what strings. It's a sodding hat, where were you supposed to end up?"

Harry theatrically puffed up his chest and straightened his spine. He tilted his head upwards, so the girl could look up his nostrils for added effect. "Why Slytherin of course, the greatest of the Hogwarts four. The unfortunate thing is just that it's not very cunning or helpful to one's political ambitions to be sorted into the house of dark wizards. Which is where Hufflepuff comes in. You see, nobody suspects the Puff and thus it should be clear that all the real blood-purists and dark wizards are in Hufflepuff. All those in Slytherin are just pretenders, the idiots who'd rather put their blood-purism on display and then have measures taken against it, instead of acting in the shadows and succeeding unimpeded. My great-great-great-grandfather always said that one shouldn't let pride affect your ability to be an effective asshole."

The girl snorted, groaned in pain and clutched her stomach in quick succession. "You're a fucking riot kid. I can't imagine a dark wizard coming out of this cheery place, even if they'd already had a body count before the actual sorting."

Harry winked at the girl. "I agree with you, there couldn't possibly be a dark wizard that ever came out of Hufflepuff."

The girl winked back, a small smile now adorning her horizontally laid face.

Harry stood up and packed away his pen and letter into his satchel. "Well, it was nice meeting you stranger, but I must be off to the owlery to send my evil order-," he coughed, "what I mean is I must inform my family that I have arrived safely at Hogwarts," he corrected, before turning around to leave.

A hand snaked out to grab him by the wrist and Harry turned around to the girl with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not a stranger, call me Tonks. Also, do you even know the way to the owlery? You might just end up getting lost and starving somewhere in the dungeons."

"Are you offering to lead me?" Harry asked. "I'm Harry, by the way."

"Nice to meetcha. Yeah, hells, I'll take you, it's not like I have anything better to do," Tonks said before propping herself up on the table with a grimace to join him.

"Are you sure you should be going with me to the owlery instead of to the hospital wing?" Harry asked, receiving a shake of the head from the taller girl.

"No, nothing to be done there, I must have eaten something bad yesterday."

Harry sincerely doubted that the Hogwarts elves would have let anything bad slip through their fingers to infect the Hogwarts student population. He chuckled as a thought entered his mind. 'Intelligence is knowing when a girl is going through period cramps, wisdom is knowing not to mention it if she doesn't want to tell you.'

"What are you laughing at?" Tonks complained as they started making their way out of the common room, which only made Harry crack up more.

"Nothing much, just life I guess."

-/-

It was an enchanting way to the owlery, full of moving paintings, presumably enchanted knight armour ensembles and ghosts and moving staircases. When one reached the top of the owlery one got to drink in the view of Hogwarts and the lake and the forest and the far-off planes.

"They certainly picked a scenic place to put this old castle," Harry said as he ran his fingers over the cracked stone that the owlery was composed of.

The bird he was tying the letter to hooted and hopped away to prevent him from finishing tying the letter. "Oh I didn't mean you, dearie, I meant the castle. You're a young stud, aren't you," Harry crooned at the tawny owl, which hopped back with a preened chest and let him finish the knot. "Now off you go you beautiful, strong bird, my aunt will give you bacon, or bread crumbs or whatever your heart desires. Just stay long enough for her to reply, huh? She has no pretty owl to call her own," he said to the owl, which seemingly not willing to nod, threw its head to the left and then to the right to signify agreement. Not that he could really tell. "Off you go then," he whispered as the owl jumped off the rail and flew off into the sunset. A pleasant wind brought the smell of water and plains into the owlery, not that anything could cover the smell of bird shit pervading the whole structure.

He stepped back from the ledge and turned towards Tonks. The girl was leaning on the other side of the space, looking towards the towering castle with a pensive look, elbows crossed on the railing of one of the countless glassless windows, one hand propping up her chin. She looked quite fetching, he guessed, in a sort of gawkish and awkward way. The way teenagers inhabited their skin always gave off a certain feeling of unease. The only exceptions were dancers or athletes. The sun was rising just beside her, casting her in a lighting that most movie directors or photographers would kill for. Without thinking too much of it Harry opened his camera and snapped a quick picture.

What was it with his camera mostly taking pictures of people fated for death? Harry thought and frowned, putting the camera away. Tonks didn't even stir, seemingly not having noticed anything of what had happened. He stepped up next to her after casting a tempus, straw and mice bones crunched underneath his feet. It was 6:54, it had been a long way here, and his older housemate had explained vigorously how to find one's way in a castle that seemed to take laws of Euclidean geometry more as a challenge than anything set in stone.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked.

Tonks snorted, her eyes unglazing. "I'll take a sickle, minimum," which caused Harry to laugh out loud.

"Tonks, you're a teenage girl, if I wanted to hear whining about boys and observe the process of someone over-thinking a basic social interaction ad absurdum I'd read a romance novel. I'd certainly never pay more than a penny for that particular privilege either."

Tonks made a hurt face but also blushed at the same time.

"Boy, trouble, really?" Harry asked, aghast.

"Oh shut up, you twerp, what do you know anyway!"

Harry puffed out his chest, like the owl earlier. "I am a boy!"

"Little boys don't count," she retorted.

"Try me," he said, and she seemed to think it over.

"There is a guy I like," she began, her eyes going back to looking at the castle, before looking at Harry and shaking her head, "why would I even tell you this…" she muttered.

Harry tilted his head, trying to think of an answer. "You'd tell me, because… You're very cool, pretty and nice. Someone like you doesn't deserve to have unvoiced worries, unshared by anyone," he said, giving the girl a thumbs up.

Tonks stared at him and her previously lilac hair styled elaborately into some sort of spiky goth punk style softly trembled before turning into curly black. Her nose became a tad smaller, her cheekbones higher and her figure a bit less curvaceous.

"I'm a metamorphmagus. It means I can change my appearance at will," she explained.

"You're worried that whoever you end up dating won't love you for yourself, but who you make yourself appear to be and who you could be for them?" Harry asked, receiving a surprised blink.

"Well, yeah. Boys are gross, they'd probably ask me if I could… You know," she trailed off, apparently not wanting to say tell an eleven-year-old boy that most male Hogwarts students within her age range she could date would ask her if she could make her tits bigger, or give herself elf ears or an impossible hourglass figure.

Harry understood her worries. For most people, it could already be an issue to find someone with whom they could unfold the whole of themselves. If one's body was just as malleable as the words one could speak or ask someone to say. Well, he could see why an occasional identity and love crisis wouldn't be amiss for that person.

"Well, I'll tell you straight. Someone you can't communicate your worries to isn't someone you should date anyway. If someone doesn't like you for who you are, fears and all, a relationship with them is just a waste of time So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, that whoever you end up with, with whom it could really work, being a metamorphmagus isn't going to get in-between that," Harry said with a nod of his head. "Although by the time you find someone you're actually compatible with, you'll probably have to deny a few stupid requests from idiots. When you find someone you can be yourself with, hold onto it, it's a rarer opportunity than you think..." he trailed off. "This whole thing, at least, I think this is what my uncle would have said, he's very ehhh, smart."

Tonks was staring at him by the time he finished like he'd grown a second head. "I'm still dreaming," she muttered and turned back to leaning on the edge. "I always get the weirdest dreams when I'm on my period, but this is the most realistic one yet," she closed her eyes. "The weird kid will be gone when I open my eyes again," she mumbled and seemed to be concentrating.

"Well, if I'm the man of your dreams, then I'm calling the Aurors because I'm pretty sure that's illegal," Harry said, making Tonks startle and curse.

"Fuck, you're still here!" she shouted and pulled at her own hair, which had now reverted back to its previous state, just like the rest of her body.

"You're not dreaming, dumbass," Harry said before reaching over and pinching the girl's thigh.

"Ouch, you little shit. That hurt!" Tonks exclaimed and slapped the top of his head.

"Woke you up, didn't it," Harry said while rolling his eyes as he rubbed the spot where she'd hit him. "Come on dummy," he said and made for the stairs down, "show me the library and then go have your existential crisis on your own time. Don't appreciate my advice? Fine, just don't waste my morning," he grumbled.

"It was surprisingly decent advice for a figment of my imagination." Tonks mused, "I guess I'm smarter than I thought I was," she concluded proudly, before walking in front of him to lead him to the library.

Harry rolled his eyes.

-/-

"It's beautiful," Harry said and tears glistened in his eyes, as he beheld the wonders of the world in written form. Aged leather backs, stacked next to each other, above each other, on shelves that reached the ceiling. The scent of parchment assaulted his nose and he was all in.

"Who gets excited about the library?" Tonks complained, before casting a quick tempus and scratching her head, "I have to leave, Harry. I have my satchel in my room and I need to get ready for Potions," she said the last word with the sort of disappointment reserved for licking an ice cream flavour that sounded better than it tasted.

"It's alright, go, shooo. I think I'm supposed to get my schedule today during breakfast, which isn't for another hour. I'll explore the library myself."

Tonks seemed to hesitate for a second. "I could get you from the library, go to breakfast together?" she half proposed, half asked.

Harry literally waved her off. "You go have fun with your friends, I think I can find the great hall from here. Worst case I ask someone or follow them. I think I saw some students already up."

"Alright," Tonks said, "I'll go then," she finished as she continued standing there.

"Thanks for leading me around, Tonks, really. I'll thank you properly one day, ok," he said, going on his tip-toes to pat the girl's shoulder, before turning around and entering the library. Steps receding away from him resounded from behind.

"So basically," Harry muttered to himself, "How am I supposed to find what I need?"

So began his descent into madness.

-/-

"Where were you?" Cedric asked when he sat down next to a catatonic Harry who was alternating between shoving pieces of bread, fruit and eggs into his mouth in a mechanical and continuous motion, "Your bed was made and you were gone. Nobody saw you."

"I was at the library," Harry said with a faraway look, a piece of half-chewed bread falling out of his mouth as he did so. He mindlessly picked it up and ate it again while Cedric looked at him with a disquieted look.

"What happened at the library that made you like… this?" he asked probingly while waving an arm in his general direction.

Harry covered his eyes, inadvertently reliving the horrific moments, "It was horrible. I still can't believe something like this could exist."

"What happened?" Cedric queried further.

"The index Cedric! The bloody sorting system! It's a fucking mess!" Harry wept angrily, "I've never seen such a disorganised library in my entire life!"

"Isn't it sorted by topic?" Cedric asked as he glanced around the Hufflepuff table, looking for someone who could help. However, unfortunately, all older year students looked quite busy and the only other available person was Penny, who grumpily waved at them from where she was clutching her morning oatmeal as if it were a lifeline.

"It is sorted by topic. But Cedric, what use are four full shelves chock full of history of magic if you can't find the one book detailing the particularly important decade for magical politics that occurred in India during the 17th century," Harry said and when Cedric made to say something, he simply spoke over the boy, "and all the weird names! It's not like the titles are something like Indian political history 1650-1660, no it would probably be like politicking with politicians from Pindia, they would add a letter in front of the country's name just to make an alliteration, believe me, please," Harry begged.

"Eeeeer," Cedric started, before reassuringly rubbing Harry's shoulder. "Didn't the prefects yesterday mention that there was a librarian?" he asked, at which Harry buried his head in his hands and started crying harder.

"She's uselesssssss and mean and protects the books as if they aren't even supposed to be read. If you ask her for something that's not in the curriculum she doesn't even try to help you!"

Cedric enveloped Harry in a hug as the latter wept.

-/-

It was a sullen Harry who sat his first Charms lesson. He hadn't managed to find anything about Occlumency in the library and neither had he been able to find literally anything else that he had been looking for. He slumped down on his desk as Professor Flitwick demonstrated the wand-lighting charm, lumos. Something Harry could at this point do in his sleep, considering that it was supposedly the easiest charm in existence and he'd already trained himself to achieve feats much more complex. Like manipulating water moisture, creating fire and utility charms such as reparo and scourgify.

Nonetheless, when the diminutive professor demanded it, Harry opened the book at the required chapter. The fact that it took him a few seconds was already enough to raise his level of annoyance again, although it had never really descended much after the library incident. If he had a computer he could have just pressed ctrl + f and found the chapter pertaining to the spell within a second. Would have definitely been a god-sent at the library. He sighed as Flitwick droned on.

"You see students, lumos is one of the simplest charms because it doesn't require a wand motion, a curious property that only appears again in the most difficult charms later on."

Harry turned mechanically to stare at Flitwick so as to pretend that he was listening, while his thoughts remained elsewhere. If there was a spell that could replicate the function of a computer's search query, then the spell would be a charm and if the spell was a charm then the resident charms master should have an idea about it, right?

"Why don't you give it a try now, remember the pronunciation is LU-MOS," Flitwick said happily, before scrabbling down from the stack of books he'd been using to overview the classroom and starting to make rounds around the circular desk arrangement facing the lecture podium, giving tips to students failing to light up their wand.

"Lumos!" Harry cast frustratedly, producing a blinding glare that gained the attention of the whole classroom and caused Cedric, who was sitting next to him, to fall from his seat. "Nox," Harry hurriedly added, calmed down from his anger and excitement and with a blushing face once again cast the spell. This time a warm light suffused from the tip of his wand.

"Good job," Flitwick exclaimed, from somewhere. Harry was still blinking stars out of his eyes, "two points for Hufflepuff."

Harry regained his sight as everyone around him went back to work and helped a rapidly blinking Cedric back on his feet and back on his seat. "Sorry about that," Harry said.

Cedric just shook his head confusedly, "No worries." Cedric said with a slight lilt to his speech, "How'd you do that?" he then asked more lucidly.

"I practised earlier," Harry replied to which Cedric shrugged and raised his own wand in an attempt to cast the spell. A dim light popped into place and the young Hufflepuff furrowed his brows, extinguished the light and tried again. Another dim light retook the place that the other had left behind a few seconds before.

"You have to WILL it, just saying the words won't do much if there is no intent behind them," Harry suggested.

"Indeed! Willpower and imagination are just as important as a spell's incantation. Why don't you imagine the wand lighting up at the brightness you desire before casting the spell a bit more intently, hmm." The voice of Professor Flitwick suddenly resounded from behind them, making Harry flinch and Cedric almost fall out of his chair again.

"I'll do my best, professor," Cedric nevertheless dutifully replied before closing his eyes, obviously imagining the desired result, before casting the spell. "Lumos!" he incanted with a fair bit of force to it, the wand lighting up a bit too brightly, but nowhere near the military-grade searchlight Harry had produced.

"Now I'd suggest you try to achieve this level of power without shouting," Flitwick suggested, causing Cedric to blush, before turning to Harry. "And you Mr. Evans, might benefit from simply casting the spell a few more times. If you're successful and get bored, you can try changing the spell's colour! If you manage, I'll exempt you from today's homework," the man said, his moustache twitching with a smile. Then he spun, stepped away and shouted to the whole room. "Anyone who manages to change the spell's colour from its standard white is exempt from homework!" he shouted. These words caused the shouts of Lumos going through the room to multiply by a factor of approximately eleven and the softcore techno-party going on before developing into a full-blown strobe-light rave hard-bass event.

Harry grimaced and closed his eyes while trying to remember where he'd seen anything to do with changing the colour of a spell. It was a bit hard to think with both Penny and Cedric trying to give him a fit of epilepsy by his sides.

"The book," he nonetheless muttered while opening his eyes, wincing and opening the Charms books to the last page. There had been a glossary with wand movements that had mentioned something about the colour red. He flipped through the two pages eyes searching for the word and quickly found it at the diagonal slash to the right wand movement, which along with being associated with magic used in combat, was also for some reason said to be associated with the colour red.

Furrowing his brows Harry looked at his wand, not sceptically, but perhaps a bit curiously. Would this really work? From what he understood incantations and wand movements were just the symbolic encryption of a spell. That's why one could drop layers of complexity by removing incantation and wand movements later on in one's education.

But if a wand movement only served a symbolic function then would it really change the result of the spell? "If I believe in it? Probably," Harry answered his own question and focused on producing a red light. He slashed his wand diagonally upwards to the right while willing a red light to appear, "Lumos."

Pink light glowed incredibly softly, so softly that no one seemed to notice that he had in fact completed the extracurricular exercise, even if it hadn't been in the way he'd planned to do so.

"Why is it pink?" Harry muttered, looking at his wand. He cast the spell again, this time exaggerating the wand motion. Supposedly this helped the caster focus, seeing as they had slightly more time to do so with the slow movement. It probably helped that the human psyche considered grander gestures more meaningful.

How paradoxical that one removed incantations and wand motions later on in one's education. With enough experience, one didn't have to trick one's own mind anymore. Nevertheless, musings aside, the light that Harry had produced was red, if still a mite pale. Harry looked around. Only Penny had noticed his feat. The professor was facing away from Harry, helping one Slytherin boy with their attempt at the spell.

"How did you do that?" Penny whispered to him amongst the shouts of Lumos and the flashing lights. Harry looked at the girl who was leaning towards him with curious eyes.

"I added a diagonal upwards wand-motion," He said, leaving out that he'd also shifted his intent to produce a red-light. He thought that part was obvious.

Harry flipped through the book while Penny attempted to replicate his feat. He wanted to find another way to alter the colour. The first class was actually turning out to be an interesting puzzle. How did spell-modification function? Considering that the class would most likely perpetually be moving through the material slower than he, Harry didn't see a reason not to diversify his research. There was a professor at hand to answer whatever question he might stumble upon, after all.

-/-

"Can I help you, Mr Evans?" Professor Flitwick asked once he'd cast a quick and silent reparo at the lecture hall that the first year had understandably left in less than perfect condition. The man was leaning on a desk, looking at Harry attentively. Instead of replying Harry simply raised his wand high in the air.

"Lumos," He enunciated clearly, producing a bright green light. Before the professor could say anything he slashed his wand in a diagonal motion to the upper right and produced a red light. A swirl produced purple, a jab brown.

"Remarkable," Flitwick breathed. "I tend not to give impossible challenges in my class, at least I hope I don't. Nevertheless, ten points for Hufflepuff and an exemption from the homework, Mr. Evans. You found the glossary at the end of the book?"

Harry nodded. "I assume it was put there with this intention in mind? To challenge students to figure things out on their own. Why else would a wand motion be associated with a colour?"

"Indeed, although I must say, I find the whole trick to be a bit too well hidden," Flitwick admitted. "Congratulations on your resourcefulness Mr. Evans." When Harry continued standing there, the professor tentatively added. "Is there something else?"

"Yes, professor," Harry began wondering how to phrase this, "I was in the library this morning. I had some issues finding the books I was looking for. I don't quite understand the sorting system, and Madam Pince wasn't able to help me. I was just wondering, is there perhaps a charm that can find a book's title or contents based on a key phrase? I thought I might ask you since I heard you were a Charms-master? Although I don't quite know what that title means." He finished by admitting.

The professor idly twirled his moustache as he thought about the question for a second, before quickly walking over to the book pile that he'd been standing on to lecture earlier and pulling out a green-leather bound book. "I'm afraid I can't help you, something that irks me considering you've put forth a very interesting question. There isn't a charm that fulfils that particular function, that I know of at least. Practically I would recommend simply doing assignments as they come along with some extracurricular reading, you will become familiar with the system quite fast, I imagine," he said as he began leafing through the book he'd pulled out.

"But Sir, spells can clearly be modified, be it with the change of a wand motion, incantation or even the intent behind them," Harry said. "Couldn't such a spell be created?"

Professor Flitwick smiled somewhat sadly. "You speak of advanced topics for someone who just completed their first lesson. I would say to turn around now and revisit the topic at a later date, perhaps in your fourth year. Spell-creation and even modification require a rigorous knowledge of arithmancy and magical theory along with a healthy dose of imagination."

Harry sighed. "I didn't imagine that it would be easy," he said with a shrug. "If I find myself with some free time I'll try to read up on the topics you mentioned, professor."

"Do try to find Arithmancy for the less-advanced by Arithma Advanca and Magical Theory for initiates by Hector Crumble if you do," Flitwick said, reading from his green book. Perhaps a place where the professor took notes of what advanced reading to suggest to students depending on what topic they were curious about.

Harry thanked the professor for his time and exited the charms classroom. When outside he quickly noted down the titles of the two books while they were still in the library. "The Mind Arts, spell-creation, the recent history of the wizarding world… So many topics but no way to find anything out," he grumbled as he made his way to the Hufflepuff common room, he had a short break before classes continued.

-/-

It was a dazed Harry that exited the Potions classroom in which they'd just had the last class of the day. He was accompanied by a baffled Cedric and an aghast Penny.

"Mate, what you did to that cauldron," Cedric said, before trailing off, refusing to meet Harry's gaze. Penny shuddered at the memory.

"We can pair up in the future, Harry. I'm good at Potions and have been practising since forever, I can hel-, prevent future disasters," Penny said.

Harry shook his head, feeling as if he was waking up from a coma.

"Thanks, Penny. That would be appreciated," he said, trying to erase from his memory what had just happened in that classroom. The frothing, the purple…

"Well, you aced Charms and Transfiguration. I guess you really can't be good at everything." Cedric said, trying to reassure Harry that even though he was apparently singularly incapable of brewing anything more complicated than a soup, life wasn't about being great at everything.

"I never thought I'd be good at it, or anything," Harry whispered, "I just didn't think…"

"It's all right, we'll manage this together," Penny said semi-cheerfully, only for her words to be jeered over by a pair of Slytherin boys passing by.

"Good job on that cauldron Evans, you sure showed it who's boss!" one of them shouted, making the students with green ties that were still close enough to hear it, laugh. The Hufflepuffs drew together around Harry, like some sort of honour guard.

"It's alright guys. I'm just gonna have to do my best and practice," Harry said, trying to calm down his worried house-mates. They instead seemed to actually get more agitated about what he'd said and Harry noticed his mistake. "As far away from the common room as I can feasibly manage," he amended, drawing sighs of relief. "In fact, I'll start looking for an abandoned room to practise in right now," he said and peeled away from the group, intending to find a place where he could be alone for a bit before he went to the great hall for dinner.

It was five minutes later, after going up a few flights of stairs and wandering past god knows how many suits of armour and portraits of mediaeval wizards and witches dancing the cha-cha that Harry finally found a seemingly abandoned classroom in a seemingly abandoned corridor in a seemingly abandoned wing of the castle. Where was he even, fourth floor? Harry wondered, before shaking his head and choosing to simply not care. What mattered was that he was in a room in which nobody was going to disturb him and that he could practise magic. Maybe even meditate for a minute or two. Plopping down on one of the rickety chairs he noted the still visible introduction to the etiquette of young damsels on the black-board. This seemed to be the lecture hall of a course that wasn't being taught anymore. He hummed as he shifted to the left and to the right on the chair, before deciding that he'd sat enough for the day and cast a scourgify on the floor, before promptly laying down on it.

Laying there, looking at the dust motes being illuminated by the rays of sunlight peeking through the stained windows, he wondered not of the meaning of life, or what dangers lurked in wizarding society. No, Harry wondered when he was going to have the library figured out, so that his quality of life could return to good instead of abysmal. "I miss computers," he said forlornly, idly condensing water in the shape of an on/off switch above himself. He stopped his water manipulation and just as the water was about to fall on him he banished it with a flick of his hand, onto the ceiling in a beautiful sparkling spray.

Now that he'd basically assured that water was going to start dripping on him from above if he stayed in his current position, Harry stood up, dusted himself off and walked over to the teacher's podium. He sat down, back against the podium, door to the room out of sight and closed his eyes. Starting to count his breaths he expunged thoughts from his mind and slipped into a numb meditation.

He didn't know how long he was in the void when a creaking door awakened him from himself. Harry grimaced and made to stand up and alert what was probably a couple of teenagers looking for a private place to suck face, that if they wanted to do so, they could, they should just give him time to leave them to it.

"Wait!" a much older than expected female voice hissed. Much older than any student. Harry narrowed his eyes and stayed in the awkward position of getting up on his toes and holding himself up with one single arm. "Someone was here," the voice continued.

"Seems like a student was practising aquamenti," another muttered, also old, but male "or having a tryst, they scourged the floor."

"Let's go elsewhere, if this classroom has been used then we shouldn't be here," The woman said.

The doors to the classroom closed again and the last thing Harry heard was the male of the pair saying, "Let's go brief somewhere else then." The footsteps slowly quieted, before disappearing completely.

A bead of sweat rolled down Harry's brow as his arms trembled, he waited stubbornly for another minute nonetheless, before letting himself drop onto the floor with a sigh.

"What the hell was that?"

-/-

"Looking forward to Defence Harry?" Cedric asked as he munched on a chicken leg. "It has spell-work, I checked You'll probably be good at it."

"Depends if the professor is any good!" an older year snorted from across the table. At those words Harry looked towards the table, to scope out the defence professor. He tilted his head as he saw that the thin woman wasn't there. Could it be? He wondered, before doing a quick head-count of the male professors, who appeared to all be present.

Harry furrowed his brows. "Defence should be fun, yeah," he eventually said.

-/-

"You are here, to learn how to defend yourself," Professor Twix said loudly to the room of first years of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff variety. "Not necessarily from the Dark Arts yet. It is a bit early to be covering that sort of material. We will instead be looking at other dangers, which are perhaps less obvious. Can anyone give me an example of a non-magical danger that you might encounter in your daily life?" she asked, at which Harry raised a hand. It was always better to raise a hand in class, he found. If one interacted directly with the material one was more likely to remember it, also, the faster someone answered a professor's question, the faster the class could progress.

"Yes, you. Tell us your name and your suggestion," Professor Twix said, pointing at Harry while continuing to pace in front of the first-row desks.

"Harry Evans. What the most dangerous non-magical threats we are likely to encounter depends mostly on our living situation. I would say that those of us living in magical districts and villages are more likely to be beset by a wild animal, like a boar, or a deer. Whereas those of us living in muggle settlements might encounter muggle criminals or religious fundamentalists, who, if they were to discover our nature, might plot to kill us," he answered, to the general discomfort of the class. "These are the animate threats we might encounter, I guess, ignoring falling objects or natural disasters."

The professor nodded. "Yes, correct, muggles and wild animals are the most direct threats we might face. Something that, especially an untrained witch or wizard, might be the most vulnerable too," she said, enunciating untrained with an oddly grudging inflexion. "Earthquakes and the like… are not really the subject of our class," she finished, before frowning and looking out over the curious mass of first-years looking at her. She twitched her wand and the chalk sitting innocuously at the blackboard behind her started writing the words, 'Muggles and Beasts.'

Harry dutifully wrote it down, making sure that the two categories were separate enough to still be able to write down differing strategies under the two. "Now, dealing with muggles and beasts requires two different tactics, can anyone guess why?" the woman continued with a sigh.

Harry raised his hand again, but her gaze swept over him. He mentally noted down that she was one of the professors who was unlikely to call upon him twice in one class. "Weasley," the professor ended up saying, looking at one of the twins, god only knew which one. "I know that you know the answer, considering where your father works," she prompted, causing the two, who had previously been doodling something, to freeze up.

One of them eventually said something, the tapping of the professor's foot not helping with their thinking process. "Uhh, the muggles, well, they need to be reported to the, uh, ministry, if they see something magical."

"Good, as all of you well know by now, I hope, the statute of secrecy forbids muggles learning of our existence. This means that in addition to any spell you might use to defend yourself, you'd also need to add the spell which summons ministry officials to your location. The obliviators, whose main purpose is to keep the statute of secrecy by removing the memories of any magical instances out of the mind of muggles, will arrive." Professor Twix said.

Harry raised his hand to ask a question, wondering amusedly how interesting it was that eleven-year-olds were being taught to put non-magical humans and animal aggressors in the same category. Wizarding society seemed to be much more martial than the current muggle one. Perhaps because with the ownership of a wand, technically everyone was equipped with a multi-faceted and potentially deadly weapon.

"How have obliviators adapted to the existence of video cameras?" he asked, "Technically if an act of magic was recorded on film, one would have to destroy it before distribution." At this Professor Twix stared at him for a moment before waving him off with a spindly arm.

"You better ask Professor Quirrell if you want a reliable answer. I've never cared enough about muggle affairs to stay up to date," she said and Harry nodded. "Going back to the previous topic, since muggle threats require one additional spell for the sake of the statute of secrecy, we will first be learning an offensive spell with which one can quite handily ward off muggle aggressors and beasts. Next session we will then learn the alarm spell, which summons the obliviators and the Aurors to one's position," she finished and twitched her wand again.

The wand motion and incantation of the knock-back jinx transcribed themselves onto the blackboard. "Flipendo, the knock-back jinx, not an overly complicated spell. You should get it down after a few tries, I would expect at least. Sort yourself into groups and go to the back of the classroom in groups of two. Take turns casting at each other," Twix said with a clap of her hands.

Harry stood up and turned to Cedric, only to see that the boy had run away from him to partner up with Penny, who was shooting him an apologetic smile. Harry rolled his eyes, saw that all the Hufflepuffs were paired up and turned around, before frowning. It seemed that there was an uneven number of students, which meant that he was the odd one out. The Weasley twins, who had obviously paired with each other, seemed to notice this as well and invited him to their group.

It wasn't long before the two boys were laughing uproariously at each other's misfortune as Harry took turns seeing which one of them he could knock back further than the other, only for the situation to switch as they then both ganged up on him, causing him to dodge around the room in an uncoordinated scramble. At some point, Twix angrily came to separate them and deducted some points for their tom-foolery, before reluctantly granting Harry a single point for his mastery of the knock-back jinx. Harry didn't get the feeling that the woman liked him, or teaching. It was still a fun lecture, though. The only issue was that Harry had identified Professor Twixs' voice as the voice that he had heard in the abandoned classroom. This suggested that something not quite right was happening here in Hogwarts. It worried Harry that he didn't know who her male accomplice had been.

-/-

It was a frustrated Harry who scribbled madly into a notebook, completing the basic arithmetic exercises depicted within 'Arithmancy for the less Advanced'. A book that he'd managed to find, in contrast to 'Magical Theory for Initiates', which remained elusive. The fact that the magical mathematics system relied mostly on symbolic instead of logical causality markers almost made him wish that the book had remained lost to him. Oh sure, the basics were still the same, but whereas maths was a pure science, arithmancy was influenced by astrology, symbolism, magical history and in some parts, the gender of the person attempting to solve an equation. It was frustrating as fuck.

It was also what Harry needed to create his spell and by god was he going to create his spell. It had taken him three hours to find all the materials he needed to complete his very small amount of homework, while also managing to find the arithmetic primer. The sooner Harry had to stop dealing with this hellhole of a library, the happier he would be.

He sighed, noting that his frustration wasn't entirely laid bare before magical maths. It was magical, therefore still fun and he'd already found an example of the equation that he would need to determine how many syllables his spell should have once he knew the spell variables to input into the thing. Harry was frustrated because he didn't know what to do with the fact that his Defence professor was briefing someone of an unknown identity, about, whatever. The original Harry Potter's luck with his defence professors, as Potter, as it might have been, left him feeling paranoid and on edge. Technically he wasn't the boy who lived, so the shenanigans connected to that title should well and truly leave him alone, but there was just an itch at the back of his mind that he couldn't quite scratch.

Should he tell Dumbledore? Sprout? He thought as he glared a hole at an offensively bland book stuck in one of the many archaic bookshelves. The truth was that by telling someone Harry would get involved and getting involved was dumb. Especially considering how he was trying to stay out of trouble. As long as he had a magical education he could do whatever he wanted afterwards, but if he died, all the knowledge and skills he could amass would help no one.

Better to leave it, Harry decided. Nothing seemingly bad had happened at Hogwarts two years before the original Harry Potter had graced the dangerous school, or else it would have been mentioned in the book. Although, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. How much of this world do you truly know, doesn't it all seem too different, you in the middle of it all?

But to this, Harry shook his head, and with the motion noticed something lying on the floor underneath the book-shelf that mostly seemed to deal with magical theory. It was a book, he walked over and bent down to pick it up. "Magical Theory of Initiates", Harry said with a frown as he dusted off the cover, revealing the author's name as well. "Who the fuck hides a book under a shelf," he muttered, looking at the text in his mind. Well, he thought, it was a magical book, maybe it hid itself. He froze as he caught sight of a thin figure walking imperiously into the restricted section, wand alight, an unhappy Pince trailing not far behind. It was Professor Twix.

"She's the DADA professor, so of course she's going to visit the restricted section, but why the whole show?" Harry muttered, considering for a second if he should sneak up to maybe overhear a part of the conversation the two might have inside the forbidden part of the library, before shaking his head and going back to studying.

"Curiosity killed the cat," he said, but nevertheless kept an eye out. He saw Madam Pince leave the restricted section with an extremely pinched face, seemingly abandoning Professor Twix inside. He studied for another two hours, before giving up and borrowing the books to continue tomorrow on Sunday. During this entire time, Professor Twix hadn't left the restricted section.

Chapter Text

"Where have you been Harry?" Penny asked when Harry entered the Hufflepuff common room through its barrel-like entrance.

"Practising some spells?" Harry asked, more than stated. He had been trying to figure out the disillusionment charm in an abandoned classroom. He wanted to visit the Room of Requirement at some point but didn't want to be followed and reveal its existence. The room was a precious resource only as long as it was unknown, considering that once the room was set on a purpose by the user, nobody else could enter.

Unfortunately, the disillusionment charm hadn't been going well. He'd found the spell in the library section dedicated to spell work beyond the Hogwarts curriculum. However, Harry felt that while the spell was difficult, he was going to manage eventually. The reason the spell wasn't taught was probably because no professor would want their students to have the ability to turn invisible. While he'd had luck finding the disillusionment spell though, the mind arts remained elusive.

"Spells?" Penny frowned, "shouldn't you be working on Potions," she said, which made Harry blush uncharacteristically and look away from the blonde girl.

"Spells are just more fun…" he mumbled, fixating his eyes on a spot somewhere above Penny's head, a portrait of a drunk monk trying to catch a dog that had stolen his chicken leg.

Penny sighed. "You also have to work on stuff you're not good at…" she chided, "I'm giving my best in Transfiguration," she said, then huffed and went silent.

"What's up?" Harry asked, noticing the slightly awkward atmosphere, "Penny for your thoughts?" he offered, making the girl laugh, before once again stilling.

"It's just," she began, this time avoiding his eyes, "you're always running off alone to practise whatnot or find this and that. Me and Cedric are the only Puffs you even talk to. Is everything alright?"

Harry sighed and walked over to the girl, sitting down next to her on the bright yellow couch in the corner of the common room. This required him to clear away some potion texts and a green sweater. He slung an arm over Penny's shoulder, causing her to instinctively lean her head into him. He rubbed up and down on her arm, her blonde hair tickling his nose. "You know, you and Cedric are like a fire," he began stiltedly, "suffusing everything around you with warm light. You shine on so many things you probably can't even keep track of them all. Me? I'm more of a match, sometimes not even a lit one. The light I cast can only interact with the brightest fires because all others just don't reach me," he said.

"You mean you're an introvert? Why'd you have to phrase it like that?" Penny queried, curious blue eyes looking up painfully at his green ones.

"I guess." Harry chuckled, "I'm just an idiot," he said, before squeezing the girl's shoulder and standing up. This caused Penny to notice the position they'd previously been in and blush. "You and Cedric are just the two friends I've made until now. Not all Hufflepuffs are extremely social, that's not even a core tenant, we're supposed to be loyal, and I am loyal. So why don't we find Cedric and go throw bread at the giant squid instead of doing homework for once," he suggested.

A suggestion that Penny followed like any student for whom studying was the last priority on a weekend and who only did it for want of any interesting activities to waste their time on.

After a few minutes of walking, he watched the girl hop cheerfully in front of him towards the quidditch pitch, where Cedric was probably watching the Hufflepuff house team practice. He'd lied to her about being introverted, of course. He was more of an extrovert, to be honest. But ever since being reborn into the body of a child, he'd adapted. Spending a lot of time with others just wasn't possible when there was such a large and invisible maturity gap between them. Magic might have been friendship, but so was magic, and if Harry couldn't have the former he would have the latter. He would probably hang out with his house-mates more after they were on the tail-end of puberty because by then they'd actually start having things in common. The biggest reason why he mostly hung out with Penny and Cedric was because they were quite frankly the most mature out of all his year-mates. A maturity that showed itself in their talent for magic.

Even then though, they were still children, which left Harry with almost a dozen hours every day in which he could only practise magic or busy himself with other hobbies such as… He laughed, causing Penny to look back at him curiously.

"What're you laughing at?" she asked suspiciously with the thought shared by all children, that if someone was laughing, they were laughing at them.

"Just at the fact that magic is so much more fun than the other hobbies I had before coming here, that I've basically stopped doing everything non-magic related," he said. At this point, if he was conversing with an adult, they probably would have said something about keeping one's life balanced, but Penny just nodded sagely.

"Magic is great," she said.

"The only thing that doesn't have anything to do with it, that I still do, is…" he mused, before trailing off, at which the girl shrugged from where she was ambling in front of him with her body turned in his direction. She was walking backwards, something that caused her to promptly trip down a small set of stairs that led into the castle courtyard, covered in the iconic Scottish fields of grass. As trampled as it was by the horde of students hanging around outside on one of the few non-rainy weekends they had here in the Highlands.

A group of nearby Ravenclaw students laughed at his friend's fall, one of them miming the event like some sort of human-shaped parrot. Harry helped an embarrassed Penny up and made sure she didn't look in the direction of the Ravenclaws by starting to walk on the opposite side of her and involving her in a conversation.

Thankfully Penny was a young girl and thus easily distractible. It wasn't long before they'd laughingly traversed the courtyard to find the wayward Cedric wistfully watching the Hufflepuff quidditch team.

"You can try out next year, I'm sure you'll make it," Harry told the boy, startling him from his daydream, one that probably involved flying for the team.

"You think so?" Cedric asked. "You haven't seen me fly before. The first lesson is next week."

Harry shrugged, "I'm sure you'll do fine. If you want to make it into the house team, you can. The competition isn't that tough yet. It's not hard to be the best out of five applicants when there are two open spots and three of your competitors didn't even prepare for the event."

Cedric cringed at his words. "No expectations," The boy muttered, looking at the Hufflepuff seeker doing a daring dive in an attempt to catch a glimmer of gold.

"You want to be a seeker?" Penny asked, causing Cedric to flush. Harry had to admit that even at the age of eleven, it was clear that the boy was going to end up with a build more suited for a beater, or a keeper. Being a seeker would just stunt his potential. Well, unless he was just that good. But from what Harry remembered from the books, that wasn't really the case. Talented, probably, but on a larger stage one needed something more than talent. Something like Harry Potter had had. Harry Evans wondered if he'd be good on a broom. He doubted it. His aunt didn't seem particularly graceful and neither did Dudley.

"Well, seeker is the only position that will be opening up next year," Cedric said in an attempt to justify his apparent decision.

"Aren't both beaters leaving as well?" Penny asked, "I think Michael told me."

"Well, yes," Cedric admitted, "but being a beater isn't…"

"Looks fun to me. Aim for the joints and smack the bludger with a bat," Harry said, causing Cedric to whine that he hadn't even played Quidditch yet and therefore couldn't possibly know what was fun or not.

"You'll see in a month when we play Gryffindor," Cedric huffed. "Seeker is the best."

Penny rolled her eyes from where she was standing behind him on the wooden stands.

"I guess I'll have to see if I can open up a time slot in my schedule," Harry mused, wondering that if he got the disillusionment charm to work, he could finally go seek out the room of requirement during the match.

"Harry, you can't ditch the match! Hufflepuff is playing. Everyone is going to be there, even the Slytherins and Ravenclaws," Penny whined this time, angrily pulling at his overly long black sleeve. Harry didn't mind, as long as she left his fabulous hat alone.

"Everyone, you say," he muttered, before grinning. Shaking his head he then did what he'd come here to do. He pulled out a loaf of old bread wrapped in paper from his leather satchel and turned to his friends, "I got this from the kitchen. You guys want to practise the levitation charm by throwing pieces of it at the lake? See if we can get the giant squid to come out," he suggested. Cedric's face lit up and Penny's eyes twinkled.

"Yeah! Flitwick is going to lose it when we come in already having mastered the spell completely," Cedric said and stood up abruptly, turning towards the lake. He looked back, "Coming, you two?" he asked, at which point Penny ran past him and swept down the stands like a Puffskein on crack.

"The last one at the lake is a Slytherin!" she shouted, causing both Harry and Cedric to break out into a run to avoid the horrible fate.

-/-

It was an hour or so later that Harry was lying down on the soft grass with his two friends, their magic spent and their bread supplies depleted. In the end, it was Penny who had won the competition of who could throw a piece of bread the furthest via the application of the levitation charm. Sure, Harry hadn't really been trying, rather matching his classmates, but it was still impressive. The girl had somehow managed to fail at casting her spell intentionally, to the purpose of cannoning the piece of bread almost twenty metres out.

It had been the only piece that a large tentacle had pulled at from beneath the depths.

"The boy who lived," Harry began, "what's that all about?" he asked.

"Don't tell me you're even reading history books instead of practising Potions," Penny said, aghast, from where she sat up to his right. Harry shrugged unapologetically.

"It sounded interesting," he justified, although to be fair he hadn't needed to crack open a history book to know about the story. He'd overheard it in Diagon Alley easily enough. None of the history books in the Hogwarts library were actually modern enough to cover the most recent war, unfortunately. He'd checked. Which meant that this was something he would have to try to figure out elsewhere. Unless his classmates were able to give a valid rendition of what he was interested in. Which was doubtful, seeing as they'd been two years old when the war had happened.

"Well, it's Neville Longbottom. The thing is that You-Know-Who tried to kill him as a baby. Went to his house on Samhain and all. But somehow it was he who got killed. It must have been Neville doing whatever killed You-Know-Who since his parents and granny were dead by then." Cedric explained, not really considering that Harry might not have known who You-Know-Who actually was, "no one really knows what happened that night though."

"Why target the Longbottoms?"

"No clue. I mean the parents were fighting against You-Know-Who, I guess," Cedric said.

"So they must have been expecting some retaliation, maybe they even went into hiding," Harry suggested. "How did You-know-Who find them then?"

"Were they in hiding?" Penny asked doubtfully and Cedric shook his head.

"No, the Longbottoms are an old family. They stayed in their residence. The family wards of places like that are supposed to be really strong. I haven't a clue how you can break something so old," he explained.

"Well, there are curse-breakers in Egypt breaking wards that are older than 4000 years," Penny interjected, at which both the children nodded.

"So where is he now? If his family died that day?" Harry asked.

"With his godfather, James Potter. He's a senior auror at the ministry," Penny said, before blushing apparently being a bit over-informed, "They're in the papers all the time," she tried to explain.

"He's also a Lord," Cedric said. "Him and Sirius Black are doing some stuff at the ministry, my dad talks about it sometimes."

So those two were alive and not imprisoned, Harry thought and wondered if they knew he existed.

"It's good that a strong Wizard like Lord Potter was the godfather. Only a day after the defeat of You-Know-Who, death eaters, his followers tried to attack Neville at the Potter residence. But Lord Black was there and they managed to defeat them," Cedric said. "I'm really glad the war ended right after."

"Apparently one of their close friends was actually a death eater in secret and led them into the Potter grounds. Peter, or something," Penny mentioned

"Well they're all in Azkaban now," Cedric muttered.

"Sounds like a "Good riddance to bad rubbish situation,"" Harry said absentmindedly as his mind reeled with all this new information. Potter and Black were alive and well, probably raising Neville Longbottom together and Pettigrew, the filthy traitor, was rotting in Azkaban under Animagus wards because his friends had been able to notify the ministry that he was one. He was a bit worried, once again, that his foreknowledge was essentially non-existent, but considering that he recognized a bunch of people at Hogwarts, stores in Diagon Alley and names of spells and magical disciplines… The divergence point. It must have been recent, perhaps even the death of his mother. Harry Potter not existing and thus not being the boy who lived was the thing that he could attribute most of the differences he'd heard to.

God only knew though. Perhaps this was an alternative time-line that had diverged millions of years ago. Maybe Voldemort hadn't even made Horcruxes. Maybe Severus Snape wasn't at Hogwarts because he was pursuing a lucrative career as a male stripper somewhere in rural Australia.

'You'll have to throw bills worth more than that to gain my attention, Potter,' Harry drawled in his mind while imagining the sallow face of the actor who'd played the dungeon bat in the movies working a pole. He grimaced.

"Why did we start talking about this?" Penny complained and pointed at Harry and the look of abject discomfort on his face, "You're all sad now."

"Yes, but it is important to know. This is recent history, hasn't even been a decade. I don't really imagine I'll learn much from Binns at least," Harry said.

"Hear hear. Not learning much from Binns," Cedric said, as if he'd been listening to the droning ghost for a lifetime, instead of three lectures at this point. Harry instinctively gripped the bezoar necklace at his neck, wondering if it would have the same effect as a crucifix if he hurled it at the deceased man sabotaging his education.

Chapter Text

"Up," Harry said imperiously, but not putting any intent behind the phrase. The broom lying on the grass to his right did not budge. Just as he'd expected. "Up!" he said again, commanding and demanding the broom to fly up into his extended hand. The wood slapped almost painfully into his palm. The Ravenclaws who had been giggling at his apparent inability to get his wood up, abruptly shut up.

Cedric, who had already mounted his own broom on his right, gave him an encouraging look.

"Now, put the broom between your legs, jump and stay afloat!" Madame Hooch shouted. A fit woman seemingly in her fifties with short grey hair and eagle eyes.

"Just don't think about it not happening," Cedric whispered unhelpfully to Harry before promptly jumping up and beginning to float with his legs extended backwards, feet hooked against the little metal bars at the back of the broom.

Harry considered his friend's words and then jumped. He'd read up on brooms and their enchantments. The basic first step was that they were made to hover a metre or so above the ground unless the owner willed otherwise. One would think that trying to stay afloat on a wooden broom high in the air and going at fast speeds would be murder on one's ass and balls, but it was actually quite comfortable when one considered the cushioning enchantments. The whole thing was even more comfortable than a women's bicycle. He wobbled from the left to the right and back again without intending to do so and grimaced at the lack of control he had over the thing. Bicycles were mechanical and propelled purely by one's own muscle. This was something else.

"Go forward, to me, to me!" Hooch shouted again, having mounted her own broom and was now flying backwards away from the tightly packed line of Hogwarts students who started awkwardly and haltingly in some cases flying towards the woman. Of the students slowly traversing the grass field in the shade of the castle, Cedric was at the forefront. Following him were two Ravenclaw boys. Harry was in the back, his flying interspersed with short abrupt breaks. The whole experience honestly felt like his first driving lesson, before he'd learned how to use the stick properly.

"You're doing great Harry," Penny beamed from next to him, moving at her own glacial, but much more fluid pace. She was obviously holding back a bit to stay level with him. Harry smiled at the girl and let go of some of his nervousness. His flying became less jagged as a result. Eventually, he and Penny reached Hooch as some of the last students to do so. They ended up spending the rest of the flying lesson sticking closely together and chatting about classes, Harry being the one to limit himself when it came to the later stages of the exercises since Penny had a slight fear of heights.

"Ever thought about becoming an animagus?" Harry asked the girl as they were making their way to the library after flying so that they could study together. Cedric had stayed behind to fly more with the other boys, "You'd probably be a bird, then you wouldn't have to be afraid of heights, since you could fly," he elaborated.

"Who ever heard of a bird scared of heights," Penny shot back as she hugged herself and cringed. "I'll take a land animal any day of the week. Even if it's a skunk. What do you think you'd be?" she then asked.

Harry thought for a second, "I've never actually thought about it. Probably a dog of some sort," he said, causing Penny to blush and start laughing. Playfully pushing her Harry looked out of a window and caught a glimpse of a pack of first-years flying circles around each other. "What's up with you all of a sudden?

Penny brushed a tear from her cheek and grinned at him with a slightly embarrassed look on her face. "Sorry, it's just that our neighbours recently got a young dog right before I went to Hogwarts. His defining characteristic is that he humps everything he can get his paws on!" she said, before bursting out into laughter again. Harry joined eventually, despite not thinking the joke that funny.

"I was more thinking about the other characteristics that dogs have, but I can see what you mean."

"Don't worry Harry, if you ever start humping everything in sight I'm sure Madame Pomfrey could do something to help," Penny reassured him.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was going, Harry asked the girl about her favourite Quidditch team, which got him a five-minute rant about the Wigtown Wanderers. It was a perfect length to cover the time it took to get to the library where they both occupied a table in the far back and cracked open their respective books. Harry was working on some arithmancy which was supposed to determine a spells wand motion and Penny was reading a book about the history of Potions in Scandinavia, like a fucking nerd.

"What's Professor Twix doing going into the restricted section like that?" Penny asked curiously, causing Harry to pause in his calculations. He didn't mind, seeing as they weren't really that fun anyway. He looked up to see that once again their thin defence professor was entering the forbidden section of the library.

"How am I supposed to know?" he asked, causing Penny to roll her eyes.

"You're a total dweeb Harry, I'm pretty sure you spend three hours a day in the library."

Harry considered her words and mentally admitted that he did spend a large amount of free time in the library. Especially since he'd found both the arithmancy and magical theory book he needed for his spell creation project. When he wasn't in the library he was practising magic somewhere in the gigantic castle they called a school. He'd recently mastered a cosmetics charm that removed the need for him to ever wash his hair. It also made them incredibly luscious. He tousled them and watched the way Penny's eyes followed the gesture.

"Well, she's here almost every third day. No clue what she does, always the restricted section though," he answered.

"Maybe she's preparing lesson plans there, away from students," Penny said with a shrug, before taking a glance at his paper. "What are you even doing?" she asked dubiously.

"It's arithmancy," Harry replied.

"Isn't that an elective in the third year?" Penny complained. "Please, just practice Potions, you're almost killing me every lesson!"

Harry scratched the back of his head, "I don't know Penny, it's not like I haven't been trying. It just doesn't work for me," he said, causing the girl to sigh.

"I guess I get it," she said, looking at the three pieces of parchments he'd filled up with calculations, "I'm probably going to be the same with arithmancy, but I want to take it so badly. All the books say it's important for developing recipes."

"I'll help you, just as you're helping me, alright," Harry promised and reached over to squeeze Penny's hand.

"Thanks, Harry. I appreciate it. I don't know if helping me with some numbers equates to me almost dying once a week from your explosions, though."

"I'll also help you in Transfiguration. You need all the help you can get."

"Hey!"

It ended up being a fun afternoon spent in the library until Pince threw them out for being a bit too loud at one point. Afterwards, Harry took Penny to the kitchens where the house elves press-ganged them into eating an entire three-course meal instead of the sandwiches they actually went there for.

-/-

"How was the flying?" Harry asked as Cedric entered the dorm they shared with the other Hufflepuff boys.

"It was great!" Cedric answered, "You really missed out. I'm definitely looking forward to being able to bring my own broom next year. I have a Comet, not even close to a good broom, but It still trumps the school ones though," he finished and then threw himself onto his bed, pulling out a quidditch magazine from somewhere and starting to read while lying in bed fully clothed. Harry looked doubtfully at his own bed and imagined how gross it would be if he fell onto it in his outside clothes. He grimaced.

Although, magic could solve most issues.

"Well, at least you get to fly," he told the boy.

"Definitely. Bad flying is better than no flying. You should join us!"

"Perhaps," Harry said, feeling slightly tired from all the work that he had been putting into arithmancy and magical theory recently. In addition to the curriculum and spells that lay outside the curriculum, such as the disillusionment charm, he felt that he was at maximum capacity recently. Maybe some zooming around the sky could refresh his batteries. He was even studying on Sundays these days, something he'd never done before unless it was for a very important exam.

Maybe he wasn't as talented as the original Harry Potter, but it should still be fun.

-/-

Harry knocked on the door to Professor Flitwick's office and entered after a squeaky voice bid him to. It was the professor's office hours and it had been three months since he had initially come to the man after class to ask about spell creation. It was the beginning of December and Harry would soon go home for Christmas. Not much had happened in the last months, except for Harry studying, deepening his connection to Cedric and Penny and occasionally saying hello to Tonks and the Weasley twins. He hadn't made that much progress with the disillusionment charm and thus he was reserving the day of the final quidditch match sometime in May to go visit the room of requirement. Otherwise, however, he had been quite successful in his goal of mastering all sorts of household and personal hygiene charms. Most importantly though, he felt like he had made tangible progress in understanding what factors went into spell creation and had written up a valid research plan to attempt and create the desired effect. He had, however, recently hit a roadblock, which he wanted to introduce to Flitwick so the man could ponder it over the Christmas holidays. Harry meanwhile would enjoy his Christmas by focusing on lighter topics. With all the classes, homework and extracurricular study he was doing he was beginning to feel slightly burnt out with structured magic and was looking forward to setting fire to objects with just his mind for a change.

"Mr. Evans, what can I do for you?" Professor Flitwick asked while vibrating in his seat, before hastily adding, "Please sit."

Harry smirked at the half-eaten platter of cookies on the man's table and wondered if it was there for the students or the professor.

"After our discussion on spell creation in September," Harry started, Flitwick nodding along eagerly, "I've found, read and incorporated the two books you suggested to me, professor." It hadn't really been an easy task. They were both thick tomes and no matter how well written they may have been, they'd been difficult to comprehend at times. This didn't seem to escape Flitwick.

"The whole thing, front to back?" the man asked dubiously.

Harry nodded. "I needed one month per book, really. For the past month I have been working on a research proposal in regards to creating the spell we were talking about," he said, before holding up a hand and pulling out from his leather satchel almost a dozen papers bound together with a paper clip. He slid it over to the professor, who adjusted his glasses and picked up the sheaves.

"Potential search command spells by Harry Evans, academic supervisor yet to be determined," the half-goblin read aloud.

"I've narrowed down the calculations and magical theory aspects going into the incantation to determine potential matches on pages three, four and five," Harry said, causing the professor to flick to the corresponding pages, which he quickly read before going further.

"It was quite easy to determine that due to the spells' intended similarities to the homenum revelio spell, revelio would be an easy choice as a second word in the incantation. However, it required some calculations to determine that the first word should perhaps be only three syllables to match the second one. This should add stability. Seeing as this is a spell that doesn't need to be pushed to its boundaries in terms of magical output the possibility of four syllables for the first word and thus seven for the entire incantation was deemed unnecessarily risky," Harry explained as Flitwick followed his calculations, quickly reaching the last section of the proposal.

"Your conclusion seems solid, I'd need to look it over a bit myself later, but, three syllables seems like the obvious choice," Flitwick said, peering from his high chair over the documents and looking Harry in the eyes. "I see here that you are considering the incantation littera revelio, amongst others," the man said before flipping over to the next page, which detailed the wand movement. "A downwards lockpick with a wide horizontal circle. Cumbersome," he commented, "but seeing as this is a utility spell it shouldn't matter overly much. The circle represents knowledge which can roughly symbolise the littera of the incantation, but literra will be pronounced with the lock-pick and not the circular motion. However, it just doesn't work the other way around because one can't do a downwards after a horizontal, only before," Flitwick mumbled as his eyes flew over the page and he seemed to consider some things.

"The work on incantation and wand movement are both good, however, the combination of the two makes the whole thing a bit heavy. It will take a lot of focus and a lot of power. Formally speaking though, the argumentation is airtight. Nonetheless…" The man paused, "might be better to start from the beginning and to try to find a one-word incantation." He said, almost asking himself as he pulled out his wand and twirled it in the air. Bright numbers appeared in the barely illuminated and cluttered study.

"The formulaic aspects being airtight at the sacrifice of efficiency is almost intentional," Harry mentioned. "It wasn't necessarily planned, but in hindsight, I personally wouldn't want to have it any other way. This is a non-combat spell, it will never be needed in the middle of something time-intensive when one can't focus and wants to conserve energy. I'd rather have it annoying but formulaic rather than non-formulaic but efficient."

"A matter of personal opinion," the professor replied, before flipping to the last page, quickly glancing through it and astutely picking up on the main issue of Harry's proposal. "I see this is the section that requires the most work. Meaning against form, definition of search parameters and blurriness of results. The ideas are nearly ingenious but they mesh together like a house on fire," he concluded and crossed his arms in thought.

Harry sighed. "Yes, I've had some issues narrowing down how to define the search terms. More specifically, how can I encompass a unit of meaning such as 'animal transfiguration' into a thought that can be reflected by text, when I have no idea what that text may look like, as I haven't seen it yet. On the other hand, defining the search by the form wouldn't account for things such as different handwriting, spelling, different languages or even damage to the book. Honestly, I've been running in circles all week."

"I noticed that you've been distracted in class recently," the professor said as he put down the collection of papers with a sigh. The man took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "There is a solution, perhaps, to your conundrum of form vs. meaning. However, it won't be one you will like and I want to preface it with something else."

Harry nodded and continued waiting patiently in his chair.

"The quality of the work you brought, is quite frankly astonishing and through our conversation, I have no doubt that it was you alone who did it. This is also partially because there were some easily avoidable missteps present, which could have been avoided with some light collaboration," the man said, causing Harry to blush at the fact that he hadn't wanted to seek assistance before getting completely stuck because of pride. "The theoretical knowledge to create this research proposal can perhaps be found in the mind of a fourth-year student at our fine institution, however, it seems that it is the rare pupil who can accompany that knowledge with such vision, determination and willingness to create something new," Flitwick said passionately as he waved his arms, looking honestly quite funny. "Congratulations Mr. Evans, for accomplishing something which I've never seen students, four years your senior, even attempt," he finished sincerely, causing Harry to look down and mull over his response.

It had been a recurring theme, during his muggle schooling, to be lauded as a prodigy, and praised for his knowledge, his skills and his work ethic. Something that he felt no pride in show-casing, because of his current mental age. To exhibit any less of the aforementioned qualities would have been nearly impossible.

"Thank you, professor, for your kind words. I hope that one day, once this spell is finished, it will help me and others. Such as Professor Twix, who I have been seeing in the library a lot recently, in using their time more efficiently," Harry said, doing the good old thank you for the praise, but I find it unjustified, so let's switch topics.

"It would be a spell of incredible utility, although what Professor Twix is doing in the restricted section isn't really related to finding a particular book," Flitwick said, before sighing. "Now onto the bad news." He paused. "Your spell, in terms of meaning search, will most likely remain a dream for the moment. Many wizards have tried to decode meaning and its properties. None have succeeded to the point which your spell would require."

"What then?" Harry asked, "Am I supposed to concentrate on form and elicit only one in a hundred of what I'm actually searching for?"

Flitwick looked Harry in the eyes, before sighing again. "If only it were as easy as we'd like it to be, eh," he muttered, before continuing, "Spells are variable, form is a step that comes before free form. By creating the spell now and beginning to practise it, you could introduce variability into the form you are looking for. Then, casting it again, with another, slightly different form in mind. Or you could even one day learn to hold several forms in mind when casting the spell. Who knows," he paused. "How do I explain this?"

This is where Harry interrupted the man, "I understand, I think. Better to make an imperfect spell, get some use out of it, stretch it to its limits and then use it as inspiration for something bigger in the future, than get stuck on the stage of trying to perfect something but suffering for ten years before making progress."

"Essentially!" Flitwick said with a smile, before glancing at the clock. "Time is running short. Why don't you think about my suggestion over the holidays before reconvening next year? Your spell is almost done, but you should finish it and practise it under supervision."

Harry nodded, grabbed his research proposal and stood up from the chair. "I'll revise the last chapter with simply the form in mind. It shouldn't take long. I was never planning on casting the spell on my lonesome."

"Good, good. Terribly unsafe, that," Flitwick agreed, hopping off of his chair and escorting Harry to the door. "I expect great things from you Mr. Evans and perhaps while as an educator I shouldn't be saying this… You can let your coursework slip a bit if this is the extent of your extra-curricular projects. Learning out of one's initiative is the best learning. Now off you go, it's late!" the professor finished before slamming the door in Harry's face.

Harry huffed and looked down at the leather satchel which held a sheaf of papers that represented essentially three months of his free time. He'd been working on the thing for about three hours a day for so long…

"Hopefully I can finish this soon and finally find a book on the Mind Arts," he muttered, before shaking his head and beginning to make his way back to the Hufflepuff dorms. It was late, the discussion with Professor Flitwick having apparently taken much longer than he'd thought.

Pausing for a second Harry looked out of a window onto the Hogwarts grounds below. Not much was visible due to it being night now, but the starry sky illuminated Hagrid's hut and the forbidden forest beyond. Snapping his fingers to produce a small flame Harry looked at his reflection in the glass. Messy short red-hair, pale, green-eyes growing body. "You're a wizard, Harry," he said, before turning off the fire with a simple thought. It wasn't often that he was able to look at his reflection without lamenting what he'd lost. But today seemed to be one of those times. "Maybe because I have all the pieces of an identity in this body now as well. Friends, dreams, hobbies, ambitions, realistic expectations of the future and competencies. Almost makes me not wish that this had never happened," he tilted his head and swung his arms as he walked, "but what's missing?"

Chapter Text

Harry was sitting in a compartment with Cedric, Penny and the Weasley twins when he remembered one thing that he'd almost forgotten to do. He opened his trunk and pulled out a small wooden box which he used to store his photographs. Flipping through the variety of photos he'd taken while at Hogwarts, he finally came upon the group photo of Cedric, the twins and another girl whose name he didn't remember. He'd taken this photo what seemed like a lifetime ago, on his first train ride to Hogwarts.

"Here," he said, holding out the photo to the twins. They quickly snatched it out of his hand before starting to brashly comment on their own attractiveness and denigrate their counterparts' looks.

"Thanks, Harry. Just sad to see such a beautiful composition marred by such an ugly mug," one of them said, looking pointedly at the other.

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back as he watched the two bicker, Cedric stole a glance at the photo. "Wait," the boy said suddenly, "there's only one photo." The three of them shared an awkward look, before turning to Harry, who could only shrug.

"I only developed one," he explained.

"You guys can have it," Cedric said, pushing the photo towards the twins. "There's two of you, so if you hang it up somewhere it will be looked at more than if I keep it."

"Thanks, Ced," Fred said, George nodding along, "it's settled then," the other finished, before offering Cedric a chocolate frog. "As a thank you," they finished together.

Cedric took the package dubiously and held it far away from himself with a look of suspicion. The Weasley twins were meanwhile presenting their angelic expressions, too busy to notice Penny sneaking a little ball into one of their pockets.

"Peng!" Pandemonium suddenly ensued in the compartment. The chocolate frog exploded, showering everyone with drizzles of chocolate, and the little ball that Penny had snuck into the Weasley's pockets imploded with a fart sound, releasing a horrible-smelling gas.

"Ewww, did you two just fart!?" Penny screamed, pointed at the twins and then ran out, but not before quickly winking at Harry. A Harry who was unamused, covered in chocolate and smelling a mixture of what must have been rotten pineapples and pig dung.

"That's disgusting George, what did you eat?" he asked the twin on the right in an apathetic voice, with a slightly disgusted sneer on his face. The twins were red in their faces, Cedric meanwhile, was brown. He'd gotten the worst of the chocolate.

"I did not!" George insisted, gasping as his own twin stood up and ran out of the compartment, also covered in some chocolate.

"That's disgusting brother mine!" Fred yelled, "In front of a lady as well!"

"I did not!" George repeated, louder this time, before standing up and chasing after his brother. A horrible stink followed the boy as he left the compartment.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Cedric muttered, shakily putting down the hand that had been holding the dangerously unstable chocolate frog, he somehow hadn't lowered it during the explosion Harry agreed with his friend's assessment. His own face was already turning green from the disgusting smell. Harry raised his wand in the air and broadly gestured at the entirety of the train compartment.

"Scourgify," he intoned as he willed the undesirable to disappear from the compartment and as if it were magic, it did. The only thing left behind was a very clean, perhaps even slightly confused Cedric and a very baffled Harry.

"Wow," Cedric exclaimed, looking around the now clean train compartment. "That's a powerful scourgify," he praised.

Harry meanwhile was simply confused, because right before casting the spell he had actually been planning on standing up and going to the toilet. Now, however, he didn't feel like he had to go anymore. He furrowed his brows.

It wasn't good to apply magic to one's own body unintentionally.

"You alright, mate?" Cedric asked. "You look a bit constipated."

Harry slowly shook his head, "No… not really."

-/-

The atmosphere in the Hogwarts staff room was jovial and celebratory. After all, most of the students had left the castle for two weeks, giving the professors the first breathing room they'd gotten in three months and a half.

"Now, would anybody like to start? Anything in particular to do with the first years?" Dumbledore asked from where he was seated at the large round table made to seat the entire school faculty, before looking around.

"Some cases of home-sickness," Sprout said. "Easily manageable. Some bright students in Herbology this year, but that's about it," the round woman said jovially, before looking to her right at McGonagall, who sighed.

"The Weasley twins, horrid pranksters, rather like their uncles really, may their souls rest in peace. I foresee a lot of evenings spent in detention. I really would have better things to do," she complained. "Jordan Lee also tends to join in their shenanigans. They're good with a wand, but don't know where to channel the talent."

"Quite creative in Potions," Slughorn added, "amongst the top four students in the year, but still lagging behind Haywood and Rogers."

"They're separate people despite being twins, don't count them off as one entity quite yet. Who knows, they might split off from each other one day," Twix jokingly added, seemingly relaxing on her chair, leaning back on it. The older staff traded looks at the comment.

"If they're anything like their uncles they won't unglue their arses apart until they're married and even then they'd still be joined at the hip." McGonagall snorted. "Prewetts and Weasleys." She sighed. "Truly a match made in hell."

"Why, I found Potter and Black to be a particularly interesting combination as well, no sibling relation necessary," Dumbledore commented, causing Slughorn to curse out loud enough for his chin to wobble and his moustache to tremble as if hit by a small and localised earthquake.

"Those two! I almost celebrated their graduation more than I did You-Know-Who's death!" the man said. Twix, next to him, tensed up and dropped back into a normal position on her chair.

"Bright as their minds may have been, it was never easy being their teachers. At least they seem to be good members of society these days, which can't be said for some of the other problematic students we've had," Flitwick said pointedly, making Slughhorn bluster.

"Let's get back on topic," Dumbledore interjected, "You're the last head of house who hasn't spoken yet Filius, care to enlighten us on how the flock is doing this year?"

Flitwick shrugged, and shook his head, before stopping to seemingly consider the pile of books that he was sitting on. "Harry Evans. He recently came to me with a spell crafting proposal, it was very well reasoned and based on two theoretical books that I recommended to him at the start of the year after he asked me about the topic. He seems to have integrated both books quite well, which is impressive since they were on the topics of arithmancy and magical theory, nothing he could have covered yet."

"Spell-crafting is partially an art, really," Slughorn commented, causing Flitwick to shrug.

"It's why I hesitated to mention it. Mr Evans' classwork is exemplary and his grasp of magical theory and arithmancy says good things about his future. However, it is yet to be seen if he can efficiently translate that," he explained.

"He's in school, I'm sure he'll learn," Harry's head of house said, supporting her student.

"He's certainly not learning Potions!" Slughorn exclaimed, "The boy's bright, very much so, but his practical work is atrocious, he's exploded more cauldrons than the cauldron quality control department. I had higher hopes considering…" Here the man lost all momentum and sighed, looking around the table which now laid witness to sad downcast faces. "Sorry, that was uncouth of me," Slughhorn said. "It's just. I led the boy through Diagon Alley. I had high expectations for him."

"His work in Transfiguration is exemplary," McGonagall retorted stiffly, before turning to Twix. "How has he been in your class, also, how have you been settling in? I imagine it's very different from curse-breaking for the ministry."

Twix frowned slightly as if offended that she was being asked how she was doing, "Mr. Evans is doing satisfactorily. Nothing special, just a slightly better than average grasp on spells."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Good in Charms and Transfiguration, but struggling in potions and not noteworthy in Herbology. Perhaps the boy is simply inclined towards wand-magic rather than other, slower forms," he suggested as he adjusted his glasses, before glancing at Sinistra, who had been seemingly napping, but who opened her eyes instantly when the Headmaster glanced at her.

"Keeps his wits about him in Astrology. Doesn't seem to care for it much, though," she said.

"Untalented flyer," Hooch piped up, causing Sprout to raise an eyebrow at her.

"Untalented?" she asked, apparently taking offence. The flight instructor nodded.

"Just as someone might have a predisposition, they might have the opposite, but do tell me about the spell later," Dumbledore ruled, "Now let's move on," he said and the topic immediately shifted.

"One of my older Slytherins was jinxed quite badly by one of yours," Slughorn said to Sprout.

Sprout rolled her eyes. "If it was the boy who made an advance on Ms Tonks with the suggestion that her magical ability might make up for her blood status, then I don't want to hear it," she said firmly, ending the discussion before it could start. Another point was quickly brought up by the other professors. They all wanted to finish the meeting so they could start enjoying their vacation after all.

It was about an hour later that it was only Dumbledore, Flitwick and the bald Quirrell left at the table.

"I'm not quite sure if I should divulge what sort of spell Mr Evans is working on. He didn't specify if he came to me in confidence but it's always better to assume that than anything else, right?" Flitwick said, causing Dumbledore to nod.

"Students do need to feel that they are being given free room to develop, but self-made spells are very tricky business."

"It's hard to strike a balance between intervention and free development," a calm Quirrell interjected. "However, spell creation is incredibly dangerous and difficult. Are you sure the boy is ready?" he asked. "I haven't had him in my class, obviously, but I can't imagine entrusting such a task to any first-year."

"He is mature, talented and hard-working," Flitwick began carefully, before huffing. "I will reveal this, I guess I must, if only to put the staff at ease. The spell Mr Evans is trying to create has almost zero chance of backlash. It's something created purely for utility and has no components that would if allowed to run free, exert any unwanted force on anything."

"That does put an old man's heart at ease. Merlin knows we've all likely harboured dreams of creating a lightning dragon summoning spell when we were young boys," Dumbledore said and stood up, apparently viewing the conversation as over now that the Charms Master had assured them. His periwinkle robes swished as he turned to leave before he paused and turned to Quirrell, "I'm surprised you said anything in the direction of stopping the attempt though, Quirinus. I thought you were always more on the side of creative freedom," he said lightly.

"I've always believed that more trained wizards could determine for themselves the risks that certain magics brought alongside themselves. I'm sure I've never advocated for first-year students to be taught anything potentially dangerous to themselves," the wizard said, also standing up.

"And the risks of visiting certain places…" Dumbledore muttered, "Are you still set on your sabbatical?" he asked, receiving a curt nod from the younger man.

"A different path is calling, ignoring that call only makes for bitter men," the muggle studies professor replied.

"Wise words. It's better to try and fail than to not try at all," Flitwick piped up, "better this way. Not being allowed to spread their wings students might begin to feel like they are being held back and get up to all kinds of foolery. They are very much like adults, in that regard."

"Indeed," Dumbledore concluded. "I will see both at the end of vacation. On that note, have a pleasant evening." He said and departed through the wooden door leading out of the room, the other two professors, quickly following along and going their own way.

-/-

Harry sneezed, his head rocking from where he was resting it on the compartment window, through which he was enjoying the scenery. "Fucker!" he cursed, startling Cedric who had just come back from a chat with some other first-years.

"Harry!" the boy exclaimed, exasperatedly shaking his head before sitting down across him.

"Someone must be talking about me," Harry muttered, getting a curious raised eyebrow from his friend.

"Why do you say that?" Cedric asked.

"Maybe it's a muggle thing, but when you sneeze it's supposed to be because someone is talking behind your back."

"That's interesting, in the wizarding world we say that about getting a splinter," the Hufflepuff said, adjusting his slightly too-long brown hair out of his eyes.

"Different cultures, I guess," Harry said, before resting his head back on the window. Silence filled the compartment for a few minutes before he spoke again. "It was an interesting semester."

"Yeah, I can't believe that it was only three and a half months. I'm looking forward to seeing my family," Cedric said.

Harry sighed, "I'm mostly just glad for a small break from academic work," he said. Planning on forgetting about Occlumency, magical theory, arithmancy, spell-crafting, Potions and the disillusionment charm for a bit. Well, maybe not Occlumency. The trace had likely gotten applied now, so it wasn't like he was going to be able to cast anything anyway, although he could try out sorcery.

"I guess even someone like you gets tired of homework sometimes," Cedric said as if he were impressed by the negative feelings homework could elicit even from the nerdiest nerds, which is what Harry probably looked like from the outside.

"Magic never, homework definitely."

It was an hour later Harry exited the Hogwarts Express, pulling his luggage behind himself as he watched his friends reunite with their families. It was a heart-warming scene and it was five minutes later at the main entrance to the train station that he greeted his uncle.

"Learned anything interesting, eh?" the man asked awkwardly in lieu of a greeting as he easily picked up his trunk and hauled it into the back of their shining blue Beetle. A car that they'd fixed up together a few years ago and kept as a secondary vehicle for urban driving.

Harry sat in the front seat on the left, something he'd needed to get used to at first, tightened his seat belt and replied, "Loads of stuff, I even made some friends. You buy me anything nice for Christmas?"

His uncle snorted and started driving. "For that, you'll just have to wait and see like all the other kids in the country."

"Looking forward to it," Harry said and closed his eyes as they slowly made their way out of London and into Surrey.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up on boxing day, refreshed, happy and thriving. He jumped out of his bed, glanced at his clock, put an ABBA vinyl on the player and turned the volume up to the max. He danced as if he were seventeen to the shower, still hearing the music thrumming through the walls into the bathroom and dressed himself in a long red shirt and jogging pants. His bunny slippers were warm and he could smell the roast that had been cooking throughout the night.

"Funny way of torturing someone, letting them smell the delicious roast that they will only get to eat in the evening," he said to his grumbling aunt who was just leaving her bed-room, hair covered in those twisty thingies he'd never bothered to learn the name of.

"Turn down this racket, or at least put on some Shy Baldwin instead!" she shouted at him as Harry slipped into Dudley's bedroom and kissed his cousin good morning on the cheek before wiggling downstairs.

"Do it yourself!" he shouted back, "but only after I've left the house mind you," he finished as the track switched to Waterloo and he picked up a jacket, hat, gloves and three gift-wrapped presents for his friends. He released his wand from his holster and confidently stepped out of the Dursley home into a snow-covered 24th of December. He stretched his wand high up into the air and summoned the Knight Bus.

"Diagon, Ern!" Harry shouted as he entered the bus that had magically appeared on the street with a loud crack that no one seemed to hear.

"Sure thing, boss!" The driver shouted back jokingly, driving off in a motion that threw both Harry and the conductor who had been approaching Harry off their feet. The young boy laughed, pressed a few knuts he'd made selling muggle pens in Hogwarts into the conductor's hand and went to lay down on one of the unoccupied beds that were rattling around the first floor of the bright red double-decker bus.

"Merry Christmas!" he said as he exited the bus after a horrible drive that had left a stomach-formed dent in his throat and his hair tousled in some approximation of a red pom-pom. Walking into the leaky cauldron, more subdued now, Harry went and asked a not-very-busy owner Tom -It was only nine in the morning- how to open the door to the magical street, a secret method that he'd forgotten.

A minute later he was standing again, after four months, on a packed street bursting with so much magic he could almost feel it.

He twitched his nose. Well, bursting with so many people that he could smell it.

Putting that bit out of his mind and letting the spirit of Christmas get to him he hopped down the street on his way to the post office, a small note in his hand, written for him by Penny, guiding his path.

"Although, I definitely could have found it myself," he mused at the large wooden building made to resemble an owl which had a constant stream of birds flying out of its ears and eyes. The odd, but incredibly cool building was nestled between a gift-box-shaped shop selling pre-wrapped surprise presents and what seemed to be a pet shop with the sign 'Why rent a bird, when you can own a bird.' Upon closer inspection, the post had a similar sign with the words, 'Why own a bird when you can rent a bird' on its front. Harry wouldn't be surprised if both stores were owned by the same person. The pet shop was built in the shape of a sitting cat and Harry didn't know how likely it was to have two neighbours with exactly the same idea on architectural design.

Or, maybe, one of them had come later and had just copied the other. However, these musings weren't likely to lead anywhere so Harry stepped into the owl and deposited his three presents onto the counter in front of a dubious old man whose head was even shaped a bit like an owl. Fluffy hair, big eyes.

"Three presents ready to fly, mister!" Harry said, pushing forward the presents. Cedric's' was filled with an assortment of sweets imported from Asian countries that Harry was sure were at least as weird as some magical candies he'd tried. Penny's present was a book on basic chemistry along with some material to do non-magical experiments with. Tonks was getting the photo that he'd snapped of her without her knowing on top of the Owlery. It had turned out surprisingly well, although that could just be because Tonks was a very pretty young woman. He was also sending her a pink wig because he thought it would be funny.

The old man behind the counter took the packages and put them into a glass tube next to his desk which sent them flying upwards to where Harry assumed a ready owl would pick them up.

"Three knuts, that'll be," the man said with a smile, to which Harry replied with his own.

"Could you interest me instead for a box of magical Chinese fortune cookies? They're a special product of muggle divination and tell the eater their future," he said, pulling out a plastic sack of fortune cookies covered boldly by Chinese lettering. The old man gave Harry an amused look and took the bag.

"That'll be two knuts. My grandson will like this," he said, causing Harry to fork over a pair of matcha Kit Kats that he'd been saving for himself. After some haggling, it was determined that two kit kats equaled two, instead of one knut. The old man was mostly just humouring Harry and gleefully watching a line of annoyed people line up behind the young boy. If this meant that Harry could get out of spending the precious wizarding money that he had very little of, then so be it.

"Do you know if there is an archive of old newspapers somewhere around here by any chance?" Harry asked right before leaving.

"The Daily Prophet has a small library where they keep old editions. Had to check a date for a bet once. It's down the street and left after the Indian restaurant. There also might be something at the ministry," the man replied, before dismissing Harry by sweeping his gaze to the next customer.

Glad for the directions Harry left the building and made his way down the street. Hogwarts carried a surprisingly small amount of modern history books. None in fact. He'd checked and so he was now dependent on finding some sort of magical archive. However, seeing as one library had already disappointed him he was more interested in going straight to the source with his limited amount of time.

Quickly reaching Patils, the aforementioned Indian restaurant, Harry took a left, the street becoming much more abandoned suddenly. Looking around he saw that the reason for that was that he'd left the main road of colourful shops attracting the frantic Christmas shoppers and that he was now on a street beset mostly by businesses, such as the 'enchanting enchanter's' and 'luggage repair for lugs'. On the end of the street as clear as day was a big building, seemingly newer and more modern than its neighbours, made in a Boston-esque red-brick fashion. 'The Daily Prophet' glimmered on its front emboldened in gigantic letters.

Harry moved purposefully past more languidly walking adults and went to conquer his next foe.

The receptionist.

-/-

"No," the stern woman said, causing Harry to nearly pull his hair out.

"Why won't you let me into the archive?" he asked again, looking around the sparse room for something to bludgeon the insufferable harridan with.

The old woman looked down at him from behind her desk imperiously. "The newspaper archive is not a place for children. You'll just damage the paper," she sniffed. Harry really wondered if magic librarians all collectively had one big tree up their asses. They seemed to prefer denying access to knowledge, rather than providing it.

"But I have a paper due for history class, how am I supposed to write about the blood war if I can't read about it!" Harry said indignantly. The woman looked at him dubiously, before straightening up and looking behind him in a startled manner.

"History class, you could have thought of a better lie. Binns hasn't assigned an essay on anything more modern than the Middle Ages even before he died," a female voice drawled from behind Harry, a pair of pale hands with garishly red nails clasping him on the shoulders. Harry turned around to see a blonde woman with the most ridiculously short permed hair in a green dress standing behind him and smiling indulgently.

"Who the bloody hell is Binns?" Harry asked, putting on an offended air. "I'm taught history by Professor Dumont at Beauxbatons. I'm just here on holiday and when the old coot heard I have family in Britain he made me write about the recent conflict," he lied, as if lying was mouthbreathing and he was a professional mouth-breather.

What must have been Rita Skeeter raised her perfectly imperfect eyebrow at him and switched languages. "So you speak French then, your English has an oddly British accent," she said fluently with only the tinge of an English lilt to her speech. It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow. The reporter was apparently a woman of more talents than he'd suspected. Or she'd simply chugged a few potions.

"I was born here. My family moved after my dad got a job opportunity. Beauxbatons is just closer. Gladder to be going there as well, now that you told me about Hogwarts' history professor," he replied, with equal fluency.

"Well, we got ourselves a little French boy here, Matilda," Skeeter said, switching back to English with a tight smile. "Why don't we let him inside, we wouldn't want to stand in the way of Professor Dumont, would we?"

The receptionist shrugged and gave Harry another suspicious look before pointing to a door to the side, partially hidden by a particularly big palm tree which he was surprised to see indoors. Skeeter accompanied him, hands still on his shoulder until he was in the large white room, which in the end simply consisted of about a hundred or so large steel cabinets. Each cabinet had a time-period imprint on its front and Harry assumed that they must have been enchanted to hold more because as the Daily Prophet said in its name, it was a daily newspaper. Shaking off Skeeter he walked to the end of the room, where he found a dusty old wooden cabinet with more cracks than content.

"1689-1701," he read off it. "I assume this is when the Daily Prophet was founded?" he asked, not turning around to see if Skeeter was still there. A sad woman, working on Christmas. Was she already the established bitch reporter she had been in the books? Quite possibly not, this was six years before the Triwizard tournament.

"No, the Daily Prophet is actually approaching its 1000th birthday. It's just that the ministry decided to purge all accounts of life before the statute of secrecy when it was established. Is it not the same in France?" she asked suspiciously.

"I've never really been interested in newspapers, so I honestly have no idea." Harry retorted as he strolled back to the beginning of the room past Skeeter and stopped before the drawer of 1981. He pulled it out and as expected, a compartment of about three and a half metres in length came out with a metal screech and almost beheaded him. After dodging the murder attempt Harry picked up the second edition paper from the first of October. There were two, probably covering the events before and after Voldemort's defeat had become known.

'You-Know-Who vanquished, Chief Mugwump Dumbledore confirms: Neville Longbottom, the hero of the Wizarding World.' Harry's eyes flew over the article, talking about Voldemort's mysterious disappearance after his attack on the Longbottom mansion and his murder of all but one inhabitant. The baby that had struck him down in the end, or so Dumbledore claimed. Harry leafed through the next few additions, going forward chronologically. 'Longbottom adopted by celebrated auror James Potter', 'Desperate attack on Potter manor by remnant death eaters, Black and Potter capture Bellatrix Lestrange, slay Greyback', 'Peter Pettigrew, the traitor behind the attack on The-boy-who-lived, captured', 'Malfoy acquitted, Black & Potter protest', 'The best new broom on the market?', 'Lord Malfoy killed in Diagon Alley vigilante attack'. He flitted through several titles and paragraphs of text before stopping at the Malfoy murder.

Harry decided that he'd taken in enough information to make an entry into the journal he'd brought. Pulling it out of his pocket he started writing. 'Malfoy died. Where is Snape? Black & Potter capture Lestrange. Greyback dead. Pettigrew in Azkaban'. Harry flitted through the cabinets of the next few years, looking for a name and found it a few years down the line of Malfoy's murder. 'Minister of magic: Barty Crouch'. Harry wondered what happened to Junior... So much was different… Could he trust anything? he wondered once again, before looking up and flinching at the fact that Skeeter was still there, staring at him with a curious look.

She looked young, not at all indicative of the reporter she'd been in the movies. Although the sense of her style was already apparent. Honestly, Harry thought that she was trying a bit too hard to appear professional. That's what had blinded him to the fact that she couldn't have been much older than 30. Did she have trouble trying to fit into the workplace and was overcompensating, he wondered, before banishing the thought as unimportant.

"Don't you have anywhere else to be?" he asked the woman, whose stare transitioned to a glare at the question.

"Don't you?" she asked, causing Harry to pause and tilt his head and consider the mean implication of the question when asked on boxing day.

He'd come to the archive not because he had no one to be with. He was currently in the process of repairing another car with his uncle and going through an Italian cookbook with his aunt. Dudley of course had been a bit sullen for him being gone so long, but after five days he was back to being the bright kid Harry had left behind. He could have honestly dealt with a few fewer questions about magic, Hogwarts and boarding school life. Although the question of why exactly Harry couldn't simply learn to throw a lightning bolt had been interesting…

Thankfully the card game Magic The Gathering had recently come out and Dudley would get a few packs for Christmas after Harry sifted through the collection for anything potentially valuable in the future. A new game should distract his cousin. All in all, what he wanted to say was, he'd hung out with his family plenty. A short stint in the archives wouldn't harm anyone.

"I don't, not until a bit later in the evening," Harry replied.

"Why spend Christmas here? You're a child, you should be enjoying life while you can. There's just old stories here, nothing real," Skeeter said bitterly.

"There's a narrative," Harry said.

Skeeter snorted. "It's just one framing of what was a horrible time we should all strive to forget. Narrative," she spat, the bitter lines being furrowed on her face working together beautifully with her garish yellow glasses. Harry smiled, thinking for a second that the woman was beautiful, or becoming beautiful. There were different kinds of beauty. Soft with a tinkling laugh but also cold, hard and toxic. Skeeter was the latter.

"Disillusionment suits you," Harry blurted out, before blushing and going back to his newspapers, this time going backwards chronologically and looking at more than just the headliner articles. A startled laugh resounded from behind him and Harry heard the clack-clack of a person wearing heels going away. The sound suddenly stopped.

"You'll be a charmer when you grow up with that tongue of yours, boy." He heard Skeeter's voice say before the clacking continued and she left, for good.

Harry wondered what had been wrong with him, decided that he was beginning to enter puberty and thus starting to act weird and continued looking.

Going backwards in time from the 1st of October 1981 eventually landed him on the newspaper of the 23rd of November 1977. The headliner of the day was a brutal massacre committed against a group of magicals protesting blood purity politics at Diagon Alley. Voldemort himself had made an appearance, but there were no pictures of him available. The day was fittingly dubbed 'the Diagon Alley massacre.' It was on the last page, next to the advertisements for cleaning products and hand-me-down brooms that Harry found what he'd been looking for though. 'Horror at Hogwarts, rapist still at large. Obliviated muggle-born leaves school," he stared at the title for a while, blood boiling and took a few moments to calm himself before reading the disparagingly short story.

'The rape that has occurred recently at Hogwarts still remains unresolved. The victim has awoken from their short-term coma and appears to have been badly obliviated of the brutal attack, remembers nothing. Shockingly little was done to uncover the assailant, reporter finds, potentially due to the victim's blood status.' Breloom Skeeter. The article said in three succinct sentences. Finding his mother's fate, for all that he'd never met her, summarised so briefly on the last page made Harry want to burn the newspaper in his hands with his sorcery. A deep anger rose within him, one that he'd thought suppressed by now, - after all, he'd known about his origins for a long time now, for all that no one saw fit to explain them to his face - but no, all the rage was still there, along with a healthy dose of impotence and an abject disgust for the Wizarding World and humanity at large.

He wasn't aware of the how and why but eventually he somehow ended up back at the Dursleys where he locked himself into his room and tried to drown out his thoughts with incredibly loud music.

-/-

It was a listless young wizard that haunted the Dursley house for the next few days, likely worrying his family that he was regressing back to the apathetic and haunted young boy that he'd been. Even the visit of Aunt Marge, a crude but loyal woman, didn't manage to improve his mood. Neither did the affectionate nipping of the aptly named Ripper, the dog that the woman had brought with her.

The presents that he got for Christmas managed to cheer him up to a certain extent. His family knew that he liked interesting collectables, so they'd gifted him a set of rare vinyls. Dudley had even managed to find a stamp from the late 18th century. Cedric and Penny had sent him a collection of wizarding candy that they thought was interesting. He'd shared it with an incredibly excited Dudley in the living room with all the blinds closed while watching "Mission Impossible" and "It's a Wonderful Life." Even Tonks had sent him something, a few days after Christmas, apparently moved by his gift. Although considering it was a blue wig, Harry didn't quite know if the girl was annoyed or happy.

It was only for New Year's, when his family had driven into London to watch the city's fireworks from Trafalgar Square that Harry managed to reconcile his disappointment with his hopes for the future. Looking around him he saw young people, old people, his family and strangers, all looking into the sky, eyes reflecting the spectacle, unworried for these few short seconds about the inevitable misery that life tended to bring with itself every now and again.

Perhaps some evil force was playing games with him, ripping him away from everything that he'd managed to build up just to stick him into the body of an orphan in a country and culture on the brink of a civil war. No seeming purpose to his existence and the knowledge that he was a result of a rape committed against what should have been the brightest witch of her age.

Or perhaps this was simply the context of the beautiful opportunity that he'd gotten to make something out of a death that he perhaps did not remember, but that a force of good had used to give him a second chance.

But probably it was just a coincidence, a clerical fuck up somewhere in the higher echelons of the soul management administration. These things often were. Maybe he'd get a bill someday that he'd overdrafted some karmic credit card that he'd never known existed. All Harry could reasonably do in the face of these great uncertainties, injustices and ironic twists of fate was to keep going forward as he always would have.

"Are you finally out of your phase?" Dudley asked him in the back of the car, explaining that it was something teenagers were wont to experience and that Harry shouldn't worry overly much about it.

"I guess I am," Harry replied, locking eyes with his aunt in the rear-view mirror and seeing the way she squeezed the steering wheel, Vernon asleep on the passenger seat.

"Happy New Year then," Dudley said. "I wanted to wait until you weren't feeling sad anymore."

"Happy New Year, Dudley," Harry replied and let his head rest against the cool car window and watched the lights of the city blur by. "Let's see what this year has in store for us, huh."

Chapter Text

Harry waved goodbye to his family from the bright red Hogwarts Express. They'd spent a nice week together after New Year's, in which Harry had made up for his melancholy in the first week of Christmas.

Oddly enough, no matter how much he enjoyed his academic and magical endeavours at Hogwarts and how much he loved his relative independence there, he was already looking forward to summer. He'd finally managed to convince his uncle to go to France and Harry hoped to enjoy some good food and a non-frigid sea for once.

"Wotcher, kiddo," someone said from behind him and Harry turned around from his family to look at the pink-haired girl greeting him from the inside of a compartment filled with upperclassmen.

"I see you're wearing my gift," Harry said instead of a greeting as he stepped forward to lean on the compartment door.

Tonks rolled her eyes and changed her hair to the colour blue, proving that she was not in fact wearing a wig. "I see you're not wearing mine," she said, causing Harry to laugh.

"My hair is so red I should have been sorted into Gryffindor. If I came onto the train with a blue wig people wouldn't have recognized me."

"Better in Hufflepuff I say, too much drama elsewhere!" An older boy.

"I'm pretty sure Evans is earning twice as many points as all the first-years in Hogwarts combined, I for one welcome our lost Gryff," a brunette with a prefects badge said, causing Harry to roll his eyes.

"I see, that's all I am to you then, a sack of house-points," he sniffed. Tonks elbowed the prefect.

"Look what you did, you made him cry!" she stage-whispered.

Harry twitched his finger and made a few water drops condense beneath his eyes. He'd practised his sorcery during the break, having figured out that it didn't trigger the trance. He'd done it far out of civilization though, so he didn't know how it worked closer to muggles. "I'm so hurt," he moaned and buried his head in his hands, "the only thing that could alleviate my pain…" he sniffled and broke off.

"What would alleviate your pain?" One of the boys said in a confused tone, as if unsure if Harry was acting or not.

"Only one thing could release me from this suffering…" Harry moaned and created more water that then spilt out from between his hands and dripped on the floor.

"What the he- '' The prefect muttered before being interrupted by Tonks.

"Hells, Harry, what's wrong!" Tonks shouted and shook him by the shoulder.

Harry put away his arms and looked up at the compartment with a literally watery face. "The only thing that would balm the wound you have inflicted on my heart would be touching a nice pair of honkers," he said softly while throwing a far-away look into the compartment window, idly noting that the train had started moving.

"You little prat!" Tonks cursed as her hand quickly transitioned from rubbing his shoulder to smacking the back of his head. The rest of the compartment burst into laughter as the prefect blushed and Tonks theatrically pushed Harry out into the corridor. "I swear I have no idea who that was," she tried to convince her laughing friends.

Harry meanwhile, uncaring for the chaos he'd caused, ran away in the search for Cedric and Penny.

It wasn't even a minute later that he was sidling up to his two friends, along with some other first-year Hufflepuffs as they recounted what they'd done over the Christmas holidays.

"I swear Harry here almost gave my mum a heart attack and almost got my dad killed," Cedric was saying as Harry finished sitting down, "he sent this box of muggle divination cookies and my dad opened one that told him that the love of his life might be sitting closer than he thought. The only problem was that he was on the couch with my mom's sister who's also married with kids," the boy said.

Everyone laughed, "Sorry about that, I guess." Harry said and shrugged.

"They're not real divination obviously, just thought it would be funny."
Cedric looked appalled. "Does that mean I won't be getting what my heart desires this February?" he asked.

"Don't worry Cedric, I'll send you a Valentine's card," one of the other boys jeered, causing everyone to laugh again.

It was a fun, if slightly immature ride to Hogwarts.

-/-

"The step-by-step intent looks good, if restrictive," Flitwick commented from his side of the table as he read through the new amendment to Harry's spell.

"If I'm not going to be specifying intent then a single uninflected word is the best choice. It might even limit the spell enough for its cost to become affordable." Harry said, causing Flitwick to hum, before pulling out a small piece of parchment and pushing it over the table to his pupil.

"I had an interesting thought, actually, during the break. It's a bit advanced, but maybe it could be incorporated into the spell even without full understanding," he began as he wrote something on the parchment from the other side of the table, upside down. 'Sympathetic properties,' Harry read.

"Have you heard about them?" Flitwick asked, to which Harry slowly nodded.

"To a very limited extent, I don't think I really have much to say on the topic," he admitted, at which Flitwick simply laughed.

"You shouldn't worry about that, you'd learn it in the context of transfiguration, maybe in your sixth year? I don't remember. There is some dark magic, very dark magic that uses it, so you might also look at that during your DADA courses one day. It's not introduced in charms at Hogwarts at all, however, not because it's not interesting, but because it's incredibly niche. Why don't you tell me what you know, or what you think you know, and then we can work from there."

Harry gathered his thoughts for a second. "Sympathetic properties are properties that make magic easier in cases in which they are present. For example, it's easier to switch two objects with the switching spell if they share some attributes, like size, or shape," he said, before shaking his head, "that's all I know."

"It's not wrong, just very incomplete," Flitwick muttered as he leaned back. "Let me explain, sympathetic property is a term to describe the things that two objects have in common. Now, here, with objects, I simply mean the goals of a spell. The spells that require two entities as a part of their fundamental effect are called transitive spells, an example is the switching spell. You can't switch something with nothing, thus casting a switching spell at a target requires you to focus on a second one as well. Sympathetic properties in this case simply mean that it will be easier to switch a wooden spoon with another wooden spoon than with a fork," Flitwick said as Harry nodded along, "The concept is used, to be perfectly frank, mostly in unsavoury magic. Some curses for example necessitate creating a doll with the real body parts of the intended victim. The sympathetic properties of the blood, the skin, or the hair make the spell work. These are the curses that curse-breakers at the ministry often work on with the Aurors, whereas Gringotts curse-breaks focus on buildings magically protected against intruders."

"Are non-material properties also important?" Harry asked, "For example a wooden spoon made by a male hermit living on top of a mountain for fun differing slightly in its sympathetic properties from a wooden spoon made by a city-dweller because they need to eat."

Flitwick beamed and nodded. "Unimportant for the most part, but yes, it does matter," he said, before pointing at the parchment that he'd given Harry. "That's why I was thinking that writing down the word one intends to search for with your spell might help. Previously we were going off the assumption that the spell could have two stages. Visualisation of the word leads to finding words written similarly to one's imagination. Then, after some practice, blurry visualisation might help us find the same word, even if written a bit differently, writing the word down ad-"

"adds another stage, therefore flattening the learning curve. A pre-visualization stage," Harry muttered, cutting the professor off.

Flitwick clapped happily, "Exactly, and seeing as you will be writing the word down on a piece of parchment, as most words that you will be searching for have been in the past. It should create a small amount of sympathetic resonance which might help the spell along!" He explained.

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick," Harry said, "this addition was very astute."

Flitwick blushed, glancing down at the spell proposal and seemed a bit jittery. "Why don't you try it?" The man said suggestively.

Harry blinked and looked up from where he had been stuck in thought. "Right now?" Harry asked dubiously, looking around the cluttered office. "Shouldn't we do it in an empty room with a single book so as not to put anything at risk?"

Flitwick's shoulders sagged, "You've been working on this thing for almost half a year, you introduced it to me almost a month ago," he whined.

Harry laughed. "Well then, it shouldn't be a problem to wait a bit more. How about trying the spell in two weeks, it will give me the time to condense the spell formula with the sympathetic properties in mind and recalculate everything. Then, you can bring a book I don't know and we will try it out in an empty room somewhere," he suggested, causing Flitwick to moan.

"All right, all right. It should be me advocating for more thoroughness, but it's a new spell! So exciting, I haven't made one since my duelling days!"

"You duelled professor?" Harry asked, surprised at the revelation that the short and kind old man had even stepped foot into what was essentially the wizarding version of boxing.

"Bah, so long ago nobody even remembers apparently. I was even the world champion at some point," Flitwick boasted.

"That's incredible!" Harry complimented with bright eyes. Being world-class in anything was an extremely difficult task, let alone becoming a world champion. "Maybe you can tell me more about it after we're done with this extracurricular project?" He asked, at which Flitwick nodded, seeming pleased with himself. Harry wondered for a moment if we had just signed up to be regaled with the tales of an old man's glory days, but decided that it was worth it for all the help he was getting.

"Thank you, thank you. Now, next Charms lesson we will be covering the animation charm, something you probably already practised and, dare I say, mastered, I assume?" Flitwick asked while peering at Harry over the rim of his glasses with his pale blue eyes.

Harry broke eye contact in case the man was attempting Legilimency and nodded, pulling out his wand and pointing it at an uneaten old orange on the professor's desk. "Animato," he enunciated and watched as the orange began at first rocking in place before breaking into a rhythmic back and forth that made it seem like it was banging its head at a metal concert.

Flitwick hummed and poked at the orange with his wand, making the movements stop, before simply vanishing the thing with a low mutter Harry couldn't quite get.

"Five points for Hufflepuff," Flitwick said, "seeing as you already mastered the charm I want to give you something else to work on," he said and pushed a small booklet over the table.

Curiously picking it up Harry saw that it was just 15 pages long. The title was 'Charms with sympathetic properties', flipping through it he saw that the booklet consisted of three spells. All of their arithmetic equations were written out. There were even personalised tips on how to cast them. Going back to the front, past an introduction of what they'd already discussed, Harry saw that the booklet had no author. He looked up with wide eyes. "Did you write this yourself professor?" he asked, surprised that the man would put in so much effort for him. Being a professor was already a time-intensive job.

Flitwick nodded. "Considering the path you are embarking on at the ripe age of eleven, I thought it was only fair to help as much as I can. Practise the first spell of the booklet and tell me once you've mastered it. It should give you an idea of sympathetic properties, hopefully to the point that you'll be able to apply it when we finally cast your creation sometime soon," he said, before glancing to the left at the small raven-shaped clock on his desk.

"My goodness, it's late." The man sighed. "So much to do yet so little time, huh, Harry?" he quipped before waving the boy off with a contemplative look on his face. "Go now, before you start infringing on curfew," he said and Harry took it as the dismissal that it was.

"Goodnight professor," he said and exited the door, clutching the booklet in his hands. He looked at it in the flickering torchlight of the grey corridor. He smirked ruefully. "He probably thinks I'm some sort of special talent. How funny that through this belief, I am getting access to private tutoring from a master and personalised tasks, which will actually push me ahead of the curve."

He walked like that for a bit, occasionally chuckling at his own fraudulence, before eventually remembering that there was something he could practise as he walked. Ejecting his wand from his wand holster he brought it up to tap himself on the head. "Sum Invisibilis", he incanted and felt a cold and sticky sensation run down his head.

Looking down at his arm and at the satchel he was carrying he saw that his colours now blended in with the surroundings to a certain extent. Not perfect by any means, not even close to real invisible.

Essentially speaking the spell was at Level 13/100. But he was greyish and dark and as long as he remained in the shadows he would stay unseen. It was something that probably any child could muster if they had the willpower and learning habits of an average adult.

"Genius indeed," he snorted, tilting his head at the echo the words produced and mentally noted down to also learn a sound-cancelling charm to combine with the disillusionment one. It was because of this that he was almost distracted enough to not notice the thin silhouette through the window, robes aflutter, walking confidently in the direction of the forbidden forest. He recognized the figure from how often he saw it skulking into the restricted section of the library. It was Professor Twix.

Chapter Text

Harry narrowed his eyes at the figure of the defence professor skulking towards the forbidden forest and cursed. "Fucking bitch!"

What was Twix doing now? Didn't she know that through his reading of the original Harry Potter books, he had a crippling and justified fear of defence professors, especially with his first name being Harry? This woman had already been giving him mini-heart attacks with her cartoonishly suspicious behaviour in the library. Now she was going into the Forbidden Forest at night as well? What the fuck was she doing?

Harry paused and considered for a moment. He looked down at his chameleon-like appearance. He was only one staircase up from where he could exit the castle from the same door that Twix had obviously used. He could probably follow her with his new spell. If nothing else he might finally figure out what her end goal was. What was she seeking in the forbidden forest? She'd been running in the opposite direction of Hagrid's hut so she wasn't visiting the groundskeeper.

He had only a short time to make his decision, he concluded as her form left the castle further and further behind. If he went, he needed to go now. The question was if he should.

The whoosh of an immaterial form common to the Hogwarts hallways filled the corridor and someone else made the decision for him. "Firsties out of bed?" Peeves screamed. "Filch, Filch, flay this fool, Filch Filch find this firstie!" The poltergeist screamed at the top of his lungs when he saw Harry's partially obscured form. He'd likely been summoned by his cursing.

Harry broke out in a run towards the staircase before he was caught and given detention with the unpleasant caretaker. He'd rather get to the bottom of the Twix mystery than spend time with the unpleasant squib.

He flew down the moving staircase and executed an acrobatic jump towards the door, a poltergeist now chasing his loud footsteps. He really should have learned a sound-muffling spell, he lamented.

It was exiting the castle that finally managed to unglue Peeves from his ass. Not stopping to catch his breath, but also in case he lost his sudden courage Harry only set a walking pace once he caught up to Twix. He followed her from a safe distance, partially wondering if this was the stupid decision that would lead to his death and partially wondering if he'd be reincarnated again.

Looking down at himself to confirm that he was still camouflaged, Harry followed the woman until she stood right at the boundary to the forbidden forest. Once there the professor idly waved her wand, probably to apply a warming charm and seemingly began to wait before a particularly gnarly magnolia. She kept fidgeting as if uncomfortable or impatient and her body language in turn made Harry nervous. He resisted the urge to pace around, as he was now close enough to probably be heard if he moved too abruptly.

Suddenly Twix stilled and looked into the forest. Harry strained his eyes to see and made out a huge antlered figure in the shadows of the trees. A stag pranced out of the forest, becoming visible in the moonlight and stopped in front of the professor.

Harry froze, afraid of the possibility that the stag could smell him and give him away to Twix somehow. He turned around to see if there was enough soft grass to walk back on without being heard and flinched when he saw some sort of light rainbowy sheen blocking him off from the Hogwarts grounds in a circle that extended into the forest.

What was this? Was he caught? He should have known this was a horrible idea. Wasn't his whole goal at Hogwarts to not get into trouble? Was this whole set-up to trap him? But if so, what was with the stag, was it a conjuration of some sort? These thoughts flitted relentlessly through his head as he stood there, paralysed.

"It's definitely in the library," Twix said and Harry whipped his head around to see her talking to the stag. "I can feel it, no matter how much it tries to hide between the stench of the books already there. A good hiding spot, I admit. I've been trying to gain access. I should be done soon. Two or three months. I don't know what I will find behind the door though. Probably something horrible." She sniffed. The stag nodded slowly and Twix pulled out a piece of parchment and went on her toes to puncture it onto one of the spikes present on the animal's antlers. "I need it by next week, the usual channel will do," she said and waited for a second. Maybe for the stag to reply? The animal simply snorted and looked up to the castle, the moonlight reflected in its eyes before turning around and trotting off.

"Bloody cold out here," Twix cursed before raising her wand again, causing Harry to instinctively step back. With a twitch of the wooden stick, the barrier disappeared. The woman turned around and began her walk back to the castle. Harry managed to make himself unfreeze and follow.

What was that one-sided conversation she'd had with the stag? What was he supposed to do?. He'd caught Twix in an awkward position twice now. Should he go to the headmaster and tell him what he'd seen? Realistically there was nothing to do here but alert someone. Was it worth it for Dumbledore potentially reading his mind? People could be in danger.

Hadn't he already gone against his principles of non-involvement by following Twix here? It only took a mixture of running away from detention and curiosity for him to break his promise to his aunt, he thought as he slipped into the castle behind Twix and split off from the woman to go towards the Hufflepuff common room.

Looking at his colour-blended but still visibly shaky hand Harry wondered for a short moment if he was suicidal, or if putting one's life at risk was a much easier task than he'd ever imagined. The latter explanation would certainly explain the amount of stupid deaths that have occurred throughout history. He entered the common room, only to pause at the sight of Penny sleeping on one of the couches with a closed chessboard clutched in her arms.

He sighed and sat down next to his friend. He watched her young face, illuminated by the fireplace shift into a grimace as if she were having a nightmare. Reaching out towards her he took the chessboard from where she was clutching it to her chest and squeezed her hands gently while he was at it. He began to set up the pieces and listened as Penny stirred from sleep. He could almost hear her eyelids open from how silent the common room was, except for the crackling of the fire. It wasn't that late yet, and Harry wondered where the later years were, shouldn't they still be hanging about?

"Harry?" Penny asked with a yawn as she righted herself on the couch.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, the meeting ran longer than expected. Did you have a nice nap?" he asked.

Glancing to the left he saw the girl shrug. "It's ok. I'm sure Professor Flitwick appreciated the company. He seems a bit too energetic for me to really imagine him alone. You still want to play?"

"Let's play a game, promises and whatnot. Tomorrow is Saturday anyway," he said, before admitting. "I should tire myself out for the sleepless night I have ahead of me anyway."

"How come?" Penny asked as she took the spot opposite of him and began looking at the board with her tongue sticking up.

Wondering for a second if it was fair to burden a child with his worries, Harry decided that Penny was a friend, as odd as that sounded and that he didn't have to mention details. "I fear that I know what I must do, but that I don't have the strength to do it."

"But you're one of the strongest people I know!" Penny exclaimed, shocked and looked at him as if he'd just said he was a muggle. "The amount of studying you're able to do is terrifying, you have to be brave for that. Sprout is lucky you're so hard-working, or you'd be in Gryffindor," she said and frantically convincingly waved her arms.

"Academic record aside. I'm just trying to decide between what is right and what is easy," Harry answered while filing away the name of his head of house.

"Well, my mom always says that if you have to wonder so much about what to do before you even have to do it… You should do it because you'll spend an equal amount of time doing it as you will worrying about it." Penny said sagely.

Harry hummed and turned the words over in his head. Rather than worrying about Twix, he could offload the responsibility to deal with the situation on the headmaster, or maybe even his head of house. All that he would risk was his biggest secret, depending on who he went to. However, perhaps it was paranoid to think that Dumbledore read the mind of every first-year who came into his office. One moment of bravery, or months of anxiety and potentially life-long regret if Twix did something unthinkable and he had no one but himself to blame for having had the opportunity of preventing it. The words of Penny's mom were indeed wise.

He concluded, however, that this was not really the context that they had been said for. He raised his head and looked penetratingly into Penny's eyes. "This is what your mom tells you when you're trying to escape doing chores isn't it," he said, causing the girl to sputter and weakly defend her honour.

"No-, I mean-, never-" she eeped out before sighing. "Alright, you caught me," she admitted.

"I hate taking trash out the most. I can smell it on my hand sometimes, it's gross," Harry said.

Penny calmed down and shot him a rueful smile, "It's de-gnoming for me, gnomes are dumb."

Harry nodded sagely. "Dumb gnomes," he said before taking a pawn off the muggle chessboard and pushing it two steps forward.

"Your turn."

"So weird that they don't talk," Penny commented on the muggle chessboard Harry had insisted they play on.

"I imagine it as more relaxing," Harry replied, not being able to disconnect the way that wizarding chess pieces interacted with each other from a particularly toxic video game lobby.

Chapter Text

A few days after his chess game with Penny, Harry found himself standing in front of the greenhouse that served as Sprouts' office. Not because it was actually an office, but because one was much more likely to find her here than elsewhere. His indecision about the matter with Twix had been gnawing at him, causing him to lose out on sleep and focus. In the end, he'd decided to tell a professor about what he'd seen, but not the headmaster. Harry really wanted to get his search function spell to work and to find something on Occlumency before approaching that particular man, even if his worries were most likely unfounded.

Lifting a hand to knock at the glasshouse door he hesitated, one last time, before simply sighing and knocking. A, "Come in!" was heard not a second later and Harry entered the uncomfortably humid glass house. Seeing Sprout at the end of a row filled with what appeared to be pink roses with teeth, he approached the woman gingerly, not touching any of the roses, no matter how tranquil they appeared for the moment.

"Mr. Evans!" Sprout exclaimed happily, putting down her trowel, which she had been using to re-pot a plant that looked like a gigantic bee. "What brings you here?" she asked, but continued speaking, "You spend so much time with Professor Flitwick I sometimes get the feeling you're a Ravenclaw," she said jokingly.

Seeing an easy way to flatter the woman Harry answered. "I've been in need of Professor Flitwick's help often recently due to the project that I'm working on with charms. However, if I ever had a real issue to discuss I would obviously go to my head of house."

Sprout nodded her head and ushered him to the back to the green-house where there was a table with a chair that she sat down at. She idly conjured him a small stool with a spell incantation that he was too distracted to understand.

"You're here to talk about something serious?" she asked, face growing hard in a way that Harry hadn't thought possible of the seemingly always jolly woman.

"Yes, I've witnessed some worrying happenings and I want to get it off my chest so I'm not solely responsible if it results in something unpleasant," Harry began. Sprout simply nodded and bid him to continue. "It's about Professor Twix-" he started, but Sprout cut him off by heaving out a loud sigh.

"The damned defence position," she said with tired eyes. "I'm sorry, please continue."

"I was practising some spells in an abandoned classroom once when she came in with someone I didn't recognize. You see, I hid, as I didn't want to be caught, so I didn't see who it was. But the other was definitely Professor Twix. She was talking to this second person, a male, I think she was trying to brief him about something. Well, anyway they noticed that the classroom had been used and moved elsewhere. This didn't worry me as much, but then last week I saw the professor leaving the grounds at night and I admit that I followed her," Harry said

"You should have gotten a professor if you had any reason to be suspicious," Sprout interjected.

"Well, she met with the stag at the edge of the forbidden forest. Talked to it. She told him that she thought that she had found what they'd been looking for at Hogwarts. Supposedly it's in the library and Professor Twix will need a bit more to gain access. She's expecting to find something horrible in there, she said. So I thought I'd better tell somebody," Harry finished, noting how an odd look passed Sprout's face at the mention of the stag. Was he missing something?

"Five points to Hufflepuff. It was a very brave thing to come to me, Mr.Evans," Sprout said. "Disregarding the irresponsibility of going anywhere near the forbidden forest at night, I'm glad to have heard what you had to tell me about Professor Twix. Ì will have to go talk to the headmaster immediately," she said as she stood up.

"What should I do meanwhile?" Harry asked, getting an odd look from his head of house.

"Why, nothing," she replied. "You're a student, Mr Evans, you've already exposed yourself to more unpleasantness than necessary. And this is likely exactly what it is, unpleasantness, I suspect, nothing dangerous," she said, causing Harry to slump on his stool. The amount of relief that he felt at hearing that the situation wasn't something dangerous was difficult to describe.

"I'll go talk to the headmaster. Hopefully, we can resolve whatever this situation is. You go enjoy the rest of the day, well if you've done your homework that is," the woman said.

Harry nodded quickly. "I did, I did." But Sprout was already rushing off, a fast walk that seemed more displeased and perhaps a tinge angry, rather than panicked. Harry counted his blessings. He looked down to see a vine getting a bit too close to his leg and he took it as his cue to leave, but not before manifesting a small flame in his hands to taunt the carnivorous roses with. "Don't think I'm scared of you, you little fuckwads," he muttered as he made his way out of the greenhouse, carefully avoiding all plant matter.

Magical plants were weird, he'd rather transfigure a broom into a mop any day of the week rather than watch and work with the disconcertingly sentient plants that seemed to make up the magical botany encyclopaedia. It wasn't his cup of tea, similar to potions, he thought as he exited the green-house and stepped onto the snow-covered fields behind Hogwarts.

"Harry?" a voice asked, and the boy turned to see Tonks standing next to the green-house, looking at him. "Are you the reason Sprout ran off like a bat from hell?" she asked.

"I guess", he muttered in response.

"What did you do?" Tonks queried further, "Sprout doesn't run, she doesn't even walk fast. She ambles," she said before narrowing her eyes. "Don't think you're forgiven for the shit you pulled on the train either, 'touch my tits' indeed you little pervert," she cursed as she pulled out her wand.

Harry carefully backed away from the clearly dangerous and deranged woman. "What're you planning on doing with that?" he asked warily as he pulled his own wand, only to remember that he really hadn't been focusing much on his duelling ability since arriving at Hogwarts.

"Considering your shitty taste of humour, I have a bunch of jinxes that you would probably find absolutely hilarious," Tonks said threateningly as her hair turned from pink to flaming red. She walked towards him, as Harry continued backing away. He concluded from the situation that she really hadn't appreciated the joke he'd made on the train.

"Now, now," he said while raising his hands placatingly. "I'm sure we can figure something out, what do you want, money, women, status? I can grant it all, but only if I remain unharmed," he haggled diplomatically, causing Tonks to grow red in the face as well.

"You littl-" she began and raised her wand menacingly, but that's as far as she got because Harry slashed down his wand and cast a wordless flipendo. Something that he'd needed to stall for so that he could gather enough focus in the awkward situation. Tonks was thrown back into the snow. Not that Harry could see, he was already running away as fast as he could.

"You'll never catch me alive!" he shouted as his feet carried him towards the castle.

"Get back here!" Tonks screamed from behind him. Harry obviously didn't listen, but he did retort once he saw that he was about to pass a group of older Gryffindor who were watching the chase with a curious expression.
"I'm really sorry that it has to end this way, Tonks, but I just don't see myself ready for a relationship like that with a much older woman!" he shouted while beginning to huff from exertion from running and talking at the same time. Seeing the Gryffindors laugh at his words and start cheering him on, he added, "The truth is, you're just too demanding in bed, I can't keep up!"

Perhaps it was his insistence to taunt while he ran that eventually ended up in him getting caught by Tonks. She never replied to a single thing he said but had simply run after him, seemingly fuelled by sheer embarrassment and hatred.

-/-

"Still not rid of the pink hair? It's been more than a week," Flitwick said with a chuckle.

Harry sighed. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, apparently."

"Indeed, a valuable lesson to learn in one's first year," Flitwick said as he turned towards the almost completely empty room that he had available in the back of his office for particularly volatile charms work. He pointed at a single piece of paper lying on the ground. "Now here is today's test subject," he said and turned to Harry, who furrowed his brow.

"That's it?" the student asked dubiously, wondering if he was simply misinformed about the danger of spell-creation, or if what he'd read about wards, runic circles and non-magical surroundings to avoid contamination had been made up. "Is it safe to try something in the castle, what about magical contamination?" he asked, causing Flitwick to chuckle.

"That's definitely one thing one should consider when dealing with dangerous spells without properly crafted arithmetic equations," the professor said.

Harry nodded and realised that for all that he had Flitwick as a project supervisor, he hadn't yet felt secure in plumbing the man for whatever information he desired. He weighed the thought in his mind and decided that the man had proven kind and interested enough in furthering Harry as a wizard that he could bring up some less-than-traditional topics for a Hogwarts education.

"I also read that during spell-creation it was safer to use runic circles to anchor a protection ward?" Harry asked.

"I see that you're more prepared than most for the spell-creating process, and while the things you've been mentioning are important when creating combat spells, or conjurations, your spell is a fairly benign construct. I don't see the need, really. Would you like to do it, just so you can see how?" Flitwick asked and Harry considered the offer.

"Perhaps we can keep these things for a future in which I create a more dangerous spell," Harry said. "We're here to bring to an end a half year of work. Maybe I'm just nervous at the thought of failure. That I've wasted so much time," he admitted.

Flitwick smiled kindly. "Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there. The words on the paper I wrote are 'the book.' Why don't you give the search a try?" he prompted and waved him off as if trying to disperse his worries with his tiny hands.

Harry stood there like a muppet for a few seconds. The fact that the theory and the invocation he was supposed to cast were of his own design, written on a proper stapled-together research proposal, instead of an ancient tome, baffled him. It was just weird, magic was supposed to be found in dusty books at the end of a shelf. It was supposed to be found in between the mad ramblings of an 18th-century gnome enthusiast; a spell for making the perfect linguini.

"Fuck it," Harry said, stopping his stream of consciousness. The professor laughed and hopped from foot to foot. Harry quickly pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket and wrote the word onto it with a quill. He specifically used these materials because these were the ones Flitwick and any other magicals were likely to use. Harry then raised his wand over the piece of parchment, focused his intention on the typography of the word 'book' and waved his wand in the complicated pattern. "Littera revelio," he carefully incanted, feeling the tug on his magic and peeling his eyes open to see any result, only for nothing to happen.
Harry looked down at the stone floor and then at the piece of paper in the middle of the room. It was a few metres away.

"When casting the homenum revelio spell I find it helpful to imagine an expanding circle of awareness with me at the centre" Flitwick commented.

Harry nodded, cringed at the fact that he'd forgotten to visualise, concentrated, took a few steps towards the paper and cast his spell. "Littera revelio," he said and watched as the something on the piece of paper began glowing, he was too far to distinguish properly if it was the word. He took a few more steps and picked up the paper, 'book' being clearly highlighted in a dim shining gold.

"It works," Harry breathed before sitting down to stare at the paper, which was gradually losing its glow.

"May I see?" Flitwick asked, causing Harry to pause. He'd never given Flitwick permission to cast his spell, had he? Was it something that even needed allowance? It was probably a cultural thing. It could just as well have been possible that by asking for his help, Harry had invertedly allowed Flitwick the use of his creation, just as it could be the case that using someone's spell without their permission was a highly insulting act.

"Go for it. Use the spell as you desire, professor. It was never a magic meant to remain secret," Harry said, not turning around to look at the man, but continuing to stare at the paper, only a slight shimmer still illuminating the word 'book'. His words had less weight when one considered that one industrious muggle-born would have certainly created a similar spell after the advent of the computer.

"Thank you," Flitwick said perfunctorily, "littera revelio," he cast, not bothering with writing anything down and whooped in delight, telling Harry that for him as well, the spell had worked. Harry began laughing and let himself fall backwards onto the floor, not minding the scourgify he'd need later.

"Six months," he whispered to himself. A doubt crept up. This had been simply testing the spell in the presence of one piece of paper. Would doing so in a library work? He banished the thought, because no matter what, the hard part was done now, now it was just time to experiment and grow experienced with the spell. One day it would expand into querying for meaning, not form. He'd also need to learn to cast it wordlessly and without wand gestures since he doubted Pince would appreciate him waving his wand around in the library. Also, he needed to get rid of having to write the word first, like Flitwick had managed.

Flitwick coughed, to gain the boy's attention. "Well, Harry, it's at this point that I have a reward for this amazing extra-curricular project. I already discussed it with the rest of the staff, what should be done in case you succeed in your endeavour, and what should be done in case you don't," he said, catching Harry's attention.

"What would have happened had I not succeeded?" he asked curiously.

"Well, you would have been awarded 50 points, I shan't say the name of your house, or else it will actually happen," he chuckled. " In addition, you would have automatically passed your Charms exam with an O, no test required. The amount of magical theory knowledge and the rest of the charms work I have seen you do, are at such a level that I don't doubt that you would be able to pass next year's exam as well if left with the spell list for a few weeks. Last but not least, although most of our pupils, unfortunately, wouldn't consider this a reward: You would have gotten more lee-way in class and be assigned more advanced and personalised instruction in the context of staying within the classroom. Of course, this would only happen in classes where you aren't being challenged, so likely not in Potions."

Harry tilted his head at the deluge of information. "Seeing as it worked, did I pass the Charms exam?" he asked somewhat stupidly. It was irrelevant anyway, seeing as how he'd been keeping up in all classes and even doing more in some of them. He wouldn't have to study for the exams anyway.

"Yes, with an O, even. Funnily enough, this wasn't something that would have changed depending on success or failure, you can still sit them of course, if you want." Flitwick said.

"I might not want to stick out too much, but also I can still aim for an O+. What's the difference in the reward then, if that part is the same?"

"Well, you won't be getting points for one. You'd deserve about 150, but it was decided that this would destabilise the entire point system."

"If one good project could swing the whole battle between houses, nobody would avoid committing misdemeanours just to avoid losing points. I never wanted them anyway," Harry agreed.

"Would you rather have an acknowledgement in the trophy room then? If you allow your spell to be taught by me, then you will definitely deserve at least a plaque. Students get those for being the youngest seeker in a hundred years, I think your achievement is more impressive," Flitwick sniffed, causing Harry to raise an eyebrow.

"The spell is not done yet, we have to see if extending the-" he began to retort, at which point Flitwick shrugged and interrupted him.

"It's already developing to be extremely useful and thus, I'd love to teach it along with the other charms in the curriculum."

Harry mulled it over. There wasn't really any reason to keep the spell a secret, it would even benefit him if it wasn't. What if one day a researcher created something only because he'd found the necessary literature fast enough to catch their deadline? He'd been a proponent of open science even in his last life, and he didn't see a reason to stop now.

"Sod the award," Harry said. "I want everyone who wants to learn the spell to be able to do so, teach it, expand on it, change it. I don't care." He shrugged, teasing an approving small from his teacher.

"Releasing the spell, but refusing an award. How…" he trailed off, seemingly lost for words, "refreshing. It could be a great advantage over the other students, you know?" he asked, causing Harry to give him a confused look.

"Is there a competition I wasn't aware of?"

Flitwick seemed to consider his answer for a moment. "I guess not unless having the highest grades in the year means something to you. I imagine it doesn't, since creating a spell means more in life and to any potential employer down the road than being the valedictorian."

"And the last factor you mentioned, being given more lee-way in class?" Harry asked, causing Flitwick to beam.

"Well, seeing you now showed that you can follow such a heavy extra-curricular load while keeping your grades in other subjects at an acceptable level, it's quite clear that you are perhaps one of the students who doesn't need to be forced to learn. I imagine that if you would approach Professor Slughorn for a way to improve your potions grade in some extracurricular manner he would be much more willing to compromise than he would with a student who'd never shown any initiative."

"Makes sense," Harry said, before pausing. "Could I then technically approach the arithmancy professor to do some course-work in the summer?" he asked, "Now that I've created the spell I don't see myself using arithmancy much and I don't want the skill to rust."

"You'll have to discuss it with Professor Vector personally. I would recommend you do it fast, while she remains impressed with your creation. I'd bring the calculations you needed for the project to showcase what level you're at. But what's this about not creating any more spells?" Flitwick asked with a raised eyebrow and a somehow disappointed voice, as he conjured himself a chair to sit on now that it seemed that the conversation would drag on for a bit longer.

Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He didn't want to admit that he'd only made the spell out of sheer frustration and a wish to find material on the Mind Arts. On the other hand, maybe he could trust Flitwick enough to tell him that spell-creation wasn't really what he'd set out to do when he came to Hogwarts. "Well, I only made the spell because I hated how hard it was to find anything in the library and while the project was fun it's not really something I'm planning on repeating unless there is once again a need for a spell that doesn't exist yet. There is so much interesting magic out there that I don't need to create first to learn. Spell-creation seems sort of inefficient considering how long it takes to create something like what I just did," he admitted, causing Flitwick to grumble.

"And here I was thinking that your interest in Charms was what drove you to take up this project," the man said sadly. Harry couldn't help but snort, causing the man to frown, at which Harry defensively raised his arms.

"You misunderstand, professor!" he exclaimed, "Charms are awesome! They're the magic I've been working on the most. I particularly like the hygiene and cleaning part of the whole business, it just saves me so much time that I decided to master the household branch first."

Flitwick laughed. "What pragmatism, I bet many adults tell you that they wish they'd been as smart as you when they were your age, huh?" he teased, causing Harry to blush.

"Anyway, I also want to learn the Patronus charm at some point, it seems like a really awesome spell and I'd be really curious what my animal guardian would be," Harry admitted.

Flitwick rubbed at his chin. "You sure have a knowledge of many obscure spells for a first-year who claims to have issues finding things in the library," he said suspiciously.

"It's because it's hard to find anything that I keep randomly stumbling on interesting books."

"You really would have fit into Ravenclaw," Flitwick said while casting a silent tempus and humming. "There was one more experiment I wanted to suggest before you have to turn in for the night, so I'd suggest we shelve the conversation for the moment and turn to that, no matter how fascinating it's been."

"What's the experiment?" Harry asked.

Flitwick smirked and flicked his wand, revealing that on the stone floor, behind the initial paper that had 'the book' written on it, there were many more. They'd just been made invisible. "The experiment is already done, we just have to repeat i-" Harry cut the man off by jumping off and scrabbling for the pieces of paper, seeing that they all had the same words in the same writing.

"Why didn't I think of that!" Harry cursed loudly. "Of course, we should test if sight is necessary for the spell to work."

"Not sight, but awareness," Flitwick interrupted. "How about you turn around so you're not looking at the notes and cast the spell." The short man suggested, causing Harry to spin around towards the door, hold up his piece of parchment and quickly wave his wand. Nothing happened and it was only when he turned around to look that he saw that the papers were all glowing, even the ones far away on the other side of the room. It seemed he was getting better at the spell.

"This is interesting, homunem revelio is not sight-based, but lets one know where people are hiding, no matter the sight. Why are they not behaving in the same manner?'' Harry wondered.

"Perhaps because written words are a purely visual medium, whereas someone's life force can be experienced in a multitude of ways," Flitwick suggested.

"I see that we have a lot of limit-testing to do before I can even understand the spell I created," Harry said with a sigh, before clapping his hands. "Let's get to it."

Chapter Text

"I've been thinking," Harry started. He, Cedric and Penny were hanging out in the common room before potions class and Harry had a plan.

"Don't hurt yourself," Cedric quipped, causing Penny to roll her eyes from her position on a black and yellow arm-chair.

"If Harry was prone to hurting himself by thinking too hard he would have died by now," she said. "It's rather you who should be worried. You haven't left the quidditch field since you figured out that you could borrow the school brooms." Was the retort from the blonde, causing Harry to wince at the brutality. Cedric puffed up his chest, before deflating and awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Well, I have been having a bit of a harder time in class. But quidditch with the other first-years is so fun!" he said, causing Penny to raise a doubtful eyebrow.

"Let him have his moment. It's only in the first year that he can have games like these before everyone else starts bringing their own brooms and joining house teams," Harry interjected in the little spat.

Cedric immediately brightened up. "Why don't you come to play with us, Harry. Didn't you say something about how your project with Flitwick is almost over?" the boy said while waving his arms excitedly. Harry backed off warily from where he was sitting next to him. It wouldn't do to get a blue eye.

"I have a different set of priorities, to be honest," he muttered, before switching the topic. "I was thinking about Potions actually and how I haven't been having much luck with them," he said, but Penny seemed to be on a warpath and directed her ire at him next.

"What luck, you don't practise or study. Do you expect to get any better without putting in any effort?" Penny bit out while glaring at him.

"I have actually read the book, you know. I just don't seem to have an affinity for the subject," Harry retorted. "What I was going to suggest was that maybe if I can get my hands on some advanced material, I could read up and see if something changes at some point if there's something I can do to not suck so much."

Penny tilted her head at him. "Wouldn't the library have something like that?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "Actually I was thinking of maybe nabbing the sixth and seven year books from Slughorn during class. I'd just need a distraction so I could take them out of the cabinet. You know he has a whole bunch of them. The books that teachers assign for us are always borrowed at the library and I don't want to spend money on a class I might not even end up taking for the NEWTS," he said. All of this, of course, just being a cover for him getting the potion's book of the half-blood prince. He remembered that there was supposed to be a sound-muffling spell inside there somewhere, along with a bunch of useful additions and notes on the potion-making process.

Other than teaching him the other spell that he needed to fearlessly haunt the castle at night, it might actually teach him something that would allow him to keep up with the class that he seemed to have absolutely no talent for.

"That makes sense," Penny said naively, but then added a clause to her sentence which made Harry feel like a complete dumbass, "but couldn't you just ask him to have a look?"

Harry paused, tilted his head and involuntarily slapped himself on the cheek for his stupidity.

Wasn't the point of Flitwick's whole spiel that the professors now knew him to be a good student, and were more predisposed to helping him.

"That's a good point," he said with a sigh, looking at Penny's deep-blue eyes and trying to find where the mental acuity was stored that he was so clearly lacking. Penny blushed and looked away, covering her face with blonde hair.

"I feel like such a dumb-ass sometimes," Harry lamented, thinking back on how he'd stupidly followed Twix to the forest and how he'd been stressing about getting to the half-blood prince book for a few days now in-between rigorous experiments of his spell with Flitwick.

Was he maybe devoting too much time to academic pursuits and was thus functioning with much too little mental energy at other times?

"You know what Cedric. I'll take you up on that offer of a quidditch match. I need a break. All this school is frying my mind," he eventually said, extending his fist to give Cedric a fist-bump, his friend throwing a victorious smile at Penny who only rolled her eyes.

"And thanks for the suggestion Penny, I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe some flying will clear my head," he told the blonde girl, who simply smiled.

"You know what, maybe I'll join you. It's been a while and I think I'm starting to smell the potions I make in my hair, maybe a breeze will get it out."

Cedric jumped up from the couch and whooped with his arms raised. "Hufflepuff trio!" he shouted.

Anyway, that was the story of how Cedric insisted the three of them play chaser together, and seeing as both Penny and Harry sucked quite hard at flying, they lost miserably.

-/-

Harry sighed as he added porcupine quills to the draught of furiously sleeping green dreams, only for the colour and consistency to turn a viscous red instead of a frothy purple. Penny, who had already finished her own, perfect potion several minutes ago could only frown sadly.

"It really sucks, you know," she said, causing Harry to shrug and sigh.

"I'll tell my hypothesis to Slughorn after class, maybe there's a solution," he muttered, as he capped a small sample vial to bring it to the front desk, a little slip of paper with his name attached to it. A Slytherin student who'd finished at the same time as him snickered openly as he deposited his own potion, which at least had the colour right.

Going back to sit down Harry decided to stare at the grey ceiling until class fully ended, not reacting to anything others said to him until it was only him and Slughorn in the room. Harry was sick of potions, and whatever curiosity that had initially existed for the subject had evaporated by now.

"Mr. Evans, is there something you want to discuss?" Slughorn asked once he finished cleaning the room and putting the samples away.

Harry nodded, stood up and went to where the portly man had sat down behind his desk. "Am I disturbing you, professor? If now isn't the time for a longer discussion I could also visit you during your office hours," he said politely, at which Slughorn hummed non-committedly and leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his big stomach.

"I'm interested to hear what such a bright student might want to discuss," Slughorn said. The, 'no matter which subject this student might be bright in,' being left unsaid.

Harry nodded. "I'm glad not to be disturbing you then," he said before rifling through his leather satchel and pulling out a vial filled with a clear blue liquid dotted with little specks of light and putting it on the table. Slughorn looked at it curiously for a second.

"A boil-cure potion," he stated frankly and Harry nodded.

"Professor, I will now arrogantly claim that I'm smart enough to follow instructions to the letter. A good potions-master this does not make. But seeing as the recipes in our course book have been adapted for the lowest common denominator, eleven-year-old children, then following instructions should at least make me capable of making the potions," Harry said.

"Not many know that you're working with simplified recipes."

Harry shook his head. "It makes perfect sense that they are simplified. More complex techniques and timing restrictions would lead to an improvement in the potency of the potion, or a faster potion-making process, however, by using a complex version students, especially first years, would make more mistakes. Explosive mistakes…"

"Causing explosions, yes, I remember that that was often the result back when I was a student. They hadn't caught on to the fact that perhaps intentionally worsening the potion effect or the efficacy of its creation to make it simpler would be a smart idea," Slughorn chortled. "Utter chaos, I tell you, sometimes I'm surprised the entirety of my class even survived until graduation. But where exactly are you going with this?"

Harry smiled bitterly. "I follow the instructions perfectly, professor. You know this."

"Unfortunately; I kept an eye out in the beginning and was never able to find an error. Making the mishaps your potions tend to experience quite unexplainable," the man admitted.

Harry pointed to the boil-cure potion on the table, a perfect creation. "I made that," he said, causing Slughorn to raise an eyebrow. "I know it's hard to believe, but I was trying to isolate why I, excuse my French, am so shit at Potions. Anyway, since we already established that I can follow instructions, something that my Penny can attest to, we can clearly say that following the recipe isn't a problem."

"Yes, Miss Hayworth, a fine potions mistress in the making. Already making modifications. But if you truly made this potion, then I have to ask." Slughorn paused. "How did you do it? Most magical disciplines can be likened to an art form, potions included. One can't really gain talent, by the common consensus."

Harry spread his arms. "There is no secret. I just kept doing it, again and again and again. One potion only. Until it turned out like this."

"So this was a lucky case?" Slughorn asked.

"Exactly not," Harry retorted. "You see, professor, from the protocols I kept I was able to create a graph that clearly shows that rather than each potion being a singular instance with a specific failure ratio, and that I essentially just need to get lucky… I was able to draw a clear line of improvement correlating to the amount of attempts. If every potion attempt, of which there were 21, is one single data point, then there was on average an improvement ratio of about 5% in potion quality all the way to the end, where it jumped straight from acceptable to the best one can get with the recipe. Essentially just a bit worse than Penny's own attempt, without modifications for the sake of comparison."

Slughorn raised his hands from his stomach and scratched his chin. He pulled out a wand and silently summoned a sheaf of parchment from somewhere behind himself. "Do you have the graph with you?" he asked and Harry quickly handed over a few stapled-together pieces of paper. Protocols from the potions #2 - #21 and then the summary of the data. The professor flipped through the papers quickly, before landing on the last page and tracking the graph upwards with a fat finger adorned by a thick ruby ring. "I understand why Flitwick seems so taken with you, an extremely presentable summary of your project. How long have you been working on this?"

Harry smiled at the compliment. "Two weeks, ever since the experiments for my charm have slowed down. We're trying to cover all eventualities before deciding that the project is concluded for the moment."

"Impressive," Slughorn muttered. "Going by the textbook method this should have taken you around 24 hours, more work that I assume most students spend on all their classes in a month, let alone two weeks."

"One potion a day on the weekdays and four per day on the weekends," Harry said, somewhat proudly. It wasn't really the best use of his time, but the sooner he figured out what was wrong with his potion-making capabilities, the earlier he could do something about it.

"Do you mind if I make a copy?" Slughorn asked, pointing at Harry's data.

"Go ahead, I made it partially for you, professor, anyway. I wanted to show you that I'm not bad at potions because of any fault of my own," he said, perhaps a tad proudly. He was not ever going to fall behind literal eleven-year-olds in anything if he didn't have a good reason.

"I never believed that. Your mother was brilliant. Potions and Charms were where her talents lay. I just assumed that you'd inherited four times her talent in charms and one-fourth in potions. As I said previously, we can't always achieve what we want. Different circumstances stand in our way," Slughorn said softly.

"Perhaps my father was pants at Potions. Whoever he was," Harry mused, causing the professor to wince and smile weakly.

"Maybe, my boy, maybe," he said before taking Harry's approval of him making a copy literally and pushing his wand down onto Harry's papers. "Effingo," the man said, before repeating the process on his own sheet of parchment. Two flashes of blue light and the man had the entirety of Harry's efforts over the last two weeks for himself. Harry's eyes involuntarily widened and he nearly asked for the spell, before remembering that he could do so later and that that would perhaps be smarter. "But just as much as your project is fascinating, I don't quite see the, uh, core of the issue."

"Well, I did all this to get to the surrounding context of my persistent failure. Being able to eliminate fluctuations based on luck, faulty ingredients, instructions, the following of instructions, a bad cauldron, spoon or anything of the like," Harry said. "The only issue remaining that could possibly be holding me back is my own magic."

Slughorn raised an eyebrow. "That's an interesting point and something I've thought about as well. Just like some take to transfiguration like grindylow to water, some might struggle with even the most basic charms. As you likely know potions can be made by squib, but not by muggle, so despite its formulaic process the magic of the poitoneer clearly affects the outcome," he apologetically spread his hands. "The only problem with that being…"

"That we can't just change the nature of our magic. Also, who knows, even if we succeeded, I might lose some talent for Charms, the question being, is it even desirable to make such a trade," Harry said.

Slughorn nodded. "I do have some good news. Extrapolating from what you've brought me… You've proven by making 21 iterations of the same potion that your unsuitability for potions is surmountable. Since a potioneers magic follows a similar pattern in each step of the potion-making processes - cutting, crushing, stirring - and there are so many motions to go through in the entirety of the subject, you should acclimatise to all potions eventually. The more potions you make the more used your magic might become into falling into the necessary patterns."

"And so, perhaps next year I will only need 15 attempts at creating a perfect potion, not 22," Harry said bitterly.

"Potions is an incredibly important subject, historically and practically, that's why it's mandatory." Was the reply.

"I understand, professor." Harry sighed. "I would have a request then if you do not mind me asking."

"Ask away my boy."

"Could I perhaps, from the cabinet of used potions textbooks, borrow an example from every year. Maybe studying the recipes and their order can help me create a practice schedule that will help me make the most out of this year. Try to pass my exams and all," Harry said.

"Go on my boy, but don't go practising over the summer. The trace might not be able to track potion making," Slughorn winked suggestively, "but it's a dangerous discipline to commit to alone. I'd only trust a very brilliant, dedicated and mature student to ever brew me a potion without my supervision in the muggle world before their fourth year."

"It shouldn't be too much of a worry professor," Harry chuckled. "It's not like I would even have enough wizarding money to buy ingredients to try making anything," he said as he walked over to the cupboard with the old textbooks and opened it, quickly scanning for the one assigned in the sixth year. He found Snape's copy of "Advanced potion-making", not hard, since it had more notes than actual text. He slipped the copy into his satchel before more leisurely selecting the other texts, noting that the sixth-year one seemed to be the only one that had Snape's handwriting in its margins.

"That is unfortunate," Slughorn said as he stood up from his chair and ambled over to where Harry was rifling through books. "At the end of the year, I always have storage left over, it would definitely go bad if I left over the summer. If only a student would be kind enough to come help me throw it all away. Maybe they could even keep some to practise, after all, Students leave one week after exams. Plenty of time to go through the last of the materials."

"I'll volunteer for the task, professor, it's the least I can do considering how you took time from your busy schedule to show me around Diagon Alley last year," Harry said solemnly, as he stuck the last of the six books he was here to borrow into his now, very heavy satchel. He stood up and made to go for the door, before pausing. "What was that copying spell you used earlier, if I may ask?" he asked innocently. "Perhaps I could use it on the textbooks and thus bring them back earlier."

"Effigo, the copying charm. A bit advanced, but I guess so are you," Slughorn said as they ambled over to exit the classroom. "I'll send you the spell instructions by owl tomorrow, you can break your head on the thing. It's a real time-saver though, perhaps if you master it by next year you'll have enough time to come to a small Halloween gathering I'll be hosting."

"I would very much like that, professor," Harry demurred. "I've heard that it was great fun last time from the invitees," he complimented and they exited the room, only to both pause once outside. Harry narrowed his eyes and looked at the three Slytherin first years loitering around, one of them Montague, the boy who'd shoved him before the sorting. They all also froze when they saw Harry and Slughorn together.

"What are you all doing here?" Slughorn tsked. "Why are you hanging about in this horribly cold dungeon, you'll catch a cold." He ushered the still first-years off, causing them all to leave in a singular direction after a few seconds of confusion. "Until next time my boy," Slughorn said to Harry, causing one of the Slytherins, a short blonde, to throw a glare at Harry over his shoulder.

Harry watched them leave dispassionately once Slughorn had retreated back into the classroom, like a bear into its cave. "Annoying," he muttered, before casting the levitation charm on his heavy bag and beginning his walk to the Hufflepuff common room. "Thankfully there won't be much reason to not walk around invisibly and silenced soon enough," he sighed, imagining himself doing something childish, like perhaps taking a hat off a Slytherin student and throwing it out of a window. He chuckled at how unfunny bullying children was and made his way to where he and Penny had been making potions together over the last half a month.

Chapter Text

Harry arrived at the abandoned classroom - something that Hogwarts had a lot of - that he and Penny had been using for practice. Perhaps Harry could have simply asked for a room from Slughorn, but he didn't want to waste his favours on something like that. He'd much rather have the copying spell that Slughorn had used, which he would hopefully get by owl tomorrow.

"How did it go?" Penny asked as he entered the room.

"Slughorn agreed with our hypothesis," he said and dropped his satchel onto a nearby table. "There's nothing to do for my potion-making skills, other than to practise it like mad in advance." He watched as Penny dropped a small oak leaf into her red potion, seemingly stabilising a brew that had begun to bubble menacingly. That's when she looked up at him and came over to hug him.

"I'm really sorry, Harry," she said gently into his ear as she rubbed his back. Harry sighed and enjoyed the closeness. He hadn't been getting the same amount of hugs at Hogwarts as he had access too back home.

"Thanks, Penny. But there's no need to be sad, what magic granted me in terms of Charms, it took when it came to Potions. All apples are poisoned, somehow. Or perhaps how an alchemist would say it. You can't gain anything without losing something."

"Is that the principle of equivalent exchange? I think you've mentioned it a few times," she muttered as she continued smothering him with her long blonde hair.

"In other words perhaps, every action prompts an equal and opposite reaction." He untangled himself from his friend's hug. Once they were standing in front of each other again Penny blushed, perhaps at some preconceived notion of how unromantic physical contact between a boy and a girl was impossible. He noticed how her tie had become slightly undone and brought his hands up to gently fix it.

"You're a good friend, you know," he said as he tightened her knot and gently tugged down at her robe, so it hung down symmetrically. It was what Aunt Petunia liked doing to Harry and Dudley, even when their clothes were perfect.

"Thanks," Penny muttered as she fixed her hair behind her ears and twirled one of her braids in her fingers. "You're a great friend too, I'm sorry that I bothered you so often about Potions."

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry that it took so long for me to listen. If I'd practised more in the beginning we could have figured it out sooner."

"If anything it's a lesson in understanding that people face difficulties for which we don't understand ourselves sometimes," she said.

"Very wise."

"Did you get the books?" she then asked as she walked past him, fearlessly upturning his satchel to get at the six volumes. Harry rolled his eyes as he went to pick up the book that belonged to the half-blood prince.

"This one has some interesting margins, could you maybe look through the other ones meanwhile and note down any potions you're interested in? Slughorn said he'll let me have the remains of the ingredients cupboard after the exams," he said and sat down on the floor to begin reading Snape's old copy of 'Advanced Potion Making'.

"Exciting," Penny commented and went to do a mixture of paying attention to the potion she was making and flipping through the recipes of the potions they'd be making in the next six years.

Harry meanwhile started reading through Snape's margins and writing down all the interesting spells he could find, such as muffliato, levicorpus and even sectumsempra. He did hesitate on the last one, however. It was dark magic and he was wary, but he also hadn't found any particularly well-founded reasoning for why dark magic was bad. Most texts just said it corrupted the user but didn't explain how exactly that was achieved. Other texts simply claimed that it was evil.

'You have to mean it!' Resonated in his hand but he couldn't tell why that would be important. You had to mean all magic, or else it didn't work. Willpower was one of the three most important components of any spell.

Harry shook his head, deciding to wait on learning sectumsempra for a later time. It was always better to be cautious.

What was particularly interesting about the spells were the explanations written under the incantation. A small explanation of its effects, the wand movement and a small note about intent. It was all very sparse and it was missing any and all arithmancy and structure. This begged to question why Snape had been writing spells and their structure into a Potions book after he already must have written them down in more detail somewhere else. It was impossible to create a spell on the side while attending a potions class like the note-taking method suggested. Harry tapped his chin, thinking about who Snape had been as a person, before shaking his head because there was no conclusion he could reasonably make as to why the spells were written out like this. Maybe, Snape had used the textbook of his favourite class as a diary, for sentimental reasons, essentially.

Harry frowned as he reached page 117 out of 253. Sentimental reasons? Well then, why did the note-taking suddenly stop here? He flipped through the rest of the book and saw that the margins remained empty. Another indicator of the fact that he was in a similar universe, but not the same as he'd read about. Or had Snape not continued the note-taking in the original timeline as well? There was no way to know really. Unless… "Wouldn't it be too much of a coincidence if the note-taking stopped right after what happened to my mom?" he muttered.

"Did you say something?" Penny asked from where she was lying on her stomach and flipping through the fourth-year potions book.

"Nothing," Harry said as he stared at the blank note-margin. Was there a way to check if his probable conception date correlated with the last entry Snape had made? Slughorn had already been a professor back then so maybe he was re-using his lesson plans? "Amortentia, huh," he whispered as he stared at the recipe, the first one without notes. Had Snape been his father all along? Possessive and not reciprocated love boiling over in a sexual assault, a memory charm used to hide the perpetrator. Snape would have been a student talented enough to learn the spell, that was for sure, and also talented enough to brew a love-potion or cast any other spell meant to compel or to force.

But Harry didn't look anything like Severus Snape. He looked like a male version of Lily Evans, through and through, so if anything the rapist would have to match her visuals to at least a certain extent. His heart was beating and an old rage started simmering again, clouding his mind. He should put more resources into finding out the truth, finding the ones responsible and-.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed in, breathed out, and calmed his mind. All with due time, he told himself, all with due time. He went back to the page with sectumsempra on it and hovered his finger over the paper, ink slowly beginning to seep out of the page and gathering at the tip of his finger in a minuscule ball of increasing diameter. He stopped when the ink was gone completely, leaving the copy that he'd made of the spell the only one in existence. He let the drop of ink splash harmlessly on his palm as he relinquished control before clenching his fist on the blot.

Scourgify flowed through his hand, the calming exercise from earlier helping him impose the spell without an incantation, without a wand.

He opened his palm to look at the pristine flesh.

He turned to Penny. "I found something interesting. This student made a bunch of notes on how to improve the potions, wanna check it out?" he asked, causing the girl to hop up and commence a scrabble for the book in his hand, which after taking it, she clutched as if it were a lifeline. With shining eyes, she pushed the open book she'd been looking at into his hands before opening Snape's notebook on a random page.

"Crushing, of course!" she exclaimed not a second after. "Why didn't I think of that?" she lamented before sitting down and beginning to flip through the rest of the book.

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced down at the fourth-year potions book, which opened on the page with the recipe for the ageing potion.

He blinked.

-/-

The Defence against the Dark Arts class was one that the Hufflepuffs shared with the Slytherins. They'd done so with the Gryffindors in the first half of the school year, which had been much more enjoyable. While it wasn't as heated as a combination of Slytherin and Gryffindor would have been, it still wasn't preferable. Harry felt the glare of Montague, the boy who'd called him a mudblood. However, Montague didn't dare do anything in class, because even if he were a spitting madman, Twix was madder. The woman paced in front of the classroom and glared at the students, waiting for an answer to the question that she'd bit out in between her repeat lecture on dangerous non-magical animals one could encounter.

Harry raised his hand, repressing a grimace. Answering the question wasn't a good strategy to not get screamed at, but he needed to push the class forward. He liked DADA, they were taught a bunch of interesting spells and theories. It was because of his interest that he couldn't let the class languish on the question for too long, they might just miss out on being taught a spell.

"Evans," Twix spat as if she'd eaten something sour. Not that uncommon for the woman, ever since Harry had snitched on her to Sprout, and she had stopped going to the restricted section during the day, likely under Dumbledore's orders.

"The most dangerous non-magical animals we're likely to encounter in Britain are bears, wild boars and venomous snakes. Bears and wild boars wouldn't be deterred by anything but the strongest knock-back jinx, while venomous snakes might poison us and make us incapable of focusing on casting the red sparks spell necessary in getting help," he said.

Twix frowned at him, rewarded him with no points and continued onwards with the lecture, now talking about spells they would learn in the future, which would help them deal with at least the more physically imposing animals. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and continued taking notes. He just had to survive another half an hour, walk for dinner to the great hall without allowing Montague to catch him alone anywhere and he would be fine. He really didn't feel like dealing with the boy, who had apparently been stewing in some sort of resentment lately, which had made him try to seek Harry out on several occasions.

A spitball impacted his hair when Twix turned her back to the class to write something on the board. Harry narrowed his eyes and followed the trajectory back to some grinning first-year Slytherins, Montague amongst them. Fucking brats, he thought and grinned. There was one weapon that gave him a perfect alibi for what he could do to retaliate. Wordless magic. He flicked his wand in Montague's direction just as Twix turned around to face the class again. A wordless levitation charm slightly lifted the boy's table and rattled it, making it seem like the Slytherin had moved it on its own and thus disturbed class.

"Mr. Montague, are you bored perhaps?" Professor Twix asked, causing the first-year to shiver and fervently shake his head.

"No, profes-sor," the boy managed to stutter out. Twix fixated him with slitted eyes, breathing harshly, obviously barely containing her anger, before she seemingly decided that the incident wasn't worth her time and returned to teaching.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry saw Montague give him a hateful glare. Harry shrugged, maybe if the boy hadn't been so incompetent that the largest thing he could fling with the levitation charm was a spitball, then maybe his attempts at bullying would actually bear fruit, instead of just bringing disappointment to the boy's family. He stuck his tongue out at the child and showed him the middle finger when Twix wasn't looking, making the heavy-set Slytherin run red in anger. But he couldn't do anything about it in a group setting, nor would he ever find Harry alone in the castle, considering his use of the disillusionment charm.

Chapter Text

Harry was in the library, which in itself wasn't particularly odd. He was in the library often enough, although less than at the beginning of the year. These days he was mostly practising potions with Penny, learning to cast the disillusionment and noise-muffling charms as a combo and finishing up the formal aspects of his word-searching spell. Finalising the formal aspects, because the magical ones were completed. The spell was done. The only thing he and Flitwick were working on right now was writing a tidy little booklet on its usage and creation process. Something to celebrate for sure, but the best celebration that Harry could think of was using the spell in the library to finally nail down the elusive topic of Occlumency. That was why he was hiding behind a bookshelf in the Charms section. Despite how much Flitwick claimed that he'd cleared the usage of this particular spell with the hawkish librarian, Harry didn't trust the woman to not give detention out of spite. She probably put a lot of effort into making it impossible to find anything in the Hogwarts library, and wouldn't react well to him thwarting her fiendish efforts.

He narrowed his eyes at the villain reading something behind her librarian's counter.

Thankfully littera revelio was a spell he could do wordlessly, it wouldn't do to summon the beast by casting something out loud. Huffing he thus turned towards the bookshelf he wanted to examine first and surreptitiously cast the spell in the tightest wand-waving manner possible as he formed the word Occlumency in his head. He didn't need to write it out anymore. He raised an eyebrow when the spell took effect, but only managed to light up twice, for the same book, out of perhaps 2000. Walking over to the book that was highlighted he read the title of 'Defensive Charms for the paranoid' and pulled it out from where it was quite firmly lodged between 'Degnoming your Dreams' and 'The Grapes of Bath'. Flipping to the page which had the already fading golden marking he tried to not become discouraged at the shortness of the passage. It was just a paragraph really, at the end of 'obscure attacks and how to defend against them'.

One form of aggression that is too different from others to be properly defended against is that of mental intrusion. The discipline that can be used to successfully defend against this form of attack is referred to as Occlumency, a form of mind magic that offers benefits other than just the immediately obvious. However, occlumency is not a discipline that the unwary should embark on, for it often requires great sacrifices to learn. At least so I've heard.

That was it. Harry furrowed his brow, stepped back and cast the spell again, this time imagining the form of the word to be non-cursive. No luck. Putting the book back in its place he turned around to do the other book-shelf. This one, as well, offered nothing to the knowledge-seeking first-year student.

Cursing quietly Harry examined the other bookshelves as stealthily as possible, making sure to avoid Pince's notice. Querying for anything related to Occlumency, Legilimency and the Mind Arts, didn't net him much. Two books, one history book describing the legal work the ministry did a few centuries ago to illegalize Legilimency; the other one was a catalogue of obscure magics. The Mind Arts was shortly described as a discipline occupied with defending one's mind from harmful influences and organising one's thoughts. Improper usage, was warned, could lead to madness.

Harry looked around the library he was in. It couldn't be… could it? A library which had to have around 15.000 books only mentioned the Mind Arts three times. Probably more, under different names, but still, his spell should have picked something up, unless it was not as good as he and Flitwick assumed it was? Giggling resounded from behind him and he turned around to see two Gryffindor first-year girls looking at him from behind a bookshelf and whispering to each other.

Improper usage could lead to madness, resounded in his mind and Harry sighed in defeat and sat down. Occlumency was dangerous, and so was Legilimency, it made perfect sense for it to not be available just like that in a school. There were children here, who probably shouldn't even be trusted with the spells they actually were teaching in class.

He perked up, however, because this was what the restricted section was for. All the books that were too dangerous for unsupervised consumption. He glanced at the entrance to the section, a small open doorway with a little chain blocking the entrance. Probably enchanted in some way.

One needed a pass from a professor, but despite how professors seemed more willing to help Harry out since he'd finished the spell with Flitwick, he doubted they would give permission to a first-year so that said first-year could go look up topics which might make him go insane.

Walking over to a bookshelf situated perfectly for getting a glimpse into the restricted section he picked up a book on animate transfiguration and pretended to read it as he aimed his wand. After casting the spell he was just able to make out two entire books lighting up like Christmas trees from where he could see them-. A hand grasped him suddenly on the shoulder.

Harry jumped like a drenched cat and spun around faster than a fighter jet. Breathing heavily and with doubtlessly wide eyes he looked at the similarly scared Hufflepuff prefect who'd clasped him on the shoulder.

"Shit, Evans. Why'd you scare me like that," the teenager said, eyes wide, slowly putting a hand to his heart and breathing out slowly. He glanced at what Harry had been pretending to read and winced. "Animate transfiguration huh, don't worry too much about it, I'm sure you'll do fine when it's introduced in the second year,” the boy said, gently taking the book out of his hands and putting it back where Harry had found it. "Don't bother with it quite yet, will you, nasty stuff,” he muttered, before pepping up. "Anyway, I just came here to tell you that the headmaster wants to see you after dinner. The password is lemon pop."

"But that's in four hours!" Harry exclaimed, causing the perfect to look at his watch.

"Well, it's in two hours, I guess you lost track of time."

"Did he say what he wanted?" Harry asked, wondering what he'd done to catch Dumbledore's attention. Not many students got to talk to the man. Seeing the principal didn't have the same connotation here as it did in the muggle world, since the heads of houses managed most matters internally, but it still usually wasn't a good sign.

The prefect shrugged and made to leave. "Who knows, bit bonkers that one. Probably wants to congratulate you on your transfiguration skills? I heard you were pretty good. I got to go though, bye, Evans,” the boy said before strolling off, as if he hadn't just delivered a potential death sentence to Harry who had a lot of things to hide in his head.

"Out! Evans! Too much talking!" Pince shouted once the prefect had left, confirming Harry's suspicion that she was a horrid bitch. He left with one last forlorn look at the restricted section. It would be impossible to break in there and learn how to defend his mind against Dumbledore in two hours.

Harry could simply not go… But that would mean that he would give Dumbledore a reason to suspect him. There was only one option really left, Harry thought as he exited the library and dodged into a nook where no one could see him. He disillusioned himself as he was already used to doing for his evening walks around the castle and then cast a soft-spoken "muffliato," to remove any sounds he made. Then he ran.

It was while he was trying to find the fastest way to the seventh floor that Harry went through his reasoning for not wanting anyone to find out about his existence again, to make sure there wasn't a logical fallacy somewhere in his thought process. Fact. His reincarnation and somewhat useful future knowledge were something that anyone would be interested in exploiting. Now, these potential exploiters belonged to different categories of course, and if the original books held true, Dumbledore would still be the most benign of people to find out his secret. Issue, his book knowledge was unreliable, perhaps Dumbledore was even more flawed here than he was originally supposed to be, it was better to err on the side of caution. Another issue, Harry didn't know the mechanisms through which he'd begun inhabiting his current body. Perhaps a wizard of Dumbledore's power and knowledge could recognize what exactly Harry was and in the worst case, deem him some twisted abomination that needed to be exorcised.

After all, no matter how much this was Harry's life now, considering he'd lived the sheer entirety of it, he was essentially still just possessing the body of a child. Literally. There were thus several reasons why it would be better to not let anyone know about the truth of his existence, he concluded as he caught sight of some Slytherin first-years on his way to the fifth floor now. Running towards them, silent and invisible as he was, he couldn't help but think of some mischief once he noticed that it was the very same group that had attempted to catch him outside the Potions classroom a few days ago, including Montague. Going into a low running position he tackled one of them from behind, lifted him up by the knees and threw him away behind him. The children screamed and Harry continued running onwards with a cackle.

"And his name is John Cena!" he shouted, secure in his knowledge that no one could hear him through his spell.

Going back to serious matters however, the last issue with Dumbledore knowing, although perhaps not with him in particular, was the fact that two people could keep a secret only if one of them was dead. Now Dumbledore was actually quite proficient in the keeping secrets department. But as with all things in life, ‘Never share a secret you aren't comfortable with everyone knowing,’ Harry thought as he wheezed, out of breath, in front of the wall on the seventh floor that supposedly held the room of requirement.

Calming down for a second and casting a quick tempus, seeing that he'd needed seven minutes to get here, Harry began pacing back and forth in front of the blank stretch of wall. He was still invisible, but it wasn't like the room should care. After all, he thought, the most important thing was the desire. And for that, Harry put, 'I need a way to defend my mind from Legilimency' firmly at the front of his outwardly projecting mind.

If he'd had any more time he would have asked for a way to learn how to defend his mind, but while Harry was smart he wasn't sure he could learn to keep out what was probably one of the most powerful Legilimens in the country in less than two hours.

A door appeared at his third passing and Harry quickly rushed through it, only to pause at what he found.

A grand cathedral, somewhat resembling how the room of hidden things probably looked like when empty. Sun shone through coloured glass, light beams highlighting beautiful marble arches and statues. An empty and beautiful room fit for an audience with a king and in the middle lay…

In the middle of the floor, there was…

"Is this a fucking joke," Harry whispered as he cautiously stepped towards the object. An unremarkable pair of reflective sunglasses. Well, not so unremarkable on closer inspection, they were from Chanel, the iconic crossed double C visible on both sides. Harry's hand twitched. He didn't know if it was to pick up the sunglasses or to hit himself.

"Fucking eye contact. Reflective sunglasses. I swear to the fucking lord,” he said and sighed in exasperation while looking up at the flawless marble ceiling. "Well, if it's really that simple, then I have time to experiment,” he concluded before turning around and exiting the room to see what other mystical objects the room could offer to protect him from having his mind read.

Chapter Text

It was one hour after he'd started his search for a way to defend his mind that Harry left the Room of Requirement, or as he'd dubbed it the room of ordinary objects, behind. He'd decided that he might as well be early to his meeting with Dumbledore and get it out of the way. So he began walking towards the headmaster's office, getting an odd look here and there from whatever student, ghost, or painting crossed his way.

It made sense. It was evening so there wasn't much light out. It was the middle of March and here was Harry Evans, strutting through the halls of a magical institution in full wizarding ensemble, slaying a pair of diamond-encrusted rectangular reflective sunglasses.

Gucci, this time.

Apparently, there'd been a muggle-born Hogwarts student with expensive tastes and a habit of losing sunglasses in particular. The other options the room had offered him had been,

a: a knight's helmet,

b: a blindfold and

c: a knife with instructions on how to cut optical nerves.

Harry could only assume the last was meant for him to cut out his eyes with. No eyes, no eye-contact-based mind magic apparently. Oddly enough the last suggestion hadn't been the worst of the lot, as the room had also offered him a bona fide death-eater mask. The worrying implication being that somehow a student had at some point had one, and then lost it.

So yeah, Harry went with the sunglasses. Not before checking if the Room of Requirement could give him access to the restricted section, but it didn't seem to have such a function.

It was too soon that Harry arrived before the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office, he wasn't even sure if sunglasses would protect him from what was possibly to come. It would have been his assumption, but the room giving them to him didn't imply that it was the correct belief, just that it was perhaps somehow reading his thoughts and delivering not what he needed, but what he thought he did.

Harry stood there and stared at the gargoyle, before calming down and emptying out his mind as much as he could. Better safe than sorry, he told himself, before stepping forward and pausing mid-stride.

"Wait, what was the password again?" he asked himself. He'd been a bit too freaked out to really pay attention to what the prefect who had delivered the summons had said.

"Lemon?" he asked more than stated at the gothic gargoyle, which didn't budge.

"Lemon drop?" He queried again and this time the gargoyle almost imperceptibly shook its head.

"It's something with lemon, I swear. Lemon slop, lollipop, knickerdrop," he inadvertently rhymed and the eyes of the gargoyle seemed to narrow in reproach at the last one. "Well fuck you too, I didn't ask for this," he muttered and tried to remember. "Lemon pop?" he eventually said, causing the gargoyle to swing aside, revealing an upwards going circular staircase. He was pretty sure the damn thing had rolled its eyes at him.

Grumbling about sassy inanimate objects he made his way up the stairs until he came upon Dumbledore's office, which was just as wondrous as it had been described in the books. Magical objects whirled, peeped and whistled everywhere in all colours of the rainbow and Harry felt judged by the many magical portraits, many of which had turned their attention to him. But most intense was the gaze of the only living man in the room, that of Albus Dumbledore, who had been seated at a large and cluttered wooden desk and who was now standing up to greet Harry with a jovial smile and sparkling robes.

"Mr. Evans, my boy, do come in and take a seat, you're a bit early," the man said and before Harry could confusedly mutter that there was no seat for him to take the elderly wizard flicked a hand, causing a sinfully comfortable looking arm-chair to appear on Harry's side of the table.

It was purple and dotted with small green sun motifs. Harry sat down and leaned back, he thought that he might as well be comfortable while something potentially horrible happened.

"Tea?" the headmaster asked as he also sat back down.

"Ehh, no thank you, headmaster," Harry said, "but am I in trouble, maybe?"

Albus chuckled and poured himself a cup from a steaming kettle that Harry hadn't seen on the desk before, and that had seemingly just appeared out of thin air. "The opposite really, it's usually the heads of houses who deal with disciplinary actions."

"Well, hmm, that's good. It's usually a bad sign to be called into the headmaster's office in the muggle world, is all I meant," Harry explained.

"Do you have anything weighing on your mind?" the headmaster asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry furrowed his brows. "No, not that I could remember at least," he said, thinking back to the Slytherins he'd assaulted on his way here. They'd deserved it so he wasn't lying that he didn't have a guilty conscience.

"Well, suspense aside, the reason you're here is rather the opposite of a punishment," Dumbledore explained, "I asked Marcus to bring you because you should be rewarded rather, for your contribution to the school."

Harry looked at the man nonplussed.

"The spell you created under Professor Flitwick's supervision," Albus gently reminded, causing Harry to perk up.

"Yes, that. Slipped my mind. I've been mostly focusing on Potions lately."

"Shoring up one's weaknesses is often just as important as playing on one's strengths, a wise decision," Dumbledore commented and took a sip of his tea. "As for the spell, getting back on topic, I was wondering perhaps, before we talk about anything else, what made you create it? If it was to prove yourself, you have succeeded."

Harry awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Well, I'll admit headmaster, I made the spell mostly out of annoyance. The Hogwarts library, well, it's hard to find anything in it and it caused me no small amounts of frustration to spend as much time looking for a book as I did actually reading it," he said. "I'm actually really fascinated by magic's ability to save time, the one thing we have a limited amount of. I've been focusing on Charms a lot because of it, hygiene charms to shorten the morning rituals, cleaning charms to get chores done faster," he said before trailing off and giving an awkward laugh. "Well, it must sound a bit mundane, that this is what I like most about magic right now."

"Not at all, my boy, not at all. Personally, I find there is joy in the process, but even I will admit that menial tasks get frustrating sometimes. It's especially good to see that your passion manifested in such an extra-curricular way, students seldom realise after al-" Dumbledore began, before Harry cut him off.

"That the curriculum is the bare minimum, something onto which one should attach one's own interests."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Indeed, my passion back in the day was transfiguration, I was years ahead of everyone else in my class. I'm afraid it got to my head a bit."

Harry shrugged. "I guess it could, but it helps to remember that if most others simply worked as hard, they would be achieving similar results. Doesn't it make perfect sense that I can make a spell on the side if I invested several hundred hours of extra-curricular effort into it?" he posited, knowing that the only thing really separating him from his classmates was his maturity and adult work ethic. They'd all started at the same place, if one ignored his forays into wandless magic and his canon-knowledge on some obscure topics.

"An astute answer. I can imagine that you are thus fascinated by magic, Harry, if I may call you that?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded enthusiastically, his guard dropping throughout the conversation with the genial old wizard, who hadn't yet commented on his sunglasses. "Of course, magic is awesome!" he exclaimed. "It's literal magic, I can summon fireballs and fly and change a rat into a stag… Well, I can't do any of that yet. But a life without magic just feels so constricting now, birth, physics, societal pressures. It's like I've attained some sort of ultimate freedom. The best thing that ever happened to me," he said, leaving out that the circumstances through which he'd gained magic had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

"Honestly," Harry said suddenly in a low voice, noticing something for the first time. "What bothers me most about my classmates is how irreverent they are to the fact that they're doing literal magic. I can even see the muggleborns losing the sense of wonder they arrived with. I don't understand their attitude, but neither can I explain mine. It's… It's literally magic, professor, magic actually exists and it's wonderful and horrible and everything in between. Whenever I explore it feels like I'm sloughing off chains I never even knew I was bound in," he finished, a bit out of breath. Knowing however, that he'd likely said too much, he shut up and leaned back in his chair, observing the old wizard sitting across from himself and wondering why he'd opened up like this.

He narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses and wondered if there was some sort of spell over the room that made him more open, or if Dumbledore in his age was just too socially competent for people to stay closed off with him.

"Magic is indeed, wonderful. I find myself amazed every day by what it can accomplish and what it can be strengthened by," Dumbledore murmured, "Do you resent your muggle upbringing, Harry?" the man asked suddenly. "You speak of it as if it were a burden."

Harry snorted, paused, tried not to say what he was about to say, but then said it anyway. "A wise man once said that you must always be willing, at any given moment, to abandon who you are, for who you can become," he said and concluded that there must be some sort of charm working its magic in the office that made it more likely for him to speak his mind. What he'd just said was what he believed in, but it wasn't something he'd ever say to Dumbledore due to the parallels it might urge the most likely paranoid old man to draw.

"If that is true, then why haven't you asked for your reward to be something along the lines of staying at Hogwarts over the summer, continuing to perfect your craft," Dumbledore suggested innocently and Harry realised what all this was about.

Dumbledore thought that Harry was similar to Tom Riddle, orphaned at birth, extremely talented at magic and having all the reason in the world to be angry at the world. Thankfully there was one thing that separated Harry and Tom, a perfect answer that was also true. A simple answer.

"As tempting as it sounds to continue working on magic, even over the summer, I miss my family. We had plans on going to France and I wouldn't miss it for anything short of an apprenticeship with Merlin himself," Harry said, all of it the truth. He loved his family, how couldn't he, for how they'd accepted him into their home after Lily's death. And there was no real rush on him learning magic. Perhaps there would be if he sought to get involved in the war. But he was graduating in Neville's fifth year, which meant that if it all went as it should, Harry would leave Britain behind with his family before the war openly started. And if it started earlier… After his O.W.Ls there wasn't a reason to continue his schooling if it meant doing it in an institution perpetually in danger of becoming another Napola. If he distinguished himself enough there was no reason to think that no other magical school in the world wouldn't take him gladly. Perhaps this was why it was even important to do so. America should be safe, and this way Dudley wouldn't have to learn a new language. Maybe he'd even get a few plus points for his British accent.

"As happy as I am for your upcoming vacation in France," Dumbledore said with twinkling eyes, no doubt having liked the answer to his question. "I still need to award you something for so selflessly sharing the spell with the school and, as I hear with the world at large," the man pushed.

In the new context of this conversation being a way of determining similarities between Harry Evans and Tom Riddle, what he asked for, would likely say a great deal about Harry. His choices were constrained to what would paint him in a good light and something true since he had trouble lying in this room, Harry thus had to come up with a desire before he could leave. Preferably something that would make Dumbledore leave him alone. Harry didn't want much to do with the man currently.

"I'm not selfless. The more people know the spell, the more likely it is to be improved on and the more people will be inspired to create similar useful magic," he said, stalling for time.

His biggest desire was instruction in the Mind Arts, which he couldn't have because it would likely involve people discovering what he didn't want them to discover.

What did Harry want, then? A desire that was similarly strong to his need for occlumency, so that he may speak it aloud, but also something not resembling anything Voldemort would have asked for in his situation.

"As for what I would want… It's a difficult question to answer. As the Buddha once said, desire is the root of all suffering."

"I've also found that true contentment lies in enjoying what one has rather than lamenting what one doesn't, but surely there must be something," Dumbledore said, not letting go of the topic.

"I was talking to Professor Slughorn recently and he used an interesting spell," Harry said, instead of giving a straight answer, still needing time to think of something he would want. Access to the restricted section? No, that was something Tom would have asked for. "Effigo, a copying charm, I asked and he agreed to send me the instructions per owl."

"That was very kind of him," Dumbledore agreed.

"The issue with asking for something is that it would have to be something that I can't just get by asking a professor, and since I've created my spell and shared it with the school, it seems that the professors have become generous indeed. So whatever I wish for would be something that is not already given freely and thus it is something that either requires effort to give or that one would not want me to have in the first place," Harry said, finally managing to think of something.

"For example, the removal of the trace from my wand so I could keep up my practice during the summer," he said, despite having figured out by now that the trace could be circumvented by simply leaving populated areas behind and going into a forest, focusing on sorcery. Of course, if he could get the trace removed then he wouldn't have to waste all those hours biking to and from his little clearing, no matter how much he enjoyed it, he would still go there less if it was an option.

Dumbledore seemed to consider his words regarding the trace for an oddly long amount of time, considering it wasn't something he could most likely grant. As expected thus, after a minute he said, "A fine conundrum we have brought upon ourselves then with our offer of a boon. Perhaps in the future, we shall simply content ourselves with a trophy recognizing the student's contribution to the school," he said.

"There is one thing," Harry said, having perhaps finally thought of something that would be possible. "I've been doing a lot of arithmancy lately. It's been a strenuous subject to pick up and I don't think I'll use it much until I start taking it as an elective in my third year. Would it perhaps be possible to start taking the class next year already, so I don't get out of practice and then have to restart learning. It's also a subject that doesn't require magic, so I could learn ahead in the summer more easily to keep up with the older students. I was thinking of asking Professor Vector for some homework, but this would be an even more meaningful solution. Also, if I did my O.W.L in arithmancy one year earlier I would be less stressed in my fifth year," he suggested

"That's a good idea and fulfils the requirements you set for your reward. However, we will have to think of a justification for why we are allowing such, since your spell should remain anonymous in source. It will take some effort on the staff's part, but I'm sure we could manage. I will talk to Professor Vector and tell her to get in touch with you," Dumbledore said with a nod, seemingly happy to have finally gotten an answer. Hopefully, an answer that would distinguish Harry from Voldemort. He doubted that the future dark lord would have asked to advance his maths lessons if given such an opportunity. He most definitely would have asked to stay at Hogwarts over the summer or access to the restricted section. Magical maths in comparison to that, shouldn't create any links in even the old man's mind.

"Thank you for considering my idea professor," Harry said and glanced at a golden watch spinning on its own axis on the head-masters table.

"It is getting a bit late, isn't it," Dumbledore said, mirroring Harry's thoughts. "I think it's best you be off. Wouldn't want to keep you up after curfew after all. I think Hufflepuff has a Potions lesson tomorrow morning."

Harry took the dismissal for what it was and stood up, adjusting his sunglasses. "Thank you head-master, I look forward to hearing from Professor Vector. Good evening," he said and left as quickly as was socially acceptable. He wanted out. A movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention and he saw the sorting hat following his path out and down the stairs with its eyes.

He furrowed his brow. The hat… Had it told Dumbledore something? Who knew how deeply into one's mind it was capable of digging and what rules of discretion it truly followed.

"Good night, Mr Evans." Harry heard Dumbledore say as he left the man's office. Going down the spiral staircase he gave Quirrell, sans turban at this point, who had been waiting in front of the gargoyle a wide berth.

"Good evening professor," he muttered and left towards his common room. He felt eyes boring at the back of his head as he fled the scene.

Chapter Text

Harry was walking down winding corridors lined with paintings towards the Hufflepuff common room, thinking about the fact that if Quirrell and Dumbledore were having a meeting right now, that left two less teachers to come after him if he tried to sneak into the restricted section. The issue of course was that while he was invisible and quiet, the wards that were likely on that part of the library were also invisible. The only way he could imagine getting in there was if he learned more about the subject of wards or enchantments, or if he slipped in there with someone. But who had access? Harry didn't know any older years with a pass. He didn't know any older years other than Tonks period and he doubted a professor would trust that girl with more than a wooden stick.

No… she would burn that. A rock, maybe.

A sturdy one.

"Doesn't hurt to check!" Harry said happily and headed towards the library, remembering that in the first book, Harry had managed to sneak in until he'd picked up a screaming tome, at which point Filch had heard him, or something. Now it had been a while since he'd read the Harry Potter books, actually, it had been two lifetimes and twenty years ago. So he could be forgiven for forgetting about the fact that the Potter invisibility cloak, which was a deathly hallow, supposedly protected one from all sorts of magic.

Of course, he remembered eventually, eventually being after he'd already entered the open library. He was surprised to find the doors open, but perhaps the logic had been that only students should not be allowed into the library after curfew, but since students had a curfew, they could by definition not enter the library. It was a logical fallacy that authority figures often committed, believing people acted by the law, not by their interests. Mostly because teachers considered the rules to be in the interest of the students, but failed to see that the students disagreed.

Well, anyway, there he was, smack dab in the middle of the very dark library, again in the corner from which he could glower at the two books that his spell managed to highlight when that bitch of a DADA professor walked in.

Harry was shook, appalled, baffled, that an adult occasionally also disobeyed the rules. He thought that he was the only rebel here, but it turned out that he was just a stupid conformist following the lead of one very thin and cold hoe. Nevertheless, all personal dislike for Twix aside, Harry glued his eyes on the woman as if he were a hawk trying to catch a mouse that had grown fat from too many TV dinners. That's why he saw exactly how Twix passed into the restricted section. A down-wards twist of the wand created a pale-blue string which she then slashed at the doorway leading to the restricted section. When the string touched the entrance, a shimmering cascade of silver light opened a hole into the restricted section that Twix promptly stepped through. It was only by sheer reflex that Harry jumped in after her and he immediately regretted the decision when he turned around and saw the silver light spread over the doorway once again, essentially, for all intents and purposes, trapping him in here until Twix did what she was here to do.

Although… Harry thought as he turned around to where the woman had disappeared. Now would be a good time to figure out what the woman was actually doing. Going as quietly as possible down the corridor where he'd seen her disappear, Harry followed the footsteps that the professor wasn't bothering to mask. A horrid feeling of regret at his impulsive decision started spreading through his stomach as he walked past hissing books and tomes illustrated with people and animals seemingly experiencing sheer agony. It was dark, but perhaps unluckily the moon was bright and the sky didn't have a single cloud in it. The restricted section also had windows and due to these and because he'd gotten used to the low-light environment from standing around in the library for a while before Twix had come, Harry could read some of the titles.

He grimaced as he walked past a particularly large tome on 'The Secrets of Disembowelment; Constipation as a Dark Creation'. He didn't know if the book was supposed to teach someone how to give someone constipation, or if it attempted to heal constipation by gutting someone. He decided that he didn't want to know and continued following the sound of the footsteps, which stopped just as he decided to focus only on that. Rounding a corner he saw Twix pacing in front of a wall manically. The woman was swaying like a drunkard with a platinum express card after one hour at the Oktoberfest.

The restricted section wasn't overly big, Harry noted. The corner that the professor was walking in front of led into the last corridor of this part of the library. Three corridors stacked on both sides with books is all that the restricted section was, apparently. Definitely not an endless pool of dark and forbidden knowledge. At the end of the day, Hogwarts was a sch-.

"Reveal yourself!" Twix suddenly screamed, brandishing her wand at the section of the wall she was pacing in front of and almost giving Harry a heart attack in the process. He barely managed to not fall over in an aborted jump backwards, which his flight-focused mind probably thought was an elegant beginning of a chase sequence in which Harry would come out the winner.

As Harry calmed down from his fear-induced jitters, Twix continued poking the section of the wall with her wand muttering things in a variety of languages that Harry did not understand. Not only Latin but also what was probably ancient Greek and something that he couldn't place at all. All of this was occasionally interrupted by angry mutters about the 'blasted chamber', the 'bloody curse' and last but not least 'fucking antlered chuckle-fuck'.

It was with a sudden and startling realisation that Harry came to discover two shocking facts. First, that Twix was completely off her rockers and secondly, that he was trapped in the restricted section of the library until this mad-woman decided to leave.

'Nice fucking mess you got us into there, mate,' Harry thought to himself, clutching the books on the Mind Arts that he'd subconsciously taken at some point to his chest, silently cursing at them that they better be fucking worth the effort. He didn't dare cast his word-searching spell again to look for more lest Twix somehow notice him and in her less-than-content state of mind, try to eviscerate him. He really hoped she hadn't had the time to read the constipation book.

So there he was, standing somewhere where he shouldn't be, watching his crazy defence professor throw curses, literal and metaphorical, flashing lights and screams of rage at a corner of all things. He didn't know how long he stood there, just like in his past life he'd lost track of the amount of time that he'd been strapped to the table at the dentist when they'd been removing his wisdom teeth. The horribleness of the situation transcended time. When Twix finally decided to leave, Harry didn't know if he'd been in there with her for five minutes or for five hours. All he knew was that he needed to go to the toilet and that he was going to fall over from magical exhaustion any second now from upkeeping the disillusionment spell for however long he'd been doing so.

Of course, that was the moment, as they were crossing the boundary to exit the restricted section, that a loud wailing suddenly broke out. Loud enough to rattle Harry's teeth and to make Twix, who had been walking in front of him jump up almost a meter in fright. The woman looked around, for the first time in a while more afraid than manic and fearfully pointed her wand outwards as she spun, her gaze panning over where Harry was twice.

"I didn't take a book, I didn't, I didn't," Harry heard the woman mutter before narrowing her eyes and hissing. "Dumbledore, an additional ward on the door for when someone leaves, not enters, bloody fuck, fuck…" the woman began cursing as she quickly turned towards the library exit and ran as fast as her twig-like legs could carry her. Harry followed and exited the library just in time to see a flash of red light from the corridor to his right, followed quickly by a silver gleam and a desperate "Protego!"

Suffice it to say Harry ran in the other direction, not looking back to see what fate would befall Twix. No matter how tired he was, he still had something to do after all. Running with energy he didn't have he somehow made it to the seventh floor where he paced in front of the room of requirement.

"I need a place I can hide something so that the professors can't find it, I need a place I can hide something so that the professors can't find it, I need a place I can hide something so that the professors can't find it, I need a place I can hide something so that the professors can't find it," he said in a pace as rapid as the one that his legs were shivering from exertion, and as soon as the door appeared Harry ripped it open and threw the two books he'd taken from the restricted section inside before shutting the door.

He began pacing again, running, really, but this time he asked for a path to his dormitory back in Hufflepuff, several floors down, which he was thankfully granted. An uncomfortable slide out of stone deposited him quickly and snugly behind the tapestry of a badger hanging in the dorm room of the male first years. Thankfully the muffliato was still in effect, allowing him to sneak by his sleeping dorm mates, undress and slip into bed. Casting a quick tempus he saw that it was three in the morning. A good time to go to sleep, considering that he'd been awake for almost 24 hours and his young body was literally screaming for rest. There was just one issue. He was much too nervous to fall asleep and the only thing he could do was lie in bed with his eyes closed as images of a frantic professor ran through his mind. What had happened to her? What had she been looking for? Who had confronted her, in that corridor that he'd fastidiously avoided?

The questions kept him awake until sunrise and it was only when his dorm mates left, naturally after laughing at him for still being asleep, that he was able to finally close his eyes.

A dream about a library started unfolding and just as he was about to open his first book he was shaken awake.

"Mate you're not gonna believe what happened!" Cedric theatrically whispered as he shook Harry by his shoulder, loosening the cocoon of yellow and black covers that Harry had taken great effort to sink into.

Harry extended a hand to bat Cedric away and turned to glare at him with eyes that were probably as red as his hair and an expression only a university student who'd at one point had six dead-lines they were consecutively missing could pull off. It didn't gain him any reprieve, Cedric seemed immune to the threat of physical violence that Harry was trying to communicate with eye contact alone.

And that's how Harry found out about how Professor Twix had apparently been found casting dark magic in the library, supposedly to curse any student reading up on the topic of grindylows. Upon being discovered by Professor Flitwick she'd then had a running battle through the entirety of Hogwarts, something that Dumbledore had had to get involved in to stop in the end.

"Why would she want to curse anyone interested in Grindylows?" Harry muttered.

Cedric shrugged and Harry stood up with a groan. He had a Potions lesson to get to.

Chapter Text

"Does the wit-sharpening potion actually make you smarter?" Penny asked, tilting her head as she looked at the list of potions that Harry had drawn up to add to her own.

"No, it's just an hour or so of clarity. Essentially it makes you more focused by blending out distractions."

There were three potions that Harry was particularly interested in. The wit-sharpening one. It wasn't particularly useful in an exam situation, no matter how many students tended to try, but it increased one's productivity. This meant that in regards to studying and brain-storming, one could probably save several hours of effort a week with fastidious use of the potion. The only issue was that one needed to brew it, which probably set one back for as much time as one had gained with its use if one was as bad at brewing as Harry. Penny, however, was significantly better and with her help he could probably create a batch large enough to last him for a few months. A cauldron contained more than a dozen vials.

"Well I'm curious about the effect of the wit-sharpening potion, but what's the point of this language tonic," Penny wondered before giggling. "Are you planning on learning mermish?" she asked.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Me and my family are going to France this summer, I know muggles can't drink potions, would have been nice, but at least I can brush up on my  French," Harry said, causing Penny to make googly eyes at him.

"You speak French?" She asked.

"My grammar sucks, but I can communicate well enough. My German and Italian are quite good though," Harry said, causing Penny to raise up her arms in protest.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said quickly. "Why do you speak so many languages?" she ended up asking with a confused tone of voice.

"Honestly, learning languages is the basic part of the muggle school curriculum. Just that muggles do it the hard way without any potions," Harry huffed. While the statement was true, it wasn't really why he knew the languages.

"Of course, it would be wizards, who actually have access to such cheats, who don't even bother."

"Wow, I guess I missed out on just going to the village school to learn writing and maths I guess," Penny said while scratching her head.

"Well, you got to practise potions and learn about magic earlier than all the muggleborns so I guess it evens out. I sure wish I'd had more opportunities to study magic before coming here."

"It's not like it mattered, you're way ahead of everyone in most classes," Penny complained. "And you're going to France, all I'm gonna do all summer is be home with my grandma and mom."

"I can write to my aunt and uncle if you can come along," Harry suggested, knowing that it was more a matter of politeness to write. They would never refuse him this after how long they'd tried to make him be more social with kids his age, "and maybe I can come to visit your house for a bit as well, I've never been to a magical home."

Penny beamed. "That would be so cool! I'll write to my parents as well," she said, before looking around the room they'd been using to brew potions and sighing. "Well, we've run out of ingredients to make anything anyway, so I might as well go do it now and then start studying for the exams. You wanna come with me?"

Harry shook his head, "I'm going to go work on finishing my spell," he said. Penny, already being so used to the excuse, simply nodded.

"I thought it was done," she commented, however.

Harry shrugged. "It works, it's great, we're just formalising the written section to send off for admittance to the international charms  database."

"I'm jealous, I bet you'll get offered a Charms apprenticeship the moment you leave, different masters will be hounding you."

"We will make the contribution anonymous actually, we can always revert the decision after all, also, you really aren't one to worry about that Penny. I'm pretty sure that the way you're throwing yourself into Potions you'll be done with your mastery by the time we graduate," Harry complimented, causing Penny to blush.

"Well in that case we can be mastery buddies," she joked and got up to leave, "and the ageing potion?" she asked as she made to leave.

"Have you never wondered how you're going to look when you're an adult?" Harry asked. "We could even take pictures," he suggested pointing to his satchel, resting as it was on the wooden table the furthest away from the cauldrons. His camera was in there, as usual.

"That's a great idea, let's hope we get the ingredients to try everything then, huh," Penny said before slipping through the door.

Harry chuckled to himself when he was finally alone. He wondered how Penny would react if he told her the real reason he wanted the ageing potion. 'Oh yeah, I'm actually an adult reincarnated into this body and cursed to not have sex or drink or be independent in any significant way. An ageing potion would give me a short reprieve from being a magical dwarf.' He sighed, hopefully the potion would last until France, then he could maybe have the first truly adult conversation with a complete stranger for the first time in eleven years, hence the language tonic.

"Well, anyway," Harry said as he stood up and tapped himself on the head, almost simultaneously applying invisibility and the muffling charm. "It's time to finally get to the bottom of the Mind Arts," he muttered and left the room, making his way to the seventh floor. It was there that he'd left the two books he'd taken from the library, paranoidly assuming that they had some sort of tracking charms on them or whatever. Now it was time to look into them.

"Come on Adrian, we'll never find him like this," a tired young voice said from around a corner, making Harry pause to listen in. He recognized that voice.

"We need to show that mudblood his proper place. I have no idea how he keeps disappearing, but he always goes somewhere in this direction with that blonde ditz after classes," another answered.

Harry tilted his head and walked around the corner to look at two Slytherin first-year boys talking next to a knight's armour. One of the boys was Montague. Harry considered for a second if he should do something, but he could hardly report the two to the professors considering they hadn't seemingly done anything other than aimlessly wander around yet. Honestly, did they have nothing better to do, like perhaps work on their classwork?

Well, whatever, Harry thought as he left the two snakes behind to make his way to the seventh floor. School was chaotic enough without moronic bullies, their DADA professor had literally been expelled after fighting the other professors in the halls. There were much more important things to focus on. The snakes would probably lose interest during the summer break in a month, they most likely didn't have enough attention span to remember that he existed if they didn't see him during that time.

It was a head-shaking Harry who arrived on the seventh floor and nonchalantly made his way into the room of requirement, specifically the iteration hiding his pilfered two books on the mind arts.

He sat down on the floor of the otherwise completely empty gothic church surroundings and picked up, 'Ye Olde Minde Arts, Cautions and Instruction'. It looked promising, he thought and started reading the slightly outdated English.

Time passed as Harry engrossed himself in the literature he'd so desperately attempted to gain access to over the past year. But after some cursory reading he didn't have a choice but to put down both the books and tiredly rub at his eyes and lay on his back. He looked at the high marble ceiling of the church-like room where he found himself.

The first and only step one can do alone when pursuing a mastery of occlumency is clearing one's mind. Only when one is adept at this task can one initiate practice with a Legilimens, first learning to sense them through the emptiness of one's mind and then learning to repel the probe through practice.

The books were informative, they had clear instructions on how to clear one's mind. Similar to the meditation practices that Harry was already doing and had arguably mastered. Not surprising, considering that he'd been trying and improving his technique for a decade. The book even had explicit descriptions of how to quickly notice an attacker's presence, or how, in a practice scenario, the intruder could model his attack to be as informative as possible.

All the tips and tricks and spells and advice wouldn't help Harry though, because he simply didn't have a practice partner. There were possibilities, for sure, but none of them were good. He could ask a friend to learn Legilimency with him and then practice with each other. But that would mean that one additional person would know his secret. Something which, in the secret-keeping business, wasn't a good idea.

How had people like Dumbledore, Voldemort and Snape learned the skill in the original books? None of the three men seemed like the type to let someone poke around in their heads. In the case of Voldemort and Snape, they'd likely just killed their teacher afterwards, but Dumbledore? Had he practised with Grindelwald?

Likely, Harry thought.

Magical contracts were also a thing, technically one could hire a teacher and pay them to make the promise to let themselves get obliviated of any knowledge gained afterwards. Which was of course likely a tough sell for more paranoid magical. After all, who was more prepared to counteract an obliviation, than a Mind Arts practitioner.

At the end of the day, Harry was standing in front of a dead-end, a start that was shared with all the other projects he'd attempted since coming to Hogwarts, he felt. There was always something. He'd find a solution eventually, sure, but he needed Occlumency now, not in a few years.

He didn't have a friend he could trust to keep his secret, nor did he have a friend whom he could obliviate after the fact because he had no friends to properly learn the skill with anyway. He didn't have the connections to get a private tutor, nor did he have the money for it. He couldn't let anyone know his secret, not even any of the teachers. Which left him with nothing. These two books assumed that one would have a practice partner, and didn't expound on any alternative, leaving him utterly and completely screwed.

It made sense, of course, it made perfect painful sense. How could one learn to defend one's mind if one never got attacked? How did one learn to attack if one never had anyone to assault.

There was only one hope, Harry realised, to resolve his current conundrum, before he had to take even more drastic measures in his attainment of Occlumency. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that perhaps he was overestimating the need for the Mind Arts. After all, how often did he even think about his reincarnation anymore? Only when Penny smiled at him or shook her head, painfully blonde, blue-eyed, cheery and smart as she was. She existed in a juxtaposition of being a younger version of who he'd lost. How likely was it that anyone would read his mind at that specific moment? He asked himself, before refuting his thought pattern.

He didn't know how a Legilimens might judge his age and origin and thus also didn't know if he could discard the fear or not. Between having Occlumency and not having it, having it was infinitely better, because not having it could very well be a death sentence.

He stood and woodenly walked out of the room, books in hand. Precious knowledge on how to properly train one's defences, what shortcuts there were and which ones should be avoided. All utterly useless if he didn't find someone to practise with, Harry thought as he stepped out of the room. The sheer paranoia and anxiety he felt at having his mind as open as it likely was would kill him by the next term. The only other option being to leave the magical world behind. Something he refused to do, after the power that he'd tasted here at Hogwarts. 'Please, oh please, room,' Harry thought as he paced in front of the room of requirement. Give me someone, or something that I can practise occlumency with.

A door appeared, as it always did when Harry wished for something. He walked in front of the blank stretch of wall. He put his hand on the knob shakingly, realising in the last second that the room might give him the diadem Horcrux to practise with, considering that it must use some form of the Mind Arts to influence its wearer as it had in the books. He opened the door, hoping that the diadem was not what he would find. Growing dizzy from worry and finally falling to his knees as he saw what the room had chosen to give him, Harry laughed and cried tears of joy.

"How ridiculous, of course, of course," he said feverishly. "Why didn't I think of that?" He gazed upon the sorting hat, which was moving its top in confusion, seemingly trying to ascertain its surroundings. Harry scrambled on all fours to reach the hat and to look into the folds that were its eyes. "Oh hat, oh hat, you beautiful hat, will you help me in my time of need. You are the only one who can, you know. You're sworn to secrecy about what you can reveal about the students on whose heads you sit, surely?" Harry pleaded at the piece of leather, which shrank back at Harry's desperate fleas.

"Erm, sure, not a word from me, but, no offence, kid, where am I?" the hat confirmed before asking in a raspy voice and it was then that Harry noticed that while its eyes and mouth and body were animated, it didn't seem to be able to move sufficiently to look either up or to the side. Harry, wanting to garner points with the stylish fashion statement, took this as a cue to lift the hat up and slowly turn around his own axis to showcase the room.

"Wise hat, we are in the Room of Requirement. A room that takes the form desired by the person wishing it into existence. I assume it was left behind by Rowena Ravenclaw, I do not know how she managed to create this wondrous piece of magic and I can only imagine that it is her magnum opus," Harry explained, being for once entirely truthful with the information he possessed, which in his case was not much. "The room can seemingly access, or replicate most things present in Hogwarts, serve as a storage space and has a vividly intelligent input into not only what the seeker wishes, but what they need."

The sorting hat whistled, "Damn, ok Rowena, big flex," it said, before coughing. "Bloody show-off," it muttered, before turning from where it had been looking at the elaborate architecture of the ceiling, to Harry. "What did you wish for, then? Disclaimer, I don't do re-sorting."

"I am most thankful for the house I have been sent to, I can't imagine a better fit in the whole school," Harry schmoozed but also told the truth. Hufflepuff was pretty great. "No, oh wise one, I hath need of your aid in preventing a terrible fate and if you were to be so willing to provide this aid I would be ever-most in your debt and would shower you with whatever gratitude you desire."

"Wow, ok. You do realise I'm a hat, right? I don't really need much," the hat said, causing Harry to wrack his brain as to what he could even offer the animate object. Indeed it was a hat, what would it even want? "But what do you need help with anyway, I am supposed to help students out, I guess."

"I do not know what I can offer you, other than taking you perhaps to see the world outside of Hogwarts, in all its intricacy. Have you seen the extent of the modern world through the eyes of the muggle-born? I am sure Dumbledore could offer you a similar journey, but I would actually have the time to fulfil my promise," Harry suggested, before answering the second question. "As to what I need. I am afraid my mind hides a horrible secret. What I need is simple. A practice partner with whom I can master Occlumency," he explained.

The hat hummed, "I haven't left Hogwarts in a while, about a thousand years really. Mostly because I don't see the need, I like it here and it's someplace quiet to compose a song for the big event."

"You'll love it," Harry assured. "You like music right?" he asked, presupposed the answer being yes and continued. "I'll take you to concerts, the best musicians and lyricists in the world come to London often enough that one can go to a concert every week. I'll enchant books on literary and poetic theory so that you can read them in some of the best universities in the world," Harry promised, lavishing the hat with more promises than Antonious had lavished upon Cleopatra to get a crumb of that pussy.

The hat stared at him, "You seem a very desperate young man, although I can imagine why if you would truly face the fate you described." It said, "I'll help you. Keep me entertained and I'll help for longer."

Harry quickly nodded, "You will be the most lavishly entertained hat in all the world," he promised solemnly.

"Just one thing," The sorting hat said. "I need to be back for the sorting ceremony, how do you plan on returning me? If you don't notify them quickly that I will be back, the staff might panic and change their plans for the sorting next year, potentially finding another method, making me lose my job."

Harry tilted his head, not having considered the fact that the hat was afraid of losing its position, it wasn't like he could somehow stealthily go to the headmaster's office and return it after every practice session. Crossing his eyes in an attempt to make the room send the hat back to whence it had been found, Harry observed as if nothing happened. He pondered the conundrum for a moment, "I'll send a letter, telling them that I've taken you and that I will return you via owl at the end of the summer," he suggested.

The hat balked.

"You'd send me with one of those ruddy birds, do you have any idea what they'd do to my leather?!" it shouted.

"No, no I'd never!" Harry quickly assured. "I'll just return you in person  if I get caught, well, it's better to ask for forgiveness than for permission." Whatever punishment he would receive would be less dangerous than continuing to not know Occlumency.

"Good, don't make me get close to those bloody pigeons and we have a deal. Let's start then, shall we?" the hat asked, causing Harry to look around confusedly.

"Now?" he asked.

"No time like the present." the hat replied and tried to do a little hop towards him.

Technically Harry needed to go to the owlery from where he could send an anonymous letter to the headmaster that he'd taken the hat, but seeing as he had the practice partner he'd been looking for, for so long, he couldn't force himself to delay any longer.

"One second, let me clear my mind," he muttered as he sat down to meditate. The first step to learning Occlumency was clearing one's mind so that one was more easily capable of even noticing when there was an intruder afoot. It was only once one had done this that one could actually fight back.

Technically noticing an intruder successfully was already being a level 1 Occlumens, as one could upon having reached this step, simply break eye contact. Level 2 was being able to prevent a specific memory or piece of knowledge from being found and so on until one reached level 5 at which point one was able to repel all attacks and even send out false data.

Harry's eyes snapped open after a few minutes of calming his mind, eyes looking like tranquil lakes. "Alright, I'm ready," he said confidently and picked up the hat. "What memory will you try to find?"

The hat shrugged, as much as a hat could shrug. "Most embarrassing childhood memory?"

Harry grimaced thinking about what he'd once said to six-year-old Sally from across the street.

"Alright," he said and unceremoniously plopped the hat on his head. Maybe he hadn't had a practice partner to sharpen his skills, but he'd been meditating and learning how to effectively and quickly calm his mind for almost a decade now. He should at least be able to notice the intrusion-.

"Damn, can't believe you told a six-year-old her face looked inharmonious and made her cry right there in front of everyone. Couldn't you have held back a bit? It was literally her birthday," the hat said.

Harry grimaced. "Again."

Chapter Text

Being invisible was an interesting phenomenon, just walking past people, not being noticed. It was freeing in a sense. He walked amongst the students and remained unseen. In fact, he'd had this spell mastered for almost half a year now and he just couldn't get enough of the privacy it offered. Considering also the criminal potential the spell offered, it was actually sort of impressive he had managed to remain a virtuous saint throughout all this time. It was only now, in May, shortly before the exams, that he planned to use the spell to help commit his first criminal act. If one disregarded his theft of the Occlumency books from the library, his likely illegal stalking of Professor Twix to the forest's edge and his assault on the Slytherin first-year clowns who'd been trying and failing miserably to harass him.

A twitch of his finger and a piece of parchment came flying out of a passing student's bag, stealing what literally amounted to a piece of paper. Crazy ballsy move there. Another twitch and it was a quill. One last twitch and it was an ink-well. The crime obviously hadn't been easy enough to describe in two sentences, but it could perhaps be left out how Harry had had to stalk several different students for five minutes minimum to get what he wanted. But now he had what he needed, floating behind him on his way to the owlery. The utensils to write a letter. Idle twitches of his fingers, telekinesis seemingly fine-tuned by his practice with a wand, made the quill dip itself in ink.

Dear Headmaster, Harry started, before changing direction. It would be better to refer to the man by first name since it would make it less likely that a student would be suspected. After all, students were so used to addressing Dumbledore as headmaster that it was the instinctual reaction even when writing a supposedly anonymous letter.

Albus,

I have borrowed the sorting hat. I will return it before next year's sorting.

Harry considered the ending and if he should add an acronym of someone else's name to keep people off his scent. Eventually, he decided to simply end the letter with,

Best,

JP

A random assortment of letters that might be the acronym for someone's name. A necessary evil, to whomever the initials might end up being tied to, Harry mused. Only one session with the sorting hat made it abundantly clear that he had to keep it for as long as possible after all. In one hour he'd progressed more than he had in the past five years. He was actually capable of determining when his mind was being breached. The easiest step, considering how practised he was in clearing his mind at this point. Actually throwing out the intruder, or even grasping the attack in any meaningful manner, meanwhile, was a challenge. Which was good, because a challenge meant that one actually knew what one was attempting. A privilege Harry had been spared for some time now.

"A year, maximum, is how long I need," Harry mused. "Just need to stay undiscovered for that long," he told himself. He was willing to practise every evening if need be. His grades could suffer for all he cared. He was running on borrowed time here, because even if he wasn't discovered as the thief of the hat, who knew if Harry would be able to get it back after he returned it for the next sorting. He would have liked to keep it, but the hat seemed attached to its role as the sorting hat, and an unwilling Mind Arts practice partner was perhaps just as useless, if not more, than none.

Harry attached the letter to the leg of an unsuspecting tawny owl once he'd reached the owlery, and watched satisfied, as his message flew off. The carrier having been surprisingly unbothered to be woken up and sent on an errand. If only everyone was so agreeable all of the time, he thought before turning around and going towards the great hall. It was time for dinner and he was hungry. Thankfully he'd already sent the letter to Aunt Petunia, asking if Penny could join them for their trip to France and he could spend some time at her place this summer. Considering how immature his aunt could sometimes be she might just reply with a, 'Harry and Penny sitting on a tree…' He stepped into a broom cupboard to drop his invisibility and stepped out again. It was ridiculous how many broom-cupboards Hogwarts actually had when one thought about the fact that magical means of cleaning didn't really necessitate a broom. It seemed more likely that the broom cupboards were provided by the castle as a reaction to the emotional need of teenagers to snog somewhere secluded.

As if summoned by the thought a voice suddenly spoke behind him. "Wotcher Harry," Tonks said and scared the shit out of him. Calming his beating heart Harry turned around and gave the girl the stink eye. He'd gotten completely unused to people sneaking up behind him since he'd started going around invisible.

Once he'd gotten over his scare he looked closer at the girl with whom he'd started walking towards the great hall. Slightly puffy and red around the eyes. 'Teenagers,' he thought, but considering how usually girls covered up such things with make-up and Tonks being a witch and a metamorph probably had even more options, the event that had caused her to cry was pretty recent. However, this deduction was fairly useless. She'd cried, so what. He hadn't really talked to her much recently, busy with Potions, spells and now Mind Arts. She also hadn't quite forgiven him for his prank on the train. It was, however, too late for her to be crying about something family-related. Owls usually came during the morning. She was in her OWL year, so she might be stressed due to exams.

"Everything alright?" he asked the taller, pink-haired girl. His type, unfortunately.

Tonks snorted. "What? Worried about lil ol me?" she replied and bumped his torso with her hip before laughing. "I'm doing great, better than ever, the world just isn't ready for me."

"Is that why you've been crying, the world not being ready for you?" Harry asked, causing Tonks to shoot him a glare.

"Mind your own business, twerp, you'll see how you'll feel in your OWL year," she grumbled, causing Harry to blink at the apparent cause.

Absentmindedly jumping over a halberd that a suit of armour had dropped on the floor he considered the original time-line. His OWL year was going to be Neville Longbottom's third year. Which would have meant dementors, maybe, had Sirius Black not been a free man. "Well, I always thought I'd feel pretty depressed during that year."

"You're so bloody weird." Tonks snorted, "If you have to know, Twix told me I didn't have it in me to become an Auror, who knows if it's true considering she got dragged out in chains, but it's been bothering me," she said.

Harry blinked slowly. "What authority did Twix have again for telling people if they were cut out to be an Auror?" he asked.

"Very little, she was a curse-breaker for the ministry or something, so she only collaborated with the department, or so I'd heard anyway." Tonks sniffed. "But you're right, I shouldn't care about what the woman said."

"Yeah, fuck her," Harry muttered thinking about the pain the woman had made him go through. He got an odd look for his language. "I'm sure you'll be a great Auror when you actually get the chance to learn how to be one, you just have to give your best to get the opportunity and then bite down on it when you get it."

"Thanks, Harry. Good luck on your exams," Tonks said as she patted him on the back, before veering off to join some older Hufflepuffs at the large table. They'd reached the great hall.

Harry veered off to sit with Cedric and some other boys, noticing that Penny wasn't present.

Loading his plate with some caramelised carrots, potatoes and salad he turned to the others, who'd been talking about the upcoming transfiguration exam. McGonagall had thrown the class for a loop recently by introducing a new form of transfiguration, metal to organic, just to test them. It seemed easy to Harry, but his classmates were now worried that it might appear on the test.

"I wouldn't worry about the metal to organic transfiguration being on the exam, it's not actually a part of the curriculum. Also, it's so comparatively difficult that practising iron to organic would give less for your time than wood to iron, for example. You could probably show it off for extra points though, I think she might just be showing off what one would need to get an O+ to be honest," Harry commented, easily cutting into his classmates' chatter.

"Bugger O+," one of the boys groaned. "I'll be happy with an EE."

"I might actually try for it," Cedric said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "It's kind of cool anyway. Do you have time to help me get it down after dinner Harry?" he asked, to the outrage of a few other boys.

"You promised we'd go to the shed and borrow some brooms to play a game," one of them, John said. A muggle-born who'd fallen a bit too in love with Quidditch.

"Sorry guys, it's just exams, I don't want to disappoint my dad. Maybe we can do it in the week after exams?" Cedric asked hopefully to the grumbling of the others while Harry considered the request. He had been almost exclusively hanging out with Penny recently, not with Cedric. Mostly because the boy was interested in flying and Penny in academics. Since he shared the latter's interest it made sense that he'd hang out with her more. As for helping Cedric practice… Harry didn't know how long he had before someone discovered the hat and took it away from him.

Technically he needed to squeeze out every bit of practice that he could out of the thing. But his head still hurt from his last attempt, and he hadn't done anything with Cedric in a while, so Harry decided to give himself a break.

"Sure, we can go to some abandoned classroom and transfigure some needles into apples, but have you seen Penny?" he asked.

"Weren't the two of you supposed to be working on some Potions in that room of yours?" Cedric asked.

Harry shook his head. "We've run out of ingredients until after the Potions exams, but she's probably there if she got her hands on some extra ones. Let's check by on our way to practise," Harry said and turned his attention back to his food while Cedric nodded and turned to his. They were both interrupted from eating however, as this was the moment that Dumbledore stood up at the staff table in the back of the hall, at which he was not often present and began tapping his goblet with a knife to gain everyone's attention.

"Thank you," he began, throwing a sweeping gaze over the gathered student body. "I just wanted to say a few words before the exam period," he said and coughed, clearing his throat. "You will leave this castle with much, and I hope you bring it back next year, unharmed," Dumbledore sat down again, apparently done with his speech.

"What was that supposed to mean?" Cedric muttered as the rest of the hall started whispering, trying to decipher the apparent nonsense their headmaster had just told them. Only Harry had likely understood the message.

Something precious was the hat, and he was supposed to bring it back next year unharmed. Did that mean that the staff wasn't going to search for the thing? Even if so, it would be foolish of Harry to take any unneeded risks from a sense of false security. He shook his head and stood up, having only half-finished his plate, but not having the appetite to go on.

"Come on," he said, looking to make sure Cedric was done eating. He was. "Let's go get Penny and get you that O+."

They strode out of the great hall, passing a group of oddly triumphant Slytherin first years, Montague amongst them, who laughed at them and made stupid faces as they passed.

Harry was sorely tempted to throw an explosion spell at them but knew doing so would be a bad idea from several fronts. Firstly because all the teachers would see him do it, secondly because he hadn't practised the spell before and would likely blow himself up. He started walking faster, Cedric having to jog to keep up with him.

"What's their problem, I swear, Slytherins," Cedric complained as they broke out into a run towards the room Harry and Penny had been making potions in.

"I don't know, but I don't have a good feeling about this," Harry said through some harsh breaths as they ran through the last bend, finally arriving at the abandoned classroom. The door was ajar and acrid smoke was billowing out of the room. "Cedric, go get Sprout, Slughorn, Pomfrey, anyone, in that order!" Harry sharply ordered, grasped Cedric by the hem of his robes and swung him physically back into the direction of the great hall.

"What Ha-?" the confused and now slightly scared boy began to ask before Harry interrupted him with another push.

"Just go!" he shouted and raised his hands, not bothering to go for his wand. Whipping his hands rapidly, cursing himself that he hadn't bothered much with using telekinesis on gaseous objects, he slowly gathered the smoke and expelled it towards the far end of the corridor leading to a mostly uninhabited wing of the castle. Gathering some moisture into the collar of his robes he covered his mouth with the now wet cloth and ran into the room. He'd managed to expel just enough of the smoke to be able to see but still had to cough his way to the still form lying on the ground in front of the cauldron spewing the crap. Cursing his lack of upper body strength he fumbled for his wand and cast a silent levicorpus on what must have been Penny, going by the cascade of light hair covering the head as the body rose, unresponsive. Wand in his right hand to upkeep the spell, he used his left arm to grasp roughly at the unmoving girl and dragged her through the air and out of the door. He didn't stop until he'd left the classroom very much behind and gently laid down Penny on the floor.

He noticed, with the slow fading of his most recent memories of getting to the classroom and what exactly had occurred within it, what had happened. He was still thankfully cognizant enough to notice that while Penny wasn't moving, she was not doing so in a very stiff fashion. Unnatural. He gently parted the blonde hair from her face and stared into bright blue eyes absolutely filled with terror and not a hint of recognition. He put up his fragile Occlumency shields and looked back, reminding himself once again that the room had been filled with the gaseous form of the forgetfulness potion.

"Don't worry, I'm a friend," Harry said gently as he stroked the girl's cheek, glad to see the eyes lose some of the terror. "I'll undo the hex now, ok, just don't move too much, the professors are on the way," he said reassuringly before casting a finite at the girl, easily breaking the likely petrification hex that had been inflicted on her.

Penny spasmed as she regained freedom of movement, "Where am I?" Was the first thing she asked. "Who are you?" Was the second. Harry closed his eyes sadly and used all his mental energy to prevent the most recent events from slipping from his mind.

"You had a bit of an accident with a forgetfulness potion, you're at Hogwarts and a professor will soon be there to help," Harry said and sighed, while a cold anger started building inside of him. An anger he hadn't felt in a long time, even for Twix.

"You have very red hair," Penny commented with a goofy smile, seemingly not bothered by lying on the floor.

"And you're very blonde," Harry said back, "I guess that makes us strawberry and vanilla."

"What happened here!" a sharp voice interrupted their get-to-know session as Professor Sprout and Professor Quirrel lightly jogged onto the scene, Sprout's rotund body shape likely not allowing anything more.

Harry put a calming hand on Penny's shoulder and looked up to fully face the two members of staff. "Someone sabotaged Penny's potion practice. She was working on the forgetfulness potion. There were a lot of fumes and she was hit with a petrificus totalus, I've since removed it. I assume she was under the influence for about 15 minutes before I dragged her out because that's when the prime suspects entered the great hall. She has forgotten, at minimum, that she is at Hogwarts, seeing as she doesn't remember me and we're in the same house," Harry quickly rattled off in a no-nonsense tone as Sprout carefully levitated Penny with some encouraging words and began going towards the infirmary. Harry ended up having given his report mostly to Quirrel, who listened attentively while frowning.

"15 minutes of fumes, we'd have to ask Slughorn what that really means. Thankfully the potion is not designed to be permanent," the man said before sharply nodding. "Follow to the hospital wing, Evans," the man ordered and hurried up to catch up with Sprout, who was already descending a moving flight of stairs that seemed more willing than usual to allow passage. Harry found it odd that the man knew his last name but went with him, sticking close to Penny. "I imagine I wouldn't know the suspects you reported," Quirrell commented as they hurried to the hospital wing. "I teach an elective only available from the 3rd year onwards," he explained.

"The usual, I'm sure you know of at least several such groups. Slytherins with more pride than cunning and more stupidity than ambition," Harry remarked, gaining a sharp look from the professor. "Although considering you teach muggle studies, I imagine you have less to do with them than usual, professor," he amended the reasoning.

Quirrell, surprisingly for someone who was supposed to give up his body to Voldemort within the year, chuckled. "I know the type, but I'm afraid there won't be much to do. While the forgetfulness potion leaves no lasting consequences, short-term effects can be permanent if dosed incorrectly."

"Isn't there any investigative spell-work that could be used to retract footprints, sniff out a scent or reveal fingerprints on the door-knob?" Harry asked, for a variety of reasons.

"A valid question, Mr. Evans. However, none of these things hold up very well as evidence because what magic can reveal it can also disguise. For every charm meant to reveal a crime, there is a curse to conceal it, just like there is a shield for every hex. The only real evidence used in the magical world is that of the priori incantatem," Quirrell said in a lecturing tone.

Harry glanced at Penny to make sure she was alright, relieved at the fact that she seemed mostly fine, if a bit loopy, he turned back to Quirrell. "I imagine it's a way to reveal a list of spells previously cast with a wand, quite definite as wizards are wont to part with theirs?" he asked, gaining an appreciative nod.

"Exactly, but since the cultural significance of a wand is so high, getting permission to seize one to investigate a deed that was essentially malicious, but not murderous, is a steep task. Especially if the suspect is a student," Quirrel supplied, ending the conversation. They'd arrived at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey already waiting for them at the door, Cedric waiting next to her while wringing his hands. The healer directed Sprout to lay Penny on one of the beds and turned to Quirrel for a summary of the situation. As Quirrell knew everything that Harry did, the boy instead went over to where Sprout was gently talking to Penny.

"Harry!" the girl said, cheerily as he came to a step on the other side of her sickbed, the grey-haired professor taking the other.

"You remember my name?" Harry asked curiously, taking one of Penny's hands into his own and rubbing his thumb on its top.

"It seems to be coming back," Sprout said in a tired voice. Harry looked down at Penny's frail form and wondered for a second, what he would have done if it hadn't. Was it possible to share an almost one-year-long story with someone and then remain friends after one person had lost it? Wouldn't it be an eternal reminder of what had been lost, if the relationship never again reached the point it had been at? Harry wondered, for a second, as Pomfrey gently shoved him aside and began checking Penny's pupils, what exactly he felt for the girl.

He'd never thought he'd make friends until he was at least in his late teens, but when he'd seen her still form in the middle of the fogged-out room, his heart had stopped for a moment before reason had allowed him to move.

Harry sat down on the neighbouring bed and closed his eyes as Latin incantations resounded from the mediwitch working only two metres away.

"Is she alright?" Cedric's voice asked from next to him, nervously. Harry felt a weight settle onto the bed next to him.

"She'll be fine," Harry answered calmly. "I can't say the same for those Slytherin clowns though."

"Do you think it was them?" Cedric asked quietly, "Why would someone do something like that?"

Harry wondered for a second at the answer he wanted to give, before deciding that the truth, or at least how he saw it, would have to suffice. "Some people think they're better than others and some of them need to feel like they are. It's a form of pride. Not necessarily a bad thing, after all the first way to become better than others is to learn more, practise more, and be a good person. The issue is in the second strategy that some use, namely, instead of improving themselves, they decide to tear others down," he sighed.

"So what, someone decided to do this because Penny had better grades than them?" Cedric asked, obviously confused.

Harry closed his eyes, his friend wasn't old enough to understand these things. "I guess, essentially they were mad that someone was doing better than them at something, without sharing the trait they think should privilege one to such success. The target was never Penny though, I think at least. It was me. I've been seeing those morons try to follow me around for a while now and have just been ditching them. I never thought they'd go for someone close to me. I guess I shouldn't have expected different from the children of terrorists, to just go for collateral damage like this. Death eater trash breeds true once again."

"I would caution against using such terms," a new voice suddenly said from next to Harry, who snapped open his eyes to glare at Dumbledore, who had apparently come down to survey the situation. "It was indeed a horrible thing that has been done. But people should not be judged by their parentage or house."

"I think that while it is an evident truth that while children are the products of their environment and thus not personally responsible, the personal agency these horrible children get upon becoming adults is very seldomly taken advantage of to generate any sort of personal improvement. Thus leaving us no recourse, if we do not always want to forgive the unforgivable, but to treat horrible children doing horrible things because of their environment as horrible individuals, due to the small likelihood that they will ever be anything else," Harry bit out quickly and with a slightly slurred speech, being too angry in the given moment to have the patience for a saint pretender like the headmaster.

Dumbledore looked at Harry with sad blue eyes, with which Harry immediately broke contact, "Thus leaving us with no other option than to be the better man, because if no attempt is made, no progress shall be made."

"You'd make a great teacher, headmaster. Endless patience and a remarkable feeling of personal responsibility are very admirable traits in the educators of misguided youth," Harry said and stood up to leave without looking at the man.

"Come on Cedric, let's go get this transfiguration done. The least we can do is channel these emotions into something useful." Seeing the boy stand up from the bed out of the corner of his eyes Harry left the infirmary with one last look at a now sleeping Penny, still being attended to by Madam Pomfrey. He didn't grant Dumbledore even a look as he left the hall but nodded at Quirrell, who was standing at the entrance. The man returned his nod.

"Endless patience and a great capacity for forgiveness," Harry muttered once they'd left the infirmary behind them. "The worst possible traits a leader could ever have."

"What did you say?" Cedric asked from where he was hurrying after him.

Harry turned back and glanced at the miserable-looking boy and smiled thinly, "I said you've got a knack in transfiguration and that we'll get this done in no time."

Chapter Text

It had taken a while, mostly because they'd revised the entire transfiguration curriculum while they were at it, but after three hours of work, both Cedric and Harry had managed to turn metal into something organic.

Cedric had, on Harry's advice, gone for something not so difficult. The simple fact he could do the transfiguration at all would very likely get him an O+ unless he'd made any other mistakes on the exam. A needle turned into a worm. Completely uninspired, but with the addition of a successful animation charm, an impressive feat for a first year.

The redhead of the duo, not feeling like getting overshadowed by someone twenty years younger than him, no matter how little he'd focused on transfiguration this year, had changed his needle into a snake.

A small snake, to be sure, but even a small snake had several times the mass of a worm, which had several times the mass of a needle, thus making the change exponentially more difficult.

"It's impressive how good you are at magic," Cedric commented, looking at Harry's work with a bit of jealousy, before glancing back at his pitiful worm.

"It's impressive, how good you are with people, Cedric," Harry responded, causing the boy to blush and look away. "It's because I'm worse at making friends that I have more time to practise."

"You're cool, though. You play Quidditch with us every now and then and you're good at teaching," Cedric said. "I think you just don't want that many friends."

"That's true, you and Penny are more than enough for me, I don't have as big a heart as you."

"I think your heart is just too filled up with wanting to learn magic to have the space for more," Cedric said, and they both laughed, before sobering up. "I hope she'll be okay."

"Me too, I bet she'll be bummed out that she missed the crucial time just before the exams. She could have been just as fine in Ravenclaw as in Hufflepuff," Harry remarked, making Cedric huff.

"No way, Penny likes to study because she wants to know, not to hold it over someone's head," he said in defence of the girl.

Apparently, Ravenclaw hadn't left the best impression on the boy.

"That's very astute. Well, wherever either of you would have fit, I'm glad you're here with me in Hufflepuff," Harry said, before casting a quick tempus. "But you should start heading back, it's getting late."

Cedric tilted his head at him. "You're not coming?"

"I have unfinished business. This room is close enough to the Hufflepuff common room that you shouldn't have trouble getting back."

"I thought you were done with that charm you were working on with Flitwick," Cedric complained.

"It's done, I just have a new project now, it needs all my attention as I have limited time to complete it," Harry said and shooed the boy away.

Cedric pouted, but left, leaving Harry alone to stand in the middle of the room, looking at the failed worms and snakes covering the floor. They slowly started changing back to needles, a ringing sound resounding through the otherwise still room every time a once-again needle dropped to the floor. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there, thinking, but when he refocused on his surroundings the only thing left was the last snake he'd made, wiggling about weakly as its animation charms slowly began failing.

Harry stared curiously at his creation and raised his hands while focusing his mind. He clenched and grasped each end of the snake with his magic, made easier by the fact that the snake belonged to him, completely and utterly.

He slowly started forcing the tip of its tail inwards through its body, as if it were a droplet of water traveling up a straw. Just that in this case, since the straw was eating itself, it disappeared at the same rate as it grew thicker. He didn't stop until the insides of the snake were its outsides and he could count its malformed organs and white vertebrae and skull. A finger snap caused the whole thing to explode with a small bang.

He was still angry. Incredibly so. But this anger gave him inspiration. He knew exactly how to keep the sorting hat out of his mind, he thought and left the room after one final 'cling' as the last needle fell to the ground, the brutalization of the transfiguration dissolving it. Harry didn't apply any invisibility or sound blocking until the seventh floor. He didn't meet anyone of significance and so at 21:09, he entered the room of requirement, anger on his mind, ready to throw all his free hours into the hat while he still had it. He'd been hesitating in letting any emotions seep into his mind arts practice or practice of magic of any kind. But perhaps emotions were what he needed to make a breakthrough, especially considering how the subject matter was his mind.

-/-

"Again," Harry said coldly after he'd successfully pushed the immaterial presence of the sorting hat out of his mind. A horrible migraine was building at the back of his head, but he was making incredible progress and he didn't feel like stopping. Once one had a moment of inspiration one needed to grip that thought more strongly than a male teenager grabbed his… mouse while making a clutch CoD play.

A wash of ephemeral presence assaulted his mind, clearly distinct in its artificial calm against the anger that clouded his thinking. He pushed a blazing inferno of rage, grief and anger against the assault and began the exhausting task of pushing it ever so slightly back and back as he threw his mental energy and his magic against the cloud of consciousness that was the hat.

"Hah!" Harry shouted as he put everything that he had against the cloud and finally managed to expel it from his mind. His headache worsened and he felt the room spin when he blinked. He took the hat off and gently laid it on the ground, before stomping on the floor angrily. "Those fucking, fucks, I'll fuck 'em dead!" he screamed shrilly in a voice that was too boyish to be intimidating before simply screaming out his frustration wordlessly and dropping to the stone floor in an exhausted and harshly breathing heap.

"Kid," the hat said, the soft voice unable at first to penetrate the boy's clouded mind. "Kid!" it repeated more loudly, before finally screaming. "Harry!" That gained the first-years attention and the boy righted himself up to glare mulishly at the hat. "Using emotions, specifically dark ones to fuel magic is a bad idea," it said, causing Harry to chuckle.

"You think I don't know that?" Harry asked calmly, holding up his hand to slowly, with a wince, create a small ball of water, which he splashed into his own face. "But it is important to let them out, humans know how to frustratedly scream for a reason, it has a purpose, just like crying."

"If you know, then why try to centre your Occlumency defences in rage," the hat scolded.

"Rage was just the emotion I was feeling at the time, better to use it for something. I won't be nearly as angry in future sessions, I hope at least. But the intimate feel I got for detecting your probe and the practice I got in throwing it back were invaluable," Harry retorted.

"It's a slippery slope," the hat said after a beat of silence.

"I am in control of my mind, perhaps not completely in moments of emotional affect, but in all other situations I am the absolute master."

"Show me then, or have you harmed yourself too much for another round," the hat taunted.

Harry smirked and wondered who had instilled paternalistic qualities into their enchanted hat. He frowned. It was stupid that he kept referring to it as a hat, wasn't it? "Do you have a name?" he asked instead of addressing the hat's challenge.

The hat paused and stared at him, "Haven't been asked that in a long time," it seemed to contemplate for a moment, before continuing. "I'll tell you, if you can keep me out of your mind without all this anger, I'm not gonna give my name to a…"

"A burgeoning dark wizard?" Harry provided the missing words. The hat simply nodded. Harry snorted. "I am more aware of the dangers of emotional magic than any wizard." And that was the truth, he'd researched the topic after he'd started considering learning Snape's dark-cutting spell, but had stopped in disgust at the conclusion he'd come to. "Did you know that muggle psychology has an explanation for how bad dark magic is for you?"

"Simply being aware of the way in which one becomes a monster does not mean one is immune to becoming one," the hat retorted.

Harry nodded. "You speak the truth, even the greatest heroes can be corrupted by fear, greed, anger… revenge." Anakin Skywalker came to mind. A good example as any, especially considering the fact that Harry was speaking to a talking hat. "But I assure you, I remain uninterested in tying my use of magic together with negative emotions to fuel it. A bitter, angry or fearful man a happy life does not make. Give me a minute to meditate and clear my mind, then I will show you the extent of my genius," he boasted and closed his eyes. He didn't see the hat raise an eyebrow at that.

"Genius," it muttered, "if you can manage to successfully defend yourself against even my weakest attack after only two days of practice… Then I guess there's no other way to describe you." The hat watched the red-headed boy sit in what he referred to as a lotus position and close his eyes, a general impression of calm spread over the boy and the hat was impressed once again by the first-year's deep grasp on the meditative principles. It was one of the reasons the boy was progressing so fast, the other one being something that the hat couldn't quite grasp and didn't feel like digging deep enough to reveal.

After a minute or so Harry opened his eyes and looked at the sorting hat. He put it on and prompted it to attack. It did so without any particular fanfare and Harry quickly felt the pressure building up inside his mind. He likened the event to a cloud casting itself over a vast field, trying to purvey all that was within it.

Where before he simply threw all his anger and rage at the cloud, which had, to little, but still to some effect, made it disperse, now Harry simply rejected its existence. It was his mind, and with the angry practice of earlier he'd managed to get a clear enough picture of how the attack looked like for him to set a mental boundary of simply not wanting the form that the attack took to be present. He thus rejected the cloud and entered a direct battle of will against the hat and the influence it was trying to exert over him. But no matter the artefact's power, age or experience, it was his home turf they were fighting on and he had the advantage. Eventually, the attack was forced to disperse upon the rejection of its properties as existing within Harry's consciousness.

"Straightforward, the most straightforward way, actually," the hat commented and Harry shrugged. The hat nodded. "Good, you'll first have to master the basics anyway. But be warned, rejection only works to a certain extent, at some point the imposition of will mixed with magic will be too much to simply be denied its base qualities of affectation."

"I'm alright with learning the basics first, I have you for another two weeks minimum, then we can see if I can smuggle you out," Harry mused.

"Glad to hear you're not as much of a hot-head as I feared. Maybe you'll even get into hiding instead of just rejection before the break."

"Hiding?"

"Instead of rejecting the probe, hiding is the first step of simply evading it. Cloaking your mind from "sight", so to say, making the Legilimens put in more effort than they already committed to even uncover where your mind is. After comes falsification, of which hiding is a necessary precursory step. Sometimes it's more useful to feed someone false information than to reveal to them that you have mental defences."

"That's very strategic," Harry grunted. "I didn't know that sorting eleven-year-olds gave one soooo much experience in mental warfare."

"I'm as old as this school, you pick up some tricks, sitting on the head of a headmaster or two," the hat said humbly.

Harry hummed and looked at the seemingly sentient clothing article. He suddenly realized that he didn't know where the thing kept its head, which in certain terms meant that he couldn't really trust it. It knew a bit too much to be a simple tool to sort children, but of course, most tools were multi-functional, so who knew what the founders and various headmasters had used the hat for. After all, wasn't he himself using it for a purpose that it was not originally created for?

"I think you owe me a name, hat," he said instead of voicing anything of what he'd just thought about.

"Chanithachuah."

Harry let the name run through his head, before asking, "Can you repeat that?"

"Chanithachuah."

"Khanitacuah," Harry said, trying to pronounce it.

"Chanithachuah," the hat said, annoyance starting to rise in its voice.

"Can you maybe write that down?" Harry asked awkwardly, the hat glared at him.

"With what hands, you numbskull."

"Ah, sorry," Harry mumbled and averted his gaze. "Is it Arabic?" he asked.

"Just go," Chanithachuah grunted. "You look like you're about to faint or puke, or both, and I wouldn't be surprised if you did after nearly four hours of practising Occlumency," Harry nodded and slowly stood up, noticing that he didn't feel too cash money. He closed his eyes and sighed before turning around and making to leave.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Chanitahuah," he said and stumbled his way out of the room.

"Chanithachuah!" the hat called after him.

The door closed and Harry lazily applied the invisibility and muffling charm, with incantation and wand motion this time, he was much too exhausted to do it wordlessly and otherwise.

"What the fuck am I gonna do?" he cursed and asked himself as he started making his way to the Hufflepuff common room. Looking forlornly at the windows leading to a warm summer night outside. How easy it would be to just leave and run around for a bit. But he was tired and had a splitting headache. Furthermore, he couldn't leave while Penny was still in the hospital wing.

Harry wondered what he was going to do about those Slytherin first-years: Just thinking about them made his stomach churn with rage. He hated wastrels with nothing better to do than pull others down. But they were children, not just adults he could beat up and leave gibbering in an alleyway to repent for their stupidity. He wasn't even talking about it morally. The Hogwarts staff, and the Aurors, would all stop him from getting his due, while also obviously not doing anything to curb their behavior. What was a slap on the wrist, if they would get even this, in comparison to paralyzing someone and leaving them in a room with a dangerous potion reaction? Did that mean Harry could just kill somebody, and sit off the detention for that year? Wouldn't that be a worthy trade if he killed someone he really didn't like?

It was stupid, and stupidity was safer in groups. All those Slytherins probably had the same arrogant, pretentious and prideful parents that would bitch and moan to the school board until everyone's ears were bleeding if their precious little pieces of shit ever even heard the word 'expel'.  Harry paused to look out of a window and saw a stag prancing around the edge of the forbidden forest. He sighed and closed his eyes, looked away and continued walking towards the common room.

Any action taken would just escalate the situation, but them having hit Penny, instead of him, would likely mean that they'd just keep targeting him. To think that his second biggest problem this year would be bullies, how ridiculous. He thought he was above that. But apparently, it wasn't up to him. They didn't seem like the type that would give up any time soon, especially considering how they'd bothered trying to stalk him for what, literally half a year? Like what the fuck, did these kids not have a life? What was the appropriate response to making them back off, or keeping them too busy to bother him, that wouldn't get HIM expelled?

As a sort of worthy trade-off, he could slip them a heavy dose of forgetfulness potion on the morning of the first exam and hope it lasted a week. Maybe they'd all fail and have to repeat the year or something, maybe go to Durmstrang. Unless they'd just get the opportunity to retake the exam at a later date. Still, it would be a good revanche. It wouldn't even be too hard to slip them the thing, he was capable of becoming invisible, just give them some at breakfast. Maybe it would make them fuck off.

"You know what," he said to himself. "That's as good of an idea as any," he said to himself, turned on his heel and started heading for the classroom they'd found Penny in. Maybe there were still enough ingredients in there to brew a new batch.

That's when rounding a corner, Harry bumped into a stick-like adult figure. Sprawling onto his back the fall dispersed his invisibility and he was just about to curse when he beheld the face of Not-a-Professor-anymore Twix glaring down at him. Her hair was out of order, her skin was a splotchy red and she was audibly grinding her teeth. She looked like the very image of a deranged crazy person.

"Evans," she hissed angrily, "just who I needed." She said as she lazily waved her wand at him, a red beam knocking him out before he could finish his feeble dodge to the side.

Chapter Text

If Harry thought that his headache after the Occlumency practice had been bad… Well, it was nothing in comparison to the gigantic pounding that his grey matter was taking right now. Sledgehammers knocking on his skull from the inside out was what woke Harry up from a comparably pleasant unconsciousness. He clearly opened his eyes, which were at a height level with a dusty floor and an abandoned book titled 'Flaying Your Foes.' Charming, he thought and failed at repressing a groan.

"Shut up, Evans, I'm almost in," a female voice hissed and Harry tried to right himself up to see where it was coming from, only to notice that he couldn't move from the spot. He spun his eyes as far up and to the right, where the voice had come from, as he could, but the only thing he could see was the lower end of a grey robe.

He nonetheless recognized where he was. It was the restricted section and if his guess was any good, he was at the same corner that he'd caught Twix in the last time he'd had the privilege of visiting the library with the woman.

"I'll show them," the crazy bitch murmured as a low buzzing of different frequencies filled the air. Harry recognized the sounds that different spells were wont to emit when clashing with other magic. "I'll be the first," The woman muttered and Harry began fearing for his life. What the fuck was this woman trying to do? He thought sluggishly through his headache. It was only after he finished formulating the thought that he realised he'd spoken aloud.

The feet of the former professor spun to him and he heard the woman stop casting. "I will prove," Twix hissed, "that I am the best curse-breaker in Britain. Those goblin brownnosing Gringotts serfs are nothing. I will dissolve the curse left by You-Know-Who, and then nobody will have the option of denying my brilliance," she finished, making Harry want to start crying.

What kind of fucking drugs was this bitch on? he wondered. For real this time. Why was she looking for the DADA curse in the library? She was completely off track, the curse was obviously bound to the diadem Horcrux in the Room of Requirements. He obviously wasn't going to tell her that, because the last thing the world needed was Twix getting possessed by Voldemort. But still, how did she come to the restricted section? "But why take me with you?" Harry asked weakly. "I can't imagine you need my help, I'm just a first-year," he said, causing Twix to snort disdainfully.

"Of course I don't need your help, I just need a hostage in case the professors come before I can clear my name with my deeds. Now be quiet and don't disturb me," she said threateningly and turned back around. Harry wiggled his toes, something he hadn't been able to do before. Good, his magic was fighting against what was probably the petrification curse.

"Alright, I'll be as quiet as a mouse and stay here in case you need me," Harry said as he started actively fighting against his paralysis by letting magic course through his body.

"Shut up!" Twix screamed and her legs moved erratically, as if she was repressing an urge to kick him. Harry wisely decided to shut up. Through the pain in his head, he started working completely and utterly against his restraints and hoped that he would be done fast enough to stun the woman before she opened whatever she was looking for. Because, while she hadn't necessarily found a Horcrux, which would have been very bad news, she had very likely found something. Probably not something nice which would pat them on the back and send them on their way with some lollipops either.

"Yes," Twix suddenly hissed and Harry heard a creaking and a squeaking as if someone was dragging a bookshelf across the floor. Fuck, Harry thought, still not done with the hex restricting his movement, but he was able to move enough to slightly tilt his head and to see what was going on. He didn't enjoy what he saw, a dark library filled with books on darker magics, in which a wall was slowly being pushed aside to reveal a dark chamber behind it. Twix, the stick-like figure representing insanity in this whole catastrophe of a play, with her unkempt hair and ragged grey robe, didn't at all add the sense of security that perhaps any other professor would have.

Although she wasn't really a professor anymore either. Harry's thought process was suddenly interrupted by a new voice breaking the ominous quiet.

"Alexandra." It began. "You were always a disappointment, I see that not much has changed," a deep baritone said from within the revealed chamber, out of which stepped a portly man with a bald head and an upwards pointed moustache. He looked at Twix with a disappointed gaze and the woman seemed unsure for the first time in this whole adventure. She looked to the left and to the right, her beak-like nose offering an interesting profile to Harry, who was still lying on the floor.

"Fa-father?" Twix asked meekly and started shaking slightly, something that Harry only noticed because he was right behind her.

The portly man shook his head and his beefy arms travelled down his form, which Harry just noticed was garbed in muggle attire. The man slowly undid his studded belt and pulled it out from its fastenings. "I wish I wasn't, Alex, I really wish I wasn't. You know that and you also know what this means."

Twix took a slow step back as the man advanced and as she did she opened enough of an angle for Harry to see that behind the woman's father, there was another, identical figure and behind it, another. All three of them had their belts in their hands and were slowly approaching, slapping them onto the palms of their hands.

"It's boggarts, cast a riddikulus!" Harry shouted, after analysing the situation. Twix needed to make a stand here, or she'd trip over his still form and run away, leaving him to the tender mercy of three non-beings. Harry didn't know what boggarts did to their incapacitated victims and he didn't really want to find out.

Thankfully his reminder was enough to get Twix out of her funk and the woman raised her wand threateningly at the creatures. "Laugh, Evans," she ordered before casting the spell, in a suddenly angry voice, "Riddikulus!" A bright light filled the restricted section and the closest boggart turned into what Harry assumed was still Twix's father, just that he was much older now. A man on the verge of death in a wheelchair and with an IV-Drip connected to his frail and bony arm, which wasn't holding a belt anymore, but a flower.

"Where are you, Mary? I can't see you," the old man croaked miserably and looked around. Harry noted that the pupils of the man were glassed over and that he was blind. Twix started laughing, the sound was reminiscent of its stereotype and Harry wished for nothing more than to be far, far away from this place and this situation. The boggart started vibrating in tune with the laughter and the shape of the old man became more panicked. It started twitching in its wheelchair and rolling its eyes, foam building at its mouth and blood running out of the insertion point of the IV drip. Twix's laughter became louder and Harry joined in as tears fell from his eyes and onto the dusty floor.

The boggart popped and disappeared, the other two thankfully going along with it instead of likely suffering the same fate. The corridor was silent, Twix had stopped laughing, and Harry was fighting against the mystical bindings burdening him. The chamber beckoned with a soft blue light and Harry glared at Twix with pity and anger. The woman turned around and re-cast her bindings at Harry silently before levitating him up and beginning to walk towards the blue light.

Harry's struggles reset and became more frantic than before. He pushed his magic against the bindings, tried casting a finite wandlessly, failed, promised to himself that he'd practise it if he got out alive, and struggled physically. "Why are you taking me there, it's dangerous," he complained through gritted teeth. Twix only laughed at his question.

"A second set of eyes is good, also, I can't have you running away now, can I?" she said without turning her head and entered the chamber, Harry's floating stiff body following closely behind. She levitated the boy into a corner and approached a blue crystal floating in the middle of the otherwise empty hexagonal room.

Harry bit back a scream as the woman dropped him onto the floor and an ache in his back popped up to accompany the one in his head. He looked around frantically to see if there was anything that could help him out in this situation and forlornly noted that his first impression of the room had been correct. It was empty of any objects besides the crystal. The crystal that Twix was approaching with her wand out and what he assumed was an inquiring face, was looking away from him. Harry accepted his new position of lying on the floor, with his face pointed in the direction of the former professor and renewed his struggles. Maybe if he managed to run out now he could somehow close the woman in here, go back to his dorm and forget that this whole thing had ever occurred. But for that, he would first need to get free.

"What are you?" Twix suddenly said, poking the crystal with her wand. Harry almost answered 'angry,' but stayed his tongue, looking anxiously as the crystal levitated backwards for a short distance after the poke, before returning to the original position. An itch developed in Harry's ears and he quickly concluded, fearfully, that it wasn't an itch, but a vibration weak enough that only his inner ear was currently picking up on it.

"A power source for the curse?" Twix asked again and waved her wand over the crystal casting some sort of spell, probably identification. The vibration intensified and now Harry could feel it in his chest.

"You reek of mind magic, is that how the curse affects the DADA professors? Makes them self-sabotage through unconscious actions?" she said and cast another spell. The vibrations started to reach Harry's bones.

"Stop! Don't you feel that it's building up to something?" Harry shouted at the woman from his prone position on the floor and watched as his scream distorted the dust particles near his mouth. They flew up into his nose and he started uncontrollably coughing and sneezing.

"Of course I know!" Twix cursed as she looked at Harry disparagingly over her shoulder. "You need to bring the construct into a state of activation before you can dispel anything with this sort of power source," she looked back at the crystal and started stalking around it. Harry stopped coughing and was glad the woman wasn't looking at him anymore, her eyes had reflected the blue crystal's light in an eerie way. "I didn't know You-Know-Who had such finesse," Twix began, again speaking to the crystal and raising her wand high in the air, "but the thing about fragile objects is that they break easily," she said as she brought down her wand and incanted out loud of the first time. "Confractus!" she cast it at the same time as Harry screamed.

"Don't!" He shouted, violently enough for spittle to fly from his mouth.

The spell hit the crystal and the crystal cracked straight down the middle, its lights suddenly dimmed and the two halves fell to the floor. Twix grinned triumphantly, "Did you really think a curse-breaker of my calibre would have been unabl-," she began before a blazing blue light suddenly flew from the crystal and straight into her. She froze in her position and fell to the ground. It would have been less horrifying had she started to scream, instead, Harry got to look into her horror-stricken face as her pupils vibrated violently in place, illuminated by a blue light shining straight out of the woman's eyes. He watched, terrified, as the blue light began dimming, at the same rate as Twix's eyes bled a puddle onto the floor. It was a slow, agonizing process to watch as more and more red liquid pooled in front of the woman's head and drenched her robe. Harry was almost thankful when it stopped, the blue light pulsing one last time and some grey goop being ejected from the woman's nose.

Harry was less thankful when the blue light left the now corpse and started wobbling in the air towards him with a weak shine. He tried to move, but couldn't, he tried shouting, but his voice was hoarse and there was nobody around to hear him. He laboriously formed a small fireball in front of his head and shot it at the light, but it just passed through. The only thing he could do, right before the blue light reached him was pull all the Occlumency knowledge and skill he could muster and hope to god that the reason Twix died was due to a mental attack, not a physical one.

In his mindscape a bright blue meteor trailing fire descended on the fields, Harry fought through his exhaustion with a picture-perfect clarity and energy that could only come right before death. He created barriers, he denied the meteor's existence, he doused it with water, he turned it into a metaphor and he rhymed it on leaveor to make it fuck off. Nothing helped, it kept coming. It strained against the rudimentary barrier that Harry had created over the field of his thoughts, before it broke through that as well, only losing some of its size and shine. However, just as it was about to crash into his mind and probably send through it a deadly tremor, a bright white stag, suddenly entered Harry's mind from a place he hadn't been paying attention to and crashed into the blue mental attack, destroying it and itself along with it.

Completely and utterly numb from what had transpired, still unsure if he was alive or not, Harry clenched his fists and brought his focus out of his own head and onto the outside world. The first thing he noticed was that he could move. His fingers bit painfully into the stone floor and he felt some of his fingernails break. The second thing he noticed was the cowled figure kneeling beside him. The person was average-sized for a male and his face was hidden by a shadowed hood. Not that Harry could have distinguished much anyway considering the only source of light was gone now, thankfully. Harry had a suspicion, however, who this mysterious figure was, because the stag symbolism had just clicked in his mind. Patronus, Animagus, the stag that had met Twix outside of the forbidden forest that one time and the male voice that he'd never heard again at the beginning of the year. Of course, who else but a marauder would be best equipped to enter the school even after one's graduation.

"How are you feeling?" James Potter asked as he brought up his wand and cast something with a soft green glow on Harry, who for his part, just stared at the man kneeling by his side, mind too tired to think of what he should do now, let alone an answer.

"I feel like shit," he eventually said, after a few more light shows from James, light shows that Harry assumed were diagnostic spells.

"I'd definitely suggest a visit to the mediwitch," James said, at which Harry nodded, "but can you tell me what happened first." Harry looked at the very suspiciously dressed man and wondered if James had forgotten to take off his cowl. While Harry knew that the man was an Auror, any other student wouldn't recognize the man through his disguise and would probably assume they were about to be kidnapped.

Hopefully, the fact that James wasn't bringing him to the mediwitch was an indication that he wasn't overly hurt by this misadventure and not that he was a witness who was about to disappear.

"Well, Twix over here, who used to be a professor," Harry said and flitted his eyes to the now corpse, "thought she had what it took to break Voldemort's curse on the defence position. Suffice it to say that she didn't have the necessary aptitude, not to break the curse, but also not even to find it in the first place. I don't know what this place is, but it doesn't seem to have anything to do with the defence position."

James looked around the room as Harry spoke and slowly nodded. "No, Hogwarts is big and there are more hidden rooms than any living person knows of. Headmasters, teachers and the founders themselves left behind chambers scattered throughout the castle. Some are dangerous, clearly. This one seems to be a chamber that hid a dangerous artefact. The defence curse probably led the former professor here and then the artefact did the rest."

Harry digested the information and tried to remember any special chambers or rooms besides the Room of Requirement and the Chamber of Secrets. There was nothing he could immediately think of, but it definitely made sense that there were more than just two places like this in the castle. The whole thing suddenly put his night wanderings into a different perspective. Hogwarts was not safe, he would need to remember that in the future and be more careful. He winced as a painful lance went through his brain.

"I can take you to the infirmary," the cowled James quickly offered, causing Harry to snort.

"Go for it, just hope I'm fine for exam week, can't imagine brewing a potion with my current headache," Harry replied and was promptly levitated upwards and led out of the chamber, which closed behind them, leaving behind no trace of what had occurred.

James, perhaps finally realising how suspicious the whole situation seemed, asked. "Do you not want to know who I am, or what I'm doing here?"

Harry looked at him as if he were an idiot, even if the gesture was difficult to pull off considering the stiff position in which he was being levitated in. "You're hiding your face, I thought asking would be pretty useless considering you're obviously unwilling to part with your identity. As to what you're doing here, it's not like I'm in any position to do anything about it if I don't like the answer. Mostly I assume you're an Auror who was trailing Twix for her obvious lunacy but failed to enter the castle as quickly as she did, which makes sense considering she used to be a professor. I don't know if Aurors are allowed here, but I guess it would explain why you're not showing your face." Harry rationalised, knowing in his heart, that the real reason he was letting a random stranger take him anywhere was the fact that he knew the man was James Potter, one of the good guys, hopefully.

Something he should rather keep to himself considering that obliviation existed for people who knew too much. "Also I mostly don't care, weird shit happens in the wizarding world and it's mostly best to keep one's nose out of it. I'm going to tell Pomfrey I fell down some stairs and forget tonight ever happened," he added, not sure if he was imagining the whisper of 'good,' that escaped James at his words.

"That's an interesting perspective," James said tentatively, "but I can't deny that the Wizarding World can be a very dangerous place. Are you at least enjoying quidditch?"

"I play with my friends sometimes, but I usually practise Charms in my free time, they're super fun. I'm even top of my class." Harry said, deciding that to avoid getting his memory wiped he should build up a rapport with the man. It seemed to work because despite the awkward situation that the meeting had occurred the two chatted away for a few minutes before James dropped him off in front of the hospital wing after asking for some reassurance that Harry really fell down some stairs.

After knocking on the doors persistently and weakly due to the state of his body Harry quickly found himself taken care of by the tyrannical mediwitch and got to sleep over in the infirmary next to Penny, who was due to be released the next day, most of her memories apparently having come back by now.

Harry himself had gotten a clean bill of health. His biggest issue was the debilitating stiffness that his body had developed due to being paralyzed in one position for too long, in addition to the tears in his muscles he'd created by fighting against his bindings. His head had been declared injury-free, so the mind battle hadn't damaged his brain physically at least. Mentally? Whatever steps it would require to fix something in his mind would probably involve seeing some things he would rather keep hidden. It was thus with a whole plethora of ache-reducing potions and spells and with a potential mind magic-related aneurysm coming up that Harry went to sleep, not at all worried about anything and completely optimistic about the future…

Chapter Text

Harry awoke from a nightmare and slowly opened his eyes to gaze at the sunlight penetrating the hospital wing and illuminating its sterility. He couldn't remember what he'd dreamt, only that he'd hated it. He lay there and stared at the arching ceiling for a while, before turning his head to the left to check up on Penny. He almost fell out of his bed as he noticed a bundle of messy blonde hair and blue eyes staring at him from his bedside.

"You're awake, finally! I'm Penny, who are you?" the girl exclaimed with a smile.

Harry looked at her sadly but frowned as she started laughing.

"Hah, I'm just yanking your chain," Penny said as she climbed onto his bed. They were still young, so both of them easily fit. "How are you feeling?"

Twix, hostage, boggart, old man, corpse, death. He looked up to the ceiling and considered the question. Twix was dead, never to bother him again. James Potter hadn't felt the need to obliviate him and had even saved him from being lobotomized by whatever artefact had been hidden in the chamber. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his toes, feeling, not rejuvenated, but alive, which was more than could have been said about him yesterday. All in all, yesterday had been the fourth most traumatic thing to have ever happened to him and overall he was quite happy with the fact that while it had been uniquely horrifying, it had only lasted one day and carried with it no seeming consequences. Hadn't the original Harry Potter brushed off situations much worse than those he'd experienced yesterday? Murders, monsters and dark lords. Maybe the Evans family was just built different.

"I actually feel quite good," Harry said as he swept his gaze downwards to look Penny in the eyes. The blue in them reflected oddly in the light and he flinched as the colour reminded him of the meteor. "More than fine, now that you're up. Do you remember?"

Penny nodded. "I remember everything, apparently the forgetfulness potion wasn't done yet so its effects were broad but shallow," she said as she looked him over. "I heard you dragged me out of the room?" she asked. Harry nodded and Penny crawled towards him to give him a hug, a full-body one. The boy closed his eyes and reciprocated. A few tears slipped from his eyes and he realised that he hadn't been getting as many hugs at Hogwarts as he was used to. Back home Aunt Petunia always gave him one a day and before that, he'd had…

"Are you crying?" Penny whispered gently in his ear, causing Harry to shake his head. "Alright," she whispered and one of her hands travelled up his head and started stroking his hair. They squeezed each other like that for a few minutes or so, for all intents and purposes two recently traumatised children locked away in a castle in Scotland with their only families far, far away.

"You know, I think I usually compliment you on your potion-making, but I think your tenderness is one of your greatest qualities, just wanted to let you know," Harry whispered as the two first-years untangled their bodies. Penny blushed and looked down.

"Thanks."

"I'm glad your memories are back," Harry said, causing Penny to suddenly perk up and turn around. She took something from his bedside table and handed it to him.

"This came by owl for you this morning!" she said suddenly as she pushed the letter into his hands. Harry tilted his head and took the parchment, opening the seal, which seemed to be the standard school emblem. The paper crinkled as he unrolled it and he read allowed for Penny's convenience.

"Dear Mr. Evans, if you wish to discuss the possibility of starting the arithmancy elective one year early, as you discussed with the headmaster, find me during my office hours before the end of term. Professor Vector," he read, causing the girl on his bed to giggle.

"Harry, did you really?" She began as she started laughing. "Did you really become even more of a nerd?" she finished and buried her face in her hands to stifle her laughs. The boy rolled his eyes at the gremlin.

"Excuse me, I seem to remember that you're way better at Potions than me, which technically makes you a bigger nerd," he retorted with a huff, wondering how come academic ambition was always so poorly regarded by other children, when in fact, after social competencies, it was the most important part of life. He took out his wand and cast a quick tempus, seeing that it was already noon. He'd slept for a long time, understandably, when you considered how shittily and how long his night had run. Thankfully it was a weekend, so he hadn't missed any classes, just study time that he didn't really need considering how far ahead he was in most subjects. Harry was too old to be stressed about exams.

"When are her office hours even?" he asked, "It's not like I've ever been to her class."

"It should be in the study hall, there's a big board with information about all the professors," Penny said. "You wanna go now?"

Harry tilted his head and tensed his body, not noticing any ache. He considered for a moment if he should inform Madame Pomfrey that he wanted to leave and ask for permission. "Are you cleared to go?" Harry, causing the girl to shake her head.

"Supposed to sleep here till tomorrow, but I feel fine, I swear," she exclaimed and jumped off the bed to prove her point, only to catch her foot on the side and fall on the floor face-first. She lay there for a bit as Harry peeked over the edge of the bed at her.

"You alright?" he asked the ungraceful starfish cleaning the floor with her robes.

Penny extended an arm upwards without changing her position and shot him a thumbs-up.

"Well it's obviously got nothing to do with your memory, falling on the floor like that," Harry proposed. "So I say we might as well go out and come back to sleep when curfew starts. Shant be missed I imagine," he said, trying to remember what Pomfrey had told him about leaving. Something about not even thinking about it until she checked him over again.

"Yeah, we'll be fine, we're not babies," Penny said with a snort as she slowly righted herself off from the floor into a sitting position, in which she cradled her red forehead and slightly teary eyes. Harry got up from the bed and cast a few repairing and cleaning charms at his robes.

"Off we trot then," he said to Penny as he gave her a hand in standing up. She clutched it as if it were a lifeline and Harry was sure that he contributed more energy to get the girl up right than she did.

They were definitely going to get yelled at when they came back, Harry decided when they left the hospital wing. But the smile Penny shot him as they did so convinced him that it was healthier to go than to stay. For a girl of Penny's age, being confined to bed for even a day was too long, and the terror of losing her memories needed to be fought as early as possible. If there indeed were any, magical children had an odd relationship to physical and mental trauma, he'd determined today. He guessed it made sense, in a world where one's parents might turn one into a toad as a punishment for not doing one's chores.

"Have you ever been transfigured into anything as a punishment?" Harry asked his best friend as they both entered the mingle of the Hogwarts corridors on the weekend, quickly being lost in a sea of black robes and stressed students.

-/-

"Good day Professor Vector," Harry said as he entered the woman's office, which he'd found to be open today in the afternoon. He observed the strict-looking, but young woman with a messy brown bun who scribbled some notes on a parchment before looking up at him. She bid him to sit, which Harry did. The chair was comfortable, and he took the opportunity to look around the office, of which the predominant characteristic was the large number of blackboards scattered all throughout, containing different equations, most of which he didn't understand. To his surprise, some contained formulas of muggle maths, which he also didn't understand. He turned back to the professor, who had been observing him with keen yellow eyes and steepled fingers. "I've come to talk to you about taking arithmancy next year, instead of in my third year, I got your letter this morning," he explained.

"Yes, the headmaster contacted me regarding your request. An interesting spell you made, I've never seen the need for something similar, I guess that after you gain the competency to make such a spell, you've developed other strategies of finding books and have no need for it anymore," Vector said as she leaned back in her chair. "You're muggle-born, how far along were you in maths? Quirrell told me you finished your schooling already, precocious."

Harry blinked, surprised at the question and tilted his head thoughtfully. "You've asked around?" he concluded, assuming that someone not even set to potentially teach him for another two years would not have a reason to look up his school files. The woman raised an eyebrow at his question.

"Was I not supposed to?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm just surprised. The information you have is correct. I finished the first half of my muggle education before coming to Hogwarts, although most will correctly argue that actual learning only starts at university. Maths was never a particular strength, nor was it a weakness of mine. It's something one can get by on with enough practice, the requirement for creativity and intuition only comes later. I've done statistics, algebra, the beginnings of calculus and all the stuff leading to that. I passed it with a decent enough grade."

"From my understanding, being decent in topics almost a decade beyond one's reach can be referred to as talent," Vector pointed out. "Also, calculus is nothing to sneeze at. It's not a part of most curricula until university. But whatever, I don't care about your false modesty, I just wanted to know where you were at."

"I'm surprised at your in-depth knowledge of the muggle educational system, professor, my understanding was that the wizarding world disdained their non-magical counterparts," Harry said tentatively, causing Vector to snort.

"Numbers are numbers, different systems can all learn from each other," she pointed to what appeared to be a framed diploma on a wall that was almost obscured with blackboards. Harry unceremoniously stood up and walked closer to the wall, until he could distinguish the letters.

"A Master's degree in Mathematics," Harry said in surprise, before laughing, "at MIT." He wiped a stray tear from his eye and looked to Professor Vector, who was now leaning back in her chair with a small smirk, exposing the fact that she wore muggle clothing underneath her robe. A pair of jeans and a pullover that hid what must have been a very curvaceous body. "What about god, country and queen?" Harry asked.

Vector scoffed. "Cambridge was barely even dipping their toes into computer science when I went to university, MIT was the place to be when it came to computational mathematics and modelling."

"Are you muggle-born?" Harry asked and got a shake of the head for his trouble.

"Half-blood, but back to you," she retorted. "Why do you want to start arithmancy one year early, shouldn't you value your precious childhood while you can?" she asked, jokingly.

"Well, de-accelerating has obviously never been my strong suit. As for arithmancy, I'd be lying if I said I really cared for the field in itself;" Harry admitted, making the woman frown a bit for the first time since he'd entered the room, "however, I view it as a sort of meta-skill, to improve one's capacities for all other fields. I hardly could have made the charm I made without it, nor can a poitoneer properly modify a recipe without using some arithmancy.

Essentially, I guess you could say it's a useful piece of knowledge to have because it boosts one's success in all other fields. It also helps that I could stagger out my O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts a bit."

"Your motivation is crap for someone making the request you're making. Don't you know that teachers like to hear that students are passionate about their subjects?" the professor mocked as she idly twirled what Harry suddenly realised was a pen in her fingers. Harry locked eyes with the woman.

"While teachers like having the subjects be of interest, humans dislike being lied to," he said as he stepped back to the table, but instead of sitting down, he stayed standing and stared the professor down. "Also, I've always had the feeling that people in STEM liked directness. So I'll take this opportunity to be frank. While I haven't done arithmancy enough to see if it's a passion or not, I assume a negative, however, with the knowledge of it I will be able to work wonders in other fields. For this purpose, please help me, not just pass the exams, but also be the best arithmancer I can be," he said with an unwavering gaze, green on yellow.

"You know, I've met a bunch of wannabe geniuses, but you at least seem to have the maturity to go along with it. What are your plans for the summer?" the woman asked.

"Going to France, spending time with my family and calculating my ass off. Because of the trace arithmancy will have my undivided attention for the entirety of the vacation."

"I like the commitment," Vector said as she leaned forward on the table and propped her head up on her right arm while smiling at him. "I'll send you the syllabus for the first-year course after your other exams, don't want Flitwick or McGonagall on my ass for distracting you. I'll test you a week before Hogwarts starts, if you get an EE you get to join and I'll make arrangements, if not then tough luck. Sounds good to you?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "My issue has never been not being able to prove myself after being given the opportunity."

"Alright," Vector replied, "then that's it, now scram, I have work to do." She dismissed him and Harry left, slightly bitter about being referred to as a genius but mostly happy with how the conversation had gone. Getting something to work on for the summer was a good deal, sorcery was one thing, arithmancy was another, and it was good to have a balance. He left the room with one last glance at the professor.

A degree at MIT, he snorted as the door closed behind him. Who would have thought he'd meet a university graduate at a school for magical children.

Chapter Text

Harry had thought long and hard about the events that had transpired that fateful night a few days ago. He'd come to the conclusion that he wasn't all that bothered by the whole thing. He'd survived with all his limbs and his mind intact and the perpetrator was dead. He had made himself the promise to not get too involved in dangerous events and what he regretted the most about the year was that he'd followed Twix to the forest's edge all those months ago. Her snapping him up as she broke into the castle hadn't been anything he could have controlled, although he definitely was planning on going out less late in the evening in the future. A study session in the room of requirement, which then creating direct access to the Hufflepuff common room would do. The only reason he hadn't gone back like that on the particular night in question had been because he had wanted to get some fresh air after the draining practice session with the hat.

He was surprised how blasé he was about the whole thing, but the biggest fuck up really hadn't been his fault. Also, it might have helped that for all the horribleness and terror he'd experienced that night, it had just been one night. His rebirth had heralded a time of terror much longer and much more existential than just one life-and-death scare. He propped himself up on an elbow and glanced to the left side of the great hall, in which the first years were currently writing their charms exam. A frustrated Montague stared down at his exam paper, obviously not even having picked up the anti-cheat quill. A lot of the first-year Slytherins, mostly the boys and mostly Montague, had been having memory problems throughout the week. Which was very unfortunate, as this was the week that all the exams had taken place. While it had surely been understood by the faculty that the boys were being sabotaged, there was nothing they could do but keep letting them take the exams in the hopes that for this day they would get to keep their memories. What it would all culminate into would be the fact that all of them would likely have to redo the exams in the summer, when Harry wouldn't have access to the boys anymore.

Sucked to be them, he thought as one of them angrily crushed the quill in his fist. He hadn't dosed them with a lot, which was also the reason nobody had figured out his method yet, but just a bit of the memory potion would hinder one from actively recalling information in a high-stress environment. Harry sincerely hoped that all the boys would get the shit beaten out of them by their fathers when they came home, due to the delay on the exams. Maybe it would teach them to study instead of putting their noses in other people's business.

It was scary what one could do with an invisibility spell and access to a person's food. Harry had honestly almost scared himself with how easy it had been to poison the boys at mealtime. A combination of being invisible, unhearable and his hydromancy had made sure that the potion had basically jumped into the boy's throat in the morning.

And once they'd stopped coming to breakfast, he'd simply started smearing a bit of the potion on their clothes, so that they were perpetually inhaling the fumes. The whole thing had even made him a bit paranoid, so he'd made sure to learn the bubblehead charm and a potion-detecting spell. He'd taught the former to Penny as well, trying to give her a moment of victory to surpass any trauma, but like him, she didn't seem to hung up on her stay in the hospital wing. It seemed that accidents just happened in the Wizarding World and people were used to getting over them.

It was a weird mindset for Harry, but he understood where it was coming from. Healthcare in the wizarding world was, well, magical. Even the worst injuries could be fixed in a week. Which is why quidditch was a thing, he mused as he went to hand in his exam and left the examination hall. There were still thirty minutes left, but he didn't feel like sitting there any longer. He'd already solved the sheet in the first ten minutes. He simply hadn't wanted to discourage the other students too much and had thus waited a bit more. He wondered if he could learn Legilimency for next year and bother the Slytherins that way? He shook his head. No initiation if it ain't retaliation was a good motto to go by in this case.

"Mr. Evans?" a voice asked from his left and Harry whipped his head around to look at the headmaster and Professor Flitwick, who seemed to have been idly chatting with the headmaster outside the examination hall.

"hullo, professor, hullo, headmaster," Harry said as he steered towards the two men, who were looking at him curiously.

"Already done with the exam?" Flitwick asked and received a nod. The short man shrugged, "want to just get the practical over with? Might as well turn in early today if we can get students done sooner."

"Sounds like a good idea professor, it's the last exam after all," Harry said as he followed Flitwick, who'd started walking towards the hall in which the practical examinations occurred. Dumbledore joined them and completed the trio in which no one was closer than 30 years to each other in age. Harry watched Flitwick shrug as he wordlessly opened the practice hall and went to sit behind the table in the middle, joined by the headmaster on the right.

"I have to invigilate the runes exam tomorrow, still," the short professor said, "Professor Babbling has fallen sick, unfortunately, but I'm free afterwards." Harry was about to reply but Dumbledore cleared his throat and thus ended the conversation.

"Shall we begin?" he asked the two of them and received nods. The old man steepled his fingers and leaned forward on the table, before chuckling, "Haven't been in this position in a while," he commented before returning to the topic. "Now Mr. Evans, I heard from Minerva that in addition to a very well-done organic transfiguration, you also showcased the water-making spell in your practical. Since it also qualifies as a charm, would you care to demonstrate it?"

Harry looked around the hall, which was done in the same style as the rest of the castle, all flat surfaces and gleaming gothic edges. "Where should I aim, sir?" he asked, at which point Dumbledore twitched a sleeve and a wooden basin appeared to Harry's left, the boy, for his part, nodded, pulled up his wand and concentrated. He didn't want to use too much energy as he might need it to showcase other spells, but first-year charms really didn't take that much effort, so he could go a bit wild. Scrunching his brows and closing his eyes he imaged clearly the desired result and incantated slowly as he thrust his wand forward like a fencer, towards the basin, "Aguamenti!" he cast and a pressurised stream of water escaped his wand and started filling the basin. If he had to compare it to anything it would have been a particularly powerful garden hose. He watched for a few seconds as the water level rose, before cutting off the spell when it reached the middle point of the basin, not having enough power to continue.

"The incantation and the wand movement were not quite perfect, as expected from something self-taught," Flitwick critiqued, as he noted something down on a piece of parchment while adjusting his glasses.

"The execution was near flawless, a high understanding of the theory and a good visualisation must have been present for the spell to work so well despite the small errors, I'd almost say that a smaller version could have been achieved wordlessly," Dumbledore argued, before turning to Harry. "Your understanding of theory and willpower is obviously sufficient, you should be able to cast the spell without an incantation, if not without the wand movement, can you show us?" he asked, causing Harry to stare at the man in bafflement.

Albus Dumbledore, was a meddler, a schemer and sometimes a moron. Harry looked into the man's twinkling blue eyes and suddenly realised why some people also considered him one of the greatest wizards of the current age. To realise that he was capable of silent casting just by noticing the weakness in his form and realising the success must have been supplemented by a high amount of willpower and knowledge…

Scary.

"Well, theory really shouldn't be an issue for someone already making spells in their first year, so I understand your reasoning. Why don't you give silent casting a go, Harry, take as much time as you need,"

Flitwick added and under the watchful gazes of two people highly competent in their fields, Harry sighed and closed his eyes. Without thinking too much about it he centred himself via meditation and thrust his wand again at the basin, chanting aguamenti in his mind. A weak stream, reminiscent of a slightly powerful water gun escaped his wand and he cut it off before it could embarrass him too much. Clapping resounded through the hall and Harry looked up to see that he was receiving applause.

"Remarkable," Dumbledore commented, "I assume it is not your first time casting silently?" the man asked and Harry couldn't do anything but nod.

"I came upon the technique and thought it useful, I've experimented with it before," he admitted and received a smile for his honesty. "I could probably do better with a spell that's not part transfiguration, Charms are my much stronger suit."

"Still, what grade would this aguamenti receive if the person being tested was the intended audience, a fifth or sixth year?" Flitwick wondered aloud, continuing to scratch on his parchment.

"An Acceptable, shoddy incantation and wand-work, but it seems to be functioning. Plus points for silent casting, but not many due to the difference in results," Dumbledore said off-handedly.

Ouch, Harry thought and grimaced.

"Outstanding work for a first-year, of course. In addition to the spell creation and the doubtlessly perfect score Harry will receive on the exam, this edges the grade beyond O+ territory." Flitwick again.

Harry stayed silent throughout the exchange, not wanting to reveal more of his secrets. Dumbledore seemed to sense his hesitation and dropped a bombshell, "It hasn't happened in a while. But Harry," the man said and turned to the first-year. "Your charmswork is teetering on the edge between an O+ and extreme measures such as class advancement being taken, would you like to tip the scales?"

"You have expressed an interest in skipping ahead in your schooling, Vector came and talked to me recently about your wish to start arithmancy a year early and to discuss that part of your paper with me," Flitwick added.

"That would be pretty cool…" Harry mumbled and squirmed, trying to hide from the two intense men analysing his young nubile body. He was crying on the inside. What fucking first-year exam, this was way too hard-core. He really shouldn't have shown off a conjuration in transfiguration.

"Go on then, my boy," Dumbledore said reassuringly and Harry wracked his head for what he could show off. He decided to start small by whipping out his wand again and casting a Lumos. The examiners didn't seem disappointed by the simple spell and watched closely to see what he would do with it. Harry began cycling the light through the colours that he'd practised in his free time. Pink, red, green, brown, yellow, blue, purple and then extinguished the spell.

"Will-based spell modification, seven colours," Flitwick murmured as his pen scratched the parchment.

"Can you make it gold?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry lit the light at the tip of his wand again and tried to create gold, but it didn't seem to work, he willed more, but all he got for his efforts was a dark yellow, bordering on orange. He shook his head and dropped the spell.

"I see," was all Dumbledore deigned to comment, "continue," he said.

Harry shook his head and brought his wand up to his face. "Bulla," he cast as he moved his wand in a hoof-like pattern. A fragile bubble of oxygen formed around his head and Harry demonstratively walked around with it. It wasn't the most stable construction, yet, but it was functional.

"Another sixth-year charm, although it leaves much to be desired in comparison to the water-making charm" Flitwick commented.

Harry's pride was hurt a bit, to be honest, he was an adult, not an eleven-year-old moron. He practised seriously, and often. He guessed it was time to let the cat out of the bag and secure himself a spot in the third-year charms class. "I saved the best for last," he muttered and cast the examiners a dark look, before tapping his wand on his head and turning himself invisible.

He walked around and observed the two men, both who seemed to be able to follow him despite his camouflage.

"Remarkable!" Dumbledore exclaimed and stood up, he walked to Harry, who'd stopped moving and examined him from up close. "Wouldn't this merit a sixth year an outstanding grade?" the old man asked Flitwick, who was leaning back in his chair and tapping his quill on his nose.

"Wordless, near-perfect camouflage, no blurriness, just a faint outline against the background, I'd say it exceeds expectations," he critiqued and Harry dropped the spell, feeling himself become dizzy. He sat down on the ground as Dumbledore went back to sit on the table, thus towering over Flitwick who had remained seated.

"That's all I can do," Harry said. "I'm spent," he complained and received a set of nods before the two men exchanged a look.

"Honestly," Flitwick began. "It would be a waste to have you sit in second-year charms, likely bored out of your mind."

"I don't want to miss any theory," Harry retorted, "I want a strong foundation by the time I leave Hogwarts."

Flitwick shook his head, "You already asked Vector to send you the relevant theory so that you can study it during the summer, I don't see an issue for you to add charms to that. Two months is really too much free time anyway."

"And the practical side? I can't really do much with the trace on."

"How about I visit you in the last week of summer and walk you through it, I could disable the trace for a bit. If you succeed you skip the second year, if not then not and we keep our current arrangement of you being given more lee-way in class," Flitwick suggested. All the meanwhile Dumbledore was nodding along as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Harry had never heard of anyone skipping grades before at Hogwarts. He considered the pros and cons of keeping a low profile and then realised that he was planning on leaving Wizarding Britain to their Dark Lord problem after the seventh year anyway. It wouldn't really matter, would it, if he excelled a bit too much?

"Transfiguration, I thought my showing was quite strong?" Harry prodded, causing Dumbledore to chuckle.

"Even if your showing had been as strong as your showing in Charms, the staff wouldn't want to overburden you with a third subject you'd be taking beyond your years. And while the aquamenti was well-executed, the rest of your practical work was within the range of normal excellency, as far as that exists," the headmaster remarked.

"I'll be sure to focus on transfiguration next year then," Harry said.

"I'd suggest perfecting your aquamenti and learning some vanishing as well, it's tricky, but you should be able to. If you add some organic transfiguration on top of that I'm sure you'd impress Minerva."

"I'll be looking forward to the theory material for Charms, then," Harry said and made to leave.

"Mr. Evans," Dumbledore said, halting him in his tracks. "Horace told me you made an excellent boil-cure potion for your potions practical, I'm glad to see you're shoring up weaknesses and not only working on your strengths. He also said to raid the cupboard, whatever that may mean," the man finished and Harry could literally hear the twinkling in his voice.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "It's one of the only potions I know how to make, I just got lucky," he threw into the room before leaving the hall. The second the doors slammed shut behind him he started shaking, he gripped his arm with a hand hard enough to leave a bruise. "Fuck," he muttered, realizing that he'd just gotten the attention of the headmaster. From what he knew the man hadn't been present for any other exam. He tried to think of what this meant, but the only conclusion he could come to was that the man was genuinely interested in his skills as a magic user. It couldn't be that the events in the chamber of the mind, how Harry had decided to call that chamber in the forbidden section of the library, had been noted. If they had been, Harry would have undergone a much stricter interrogation. He looked at the hall in which the students were still sitting their theoretical exams and shook his head. Penny and Cedric would do fine without him, now it was time to go to Slughorn and pick up the promised ingredients, afterwards, he could maybe squeeze in a few hours of Occlumency practice with the hat.

One good thing that had come from the chamber of the mind was that there was nothing better for one's training than a real life or death situation, his skills had improved immensely after the event, something that the hat had picked up on and complimented him for. It had said that he was starting to become passable, which was a good improvement from the incompetent he'd surely been when he'd entered the school for the first time last year. Overall, he was satisfied with how the year had gone. He'd even come to an important realisation. Just because he didn't seek out trouble, didn't mean that it wouldn't seek out him. Thus, the priority for next year was to learn some of the more aggressive aspects of magic.

Chapter Text

"Finite incantatem," Harry cast at the wooden spoon that he'd animated to dance. It dropped dead onto the table and the next thing Harry did was cast a colour-changing spell at it. He was running through all his spells and seeing if he could cancel them with the cancellation incantation.

"I'm glad you're having fun," Penny grumbled from where she was flitting between several different cauldrons, stirring there, preparing an ingredient there.

"Thanks," Harry said and cast the spell again, frowning as he watched it strip off only half of the red colour he'd inflicted upon the wooden spoon. It wasn't a difficult spell to learn. After all, it was taught in the second year. It was hard to master though. It essentially disrupted the connection a spell had to its target for less than a second, probably less than a millisecond, dissipating it through the fact that the spell fizzled out when it didn't have anything to latch on to. Essentially it was a short-circuit and while it could be applied to any spell, the amount of magic and the inflexion of the magic that it tried to affect scaled up the difficulty of casting it almost logarithmically. So while something like animation and transfiguration had been easy enough to cancel due to the fragility inherent in complexity, the colour-changing charm, which was partially an enhancement, a semi-permanent differentiation of core attributes, was harder to dissipate.

The eventual goal of him learning the spell was to be able to wandlessly cast it on himself, in case he was ever affected by magic that he didn't want to be affected by again… However, the spell was proving as stubborn as the invisibility one, which he'd been struggling with at the beginning of the year, due to its scaling issues. It was worth it though, it would definitely be a worthwhile addition to his repertoire. Maybe he could ask Flitwick about improving it this summer when the man came to administer the practical part of his class skipping. The only problem with the spell was that it disrupted already existing effects and couldn't, say, be cast at a spell in itself.

"Done!" Penny shouted, pulling him out of his thoughts. Harry went over to the girl and quickly started helping her bottle the three potions that she'd created into vials.

"You're amazing," he praised her as they worked and he saw her blush red from his periphery. It made her look like a blonde tomato. It was cute.

"Helping you not kill everyone in the classroom has been making me improve at a fast rate," she snarked and looked away from him.

"I see," Harry said with a sad voice, "so you're only helping me out of self-interest, I understand." Penny gesticulated wildly at his statement but didn't manage to find the words to deny it. Harry simply rolled his eyes and clapped the girl on the shoulder. He noticed that she was a bit taller than him. "Come on, let's pack this up and leave, the train goes in an hour or so," he said with a grimace as he looked at the mess they had to clean up before they could run to the Hogwarts Express.

"Yeah, it's great professor Slughorn gave us the ingredients, but considering there were only so few days we had left at Hogwarts we had to work through them really fast…"

"I guess it's my fault as well," Harry said with a sigh, "if I was better at Potions I could have taken more of them home with me."

"It's alright, we managed," Penny said with a smile as she distributed the full vials equally into their bags and Harry started blasting the room with cleaning charms. He'd gotten quite good at those. It wasn't long before the two of them exited their new practice room, which was right next to the Hufflepuff common room. They weren't even hiding what they were doing from anyone anymore, the professors, especially Slughorn, obviously approved of their extra-curricular activities. Also, the fact that their new practice room was next to the common room, meant that there were Puffs walking about to and fro everywhere, making it difficult for any Slytherin to even come close to the area, let alone bully anyone without being ganged up on.

Harry started appreciating how much the Hogwarts staff seemed to be invested in his education. He guessed they were impressed by his work ethic, something surprisingly rare in a school that, once again, for emphasis, taught literal, fucking, magic.

"You know I'm gonna miss our Potions sessions together," Penny said as they started making their way to the Hogwarts Express, luggage in tow, "it was fun and we both got much better."

What went unsaid is that Penny improved from being a student that would get straight outstanding with maybe one exceeding expectations here and there, into straight O+ territory.

Meanwhile, Harry had toiled and suffered to change his probable Troll into an Acceptable. "You'll probably leave me even more in the dust if you practise a bit in the summer," Harry remarked, at which Penny nodded.

"I'm definitely gonna badger my whole family about brewing something with me, I'm not allowed to do it alone," she said as they got on the train. They immediately saw Cedric waving at them from a compartment filled with Puffs and went to join him. Harry stopped, though, when he saw Tonks looking out of a carriage window at the castle.

"Go ahead, I'll join you later," Harry told Penny, who pouted, but entered the compartment and hugged Cedric.

"You guys were almost late." Harry heard the boy say before the door closed. He checked in response to that and saw that the train was set to leave in five minutes. Cutting it close, he thought as he sidled up to the older girl, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"How's it hanging?" he asked as Tonks turned to him, surprised that he'd approached her. She rubbed the back of her head and cast another down-turned look to the castle.

"I'm fine, I guess, although you never know with these exams. The ones you're the most confident in are the ones you fail sometimes," she said and Harry couldn't help but agree, that was also a problem he'd had… in his previous life.

"I appreciate the practical aspect, you get the results immediately, I hate waiting for stuff," he agreed.

"I can't believe I only have two more years left here," Tonks said forlornly as she swept her gaze over the flags and towers adorning the magical castle they were departing from.

"The most carefree time in your life, the only problem being that you waste it before you realise what you were letting slip through your fingers so unthinkingly," Harry said and the girl next to him nodded thoughtfully.

"Auror internship in the summer?" he asked.

"Nah, I tried, but they prefer students who already finished Hogwarts, or at least people who've completed their first year of N.E.W.Ts, hard to be competitive before even getting your O.W.L results and the spots are all gone after. I guess it's my last carefree summer," she said with a cute smile, finally closing her eyes as the express started and slowly left the castle behind.

"You should try to intern at Mungos, your mom's a mediwitch. Aurors would love to see someone with some medical experience in their squads, much faster first aid in case of a fuck-up," Harry suggested, knowing how essential and potentially lifesaving getting quick help in case of emergencies was. "Also, more likely to get an internship if you already have a reference letter from another, even if it's a different branch."

Tonks groaned and opened her eyes just enough to send him a glare.

"That sounds stressful. I'll have to think about it," she complained and got up from where she was leaning on the window. "Anyway, see you next year, kid, have a nice summer," she said and left him hanging.

Harry tilted his head as he watched her go, it didn't seem like she'd done an internship in Mungos in the original timeline. Maybe pushing her would increase her survival chances. Maybe… Or it would make her die sooner, he sighed, all changes had unintended consequences. He went to the compartment that Penny had slipped into earlier and joined the puffs just in time to hear Cedric moan.

"I can't believe you two are going to France while I'll be de-gnoming the garden. Where's the friendship." Harry conked the idiot on the head as he sat down next to him.

"You've known about it for a few months now, and you never suggested coming along, idiot. Stop bitching," he said, causing the other Puffs present to snicker.

"Yeah, Cedric, you bitch, stop bitching," John said with a snigger and honestly, the rest of the train ride just devolved after that.

Harry shot Penny a smile when he saw that she was barely refraining from laughing. Despite all the fear of being discovered, almost dying, having his friend end up in the hospital wing… His first year at Hogwarts had been magical. He'd learned more than he ever thought he would and had developed more bonds than he'd expected. Despite the chaos, honestly, he didn't know if he'd have wanted it any other way. However, despite how amazing his first year at Hogwarts had been, he still enjoyed hugging his family and leaving the train station in the car that smelled like home. It was good to give the whole thing a break and relax for a bit, no?

Dear Mr. Evans

Hereby enclosed are your exam results from your first year of Hogwarts. We are particularly happy to congratulate you on your scores in transfiguration and charms. We wish you a happy summer vacation,

sincerely yours,

the Hogwarts staff.

History of Magic: EE

Defence against the dark arts: O

Astronomy: EE

Herbology: O

Transfiguration: O+

Potions: EE

Charms: O++

Chapter Text

2 weeks after the start of summer vacation -/- South of France

"Did you get the clothes and the sandals?" Harry hissed as he slid into the seaside changing cabin and suspiciously looked through the slit on the side to double-check that they hadn't been followed. Nothing but sand, sea and sand. Coming to the most deserted part of the beach had been a good idea.

"You think I'm an idiot, of course, I got them, bottom of the laundry basket, gross, but worth it. The question is, you got the money and the vials?" Is what Penny replied, pointing to the pile of dirty clothes on the little bench in the cabin.

"Who do you take me for, some idiot, this whole operation was my idea," Harry retorted angrily, making Penny roll her eyes.

"We wouldn't be here if it weren't for my potions."

"We wouldn't be here if it weren't for my skills," Harry retorted as he ran a hand over the dirty laundry, slowly but surely cleaning it with his magic.

"Can you do it any faster, we only have half a day?" Penny urged him on.

"You do it then if it's so easy. Am I ever this annoying when you're making Potions?"

"Always."

"Oh shut it! Also, I'm done," Harry said as he triumphantly pointed at the now clean pile of laundry before he started rummaging through it by hand and sorting it into female and male.

"Can't believe your amazing wandless magic is cleaning," Penny muttered as she unceremoniously slipped out of her white summer dress. She had a swimming suit underneath and at this point, it wasn't something Harry hadn't seen before anyway, but he was still impressed by the lack of any hesitation. The girl in the cabin put on the overly large yellow monstrosity that Aunt Petunia liked to wear to the beach before putting her hands inside and removing her top underneath it; the bottom stayed since its size was adjustable with some strings.

Harry took off his shirt, his pants, and his underwear, all while facing away from Penny. "Do you really have to moon me?" she complained as he put on his uncle's shorts and looped in the belt, before buttoning himself up.

"It's an ass, get over it, some of us don't have adjustable bikinis, also, why are you looking?" Harry retorted. It was a testament to how much of a fuck Penny didn't give as she just huffed. They'd been in France for a few days now and it was only today that they'd managed to slip out of a trip to another small town with another awesome church in a neighbouring region famous for its cuisine. Harry didn't have the heart to tell his uncle that every single region in France referred to itself as a 'region gastronomique,' even the ones that shouldn't, like Alsace, and that the description didn't really mean anything.

"So are we doing this or not?" Penny asked and pulled him from his thoughts.

"Of course we are, we've come too far, trained too hard, and talked to so many annoying French children. It's time to do this," Harry said, pumping himself up. He pulled a vial of ageing potion from the backpack he'd brought and shot it like only a former university student could.

He retched at the taste. If the language tonic had been bear shit, then the ageing potion tasted exactly how an old dead person over the age of 100 smelled like.

Tears came to his eyes and he desperately scrambled for the water bottle he'd brought with him only for it to slip out of his grasp as his fingers started elongating along with his arm. He fell to the ground on all fours as his brows shifted to cover his eyes before the latter popped past the former and his joints started cracking.

The whole transformation took only a few seconds, but it felt like it had been an hour of someone tickling his asshole. He shakily righted himself with the help of Penny, who'd taken him under the shoulders. It must have looked comical with how tiny she was now. Harry chuckled weakly at the 12-year-old girl who now barely came up to his abs and was looking up at him in wonder.

"How do I look?" he asked, suddenly fearful that he'd gone too far with the ways her pupils were widening. Penny blushed, looked down at her feet and refused to meet his eyes

Harry pulled a mirror from the backpack and looked at himself. The mirror obviously couldn't measure how tall he was, but he felt like he was just a bit under 1.80 metres. He looked lanky, which made sense considering how he wasn't really into sports, but used his brain a lot, which definitely fucked with one's usage of calories. His face… Well, he definitely looked older. Around 24, if he had to judge? Same short mop of red hair that he liked to think was stylish, but probably just looked unkempt. An androgynous face greeted him below the red, the smoothness of a woman's features paired with the jaw, nose and brows of a man. He didn't really know how he felt about his body, still, even-aged up, but objectively he looked passable. A seven, maybe an eight out of ten if the person judging liked their men to be a bit feminine and thin.

The eyes? They'd stayed the same, vibrant green, soul-piercing. "Ehhh, eight out of ten," he ended up saying before glancing again at Penny, just in time to see her dropping to the floor, an empty vial falling alongside her. Harry leaned back and watched as her body shifted, grew and adapted, leaving behind a woman. His blood froze in his veins as he saw what kind of woman when Penny stood up.

Tousled blond hair framing two blue eyes one could have likened to sapphires on a bad day. A cherubic face and a body that was feminine the same way his own wasn't manly.

"How do I look, Harry?" the woman asked in a raspy voice, causing Harry to close his eyes and clench his fists.

"You look great," he managed to squeeze out, getting a grunt of concern for his efforts.

"Everything alright?" she asked and he almost wanted to confess to everything. A second or two passed before he answered.¨

"My eyes hurt a bit, I think I might need glasses when I'm older."

"A mediwitch can fix that. Anyway, we should get going." Penny said and Harry heard her gathering up the clothes and potion vials. He heard her open the door when she was done. The callousness of the act is what woke him up from his stupor. She would have never done much of anything without making sure that he was alright if there was any indication that he wasn't. Penny wasn't her and never would be. Penny was a child, who he somehow clicked with in terms of friendship.

He opened his eyes and followed her, seeing the outline of her bikini through the dress before tearing his eyes away. She looked 25, but she wasn't, it wasn't appropriate. He blinked at the sun as they traversed the dunes, in the middle of which had laid the changing cabin they'd used for their purposes. His eyes actually hurt, he noted, he'd have to start wearing sunglasses more regularly as he got older. Apparently, his body was more sensitive now.

It was a long walk back to their actual purpose, but it had been a big risk, what they'd done. Neither of them knew much about French magical regulations, even if they could speak the language now. In all honesty, they probably could have taken the potion in the house the Dursleys had rented, but they hadn't wanted to risk setting off some muggle-proximity alarms.

In the future, Harry would just go pass by the French Ministry of Magic and ask them about their regulations. The issue was, he didn't know where it was. His annoyance helped him comprehend a bit of the rhetoric that Grindelwald and then subsequently Voldemort had peddled. Why did they have to hide, just because muggles were too dumb and violent to co-exist with their magical counterparts? It was, indeed, in some ways unfair.

If the worlds weren't split he wouldn't have to wonder where the ministry of magic was, about the regulations, nor would he have to worry about hiding the potion effect at all. Pulling his attention out of his thoughts Harry noted a certain unpleasantness he hadn't really planned for. The closer they got to civilization, as they traversed the beaches and neared Saint Maximes town square, the more looks Penny was getting.

Not necessarily the kind of looks a 12-year-old girl should be getting, no matter the age of her current body. By the awkward fidgeting she was doing with her hands as she took slightly awkward strides, she also noticed that something was different. Harry caught up to her and unceremoniously took her hand in his, the male gazes immediately lessened but didn't disappear entirely.

"You're going to be a very beautiful woman when you grow up," he said to her as she looked at him with surprised eyes, "but I don't think that's something we want to deal with right now, so how about we just pretend we're a couple. That way most people will leave us alone," he proposed, causing the woman by his side to blush and look away from him.

"Alright," she said quietly and squeezed his hand. They walked the streets of Saint Maxime unmolested from that point onwards, hand in hand, both mostly focused on their own thoughts and how they felt in their bodies, rather than on any sort of conversation. They'd been on vacation together for a while now and despite how interesting Penny was, she was still 12 years old and not someone Harry considered the most riveting conversationalist for topics like philosophy, religion and adult life. She would get there in time and he would wait for her, but until then she would just be a normal friend, not a confidante, or an equal.

Harry sighed happily as he noticed something. He was also getting different looks. Not necessarily good ones, because he was dressed like a moron in his uncle's big clothes. But there was a lack of something that he enjoyed, a fear that he, as a stupid child, would jump in front of a car, or trip and fall into something, or scream really loudly. It was just people looking at him and stereotyping him as a walking fashion disaster.

"It's really beautiful, so different from where I grew up," Penny said eventually as they started nearing their destination. Harry looked around at her words. The quintessential French town on the Mediterranean coast.

Supple architecture in soft yellow with red-clay rooftops. Stone walkways through fancifully winding streets full of restaurants, shops and old grandmas sitting and chatting with anyone willing to sit down with them. The salty summer breeze and the glistening blue of the sea. Olive, pine and lemon trees. Tomatoes and grapes growing in gardens. He sighed.

"It's the Mediterranean experience, sun, sea, food and relaxation," he said as he glanced at Penny, who was also looking at him, the sea behind her serving as a backdrop to her own blue eyes.

"Most people I know have never left the country unless it was for the Quidditch World Cup. They're missing out."

"Considering wizards can travel more easily than muggles, I find that a bit odd."

"It's community, region, heritage, it's sticking to what you know," Penny explained with a shrug. "I never even considered going somewhere else for the summer until you offered."

"I'm glad I convinced you, it's been a blast," he offered, at which Penny smiled, as painfully bright as the sun setting behind her head. Harry looked away.

"Do you always go somewhere in the summer?" she asked as Harry saw the central point of their mission today just down the street.

He thought about her question as they approached 'L'agneux Divin.'

The Dursleys were not international people, which made sense considering they were lower-middle-class citizens in the 20th century.

Harry had come from a different time, a time in which he'd been an avid traveller and if it hadn't been for his untimely leaving, he would have likely seen most of the world before his death. This spirit had been something that he'd pushed for in the Dursleys and only through the expendable income that he generated with Vernon had the final nail been struck. In the last four years, they'd visited Norway, Denmark and Spain. Now France. Petunia and Vernon had needed to warm up to the idea.

Dudley loved it. Harry savoured it. Perhaps it had been because of people like him, that travelling in the future had degraded in quality, but he doubted it. Capitalism, mostly, had led to the rampant commercialization of open and touristic spaces like Saint Maxime. What was now a sleepy paradise with family-owned businesses and charming old blue pick-up trucks, would very likely become an over-crowded over-priced hell-hole of selfie-tourism and diesel exhaust. He gave it less than a decade. It was sad, and Harry was glad that he got the chance to relive the beauty that would be lost soon.

"Every now and again, we go somewhere, I guess," he belatedly answered as they stopped in front of the restaurant Harry had sneakily made a reservation in, for his older siblings, a few days ago. He led them inside and spoke in fluent French to one of the waiters, who was casually smoking a cigarette inside while leaning on the countertop behind which one could smell delicious aromas coming from the kitchen.

"We have a reservation for two, should be under the name Van de Water," he said, at which the waiter lazily exhaled a puff of smoke to his side and gestured with his head to the only table that was still free in the corner of the small traditionally furnished restaurant.

They sat down wearily and continued their conversation in French for a moment. While they hadn't wanted to mix the language learning tonic with the ageing potion for today, they'd been abusing the former for a bit now and had both either quickly re-gained or gained from anew a very high proficiency in the language.

Penny was naturally still not quite as good as him, but she could get by, he just wouldn't ever ask her to write anything, since the language tonic only worked on writing if one practised in such a manner, which they hadn't. They'd just been chatting with French children and adults on the beach every day.

"Your French is very good," the waiter said as he stepped up to the table, apparently done with his cigarette. His gaze lingered on Penny for a second, before he switched to Harry, assuming that the man at the table would take control of the ordering. He wasn't wrong, but not for any misogynistic reason.

"I'll start myself off with a glass of red wine, Merlot if you have it, a local speciality of your discretion if you don't. For the lady, I'll reserve the right to order for her a Kir royal, with extra Kir," he shot off, letting his gaze sweep past the waiter as the man nodded, meaning that they had both of their preferred options. He was wondering, "Your restaurant name is the divine lamb? I'll admit I usually order fish at the seaside, it makes more immediate culinary sense to me. I'm open to suggestions though."

The waiter tilted his head and scratched his stubble. "Well, our waiter, as odd as it sounds, is from Bourgogne, and the honeyed lamb is his speciality. I'd definitely suggest it, it's good to switch up one's palate every now and again, no?" he said plaintively.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the information. "Bourgogne? I'll trust him then, lamb it is. Can I get some snails and a cheese platter to start us off meanwhile, a big baguette if you will. Knowing the region the snail will be drowned in olive oil and it would be a waste to throw it," he said, getting another nod. He turned to Penny, who looked a bit green at the idea of snails. Harry smirked at her and asked. "What would you have for the main?"

Penny looked around, saw there were no mentions, twiddled her thumbs and seemingly just went with the first thing that came to her mind, potentially from the fact that Harry had told her that for today, money was no issue. "You have lobster?" she asked.

"Soup or roast?" the waiter asked with a raised eyebrow and an unsure glance at Harry, who just grinned, he mouthed roast to Penny, who nodded.

"Roast, I'll have a roast, with potatoes."

"I think that's all for the moment," Harry added and the waiter left, but quickly came back with their drinks and two shot glasses of clear liquid, before leaving again.

Penny curiously took the shot glass and brought it up to her nose to sniff it.

"I wouldn't recommend drinking that," Harry told her.

"What is it?"

"It's probably pastis," he said as he sniffed at his own shot-glass, he cringed as the smell of anis assaulted his nostrils.

"Worst thing to come out of France since William the bastard. Try the drink I ordered you," He suggested, taking his own wine glass in hand and swirling the rich red liquid inside. He watched as Penny mirrored him and couldn't repress a chuckle. "Well, Penny, I'd say we should toast to a successful year at our institute."

The girl nodded and they clanged their glasses together before both taking a sip. While Harry let the red wine run down his throat and leaned back in his chair in contentment, Penny looked like she'd swallowed a lemon, she gently put her glass back down and nudged it to the side. She leaned into him conspiratorially before whispering, making sure no one could hear her. "I think the drink went bad," she said, causing Harry to laugh. He offered her his glass of red wine and took her drink.

"We can switch, mine is fine," he said and they both drank again, the drink was obviously perfect. Very good even. Penny scrunched her face up again.

"Well my dear Penny, let this be a lesson to you, not all things that adults like to drink taste good," he said as the red wine glass, along with the pastis was pushed to his side of the table. The cheese platter soon arrived, as did the snails and Harry ordered a carafe of water for Penny, receiving a queer look from the waiter.

"Is everything all right?" the man asked, glancing at Penny but keeping his focus on Harry, who could only laugh.

"She's trying alcohol for the first time," he said as he spread a cut of chevroux on a slice of baguette. "I wouldn't take it personally."

The French waiter sniffed, looked Penny up and down critically and addressed her. "I have something that might be more suited for, uh, English tastes, free of charge, considering the occasion," the man offered.

Penny shrugged and nodded as she wolfishly shoved cheese and bread down her throat. Ageing potions apparently built an appetite. The waiter left and Harry watched as he stepped behind the bar, taking one brown and one white bottle from the fridge underneath the country.

Harry blinked, huh, that could work, although he was surprised they had Bailey's in a place like this. He offered a snail that he'd fished out of its shell with the prerequisite fork to Penny and watched sadistically as her face turned green at the insinuation before he popped it into his own mouth and chewed the savoury treat, under his schoolmate's look of disgust.¨

He rolled his eyes. "You should keep an open mind, you know, it tastes perfectly good, better than good even."

Penny protectively covered the cheese platter from his view with a mulish look and continued stubbornly sticking to her lane. A frothy white drink was suddenly deposited in front of her, which she eyed suspiciously.

"What is it?" she asked the waiter.

"It's milk with cream liquor."

"You should try it," Harry added to the waiter's expectant look. They both watched with great interest as the blonde woman suspiciously picked up the glass, smelled it, and took a tiny sip, before nodding and taking bigger gulps, finishing the whole thing in five seconds flat. The two men shared a wide-eyed look, before glancing back at the blonde who'd gone back to her cheese.

"C'est pas vrai…" the French waiter murmured as he staggered away from the table.

"It was good, thanks!" Penny shouted after the traumatised man. Harry slowly took another snail from the little platter which they made them in and dunked a bit of bread into the oily remains cloyed with garlic, parsley and salt. He munched on the treat as he realised that at the age that Penny was at… If she indeed acted her actual age, in an adult body.

Well… It would make her adult form seem slightly mentally challenged. He could only helplessly watch as giggles started interspersing the cheese and bread destruction that was Penny. She just shot what was probably 8cl of Bailey's, he realised. It wasn't really a lot of alcohol, maybe one, or two beers worth? But this was her first time drinking.

"Oh, boy," Harry muttered to himself as he realised that he'd potentially made a big mistake. Considering how mature Penny was, which he guessed made sense if she mirrored his behaviour in her interactions with him, he hadn't realised how much of a bad idea giving her ageing potion and alcohol would likely be. He'd just thought it would be rude to go off and get smashed alone, he'd really missed alcohol…

"How come you got to try skipping ahead one year in Charms? Also, you've been reading arithmancy books the entirety of the summer, don't you have any other hobbies?" Penny suddenly asked in garbled English, breadcrumbs in her hair. She seemed angry, or, well, passionate. "I'm way better at Potions than you are at Charms," she said accusingly as she narrowed her eyes at him.

'I'm sorry, L'agneux divin, Saint Maxime, France,' Harry thought in his head as Penny started questioning him about why he got special treatment from the staff. He took a big gulp of his wine and subtly locked eyes with the waiter, who was looking in their direction with an expression usually found on deer just as they were about to be run over. Harry motioned for a bottle of wine and started thinking about how he was going to salvage this situation.

-/-

Hours later, probably not for the first time and definitely not for the last time, two very drunk Brits could be seen swimming naked in the Mediterranean Sea, while singing obnoxiously, what very few people would recognize as the Hogwarts school song.

Harry had never quite cared for national identity, but in that moment he felt unrepentantly English, for better or worse.

Chapter Text

4 weeks after the start of summer vacation -/- England - Surrey

"So you're taking this hat for a walk, is what you're saying?" Petunia asked sceptically, sitting primly in the chair in the flowery living room and taking her afternoon tea. She was casting a doubtful gaze on top of Harry's head, where the sorting hat, or rather, Chanithachuah, was resting.

"Yeah, that's basically what I'm doing," Harry answered, but amended once the sorting hat coughed theatrically in his head. "He's helping me learn some really useful skills, wicked smart and all it wants in return is to see how the muggle world has changed in the last few centuries."

"Centuries!" Vernon suddenly interrupted and turned to them from where he'd been watching his favourite show, Top Gear, on the couch.

"I was originally made around the year 1000," the hat said, causing Vernon's eyes to nearly pop out of his skull.

"Bloody hell!" the man cursed. "You're older than the Norman conquest."

"Exactly," Harry interjected, "and he's mostly been sorting students into houses once a year and sitting around the headmaster's office the whole time, it's about bloody time someone took it on vacation."

"Makes perfect sense to me, pet, poor bastard's been stuck sorting eleven-year-olds for almost a thousand years, if anyone deserves a summer vacation, it's him."

Petunia sniffed disdainfully. "My sister, your mother, always had some weird things to show off during the summer. Frogs, potions and screaming letters, but a sentient hat…" she trailed off, adjusted herself on the couch and pierced Chanithachuah with her stern motherly gaze. "What exactly are you teaching Harry?"

The hat shifted awkwardly on the aforementioned boy's head, probably unused to being so thoroughly interrogated.

'Don't you dare tell her you're teaching me Occlumency, make something up!?' Harry hissed mentally at the sentient object while smiling placidly at his aunt and his uncle, who'd gone back to watching Top Gear but was still leaning enough in their direction to showcase that he was paying attention. The redhead took a sip of his tea.

"Teaching him some mental tricks, sharpening focus, compartmentalisation," the hat tried to say casually.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Petunia asked sceptically, glanced towards the left and walked over to close a tiny gap in the windowsill.

"Well, Magic is as complicated a subject as anything you can study in muggle universities at the higher levels. Developing photographic memory and being able to multitask effectively, are all things that can be taught and that I'm an expert in, I am a mental construct after all."

"Are you really going to walk around London wearing that though? Isn't it going to go against your, statue of secrecy or whatever?" Petunia asked, shifting her focus back on Harry when she noticed she wasn't going to get anything out of Chanithachuah.

Harry shrugged. "He can stay still and talk telepathically to anyone it's sitting on the head of. I think most people will just think I'm queer. 12 years old here, I don't think anyone's going to tell me off for wearing a hat."

"Running around like that," Petunia tutted as she reproachfully shook her head.

"Ah let him be, Petunia, our boy's basically a man, he can make his own decisions. Sure thing he's more mature than either one of us at that age. And with his wand and that, hardly anyone could make him issues anyway," Vernon rumbled from the couch.

Harry's aunt stiffened at the reminder of her childhood and muttered something probably uncomplimentary about the Wizarding World. In the end, she just gave a sigh and rolled her eyes. "Off you go then, it's not like you can't handle yourself, mister class skip," she said, causing Harry to blush and his aunt to chuckle.

"Thanks, auntie, uncle," Harry said as he stood up and went over to hug them both goodbye. He wasn't going to be gone overly long, just until the afternoon, but it was important to keep up good familial relations when one was 12 years old and one's guardians could still technically ground them. Harry was mature and his family knew that, which is why he was allowed many, many, many more privileges than anyone his age that he knew. He didn't want to overplay his hand in this regard and was planning on coming home on time. He grabbed his backpack and left straight out the front door of the house to grab his bicycle to get out of dodge.

'Your aunt's a tough cookie, kid,' the hat commented in his head as it idly probed his Occlumency shields. An attempt that Harry easily diverted before answering.

'She worries, like mothers are wont to do. But no matter how much she nit-picks, I've always been allowed my freedom,' he replied as he started biking through Surrey towards the local train station, from where he could take a train to London and be at Vauxhall pleasure gardens in about an hour or two.

'Good that you are, I didn't sign up for just a few days out only to be left behind as you frolicked away to France. You better deliver, or I'll cancel our deal,' the hat threatened good-naturedly, causing Harry to laugh as he swerved around the empty suburban streets and toyed with driving without hands. Everyone was away for summer vacation because it was July. It meant that it was the best time to actually go anywhere since it would be the emptiest. London was still a busy city, but it wasn't as touristic now in 1990 as it was going to get after the turn of the millennia.

'You're much too useful to disappoint, Chanithachuah,' Harry replied honestly, 'I want your continued assistance for as long as I can get it,' he said and received an amused, but powerful probe of Legilimency to his brain. He almost lost control of the bike and had to adjust himself a bit telekinetically to not fall down.

"Don't do that you wanker," he hissed, causing Chanithachuah to chuckle into his mind and let him be until they reached the train station, which was the point where Harry disappeared into the abandoned bathroom, and an adult version of him stepped out to go buy a daily ticket for the line. He'd bought some clothes that actually fit him during his bender in France and had discovered so when he'd come back to unpack. He now wore a simple pair of pale blue jeans with a green T-shirt and some leather boots. He looked good, he thought at least, and the leathery wizard's hat sitting on his head only elevated the image.

He ignored the odd looks he got upon getting on the train and chuckled at how the odd looks transformed very slowly into appreciative ones as the train neared London and its stops became more urban than suburban.

'This is crazy,' the hat said into his mind when they got off at the central station and started a brisk walk towards their destination. Harry looked around himself, taking in the flashing billboards, the ridiculously thick throngs of people and the high-rise buildings dominating the skylines. He tried to imagine how the scene would look to someone who hadn't glimpsed civilization since before the Norman conquest of England, where London had had a population of probably around 50.000.

'Wait, have you ever left Hogwarts?' Harry asked as he steered them towards the musical gardens, making sure to avoid any concentrations of people that could lead to him losing the hat.

Chanithachuah remained silent as they walked along squares and shops and thousands of humans. 'Once, before I took on the role of the sorting hat, I strafed the lands with Godric.'

'And you've never left the castle since?'

'No," the hat answered, throwing Harry down a road of introspection. Obviously, any human would have gone crazy if they hadn't left Hogwarts for a thousand years, but any human would go crazy if they lived a thousand years. He wondered if the hat had never cared about going outside, or if it had simply never bothered asking. The whole scenario brought up questions of consciousness. The hat communicated at a human level but was obviously an object with thinking distinct from itself.

This was the thing that he'd been letting attack his mind for months now. Was it more, or less advisable than letting another human practitioner do so? These questions flitted through Harry's mind as he entered the gardens, which had grass cropped according to the English preference and a beautiful array of flowers and trees interspersing the streams of people listening to the London orchestra playing out in the summer breeze in the middle of the field.

Harry unceremoniously sat down once he'd gotten close enough to the odd scene of an orchestra decked out in full regalia playing on a haphazard wooden platform in the middle of the park, sweating in the mild English summer sun. He took out today's brochure from his backpack and brought it up to read.

The Musical Summer of 1990
-Orchestra 13-15h
-Classical guitar…

They still had an hour or so of listening to the Orchestra, although Harry sincerely hoped they'd ditch Mozart soon and play something actually tangible.

Appreciation of composers aside, he immersed himself in the music by closing his eyes and noted with some humour how the hat started mentally humming along to the melody, having forgotten to close their mental connection.

The music ended, eventually and a break set during which the bands could change.

'Do muggles always play music outside?' the hat asked during the break. Harry couldn't help but chuckle, drawing some curious looks from a group of students sitting close by who had spread out a picnic blanket and were having some wine with their crisps.

'Only in the summer, to celebrate, it's a special occasion. I would have had to pay to get us into a performance if it was winter. They probably wouldn't have let us in either way, dress code doesn't include mediaeval hats, I think.'

The hat harrumphed into Harry's head, which was definitely an interesting feat of mind magic.

'They wouldn't know high fashion if it kicked them in the face,' it said.

As if to agree with the hat's statement a woman suddenly approached Harry, she was one of the students who'd been sitting beside him and giving him curious looks.

"Excuse me," The 20-something brunette started, "where did you get the hat?" she asked, "It looks really Nova."

Harry turned to the girl who was leaning down to speak to him on a more even level, revealing a certain amount of cleavage in her moderately low-cut yellow sundress. It had a few odd cuts, that thing, a bit too many spikes. He cast his gaze past the girl and looked at her friends, seeing that at least a few of the other girls also wore slightly altered clothes. He noticed then that he'd been ignoring the girl, so he turned back to her.

"Sorry, just don't get approached on the street very often, very non-English behaviour from what I've seen in my time here," he apologised. "You guys are design students?"

The brunette blinked at him, surprised. "How'd you know?"

"Well, the cuts of your clothing don't fit into any style I've seen popularised in England recently, but you have the accent, so you're probably from here. The clothes could be designer, but the quality of the material isn't high enough. Also, your friends over there are drinking an Austrian white wine, of which the best quality is its affordability. It leaves me to conclude that you're into design, but are obviously not buying it, ergo, leaving student as the only category you fit into. Or just enthusiast I guess, but you're young," he explained, before blushing slightly and looking away. "Sorry, that came out a bit judgy."

"Are you like Sherlock Holmes or something?" the brunette asked as she sat down next to him, apparently taking his deduction rant as an invitation. Harry heard her friends behind her giggling before demonstratively looking away. She smelled like bergamot and her eyes were green. The wind played with her hair in a way that invited wandering hands to play with it.

Harry suddenly realised that he was in an adult body and that he was about to get flirted with. He wasn't necessarily against the idea, he just thought it a bit awkward. A sentient hat was sitting on his head after all. There were three people involved in this situation, and one of them didn't know.

Music started playing in the background as the human pair locked eyes, Harry felt the hat's attention demonstratively divert itself from the conversation he was about to have and decided that this was a pretty rare opportunity. He might as well grasp it. Who knew when he'd have the chance to flirt age-appropriately the next time.

"Are you calling me smart?" he decided to tease with a small smile. "That could be construed as a compliment, you know and then I'd be forced to return it."

The brunette laughed. "Well, you sure know how to play on my ego, don't you, smart man. I'm Esther, by the way," she said suggestively as she adjusted her dress to sit more ladylike and to lean slightly towards Harry in the green grass, apparently uncaring about any stains.

Harry could have naturally complimented Esther's beauty. She was a svelte girl with creamy pale skin that contrasted wonderfully with the colour of her hair. Her bare shoulders were elegant and her smile playful. However, he'd always found that complimenting someone on their looks was shallow. Most girls heard it too often anyway. He decided to pursue another avenue thusly and decided to be honest, but flattering. "If I had to think of a compliment at the top of my head, I'd have to say that you sure know how to dress, a definitive gift. Making it strapless was the perfect choice to make a statement in a world currently dominated by shoulder padding and the slight focus on a more spiky aesthetic compliments your form very well. People call me Harry, by the way," he said with what he hoped was a charming smile.

Esther blushed.

"Well, you certainly know something about fashion, even if you don't know the terminology. But since you know what I do, shouldn't you tell me what you do?"

"How about you guess?" Harry suggested and laughed when Esther demonstratively buried her face in her hand. He adjusted his posture so that he was lying down and facing the girl while propped up on his elbow.

"Don't make me guess, I'm bad at it," she whined, before uncovering her face and looking at him critically, apparently still willing to attempt it. She got hung up looking at his sweater and brought up a hand to her chin in a thinking pose. "That's not a British pattern, so you travel," she said, before groaning, "but it just means you've travelled, it doesn't tell me anything about what you do. Gimme a hint," she demanded imperiously.

"Well, the hat should be a dead giveaway," Harry said, pointing at the pointy fashion statement engrossed in the concert.

"Leather-worker? You're not a designer, that's for sure," Esther ended up guessing.

Harry chuckled. "No, how about I give you a hint. If I was a girl I'd be flying on a broom."

Esther gasped, "Don't tell me, you're a magician!"

"As I leave in and breathe."

"That's so cool, can you show me and my friends any tricks?" Esther asked, apparently wanting to introduce him to her group.

Harry thought about what trick he could do, considering that only wandless magic was available, he hadn't dared risk wand magic in his practice sessions in his cave, but sorcery had drawn no attention from the ministry.

"Magicians don't work for free, you know, what do I get out of it?" he faux-sniffed.

"Oh that's so sad…" Esther crooned and patted him on the shoulder. "You need to earn your daily bread? How about this, if your tricks are any good we'll take you with us to our dormitory where we're having a party, free food guaranteed and I'm sure we could gather up some spare change."

"You must think I'm cheap, spare change. I'll have you know I'm very much sought after. You're very lucky it's my day off and I don't have prior arrangements. Usually, I demand the kiss of a fair maiden for my services," he said but softened the playful reproach by standing up and holding out a hand. Esther grabbed it and he helped pull her up as they started walking towards her friends.

"Well, a kiss could be arranged, but only if your performance is worth it," Esther sniffed. "I'll have you know my kisses are very sought after as well."

Harry smiled but admitted to himself that the interaction had mostly succeeded because Esther herself had very clearly been interested in him. It was fun, being an adult again, no matter how short of an intermezzo it was and would be in comparison to his current childish existence.

Esther had already provided a conversation more fun than many he'd had at Hogwarts, simply because of the tension that existed between two attractive people.

"Hello ladies," Harry began as they finished stepping up to the university girls drinking white and eating sandwiches. "I'll be your magician this evening, please strap in your seatbelts and get ready for take-off."

His joke was met with a chuckle from Esther but dead silence from the rest of the group, who were mostly confused.

He huffed. "Well, I see that one fell flat, but I've never pretended to be a comedian. Care to explain, Esther?" he said, throwing the mic to his companion, who explained to her friends what was about to happen.

She finished just in time for Harry to think of an easy magic trick that he could do and knew was possible from magic shows he'd seen in his last life.

"Anyone have a spoon, a fork, or a piece of metal they're not attached to? Didn't bring anything with me today, thinking it was going to be a relaxed concert in the park, but duty calls and I've answered," he said, getting some perfunctory chuckles this time. Esther handed him a fork from the picnic basket and Harry inspected the silver utensil.

Magic was all about presentation, while he could just set the forking thing on fire with his mind -wasn't that incredible?- he needed to build up some tension. He wasn't a professional, but these girls were drunk, so it really shouldn't be that hard. "Now, be warned, that what I will show you today is not for the faint of heart," he waved the fork menacingly at the attendant. "A fork is no laughing matter when one involves magic in the business and soon you'll see why. But before I do anything, I want to ask you girls, how likely do you think that I've manipulated this fork somehow, before coming here?"

One of the girls, a dumpy redhead frowned. "Well, Esther's a bit of a cad, so this could be her having a laugh at our expense."

"No, she's never mentioned knowing a magician, you'd think it would come up," another girl retorted.

"The fork is as untampered with as any fork in London, I'm the one who brought it," the last girl added.

"I see that you're mostly in agreement, but how about you check for yourselves," Harry said as he passed the fork around and watched in amusement as the girl tried to bend it with their hands, rubbed it and even stabbed it into the grass, only to hand it back to him, not being able to find anything wrong with it. "You've seen now that it's as fork as a fork can be. Reliable, unyielding, resolute," he said as he wiggled around with the utensil, which was the focus of all the gazes of the girls. Once he'd gathered all their attention and strung them along for a bit he decided to get on with the show.

He threw the fork in the air, brought his hands up to surround it and caught it with his telekinesis when it was at level with his hands. The girls gasped, one of them nearly shrieked. "What's this?" Harry asked loudly, "Why does it levitate, what have you done with it, Esther?"

The aforementioned girl had brought up her hands in shock before laughing. "I wasn't me, I swear, you're the magician, you explain it."

Harry let the fork fall to the ground, before picking it back up. "Well, it seems to have been a relatively short phenomenon, perhaps we can chart that one up to spastic magnetic fields, eh," he suggested, "but we should verify if there's anything else wrong with the lil bugger," he said and held it up it in one hand.

"Does it purr when you stroke it?" he asked and theatrically listened, but no sound came. "Does it bend when you stare at it hard enough?" he asked and gave it his most withering glare. Nothing happened and he pretended to have an Eureka moment.

"Aha, how about… Does it bend?" he asked and started running his thumb and fore-finger along the spine. Nothing happened for a few moments before the tips of the fork slowly started twisting in different directions, to the amazement of the group. Slowly but surely Harry twirled the prongs around their own axis until they became nothing but small metal balls. When he was done he stared at the fork and glanced at the girls who were whispering to each other, trying to guess how he'd done it. "Well," he began, throwing the fork on the floor in front of the girls, "in my professional opinion, the things possessed, I'd suggest fire, or a priest, maybe both."

"That was pretty preem, have to say," Esther said from beside him. "If you can bust that out at the party I don't think we'll have any issues getting you your payment," she said with a wink before joining her friends and prodding the fork, making sure it was well and truly fucked beyond repair.

"Who said I was done?" Harry asked, making Esther turn back to him with some excitement. "I still have one dove up my sleeve, all I need is an assistant, an empty bottle and a newspaper."

After some bustle and hustle and tussle, it turned out that all of these things were present, well, after one last round of wine. Esther was pushed towards him holding the empty bottle and a newspaper.

"Now, Esther, can you confirm that the bottle is empty?" he asked, at which the brunette rolled her eyes and looked leadingly to her friends sipping white wine and watching intently. After a sigh she upended the bottle on the grass, a single drop of wine falling out.

"It's empty," she said confidently, but her smile wavered when she saw Harry's frown and observed as the magician slowly shook his head in disappointment.

"Check again," he said, at which the girl upended the bottle again, causing another drop to fall out.

"It's full of air you muppet," one of her friends cajoled, causing the other two to break out into giggles.

"Can you wrap the bottle in the newspaper, Esther, so that the top is reachable by hand," Harry asked before his assistant could throw her glass weapon at her friends. She sighed as if she suffered through such japes on a daily basis and was above it all and did what she was asked to do, before handing the bottle to Harry, who himself, upended it. He looked towards the audience and locked eyes with each girl and some people not a part of their group, who were watching the show.

"Now, you've all seen that the bottle is empty, you've drunk the contents," he paused dramatically, as he popped a finger into the bottle opening and started up a small, weak, pathetic, wandless, aguamenti, which he could only do because of his other relevant experience with sorcerous hydrokinesis.

"How likely would you be to believe me, if I told you that the bottle was in fact full, this whole time?" he asked. One of the girls looked down at the wine that she was drinking and looked at him with a suspicious gaze.

"Full of what?" she asked, at which Harry theatrically tapped his chin.

"Liquid?"

"You're full of shite, no ferking way," the girl accused, the others joining in on her statement.

Harry turned to Esther. "Do you agree with them?" he asked, at which the girl hesitated, glancing at the desecrated fork, before shaking her head.

"I can imagine you did something with it, but I can't believe it has liquid in it, next thing you'll tell me it's wine in there," she ended up saying.

"Are you willing to eat your words, or in this case, drink them?" Harry suggested with a smirk as he stepped closer to the girl and held up the newspaper-covered bottle over her head.

"Drench the wench!" one of the girls shouted.

"Will show her what it means fancying a magic man," another added as Esther stared into Harry's eyes defiantly.

"Do it, you don't have the balls," she threatened and squared up.

Harry upended the bottle over her head, closing the opening with his thumb, trapping the water inside. Esther looked up, laughed, "Ha, knew you were just playin-" she began to say when Harry suddenly released the thumb and drenched the girl with what he'd managed to magic up in the one-minute conversation he'd had with the audience. Water poured and kept pouring for a solid ten seconds, on the girl who was apparently too shocked to move away from the stream. When the downpour finally stopped all that was left was one drenched-looking girl who was looking at Harry angrily.

"You absolute ass!" she shouted as she stomped over to him and lightly pushed him before turning to her friends, who were all laughing at her. "Did you see what this bastard did to me," she said and pointed demonstratively at herself.

"He went full magic on you, as you deserved, considering you went up to the dude dressed like a hot Gandalf," one of them said.

"Hey, I'll have you know it's called being a wizard, alright," Harry interjected, joining the conversation.

"You don't have a magical way of drying someone off, do you?" the redhead asked, at which Harry shrugged.

"Hey, I make the messes, it's other people's job to fix them. Probably best to just get a towel and a change of clothes," he said, turning to Esther.

"You've made me so fucking wet, I can't believe it," she moaned as she crouched down to squat on the floor and start shivering.

"Sorry about that, sometimes I forget what kind of effect I have on women," Harry said apologetically, it had actually gotten a bit out of hand, he'd been having fun. He took off his T-shirt and offered it to the girl. "Here, wear this," he said and Esther gracefully took the piece of clothing and put it on while the other girls jeered at his sudden upper body nakedness.

"I have such shitty taste in men," Esther complained as she righted herself up and shook her head like a dog, brown hair flying everywhere. "Come on then, I don't live far and I need a change. You might as well see the venue where you'll be performing tonight and get your T-shirt back, although you might as well forget about being paid. Your performance can go towards the emotional damage fund."

"Should I come with," the red-headed friend offered, but Esther just shook her head.

"Stay and enjoy the concert," she said glibly and took Harry's hand to start pulling him towards a seemingly random direction.

"Don't I get a say in this," Harry whined but followed obediently.

"Oh shut it, you wanker," Esther said as she looked back and threw him a mirthful smirk. Harry wondered if he was exhibiting any of his original body's shota energy, for girls to be taking control like this. Not that he minded, he thought with a smile as the sorting hat complained into his mind about how it was being taken away from the music.

'Ah, shut it, ever heard of the bro-code?' Harry replied to the hat as he and Esther finished traversing the garden and entered a busy street, people throwing him funny looks over his shirt-lessness, but putting two and two together when they looked at Esther.

'Do your thing, brat, but leave me in another room, I thought I was done with this shit when Godric finally kicked the bucket. Although, I guess it's good to see that you can do more than just read Charms and Arithmancy theory every day,' the hat complained, but seemed mellowed out from the music and from seeing more of the outside world today.

When they got to Esther's place they didn't end up looking for a dry shirt, but spent their time there otherwise occupied.

AN: There is no particular reason why this chapter exists. The feedback I've gotten is that its dis-congruent, more of an omake. I personally think it adds something anyway, which is why I'm releasing it. In particular this chapter and the last one with Penny and France shows that Harry is not a pedophile, which is one of my biggest issues with SI fics. You have this grown ass (mentally) man, sleeping and making out with all the twelve year olds. first of all, wtf? Second of all, you couldn't pay me to talk to a twelve year old for longer than five minutes. Horrible people. Utterly utterly boring.

However, naturally, everyone has urges, and just taking an ageing potion and spending some time in the adult world instead of being the weird kid must be nice.

There is a full blown sex scene at the end of this chapter actually, but obviously I didn't post it here. You can find it on the questionable questing version of this story if you're interested. Title is same. "Memoirs of a well-lived death."

Chapter Text

"You've always been a bit of an overachiever, huh," was what Vernon had told Harry once he'd divulged the possibility of him skipping ahead one grade in the subject of charms. Petunia had simply nodded and made his favourite meal that day, which was another underwhelming reaction.

Harry had wondered for a moment if he'd spoiled the Dursleys in the excellence of their children. It was an odd thing to consider, that being so good at two subjects one got an opportunity such as this was waved off in such a simple manner. It was only later that he realised, as he was lying in bed with the hat on his head, reading 'Great Expectations' that the underwhelming reaction may have simply been a facet of how well his aunt and uncle knew him. He'd never appreciated being praised for his accomplishments, because they'd never been the result of any intrinsic qualities within him, but simply a higher level of maturity. Their attitude just showed that they knew him.

'The way this boy treats his step-father, completely disrespectful,' the hat muttered inside his head as it read along with him, very occasionally sending a mental probe his way. This was their deal after all, entertainment in return for Occlumency training.

'Pip is an impressionable child, struck by the inequality of wealth and despising his upbringing, for which he is not to blame,' Harry answered as his eyes slowly trailed along the page.

'You are of a similar age to the boy, and you act much better,' the hat remarked, making Harry smile sardonically.

'I have had access to a much higher degree of education and nutrients, to be perfectly frank. But Pip is also a fictional character, while I am in fact very real, so it's not really a comparison. I am glad to see you invested in the book.'

'The short professor is coming today?' the hat asked, at which Harry shrugged and glanced at the clock. It was almost noon, so he assumed that Flitwick would be ringing on his door any second now. It was a rainy day and Harry and the sorting hat had opted to stay inside and catch up on some reading. Harry didn't think that he'd read a fictional novel for the pure pleasure of it since starting Hogwarts and was enjoying unwinding his brain. Charms and arithmancy were interesting and fun, but at some point, one got burnt out of reading only for the purpose of learning.

'Soon,' he replied belatedly to the hat's question.

'Put on Bach, we weren't able to finish the record last time. I might as well listen from the beginning. I'd rather switch media now than have to quit after reaching half-page.'

'Your wish is my command,' Harry replied as he put down the thick tome and went over to the record player, putting on the classical record they'd started listening to yesterday evening.

'You owe me,' the hat snorted. 'After your thing with Esther, I deserve to be repaid for the spiritual damages done to my person.'

The sound of an orchestra started filling the room on a medium volume and Harry removed the hat from his head, just as the doorbell rang. He put it on top of his wardrobe, where nobody would be able to see it.

"Tell the boy to switch the record in two hours," were the hats parting words. Boy, in this case, referring to Dudley. Harry had taken to bribing him into changing the records in his absence.

"Sure thing," Harry said as he exited the room, went one door down the corridor and knocked on Dudley's door. "Switch the record for me in two hours will you," he shouted, getting a muffled affirmative from inside. "Got some chocolate frogs if you do it!" he finished before going downstairs, waving off his aunt and uncle, who had come to open the door and doing so himself.

It was indeed Professor Flitwick that was at the door, the small man of goblin ancestry barely even reaching up to the door knob and looking odd in his child-sized muggle suit. Harry stepped back to ceremonially open up the entrance. "Would you like to come in, professor?" he asked. Flitwick frantically shook his head, looked behind Harry, nodded at his relatives and started speaking quickly.

"We should leave, fast, no time to waste. Some bad news in terms of ministry involvement, they want one of their own examiners present when we test you for skipping grades next week," the man explained shortly, Harry simply nodded and turned back to his aunt and uncle, who were looking at them while standing half-way in their own separate door-ways, like an overly curious giraffe and walrus.

"I'll be leaving now, but I'm back for dinner, I assume. Have a nice day!" Harry said as he stepped out of the house, already dressed in clothes he could leave in. A hoodie, jogging pants and a pair of running shoes. He looked like a hooligan, but at least a comfortable one. All he had on him was his wand, strapped to his wrist with the wand-holster Ollivander had gifted him a year back and the bezoar necklace.

"Have fun," His aunt encouraged him in a strained voice, throwing a mean look at Flitwick before disappearing into the living room.

"Charming," Flitwick remarked a bit drily.

"They don't have a particularly high opinion of the Hogwarts staff, considering my mother and all," Harry reproached his favourite professor, gently. The man twitched and glowered, an interesting expression on such a small head, before sighing.

"Horrible thing, but we should be off, Mr. Evans, no time to waste," the man said as waved his wand and grabbed him by the elbow. Harry barely managed to close the door to the house behind him before they apparated, reappearing in front of the Hogwarts grounds. They started speed-walking towards the castle. Well, Flitwick was speed-walking and Harry was taking a stroll.

"Thank you again for taking the time for this, professor," Harry said once he'd recovered from the apparition, enjoying the beautiful nature he'd suddenly been transported to. The sun was shining, which hadn't been the case in Surrey. "I know you'd much rather be enjoying your holiday away from children."

Flitwick laughed."I assume you'd also rather be on vacation, but frankly with how much you like learning I think we're both wrong in our assumptions."

"Too true, too true," Harry said, seeing from the path they were taking up to the castle, that Flitwick likely intended them to practise the charms in the usual classroom. "Actually professor, would you mind if we practised outside, perhaps the fire-making charm by the lake? It's such beautiful weather, I'd rather not waste it."

Flitwick paused in his purposeful stride, Harry dutifully stopping next to him. Now that he thought about it, the castle actually looked kind of odd in full sunlight. Somewhat hyper-realistic. The architecture fit the autumn much more. Everything was too green, lush, flowery and the whole scene looked odd without at least a dozen students in view. He looked towards the forbidden forest and noted the cheery aesthetic it was taking on today. He thought he saw Hagrid walking between the trees, but couldn't be sure, it could just as well have been a hippogriff considering the man's size.

"Let's go to the lakeshore," Flitwick decided, waved his wand and turned to the left, off the beaten path. The grass bent under the man's feet before he walked on it and snapped back up after Harry finished traversing it. What an interesting spell.

"Wizards didn't have a spell for finding specific words in a book, but have a spell to bend the grass they want to walk on?" Harry asked dully, unimpressed by the logic.

Flitwick laughed. "There's no such spell to my knowledge, but five points to Ravenclaw if you guess which one I'm using."

"I'm a Hufflepuff," Harry huffed as they approached the lake.

"Damn sorting hat," Flitwick muttered and Harry started thinking about the question he'd been asked. For some reason, his thoughts wandered back to one of the first charms lessons, in which Flitwick had simultaneously levitated feathers to everyone in the classroom. If there was no specific spell to bend the grass, wouldn't the current situation necessitate a general telekinesis spell capable of affecting multiple objects? Just that in this case it was pushing down on something, instead of lifting it up.

"The spell you used in class when we were learning the levitation charm, you floated everyone a feather. You're using the same spell, just to press down instead of floating up," he concluded, gaining an appreciative look from the charms professor.

"Very quick on the uptake, as always, but the question was which spell."

"Wingardium Leviosa," Harry realised suddenly. If Lumos could be modified to change colour, then surely the levitation charm can be modified to affect multiple objects or a single area, he pulled out his wand, before pausing. "May I, professor?" he asked.

Flitwick looked back at Harry with an indecipherable gaze for a moment, glancing between boy and wand, before turning around, the lake coming into view. "Go ahead, Mr. Evans."

Harry thought about what he was intending to do for a second, his training of sorcery, which involved telekinesis helping him with expanding the use of the charm. Just like his exploits in hydromancy had helped him showcase his Aguamenti. He focused his intent, trying to form a bubble of force and cast the levitation charm on a clump of grass. The grass was ripped out from the ground and floated upwards. He winced.

"It's hard to invert the intent one is used to," Flitwick commented while Harry tried again, to no success.

"I'll work on it some other time," Harry said with a sigh.

"Perhaps that is best, spell modification is an advanced topic, even for you," Flitwick said. "Now, what can you tell me about the fire-making charm?" he asked as they reached the shore of the lake.

"Incantation incendio, the charm does exactly what it promises, by producing the amount of fire necessary for any given situation. Useful for lighting fire-places, scaring away wild animals and even warding off dangerous magical plants like devil's snare. The wand movement, ironically, is drawing a candle flame in the direction of what one wants to burn," Harry explained briefly as he fidgeted with his wand and looked longingly at the lake, just sitting there and begging to be set ablaze.

"It's a simple charm, if a bit dangerous. But even its risks aren't as pronounced, the staff has been discussing putting it in the first-year curriculum for a while now," Flitwick responded and jerked his head to the lake. "Why don't you try it, a small one," he asked and Harry gleefully complied, imagining the desired effect of a continuous flamethrower, drawing a candle flame into the air and casting,

"Incendio," he said clearly as he dug his feet into the pebbles under his shoes to brace for kickback. A weak stream of flames escaped his wand and travelled one or two metres outwards, before petering out.

"Good first attempt, try to be faster with the wand movement, the spell enjoys a certain urgency," Flitwick prompted.

Harry followed the professor's advice and produced a slightly faster and larger column of fire. He focused himself further on the concept of flame. The way it licked away at oxygen, hot and renewing and cast again without having to be told.

-/-

It was an hour later that Harry was running out of fumes. Casting a spell that converted his magic to heat semi-continuously, interspersing it with only some brief discussions on the theory was exhausting. He was on his knees, wand hanging limply from his fingers. He breathed out a big gulp of air. "How's it looking, prof, I think I'm running out of juice."

Flitwick looked critically at the few small scorch marks on the ground showing when Harry had lost control of the spell and then to the sun, which had changed position since they'd started. "I'd say we did fine, for today, the spell is at a level that exceeds expectations for the average year two grading scale. Considerable progress when one thinks about the fact that it's the first time we're practising."

Harry frowned. He was able to throw everything from an ember to a fireball the size of his head, either in a continuous stream of fire or a short burst. How was that an EE?

"One last attempt then, professor, for the outstanding," Harry said confidently and righted himself up rigidly, holding up his wand in front of his face and gathering the last bits of scattered focus he had.

"Alright then, Mr. Evans, show me what you can do," The professor said as Harry started scrounging up some magic from within him, metaphorically. It wasn't like there was a pool of energy inside of him. Harry rather saw it as a rope with a bucket that connected him to a different dimension, from which he could pull up energy. The rope was like a muscle in this scenario and tended to get strained at a certain point. He dipped the bucket in as deep as he could and pulled it up, holding it, holding it, quickly making the wand motion, rounding out the candle flame to more of a ball, "incendio," he hissed, inflecting the magic towards the fire energy while it was still in his body and surging to his wand, a trick he'd discovered in his study of pyromancy. It made the results hotter. His body burned and a small flame flickered to life at the tip of his wand. It was the initial spark right before the explosion.

A ball of fire as big as a thestral erupted from his wand, burning slightly white against the blue sky. It travelled forwards, over the lake, making the water hiss, spit and evaporate. Harry didn't let go of the spell, but continued feeding it, dipping the bucket in once again and creating a concentrated beam of fire that fed the ball before it could lose shape, making it bigger while it travelled further, albeit it more sluggish than before. Then he ran out of juice and collapsed to the ground as the now light orange ball of flames dissipated, leaving behind a small boiling trench in the water which quickly filled itself up again. Harry propped himself up on his hands as well as his knees as he breathed heavily, a lightness entering his head and making him feel nauseous.

"Was that outstanding enough, professor?" Harry asked through harsh inhales of air that was slightly too hot, even for summer.

Flitwick didn't answer, causing Harry to glance at the man, who seemed stunned by what he'd just witnessed, eyes wide and mouth open. Harry laughed and rolled onto his back, inflicting sharp pebbles onto his shoulders, spine and butt.

"I have to say," the professor started hesitantly. "That was actually impressive, the last time I've seen incendio pushed to its limits like that was…"

"Good." Was all Harry had to say to that.

"I guess I shouldn't have been overly stressed about the results of your second-year charms assessment," The man muttered, "You'll do just fine."

"What did you say earlier, professor, about the ministry?"

Flitwick sighed in apparent frustration. "It's not something you should concern yourself with overly, but the basic situation is the following. Hogwarts doesn't fast-track students often. Maybe one a decade, and mostly only ever in one subject. You receiving opportunities to skip ahead in two, charms and arithmancy caused some concern from the board, who voted on the issue a few weeks ago once the headmaster told them our intentions regarding your education."

"It probably didn't help that I'm the bad kind of half-blood," Harry mused, at which Flitwick shook his head.

"As much as it rankles, probably not," he admitted. "Anyway, the board forced us to bring additional examiners from the ministry to your examinations to check that everything was being handled correctly."

"Does it matter?" Harry asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I'm obviously passing, it's not like they can watch me burn a trench into the lake and then refill it with a sixth-year Aguamenti and then tell me to my face that I don't deserve admission to third-year charms. So the inclusion of ministry officials only matters if they're going to be intentionally unfair in their judgement. I can't imagine that would go over well with Headmaster Dumbledore, who holds an important position in the Wizengamot." Harry tried to rationalise, making Flitwick perk up.

"I guess that's true, just leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth, is all," The man said and a short silence descended on the clearing. Until Harry's stomach grumbled.

"Maybe we can wash that away with some food?" Harry suggested. "I'll need my energy if we practise anything else today."

"You feel up for continuing?" Flitwick asked, seemingly surprised.

"Well, private instruction from a Charms master is hard to come by. I didn't expect such fast progress today. Have to take advantage of the opportunity, no?" Harry suggested, causing Flitwick to beam.

"Too true, Mr. Evans! I would definitely have profited from such tutoring at your age as well," he said and that was the cue for lunch, seeing as they went to the castle afterwards to get spoiled by the house-elf staff probably running a bit rabid at not having enough to do with the students gone.

Chapter Text

Vernon heaved a large stack of printing paper into the trunk of their family car. At the same time, Harry carried what must have been an industrial amount of ink.

"Are you sure that's enough paper?" Vernon asked as he looked at the large stack. "Could do with twice that when I was your age attending school. They've really let up, haven't they?"

Harry sighed, patted his uncle on the shoulder, an act he had to go on his tippy toes for and went back to the crosswalk where he watched the man enter the car. "I don't know, uncle, it's just so not challenging, I'm even skipping grades. I can't bring up the motivation to bring much more, it will all go to waste anyway."

"Bah, damn brat, make me spend twenty quid on writing supplies and then not use them. Horrible, ungrateful," Vernon said as he stretched a meaty hand out of the open window and tousled Harry's hair.

"The youth of today, what can I say?" Harry said. "Have a nice one, I'll tell Petunia you dropped me off an hour later than you did, that way you have enough time to be alone for a bit."

Vernon guffawed in the car and slapped the steering wheel. "Too mature for your own good! Shouldn't you have moved out by the time you noticed that sometimes a man just needs some space and time alone to not have to think and talk constantly? Well, whatever, you queer bugger, I'll see you tonight," the man said before abruptly driving off, leaving Harry to stand alone in the sweltering summer heat, surrounded by car exhaust and cigarette smoke. He quirked his nose and turned down the street towards where he knew the leaky cauldron to be. He had some shopping to do and for once, that wasn't just him making up an excuse so that he could get dropped off in London where he would take an ageing potion and show people on the streets his magic tricks in return for money, which he used to purchase goods and services. He started whistling as he walked to his destination. Feeling up the little pouch of wizarding currency he'd gotten from Professor Flitwick after their most recent session. Harry had completely forgotten that the half-goblin was a Head of House and thus had access to the muggle-born fund; his role as his mentor had overtaken all other descriptions he could have given the man.

-/-

"Back again, little French boy?" Skeeter asked, almost aggressively after she'd pulled him to the side the second he'd entered the Daily Prophet's archive. Harry wondered what she'd been doing here. He glanced to the side, at the table she'd been sitting at and saw that she'd been going through some old articles. He turned his attention back to the sharply dressed woman.

"Miss Skeeter, haven't seen you in a while," he said, politely, apparently unbalancing the woman from how she literally stuttered in place and narrowed her eyes at him.

"There is no Professor Dumont," she accused. If she was expecting some sort of penance, then she was to be sorely disappointed.

"I'm sorry about the little lie, I just really wanted access to the archive and was willing to say any idiotic thing to get in," Harry admitted freely and looked past the reporter's lime green pencil skirt to check that nobody was observing them. As last time, the archives seemed remarkably empty for how useful of a resource they were. He guessed that people who grew up in the wizarding world didn't see the need, and muggleborns didn't know the archives existed.

"How straightforward," the woman muttered as her eyes glazed over a bit and the usual frown that her face seemed permanently stuck in relaxed a bit.

"How have you been doing? Ended any careers lately?" Harry asked, getting a surprised blink. He gently pushed the woman a bit back from where she was entrapping him against the wall and leaned against it confidently. Perhaps his ageing potion escapades weren't having the best influence on his behaviour with older women, he noted as Skeeter looked at him in some confusion at the move. Which made perfect sense considering it and his tone of voice could have been considered flirtatious were he not wearing the body of a 12-year-old.

"Other than my own?" was the bitter reply at which Harry tilted his head.

"Tough luck?" he asked.

Skeeter snorted and flicked his forehead. "Bah, leave it, we all have our problems, don't we. Can't imagine the twelve-year-old wasting his youth in the newspaper archives has had anything to write home about happening to him recently."

Harry wondered if getting private instruction from a Charms Master, leading a millennia-old artefact around London and having an oddly fulfilling life for a young lad was anything to write home about. He chuckled. "Guess not. However, considering that both times I've seen you here, you seemed to be in a bad mood I have to ask… Do you even like your job?"

Skeeter stared at him and muttered. "Like my job, he asks me. What's not to like about shoving truth down people's throats only to have no one read it when it does get published," she shook her head. "Everything's going great," she said more loudly with a strained smile.

"I'm glad to hear that," Harry said with a fake smile, "but well, as nice as it was to chat, I'm actually here to read some old newspapers."

Skeeter looked him up and down, frowned again, sighed, and then turned around. "Read your heart out, kid," she said and left, leaving Harry behind in the fairly sterile room. He watched her go, perhaps gazing at her bum as she did a bit too intensely. He wondered if he was entering puberty. He'd started noticing girls a lot, even when not on the ageing potion.

He shook his head, turned around and cheekily pulled his wand out of his sleeve. "Literra Revelio," he said, simply creating the word he was looking for in his mind. Using a wand in a place like this would hardly activate the trace. Several of the metal compartments filling the room to the brim lit up like beacons. Some of them even like, dare he say it, Christmas trees. Made sense. He'd just queried the archives for Hogwarts after all. Harry wasn't going to leave his class advancement up to just his magic skills after all. He needed to see how previous cases of students skipping grades had gone. And if he found additional information about his mother… So be it.

He started flipping through the cabinets and the newspapers, noting that most of the articles mentioned Hogwarts in relation to Dumbledore's political career, which was definitely an interesting thing to see develop in real time. The man truly had a large amount of influence.

Otherwise, the school wasn't mentioned much, mostly on the last pages, whenever the board of governors got a new member, the school got a new teacher, or a particularly note-worthy alumn did something impressive which necessitated bringing up their NEWT scores again.

It wasn't until half an hour in that he'd found what he had been looking for, or well, something similar. The student in question, Severus Snape, hadn't taken an upper-year class but had just sat N.E.W.Ts at the end of his sixth year, passed with mediocre results in everything but Potions and Defence and the Dark Arts, for which he'd gotten an O+ and then left Hogwarts one year early. Harry thought back to how Snape's copy of Advanced Potion-Making had started missing the marginal notes halfway through. It would make sense if that had been because he'd been studying for his N.E.W.Ts instead. However, the issue was… Why exactly did Snape wish to leave Hogwarts a year early?

Was it perhaps because he was feeling guilty about something? But no, the man was a Slytherin. Considering his infatuation with Lily and him then acting strangely afterwards would have been just suspicious enough for him to not take the exams early. If anything he had likely not wanted to stay in the institution in which his best friend had been assaulted. It's not like he had a reason to want to stay. The Snape that Harry imagined didn't have any additional friends to tie him down to Hogwarts. He reread the article

'We, at the Daily Prophet very much hold high expectations for Mr Snape's career, even though it is questionable if his sitting of the N.E.W.Ts one year early was a good decision.' Was a phrase that stuck out to him. Would he too be subjected to public scrutiny in the future if he excelled too much? This had been one of the reasons why he hadn't published the word query spell under his name and had allowed Flitwick to do it anonymously.

Did he have it in him to reject moving into third-year Charms and start Arithmancy a year later?

Harry considered the question for more than just a moment, before coming to the conclusion that he'd come too many times before. He couldn't pretend to be an average child. He'd played with the idea for a few days back when he'd started first grade in the muggle world, but the reality of the situation was that sand-bagging something like this and being surrounded by people less mature than one's self was a sure-fire way to go insane. Even if his being a genius made it more likely for people to become interested in him and perhaps figure out the unfortunate circumstances of his being. Not being a "genius" would make life not worth living in the first place, so what exactly would he be protecting with such an act? It wasn't like it mattered, with a war likely coming, since Voldemort was quite possibly still not dead. People would forget all about Harry Evans if he just quietly moved to America or Italy after his N.E.W.Ts. Just another brain drain, when one truly considered Britain's stance on their muggleborn and its logical consequences. He brought out his wand and cast the spell again, this time searching for Severus Snape, he didn't want to dwell on decisions already made and was quite curious about what had come out of the wonder-boy.

Not much, apparently, he noted as only three golden outlines appeared in his vision. One of which was the article he'd just read. He skipped a few years forward and opened the newspaper on the 31st of March 1982. He flipped back until he arrived at the last page. He was expecting an obituary, but what he found surprised him.

'Severus Snape, Potions Master,' was the title, he continued reading.

After a short apprenticeship to the German potions master Nusskampf, Mr Snape successfully defends his thesis on the controlled usage of volatility in optimised brewing in front of the potions committee of continental Europe. This occurred during the yearly magical conference of 1982, which we have reported on more extensively in yesterday's edition. With Severus Snape gaining his Mastery, Britain has successfully produced seven Potions Masters in the last two decades, a record number. We asked Master Snape's former potions professor about his thoughts on the young man's early graduation from our country's finest learning institution:

Horace Slughorn: Severus was always a very bright lad, just that the environment of the school was perhaps not conducive to his learning while he was here. I thus understand why he sought to graduate early, something which obviously didn't harm him much considering he just gained a mastery.

Interviewer: What do you say about the fact that Mr Snape finished his apprenticeship in only three months? Most people require at least a year or two.

Horace Slughorn: He likely conducted independent research before getting the position, thus his experience in potions is probably similar to someone who has taken a more traditional path. In fact, if Severus ever reads this, I'd like to tell him that he's welcome to how to visit me for a party on Christmas or such-

Harry stopped reading as Slughorn began gloating about all the important people who attended his soirees and wondered about the curious gap in Snape's presence between his graduation from Hogwarts and his Potions Mastery. It correlated almost exactly with the blood war. But if that meant that the man had been involved, or not involved, he could not say. He furrowed his brow when he realised that the only thing he'd really learned today was the fact that the press might be interested in his success at school. Which was what he'd set out to do, but still. There was also the bit about the magical conference and the apprenticeship system. Also, apparently, even wizards had to write theses? Very interesting, he took a moment to pat himself on the back for inventing the word query spell. In an archive which held the daily newspapers of the last few centuries, he actually felt like he was using a computer again. A slow, biased one, but still.

His thoughts suddenly shifted to a different topic as he remembered a painful memory. How defenceless he'd been in his confrontation with Twix, he frowned and started walking around slowly with clenched fists. Was there really anything he could do about that, other than learning some offensive and defensive magic once he was back at Hogwarts? The problem was that there was nobody to teach him how to defend himself and if the trend of Defence against the Dark Arts teachers being crap continued, that wasn't going to change. Even so, they just learned spells for specific scenarios in that class, it wasn't like they were getting practice fighting other magicals. What search term could he use to find out some useful information? Harry thought about the question for a bit before an answer came to mind. Perhaps it was floating there already due to his closeness to Professor Flitwick.

"Literra Revelio," a flick of the wand. The wand movement was constantly being reduced as Harry gained experience with the spell. Several instances of 'duelling' lit up in his vision, and Harry once again thanked himself for creating the incredibly useful piece of magic. He went over to the first paper and started reading, learning that there was a European championship. He found several mentions of Professor Flitwick, denigratory to a certain extent, despite his achievements. Likely because of his blood status. Those articles were mostly concentrated in the past. It seemed like most people had forgotten the professor at this point. It wasn't until a few minutes later that Harry found what he was looking for.

He glanced through the article and determined that this was exactly what he needed as an excuse to at least gain some experience facing off against other magicals. He didn't know if Flitwick would teach him, or who his sparring partner would be, but a way forward had just been illuminated.

'Antonin Dolohov wins the U17 category of the European duelling championship, another trophy for England.'

Chapter Text

Harry was walking down Diagon Alley, after having finished his purchases and bemoaned the state of his wallet. There were so many interesting things to buy in the Wizarding World, but he was too broke to get them. He was just coming up with a plan on using the Room of Requirement to find some coins when he saw a head of purple loitering about in front of a quidditch supply store and frowning at a newspaper. He hefted the extra book he'd been able to get by buying the other stuff second-hand, 'Duelling throughout the ages.'

"Heya Tonks," he said after he'd spent a minute or so sneaking through a throng of robes and singing frogs to get behind the girl. Tonks, understandably, startled and dropped her newspaper. Harry had just enough time to see the moving image of a ferocious werewolf snarling at the camera before she bundled up the newspaper and stuck it under her arm. She spun around and tried to bop him on the head. Harry ducked under the hand and went in for a grapple, briefly hugging the girl before disengaging when he became at risk of another fist.

"Stop that." He frowned. "I've already lost enough brain cells recently."

Tonks rolled her multi-coloured eyes at him, which he noted were underscored by dark bags.

"You're like the annoying brother I never wanted, you know that, Harry," she said in a long-suffering tone as she looked around. Maybe she was waiting for someone. Harry looked her up and down, and noted that she was wearing some nice blue robes for once, not school ones, but that she looked unhappy.

"How's it hanging?" he asked. "You don't look too hot."

"Wow, Harry, really, thanks. I'm just waiting for someone and reading a newspaper."

"I asked how you were doing, not what you were doing," Harry prodded gently with a soft voice while locking eyes with the girl. She avoided his gaze.

"I'm doing fine, I passed all the exams I needed to pass and the rest doesn't concern you," she said stiffly. Harry noted that she was hiding her true feelings, obviously, but he also recognized a losing battle when he saw one. He switched topics.

"What was that about the werewolf? On the front page of the paper."

"There's been an attack near Cornwall. It seems that the werewolf population has grown again. Which is not a nice thought," she said grimly. Harry nodded, before shaking his head as Tonks looked around again, trying to find a face in the crowd.

"Well, it was nice seeing you, let's not be strangers at Hogwarts, alright," he said and patted her on the arm.

"Sorry, I'm a bit rude today, wanna tell me how your summer has been before you go?" she asked with a small wince, before glancing around again.

Harry smiled, Tonks was a teenage girl, she was allowed to be a bit impolite sometimes. Wanting to leave her to her appointment he just shrugged. "The usual, sex, drugs and rock and roll," he said and waved goodbye to the lost-looking young woman waiting for someone on a shop corner and reading a probably depressing article about werewolves. He'd lied naturally, his summer had mostly consisted of Occlumency, arithmancy, charms, sorcery, wine, women, friends and family. He didn't do drugs and considering how only a week or two of summer left he didn't have much time to get into the habit of doing so.

-/-

"You don't look very happy, professor. I hope it wasn't anything I did," Harry said with a grin as he entered the Leaky Cauldron and found his professor sitting at a table in the corner, sipping a glass of butterbeer. The man looked grim indeed but brightened up when he saw his student.

"Mr. Evans!" he said, "Don't say that, I haven't had trouble with you since… Well, there hasn't really been an instance, has there?"

Harry shrugged. "I imagine I take up a fair bit of your time nonetheless," he said, at which the half-goblin simply waved him off.

"I became a teacher because I enjoy it," he harrumphed. "I haven't heard anyone who actually likes the job complain about a too-dedicated student," he said, and Harry saw an entry point to mention duelling. This was the fifth day that he and Flitwick were meeting up and they'd already covered all the charms. Now, Harry hadn't mastered all of them to an outstanding level, skurge in particular, was giving him some issues. He just couldn't properly motivate himself to learn how to clean ectoplasm, when it really wasn't an issue he'd regularly encounter. However, he could comfortably do everything on an EE level, which was fine by him. If he could squeeze Flitwick into giving him some spells used in the duelling circuit for the last three days. Well, that would just be the cherry on top.

"About that, professor, I recently gained an interest in duelling and I was wondering if we could look at something in that direction since we still have three days," Harry suggested softly, trying to look innocent. He still remembered how badly his quest for Occlumency had gone when he had prodded Slughorn on the topic back on his first visit to Diagon Alley.

Professor Flitwick sighed sadly at the request. "That's where a bit of bad news comes in," he hesitated and buried his face in his hands, he dragged them down slowly before slapping them on the table and grunting angrily. "The ministry, in their infinite wisdom, has chosen to interpret our missive of your test being in a week, as it being today. Since we started instruction on a Monday and today is a Friday. Technically they claim, we had a week. A work week. Also, they want to oversee the exam," the man explained tiredly.

Harry.exe crashed and he tilted his head, a variety of curses actually threatened to spill out of his mouth and onto the floor. He looked around the Leaky Cauldron, witches, wizards, Tom, a guy using wandless magic to stir his tea. Was he dreaming? He looked back at the professor, who looked, if anything, defeated and for once seemed his size. The man's enthusiasm usually filled a room. Now he just looked deflated. He considered once again if the ministry had just cost him 3 days of personal duelling instruction with a former champion, before taking a deep breath to calm down. "Arithmancy as well?" he asked and received a nod. "I'm angry," Harry admitted, "but I'm also sure I can pass everything with at least an EE."

Flitwick sighed in relief.

"That's good to hear, we haven't revised the theory yet. I was waiting for the last day before the exam was supposed to take place."

"How much time do we have, maybe we can do it now?" Harry asked. Flitwick only gave a small shake of his head.

"The exam is in an hour, we can revise as we walk, but since the examination will take place in the ministry, we should get there early. If only the headmaster was here, he could probably solve this, but he's at an ICW conference. The way it was explained the ministry's reasoning is air-tight, if malicious. If we don't do it now, the proposal for the skip might be scrapped by the board entirely in response."

"Let's just get this done with," Harry sighed. "We should apparate and wait there, who knows when they'll choose to try to push the time forward and claim we were late."

Flitwick nodded, downed his butterbeer in one go, threw a few Knuts on the table and led Harry outside. Once there the student took the professor's elbow and they apparated into a spacious atrium, where Harry was promptly pulled out of the way by the much smaller man. Only when looking back at the dozen or so spots settled against a corner of the gigantic space did Harry see that they'd landed in the designated apparition spots and that the next wizards and witches were already appearing. All of them were rushing out from where they'd landed in great haste, robes swishing and faces pulled tight. Quite frankly, everyone looked stressed as fuck. Harry was still being pulled as they passed the abominable golden statue of a wizard and witch standing at the top of a bunch of magical creatures, all of them looking up at the hard-faced man with worshipful expressions.

"Wow, that's gross," Harry commented, liking the wide atrium a lot less. The white marble bricks looked more performative than aesthetic and the wideness reminded him more of a short man overcompensating by starting a world war than an architectural decision.

"Quite," Flitwick commented as he pulled them to a stop at a fast-moving queue, where they had to have their wands checked and state their purpose of visit. 'Testing.' The clerk informed them of the room they were to go to and so they did. Flitwick finally let go of Harry's sleeve, by which he'd been pulling him and they walked to the elevator doors, of which there must have been more than twenty, all standing in a row with a long queue of wizards and witches waiting their turn. They joined the jittering line mostly consisting of people who probably thought they had better things to do than wait around, when a voice rang out from behind them.

"Professor Flitwick?" said a deep male baritone, which caused both the aforementioned professor and Harry to turn around to look at the man who'd spoken. Shoulder-length wavy black hair, grey eyes, aristocratic cheeks and a light stubble, Harry's eyes widened.

"Sirius, how often have I told you to call me Filius," the professor chided with a small smile, his mood seemingly improving from seeing his erstwhile student. Sirius scratched the back of his head and blushed a bit.

"Sorry, Filius. It's just a hard habit to get rid of considering how often I was in detention," he said before he took a glance at Harry and paled.

"Well, if you hadn't been such a hellion you wouldn't be in so much trouble now. Although I'm glad to see that you did something for yourself. Senior Auror, last I heard?" Flitwick teased, not noticing the shift in mood.

"Ah, yes, couldn't let James lord it over me forever that he was a higher rank, could I?" Sirius joked and looked away from Harry. "What brings you here? Not often I see any Hogwarts professor at the ministry. Only the headmaster at Wizengamot meetings sometimes," he asked, as they all moved further up in line. Flitwick proudly patted Harry on the shoulder at the inquiry and used the opportunity to brag a bit.

"My brightest student, skipping ahead a year in Charms. You should see his Auqamenti, as strong as yours back then," he said, drawing a confused tilt of the head from the apparent Auror. Harry observed the dress of the man, noting that perhaps the dark brown trench coat was the uniform. Hadn't Moody worn a similar thing in the movies?

"But we didn't learn that spell until our O.W.Ls..." Sirius trailed off, and looked Harry up and down again, appraisingly this time. "Well, bugger me sideways. Way to make a man feel inadequate."

"Mr. Black!" Flitwick said at the cursing and Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of an auror being scolded for saying 'bugger', causing both men to look at him. He shrugged.

"We're not at school Professor Flitwick," he said with a grin. "I've heard worse. Let the man curse."

The half-goblin harrumphed as they entered an escalator and put their arms up to grab onto the golden ropes, right before the elevator did a lateral jump that would have thrown them straight onto the ground if they hadn't held on for dear life. "Don't defend him. Mr Black should learn to keep his tongue better. Especially now that his children will start arriving at Hogwarts," Flitwick said, causing Harry to do a spit-take. He hadn't thought, hadn't considered. If Sirius Black was alive, then why wouldn't he have children? But why were they only a year younger than Harry? That would mean that he'd have to have had them immediately after graduation. Harry looked at the dopily smiling Sirius, who seemed pleased that he could still cause such outrage within an authority figure, more than a decade after he'd left their institution. The look of a man who'd forget to use contraceptives every now and again.

"Harley's been jumping up my back about it recently, yeah. Do take care of her if she lands in your house, prof. Although she's definitely more of a Gryffindor," the man said, causing Flitwick to groan, probably at the thought of another marauder entering Hogwarts. It would probably mix horribly with the twins, who'd started pranking people more and more as the previous year progressed.

Harry meanwhile was stuck on the fact that Sirius had named his daughter Harley. It fit his profile of disdaining tradition and Harley was a normal American name, if a bit rare. But looking at the man, Harry somehow got the feeling that he'd picked it because it was also the name of a motorcycle. He narrowed his eyes and Sirius turned his attention to him, perhaps at the stare, perhaps because he had a question.

"So you're probably in Ravenclaw, right? Smart cookie like you," he teased with an unnecessary wiggle of his eyebrows. Harry shook his head.

"Hufflepuff actually," he corrected. "It's not like a thirst for knowledge can get you anywhere if you're not a hard worker in the end," he said as Sirius nodded along, his shaggy hair flailing all about.

"What's your favourite subject then? I definitely remember Charms being mine," the man continued to prod.

"Probably because it had the biggest potential for misuse in the hands of a student such as you," Flitwick murmured darkly from beside Harry.

"My favourite subject is Charms too. Nothing beats that versatility. I think Defence against the Dark Arts would be a contender, but I can't say considering our professor was a bit…" he trailed off and all members of the trio grimaced at the reminder of Twix having at some point held the position. She'd been a curse-breaker on retainer by the ministry or something, so it made sense for Sirius to have known her. The Aurors office probably dealt with cursed objects every now and again and needed specialised help. Although Harry really didn't know how good Twix actually had been. He couldn't imagine her being particularly competent when one considered how she'd gotten lobotomized at the end of the year. Although to be fair, Voldemort's curse on the DADA position still held strong so it had probably influenced her fate somewhat.

"Well, if it's the lack of a good professor keeping you back, then I have some good news!" Sirius suddenly said, Flitwick immediately interjecting with a warning tone.

"Sirius, that's confidential for the moment," the professor warned, only for the auror to wave him off.

"I know, I know, just saying that there's finally something to look forward to in that regard," he said before perking up as the elevator voice announced that they'd all arrived at the Auror's office. "Anyway, I have to go now, don't do anything I wouldn't, alright!" he said before exiting, presumably to go do his job, probably, to hide some fire-crackers under a toilet seat.

The professor and student continued their journey in silence until they reached the Department of Education and also stepped off the lift.

"I'm curious where Harley is going to get sorted to," Harry eventually stated, breaking the silence. Flitwick chuckled weakly.

"If she's anything like her father, Gryffindor," Flitwick said as they walked down a wide, but empty corridor to the testing room that they'd been assigned. As they got closer they saw that a person was leaning against the wall opposite of the room, despite it being still 40 minutes before their appointment. It was a female figure dressed in a brown robe with her hair and a bun and smoking a cigarette. The smoke curled up lazily in the air but seemed to disappear without leaving a smell.

It was Professor Vector.

"Hello professor, Vector," Harry greeted when they came within talking distance and the woman glanced at them and their approaching footsteps.

"Howdy, Mr. Evans. Seems like they got both of us, huh, Filius," she said nonchalantly.

"They have indeed, I do wonder if they know that provoking Albus like this is not a good idea," Filius greeted back. Vector snorted, finished her cigarette and flicked it into the corridor. It disappeared before it landed, fading like some sort of mirage and dissipating into wisps of nothing. She took a step towards Harry and enveloped him in a surprise hug. It was an oddly good one, it ended with his hair tousled.

"Hope you had a good summer, kid. It's over now," she said as she locked onto his green eyes with her own brown ones, before turning to Flitwick. "I doubt they were thinking overly much. They just saw a half-breed and a blood traitor giving the wrong kind of half-blood a chance to excel. Everything else was just instinct, knowing this institution," she said, before sighing and bringing up a hand to cradle her face in.

"Septima," Filius said warningly, throwing a sideways glance at the youngest present. Harry understood it as a sign that calling out the blood-purism of the ministry was not very bonne tonne and not suited for his own young ears. He rolled his eyes and plopped onto the ground, leaning his head back against the wall.

"What's the point of this stupid politicking and getting high of bureaucratic power when we exist in a society in which a single individual can grow more magically powerful than the entire country combined," he said as he closed his eyes. "Never thought I'd be experiencing institutional marginalisation as a white person in the United Kingdom," he finished morosely, feeling a bit down from the stupidity of recent events. If this was how it felt being stuck in this situation as an adult, he couldn't imagine how bad an actual 12-year-old muggle-born would have it. It brought up the same rage that he used to feel in his previous body whenever some psycho politician or bank owner had gone on a power trip and ruined thousands, if not millions of lives on a whim of greed. But he had magic now.

Did that mean that he could change anything? Maybe, but not anytime soon so he preferred not to think about it too much. He didn't want to get classed as a malcontent with revolutionary intentions before he could defend himself from such an accusation and the brute force arrest or silencing attempt that would come with it. At least in this world, he could grow more powerful, powerful enough to be free of things like this in the future if he continued working. Magic made for a great equaliser.

Nobody said anything to his statement, and they waited there for a few minutes in silence, waiting for the ministry examiners. Harry meditated and the adults probably had their own coping mechanisms for annoying wait times. You couldn't get far in life without the ability to efficiently distract yourself. Harry could have quizzed Flitwick and Vector about some questions, a sort of revision. But he felt prepared enough.

The silence stayed, but not long, before two pairs of shoes started approaching them in the corridor. Harry identified one pair of high-heels and one pair of flats. So at least one woman was coming towards them. He didn't bother opening his eyes for the ministry employees' likely arrival. They didn't merit the respect the gesture would show. His eye twitched, however, when the footsteps stopped right next to them and an annoying sound precluded one of the worst possible people who could have been involved in this fiasco.

"Hem, hem," a shrill, girlish and high-pitched voice started, "I'm so glad you got our notice that the testing would start 30 minutes earlier than originally discussed, hello professors. I am undersecretary Umbridge," it started, already grating on Harry's nerves. Professors Vector and Flitwick gave cool greetings in return, after which the voice turned to Harry and tutted. "Didn't your mother teach you to greet people when you first meet them?" it asked silkily, barely hiding its glee. Harry opened his eyes and glared at the offensive pink blob that had somehow gained the audacity to waddle in their direction rather than have some dignity and die in a sewer.

"Ave, pusillus animo grapheocratus," Harry said as he stood up and continued ignoring the woman, whom he saw gained a confused look on her face at his words, before smiling sweetly. He heard Flitwick exhale powerfully from beside him and Vector chuckle. The old woman standing behind Umbridge remained unamused and seemingly uninterested.

"The official language of the test will be English, Mr Evans, I hope you manage to regain your capacity to speak it by the time your examination starts," she said, clearly not understanding what he'd said but refusing to admit it, and went over to push open the door of the examination hall. It opened to reveal a small room with two tables, one small, in the middle, holding one chair and one big, with three chairs behind it.

The professors and the old woman nodded at each other as Umbridge disappeared into the room and they were forced to follow. "Marchbanks, I look forward to what you have to show us today," she quickly introduced herself and went to sit at the large table without much preamble and tilted her head down to close her eyes. Harry remembered her being an examiner for the O.W.Ls and from her promptly falling asleep recognized her as a woman after his own heart.

"Any explanation why the ministry is trying to muscle in on Hogwarts matters," Vector said as she went to stand by the table. Umbridge, who had opened the briefcase to pull out two large envelopes, an ink well and a quill, shot her a victorious look.

"A student progressing beyond the curriculum before even their second year is highly irregular. The board of governors determined a need to more closely oversee the qualification process for such a move and minister Crouch agreed, offering to provide the facilities and services of the governor of the wizarding examinations authority," she said, but frowned as she noticed that the governor in question had seemingly fallen asleep in her chair. Harry couldn't fault the woman. She likely only ever examined people doing their O.W.Ls and up after all. A second year would be boring in comparison. "Hem, hem. Anyway, let us start the testing, on your table, you will find the Arithmancy and Charms exams. Seeing as you'll be doing both, you have two hours, starting now," Umbridge said and pointed for Harry to sit at the wooden chair in the middle of the room, where she'd deposited the contents of her briefcase.

"Will you all just watch me take the exams for two hours?" he asked in an amused tone as he sat down, before grimacing. The chair was incredibly uncomfortable. He brought up both his legs to sit on it in the lotus position.

Better.

"It seems like it," Flitwick answered when Umbridge said nothing. Harry just rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the two stacks of parchment on his desk. One was Arithmancy, and one was Charms. He took the quill, dipped it in the ink, and started writing. He started with the Charms theory, which, despite its supposed higher level of difficulty, mostly looked the same as what they'd done in the first year to Harry. Although, considering that he was already making his own spells, his sense of scale was probably a bit off.

He finished the entire thing in what he thought was thirty minutes. The ministry hadn't provided the room with a clock. He stood up, hefting the parchment and brought it to the table seating the three adults.

"I'm done with Charms," he announced, gave a bland smile and returned to his seat to finish the other half. Marchbanks woke up and the four adults started poring over his test and debating it. Thankfully one of them remembered to put up some sort of silencing spell so the noise wouldn't disturb him. But from the red-faced duo of Umbridge and Flitwick and the unamused counterparts of Vector and Marchbanks, it seemed like there were some disagreements.

Harry huffed and finished the Arithmancy paper in the same amount of time, this one being substantially more difficult than Charms, perhaps because he'd never actually taken an Arithmancy exam before and thus hadn't known how to prepare properly. He also brought the exam to the table that seemed to have come to a decision while he'd been working. Umbridge looked unhappy, telling him all he needed to know about the results.

"I'm done with Arithmancy," he announced, throwing the parchment on the table and going to lay down on the cool marble ground in front of it. "Tell me when you need me to do some spells," he said from his position gazing at the intricate engravings of what must have been one of the goblin wars spelled in gold on the ceiling. He didn't hear a reply to his statement, so he assumed the same boundary of silence had gone up.

It didn't take long before Marchbanks, apparently fully woken up after the grading, told him to stand up, so she could announce the results. "The Charms theoretical exam has been passed with a perfect score, while the Arithmancy one has been passed with merely an outstanding," the woman said in a bored voice the moment Harry met her gaze, from where she was folding her hands underneath her chin on the table. Umbridge was scowling, but while she'd been hemming and hawing in the beginning, when she was delivering the minister's verdict, Marchbanks' authority as governor of wizarding examinations seemingly didn't give her room to talk much now. "An Exceeds Expectations in the theory part of a subject is grounds for subject advancement if paired with the necessary practical excellence. Seeing as arithmancy does not have a practical exam attached to its theoretical one, I hereby grant advancement to second-year arithmancy," she declared.

Harry looked at Vector, who smiled like the cat who'd caught the canary. "I thought this exam was supposed to be about admitting me to first-year arithmancy."

"Considering the qualifications that students bring to first-year arithmancy are nothing and nothing, it wasn't hard to upgrade an entrance exam into an end-of-year one," the woman said with a shrug, before standing up and making to leave. "It would have been a complete waste of everyone's time if you'd languished through introductory arithmancy with the third years," she said, lit a cigarette and left the room. No one bothered to keep her, considering that her part in the whole fiasco was apparently done. Harry turned to Flitwick.

"I did do the second-year exam, right?" he asked and received a reassuring nod.

"Onwards to the actually exciting part of this whole day," Marchbanks began. "Mr. Evans, it was communicated to me that one of the reasons you were being considered for advancement was your mastery of the water-making charm. Would you please demonstrate," she demanded, leaning forward a bit and finally showing some interest in the proceedings?

Harry looked around the flat room, its only occupants being the two tables and four chairs. Flitwick correctly interpreted his desire, came up and conjured him a rough wooden basin, about the size of a children's inflatable pool. Marchbanks quirked an eyebrow.

Instead of saying anything Harry opted to point his wand at the basin, "Aquamenti," he enunciated clearly. Whereas three months ago it had been akin to turning on a normal garden hose, now the stream more resembled something used by the fire department. Harry had spent more than a week at the seaside. He'd gotten some practice in when it came to his understanding of water and its related sorcery. He cut off the stream once the basin had been filled to the brim, the whole construct having been pushed back a bit at the force of the spell. He turned to the table to look at Umbridge's pinched face and Flitwick's quirked eyebrow.

"That's an impressive output, perhaps toning it down a bit and working on the control would be the next step," the man suggested, making Harry blush. Marchbanks, meanwhile, was more impressed. Her eyes had widened a bit and she was smiling as if she'd just seen a pug do a backflip.

"Marvellous execution, Mr.Evans. The water-making charm is much more complicated than its fire counterpart, due to its production of actual matter, instead of just energy. It's technically a conjuration. May I ask how we are not testing you today in a transfiguration capacity as well?"

"Now, three subjects, that's unheard of," Umbridge interrupted sweetly. "Even Dumbledore only advanced in two."

"I have to agree with Secretary Umbridge," Flitwick said as if it pained him greatly to do so. "The workload would have been immense. Similarly, from my understanding, Mr. Evans only has this one argument for his transfiguration advancement and hasn't learned anything beyond the curriculum that belongs solely to the subject. Or has that changed?"

Harry shook his head. "Charms are more my thing."

Marchbanks frowned "Well, do try this year if you can manage a few transfiguration-style conjurations I doubt McGonagall would allow you to not try. Now, you're supposed to know the disillusionment charm as well? Another sixth-year spell, technically," she prompted.

Harry tapped himself on the head, incanted, and disappeared from sight. He started walking around quietly, happy to see how only Flitwick was able to follow his vague outline. It seemed that the charm had improved once again, considering how he was dodging gazes in a brightly lit room. It made sense, considering how much he'd used the spell during his time at Hogwarts. Not losing access to the Room of Requirement was good motivation indeed. Especially now that it was slowly becoming time to start reselling its valuables. He was sick of not being able to afford anything.

"Homunem revelio," Marchbanks eventually cast, apparently sick of not being able to determine where Harry was. He released the charm, from where he'd been leaning in the corner of the room. She nodded at him.

"This seems satisfactory if you can demonstrate the second-year charms up to an EE standard. Why don't you start us off with the fire-making charm," she suggested, causing Flitwick to grimace and erect a barrier between Harry and the examiners.

"Surely that won't be necessary." Umbridge frowned, looking at the orange globe mistrustingly.

Harry grinned and raised his wand. Not at the proctors but parallel to their seating arrangement. "Incendio," he whispered as he thrust his wand forward.

The world erupted in flames.

Chapter Text

"Professor Flitwick," Harry began when he and the Charms master were standing in front of the door to the Dursley home in Surrey. "I've recently started reading up on duelling, and I was wondering if there were any tips you could give me in regards to me perhaps competing in the U17 division."

Flitwick looked at him kindly. "Duelling, Harry? You did well in your exams right now. But I don't think now is the right time considering your increased workload with both third-year Charms and second-year Arithmancy."

Harry didn't let go of the topic. His impotence in the face of Twix had been on his mind lately, and he wanted to do something to alleviate it. This and perhaps getting some money were his goals for the following year. Not being able to keep up with the workload that he'd taken up didn't even enter his mind. "How about we reconvene after Christmas break?" he asked. "It should be clear if I have enough capacity for more extra-curricular projects by then."

The professor seemed to consider his words, before looking around and seeing that he was still standing around in a robe in a muggle neighbourhood, in broad daylight. "There are two spells you should know if you're serious about this. The shielding charm and the disarming jinx, we can discuss more after Christmas and see if there's anything to be done. Don't underestimate the workload of third-year Charms though, it's a step up from the first and second year. We'll start dealing with more complex topics and effects," he said, at which Harry nodded and thanked the man. It was nice of him to even consider helping Harry with duelling and he would be foolish to not take the man's advice about the shielding charm and the disarming jinx.

If a former champion said they were useful, they likely were. He still had a few days to grind out his wandless finite as well.

"Thanks, Professor."

Flitwick nodded. "I'm glad today went well, congratulations on your advancement, Mr Evans. Sorry about the circumstances. I couldn't have predicted that such unpleasantness would occur and Albus has always had too high hopes for others."

Harry shook his head at the apology.

"All's well that ends, Professor. I'm quite glad to have staggered my O.W.Ls somewhat, although Professor Vector definitely could have warned me," he said, causing the half-goblin to laugh.

"I'm glad you see it that way, have a nice rest of your summer vacation. Don't worry about the course books, I'll send them to you along with whatever Septima decides on," the professor said, before stepping inside the house alongside Harry when the latter opened the door and disappeared with a quiet crack. Harry looked around the seemingly empty house and checked the shoe rack. Everything was there, so it wasn't like his family had gone anywhere. He rolled his eyes and entered the living room, where he was greeted by a small feast on the table and his family waiting for him on the couch. He looked around and saw a few snacks on the coffee table along with some VHS tapes. They'd been having a television marathon while waiting for him and his results.

"What's the occasion for the tiramisu? I usually only get that for my birthdays, last I remember that was a few weeks ago," he quipped, at which Vernon rose up from the couch and went to sit at the dinner table, the rest of the family joining him.

"Nothing, nothing, just felt like it really, I managed to convince Petunia to make it."

"Had some mascarpone left over," his aunt added, pronouncing mascarpone as 'myscarpony'. "Didn't want to let it go to waste." She feigned and joined her husband.

Dudley, in character for the youngest person in the family, wasn't able to hold in his excitement anymore. The blond boy ran up to Harry and started running small circles around him while repeating over and over. "So did you pass, so did you pass, so did you pass?"

Harry conked the blonde missile on the head, stopping it in its tracks and brought the boy to the table.

"Of course I passed, can't believe you'd doubt it."

Vernon put some salad on his plate and mulled over Harry's words. "Well, there was that one time with, the maths," he started before Harry interrupted him

"Don't know what you're talking about," he said as he sat down and started the meal with the cake, instead of the salad. He did feel quite good about himself after all, and considering that this was his day, as low-key as it was, his aunt wouldn't protest. He glanced up and saw that she was grimacing and holding her tongue. He smirked. Even Umbridge hadn't managed to get a word in between when Marchbanks had loudly proclaimed him to have gotten his desired advancements and that she was looking forward to seeing him at the O.W.Ls. Victory was sweet and tasted like coffee.

"So what are your plans for the following year?" Petunia asked, trying to distract herself from her nephew's crimes against humanity.

"Plans?" Harry replied.

"You've never finished one thing before already having the next in mind." She sniffed, causing Harry to think back and to agree with her.

"I was thinking about duelling, maybe it has some translational aspects into being able to defend myself a bit better."

"Duelling?" Dudley wondered from where he was sitting to Harry's right, looking jealously at his brother's cake, but not having the courage to commit the same audacity. "Is that anything like boxing?"

Harry thought about the question. "Maybe it's a bit like boxing" he admitted, hoping that he wouldn't be getting any of the permanent brain damage associated with the sport.

"Atta boy!" Vernon exclaimed. "Maybe I'll have to show you a thing or two before September, see if there's anything to it," he said, while Petunia rolled her eyes next to him.

-/-

Harry stared at the banana that he'd brought along with him from home and that was now inhabiting the cave floor in which he usually practised magic when not at Hogwarts. He'd noticed, when coming back the first time already, that there was a difference between sorcery and wandless magic, and that he should perhaps start referring to the two distinctly.

Sorcery was manifesting will and desire, fuelled by magic. There were steps of progression involved, from candle flame to fireball. It's what he'd been doing before receiving his Hogwarts letter and he liked to think that he was good at it. There was no guiding principle other than one's own understanding of the world. Which was good, since he'd always considered adaptability one of his strong points. Wandless magic, on the other hand, wasn't as much creating something from scratch, as it was simply applying the spell-matrix as used with a wand, without the instrument. Harry swung his arm at the banana, "animato," he cast and made the banana start rocking to the left and to the right. He watched it for a bit, before snapping his fingers, "finite incantatem."

Nothing changed and the banana continued its odd dance. A sigh echoed throughout the cave and the boy sitting inside of it put a finger to the rocking banana, concentrated and cast again, "finite incantatem." The banana halted its movements and rolled to a stop on the floor once it had stopped dancing. "I don't know what I'm doing differently. The animation charm can be cast without touch, but the counter-spell can't?"

'The counter-charm is a more complicated piece of magic than the animation charm. The only reason it's probably taught in the second year is because of how useful it is,' the hat replied from atop the boy's head.

"I should be able to do this," Harry insisted, but put away the banana into his backpack. He could have kept trying, but considering that he hadn't gained any new insights that would change his approach it was probably futile and just as likely to frustrate him as it was to achieve anything. Harry didn't need that type of vibe. He carelessly batted away a mental probe from the hat and quickly packed the rest of his things, before getting his bike and starting to trudge back home.

'We will continue our practice at Hogwarts,' the hat reassured him, while Harry passed the graves of his past life and mounted his bike, having reached the road.

"What if the headmaster makes it so I won't be able to summon you the way I did? I wish they could just do the sorting some other way. We could keep working on it."

'Well I don't know about you, but I want to sort the first years,' the hat rebutted.

"I'm sorry, it's just… I want to keep making progress," Harry said and Chanithachuah sent a wave of reassurance as a response.

'You've made enough progress to not have to fear almost anyone.'

"I know," Harry said and stopped the bike in the middle of the dirt road that they'd been traversing for the past five minutes. It was in the middle of nowhere, not even surrounded by fields, but by plains. It was truly empty and despite the pleasant weather, there was no one in sight. He left his bike and started walking out into the grass, when he couldn't see the road anymore he took off the hat and laid it on the ground. "You remember what to say?" he asked.

"You take me for a fool? It's one name, let's hope it works. I hate owls," The hat replied and Harry left it there, in the middle of the plain. He waited, once he was out of sight. Not a moment too late, because that's when the hat decided to shout what they'd agreed upon.

"Tweak!" the hat shouted, a crack promptly resounding through the empty landscape. A few indistinguishable words were exchanged before another crack was heard. Harry waited a minute or so, went back to where he'd left the hat, and saw the indentation that it had left, laying on the grass, along with the small set of barefooted foot-steps belonging to the house elf that had come to pick it up.

For all that it had been the most sociable summer he'd had since being reborn, having spent time with Penny, Flitwick and several muggle university students. He felt oddly alone without the sorting hat on his head to prompt his now more than decent mental defences. Harry went back to his bike and made his way home. Tomorrow was the train and needed to spend one last evening with his family before the second year of Hogwarts started.

Chapter Text

James stormed out of the Wizengamot meeting, the red on his face probably not doing amazing things for his colour coordination when one considered the hideous plum that was traditional for the institution. People knew to get out of his way, as his brisk and angry walk was a regular occurrence each time the assembly decided to grace the magical population of Britain with another one of its riveting sessions"

"Politics, huh," a red-haired man with a few more years than James said once the latter had gotten into the lift back to his department. His home away from home.

"Don't start, Arthur," James said to the Weasley, who was seemingly going all the way up to the top floor to catch the floo, or to apparate home. "I'm going to go talk to Sirius, then go home and enjoy dinner with my beautiful wife and son and not think about this mess for a few hours."

"Until tomorrow," Arthur said with a sigh.

"Until tomorrow," James agreed with a nod, as the elevator reached the floor of the Auror department and he got off, taking the momentum with him to storm past people pushing parchments and letters into his face, to his office, where he slammed the door shut, put up a silencing charm and screamed.

"That bad?" a voice asked from the corner, where a shaggy-looking black-haired man in jeans and a leather jacket was leaning against the wall.

"Sirius," James said after exhaling loudly and stepping towards his friend to clasp his arm. They exchanged a firm handshake and hug, before sitting down and pulling a bottle of fire whiskey out from underneath James' table, along with two glasses. Two drinks were poured, before being promptly consumed. "How's the case?"

Sirius put up a hand and wiggled it around in some approximation of a so-so. "We found the entry point. The crazy bastard actually swam all the way to England over the channel. Found the spot where they started swimming in Calais."

"That's inhuman," James said with a sigh. "No wonder we had no idea."

"Probably why it was done during the full moon. Two months ago."

"Only one month in before the first massacre, this seems deliberate," James muttered.

"No matches on the footprints, no shed fur, hair, skin oils. Seems like we're dealing with a wizard here. Only a spell could erase traces so well."

"Or they have an accomplice," James suggested, wishing it were true.

Sirius slowly shook his head and gave him a queer look. "You know that's unlikely. Most wizards wouldn't want to collaborate with a lycanthrope. Unless they were paid a lot, or if they shared some ideological beliefs, as we saw in the Blood War; the most recent time wizards and werewolves collaborated to any significant level. We followed the trail inwards into France, and twisted the nose of the frogs quite a bit when we discovered that what they had covered up as some sort of wild animal attack had actually been our werewolf killing a few muggle hikers in the Perche National Park."

James dragged a hand down his face. "It would be," he ground his teeth as he spoke, "politically expedient, if we were to assume that the werewolf had a wizard collaborator, rather than being magically educated themselves."

Sirius sighed. "This is illegal, but I could twist it. I'm the lead investigator after all."

"You're not lying, you were just convinced to have a different point of view."

Sirius shook his head. "Alright, alright. Is it really that bad at the Wizengamot right now?"

"I sometimes regret that I took up representation for your seats, the seats gifted to my son, and the ones left over by the Potters. I just can't justify not going to all the meetings, voting on every petty issue, having to see those small-minded bigots, morons, and power-hungry officials bicker and fight," James said tiredly. He suddenly brightened up however and gave Sirius an excited smirk. "You'll love it, of course."

"Can't you just floo over, it's not far," the man argued weakly.

James just shrugged. "I'm planning on working very hard on the mission, finding the origin of that curse." He paused. "Perhaps some clues as to the…" he trailed off.

"It's been almost fifteen years. Whoever it was, they probably died in the war anyway," Sirius said.

"These pure-blood bastards. They raped, tortured and killed their way through so many muggles and muggle-born during the war, but it all doesn't matter because they were wearing a mask and their victims were nobodies. Well, if this comes out, even years after… Then it will have been a Hogwarts student that was attacked, not some random muggle-born working a muggle job to escape our world."

"They didn't care back then, they won't right now. Just admit it's about revenge, you know I'll support you anyway."

"It's probably a lost cause, of course. The only venue I have is doing a heritage test on the kid's hair or something," James said. "It's a complicated potion. A ritual, more like."

"Snape would help you for free, you know how he was after it happened," Sirius suggested.

James grimaced at the reminder of those dark days in school when they didn't know if the world was ending, beginning, or about to crash down on Hogwarts like a dragon on a cat. "Let him be, it seems he actually escaped this horrid country. He was the smart one, really. Look at us, still trying to prop up and sanitise this decaying institution instead of just letting it die."

"Merlin, what did they do to you at the meeting?" Sirius asked, aghast. "Where's that peppy attitude, 'I'm going to fix this country, not for myself, but for our kids, my more handsome and talented friend Sirius,' you used to say," the man said, mimicking James' voice in a high falsetto.

"One attack," James said, holding up a finger. "One werewolf attack in the last five years. The only one."

"Remus has been doing great work," Sirius said with a nod. "And this one seems to be out of the norm anyway. Why travel here from France."

"One attack and I had to vote against mandatory registration for all lycanthropes. Immediate withdrawal of all job licences. The snapping of wands for any wand-carrying werewolves not able to prove a clean record going back to their school days," James explained, watching in dark humour as Sirius' face grew blacker with every word.

"Crouch and Umbridge," the man growled. "Someone should really twist their heads off. It's not like they're putting them to good use anyway." He looked like he wanted to offer himself up as the executioner of that particular order.

"Crouch is holding on to any scrap of power and relevance he can. Trying to swing the election vote which we all know he's going to lose."

"He's been in power for nearly ten years, how power-hungry can he get?" Sirius asked in disgust.

"I sort of understand. His son disappeared mysteriously during the war and his wife died years ago. If he's not a minister, he's nothing," James said with a chuckle.

"Mysteriously disappeared," Sirius chortled.

"If only we'd kept any evidence, or used it back then when our word would have mattered," James said with a sigh. "We could have prevented this horrible back-to-back Crouch administration."

"To be fair," Sirius said. "Who exactly did we have? Who could have done it better?"

James paused. "That's true. Bones wasn't a thing back then. Albus didn't want the job… And today?"

"How about yourself?" Sirius asked, getting a disbelieving look from his best friend.

"Me, minister?" James asked incredulously.

"Well, you'd hate it. But if nobody with decent intentions is willing to step up to the task, we'll never get a good one," Sirius insisted.

"I have something else to do first," James said as he shook his head and stood up. "Maybe after we've gotten rid of this last remnant of Voldemort."

"Any clues where it might be anchored? We explored the whole school when we were students and we never found it."

"No idea, just that it's probably not in the library," James said with a sigh. He walked over to the fireplace to which he was privileged as a head auror and took a pinch of floo-powder into his hands.

"Well, I see you're raring to go," Sirius said with a sigh and also stood up. "Say hello to Neville and Marlene for me."

"Just come visit sometime," James deadpanned.

"Stop giving me such tough cases, then," Sirius snorted before the two said their goodbyes.

James stepped into the fire with a throw of floo-powder and a call of, "Godric's Hollow, Potter residence!"

-/-

James exited the green fire and immediately relaxed when his tired eyes gazed upon the comfortable and rustical home that he was privileged to call his own. He heard utensils clinking from the dining room and sighed as he realised that he'd once again come back so late, that his family had started eating without him.

Putting down his robes and shoes he walked from the living room, through the kitchen and the dining room, where he met the eyes of his beautiful wife, as he sneaked up behind his son, whose seat was facing the entrance and who was too busy scarfing down lasagna like they didn't feed him. James put up a finger to his lips in a shushing motion when Marlene noticed him, and slowly approached. Once he was behind Neville's seat he brought down his head, until it was resting over the right shoulder of the blonde boy.

"How's it going, champ?!" he suddenly asked loudly, causing Neville to drop his fork and jump up and shouldering James right in the chin, which caused him to recoil.

"Dad!" the blonde boy said excitedly, immediately forgetting his dinner and starting to run circles around James.

"You won't believe what Ron did today?!" he began, before deciding to pursue a different topic. "Any cool cases at the Aurors office? Can we play Quidditch? Can you show me the shielding charm? Can you? Can you?" the boy babbled without fear or restraint.

The two parents shared a mirthful look over Neville's blonde head. They both enjoyed having such an energetic son and all the ups and downs that came with it.

"Come on, let me eat first, then quidditch, no?" James asked as he went to sit down at the empty chair with a steaming plate set in front of it.

Neville sat down, reluctantly being forced to agree by coercion of his mother's strict gaze. He pulled his bangs to cover the scar on his forehead, which had gotten uncovered during the interaction.

James hadn't noticed how hungry he'd been until he took the first bite of the delicious homemade meal. He closed his eyes and sighed contently, once again reaffirming the reasons for which he worked and slaved away at the ministry.

To create a world in which everyone could enjoy moments like these.

Chapter Text

Harry stood on platform 9 ¾ wondering what the following year would bring. More Charms, more Occlumency, hopefully, and hopefully some money from the Room of Requirement. It all sort of depended though, on the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

He entered the train and started looking for a compartment. If the new DADA professor was a psychopath like Twix had been, then the year might derail, like the last one had.

All in all, Harry had set his intentions and one of them was staying out of trouble, so no matter what, he wasn't going to get involve-.

"I'm sorry, but can you maybe get out of the way? You're blocking the corridor," someone suddenly said behind him. The boy frowned as he realised that he'd gotten too caught up in his thoughts. He stepped aside, pressing himself against the warmly coloured panelling making up the inside of the train and looked at who had spoken to him. A first-year was the first thing that he noted. She had no colours on her tie, but she was almost as tall as him. He frowned at the fact that this body wasn't growing quite as fast as his last one. Annoying.

"Thank you," the girl said and hurried past him, as if wanting to get away from something, or to somewhere. She had curly black hair and from a look that she threw behind herself, he could see that she had grey eyes.

"You're welcome," Harry muttered, shook his head and entered the compartment that he was standing next to. He re-applied the feather-weight charm on his luggage as he dragged the giant leather trunk inside and heaved it over his head and onto the bars drilled in on top of the seats. He could have used the levitation charm, in hindsight, but despite his magical ability he sometimes still slipped back into a muggle mindset. It was something that he would have to get rid of.

"Heya Harry," a voice suddenly said from the compartment door as it opened and the afore-mentioned boy smiled as he turned his head to behold a Penny standing at his door. The blonde didn't particularly care for niceties or politeness apparently and before he had the time to return the greeting, he was getting full-body glomped.

"Hey Penny, it's been a while, hasn't it?" he asked, being released from the sneeze-inducing labyrinth of blonde hair intermingling with his own red one. An owl hooted from where the girl had left her luggage.

"It was sooo boring at home in comparison to France, you can't believe it. You have to visit me next summer. Or else," she threatened as she cast the levitation charm on her luggage and laboriously magicked it to its place. It wobbled dangerously as it did so, but its destination it did reach. Harry considered helping but wanted to see where the girl stood in terms of her magical abilities outside of Potions. He was impressed by what she'd managed. That trunk was heavy.

"It sucks that it didn't work out this summer, but I'm sure we can manage next, I don't think I'm skipping any more grades," Harry joked.

"You managed, then?"

"Yeah, barely, I'll be in third-year Charms and second-year Arithmancy. I'll keep relying on your help with my potions work though."

"Congratulations," Penny said begrudgingly, some negative emotion in her eyes. Harry remembered the dissatisfaction that had come out when she'd been drunk in France, about his advancement. Now, Penny wasn't really a jealous person, nor was she unable to celebrate the victories of other people. So the likely reason for her saltiness, which she wasn't able to articulate was…

"You're still my best friend you know and we only won't see each other in one class," he said gently and leaned back in his seat. Penny huffed, crossed her arms and looked out of the window.

"We also won't see each other in Arithmancy, when I take it next year."

"Yeah, but in return I'll be able to help you with Arithmancy like you help me with Potions."

"That's true, you can do my homework when I don't feel like it," she said, causing Harry to roll his eyes. He wasn't about to do anyone's homework. Most of the time he barely even had the energy to do his own.

"Who's your new friend?" he asked, instead of pursuing the topic further, and pointed to Penny's left, where a thin metal owl cage with a soft-looking barn owl in it occupied a seat. It hooted when the attention of the room shifted towards it. Penny looked at the owl and smiled.

"That's Perry, you're hard to stay in contact with, you know?" she said accusingly. "I used the leeway my good grades got me to ask for an owl of my own. My parents almost never let me borrow Petrold."

Harry nodded along with her explanation, it hadn't been easy staying in contact with Penny and Cedric during the summer vacation. Penny sent a letter about once a week, and Cedric even less. Although it had been funny seeing the Diggory family owl arrive exhausted on the southern coast of France one day, due to the boy forgetting that his friends were on the continent. The owl had been none too pleased at that and the regularity of the letters had dropped even further after. While Penny and Cedric were Harry's best friends at Hogwarts, he couldn't really say that he was too beat up about the slight drop in communication during the summer. They were still children and he'd never particularly liked texting, something that had translated over into writing letters.

"What kind of grades did you get?" he asked, at which Penny put up a fist and started counting off subjects, finger by finger with furrowed brows as if concentrating intensely.

"I got an O+ in Potions, an O in Herbology and Charms, an EE in Transfiguration, Astronomy and an A in Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic." She said proudly. It was impressive having an O in three main subjects, but the DADA grade was a bit sad. They sort of just hadn't had an instructor for the last two or three weeks there and Twix had never been such a good professor in the first place.

"Are you guys already talking about grades?" a voice suddenly asked from the compartment door as Cedric strolled in, pushing his luggage and carrying an oddly broom-shaped wrapped object. "You know we're not even at Hogwarts yet, right?"

"Not only grades, this nerd advanced a year in Charms and started Arithmancy early," Penny snorted, pointing derisively at Harry, who raised his chin, refusing to be shamed for his academic "achievements." Cedric made googly eyes at him.

"That is bonkers. Completely bonkers," he said and sat down, clutching his broom, but levitating his trunk up just like Penny had. He shuffled the stick in his hands and smiled mischievously.

"What's that broom-shaped object you got there?" Harry asked, knowing that Cedric was unlikely to brag without a prompt. He saw Penny roll her eyes and lean back in fake disinterest as she started twirling her hair around her fingers.

Cedric grinned, before smiling genuinely at Harry. "It's all thanks to you mate. I got an O+ in transfiguration and my parents bought me a new broom. Cleansweep 900. Top of the line unless you got a nimbus," he said proudly, waving his package around dangerously, smacking it against the red and gold motifs on the walls and almost hitting himself in the head.

Harry whistled appreciatively, although he definitely had no idea what having a Cleansweep 900 meant. A bit of an ironic name for a racing broom in fact. If you tried to use one for actual sweeping a quidditch fan was likely to try to murder you. "You're gonna try out for the team?"

"Been practising all summer, ate so many bugs you can't even count." Was Cedric's proud reply.

"Ewwww," Penny moaned and leaned away from the boy, as if trying to get away from him, "that's not something to be proud of.«"

Cedric crossed his arms and turned away from her. "Well, I don't bring up how you smell after you spend the whole day making potions. Quidditch requires sacrifice, I guess you wouldn't get that."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Penny said with narrowed eyes. Harry felt like he should intervene, even if on a purely emotional level he rather felt like getting some popcorn.

He didn't even like popcorn.

"You know, you're," Cedric blustered, pointing, vaguely in Penny's direction, as if that was indicative of anything. The girl crossed her arms.

"I'm a what, Diggory?" she asked, and the offender looked haplessly in Harry's direction.

He shrugged at the wannabe quidditch star. He'd dug his own hole there, although, maybe he should help.

"He's just being an idiot. He probably wants to say that we're not as good at flying as him and aren't aiming for the team. But obviously, even fans can have opinions. Quidditch wouldn't be very fun if no one came out to watch it," Harry intervened, trying to unruffle the feathers. Penny harrumphed and looked away from both of them, as Cedric laughed awkwardly. Harry looked at the boy and violently jerked his head towards the girl in the compartment, 'do something,' he said with his gaze, only for Cedric to be saved by the bell. The bell came in the form of the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan, who entered the compartment as if they owned it.

"Hey guys, how was your summer?" one of them asked, while the other two idiots barely contained their laughter. They were all holding something behind their backs.

"Great, my parents gave me a broom!" Cedric gloated, at which point Harry decided that he didn't want to be a part of whatever the prank was and slipped behind the Gryffindors when they got distracted by the shiny thing. Boys and sports equipment, a truly deadly combo. He glanced back and saw that the trio were holding dung bombs. Deciding to spare the rest of the train, he flicked his hand from where he was now standing at the dung bombs, sending out a small flicker of fire at each of them, before closing the door. He got to watch as the trio of pranksters and his two friends froze when the iconic sounds of dung bombs going off resounded throughout the room. They all turned to where he was watching them through the glass window of the compartment door, on which Harry decided to graciously apply the sticking charm. It was going to be on their curriculum this year and he felt like helping them prepare a bit in advance by familiarising them with the spell's effect. The moment the screams started he also added a muffliato on top, to not disturb the other passengers. He started walking away, deciding to come back in a bit, after they'd aired out with the window. The whistle of the train blew and they started moving along slowly as Harry began strolling down the compartments in boredom, most everyone else being seated and being too busy catching up with their friends to have to go out and take a break.

It felt nice to stretch his legs and he eventually managed to reach the last compartment where he was planning on catching the last bit of quiet he was going to get for the year,. It was there that he heard some harsh breathing.

The Hogwarts Express had a pretty iconic structure, with compartments being on the right, if one were walking towards the end, with a small square of space next to the exit stairs on every cart. Therefore Harry was able to quickly identify the location that the sound was coming from to be this square, which he quickly brought into his view by propelling himself towards it with his legs. There he found a young woman with black curly hair sitting on the ground with her face between her knees. The hair looked like the girl from earlier, but the body was bigger. Harry hesitated, before deciding to do what any other person in his situation would have likely done as well if it had been him on the floor. He sat down on the vibrating floor opposite of the girl and asked her how she was doing. Well, not how, because the answer was obvious, the question sounded rather like.

"It's rough, innit," he stated, eliciting a small laugh. The woman, a Hufflepuff by her tie, looked up and smiled sadly.

"Such a philosopher, Harry," she said in a voice that he recognized.

"Is everything alright, Tonks?" Harry asked, quick on the uptake. He'd never seen Tonks without brightly coloured hair, and it struck him that she looked far more subdued without it. Perhaps being a metamorphmagus wasn't such a good gift for children to have. It allowed them to fake happiness much too easily. Wet eyes and runny mascara? Tonks could probably have all traces of it gone in a minute.

"Have you ever told you what I want to be after Hogwarts, Harry?«"

"I don't remember the specifics. Would you mind sharing?"

"I've always wanted to be an Auror, my uncle is one and he was integral in ending the last war," Tonks began, before stopping.

"I can't imagine it's a very easy job. It sounds almost like you're a soldier in case of war," Harry prompted. Tonks shook her head in agreement.

"It's a hard job. Thankless. It's where I see myself."

"I think you'd make a great Auror," Harry lied, thinking about the police he'd known in his previous life. If muggle and magical police had anything in common, Tonks' moral values wouldn't really align. This is also what had presumably happened in the books, the reason she'd joined the Order of the Phoenix

"If I ever manage to even qualify for the academy. Alastor Moody, James Potter, Sirius Black. The standards are higher than ever and the amount of Outstandings you need to even get admitted to auror training, which you can still fail…"

Harry listened to Tonks, as she explained to him the requirements in place for being an auror. It seemed like a tough nut to crack, perhaps because James and Sirius had raised the prestige of the department. According to Tonks, almost one in four people in her grade wanted to become Aurors. She wasn't as academically gifted as some of them, and she was afraid that she'd be unable to pursue her dream. Harry assumed she did not wish to take advantage of family connections and might even avoid doing so.

Worrying about grades - he knew that. There had been exams he'd taken in his previous life, of which the failure would have had him expelled from his department. The stress had ended up getting to him several times and he'd been in no better state than Tonks was now, shivering and stuttering on the floor as she was. Not particularly caring for whatever the girl was saying in particular, Harry let himself fall forward and enveloped her in a hug, just as she was about to repeat for the third time how she was going to fail.

He felt her go still in his arms and considered if he was overstepping. He decided to ignore that consideration and stroked the girl's hair.

"It's going to be alright," he said as he tightened his hold. In his perhaps misogynistic opinion, women generally weren't very interested in solutions to their problems, but rather emotional support. They generally already knew what they needed to do, whereas men lost themselves in solutions to replace the complexity of their emotional state with something they actually understood.

"You can't say that," Tonks protested weakly, to which Harry shook his head.

"Tonks, you're going to do great and if academics aren't your strong suit, then you'll just have to excel in another direction. Academies don't look at grades only, you know," he said, after a minute, considering her sufficiently calm.

"But it's too late to become a prefect," she said and Harry got an idea, a diabolical idea, a great idea.

"When we come to Hogwarts, Tonks, fight me," he said as he released the metamorphmagus from the hug and looked her seriously in the eyes. Hers held mostly confusion while his brimmed with conviction.

"What, why?"

"What do aurors look for? Combat potential. Fight me and let's see where you stand. There's a duelling championship for people under 17 and if you do well enough they won't be able to not take you," he explained and some understanding appeared in a pair of now golden eyes, haloed by bright red hair, similar to his own.

He left out the fact that she'd find it very hard to not get accepted, considering her shape-shifting ability. Unfair, but reality.

Tonks, for her part, looked convinced but was looking at him doubtfully. "You're in your second year."

Harry shook his head. "How about we find out what that actually means?" he taunted.

"You know what, challenge accepted," she said as she stood up, dusted herself off and offered him a hand up. Harry took up it and they shared a meaningful look in that abandoned square of the Hogwarts Express, as the tracks chugged along, the train whistled and the English countryside passed them by in a blur, as seen through the window on the door. Harry felt like he'd made a friend, but considering how flaky teenage girls were, he would settle with a duelling partner.

-/-

When Harry entered the great hall, having gone with the rest of the student body, excluding the first-years, the first thing that he looked for was any changes to the staff table. Other than Vector winking at him, the first time he'd seen her after her little prank, there were two things that he noted down as he sat down with the Puffs. Firstly, Quirrell was gone. This was the year that he had taken the sabbatical in the books and had returned with Voldemort stuck to the back of his head. Replacing him was a bubbly woman, whom he assumed to be his replacement for the position of muggle studies professor. She didn't look like she could hurt a fly. Of course, she could have also been the DADA professor, because quite frankly, most of those people hadn't really fit the role either. He didn't think so, however, because, between Flitwick and Hagrid, there was an empty seat. He glared at it as the sorting commenced, knowing that he wouldn't get his answer until it was over. He needed to know the identity of the DADA professor, to see if there were going to be more problems this year. He turned to the first years and glared at them too, trying to make the whole thing go by faster. It didn't work, he looked at the hat, who, at this point, could be considered a friend and tried to communicate with his eyes.

"Slytherin!" It shouted, after having taken a minute to determine that. Harry started tapping his foot against the stone floor of the hall and ignored Cedric's and Penny's conversation even harder than he had been doing before. They were just talking about some werewolf attack in London. Appropriately horrific to draw a child's attention.

Why was there an empty space at the table?

"Harley, Black." McGonagall read from the parchment which held the student names, looking as pinched as ever. Murmurs erupted in the hall, more than they had for any student previously. They gained Harry's attention as the black-haired girl that he'd seen in the corridor slowly walked up to the hat. The others were discussing Neville Longbottom in relation to the girl, which made sense since their fathers were presumably still best friends. But this wasn't necessarily something that was supposed to be public knowledge, right? Having a well-known parent didn't mean that the child would gain any of that recognition. He turned to his friends, who'd fallen silent and were watching the sorting too closely than putting on a hat really merited.

"Who's she?" Harry asked. "People seem to know her."

"She's the daughter of a famous Auror. Also, she's friends with the boy who lived, I've seen them in the papers together. She's always standing in front of him. It's like they're brother and sister, they say," Penny whispered to him, not taking her eyes off the girl in question. Harry digested the information he'd just been given. With the importance that Neville had in modern history if he hadn't been removed from the wizarding world as Harry had been, then he would have attracted some paparazzi, wouldn't he? And thus, by association, the people around him would gain unwanted attention as well, which explained the whispering. If Harley Black was Neville Longbottom's best friend, then she probably didn't have much of a reason to like reporters. He threw the girl a pitying gaze and discerned that she was wearing a blank mask of a face but underneath that. her closed eyes looked sad and she was biting her lip. As the hat opened its mouth Harry realised that the girl looked like she was about to cry.

"Hufflepuff!" The hat shouted eventually, the girl seemingly having fought an internal battle with Harry's Occlumency teacher. The girl stood up shakily amidst the applause of the great hall and walked to the table of badgers, before freezing for a moment. She was the first student sorted into the house, and there wasn't an obvious space for her to sit. Harry moved to the right of the bench from where his group was sitting, opening up a spot in between them. He gave Harley a pitying look and she sat down next to him.

He hadn't been the only one who'd opened a spot so he wondered why she'd picked that one.

Penny clapped the girl on the back and welcomed her and an older boy from the other end of the table leaned and tugged at Harley's hair to get her attention.

"Does the boy who lived really get personal tutoring from Dumbledore? Could you get me an autograph?" he asked and while Harley shrank back and tried to get the boy's hand untangled from her curls, Harry's fist shot forward and socked the boy clear in the nose. A cone of silence swept around the circle of students who had witnessed the event and Harry thought that he heard a shocked,

"Mr Evans!" From the staff table.

Harry, for his part, glared at the boy who'd tried to harass the first-year sitting next to him instead of greeting her into the house and hissed at him. "If your curiosity is stronger than your respect for other people's privacy, then maybe you should switch tables. Your bloody nose would go great with green and silver."

The brown-haired NPC clutched at his nose at hearing his words and looked at the red that came off with a pale face. Before he got the chance to get angry and try to retaliate, his hair twisted upwards unnaturally, right before Harry's did the same thing. It felt like someone was pulling it. They both grimaced and looked to the right, where a furious-looking prefect was starting bloody murder with them. The young man, which is what the black-haired student was at this point, mimed locking his mouth shut, before dragging a thumb across his neck and pointing at both of them. Harry dispelled the jinx on his hair, with a wand, instead of what he'd been practising over the summer, rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the sorting, ignoring the skittish people that now surrounded him.

"Bloody fuck, Harry." He heard Cedric murmur from his left, while Penny reached behind Harley's back and gave him a concerned squeeze on the shoulder. Harry shook his head, trying to communicate that he was right, while he glared at the hat, wishing for it to go faster. It seemed to glance in his direction, an analysis of a leathery facial expression that he'd only managed to achieve after several weeks of training, before apparently going slower, as if to taunt him.

Harry closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and decided to meditate to skip forward to the end of this debacle.

-/-

"As for the professorship of the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, I am happy to welcome to our midst, James Potter, who has decided to take a sabbatical from his work as an auror to educate young minds," Dumbledore announced and started clapping, to the enthusiastic confusion of everyone. The seat at the staff table was still empty, after all. That's when the man's invisibility spell dropped and it became apparent that their new professor had been in his seat all along. The great hall erupted in deafening cheers, causing Harry to wince. He looked around the pandemonium that had erupted and saw that at the Hufflepuff table, only he and Harley remained unamused, their faces being mirrored by many of the Slytherins. The cheering continued and McGonagall stood up to start sending bangs of sound into the air with her wand while shouting something unintelligible. Jame-, no, Professor Potter waved cheekily, countering the attempts of his colleague, to her obvious displeasure, as she turned to him and started chewing him out. If Snape had been present he likely would have spontaneously combusted in a fit of sheer disgust.

Considering how much drama having Potter as their DADA professor would likely bring, going by the initial reaction, Harry sincerely hoped the man would at least be a good enough teacher to make up for that.

He just wanted a quiet, normal year, with no near-death experiences, thank you very much.

Chapter Text

'I need a room in which I can practise duelling.' Was the phrase running through Harry's mind on the morning after the sorting. He'd woken up extremely early so that he could slip out of the common room and had made his way to the Room of Requirement.

Once there he stepped through the door that appeared in the wall and gazed appreciatively at the grand hall given to him for his practice and at the dummies standing on the far end. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't be weak anymore, or at least not any weaker than he had to be and this was going to be one of his focuses this year. All the time that he'd spent last year creating and testing his search spell, would go into duelling now.

But first, he grinned cheekily and asked the room for an Occlumency teacher, which it provided in the form of an old leather hat appearing on his head.

'Good, you got me,' Chanithachuah said into his mind after a few seconds spent acclimating to the sudden teleportation.

"Was the headmaster overly curious about your location over the summer?" Harry asked as he batted away a strong mental probe with some difficulty. The hat was stepping up its game. "Did he try to prevent you from disappearing again?"

Chanithachuah did the mental equivalent of a shrug. 'He didn't seem overly concerned. I did come back on time after all. I imagine the head-master has bigger fish to fry.'

"Any important information you can share?" Harry asked, suddenly realising, that if the hat spent time in the headmaster's office, it might have overheard some important details about Voldemort, or other threats. Alas, he was to be disappointed.

'Too many sentient objects with conflicting loyalty in the office, he has a spell for shutting out interference and perception for truly important moments. But I could tell you which students still wet the bed if you're curious.'

"Errr, I'm fine, I think," Harry responded. "It's good to have you back."

'It's good to be back, just the act of moving around is refreshing. I noticed that I've grown quite lethargic over the past few centuries. I haven't done anything more difficult than sorting for a very long time.'

"Isn't that your purpose?" Harry asked with a quirked eyebrow.

'You of all people should know that an entity's primary purpose does not have to be its only task in life,' the hat evaded. 'Don't let me keep you from what you came here to do, I see a duelling dummy over there. Send a fire-blast at it or something.'

Harry graciously accepted the change of topic, due to not having a lot of time before he had to meet his head of house. He'd gotten a letter from Sprout yesterday, She'd bid him to a meeting this morning after breakfast and before his first lesson. He assumed that she wanted to talk about his advancement, which had mostly been handled by Flitwick and perhaps how he'd punched that bloke yesterday.

Anyway, the point was that he didn't have infinite time and so he should really go over his combat potential, which had been the primary purpose of this visit. He tapped his wand against his chin as he paced and pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket. He levitated it wandlessly and began taking notes, cataloguing his current repertoire. He hadn't really come here with a plan, thinking he'd save the thinking until he arrived.

Attack:

Transfiguration: non-organic to Snake + animation charm; non-organic/organic to needles + telekinesis

Spells: Scourgify?; flipendo, auqamenti, incendio, petrifying charm

Utility: Sum invisibilis + muffliato, bubble-head charm, finite, accio

Defence:

He frowned as he drew a blank on defensive options, but also at the fact that he lacked a single-target incapacitation spell that would remove an enemy from play, without burning them to ashes or breaking their ribs with a high-pressure water jet. Flipendo was mostly useless in comparison to a stunner or the disarming jinx. This was probably why Flitwick had suggested he learn the latter and the shield charm. He suddenly realised that the most pragmatic thing to practise would be the shield charm, but looked at the sad and lonely duelling dummy just standing there.

He couldn't just ignore it, could he? He needed to at least test his offensive repertoire, and see what it could even do. He'd never really cast any of his actual attack spells on a human target, ignoring Flipendo, which he'd learned in the classroom last year. He confidently turned to face the dummy, noticed that it was too far from him to really hit it without his spells losing effectiveness on the way and walked closer.

'Optimal range is about 14 metres,' The hat helpfully supplied, something that Harry took at face value, not particularly caring enough to doubt its advice. While he was older than all his friends and classmates, the hat was about 33 times as old as Harry. So, he should probably listen to its advice if it was about a topic that he knew nothing about. Thus, he walked over to the dummy, having the feeling that its eyes were following him, before measuring a distance of 14 metres away from it with his steps as reference.

'Knees slightly bent, head forwards at an angle; reduces the amount of space that a spell can hit you in,' the hat instructed and Harry went down a bit, robes swishing slightly against the ground. He faced the dummy, right side forward, left hand behind his back. 'Set intent to harm, instead of just using the spell in the direction of a target,' the hat commanded and Harry took the time to look at the wooden dummy, a torso on a stick with a wheel on the bottom, held up by magic. An ugly dark thing with a hateful frown etched on its face and a wand loosely gripped in its right hand.

A tense silence enveloped the room of requirement as Harry prepared a spell. He didn't know which one in particular he wanted to use, but he knew that he wanted to annihilate the thing. It wasn't that he had a particular hatred of wooden dummies, but setting the correct intent for the practice at hand was something he'd learned early on in his practice of magic. You were just as much training your muscle memory, magical connection and enunciation as you were your emotional state and your ability to control it. His wand blurred forward faster than it likely ever had before as he shot off a knock-back jinx. A white ball of force flew through the air and was on course to nail the dummy right in the middle of its torso.

That's when the thing simply rolled to the side in one efficient motion, put up its arm and shot a bright red light at Harry, whose eyes widened and who was too shocked to do anything but gape stupidly at the spell coming his way. It hit him in the chest, knocked him on his ass and sent his wand flying in the air. It clattered to the floor obnoxiously beside the wheel of the again unmoving dummy.

'You should probably dodge, next time,' the hat helpfully supplied from where it apparently hadn't fallen off during his tumble.

"I didn't know magicals had autonomous practice dummies," Harry said stupidly, as he continued blinking at the ceiling.

"I forget that beneath all that talent for the Mind Arts and magic is a twelve-year-old boy," The hat said with a sigh, out loud this time. "There are many things about the magical world you don't know, but let's take this step by step. Stand up, pick up your wand. Easiest exercise first. Shoot off a Flipendo, dodge the counter-attack, and send off the next one. You need to get used to dodging."

Harry leveraged himself onto his feet with prodigious use of his elbows and hands, sent a note of thanks to the hat, which apparently had a much wider knowledge base than he assumed, and wandlessly summoned his wand to his hand. It snapped into his palm with a satisfying thwack and its owner entered the correct position for this exercise.

The young wizard felt electrified, goosebumps spread out across his skin and his sight hyper-focused on his enemy. He had been learning magic, coming up with spells, and clever manipulations for over a decade now. But this was the first time he was learning how to do something so primal with this knowledge. He didn't feel like he could take on the world, but he felt like he could start learning. Harry Evans was here, magical, powerful, and intuitive and he was going to-

"Point your feet more inwards, you look like a goose," the hat supplied. Harry followed its teachings and fired off a knock-back jinx. The dummy dodged and riposted.

-/-

Suffice it to say Harry didn't get to work on the shield charm that day, but he did work out a sweat and improved the speed that his knock-back jinx travelled. He also felt like his footwork had improved. The dummy had needed to get out of the way with more urgency towards the end of the practice session there.

All in all, Harry was satisfied with what he'd accomplished. While the hat hadn't seemed all that impressed, the young wizard knew not to expect anything grandiose from the first session; with only a hat to teach him the do's and don'ts. What was important was that he'd started practising. With the fact that he'd finished the spell that had taken up most of his time last year, he expected to get quite decent at duelling by the end of this year.

The Room or Requirements was an amazing resource, it seemed. He was willing to work at the skill and he might even get a world-class tutor by the end of the year. So, understandably, there was a slight skip to his step as he made his way to Sprout's office, the woman wasn't spending all her time in the greenhouses yet, likely because there hadn't yet been a class for her to go there for.

His mood soured a bit as he considered the dressing down that he was likely to receive for punching that moron at the sorting. The boy had definitely deserved it, but Harry could have taken a different route. Sprout seemed to share his opinion and voiced it as he entered her barely furnished office, which seemed dead in comparison to the woman's usual surroundings, "I'm quite disappointed in you, Mr. Evans," she greeted him.

Harry sighed and stood at attention behind the comfortable-looking plush armchair before the equally plump woman's desk.

"I'm sorry, professor. My anger got the best of me when I saw the newest addition to the house being harassed rather than welcomed."

"That was more a justification, than an apology," Sprout admonished.

"I'm sorry, professor," Harry repeated. If he was apologising for what he'd done yesterday, or for the fact that he didn't feel sorry at all, he didn't know. Sprout's frown remained.

"It isn't me you should be apologising to," she said and Harry nodded dutifully.

"Detention, Mr. Evans and an apology to Mr. Kent. You'll serve yours with Professor Potter. He volunteered so as to unburden me, who also has a house to head in addition to teaching a main subject. Remain to speak with him after your first DADA lesson."

Harry narrowed his eyes as his limbs froze up in slight fear. Despite how James had saved him, in the end, last year. He still hadn't forgiven the man for creating the situation in the first place. At least he had the balls to come and try to solve the issue on his own this time, instead of sending a proxy and sneaking around like a rat. The only advantage Harry had in this situation was the fact that the man didn't know that Harry had recognized him, thus making future interactions potentially uncomplicated. "I'll have to thank Professor Potter in person then."

Sprout nodded, before allowing a smile that looked too tight on her grand-motherly face. "Going back to what the only subject would have been, had the incident of yesterday not occurred. I'd like to congratulate you on your achievements and let you know that you can always come to me for help if you're struggling with the workload."

"Thank you, professor."

"As for the timetable, I felt the need to give it to you in person, due to how customised it is," she said as she pushed forward a piece of paper from atop the desk in his direction.

Harry stepped around the arm-chair to pick it up. It looked like a normal timetable, just that on Wednesdays, Charms ran until late into the evening. "We had to shuffle around a lot, a student advancing means there is one more unit to consider in the delicate puzzle of scheduling. In the end, we decided to open up an evening Charms class for the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff third years," she explained, while Harry was already making plans for when exactly he would be able to sneak away to practice duelling. And he still needed to look up curse-breaking, didn't he?

"In addition, if you have troubles with other students in either of your advancement classes, take these issues to professors Vector or Flitwick. Don't take matters into your own…"

"Hands?" Harry supplied cheekily, at which Sprout just sighed and waved him off.

"Off you go, Mr. Evans, apologise and discuss further details with Mr- Professor Potter."

"Good morning, professor," Harry said as he turned around and left the office, while Sprout picked up some papers to look through. His gaze stuck to the house cup sitting on a shelf, as he wondered if she was just doing that to avoid going to the great hall with him. Would be awkward to say goodbye and then walk with the person in question for another five minutes, wouldn't it? He shook his head and cast a tempus as he made his way through the grey corridors to the great hall.

He saw that he had another thirty minutes during which breakfast was going to be served and hurried up. He liked eating slowly. Perhaps it was due to his hurry, or simply fate. Enemies always met somehow, didn't they? Anyway, Harry was walking quickly, traversing paintings of horses and prairies when he bumped into someone while turning a corner, knocking both of them back. Harry frowned at the now second-year Slytherin who'd tried to bully him last year and had managed to lock Penny into a chamber of the forgetfulness potion.

The boy drew his wand, recognizing Harry as well and scowled. The Hufflepuff threw a quick glance around, noting that they were quite close to the great hall, on the same floor actually. He'd been going down and the Slytherin likely up. "Mudblood," the boy spat, distorting his pale features painfully into an even uglier face than Mother Nature had already given him. Harry, for his part, was seriously considering just blasting the idiot with his most powerful aguamenti. Maybe it would improve his behaviour.

"Montongue," Harry said with a frown.

"It's Montague!" the boy shouted, growing red, raising his wand. Harry instinctively entered the duelling stance he'd been practising, but didn't draw his wand yet. It didn't take more than a second anyway, with his holster.

"Do we really need to keep doing this? Wasting our time on each other when we could actually be learning stuff and having a relaxing school year," Harry complained, at which the response was.

"You started it, I know it was you who drugged us at the exams last year!" Montague argued sophisticatedly.

"Would you leave me alone if I apologised?" Harry suggested, which seemed to give the boy pause. He contemplated, stupidly for a few seconds, before shaking his head and raising his wand resolutely.

Honestly, this kid had some sort of mental damage.

Harry raised a wand, stopping the violence from progressing. "Look, I just advanced a year in Charms and two years in Arithmancy. Do you really think your parents will agree with you making an enemy out of me, a future Charms master? If we stop this now, I'll let bygones be bygones and we can be neutral in the future, instead of enemies."

"You don't know anything about my family! They'd agree that you need to know your place," Montague said, making Harry seriously want to kill the dumbfuck. Screw redemption, someone who was this idiotic at age 12 wasn't going to improve at age 21. He was just ridding Voldemort of a future death-eater at this point. He decided to try and de-escalate one last time.

"How about I write them a letter and ask if they'd rather have a Charms master who disliked their family, or who was neutrally pre-disposed. Also, I'm not even a muggle-born, both my parents were magical," he threatened and complained.

It seemed to have worked, as Montague lowered his wand, blushed and stormed off, throwing one last angry look and an insult over his shoulder as he crossed a bend. Hopefully to fall down a ditch and never be seen again. "Your mother was a mud-blood and so are you," was the charming goodbye.

Harry stood there, amidst a bunch of paintings whose human inhabitants were awkwardly shuffling around, pretending that they hadn't seen anything. Or simply dying of second-hand embarrassment for Montague and his powerful and convincing rhetoric. He seriously hoped this was the last time he saw the boy. The whole thing was getting to him to a point where he didn't know if he could stand any of it anymore. If the moron hurt one of his friends again Harry was going to corner him somewhere and beat the magic out of him. Although, considering his class work, that wouldn't take more than a light slap.

More honestly, though, he likely would just go to Dumbledore, raise a stink, show all his memories and refuse to take a non-punishment as an answer. This was honestly starting to go beyond the pale, and if Draco Malfoy had been anything like Montague, Harry Evans wondered how Harry Potter hadn't been able to muster up enough hate for a Cruciatus. He continued making his way to the great hall and entered amongst some other students. He let his eyes roam the Hufflepuff table until he found the NPC-like mop of brown hair. He walked over to the boy, whose friends notified him of Harry's presence.

Kent, or whatever his name was looked up sullenly at Harry.

"I'm sorry about hitting you, it was uncalled for. A verbal reprimand would have been fine," he said and went to the other side of the table, as far as possible, to go eat. He didn't bother waiting to hear whatever response Kent might have because he didn't care and because he was hungry.

Chapter Text

Harry and Penny exited the Potions classroom exhausted, but happy. "You managed to not blow everything up!" Penny congratulated as they started making their way to Defence against the Dark Arts. The boy grimaced, before showing a small smile.

"I guess that's an improvement, it seems like all that practice last year helped."

"Slughorn even gave you a point!"

Harry remembered how Slughorn had given him a point for meticulously preparing his ingredients. He'd never had an issue with that, considering it was the part of the process that he could control. It was rather at the cauldron stage that everything tended to go tits up for him. There was just something about his hands combining the ingredients under a regulated temperature that made them not interact well.

"Pity points," he muttered.

"You're always such a downer. There are literal jobs in the magical world that consist of only preparing ingredients. Sure, usually you need to know something about brewing as well. But every decent Potions Master needs an assistant or two."

"I get the feeling that this role is usually filled up by apprentices who want to become potion masters themselves," Harry speculated and tousled his hair when he felt something itchy touching his scalp. His hand came back with a bit of crushed snake fang and he grimaced, before scourgifying himself in entirety.

"Nope, it's the job my grandmother did for a few years. Then she decided to become a full apothecary."

As Penny explained more about the career path of her grandma, Harry wondered to what extent gender discrimination existed in the magical world. For all that wands were great equalisers and technically gave everyone access to a symbol of phallic power, most of the higher positions in the magical world were still held by men. Was it simply because women tended to stay home after having children?

He suddenly realised something and turned to his blonde chattering friend who was gesticulating into the air as she described how her grandma had once had to bleed a dragon to fulfil an order on time.

"Does the wizarding world have any schools, before Hogwarts that is?" he asked.

"No, just village schools if several magical families end up living in the same place. I went to one, but I know that most people were taught by their parents," she explained and clammed up as they neared the DADA classroom, which already had a group of Gryffindors waiting in front of it.

With the new information, Harry theorised that women tended to give up their careers to take care of their children, seeing as there weren't seemingly any normalised places where they could drop them off and go to work. Perhaps those with a supportive family structure, or the half-bloods who sent their kids to muggle school could pull it off.

"Are you excited for DADA?" Cedric asked as he caught up to the two, having chatted with his potions partner on the way here. "Still can't believe we're going to be taught by James Potter. Bonkers."

"It should definitely be an improvement over last year," Harry said, adding the 'I hope,' in his head. While James Potter was seemingly very good at his job, which involved dealing with the Dark Arts, it was still up in the air if he would be any good at teaching.

"Let's find out!" Penny said excitedly as the door to the classroom creaked open and they entered. It was interesting to see how James had decorated the classroom, considering how every defence Professor apparently did it differently. Twix had been boring, bringing with her some mundane objects that she'd allegedly un-cursed. Harry was still unsure if the woman had been anything but a professional clown, to be honest, and was slightly ashamed that he hadn't merited a more competent villain for his first story arc. Anyway, James at least seemed to have more of a sense of style, he noted as the students filed into the classroom and took their seats. There were stuffed beasts, such as grindylow and red caps, sharing space with broken death-eater masks and bloodied robes. Overall, it was pretty wicked. He sat down in the seats all the way in the back, everyone else clambering to the front.

The Death Eater memorabilia though, was probably a bit insensitive to the Slytherin students.

A warning, maybe? Harry was busy analysing the head of what appeared to be some ginormous snake when the back door of the classroom banged open and the man of the hour arrived, levitating behind himself a very large wardrobe, which he deposited in the corner, where there was the most space in front of the doors.

"Fuck," Harry muttered quietly, but not quietly enough for his bench neighbour not to give him a queer look. A dark-skinned and athletic girl with a red and gold tie.

"What?" she whispered with wide eyes, as Harry noted that both Penny and Cedric had won the battle for front-row seats.

"I think that's a boggart, they like dark and enclosed spaces," he explained as the chatter of the classroom died down and the professor went behind the lecturing podium, observing them through gold-rimmed glasses. He seemed oddly serious, now that he was teaching. Harry just hoped they wouldn't be dealing with a competent Lockhart. If that was the case he would have to ask Filch if he could do detention with him instead.

The wardrobe rattled violently and the students sitting in the front rows seemed to regret their decision and inched back into their seats.

"Nothing to worry about, it's just a boggart," Professor Potter proclaimed, raising a calming hand. It wasn't very effective and people started whispering.

"Quiet down, quiet down. I know it's scary. You all covered only non-magical animals and muggle scenarios last year. Maybe some magical plants. But now it's time to move on to some magical creatures and that's why I've started with a boggart, which in a room as full as this, is less dangerous than a rabbit, quite frankly," he explained, finally managing to regain some order. He started pacing around and seemed to be deep in thought before he snapped his finger and pointed at the students. "Can anyone tell me what a boggart is, for those who don't know?"

Almost half the class raised their hands. Harry was pretty sure that some of those who did didn't even know the answer. The professor seemed equally overwhelmed by the response and ran a hand through his brown hair.

"You," he said, eventually pointing at Cedric.

"They're creatures that turn into what you fear most. They like dark spaces, like wardrobes. But my dad once found one under the bed in the guest room."

James clapped. "Good, three points to Hufflepuff. Those were already essentials. Boggarts are creatures that feed on your fear, and for that purpose, they'll try to scare you. They're what's most likely to be found in a dark space that is rattling suspiciously. That, or pixies, which we will also be covering this year."

"In line with the duality of emotions often seen in magic, while boggarts love fear, they hate laughter. It's what defeats them."

A student raised their hand and posed their question after a nod from the professor. "But if they're scary, how are you supposed to laugh," the girl complained.

"Ah, the perfect question to segway into the meat of today's lecture. Two points to Gryffindor." He paused. "How indeed, does one laugh at one's biggest fear? Does anyone know?" he asked and looked out into the classroom. Harry had to admit that the man wasn't such a bad teacher as he'd expected from his prank at the sorting. That's why he took mercy on him when nobody raised their hand. Boggarts weren't covered in the course book that Potter had assigned, so the kids didn't really have a way of knowing the spell that countered them. He raised his eyes and watched as Professor Potter's gaze fixated on him. It stayed there, the man's face stuck in a neutral position that didn't betray any emotions behind the façade.

"The spell for changing the shape of a boggart is called riddikulus. You're supposed to change it into something funny, so you laugh. For example, if your biggest fear is a death eater, maybe you can cast the spell and turn their robes into a ballerina's tutu," he suggested and continued. "In that regard, I'd also like to ask if it's possible to simply cast a cheering charm on one's self instead. Technically that would also elicit laughter."

"Thank you, Mr. Evans," the professor said. "Five points to Gr-Hufflepuff. Completely correct in regards to the counter-spell, as for your question, I think the cheering charm might work." He turned to the rest of the class. "What you should perhaps note down at this point, is that your laughter does not necessarily need to be completely genuine. The point of the spell is simply to be able to start the process. Now, let's practise the spell, without wands, first," he said and dramatically cast his hand towards the class like he was Palpatine about to summon lightning. "Riddikulus!" he intoned in a stupidly high-pitched voice.

"Riddikulus," came the enthusiastic shouts from the class. It continued like that for a few minutes, everyone getting their pronunciation right with the help of their neighbour.

But nothing could last forever, and soon they were made to stand in a circle around the rattling closet, set to face the boggarts. Harry kept to the back, hoping that perhaps he could avoid being called upon. Penny was right there next to him. He didn't know if it was for the same reasons. Cedric however, was in the front. And when Professor Potter called for a volunteer, he was the first one to step forward.

"You ready, Mr. Diggory?" James asked as he raised his wand at the wardrobe, likely to cast an opening charm at its door.

Cedric braced himself, raised his wand and nodded. He looked quite charming, standing in the middle of the circle of students as if to protect them. Wand raised, wind-swept hair framing a serious face. The effect was ruined when the door of the wardrobe opened and the boggart came out. Everyone laughed without having to force it.

A broken broom was lying on the floor, menacingly.

Cedric became red in the face as the laughter forced the boggart back into the wardrobe, with the doors shutting close behind it. Cedric lowered his wand and the professor patted him on the back before calling over the next person.

"I almost crashed when flying this morning," Cedric admitted when he went to stand next to Harry and Penny, "and the trial is this weekend." They both shot him amused looks, which quickly turned serious when the wardrobe opened again and something much more horrible stepped out. The summoner was some Gryffindor boy that Harry didn't know, but as the gigantic werewolf scrambled its way out of the wardrobe, its claws raking and tapping a horrible beat on the stone floor and the boy didn't flinch, Harry grew to respect this anonymous second-year. Everyone else inched back and the professor made to step forward as the werewolf made threatening gestures towards the students, with its snarling mouth, sickly elongated arms and horrible-sounding yips, barks and growls.

"Riddikulus!" The second-year cast and the werewolf morphed in a swirl of colours into a white poodle riding a unicycle and barking God save the Queen. Harry chuckled in disbelief, while several genuine and several forced laughs went through the circle of students like a wave.

"Alright, good job, next!" Professor Potter shouted and the Gryffindor stepped back, only to be replaced by a Hufflepuff whose biggest fear was, again, a werewolf, now a chihuahua shitting itself.

Werewolf, Death Eater in a tutu, werewolf, werewolf, dead parent, werewolf, inferius, snake, werewolf, professor McGonagall, werewolf. The fears of the students listed in order, although Harry was sure that he missed a few. He'd been busy sneaking his way into the group of students that had already cast the spell and perhaps the only thing that made Professor Potter not notice what he'd done was the fact that he was busy being consternated about the fact that werewolves were the predominant fear of the day. It made sense. Most of the children in the class were too young to remember the war and the two werewolf attacks in Britain had been the worst thing to happen in recent time. That's what the newspapers claimed at least.

It was after the last student had gone through the grinder of facing a boggart that Harry noticed a small group around him, who had also snuck away from having to face their greatest fear. Among them was Penny, one Hufflepuff and one Gryffindor. It made him realise that it wasn't that the professor hadn't noticed their non-participation, but likely that he didn't feel like forcing them. The class collectively went back to their seats, leaving a slightly constipated-looking James Potter in front of their classroom.

"Good job, everyone. I'll end this session with a minimal amount of homework," he said, before being interrupted by a raised hand.

"Will we be covering werewolves as well, this year?" Katie Bell asked

"Werewolves are a threat unsuited for second-year Defence against the Dark Arts, I was more thinking of putting them into…" the man trailed off, before sighing. "We'll cover werewolves next week, face fears and all that," he said to the joy and trepidation of the class. Harry got the feeling that while some of them wanted to learn how to defend themselves, most carried a morbid curiosity about the cursed humans that shifted every full moon. "To that end, find everything you can about werewolves in the library. Five-inch essay on the curse as homework," the man declared and clapped dismissively, some of the students left, but others went to crowd around the auror, probably to ask him personal questions. Harry simply packed his things and leaned back, waiting for the man's frustration to boil over at the likely insipid questions and for him to have the time to discuss detention. It didn't take long before James snapped something at the gaggle of children surrounding him and deducted a few house points, which finally made them leave.

Harry sauntered over.

"Professor Potter, I'm supposed to discuss my detention with you?" he prompted and watched the annoyance bleed off of the man's face.

"Yes, yes, of course. Detention will be on Monday at 7pm, right after dinner. It's not good to use violence unless there is a threat of physical harm."

"What will we be doing, if I may ask?"

"Grading homework, I heard you went forward in Charms and Arithmancy so I'm sure you can help me with the first-years if I give you a sheet of requirements," James said and Harry blinked in surprise, before humming thoughtfully. Grading people?

"I'm sure we can arrange that," Harry said with a smile, causing James to nod.

"Any reason you didn't face the boggart?" he asked as he adjusted his glasses.

Harry froze.

"I didn't feel like finding out what my greatest fear is in front of all my classmates," he eventually reasoned.

"You don't know what it could be?" James prompted, somewhat confusedly, perhaps thinking that it should have something to do with Twix and the hostage-taking of last year.

Harry shrugged, he genuinely didn't know, but worst case he wanted to find out alone. If the fear was indicative of his existence as a reincarnation, he wanted to keep it to himself

"No clue."

"Well, I guess we should find out on Monday, then," James said and Harry took it as a dismissal and left with a grimace. He knew it was important to face a boggart in a controlled environment at least once so that one could identify it in the future. But on some level, he would rather not bother at all. Whatever he was afraid of, it was probably better for it to stay buried.

He exited the classroom into a throng of first-year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, who all scrambled inside as if there was an unlimited supply of fire whiskey on every table. The only student who stayed outside was a girl with curly black hair and grey eyes. Harley Black stepped up to Harry as the door closed behind them and looked up at him.

"Thanks for standing up for me yesterday," she said, at which Harry just shook his head, he didn't feel any pride about what he'd done.

"Don't mention it, literally," Harry said, gaining a confused chuckle from the girl.

"I just wanted to tell you though, that I can take care of myself," she said and went to enter the classroom, leaving Harry alone outside. He had a free period. He did not have enough time to go to the Room of Requirement, especially since he tended to avoid doing so during the day when there were the most students out and about. He decided to opt for the library, he could finish his homework and would still have some time left over to look up curse-breaking, which he would need if he wanted to check out the stuff in the room of lost things.

-/-

Harry once again, probably for the twelfth time this week alone, patted himself on the back for the spell that he'd created. Literra revelio had once again saved his ass. Not only did it help him complete his homework much faster, as he found the necessary literature in the blink of an eye, but the topic of curse-breaking had turned out to be quite obscure. He definitely would have needed to look around for several days if he'd searched the library manually. With his spell, it had taken him just under four minutes to gather the low amount of three relevant books there were on the subject. The ones that weren't in the restricted section that was.

He started with 'Curse-breaking Compendium', which seemed to be an encyclopaedia of all the curses that the author of the book, one John Figgs, had encountered during his career. The man had, instead of ordering everything alphabetically, or by order of how likely one was to encounter a certain curse, ordered the listing from the curses that he would mind the least to be affected by to those he would very much mind. So while the first curse described in the book was the curse of hair loss, which Figgs rationalised away with the fact that he was bald already, the last entry on page 143 was a blood-line curse which would doom one's entire family line to basically live as if they had taken a sea sized dose of anti-felix felicis.

The book wasn't a manual on how to cast the curse, nor was it a manual on how to break it. Every entry simply had a description of a curse effect and what items they had been found attached to, with a little sketch. To this end, the book held a staggering amount of 471 different curses. Naturally, Harry didn't read them all, but he felt like he had a better grasp of what he could expect from a cursed object. Generally, the rule that he identified was; that the less awesome, historically or emotionally important the cursed item, the lighter the curse. Figgs explained this by claiming that since curses were evil thoughts given form, they were easier to attach to items important to the caster of the curse. This actually correlated nicely with the knowledge which Harry had, that the items cursed with the most perfidious magic in the books were all either gold or jewellery.

The locket that almost killed Katie Bell came to mind, as did the Gringotts vault with self-replicating burning coins. The diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw was of course the best example. No one ever heard of a cursed condom, or spoon and the least significant item cursed in the book was a pair of shoes which would attempt to trip its wearer into dangerous situations.

Feeling some trepidation about the Room of Requirement, after having found out how bad things could get, Harry decided to simply leave particularly important-looking items out of consideration. The stronger the curse, the harder it was to break it. Although he couldn't really do that, could he? Considering the strength of curses correlated with value, then he would be ignoring exactly the things that he would want to sell the most. He sighed and opened up the next book. 'The Compendium of Curse-breaking,' by Jonathan Figs; not to be confused with the 'Curse-breaking Compendium,' by John Figgs. Harry started reading and was glad to see that this book actually seemed to detail the steps necessary to becoming a curse-breaker and what abilities one generally needed to be a good, and therefore, not a dead one.

The description of the ability that one seemed to need the most, to the point where the author mentioned that one shouldn't even bother if one couldn't learn it, swirled in his head as he closed the book. The ability to perceive the magic outside of one's body. He could see the need for something like that when interacting with inherently magical items, but the book hadn't been helpful in regards to telling him how to acquire the skill.

He sighed and stood up, leaving the last book for some other day. He had research to do, but not now. Now it was lunchtime.

"Heya Harry," a voice said from behind him, making him jump, pull his wand and twirl around. He dropped his arm when he saw that it was just Tonks and his other hand clutched at his heart.

"Fuck," he muttered, as the two fell into step and left the library. "You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Not a good feeling, huh?" Tonks prompted as she twirled one of her purple locks around her finger.

"Yeah well, still not something to attempt a punch over," Harry retorted, at which the girl rolled her eyes.

"Please, as if you have any ground to stand on when it comes to punching," she snorted, at which Harry slumped, defeated.

"Everyone saw that?" he asked.

"Well, no, but everyone's talked about it. Physical violence isn't that common here, you know. People are surprised it was you who did it. Prim, quiet, points generator Evans," she mocked while shaking her head. "Who knew you had it in you."

"I overreacted, but its too late for regrets, I don't usually go from 0 to a hundred in a second, but he managed."

"Well, I can't really say I care. I mostly came for that duel you promised," Tonks said, dismissing the previous topic. Harry mulled over his availability and realised that he would like to have at least this week to sharpen his technique against the dummy in the Room of Requirement, as he was now he would most definitely lose against a sixth-year. Give him a few days… and he would most likely lose to sixth year.

"How about Saturday?" Harry asked.

"Sounds good to me, just don't chicken out. I think it's really kind of you to offer me a punching bag, as you know I've been a bit stressed lately," she said with a laugh and they parted ways as they reached the great hall. She went to sit with the prefect who had hexed Harry after his punch at the sorting. They seemed close, but that was to be expected after you spent six years going to courses together. Harry went to sit next to Penny and Cedric, who were almost done with their meal.

"Wankers, didn't even wait for me outside," he accused the two, who shared a guilty look.

"Maybe this can be a lesson to not punch people?" Penny suggested tentatively, as Harry loaded his plate with food. Harry snorted and threw her a sideways glance.

"Lesson learned, Penny, lesson learned. I can't believe I'm going to waste my time in detention for this," he said. Penny cringed and awkwardly rubbed the back of her head. Cedric meanwhile, laughed.

"Not the lesson she meant, mate!"

Chapter Text

The sun was shining. It was a warm September evening. One of those last days of summer, which made people realise that not even a week ago, it had been August. The birds were chirping their sleep-shattering high-pitched chirps, the suits of armour were gleaming in the sun-light that pierced the not so virginal windows of Hogwarts and the atmosphere in front of the Charms classroom was awkward.

Harry didn't necessarily feel like he was a person that cared much about the opinion of others, or a weird atmosphere in a place where he had nothing to fear. But standing there amongst a bunch of students one year older than him, who were all staring at him, was an experience.

One that he wouldn't mind never repeating.

It would have been weird, and revealing had the Headmaster announced his advancement in charms to the whole school during his welcoming speech, but at this point, Harry would have almost preferred that over the weird looks he was getting. At least he was with the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. If it had been a group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws he probably would have become an immediate pariah. For wildly different reasons. He glanced to his left where the Kent boy, with a bandage over his nose, was occasionally throwing him a glare along with some of his friends. He really had picked an interesting person to punch, hadn't he?

"Excuse me, are you, eh, lost?" a Gryffindor eventually managed to ask him. Harry looked the boy over from where he was leaning on the warm stone wall next to the door.

"Red hair, freckles, are you Fred and George's older brother, Percy?" Harry asked, causing the thirteen-year-old to grimace.

"I am. What have they told you about me? Is this one of their pranks?"

Harry chuckled. "Well, they mentioned they had an older brother in his third year. They said you're pretty cool, just that they like teasing you because of the way you react," he said while rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. Percy sputtered and Harry continued, "I mean I can see where they're coming from. You helped me out by asking me if I'm lost actually. It would have been weird to announce to everyone here without a prompt. But now they're all listening in any way, so I might as well tell you, slash them," he babbled and stuck out a hand, for Percy to confusedly shake. "I'm Harry Evans, second-year Hufflepuff. I tested out of second-year charms and will be joining you for this year and beyond. Please take care of me."

"Hullo, I'm Percy Weasley," the boy introduced himself, mechanically and unnecessarily, before noting the second half of what Harry had said. "I've never heard of that happening. Advancing a year," he said with a hint of suspicion in his voice. However, any answer that Harry could have given was drowned out by the door to the classroom opening and Flitwick's voice beckoning them to enter.

As the students filed in Harry couldn't help but notice the large amount of full bookshelves lining the walls of the room. Those hadn't been here before and considering how Flitwick had asked him, last year, at some point, if he had his permission to teach his search charm in class… Well, suffice it to say that Harry had a suspicion about what today's topic was going to be.

The suspicion was confirmed when Flitwick shot him an apologetic glance as he sat down next to Percy. He wasn't feeling too warm about his fellow Hufflepuffs at the moment. The boy threw him an odd look but otherwise didn't say anything, unlike Harry's neighbour to the right. An athletic kid with short-cropped hair who sat on his wooden chair as if it were a broom and who was leaning so far forward on the desk that it made him look like he was trying to catch a snitch.

"Hey, I'm Oliver," the neighbour introduced himself as if Harry couldn't have guessed.

"I'm Harry," the younger of the two responded and thus created an acquaintance of two people with very common names. After having introduced themselves, both of them turned their attention to the podium, from where Flitwick was clearing his throat.

"Good evening, pupils. I'm happy to see all your yearning faces, thirsting for knowledge, after so long of being bereft of it," he started. Some students groaned, but Harry, with his adult experience, noticed that the man was being slightly sarcastic. Not in tone, but in content. "I hope you'll acclimate well to the evening lesson strategy we're trying out this year. We want to see if having a bigger break during the day increases engagement in the curriculum," he lied, like a fucking liar. The only reason the lesson was happening so late was because they'd had to schedule Harry somehow.

"To start the year off, we're actually going to be learning a charm that was made only recently. In fact, it was introduced at the Charms conference of Columbia this very summer, by an anonymous contributor. Some of you will be interested to know that it is the youngest charm I've ever taught at Hogwarts, most, if not all the classic ones that are considered the foundation of any education are at least several decades old," the professor said, before swishing his wand throughout the air. Dozens of parchment rolls flew out from behind the man, making him look like the conductor of a library and soon every student found one of the rolls deposited in front of them from the table. Other than one Hufflepuff on the other side of the classroom. His roll had gotten stuck on the chandelier. The boy and the professor shared an awkward look and Flitwick corrected the issue before continuing.

"The charm is not included in any commonly available textbook, as of yet. However, I have heard it shall be added to the most recent edition of the book of spells when it comes out in a year. If you open the parchments you will find the instructions on the top, along with a list of words written on the bottom. I would first ask you to read the instructions, which we will then discuss, before performing the task of searching for the words at the bottom with the spell. I'll give you, let's see, five minutes?" the man asked and nodded, as if pleased with himself. Harry was happy to see that at his words the students simply got to reading, instead of chattering with each other or making stupid sounds like children in their first year had often done when he was still in their class a year ago. He glanced at the instructions, just to check that everything was as he'd made it to be. It was, albeit a bit dumbed down, if possible.

He thought that he'd already made quite a basic manual back then. He shrugged and spent the next five minutes allowing himself to feel pride at what he'd accomplished. He had, essentially, left a legacy. A positive one, hopefully. The five minutes were over quickly and Percy was the first student to raise their hand.

"Why do we need to write the word down to use the charm?" he complained and Harry felt himself starting to answer the question before he bit his tongue. He looked instead to Flitwick, who twirled his moustache.

"The spell is quite formulaic, the wand gesture is especially long. Using a word that was written down eases the burden on a first-time learner. After some practice, you will learn to use the spell by simply imagining the word in your mind. But for now, parchment!" the man exclaimed with a happy hop, that almost made him take a tumble down the stack of books that he was using to look over the podium. He looked around and saw no more raised hands, to which he clapped his own.

"Why don't you try it! Remember the lock-movement has to be tight. Take a breath between the words if you're having an issue inserting the pause."

Harry looked down at the instructions and cast the spell, pretending to query for one of the words. But what he was actually querying for was the term Magic-sense, he felt the spell take hold and looked around, disappointed to see that there were no golden glows lighting up in his vision. Oftentimes books used a certain word once or twice, but unless it re-occurred often enough, there wouldn't be any relevant information inside. He'd been fooled often enough by this that he now didn't bother looking at books that used the word he was looking for less than seven times.

Since none of the books fulfilled his criteria he continued his search while the students around him butchered the pronunciation and the wand-movement of the spell that he'd so carefully crafted. He took a deep breath and cast again, this time looking for sense magic. Again nothing, although, he squinted his eyes and saw a book on one of the higher book shelves. Several of its pages were lighting up. Not thinking too much about it he summoned it to him, remembering at the last moment to use the incantation.

"How did you do that?" Percy demanded brusquely from beside him as he stopped in his attempts to make Harry's ears bleed with his pronunciation of littera. Harry looked up from the book he'd summoned, 'The Methods of the French Magical Militia during the war of English aggression.'

"It's just the summoning charm, I think you will learn it next year? It's very useful though, so consider learning it earlier," he informed the boy, who got red in the face, for some reason.

Harry cracked open his book, which seemed to detail the ways in which French magicals defended their homes from the English during the Hundred Years' War. All the way back in 1358. He was quite curious what the connection between mediaeval magical militias and magical sensing was. Due to his super awesome charm, he soon found the answer, even in a book without an index. He patted himself on the back.

Arcane Sight: The French magicals of the time, educated as they were in the newly founded Beauxbatons, seemed to have a special way of training that allowed them not to sense magic, but to see it. This was particularly important due to their usage of magical traps against the English raids. Being able to see the residue of the awaiting curse, they avoided falling prey to the precautions of their own neighbours, which allowed them to upscale the usage of their defences. They could not openly fight before their muggle compatriots for fear of being burned at the stake, as was so later the fate of Jeanne d'Arc. Their ability…

Harry skipped the next part, as the author rambled about how the ability of Arcane Sight influenced the conflict and contributed heavily to the fact that the English did not, in fact, hold on to any of the lands they'd conquered. He suspected that the author did not actually know how to cast the spell, or how to train the ability, or else he would have already mentioned it. His suspicions were confirmed by the end of the chapter.

So while I cannot ascertain what exact method Beauxbatons used to teach Arcane Sight at the time, for it was likely them who did so, it seems that the ability was much easier to acquire than the ability to sense magic. Sensing magic would have been much less represented in the magical population had it been the magic taught, due to its comparably heightened difficulty. I can only speculate that Arcane Sight was linked to the then part of the curriculum, sorcery, because those two subjects seemed to have been phased out at a similar time, to be replaced by Defence against the Dark Arts and interpretative dance…

The chapter about Arcane Sight ended there and Harry looked up from his book to see that class was closing out as well. Most of the students had seemingly managed to make the spell work and were now running around trying to find all the words on the instruction exercise. Harry felt a small bit of Schadenfreude when he saw that Kent was still struggling with the spell. He realised that making a spell was a very personal expression of who one was, and what one considered important. It would have been icky if someone like Kent had had an easy time learning it.

Harry leaned back in his chair and zoned out while the class ended and Flitwick assigned a few inches on the charms of the revelio family tree, of which Harry only knew one other.

"You're going to have to try harder than that, you know. If you want to pass the exam, constant participation in class is required," a voice from his left suddenly said. Harry turned his head and saw that Percy was addressing him as he packed his bag. "Anyway, you missed out by not paying attention and practising. The spell is genius, I'm going to the library to test it out right now." The boy sniffed, before leaving. Harry watched him go and tilted his head.

"What a dweeb," he eventually muttered as he stood up and leisurely made his way towards Flitwick, who was putting the room back in order, now that all the students had left.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Evans. It's an important spell that I felt like I needed to teach. Naturally, you are exempt from home-work, this time," the man said while he cast the repairing charm on some damaged books.

"I actually wanted to ask about something else, professor," Harry replied as he held out the book, page open on the chapter about Arcane Sight, to Flitwick.

The professor took the book in hand, looked at the front page and hummed. "Yes, French militia tactics. Let this be a lesson Harry, if you ever want to be a duellist, you'll have to trawl the oddest subjects in search of tactical inspiration. What about it?"

"I've recently been reading up on curse-breaking and the books have mentioned the need for the ability to sense magic. This mention of Arcane Sight is the closest thing I've found so far, and I wanted to ask you if this particular method, or maybe another one, is available at Hogwarts."

Flitwick looked at Harry sceptically over the rim of his glasses. "Looked up curse-breaking?" he asked, "You've only been back to Hogwarts for two days." He sighed. "Well, it seems a bit fruitless of me to see how you're doing in terms of classes until next term if you're already taking up such extra-curricular projects the moment the train arrives," he said as Harry smiled awkwardly.

"Curses are interesting. I read a compendium about a professional who'd encountered over a hundred different ones in his career. For the magic sense skill, just being pointed in the right direction would be fine."

"Well, Arcane Sight, unfortunately, is lost to us for the moment. And if it isn't, people are keeping it to themselves, just like curse-breakers and enchanters have their own methods of being aware of magic, which they usually pass on to their apprentices. However, the ability to sense magic is something that every witch and wizard can accomplish, theoretically. It's a subject quite beyond the Hogwarts curriculum, I'm afraid, so you won't find any literature on it. Or maybe you will? Well, anyway, to develop the skill at your age would mark you as a once-in-a-generation talent. Most wizards need to practise magic for at least a decade before they develop a good enough awareness of themselves that they can then turn this awareness outwards. There is usually a lot of meditation involved, which is a hard skill to master on its own and then on top of all that, Hogwarts is a hard place to develop the ability, due to how much magic is already present," Flitwick explained.

"Are you capable of doing it, professor?" Harry asked and got his answer by the slight pride entering Flitwick's face.

"I am yes, it's an indispensable skill in the duelling circuit and I dare say one can't get anywhere without it. It lets one notice traps, identify spells and gauge the exhaustion of one's opponent," he said, before looking down at his watch. "It's getting time for us to head elsewhere, though, Mr. Evans. As mentioned previously, do seek me out to discuss duelling after the winter break, but for now, I think you have enough on your plate," the man said and looked at Harry pointedly. The second-year sighed.

"Out of academic interest, how one would go about training the skill, after having fulfilled the requirements of experience and meditation?" Harry asked.

"Well, in that case, you would be advised to go someplace non-magical, without your wand, but with a powerful magical artefact. Then you would meditate and try to spend all the magic in one's body until the body develops a magical vacuum. This usually ricochets in helping become aware of the powerful artefact one brought, beyond the usual senses. After knowing how the skill feels, you just have to train it. It's also something that happens naturally, after a few decades of practising magic, if one pays enough attention while one does so," Flitwick said and dismissed Harry, who left, mind swirling.

"Didn't the Indians have chambers with null ambient magic inside?" Harry felt Flitwick mutter to himself questioningly, before the door of the classroom banged shut behind him, depositing him on the empty corridor late in the evening.

Harry didn't have any engagements tonight, nor did he care for the history of magic lesson awaiting him the next morning. He decided to take an executive decision to head to the Room of Requirement. He needed to practise his duelling as much as possible before he faced Tonks and until then he could brainstorm how to best approach being able to sense magic, then execute the plan after the duel. Considering that the skill was said to be important in both of the things that interested him this year, it seemed critical to look into it more.

Chapter Text

Harry watched as Penny added ingredients to her potion. They were in a new abandoned classroom close to the Hufflepuff dormitory.

They'd had a discussion about Harry's improvement in potions and had decided that while he was doing much better this term, going towards an Acceptable without as much effort as last year, they should keep up the pressure. Harry just thought that Penny liked spending time with him, the way she smiled whenever they met was quite indicative of that theory being true.

He sighed and glanced down at his own potion. "My colour is off, in comparison to yours, still," he said, earning a glance at his brew from the girl.

"My work has started improving. I started implementing some of the suggestions from that scribbled sixth-year Potions book you gave me. Your potion actually looks how it should, mine is just even better." she said enthusiastically and continued stirring, while Harry sighed.

"Hey, don't be down!" Penny said cheerfully as she stared into her cauldron, "It doesn't suit you." Her blonde hair whipped back and forth, threatening to spill into her work. The window behind her head showed a depressing rainy September day, as was much too common in Scotland.

"I'm not down." Harry replied, "I'm just fed up with sucking at potions. It's been more than a year, can't I get a break?" he complained, as his concoction turned just the wrong shade of orange. They were making a fire-resistance potion, and it should have been a bit more on the yellow side.

"I'm pretty sure that's how people feel in comparison to how you're doing in Charms, and Transfiguration for that matter. Oh, also, can't forget Arithmancy," Penny said, "Didn't you say that Professor Vector can't stop praising you, and using you as an example for the fourth years?" Harry snorted.

"She's doing that because she's a sadistic bitch with a bad sense of humour," he said darkly, thinking back to the looks he'd gotten from his new classmates after their first Arithmancy lesson together. Apparently, there were only so many, 'Look at the proposed solution from Mr Evans, isn't it elegantly efficient?' that they could handle. Or, if she was feeling particularly mean, she would comment on a botched calculation with a tut, 'Aren't you ashamed that a second-year is doing better than you?'

Quite frankly, most of Harry's classmates looked like they were on the verge of losing it by the end of that hour-and-a-half session. Harry had quickly vacated the premises after that, using some hidden passageways to get as far away from the fourth-years as possible. One of the advantages of exploring the castle at night and knowing that there were things to find.

"You shouldn't talk about her like that, how crass, what would your fucking aunt say to that!" Penny gasped, causing Harry to snort, while she blushed and laughed at her own words. She was cute like that.

Harry looked down at his potion and saw that it had reached its state of metastasis. The part of the process where it would have to sit for a day, exactly a day, 24 hours. No more, no less. It was why they were brewing this bad boy on a Saturday. Also, Harry had shown his friends how powerful his incendio charm could get, and they wanted to test out if it could eat through some magical protection. Harry prophesied that his fireball would destroy the object laced with his version of the fire-resistance potion, while Penny's version would hold.

"All right, I'm done here." He announced and started packing up.

"I'll be finished in a few minutes, delaying the last reaction to strengthen potency," the blonde girl said, still working on her brew. "You want to get lunch together after?"

Harry considered it, before thinking of the lucrative practice he could get in the room of requirement in terms of his dueling. He had a fight scheduled with Tonks tonight and it was time to go big or go home. "I think I have a date with some spell practice, not really hungry yet. Breakfast was big. Tomorrow after Cedric's try-out?"

"Alright. You do you," Penny said, somewhat sadly. Harry felt the need to reassure the girl somehow, but he couldn't think of a good tactic. He looked at her for a moment, hefting his leather satchel.

"Thanks for practising with me, let's see if you can take the heat tomorrow, eh," he said and walked off, waving at the girl with a raised hand. He got some sort of weird hand spasm in return, the other hand clutching the potion ladle and stirring. Harry shook his head after the door to the room closed behind him.

"That girl is way too passionate about Potions," he muttered and started his ascension to the seventh floor. It wasn't an overly long walk. He'd taken it so many times, ever since he'd started regularly going to the Room of Requirement last year, that it was almost an automatism. Once arrived he swiftly entered the room, put on the sorting hat and looked at IT.

Wooden shell, stylized and evil face, wand held in its right arm. The puppet of evil. He scowled at it and entered his stance. He'd learned the disarming charm, to no avail in approaching any sort of victory.

Protego, the shield charm, only let him hold on to dear life as the puppet blasted his defence to bits. But he got better, oh how he got better and now it was time to improve even more, even, further, beyond.

He attacked, the puppet dodged, counter-attacked and so it went for one hour, two hours, three hours…

-/-

Harry fell on his back, chest heaving and lungs cramping. He felt like he'd run a marathon. How long had he spent dodging and spinning and attacking and defending against the cursed duelling partner that the room had given him? All the while fending off mental attacks from the hat.

"Four hours, four breaks." The hat supplied, "I think you might be certifiably insane, or just too competitive for your own good."

Harry scowled at the high ceiling of the room as the void of magic that he'd created within him strained to re-establish its functionality. It would be fine by the time he had to duel Tonks, but for now, he was spent. "And I'm not any closer to beating it than I was before."

"But, you've exhausted your automatic magic draw, which was the point, right. Frightening that it took you that long, really," the hat mused.

"It's hard being me, excellency is a curse," Harry sighed and sat up in his position as the hat laughed at him. His head spun and just the act of sitting up caused his lungs to heave. His legs were jelly, which made it easier to put them in a lotus position.

"Alright, room," Harry said out loud, addressing the room of requirement, giver of pain, pleasure and learning. "I require an environment in which I can develop the magic sensing skill as quickly and efficiently as possible," he said and closed his eyes. He'd noticed in his sojourns to the room, that it was oddly shy in changing in front of him. It was quite human in that regard, changes happened best when he either exited and re-entered or when he closed his eyes.

Hadn't this been a part of quantum mechanics? That certain particles existed in superimposed states of uncertainty and ambivalence when unobserved, and it was only when they were being perceived that they had a fixed location? Well, anyway, after giving the room a few seconds he opened his eyes again and froze when he saw nothing.

His surroundings were all black, pitch black, he couldn't see the hand he was waving in front of his face, nor could he see anything else. He almost sweat-dropped as a pained grin affixed itself onto his face.

"Oy, are you serious? We doing some anime-training bull-shit here. Blindfolded level dark room, what's next, you going to try and hit me with a stick?" he asked. His voice sounded odd as if it wasn't vibrating very far through the air.

'Harry,' The hat suddenly said from within his head, 'I can't seem to be able to speak with you out loud, only like this. Whatever you may have wanted, what you got was…'

'A sensory deprivation chamber,' Harry thought back with a grimace as the absolute silence of the room descended into his ears after he'd finished talking.

'The Room of Requirement is a complex intelligence, almost as complex as mine," the hat said. 'Just that in addition to being capable of independent thought, abstract reasoning and interpretation, it also has access to probably all the knowledge within the castle, even if it seemingly can't bring books from the library here. Perhaps a remnant of Rowena's opinion that libraries were sacred and communal studying should be encouraged.'

'Where are you going with this?' Harry asked.

'I'm saying that if sensory deprivation is what the room thinks you need to learn the skill, it might actually be true," the hat claimed tentatively.

'You know people can experience hallucinations and psychosis in environments like this,' Harry thought with a grimace. 'But yeah, anyway, let's give it a try.' He finished, before beginning to sink into meditation.

That's what Flitwick had said. Empty yourself of magic, then meditate in an environment without too much of it. Something that this room probably represented at the moment? Obviously, he couldn't check that there was no magic present, considering he wasn't yet able to sense its presence or its absence, but he decided to trust the room for the moment. The only thing lacking was the presence of a powerful magical object. Unless the room or the hat on his head counted. Which, realistically speaking, they probably did. Other than a Horcrux Harry couldn't think of any magical artefacts more powerful than a millenia-old hat with telepathic abilities and its own personality, and what was probably the central intelligence of a magical castle that had had more than a hundred thousand magical students walk through its halls since its conception.

He closed his eyes, not that there was really a need, and retreated into himself. He hadn't meditated in a week or so, but after having reached a certain level it was a skill that was impossible to forget. He first threw away the impressions and emotions of the day and then the week. What was left after all of that were his underlying anxieties. The realisation that his future knowledge was mostly useless and that he could only try to become as powerful as possible before leaving at the end of his schooling. His questioning if he should go to Dumbledore and give the man all the information he had, if he had a right to gamble with the life of James Potter by not releasing vital information. Most present was the fear though, the fear of being found out, what would happen to him, what people would try to do to him.

Perhaps it was time to deposit the information he had anonymously, at the headmaster's metaphorical door, he'd learned Occlumency after all. But now was not the time to be thinking about these things. Now was the time to

L

E

T

.

G

O

Harry floated in an empty void, literally and metaphorically, he felt as if his physical body was being uplifted and wasn't touching the ground anymore. For the first time since he'd started meditating, or in his life in general, the effect he was capable of achieving with meditation was being mirrored by his actual surroundings.

What had Flitwick said?

The thought lazily tumbled through his mind, like a tumbleweed through a western flic.

Flitwick had said that one needed experience using magic, enough experience to feel it flow within oneself. Harry had that, he'd practised sorcery for more than a decade. He grasped that perception, that sense, the only one he had left, other than other physical impressions of his body and turned it outwards.

It was like flipping a switch. Whereas inwardly he felt a void, where magic had used to run, connected to his body or his soul through the well he'd been borne in, he now felt that void outside of his body as well. And he knew that it was a void. There was nothing. Just, if he focused, a ball of magic, different from what he could summon forth himself, sharp, dangerous, ancient, sitting right atop his head.

Harry woke up from his experience gasping for breath in a manner that was completely different from what he'd experienced after duelling the dummy for four hours. He scrambled forward to his feet, the sudden light blinding him even through his closed eyelids.

"You alright?" The hat asked while Harry went towards where he thought was the exit. He didn't answer.

'Hey kid, you alright?!' The hat asked more urgently, directly into Harry's head. The thing about telepathy was that since it was a purely magical endeavour, one wasn't limited by the amount of vibrations the air could transfer, or the power of one's lungs, or one's lack thereof. So when the hat decided to get loud in Harry's head, it got loud. The boy winced and sat back down on the floor. He fluttered his eyes open, before closing them again, while the spin that was his perception in general since he'd asked the room for what he needed attacked his senses.

"I'm, ok." Harry managed to spit out, trying not to hurl.

"Trust Rowena to come up with something so sadistic," Chanithachuah muttered as Harry once again started approaching the door so that he could exit the room. "Are you still up for it?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Harry replied, which was the horrible thing. The entire experience had worked. He'd felt the presence of the hat on his head. Old, powerful, sharp. Although, the latter was probably coming from the sword hidden within the hat, not his mentor.

Anyway, despite not necessarily wanting to repeat the experience, the fact that it had given such tangible results so quickly, was too much for him to pass up on.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said, as much as it pained him to do so. The hat shook its head as Harry gently laid it down, where it would probably be transported back to the headmaster's office. Not that the man seemed to care much, apparently. Or maybe it was kept somewhere else during the year. Harry's headache was too big for him to bother asking.

"Have a nice afternoon," he said and left the room.

"You too, kid."

The door slammed shut behind him and Harry cast a tempus to check how much longer he had before he was supposed to have a practice round with Tonks. His eyes almost fell out of his skull when he saw that he'd spent several hours under the room's spell. He cursed, as this meant that he only had three hours to recover unless he wanted to re-schedule. But he didn't.

If he was too on top of his game he'd look ridiculously strong for a second year anyway, better to manage expectations somewhat, he thought. Or perhaps, was he underestimating the average Hogwarts second-year? He was sure that they could put up a decent fight. After all, hadn't Twix taught them well?

Maybe he could challenge Penny or Cedric next time, to see where the average level lay. But for now, he closed his eyes. Now he had to rest as best he could for his bout with Tonks. His stomach grumbled and he decided that he could rest in the kitchen while letting the house-elves spoil him.

Chapter Text

"Damn, did you get the license plate number of the truck that hit you?"

Those were the first words Tonks said to him when she entered the abandoned classroom that they'd decided to meet up in.

It was sort of a special location because you needed to go up a ladder to get there, which was the reason why it wasn't suited for Potions practice. Also, it was in a fairly deserted section of the castle. How incredible, that the population of magical Britain had once been large enough to fill out this whole school. But now, the whole institute was barely functioning at half capacity.

"Har, har, har," Harry said while rolling his eyes, from where he was leaning against the wall. Add a sword sticking out of his stomach and he would look like the perfect dead mob in a video game.

"No, really, I don't know if I have the motivation to even beat you up, with how pathetic you look," Tonks said sadly as she dramatically leaned against a window ledge and glanced out into the forbidden forest. "What's your deal anyway, mister grade-skipper, why pick a fight with me?"

Harry looked into her eyes, which were pink today, just like her hair. "I don't want to fight you, I want to duel you. Have a bout, get loud and sweaty. My academic prowess is unquestionable, what's left for me to do? Try to skip other subjects as well? No, I want to see how I fare, before I enter the U17 duelling tournament this summer."

"England has an U17 dueling circuit?" Tonks asked curiously, "Why didn't I know about this?"

Harry shook his head, "It doesn't, but Europe does."

The young woman looked at him a bit disbelievingly.

"You want to go up against the whole of the continent?" she asked, at which point it was Harry's turn to give her an odd look.

"Why not? It should be fun. It's not like I think I'll win, it'll just be a valuable experience. And even if, in a few years I might have a chance. Someone has to be the best, why not me?"

"Someone has to be the best, why not me," Tonks said and shook her head. "I guess that's the mindset you need to do what you did, you little nerd." She sighed before walking to the other end of the room and raising her wand. "What am I then, your stepping stone?" she asked as she adjusted her posture.

Harry stood up and bent his knees, wand out. "You're just the only student I know who'd probably be able to beat me. All my other friends are in their second year as well, so they wouldn't stand a chance," he said dismissively, causing Tonks to bristle slightly, for whatever reason.

"You know duelling is not allowed in Hogwarts, right? Not since they disbanded the duelling club."

"You scared?" Harry taunted.

"Scared of getting detention because I put you in the hospital wing," Tonks muttered as she narrowed her eyes.

"Let's just stick to spells that won't inflict serious damage. No fire, lighting or cutting, I'd say."

"Alright, on the count of three?" she asked and upon getting Harry's approval, she started the count-down.

"Three, two, one, go!" She counted down and then immediately cast a jellifying jinx at Harry's legs, who simply side-stepped. His disarming charm, which he'd sent out wordlessly, whizzed towards Tonks' torso. However, just as it was about to hit Tonks silently cast a protego, which Harry's spell slid off of. The fight entered a short break period, where Tonks turned to Harry incredulously.

"Silent casting?"

"If you're speaking, you're not trying." Was his reply, at which point Tonks' face grew red and she went on an actual offensive, rather than just a faux one. She sent what seemed to be a stunner, which Harry dodged, before retaliating with a silent flipendo. They exchanged a few spells like that, simply side-stepping each other's attacks before sending their own. Essentially, Harry noted, they were at an impasse. He frowned as he looked at the girl rhythmically keeping up with him. He needed to change stuff up. This was the type of shit he could do with the practice dummy.

The next time Tonks sent a stunner his way Harry dodged under it by ducking to the floor and holding his wand to the dust that they'd whirled up with their rapid footsteps. The dust turned into a pair of medium-sized snakes, which he sent at Tonks with a muttered animation charm, before desperately throwing himself out of the way of a purple spell he didn't recognize. It whizzed past his ear and ruffled his hair. He glared at his opponent, who was frowning at the two snakes that were slowly moving towards her. She turned to him to raise an eyebrow, at which point he simply shrugged.

Tonks raised her wand, likely to dispel the transfiguration, when Harry got a devious idea. He thrust his wand forward, "Lumos!" A bright strobe light, as bright as search-light, but in all directions, emerged from the tip and filled up the room. He heard Tonks grunt in pain and shock; he dispelled the light and sent a silent disarming charm to her location as he remembered it, while he blinked spots out of his eyes. He heard the spell impact something but still sent another one. The same sound.

"You little cunt!" Tonks cursed from behind her shield, which he was able to see after a few seconds of rapidly blinking. The snakes were still rapidly approaching, but not for long as Tonks caught another one of Harry's spells on her shield and disparagingly waved her wand at the animals. They crumbled into dust, only to rise up again as a pair of angry-looking dogs. Harry frowned and sent a quick knock-back jinx at the dog on the right before it could jump him. The transfiguration was knocked to the ground with a whimper, where it remained. But considering that the other dog was now jumping at him with a wide-opened toothless mouth and Tonks had just sent a disarming charm his way. Well, Harry had to choose. And even if the dog didn't have teeth, he'd still rather prefer just getting disarmed, so, he blasted away the transfiguration with a silent flipendo and tried to dodge the spell, but failed. He watched sullenly as his wand flew from his hand into that of a panting Tonks.

The girl clutching two wands was red in the face, this time from exhaustion. Harry was suddenly aware of his own tiredness and sat down with a sigh. He realised that he could have blasted Tonks with an aguamenti and decided to keep that tactic in mind for next time.

"Bloody hell, what are your parents feeding you?" Tonks cursed as she walked over to hand him his wand, before sitting down next to him and looking him up and down. "That was impressive," she eventually said, sounding frustrated.

Harry shook his head. "My transfiguration was pathetic. I need to work on that." He determined, "Your dogs were impressive, thanks for making them toothless."

"Your snakes weren't?"

Harry blushed and looked away, "I didn't think they'd actually get you, I was just panicking."

"That light spell sucked," Tonks complained, still blinking rapidly. Even her eyelashes were pink. Harry snorted. "What?" The girl asked.

"I can't believe you also pinked up your eyelashes, that's so cool," he said forlornly. "I wish I had a cool innate magical skill," he said with a sigh, he'd tested out if he had parseltongue when he was a child, but nothing had come of it. Just a scared garden snake.

"It's nice I guess, but I'm pretty sure you have some talent, I mean, you know, considering everything," Tonks reassured him.

"Hard work isn't a talent," Harry said as he rolled his eyes, before standing. "Come on, let's go again," he said, causing Tonks' eyes to widen.

"Again?"

"Well, yeah, doing it once isn't really training for anything. Unless you're already tired. I mean, I get it, at your age." Harry insinuated, which got Tonks to jump up quite quickly.

"You prat, I'll show you old," she muttered as she took up her stance again, at the other side of the room. Harry wondered if she could manifest a tick mark on her forehead, like in those Chinese cartoons.

Although, tick mark or no tick mark, the fact that the first thing Tonks did was conjure a flock of birds which she sent at Harry, could tip him off on her mental state well enough. She was a bit salty.

They ended up going at it an entire seven times before Harry fell down exhausted. Understandable considering what kind of day he'd had before even coming to this session. Out of the seven times, he didn't win once. He would rectify that the next time they met, which was going to be in a week, Tonks had agreed with a slight scowl, apparently not pleased with her own performance, before leaving him alone in the tower to brood on his...

-/-

"Why are the quidditch trials on a Monday afternoon? That's so weird. I thought weekends existed for exactly this reason." Harry complained to Penny, who was sitting next to him in the stands, watching Cedric along with the other Hufflepuff hopefuls warming up by jogging around the pitch.

"I think the captain of the team wants to start training the new members as early as possible, and all applicants coincidentally had time off today," Penny said as she nodded in the direction of a tall girl who was cheering on the players, some of which were already flagging. Harry snorted at the thought of anyone unable to run for five minutes trying to join a sports team of any kind, even if it was only a school one.

Cedric thankfully, was still keeping up with the group, which had by now dwindled from nine to six.

"What spots are open again?"

"You know, you're really going to have to start going to the matches if Cedric makes the team. You'd think you would be more interested considering that you won us the house cup last year." Penny chided.

Harry stretched in his seat as he watched the yellow and black-clad players and player-wannabes start mounting their brooms and doing zoom-zoom manoeuvres in the sky. They were quite fast, but he could keep up somewhat. He imagined that his perception for fast-moving objects, and dangers, had improved ever since he'd started abusing the duelling puppet in the Room of Requirement. Or rather, since he'd started getting abused by said puppet. He winced as a bruise on his left butt cheek throbbed. He'd taken a nasty fall yesterday and no matter how magical the ointment at Hogwarts was, it wasn't magical enough to heal stuff in less than a day. Unless you went to Pomfrey and got some of the good shit, which he wasn't doing since he didn't feel like answering questions on how he managed to get hurt on a daily basis. Maybe he should look into healing? He idly thought before a hand was brought up to slap him in the face. His head whipped to the side and his cheek stung like a mother-fucker. He looked at the offending hand, his right one, as the people around him turned to stare at the kid hitting himself for no reason.

"Merlin, Harry, what's wrong with you." Penny groaned as she shot him a disquieted side-ways glance.

"Just had a stupid thought, needed to get it out of my head," Harry replied while thinking about his current schedule. He had a similar amount of things to do as last year, with his duelling and learning how to sense magic, but now both of those activities were linked with profound physical and mental suffering, which spell-creation hadn't been unless one counted Arithmancy as a torture method. He quite frankly barely had time for class work, let alone picking up a completely new subject like Healing, which wasn't even offered at Hogwarts. Sensing magic seemed like such an important skill to have if one was a wizard, that Harry could honestly imagine ditching some classwork in lieu of it, but he needed to keep his grades up if he wanted personalised instruction from Flitwick.

He focused his attention on the tryouts and frowned when he noticed that Cedric was involved in a competition with three other bees. They were all hovering high above the pitch and glancing around frantically. "He tried for seeker, then."

"He was never going to listen to us." Penny said, before rolling her eyes, "Boys."

"Tell me about it," Harry replied.

"You don't get to say that. What have you even been doing? You've just been disappearing on us the whole day, every day. Then you come back exhausted and Cedric says you sleep like a dead person." Penny complained, at which Harry could only helplessly shrug. He couldn't really tell his friends about the room of requirement, just in case they stumbled on the diadem Horcrux trying to explore it. All that he could say…

"I've been practising a lot of duelling spells. Did you know Flitwick was once the world champion in the international duelling circuit?" he asked, switching the topic slightly.

Penny's eyes widened and her jaw dropped, "Really? Professor Flitwick, so what, you've been practising with him?"

"Unfortunately, no. But what he did say was that if I stay consistent in class he'll consider showing me some stuff after the winter break. He wants to make sure that I'm not overburdened with the recent

developments."

"So what have you been doing exactly?"

"Well, he gave me a list of spells, I found some forms and exercises in the library. I'm working myself to the bone. If I can come to him after Christmas with good grades and show him that I've had time to get better at duelling, then he'll have to take me." Harry explained. Penny looked mildly hurt at his words.

Harry awkwardly scratched the back of his head, "Look, I didn't think you'd be interested, Cedric has been focused solely on flying, to the point where he's been doing badly in Transfiguration and I know you prefer Potions."

"Well, I would have liked to have been asked, so I could have said no on my own terms." Penny sniffed.

"Sorry about that, I mean I only started looking into it last week, you know. I can show you the spells this weekend if you want." He offered, at which he gained a small smile.

"Sure, after potion practice?" she asked. The red-head rolled his eyes.

"Yes, after potion practice, but anyway, I have to go now, I have detention with Professor Potter." He said and looked out into the field, just in time to see Cedric dive and come up with a golden snitch in his hand. The boy hollered. "Congratulate Cedric for me, for getting the position," he said and left the stands, noting that some Slytherins and Gryffindors were also present. Probably scouting out the competition.

He exchanged a brief glance with Montague, who turned around to see who was going down the stairs and leaving in the middle of the tryouts, but once he recognized Harry he quickly looked away, disinterested. At least something was working, Harry thought and made his way to the castle.

Chapter Text

"Come in!" Shouted a voice from inside the classroom, on the door of which Harry had just knocked. The boy pulled a face at how hearing only Potter's voice, but not seeing the man, reminded him of the beginning of last year, when the Auror had been orchestrating Twix's doomed attempt to break the curse on the DADA position. He shook his head and entered, he was just here for detention. Waste some time, write some lines.

"Good afternoon, Professor Potter." He said dutifully as he walked up to the desk that the older man was sitting at, apparently grading papers.

The professor took off his golden-rimmed glasses, put them on the table in front of him and leaned back, massaging his temples. "I'm still getting used to being called that," the man muttered, and glanced behind Harry. Something rattled elsewhere in the room causing the second-year to turn around and grimace when he saw that the closet with the boggart was still there in the corner. The darkly lit room didn't make facing the thing any more appealing. He looked back to the professor, only to suddenly get a stack of parchment stuck into his face. He took it and let his eyes run down the first paragraph. It was an essay about the spark-creation spell and what situations it should be used in to call for help, he flipped through the rest of the stack and saw that all the essays were on the same topic. He looked up at the professor, who was framed at his desk between a stuffed grindylow on his left and a death-eater robe hung up on the wall to his right.

"Professor?" He looked doubtfully at the sheaves of parchment he'd just been given.

"Why did you punch Mr. Kent after Harley's sorting?"

Harry tilted his head and considered his answer, "Because I let my anger get the best of me."

"Are you going to do it again?"

Harry shook his head, "No."

"You're sure? Let's say someone behaves similarly inappropriately in front of you in the future, you're not going to retaliate?" the man asked, digging deeper.

Harry frowned. He'd realised the stupidity of his actions by now, quite frankly. He could have probably protected Harley differently. Punching had simply been his first childish instinct. "I'm not going to retaliate physically," he corrected.

"You know, the professors say that detention helps students reflect on their wrong-doings. It gives them the time to connect the boredom or the unpleasantness of the detention to the misbehaviour." James rambled and tousled his hair and pinched his brows. "It never really worked on me, but considering it's my god-daughter you protected… Well, anyway, just grade the papers. Then we can face the boggart."

Harry's blood froze and his face probably took on a displeased expression, because James laughed. "I didn't forget, no."

"Why didn't you force me to do it in class then?" Harry asked.

It was James' turn to grimace. "Well, I assumed that kids who avoid the boggart usually have a good reason. Maybe their fear is something they don't want others to see. I don't want Voldemort in my classroom, myself, which is why I let them get away with it. However, since you're here for detention anyway, we should make up for lost time. You can trust me to be more discreet than your class-mates, and more brave."

Harry blinked, "You say his name?"

"The taboo might have made it inadvisable to do so during the war, but refusing to do it when there is no good reason doesn't seem right to me."

"Fear is the mind-killer," Harry said with a nod.

"You'll get to face yours soon enough."

"Can I convince you to leave the room while I do so?" Harry asked, not wanting the man to be privy to whatever information his biggest fear would reveal about him.

James shook his head, "I need to be there for your safety, a boggart can still hurt you if you don't know how to deal with one, which is why we teach it."

Harry tilted his head and locked eyes with the man, "It's probably going to have something to do with rape," he said blasely, fishing for a reaction. He assumed that the man didn't want to see anything related to that, especially in the context of Lily Evans, who Harry assumed had still been his school crush.

The Auror paled a bit at Harry's words but remained resolute. He nodded at the papers in Harry's hands and got to work himself.

The redhead couldn't do anything but sigh and sit down, going through the mind-numbing process of reading through what eleven-year-olds probably thought was a utilisation of the English language, but was honestly more of a gibberish smeared on a bathroom stall wall situation. He worked on the essays, grading as fairly as he could, while the closet in the corner of the room rattled every now and again. He noticed that after his last comment to the professor, Harry wasn't the only one flinching.

It didn't take him long to correct the essays, maybe half an hour. They were short and to the point, regurgitating the same information. However, once he finished and set down his quill, he didn't immediately stand up to proclaim his work being done. He slumped bonelessly in the chair and allowed himself the moment of weakness. He spent plenty of time being strong, ever since he'd gotten reborn, but now, he was just afraid. Afraid because he didn't know what he was afraid of.

He wasn't afraid of death, he'd toyed with the idea of killing himself those first few years. He wasn't afraid of Voldemort. He was just a man, a broken wretch of a man at that. He wasn't afraid of werewolves and while he feared being discovered for being a reincarnation, it was just something he would have to deal with if it ever occurred. He'd practised Occlumency for this exact reason.

He toyed with the idea of using his skills in the mind arts to fake out the boggart somehow, not let it get to the point where he had to cast riddikulus. Mentally partition his fears away into small little boxes, until the only thing left was the distaste he held for clowns. But unfortunately, he couldn't risk anyone discovering that he had any sort of affinity for the Mind Arts. The skill was only as useful as it was hidden for the moment.

Harry stood up from the table, the chair that he'd risen from falling to the ground behind him. He walked to the teacher's desk and slapped the corrected essays on it with a scowl, as James looked up at him. He walked over to the corner that the closet was in and braced his feet in its direction as if he were about to duel the boggart.

"Let's get this over with," he said.

Professor Potter rose from his chair and walked over to Harry, stood a bit behind him and raised his wand at the closet. The hinges of the door opened with a continuous creaking, but even when the darkness of the closet was completely visible the creaking didn't stop. It just transformed into a grating squeaking noise. An old woman in a wheelchair emerged from the closet and slowly approached Harry. It was a banged-up piece of rusted metal that a pair of heavily arthritic hands were barely managing to push forward under immense strain. A pair of milky blue eyes looked up at Harry, framed by wispy white hair growing in uneven patches. A splatter of some unrecognisable soup marred the woman's unwashed hospital gown. She was obviously not cared for, but when she saw Harry she smiled so brightly that the heavy wrinkles around her mouth disappeared. Harry regretted having opened his mental defences and raised his wand, noticing belatedly that the hand holding it was trembling.

"I never stopped waiting for you, day after day after day. I never allowed myself to forget, even for a second and now you're back!" The woman crowed happily while Harry mustered the strength to do what he had to do.

"Riddikkulus!" he cast forcefully, imagining the change that he wanted and forcing it onto the amorphous creature that dared wear her eyes and her skin, no matter how distorted. The old woman disappeared in a swirl and in its place was a small dog, a wiener to be more specific, it was standing on its hind legs and balancing a beach ball on its snout. Harry forced out a hollow laugh before his view was blotted out by the professor's back.

The boggart changed shapes with a bang and Harry stepped side-ways, just in time to catch a horribly mauled corpse of a blonde kid creating a puddle of blood on the floor before the creature was banished back into the closet with an otherworldly shriek and the doors were slammed shut behind it.

"I'm sorry," Professor Potter said while he turned around to look at Harry. He gave the boy a pitying look and made to say something, before interrupting himself.

"There's no way to kill a boggart, right?" Harry asked. "They're like dementors."

James nodded. "Yes, there is no way to really get rid of them forever."

Harry manoeuvred around the man so that he was standing closer to the door of the classroom.

"Isn't Fiendfyre supposed to be able to kill just about everything?" Harry asked with a frown, gaining a sharp look from the professor.

"No, Boggarts are conceptual creatures. Cursed flames may be able to eat through magic and flesh alike, but they need something to latch on to. The nature of a boggart is that it refuses to be defined closely enough to be destroyed," he said.

"I'll be taking my leave then, professor," Harry said, a hand already at the door.

James sighed. "I'm sorry, about the boggart. I couldn't let any student leave Hogwarts without having faced it, the rest who avoided the confrontation will also get the remedial lesson. I just combined yours with the detention to save time. For what it's worth, good job. It's always the boggarts that aren't just random scary creatures which are the most difficult to deal with."

Harry didn't bother standing around and promptly left. Seeing that there was no one around he applied the combination of invisibility and noise-muffling and made his way towards the Room of Requirement at a sedated pace. Once there he summoned the dueling dummy and was only seen again the morning after. Not at breakfast, but at the first class of the day.

Chapter Text

"Congratulations on making the team, by the way," Harry told Cedric once they'd exited the Potions classroom. He received a grimace and a non-committal hum. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Something wrong?"

Cedric shook his head but looked a bit pale, a bit too pale, even if one considered they'd just spent more than an hour breathing in some nasty fumes. "Well," he started, before cutting himself off. "You weren't at breakfast, were you?"

Harry shook his head, "No, I just dropped by the kitchens, what did I miss?"

"The prophet is still talking about the werewolf attack. Some kids were turned," the boy said, causing Harry to recoil from the news.

"Fuck. Children," he muttered and contemplated for a few brief seconds on how horrible it must be to suddenly be afflicted by a curse as severe as lycanthropy. It must have been unimaginably painful.

"It's reminding people of the war," Penny said as she came up behind them, having stayed behind to discuss something with Slughorn. "Werewolves would kill the parents and turn the children. It's one of the reasons why Professor Potter is so famous, he beat Fenrir Greyback, the leader of the pack." Harry thought he remembered something like that in the newspapers he'd read last Christmas break when visiting the archives of the Daily Prophet.

"Is he in Azkaban, then?" Harry asked, only for Penny to shake her head, not seeming all too sure.

"I think he's dead." Cedric eventually muttered. "Anyway. It's hard to be happy about being on the quidditch team right now."

"I get it," Harry said as they filed into the transfiguration classroom, where they found oddly melted-together objects present on their desks. They seemed to have been Transfiguration attempts gone awry, he idly poked at the one in front of him, which seemed to be half apple half pen, before sitting down.

"Oh, Slughorn wanted me to give you this," Penny suddenly said from beside him and handed him a note. Harry took the yellowed parchment, opened it and read what it was, while his friends read along over his shoulders.

"I heard about those," Penny said with some jealousy as they finished reading the invitation to a gathering of the Slug Club Friday evening, for Halloween. Harry shoved the piece of parchment into his pocket and grasped the failed Transfiguration in his hand, trying to see if he could feel the magic being used to upkeep its odd state of being. He failed.

"I don't know if I'll go," he muttered as he tried again, only to fail again.

"Why not, it's an excuse to go to a party for adults," Cedric prompted as he rested his head on his arm. Harry considered how to tell the boy that parties for adults, especially academic ones, were less fun than the fake little parties sometimes thrown for children, where they were allowed to eat too many sweets and drink fake champagne. The only acceptable situation in which he would bother going, and had bothered going in his last life, was if he had a partner who could make the night interesting.

"It's just going to be a bunch of idiots kissing their own ass and wearing masks, why was I even invited?" he complained, at which point Cedric and Penny shared an awkward look.

"We didn't really know how to tell you, but don't you think that the atmosphere has been a bit tense?" Penny asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry looked up and turned around to check the room. They were sharing today's class with Ravenclaw, and as he looked he couldn't help but notice how a lot of them were whispering to each other while throwing him dark looks.

"What's their problem?" He snorted, "You'd think the sting of realisation coming from being dumbasses, despite being in the supposed house of knowledge, would wear off after a year," he said, not having in particular much good to say about the bronze and blue house. They were mostly jealous of his accomplishments, thought he ought to have been sorted with them, or were just dumb in general. Turns out sorting people into the smart house made them less smart since they then thought they needed to work less hard, due to their status as intelligent already being secured by their house. Ravenclaw students were the child equivalent of those adults who tried to appear as if they were working a lot, so they could brag about it, but who weren't actually accomplishing anything.

"Well, it was slowly coming out anyway. What you did in Charms and Arithmancy, but there was an article today," Penny said diplomatically.

Harry blinked and stared at her with a tilted head, "An article?"

"In the Prophet," Cedric elucidated kindly.

"What did it say?" Harry asked with furrowed brows. His two friends shared another, meaning-laden look before Penny sighed and started rummaging around in her bag. She pulled out some miscellaneous Potions ingredients but eventually settled on handing Harry a crumpled edition of the Daily Prophet.

Harry violently opened the newspaper, thanked Merlin that he wasn't on the front page, but cursed, loudly, when he found his face looking back at him somewhere in the middle. His arrogant and disinterested demeanour looked at the reader, occasionally frowning, scowling, or leering disapprovingly. Harry recognized the background to have been somewhere in the ministry, probably the chamber that he ended up having been tested in for his advancement.

"That piece of shit frog-bitch," he muttered as he started reading, which only worsened his mood.

Favouritism at Hogwarts
by Blimpep Bokkums

Harry Evans is the name of the Hogwarts student who was recently allowed to skip one grade in Charms and two in Arithmancy. What might surprise readers is the fact that Mr. Evans is a muggle-born, making it questionable how he got to the necessary level of magical skill, after only being exposed to magic for one year. No staff from Hogwarts has been available to comment.

The first question we would like to pose to the Hogwarts staff, led by the venerable, but aged Albus Dumbledore, is how a first-year student can be granted the privileges usually reserved for third-years and up…

Harry stopped reading in disgust and put the newspaper down. "What a load of dog shit," he complained to his two friends. "Advancing isn't a privilege you're granted based on your age, but a reward you get based on your accomplishments," he said and stuck the paper into his satchel, just in case he wanted to read it later.

He looked around after his friends didn't answer and saw that they were both looking to the front of the classroom, where McGonagall was standing and looking pointedly at him. She cleared her throat once she saw that she'd gotten his attention. Then she started the lesson without a preamble, stalking in front of the blackboard as she spoke.

"Considering that we finished revising last year's material last week, we shall now focus on the untransfiguration spell. As the name states it is a spell that reverses the effects of what we are practising in this class, which will become increasingly important later on. Now, can anyone tell me the name of the spell and why it will be increasingly relevant?" she asked the room with an expectant look.

Harry didn't usually raise his hand when others did, and considering that he was taking this class with Ravenclaws he technically could have gone the whole year without doing so once. However, considering that McGonagall had refrained from deducting house-points from Hufflepuff, something that she would have been completely in her right to, considering his inattention, he decided to do it as a form of gratitude. The other students never got the questions completely correct, which necessitated them expounding on the answers.

"Mr. Evans," McGonagall prompted stiffly with an expectant face after he'd put his arm up, to some surprise from Penny, who had long since managed to find the pattern to his class participation. Charms yes, Transfiguration no.

"The incantation of the untransfiguration spell is called reparifarge and the wand movement is a simple cup. The spell wasn't as important last year because we didn't work on anything organic, except for one class. However, considering the increased presence of the subject during our remaining tenure at Hogwarts, the ability to revert our efforts becomes increasingly important. Leaving a functioning rabbit head attached to a foot-stool is irresponsible, dangerous due to the instability of an unintentional change like that, and also needlessly cruel towards the false facsimile of life we have created," he explained succinctly, causing the professor to blink and process, before nodding.

"Well put," she complimented but refrained from awarding house points. She turned towards her desk, which had an elaborate bronze lamp with a green cover on it. It wasn't usually there and its purpose was revealed as the professor cast the spell they'd been discussing at the object, reverting it back into its presumably original shape, which was a crystal goblet. She turned back to the class.

"Now, on your desk you will see apples in various stages of botched transfiguration. It's easier to learn the spell when one knows what the original form is. Currently, you can use visualisation to aid you. The goal of today's class is the reversal of an object that you do not know the origins of. For that purpose I will be going around and switching out what you're practising on as you complete the first step," McGonagall announced, before going towards an occupied table at which a student had raised their hand to ask a question.

Harry focused on his applepen abomination and brought up his wand, he considered for a moment if he should bother with the visualisation step, considering the end goal was to not need it, before deciding that he trusted his professor. She probably included this part because it was helpful, also, even at the later stages, he could maybe at least visualise the current appearance of the object melting away, so to say. He cast the spell, getting one perfectly red apple out of the exchange. He'd visualised and used the incantation and the wand movement. He was done waiting around. His duel with Tonks had taught him several things, one of which had been the fact that Transfiguration could be an important part of a fight and that his snakes weren't up to the challenge.

McGonagall walked past his table, saw that he was done, again, did not award Hufflepuff any house-points and twitched her wand, a pillow zoomed in from somewhere and landed on his table. Harry cast the untransfiguration spell again under the professor's watchful gaze but failed this time. She didn't comment but continued onwards to make her rounds.

It wasn't until 20 minutes later that Harry succeeded in turning the pillow back into a small rock. There had been a particular twist that he'd needed to add to his magic as it came out of his wand and it felt like the pillow had resisted its reversal more than the applepen. Perhaps the applepen had simply realised what kind of abomination it had been and had wanted to leave that state as soon as possible. The spell was not overly easy, Harry realised. Or rather, it wasn't something that he was so practised in yet. He definitely wouldn't be able to cast it in the middle of a duel on a moving target, like he would have needed to do in his bout with Tonks.

He idly waved his wand at the stone now occupying space in front of him and changed it into a large green snake, which just coiled around itself and hissed. A girl's shriek came from his left and he turned around to find Cedric clutching at his heart, reminiscent of a shocked grandmother.

"Bloody hell, warn a bloke, will you?" the boy hissed, eyeing the serpent warily.

"Sorry, "Harry murmured as he bopped the snake on its head, easily turning it back into a stone. He frowned as he realised that it was much too easy to untransfigure what one had done in the first place. It wasn't decent practice.

He looked around the room and saw that barely anyone had even finished the first assignment. He thought back to how he'd been told last year that the professors were more likely to offer him advanced work in classes since they could now trust his work ethic. He hadn't wanted to bring attention to this in the past, content to simply work on his own stuff instead, but reparifargo seemed like a necessary spell to master. Why shouldn't he take advantage of his professor in this case? He raised his hand and McGonagall arrived at his table, looking at his completed untransfiguration with some interest.

"Exemplary as always, Mr. Evans," she teased with a slight smile, as she floated Cedric another pillow. He'd completed the first part second overall, which made sense considering that he would have been the champion of Hogwarts in another time and another place. "Three points for Hufflepuff," the professor said, thus signalling that she forgave him for his initial distractedness. Harry nodded his head.

"Professor, I want to continue practising the spell. Can I receive a few objects that will be harder to untransfigure?" he asked politely. McGonagall twitched her wand at the stone on his table and turned it into a hare, before summoning two more pillows and depositing them next to the startled animal, who sat dumbly in place, no animation charm compelling it to leave its position.

"An organic untransfiguration should be comparably more difficult, if you manage that you may try to untransfigure several objects at the same time. The fact you've already managed the pillows should make it easier. Five points for both separate uses, if you succeed," she said, before looking up and leaving to another table, where a Ravenclaw had succeeded in casting the comparably difficult spell.

Harry turned his attention to the hare sitting in front of him and brought out his wand to cast the spell. A seeming battle of wills occurred between him and the transfigured material, a battle that he lost. A loss which resulted in nothing in particular happening. Harry started bringing in his experience with occlumency, which in essence was also a battle of wills. The hare lost its hair and revealed a stony exterior. Harry smiled.

-/-

One hour later and ten points richer Harry was just about to leave the Transfiguration classroom and head to the library when the professor signalled him to stay behind. He nodded at his friends as the other students shuffled out of the classroom, which wasn't anything special to look at. The head of Gryffindor seemingly liked to keep her furnishings simple. He did have to admit though that the bench table combinations were a classic in any UK classroom, even if they weren't really comfortable.

"You wished to speak to me, professor?" he asked as he went to stand in front of the teacher's desk, where McGonagall was quickly jotting down some notes.

She nodded and looked up, steepling her fingers, "Are you alright Mr. Evans?" she asked, receiving a polite smile from Harry.

"The article wasn't a pleasant read, but neither was it overly important. There will be chances to prove myself in the future," he said, causing the professor to grimace.

"Perhaps best to do so early, rather than late. If a negative impression sticks for too long it tends to fester," she advised and Harry nodded, consideringly.

"I will try to enter the U17 international duelling Tournament this summer. Professor Flitwick said he'd help me prepare if I didn't lag under the increased workload by the winter break. Perhaps nationalism will win over blood-purism and the paper will switch its tune to support the British rather than attack the filthy."

"That's good, perhaps you might want to meet with the headmaster, to do something earlier as well, however?" McGonagall suggested, seemingly pleased at his idea, albeit not really believing that he could go far in the tournament.

Harry nodded absentmindedly at the suggestion as he realised that he technically already had all the pieces he needed to turn the tides. Maybe. He frowned as he realised that it would necessitate going to Slughorn's party.

"I'll see what I can achieve at Professor Slughorn's soiree," he said, and by McGonagall's facial expression, he wasn't the only one with a distaste for such occasions.

"It's good that you have a plan," McGonagall conceded, "but don't hesitate to come to me, or your Head of House if you're experiencing difficulties."

Harry nodded, "Will that be all?" he asked, causing the professor to wave him off.

"Oh, and keep up the class-work," was the last remark from the woman, before the door shut behind Harry and he was left alone in an empty corridor, only a pair of drunk monks in a painting keeping him company. Cedric and Penny had long since learned to not wait on him if he stayed behind to talk to a professor. It had been happening with some regularity recently.

Chapter Text

Harry leaned back in his seat in the DADA classroom as people around him whispered about the lesson to come. The werewolf attacks had been growing exponentially more horrific with each retelling in the halls of Hogwarts and Professor Potter had given a lesson on the creatures to the older years yesterday. Now everyone was excited to hear what the man had to say on the topic.

"It's not like we'll be able to do much if faced with an actual werewolf, we can't apparate and they're resistant to most spells," he said to Penny, who only shook her head.

"Stop complaining about being given a lecture by a successful Auror about how to defend yourself from one of the magical beasts that you may actually meet." She huffed at him, from his right.

Harry leaned on his hand as he looked at her, "I'm not complaining, just saying. Even if the werewolf attacks have been covered so much by the media, it's still more likely we'll be attacked by something else. I guess I just find it weird that the professor is pushing forward material due to public consensus. I've never felt that professors bargained with students like that before."

"They do adapt to the situations, though. Like how Flitwick is teaching your spell now," Penny whispered, looking around shiftily "What's up with you? You've been so grumpy recently."

Harry sighed, thinking of the seemingly fruitless nights he was spending on magic-sensing practice this year. At least his spell development last year had had a sense of progression. Sticking himself into the void provided by the Room of Requirement to develop a skill that he still only had the basics of was straining his motivation. It didn't help that the practice itself could only be described as pure suffering. Duelling wasn't going that great either, with the dummy still handily beating his ass all around the room. He had another date set up with Tonks in a bit, but it wasn't exciting enough to distract him from the bad feeling that had been slowly building up inside his stomach. He felt like he was doing something wrong by withholding from all figures of authority the information he had, which might still be relevant. It was becoming more and more clear to him that this world wasn't going to be something he could predict. It was hard to stay forcefully ignorant and cling to imagined certainty when a dead man was teaching your DADA class.

"Is it the article?" Penny asked empathetically.

Harry shook his head. While the article was something that needed fixing. And he would fix it, he'd never cared so much what other people thought. And if the Wizarding World was filled with the same idiots that had thrown the original Harry Potter under the bus every time the kid had even dared to breathe, then he wasn't much predisposed to care about their opinion.

"I guess I feel stuck in some of the endeavours I've been undertaking. It's not a pleasant feeling." Harry eventually answered.

"The thing you've been doing while gone all the time, like last year?" Penny asked.

Harry cracked a brittle grin, "Yeah, like last year."

"And you still don't want to say what you're working on?" she asked dubiously, at which point Harry sighed. If he could tell Penny about the Room of Requirement then he could tell her what he was using it for. But the way things were now he simply couldn't. The diadem was still there.

"Still duelling," he muttered. "Everything, for duelling. I just can't say how."

"Whatever then," Penny said while rolling her eyes. "Keep your secrets then. You'll have to tell me someday."

"Thanks, Penny," Harry said, just as a constipated-looking James Potter came fluttering inside with his black robes billowing. Harry smirked at the resemblance to the man who would have been Potions professor in another world. The professor's frown deepened as he came to a stop in front of the students. He began pacing back and forth as the second-years tittered excitedly in their seats.

"I've decided to give a lecture about werewolves for almost all the years, disregarding the usual curriculum," he said brusquely. "I'm not particularly happy to do so, considering that it's not something most students are ready to face. But, safety of mind is safety of heart or something, so let's get started." He clapped his hand and twitched his wand. A shadow started gathering from the air around it, a large black silhouette about seven feet emerging next to the professor before coalescing into a fully realistic statue of a werewolf. Harry grimaced as some of his classmates shrieked and Penny clutched at his thigh with a clawed hand.

The werewolf standing there in front of the desk and glaring at the class with yellow eyes and a snarled mouth full of sharp teeth was nothing like the caricatures that the boggart had produced. Harry realised that if anyone had the experience to create a hyper-realistic werewolf it would be James Potter and Sirius Black. They had, after all, spent their entire school time playing around with one such creature and witnessing it from up close. Pettigrew would similarly have the needed experience, but considering the man's supposed skill with a wand then a conjuration, or transfiguration of this size would likely be beyond him.

"So, does anyone want to tell me something about werewolves, before I inevitably correct you." The professor said as he levitated the statue, mannequin, construct, into the empty corner of the room where students generally practised their spells.

Harry looked back at the rest of the class and saw that nobody was raising their hand, obviously leaving it to him to answer the question, unless he wanted to wait here for another few minutes while James awkwardly locked eyes with one student after another. It was also an opportunity to score some brownie points. He raised his hand.
"Mr. Evans."

"Well, rather than talking about werewolves it's important to first note that they are just the symptom of the underlying disease. Lycanthropy is a magical disease, or a curse, rather, which causes the carrier to transform into a mix of human and wolf on nights of the full moon. Werewolves generally lose their rationality while transformed and are manipulated by their curse into a sort of abject rage and aggression which causes them to attack humans on sight. This is an expression of the disease wanting to spread itself, which it does if a non-carrying human gets an open wound from a werewolf. A small wound may cause a less severe case of lycanthropy, but even a scratch suffices to essentially ruin your life as werewolves are discriminated against and find it hard to survive in normal society. There is a potion that helps a werewolf retain their sanity after transformation, but in my understanding, it is prohibitively expensive," Harry said as James nodded along slowly before he stopped at the last part with a frown.

"Well said, I will correct something however before anyone writes it down. There is no potion to alleviate the symptoms of lycanthropy. There is no cure and there most certainly is no hope." He finished bitterly, before shaking his head. "You get bitten, you're cursed, for life. No cure. Just a loss of mind and humanity once a month. The fact that there is no cure is why the only thing I can really show you in regards to werewolves is how to fight them off, considering neither negotiation nor any other peaceful method to deal with them exists."

Harry mulled over the fact that the wolfsbane potion apparently didn't exist here and cursed his so-called foreknowledge once again for being effectively, in most situations, useless.

"Werewolves are highly magically resistant," the professor continued, "and to mimic that, I will cast a powerful protection on my conjuration. You can all see if you manage to somehow harm the "werewolf," before I tell you the proper method to do so," he declared, before raising his wand at the conjuration and slashing it down. "Inexpugnabilis magica," was the incantation. A bright golden beam hit the conjuration and seemed to overtake it and cover it like a second skin, or in this case, a second fur. "Form yourself in a line, everyone gets two spells, if you succeed in dropping the barrier you're exempt from home-work. After you've cast, just move to the back of the line," he said and the students hesitantly started lining themselves up to face the statue.

Harry joined in the back and decided to analyse the situation, whereas the first student peppered the statue with two completely ineffective knock-back jinxes.

The line quickly dwindled as weak and paltry spell-fire pattered like rain against the conjuration and disappointed students moved to the back of the line after seeing their most angry attempts fail. All the while Harry considered the protection that James had cast. He knew that werewolves were very resistant to magic, which James' defence likely mimicked. If he had to think of a strategy against them he would likely transfigure a spear from some object lying around before banishing it at the creature. However, he wasn't good enough at Transfiguration to do something like that. The best he could manage would probably be a small metal spike. He watched absent-mindedly as Cedric, whose turn it was much before Harry, wasted his two spells on the petrification and the jelly-legs jinx. This was also an opportunity to test his mettle against an experienced Auror's shield, however, so maybe it wasn't wise to go to the most efficient solution immediately.

A swirl of orange fire suddenly gained his attention and he saw that an industrious student had decided to skip effect-oriented spells entirely and just burn the shield away with incendio. Unfortunately, the boy's beam of fire was only as wide as a bottle and simply tickled away at the werewolf's hairy chest for a few seconds before dissipating. The boy decided to cast the spell again, to no effect. Before he knew it, it was Harry's turn against the conjuration. He noticed that people were whispering about his chances. The Hufflepuffs were rather optimistic and he didn't want to disappoint them. He looked critically at the corner that the challenge was situated in and decided that he could focus a beam of fire enough to not have it splash to any objects he was better off not harming. Taking a stance almost instinctively at this point Harry thrust forward his wand.

"Incendio!" he bellowed, trying to eke out every iota of potential from the formula. A single spark emerged from his wand at first, as he held his magic, letting it build up inside him. He heard some laughs from behind him, but he was too busy working on creating the perfect spiralling bottle-neck for the spell to escape from. He glanced at the professor, who was tilting his head at his efforts when he released the build-up. He saw the man's eyes widen as a proper column of fire, half as tall as the werewolf erupted at high pressure from Harry's wand and struck the werewolf with a sheer physical force that fire in itself was not supposed to have. The flames were tinted yellow and the heat radiating from his attack made Harry sweat. His argument for the dilemma of the werewolf was simple. Either he would make the protection run out of magic, or the magical fire would heat up the air around the conjuration to a damaging extent. The heat wouldn't be the result of magic, and therefore the spell shouldn't protect its target from it, probably. The drain on his magic was immense as he threw out what he had. Seconds passed by. Professor Potter had erected an additional shield to protect the surroundings. The werewolf was glowing an ominous orange and all but the sputtering of the fire was silent. No whispers, no nothing, Harry almost wanted to close his eyes and meditate. However, all good things came to an end and eventually, perhaps after 13 seconds or so Harry had to stop funnelling magic into the spell. The fire sputtered to a stop and he had to wave his wand at the ground to get rid of the last few flames that lazily fell from it.

The werewolf was glowing an other-worldly orange, but the only thing different about it was the fact that its hair appeared a bit more curled. Harry grimaced and put a hand in his pocket, gripping onto a muggle pen.

"Very impressive, Mr. Evans," James said cautiously from his position of looking at the students. The man shook his head. "However, a werewolf won't be defeated by such a straightforward tactic. Perhaps if you'd used…" he trailed off.

"I'm not done yet," Harry bit out as he pulled the pen from his pocket and ran his wand over it, transfiguring it not as much into a metal spike, but rather into a gigantic needle. As long as his hand and as thick as his pinkie. "Wingardium Leviosa," he cast to float the metal spike in front of his wand. It was here that all his telekinesis practice came into handy as he held the needle in place with the help of the spell and prepared to repel it away from himself at the same time. He let the tension build up and noticed that technically the combination he was using consisted of two spells. He idly thought that this was perhaps what James had wanted them to realise on their own when he'd given them a two-spell limit. He released and the needle shot forth in a blur and slammed straight into the werewolf's chest with the sickening sound of a car accident. The conjuration rocked backwards from the sheer force. Harry and all the students squinted their eyes as they tried to make out what had occurred.

The professor floated the statue back in position, revealing that the remnants of a muggle pen were embedded about an inch deep in the werewolf's chest and that the orange glow surrounding the conjuration was gone.

"Well done, Mr. Evans, well done," Professor Potter said thoughtfully, while stricken silence spread out its wings behind Harry, framing him as if he were a fallen angel.

-/-

Harry leaned back on his chair in the library as he idly flipped through the book "Wandlore throughout the winding winds of time," by Bork Stavenot. Penny sat beside him and was flipping through the newest edition of Potions Monthly, a subscription-based journal that had apparently been gifted to her by her parents for her academic accomplishments in the subject.

What Harry would have done instead of reading the book and what he had done in the last two weeks whenever he had any free time was to go to the Room of Requirement to practise either against the duelling dummy or against the void. However, after having beaten Professor Potter's challenge of harming the werewolf statue he'd decided to take a short break. He'd been running himself ragged and he did feel a small amount of pride for his accomplishments in piercing the protection created by a high-ranking Auror. If he went to the Room of Requirement he wouldn't be able to enjoy the pride for any amount of time, because it would be crushed by his current two projects.

He flipped forward a few pages in the book as he idly rolled his elderwood wand in the palm of his unoccupied hand, he'd already confirmed the qualities of the wand as described by Ollivander, but now he was looking up wand creation.

The results were disappointing. Wand-making seemed to be mostly a family enterprise and while Stavenot had managed to deduce a few common practices, such as a form of magical skill that allowed one to fuse wood back together as if it had never been parted, after the insertion of a core, Stavenot was amongst the uninitiated.

However, the man had travelled as far as India and he had some observations that were interesting. Namely, wand-makers always preferred specific cores, refusing to use any others. Stavenot hypothesised that while the wand-makers expounded the virtues of their chosen materials, they were actually hiding the fact that the complex creation of a wand sometimes mixed badly with their magical affinities, thus making them only able to process certain cores.

Overall the book was oddly critical of wand-makers and their traditions, albeit admitting the fact that they were indispensable. Harry wondered what had made Ollivander recommend this book to him, especially as he reached the last chapter, where Stavenot prophesied the soon-to-come irrelevance of the job.

Wand-makers will be unable to continue their practices after it becomes apparent to the average witch and wizard that they can create their own wands, out of personally significant and magically powerful material. Such a creation is made not to cater to the public, but to bond with its creator, and thus the bond is much stronger and the magical symphony more harmonious. Soon magical schools will discard their first-year curriculums and lead their students in the process of creating a wand. Picking the wood and the magical core that fits best for every one of the students, and then teaching them the skills necessary to combine the two.

Considering that Stavenot had made the claim almost 200 years ago there was probably something preventing magicals from just making their own wands. After all, if it was that easy the goblins and the other repressed magical races would have figured it out by now. But, while Harry liked the wand he had now, it was nice to dream of perhaps making one's own. Perhaps it had been this very romanticism that had led Stavenot to make a prediction that had not come to fruition in the end.

Chapter Text

Harry critically looked at himself in the mirror and ran his wand slowly down his left sleeve.

While he had decided to attend Slughorn's party so as to counteract the Prophet's article depicting him as some sort of cheater, he didn't really have the clothes for the occasion. Muggle wear was obviously out, and the only wizarding clothes he owned were several iterations of the Hogwarts uniform. This would have normally been enough, considering he was a student, but the goal of today was to go there and have people notice, and talk to him. That's why he'd decided to change up his wardrobe. While the robes were seemingly immune to his level of transfiguration, probably due to the small amount of magic he was able to feel imbued within them, the colour-changing charm was fair game.

After almost an hour of effort, Harry finally nodded, satisfied. He'd tried out several different designs but had eventually settled on a base colour of white. White robe, white hat, white leather shoes. His red hair and green eyes stuck out but remained uncomplemented by the outfit, which is why he'd coloured his left sleeve red, and his right sleeve green. To match his features. All in all, he looked loud, garish and like someone out to be noticed. Not something he'd ever done before. However, while he had been fine with having no public image, he wasn't alright with having a negative public image.

For all that Harry was unlikely to stay in Britain for overly long, depending on the situation with Voldemort, he was still here at the moment. It was better for as many doors to remain open while he was still present, so he might better prepare himself for his departure. To that effect, Harry had forged a plan, of which the first part was to attend a socialite party. He grimaced at the need for such a thing and exited the dorm room, where Penny and Cedric were waiting for him. Other Hufflepuffs also turned to look at his odd colouration, or perhaps due to his newfound fame, but they quickly lost interest.

"Very bright," Penny said.

Cedric meanwhile, crossed his arms and tilted his head with squinted eyes. "Should I wear something similar when I get my invitation?"

"Hey, don't steal my style," Harry rebuked. "Just wear your Quidditch robes, it's what you'll be famous for, right? First game next week."

Cedric nodded, "White Quidditch robes with yellow and black high-lights, or the national team robes." He decided, while Penny rolled her eyes next to him, before blushing.

"There is a dress I wouldn't mind wearing," she muttered distractedly.

"Get a good grade on your potion O.W.Ls and I'm sure you'll get an invite. Alternatively, you could make a compendium of all those little improvements you've been making to the potions we've been practising. I'm sure Slughorn would be impressed," Harry suggested, but Penny shook her head.

"I'm nowhere near as good as the half-blood prince yet."

"Who's the half-blood Prince?" Cedric asked while looking around the warmly lit Hufflepuff common room as if to check that the person in question wasn't hiding somewhere in the crowd of Hufflepuffs. Harry couldn't help but snort, at the ridiculousness of both his friends.

"The half-blood prince is a sixth-year student whose notes we found in a potions textbook. He made a lot of improvements to the brewing process and isn't someone Penny should be comparing herself to quite yet," Harry said pointedly while looking at his slightly too humble female friend. "Anyway, I have to go. Try to finish the homework on the werewolves, which I don't have to do, while I'm gone. That way we can explore the castle or something this weekend," he said as a goodbye and strode out of the common room into the wide corridors of the castle.

He disillusioned himself when out of sight, not wanting to be disturbed and knowing that his current outfit would make a target out of him for any passing Slytherin. The drama provided by the house system truly was as self-generating as it was pointless.

The walk to the room that Slughorn apparently requisitioned for his larger parties wasn't overly long, but it did pass through Slytherin territory. While Harry had made "peace" with whoever the kid who'd tried to bully him last year had been, the rest of the house wasn't too kindly disposed to Harry and he occasionally found himself dodging an errant jinx or hex in the hallways.

It was perhaps due to the time that Harry had taken to prepare his outfit, but when he finally knocked on the door leading him to the dinner party, it became clear that he was the last to arrive.

The euphemistically portly, and the realistically fat professor opened the door and allowed Harry entry into a well-lit hall already filled with a variety of people mingling around small circular tables at elbow height which carried a variety of little foods. A house-elf occasionally flitted by with a tray of colourful drinks but slapped away the hand of any student who tried to reach for it. Alcohol was clearly only for the visiting adults.

"Glad you could make it, my boy!" Slughorn proclaimed to Harry as he led him inside, "Your mother attended a great many of these parties as well after her OWLs, you can't put a price on talent, I say." He rambled onwards as he led Harry through the room, in which Harry didn't recognize anyone, other than James Potter and Sirius Black, who were involved in a private conversation in a far-off corner. Eventually, Harry was deposited in front of what appeared to be a Gryffindor prefect, but not before having pointed out to him the name and occupation of a variety of people, ranging from the owner of a chain of apothecaries to a professional Quidditch player.

"Now Charlie, this is Harry, a second-year who's been doing exceptionally well academically and who's advanced one grade in Charms and two in Arithmancy, I trust that you can show him around," Slughorn said, before promptly departing to talk to what appeared to be a group of ministry officials.

Harry blinked at the brusque way in which he'd been chaperoned to his final destination, before turning to the tall red-headed boy in obviously second-hand robes. "I'm Harry Evans." He introduced himself lamely and stuck out a hand. Charlie Weasley wasn't necessarily the kind of person he'd come here to talk to, but leaving would have just been rude.

They shook hands, at which point Charlie smiled awkwardly. "I don't really know what the point of me showing you anything is. It's my first time here," the young man said. They both shared an exasperated look and chuckled. Deciding that it wouldn't be a bad idea to have shared a few words with a future dragon handler, or whatever, Harry went to stand by the other redhead.

"So what makes you special enough to be invited for this illustrious evening?" he asked as he tried to blend out the brightly coloured banners hanging from the ceiling and the red fairies flying around providing light. He needed to figure out if anyone important was attending this Halloween party.

"Ah, well. I made Captain of the Quidditch team this year. I also have decent grades, I guess? I don't really know, to be honest." Was the reply, "And you, other than school, I mean?" he asked, while Harry was busy narrowing his eyes at an older gentleman with a handle-bar moustache. He was wondering if the man was Crouch, the current minister of magic before he realised that he had a wizard-born friend to talk to.

"There's nothing really special about me if you ignore academia. I don't even like attention," he admitted. "I only came because of the article that was recently written about me. I need to fix my public image."

Charlie hummed loudly and whipped back and forth on the balls of his feet, "Prophet's a load of dragon dung if you ask me. I'm attending with a date, but she ran off to talk with a relative who unexpectedly came as well and hasn't come back."

"Can you point out who the people here even are, if you recognize any?" Harry asked, discarding from his mind the irrelevant information about Charlie's date.

The boy perked up and brought up a hand to his chin, where a very wispy red something was trying to grow, and failing. "My dad works at the ministry, so I've actually seen a few of these people before," he said proudly. Then he started pointing out some of them.

A group of well-built middle-aged men taking up the food-bringing service of not one, but four house elves were retired Quidditch players. Next to them was a group of musicians apparently called "The Weird Sisters," which was doubly weird since all of them seemed to be men.

Other than that Charlie recognized many ministry workers, one of which had been the man with the handle-bar moustache Harry had been eyeing earlier. Not the minister, apparently.

The boy's finger was in a perpetual state of movement as it identified attendant after attendant as if Charlie were pointing prisoners in a place with lots of prisoners. The finger eventually halted one man dressed in long black robes with long unkempt hair and a ridiculously large beaked nose. "Don't know who that is," Charlie muttered, while Harry stood, dumbstruck. "But the man he's talking to must be Gilderoy Lockhart, my mum's read some of his books," he said, as he put down his hand and nodded at the brightly dressed fop wildly gesticulating at a long-suffering Severus Snape.

Harry's mind went a mile a minute as he considered the man, who, for all intents and purposes didn't look any different from what he would have looked like had he become a Hogwarts professor. But he wasn't a Hogwarts professor. What was Severus Snape, someone who'd been last heard completing his potions mastery in Germany almost a decade ago doing at the Slug club?

The participants of the conversation that he and Charlie were observing seemed to notice the observation and looked their way in an oddly synchronised manner. Their reactions, however, couldn't have been any different. Whereas Lockhart made some excusing gestures at Snape and started making his way to the two students, the latter of the two simply stood rooted in place and looked at Harry as if he was seeing a ghost.

"Boys!" Lockhart said as he walked up to them in wide and pretentious strides. "You don't have to stare from across the room," the man continued. "If you want an autograph you just have to ask. I always have time for my adoring fans," he finished and struck a hero's pose with his fists on his hips in front of Harry and Charlie, who shared an awkward look.

Thinking on his feet, instead of on his brain, Harry quickly deflected the blonde man to Charlie, "My mate Charlie was wondering if he could get an autograph for his mum. Big fan, big fan," he said, patting Charlie on the back and extradited himself from the situation.

Charlie shot him a betrayed look while Lockhart started chattering at him, asking about the specifics of what kind of message he should address to Ms Weasley. Harry meanwhile, began walking towards Snape, dodging house elves carrying trays that covered them entirely, making them look like little walking tables, and other guests. Snape for his part seemed to gather himself and continued standing there. Perhaps this was why he didn't notice James Potter sneaking up on him and starting what appeared to be a normal and cordial situation.

Harry grimaced and stopped in place with a sigh. Snape was one of the few people whom he actually wanted to ask about what had happened to his mother, considering he should have, at the time of Harry's own conception, still been her best friend and, as a Slytherin, have been well-placed between all the usual suspects whom one might have assumed responsible for the act. It wasn't like Harry was dying to know who his father was, but he felt like the empty gap that represented his knowledge about Lily Evans between the rape and his birth was one of the puzzle pieces he needed to understand the mess that was this world.

While he could ask James Potter the same question he would ask Snape once the two of them were done with their conversation, he wanted to wait until the man was on his way out in his tenure as defence professor. If the conversation turned bad, or if Harry didn't like the answer he got, he wanted to spend as little time as possible in the man's presence.

"Wotcher Harry," a voice suddenly said from beside Harry. He turned around to glance at Tonks, who looked as she always did, just that today she had actually decided to forgo the perpetual pendulum she seemed to exist in between jeans and t-shirt and school uniform. She was wearing a nice and slightly low-cut green dress and with her purple hair could have passed for a fairy, the way muggles conceived them to be. Her breasts seemed a bit larger than usual, and Harry wondered if she'd made them bigger, or was simply wearing some special sort of bra.

"Hello, Tonks," he replied dully, as people streamed past the two of them in their position in the middle of the room.

"Any reason you're standing in the middle of the room, like a muppet?" she asked. Without bothering to answer Harry went over to one of the bone-shaped pillars interspersed around the room, very spooky.

Coincidentally James and Severus were talking on the other side of the pillar. Harry tried to listen in while Tonks meandered over, but couldn't hear anything other than a faint buzzing.

Was that how being on the wrong end of a muffliato felt like?

"There's a person I want to talk to, but someone beat me to the punch," he eventually told the curious girl who'd followed.

She raised an eyebrow, "Who has the honour? Are you going to challenge them to a duel?" she asked, causing Harry to snort.

"No, I wouldn't like my chances. They're the last person who graduated Hogwarts early, so I wanted to ask them about that," he answered.

Tonks crossed her arms. "So you like your chances against me, huh," she stated.

"We'll find out soon, how my chances stand," Harry said coolly. Tonks simply smirked. However, her smile quickly turned flustered as she stared at something behind Harry. A hand suddenly clasped itself on his shoulder and his heart-beat quickened. He turned around, not knowing what he was expecting exactly, but was disappointed to find that it was only Professor Potter smiling at him awkwardly, brown hair askew as always.

"Mr. Evans, nice to see you," the man said and Harry noted that the man was dressed in what appeared to be an auror's uniform. Brown trench coat and all.

"Good evening, professor," Tonks eeped with a red face before Harry had the chance to answer. She got a quick smile and a nod from the man, who then immediately turned back to Harry.

"There was something I was wondering if we could discuss. Do you mind stepping aside?" the man asked and waited for the answer.

Harry shot a disappointed-looking Tonks an apologetic smile as he and James retreated slightly towards the walls cutting in the festivities. Harry didn't know if this was necessarily a good look for Professor Potter, from the odd glances they were getting from the other guests, but that wasn't his problem. "Is anything the matter, professor?" Harry asked while James, for all intents and purposes, fidgeted.

The man shook his head, "you're not in trouble. I was just curious about something, I was recently talking to Professor Flitwick and he told me you were interested in duelling?"

"It seemed like a nice ambition, I read about the duelling championships in the library and some of the pictures gave me ideas. It looks really cool. I went and asked Professor Flitwick for help, but he told me he wants to see how I do with the increased academic workload before he allows me to commit to anything."

"What have you been working on recently, kinetic repulsion? It was a very powerful spell you used in the classroom," the professor said.

"I actually realised recently that I have no good defence against transfigured beasts, so I was working on my reparifargo," Harry admitted, to which James shook his head.

"That's a waste of time, untransfiguring the attacking creatures lets the opponent keep momentum. Better to take control of the animation or to simply blast it with an explosion, the debris can function as an attack if aimed properly," the man muttered.

Harry sighed as he realised that the auror was right. If all he did was undo what his enemy had done, he would never regain any sort of momentum. He frowned as he thought about how quickly he'd learned all the things Flitwick had suggested he learn. "That's exactly the fear that I had, that I would waste my time being inefficient. It's why I went to Professor Flitwick for help. However, I do have to thank you for the most recent class, I hadn't realised object repulsion could be so powerful. Is that how you managed to defeat Greyback all those years ago?" he asked, at which James shook his head.

"The papers misreported that. I wasn't able to defeat Greyback. What I didn't manage to teach was that werewolves come in categories, and Greyback has such a powerful connection to his inner wolf that he's very difficult to pin down," the man admitted with a grim face. His posture became more stiff, possibly because he was remembering something unpleasant.

"How did you do it then, professor?" Harry asked, not caring for the man's discomfort. He'd almost gotten him killed last year with his collaboration with Twix, he could bear being uncomfortable for a bit if it meant Harry's curiosity would get sated.

"It was common to wear an emergency portkey to battle back then," James muttered with a far-away look. "Usually hidden, but Greyback was transformed. The necklace was obvious. I managed to scramble the location and send him off," he finished.

"Well, let's hope he landed somewhere and sea and drowned like the dog that he was," Harry said simply, getting a queer look from the professor. "I've read up on the war, the man was a monster and deserved

whatever fate befell him."

"I agree," James said darkly, "but we've trailed off topic. I came to you because of the essays that you corrected for me during detention."

"Did I do them wrong?" Harry asked, he didn't remember there having been anything complicated in them. He couldn't imagine that he'd made a mistake.

Professor Potter shook his head. "No, it was good actually, it really lightened my workload. Just made me think that there was perhaps a way in which we could help each other. If you correct the weekly essays of the first-years, I could take some time to teach you a few things. How to counter animate transfigurations for example. You'll encounter them in the duelling circuit if you stay serious about it."

Harry considered the proposition and realised that he would be getting quite a good deal. A chance to get private instruction from someone competent, months before Flitwick would even consider it, apparently. The thing was though, he thought he was making good progress with the duelling dummy and with Tonks showing him what tricks awaited him at the higher levels. He hadn't particularly enjoyed grading the exams…

"Once a week, I grade then some instruction?" Harry asked and got a nod. "You got yourself a deal, professor," he said with a tired grin as he considered his increased workload. Well, the duelling dummy was going to be here next year, while James likely wouldn't. Either the curse would do him in, or Harry would be able to remove the valuables from the room of requirement and give up the location of the diadem Horcrux, after which James wouldn't have a reason to stay anymore. He extended a hand towards the relieved-looking professor and they shook on it. He saw Tonks staring at them from behind a pillar, seemingly not enjoying the party.

Before he could say goodbye to the professor and go ask her what was up, something disturbed the festivities. The volume of the conversations rose to a shriek as magicals in robes jumped out of the way, tumbling over house elves and ripping off Halloween decorations as they went down. The disturbance seemed to be moving in Harry's direction and so his first instinct was to pull out his wand to defend himself, but he lowered his guard when he saw what was causing the commotion. A shining white bull ran through the crowd and stopped in front of James and by default Harry. It opened its mouth and a male voice came out of it.

"Werewolf attack at Godric's Hollow, you're needed, Head Auror Potter," it said in a clear and crisp voice for everyone at the party to hear. As pandemonium erupted, so did James Potter. Not caring about doors or any such concepts, the man turned in place towards the large ornate window that he and Harry had been inadvertently talking in front of. Not bothering with magic the man punched the stained glass, shards falling outwards, before hefting himself onto the ledge and jumping off.

Harry stood there, frozen for a second, before he turned his head to see head auror Potter zooming out of Hogwarts bounds on a broom. It was too dark to see beyond the grounds, but he imagined that the man apparated once he'd left them behind.

Suffice to say, the party didn't continue long after and Harry was one of the first to be ushered to bed by a worried Slughorn and escorted to the dorm by a silent Tonks.

Chapter Text

"It was completely crazy," Harry said to Penny as they watched blurs of red and yellow spatially overpower the Quidditch pitch in a mad scramble for points and glory. "Professor Potter just broke the window with a punch before jumping out, and then he flew off on a broom. Couldn't believe my eyes for a second there."

Penny nodded several times at the story, wide-eyed. It had been some time since the events of the party, but while other students had chatted about how awesome Professor Potter was, Harry and Tonks, who'd actually been close enough to witness everything, had remained tight-lipped.

Harry because he didn't like perpetuating rumours, or gossip and Tonks because she'd apparently been too busy dating the Gryffindor seeker, Charlie Weasley. Or so at least, gossip claimed. Not that Harry was listening, or interested. What Tonks did in her free time was completely her own choice and had nothing to do with him. As long as she was available for the duel she'd promised, or rather, insisted on for tonight, he couldn't care less.

Anyway, neither of the two people at school who'd really witnessed the incident had been saying anything and none of the adults really felt like divulging anything to the children, so Penny had been badgering Harry for a while now to spill the tea. Which he just had.

Not much had actually happened from his perspective of course. The professor had been back by Monday, giving lessons like nothing had changed, even if his face was a bit more pinched and his shoulders more hunched than before. Harry would be able to assess the man later today when they would have their first tutoring session in return for essay correction. The whole thing had gotten a bit delayed through the fact that Professor Potter now had to also leave occasionally for what was presumably his auror duties.

"Is that it?" Penny asked.

Harry just shrugged. "I told you it wasn't much. Well, there was one thing he told me, but it's not really connected to what happened that night."

A cheer arose and they both paused their conversation to watch with bated breath, as Cedric, who was flying for the first time, made a daring dive. Charlie, the Gryffindor seeker, didn't bother following, which was the correct decision as there was apparently no snitch to be caught. Cedric rose back up empty-handed, and the two seekers resumed their hawkish circling.

"Well, what is it?" Penny asked impatiently, returning back on topic.

"Professor Potter said that he didn't actually kill Greyback. Only that he managed to finagle with a portkey he was wearing and send him off, place unknown."

Penny shuddered and looked around anxiously. "No way! Does that mean he could still be out there, somewhere?"

"More than half the earth is water, he probably drowned if the randomised effect was global," Harry reassured the girl, who grimaced at his words.

"Let's hope so," Penny said reluctantly, fixing her gaze back on the game. Hufflepuff was leading 100-60, but considering Gryffindor had the more experienced seeker they could still swing the whole thing around. As if reading their thoughts Charlie Weasley suddenly dove towards the goals of his team, despite the quaffle action currently going down at the Hufflepuff gates. He seemed to have spotted something.

Cedric, who hadn't been too far off, followed, but simply couldn't keep up. It seemed that in the case of a straight-up downward race like this, the heavier seeker had the speed advantage.

Harry groaned as Charlie's outstretched arm closed around a golden glimmer and the boy started to do a victory lap, holding up the snitch. He heard some curses from around him, along with one light and short-lived cheer, while the entire Gryffindor stands imploded. A wave of red and gold acting like they'd just won the World Cup. They were probably going to have a party tonight, Harry deduced. Everyone's motivation for schoolwork had been progressively reaching the dumps as the Christmas break neared. The Gryffindors were probably glad for an excuse to forget about the whole thing for a while, especially the older years, who were being crushed by exams and pressure from all sides.

Penny and he stood up, along with the rest of the house to leave, and perhaps to console Cedric on his first game, and his first loss. Harry threw an eye at the professor's stand, where James and McGonagall seemed engrossed in a conversation. He'd made out to meet the man after the game, so he decided to dawdle around a bit, before making his way towards the DADA classroom.

"See you later today, kid," Tonks said as she squished past him on the stairs and hopped over the railing once they'd descended enough for her not to break her legs doing so, thus skipping the rush of students going back to the castle to avoid the chilly onset of winter.

"You're duelling her again?" Penny asked as they waded through the grass towards the Hufflepuff player's tent.

Harry shushed his friend and looked around suspiciously. "Not so loud," he said. "I just recently found out that duelling isn't allowed at Hogwarts."

"You're such a delinquent," Penny said while she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, disregarding your grades, you should never have been allowed to skip classes just because of your attitude towards curfew."

Harry shot her an offended look as they set up watch by the player's tent to wait for their friend. He sniffed. "I don't think genius should be repressed just because it doesn't conform to societal conventions. Nobody gets on Dumbledore's ass for his clear disregard of common fashion sense."

"Can someone who got only an EE on the most recent arithmancy quiz really be referred to as a genius?" a voice suddenly said from behind them. Harry turned around to see Justin, a brown-haired beef-cake who was one of the beaters on the Hufflepuff team, and also in fourth year arithmancy.

"I remember you having an A," Harry retorted.

"It's part of the image, if I was good at sports and had good grades none of the girls would believe I'm a bad boy," The fourteen-year-old said, causing Harry, Penny and the entire Quidditch team who'd heard the claim to snort and laugh. Justin blushed, muttered something about haters and rushed off. Hopefully to study Arithmancy.

"Good flying," Harry said to Cedric, once the other players, all older, had spread out in their own directions. He quickly glanced to check these directions and noted that worryingly few of them were going towards a shower.

"I'll do better next time," Cedric replied with a sigh and started trudging off towards the castle. Harry and Penny joined the march and walked for a bit in silence.

"Weasley is in his last year?" Penny eventually asked.

"Or second to last, I'm not sure," Harry replied.

"It's his last year. All the other houses don't have very good seekers, or they're also leaving. This is just practice, next year Hufflepuff gets the cup," Cedric promised confidently as they entered the castle and halted at an intersection.

"Well, this is where we part ways, I'm going to go check in with Professor Potter," Harry said.

"I'm going to shower and lay in bed."

"I'll come with you to the dorms, Ced," Penny finished. They split one there, having grown comfortable enough as friends that there was no point in an extended goodbye sequence.

Harry noted how the castle was bustling with activity since there had just been a game going on, but it was much better in comparison to the suffering he'd experienced in the stands during the actual match. He really needed to figure out how to localise the muffling charm on his ears and invert the effect so that incoming, rather than outgoing sound would be muffled. He sighed as he considered all the projects he was working on.

Occlumency might have reached a sufficient level, but it didn't mean he'd stopped practising religiously with the hat. At the same time, he'd been busting his ass off against the duelling dummy, who had also been handing him his ass unchanged. He'd even learned bombarda, one of the most difficult spells he'd practised since the disillusionment charm. It was hard to just let go and explode after so long working on finesse, but he'd managed. Hopefully, he could show Professor Potter today and impress him.

The only thing that had been moving at a frustratingly glacial pace had been magic sensing, not helped along by the fact that it was the most mentally challenging skill to practise. He was getting somewhere, but much too slowly. He would consider asking for help after Christmas break if he still didn't make any progress, he had some things to accomplish during that time. Like reverting the negative public image the Daily Prophet had smeared him with, possibly at the behest of the ministry. It hadn't impacted the relationships with people who already knew him, and even his new classmates had warmed up to the idea of someone younger being present. But he'd noticed in his first interactions with people, that there was a small negative reputation he had to pass before getting anywhere. It wasn't that all the students in Hogwarts were avid readers of the daily prophet, but only one person had to read it to spread gossip. The whole thing really wasn't something he appreciated.

He knocked on the door of the DADA classroom, which he'd reached during his ruminations. He wasn't really expecting anyone to be there yet. Last he'd seen James Potter, the man had still been merrily chatting away with McGonagall. That was why he was so surprised to find the door opening in front of him, revealing the professor grading papers at his desk.

Some secret passage that shortened the journey? Harry wondered as he stepped in. It wouldn't be unlikely for a former marauder to have such knowledge of the castle. He sometimes felt like he was discovering something new on every outing and he wasn't even that adventurous. To have been in Hogwarts for seven years, alongside three close friends, sneaking about and committing mischief. One would likely get to know the place quite well under such circumstances.

"Professor," Harry said, making the man look up at him and smile, dark rings under his eyes.

"Why don't we just drop the pleasantries, Mr. Evans. I've never cared much for them and in the capacity that we are meeting in it seems a bit odd to upkeep them."

Harry nodded, "James, then?" he asked stiltedly. The man nodded and leaned back on his chair, arms up, to stretch. Some uncomfortable-sounding cracks were heard.

James chuckled at the second-year's disquieted expression, "No one warns you about this part of your thirties," he joked, before turning serious again. "So, how do we want to do this? You do the first-year grading and then we do some practice?"

Harry considered the question and thought about his imminent duel with Tonks; it was probably better to get whatever practice there was out of the way so that he could recover by the afternoon.

"Maybe we could go over the physical and magical part of this agreement first, and then I can recuperate and grade some essays," he suggested.

James raised an eyebrow, "You think you'll need recuperation?"

Harry considered if he should mention the stereotype that came with being trained by someone from what was essentially the military arm of the government. The words that came to mind, when considering what he knew of army training from around the world, were, gruelling, physically demanding, mentally demanding and gruelling. He wasn't really opposed to that, one of the best things about his magical endeavours was that they were all completely self-motivated and thus, he wasn't afraid of working hard to fulfil his goals. He decided to not mention such complex reasoning, however, and simply settled on.

"You've been an amazing teacher," which was true, "and from what I've heard you're also a very good auror," also true, "so I thought your standards might be quite high."

"You're only in your second year, I can't push you as hard as an auror trainee," James retorted.

Harry looked at the man critically, "I don't mind hard work. If possible, perhaps you should push me harder."

James took off his round golden-rimmed glasses to wipe them down with a small piece of cloth and considered him with eyes that were just as focused without the seeing aid as they were with. Were the glasses cosmetic only? Harry wondered.

"You're certainly ambitious," the man acquiesced with a sigh and stood up. A sweep of his wand cleared space in the middle of the classroom, all of the desks moving aside. "Let's see if your conviction is similarly strong," he muttered and walked to one side of the room.

Harry noted that the man was moving in a tightly controlled step that radiated a readiness and threat that had, up till now, not been apparent in the professor's character, or actions. Although considering how James had nearly screwed Harry over through Twix last year, the man could definitely be considered a threat.

"So, you've been working on reparifargo?" James asked.

"Yes, but due to your advice, I've also learned the explosion charm."

The professor raised an eyebrow. "That's a fourth-year spell," he muttered, but nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Why don't you show it to me then," he said and raised his wand, a small twitch of the magical tool creating a large black dog at his feet. Before Harry knew it the animal was baring its teeth at him and jumping for his throat. Harry, for his part, entered his duelling stance and jumped back, thanking the duelling dummy in his heart for instilling in him a good reaction speed. He brought up his wand, which was almost swallowed by the gaping maw of the dog before he managed to shoot off his spell. He didn't have time to incantate, so he did it silently by instinct. A ball of force left his wand and exploded on the dog's face, viscera, blood, gore, bones and all kinds of chunks sprayed away from Harry and in the direction of his attacker before they disappeared into thin air. The dog had been a conjuration, after all, not a transfiguration based on anything.

That left him and the professor standing warily, facing each other.

"Silently as well?" James said. "Well, it doesn't matter. Can you guess what I wanted to show you by conjuring the dog?"

"That exploding only makes sense if it was transfigured out of something, not if it was a conjuration," Harry guessed.

James nodded, "Yes, what I told you about blasting transfigured animated attackers only makes sense if they were transfigured out of something. It's better to use reparifargo on conjurations since it takes less energy. I've been thinking about what specifically I can help you with if you really plan on entering the duelling circuit and I've come to the conclusion that our time would be best used if we worked on transfiguration, it's my field of choice and I'm sure professor Flitwick will be able to help you more with Charms."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense to me."

"Good, in that sense, I'll lead you to a very specific drill now, until you run out of energy," James said as he waved his wand and summoned a bunch of objects to rest on the floor before him. Quills, pieces of parchment and chairs. "It goes without saying naturally, that blasting something of which the origins are unsuited for doing damage or for blinding is also a waste of energy. To train your decision-making and your speed I'll be sending different animated attackers at you. Your job will be to hit them with the appropriate spell. I'll start slow, then get faster, alright?"

Harry repressed a grin at the fact that James wanted to do the drill until he got tired. The professor would soon find out that stamina and stubbornness were some of his most developed qualities. "All clear," he said.

Without preamble, James pointed his wand at one of the pieces of parchments on the floor and transfigured it into a feral-looking orange cat, which didn't hesitate in running at Harry full speed. Taking quick, but careful aim, Harry reverted the cat back into parchment but didn't get enough time to watch it flutter to the ground as a black dog was already almost biting at his heels. He cursed, mentally, as he realised that he'd been so distracted by the cat that he hadn't paid attention to the origin of the dog. Playing it safe he decided to blast it, and, having learned his lesson he looked to James after he'd taken aim, firing the explosion charm as he watched the man turn a chair into a lion. The dog had been a quill, which meant that he'd wasted his energy and now he needed to replicate the charm again quickly against his new foe. James was already conjuring something, waving his wand in the air and pulling a hawk out of thin air by its sharp orange beak.

The lion pounced, its mane fluttering in the air. Harry almost browned his pants at the sight of the gigantic predator roaring at him but had just enough time to blast it to pieces. The shards of the chair being sent were harmlessly repelled by a translucent shield that James erected. However, due to the fact that the lion had come at him from a medium elevation and the hawk was now flying at him from above, Harry didn't have enough time to mark it with reparifargo. Similarly unable to bring up a shield charm he could only jump back and cover his eyes with an arm as the Hawk impacted against his head, but turned back into air just as it did so.

Harry fell on his ass from the momentum of the impact and groaned. However, his inelegance didn't last long and he was able to get back up on his feet in less than three seconds. He needn't have rushed, as James was apparently willing to give him a short break to catch the breath that he hadn't even noticed he was short of.

"You understand the general gist of the exercise now?" James asked as he idly repaired the objects Harry had broken and arrayed them before him.

Harry wiped his mouth of a little spittle that had been drawn out of it during his fall and nodded. "Again," was all he had to say to that.

The exercise continued for approximately an hour. During this time Harry had likely the entirety of the animal kingdom sent against him. From hyenas to eagles, to a colony of ants. Absolutely everything. Quite frankly, he couldn't be happier and by the dumbfounded look that grew on James' face as the exercise progressed, the professor couldn't be more surprised.

In the end, Harry was lying on the floor, unable to get up and staring at the ceiling with dilated pupils and aching lungs. He thanked the heavens for the duelling dummy and how it had been kicking his ass for the past weeks. Without the practice, he wouldn't have even had the minimal prerequisites necessary to alternate spells along with his physical movements. A slightly sweaty and red face appeared in his field of vision, blocking out the grey ceiling shared by almost every Hogwarts classroom.

"You alright?" James asked and offered a hand, which Harry treated as a necessary lifeline to get himself back on his feet, before promptly wobbling in the direction of a chair and sitting down.

"I feel great," he began, "I feel like I've progressed more in this one hour than I have since I came to Hogwarts last year. What's the next exercise going to be? Maybe I can prepare in advance so we can move forward faster."

James sat down in a chair on his own, as he threw a disbelieving look at Harry, "I can either make the animals harder to dispel by conjuring chimaeras, or I could go faster," he eventually offered.

"Let's do both, I'll work on the speed at which I can cast the two spells. Should I try to upgrade to bombarda maxima?" Harry asked. "The shards I was sending your way didn't seem to impact your speed at all."

James shook his head. "No, let's leave it at that. I'm very good at dodging, anyone you'll face in the U17 championship would have a much harder time. It would just be inefficient, stamina-wise."

"Will I face a lot of transfiguration in the tournaments?" Harry asked curiously, to which he just received a shrug.

"I wouldn't know, I think that's a question for Professor Flitwick. I have to ask, however," James began, tone growing suspicious. "What sort of instruction have you been receiving? Your stance isn't perfect yet, but you're much too habituated to its use to be a complete beginner. Similarly, your reaction speed is too high for an amateur."

Harry wondered what he should say and decided that at the end of the day, he didn't really need to say anything. "Well, considering duelling is forbidden in Hogwarts, I feel that giving names of who I've practised against to a professor wouldn't be a good idea."

James snorted in a very un-professor-like manner. "I understand. You don't have to think I was some sort of model student during my time either. That would have been your mother, really," he said, but going by his facial expression immediately regretted it.

"I've heard mostly good things about her, from everyone who's met here, but no one is interested in going into any sort of detail," Harry said lightly as he slumped further together in his chair.

"There isn't much anyone has to say about the matter. One day she was a brilliant witch astounding everyone at Hogwarts with her sheer talent and force of personality, then she left the school and the next thing anyone heard was that she was dead," James said with a bitterness that perhaps would have fit better with Harry.

"The world isn't fair, and pearls often end up getting eaten by swine," was all Harry had to say to that. James didn't seem like he wanted to deepen the topic and Harry would have more luck asking him for details once their relationship had developed a bit. He stood up, hands on his knees and went to get the papers that he was supposed to grade. "I'll get these to you tomorrow, professor. I'm looking forward to our session next week," He said as he left the room.

James Potter was left sitting alone with a grim look on his face, not staring at anything in particular and surrounded by empty chairs and desks.

Chapter Text

Sitting on the stone floor with his back against the wall when one had stacks of parchment to go through wasn't necessarily comfortable. But that's how Harry had completed his grading of the first-year DADA essays in front of the unused classroom that he and Tonks had used for their duel the first and last time they'd done so. He sighed, everything ached, and he put aside the last essay. Casting an absent-minded tempus he noted that the girl was late, before putting up his arms to stretch his back and really appreciate the burn that his muscles were experiencing after the little aerobic dance class he'd had today against every single animal in the encyclopaedia that had either fangs, claws or hooves. Considering that transfiguration was greatly helped along by an intimate knowledge of the subject, one had to wonder if James Potter had ever worked in a zoo, or if he was simply good enough to brute-force a variety of transformations through skill alone.

He was broken out of his musings by a pair of footsteps approaching from behind an intersecting corridor leading to the grand room with all the moving stairs. He was just about to disillusion himself in case anyone was coming by to ask him what he was doing in this particular abandoned area of the castle but relaxed once he recognized Tonks' voice.

He wasn't completely sure why she was engaged in a conversation with someone on her way to their clandestine meeting, but soon had his question answered as he heard obnoxious moans and kissing sounds come from the corridor in question. They thankfully didn't last long. He´d been just about ready to rip his tie in half to stuff his ears.

Another conversation he couldn't quite make out was then followed by a more messy-haired than usual Tonks emerging from behind the corner, a flash of red, be it from a tie or from someone's hair briefly appearing as well.

"Sorry I'm late," Tonks said as she walked up to him, after a few tentative and hopeful glances backwards. "What?" she asked when she saw his raised eyebrow.

"Are you done rewarding Hogwarts's second sexiest redhead for killing our houses' hopes to get the Quidditch cup? Or do you need another minute?" Harry asked sarcastically as Tonks tried to put her pink hair in order. Considering that she was doing that with her metamorphmagus powers and not her hands, it looked weirder than it probably sounded. Medusa with her snake hair came to mind.

Tonks grinned as she leered at him. "Jealous?" she asked as she pushed her chest forward in a manner that would have gotten her arrested if she were a full adult, and Harry remained his current age.

Considering that he was slowly entering puberty Harry was actually a bit jealous, but considering Tonks was a teenager he was alright with that. Perhaps he would be horny enough to not care one of these days, but for the moment, putting a shotgun in his mouth sounded preferable to having to put up with being in any sort of romantic relationship with a 16-year-old girl, no matter how much awkward and low-quality sex it would give him access too.

"What happened to you? You looked like you got run over by a stampede of elephants," Tonks said after she'd gotten a better look at him. He probably looked quite dishevelled, he knew that he felt like it. He couldn't help but laugh at Tonks' unintentional accuracy though.

"It was just one, very small at that," he said with a pained grin. Tonks frowned and glanced at the pile of parchment next to him, she picked one up and read the title.

"Flipendo: the knock-back jinx," she read aloud. "Shouldn't you have covered this in first-year?" she asked.

"I'm correcting the first-year homework assignments for DADA. In return Professor Potter is giving me the opportunity to be destroyed by him in a duel," Harry explained.

Tonks froze at the mention of their professor and seemed as if she was pained to hear the factoid of Harry's learning.

Harry didn't notice, as he was packing away the parchment rolls. "How has your NEWT year been going?" he asked innocently as he opened the door to the classroom.

"It's been tough, especially the charms. We've been learning some really odd spells recently, such as the fire-taming spell," she said with a frown as she entered the room. "I'm a bit worried, to be honest."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Harry said with a shrug, remembering how Tonks had been an auror in the original universe.

"Not all of us are born with more talent than empathy and then also receive private instruction from a professor," Tonks snapped as she stood still and glared at Harry.

The wizard for his part gave her an odd look. "That's the kind of anger you could channel into doing better in class," he said brusquely.

Unsurprisingly his words didn't at all seem to calm Tonks down from whatever self-pity attack she was experiencing. It rather seemed to enrage her, something that expressed itself in a grimace and a duellist stance once they'd entered the room. Her wand was pointed in Harry's direction.

"You know, if you really wanted to be an auror you could probably manage. All it would require would be some initiative. You'll find as you grow older that all those clamouring masses that bog down one's expected success in a desirable career path aren't really working towards the goal in any significant way and thus don't actually represent qualitative competition," he said as he tiredly entered his own stance.

"You're twelve," Tonks bit out, at which Harry could only sigh. He was, currently, indeed twelve. He was getting a bit pissed at the attitude though, so he raised his wand.

"This twelve-year-old is going to whoop your ass," he taunted instead and in the very next second, found out why duelling was forbidden at Hogwarts. The malformed but extremely angry mastiff that Tonks transfigured out of a chair was probably capable of killing someone with its sharp teeth if left unattended against an unprepared defender. Tonks, as a sixth-year student, likely didn't have the control to dispel the transfiguration before it ripped out his throat.

In some way, Harry was scared. As an amateur Tonks represented a much larger threat than James Potter. However, for some reason, as the animal went for his neck, Harry's blood rushed into his head and a wide grin split his face in two. He swept out his wand grandly to the side and rather than incanting or even casting a spell, he channelled his magic through his wand, into the dog, gripped it telekinetically and swung it to the side. It smashed against the wall and erupted in viscera and gore, before reverting back to the now broken components of a chair.

Surprised, but refreshingly undeterred Tonks simply transfigured another dog. This one, Harry blasted with a bombarda before it could even be animated to attack him. Shards and spikes of wood crashed noisily against a hastily erected shield.

"Do you really think I wouldn't work on such an obvious weakness," Harry taunted, and before Tonks had the opportunity to renew her attack, he set the room on fire with a large, but not particularly hot incendio. He couldn't even see Tonks, or the state of her shield, so bright and large was the flame spewing forth from his wand. He cut the fire after a second, unwilling to actually burn his opponents. What he found after it dissipated surprised him.

Tonks was standing there, out of breath, all the fire that he'd thrown at her seemingly floating in a big ball above her raised wand. She pulled her arm back, before whipping it forward. The fireball flew at him and exploded into a large conflagration mid-way

"Aquamenti!" a wide-spread blast of water met it, dousing the flame. A gout of steam erupted from the point of contact, burying the room in a temporary fog. Something tickled at Harry's senses and for all that he couldn't see anything, he side-stepped a bright red stunner.

A grin.

He closed his eyes.

He felt the incoming spells and as if it were the easiest thing in the world he simply stepped out of their way as they came. He opened his eyes and his wand whipped up, sending a disarming charm of his own into the now-disappearing fog, through which he could vaguely make out a silhouette.

It seemingly missed its mark, going by Tonks' next spell. "Ventus," she enunciated, a gust of wind throwing the rest of the steam Harry's way. Once it was completely gone they started circling each other warily, sending out the occasional jinx, hex or charm, but not to much effect.

Deciding that he should warn Tonks about his intentions, Harry didn't cast his next spell silently. "Bombarda," a ball of explosive force flew the older girl's way. Rather than shielding or initiating any evasive manoeuvres Tonks decided to fight explosion with an explosion.

Her, "bombarda maxima," swallowed his and impacted a reluctant shield. Harry frowned as a barrage of spells followed, making him unable to drop it and take initiative. He sighed as his shield began to crack and a migraine developed behind his eyes from the effort of upkeeping the spell.

He was in a losing position and rather than going through the trouble of waiting for his inevitable end he simply shouted, "I surrender." A few more spells came his way before the barrage tapered off and two very exhausted students were left standing in a well and truly destroyed room, their tired pants filling the silence.

"Good hustle," Harry said eventually after he'd regained his breath. "Again?"

Tonks, however, rather than being enthused about the duel just stood there, looking horrified, angry and sad, all at once. During their movement, she'd ended up close to the door of the classroom, which she, instead of answering him, simply opened and left.

This left Harry to stand there all alone like a muppet. He tilted his head at the room and sighed, starting to run the whole thing through a sequence of repairing charms. After fixing everything up his curiosity at what exactly had gone through Tonks' head today, that had caused her to behave in such an odd way, was beaten by his desire to go to the room of requirement and continue his practice. She'd appreciate the space to think.

He'd felt the spells through the fog during the duel, for the first time. He needed to solidify the experience. Was it weird that he was almost giddy to get to the room of requirement and go through the torture that was the sense-deprivation chamber?

Maybe he was becoming a bit weird.

-/-

It was in a miserable December rain that the students who wanted to return home for Christmas waited for the Hogwarts express. A deluge from the skies obscured the view one would have had down the tracks, while also making the train late. Harry looked at the sky, lamenting that he didn't have any spell that would protect him. Protego, the shielding charm, helped against magical attacks, not bad weather, and while an explosion charm sent upwards would displace the water for a few seconds, it wasn't really a sustainable method. The only thing he could do was apply the heating charm to himself and his friends, who were similarly returning to their families.

He swished his wand at Penny and Cedric and muttered the incantation, receiving two relieved sighs from the second-years, who were both staring jealously at the small covered waiting area currently occupied by the entirety of Hogwarts seventh year, wands out and looking around suspiciously. It was a beautiful moment of inter-house relationships, Gryffindors standing next to Slytherins, Ravenclaws next to Hufflepuffs.

All united against a common cause, the lower years unionising and redistributing the right for cover.

"Don't they learn the impervious charm in the seventh year, it repels rain from your face," Harry muttered darkly, as he threw a glare at the seventh years, amongst whom were also the occasional sixth years, mostly those who were dating one of the older students. Such as Tonks, who was still together with Charlie Weasley and who had been avoiding him ever since her flip-out a few weeks ago.

Honestly, considering that Harry had been the one mostly affected by her emotional instability it should have been him avoiding her, but it seemed like he was the one with thicker skin. Also, while not really, Tonks was the older one of the two, so she should take responsibility for mending bridges.

A loud screech suddenly broke him out of his musings. A screech that he recognized to be a whistle distorted by bad weather. The Hogwarts Express broke through the rain cover and ground to a halt. Before he knew it, Harry was assaulted from all sides as the students physically fought to get on the train. He was pushed, shoved in the direction of the doors and carried inside, luggage and all, without actually having to move his feet. Before long he found himself in a compartment with the other Hufflepuff second-years, sans Cedric who'd joined the Quidditch team at some point. Confused, and slightly bruised he nonetheless helped everyone levitate their luggage to its place and sat down.

Having a genius idea he idly decided to cast a cleaning charm on himself, with the thought that water was an unwanted part of the current soggy existence of his clothes. He didn't put much power into the charm, just in case it tried to remove the water from his veins instead. It worked perfectly, however, and under the jealous gazes of the other puffs he was able to run a hand through his now dry red hair.

"Scourgify works if you consider water undesirable," he told them and bore witness to a hilarious minute in which all of the students who'd never bothered learning or retaining the charm in their repertoire mispronounced the spell horribly, to comical effects.

Penny, of course, had gotten it down perfectly on her second try. Maybe because she used the spell a lot in her independent potion-making, or maybe because Harry's genius was rubbing off on her.

The same couldn't be said for one boy, who'd somehow managed to turn his ears into flowers. Or another, who'd apparently managed to soap his own mouth, which was scourgify's effect when used on a person, when one desired to harm them.

Harry took mercy on the boys and cast a reparifargo and a finite at them respectively, before scourgifying them himself. They shot him a grateful and embarrassed look.

Deciding to go the full length, if he was already trying to create a cosy next few hours until they reached London, he created a ball of fire and hung it up in the middle of the compartment. He would take it down once everyone's teeth stopped chattering, which in hindsight had probably contributed to the difficulty of the scouring charm.

"What a shit weather," Harry idly commented, once everyone had relaxed and sighed in relief.

"I hope it snows for Christmas, my parents already booked the skiing," one of the muggle-borns muttered.

"What's skiing?" Penny aske. Harry and Michael, the muggle-born, shared a surprised look.

"I'm surprised wizards don't do it, being able to apparate on top of the mountain would save so much time," Harry mused, while Michael nodded along.

"Skiing is when you strap two wooden boards to your feet to ride down a snowy mountain, it can get pretty fast," he explained to their confused year-mates.

One brown-haired girl recoiled as if struck. "Isn't that dangerous?" she asked.

Harry crossed his arms. "Excuse me, it's much safer than Quidditch," he retorted.

That was the wrong thing to say, clearly. Even without Cedric present, that comment was enough to hijack the rest of the conversation until London, about which sport was the best, the most dangerous and the most fun.

Chapter Text

It was Vernon who picked him up at the train station. The man was growing slightly larger as Harry became absent for entire school years. Harry only noticed because it was hard for them to fit under one umbrella. He wondered if he should encourage his uncle to pick up a sport as they loaded his trunk into the car and got into the front seats of their blue beetle.

"Would you mind dropping me off at Diagon Alley for an hour?" he asked.

Vernon hngged. "It's still early enough, but Petunia will be expecting us for dinner," he replied and continued taking the path home, rather than to the alley.

"I just need to pick something up and leave a note, it's a Christmas present," Harry lied, like a liar.

His uncle sighed and switched lanes, getting some honks from the other drivers busily filling the streets with their English holiday spirit. "I hate driving in London during winter break," the man grumbled.

"Thanks, uncle," Harry said with a smile as they arrived at the leaky cauldron, where he jumped out. Going by the fact that his uncle drove off towards the congestion leading to Harrods, he hadn't gotten presents yet either.

Not unusual for the man, but definitely bad strategically. He chuckled and entered the pub. By now he'd remembered the password to the brick wall, so he didn't have to bother Tom who seemed busy enough, dressed in bright red and green, serving a loud group of witches their butterbeer with cinnamon on top.

The whole pub smelled like cinnamon, actually, and apple. Perhaps they were making apple pies. He exited the building and tapped the sequence into the bricks with his wand, striding out into a busy Diagon Alley from amongst the trash bins and making his way towards the daily prophet. The claim that he'd needed to come here to buy some last-minute presents was obviously false, unlike the other magicals churning up the street, he'd already prepared everything through owl order and before he'd even left for Hogwarts. What he did need to do, however, was counteract the bad press that the ministry had shat in his direction, so that he could have a career in magical Britain if he chose to stay.

It might not have seemed important now when the only people who could gain a negative image of him that had any power over his future were his professors. But, if the news coverage about his future successes, such as his incoming victory at the U17 duelling tournament, remained the way it had been for his academic achievements, then things could get annoying. Better to nip it in the bud, he thought as he entered the bostonesque headquarters of the newspaper and walked up to the receptionist, who was the same as all the other times he'd come.

The woman glared at him as if his existence offended her. "Archive is closed," she said with a cold look. Before pointing her gaze demonstratively downwards as if there was something actually important on her table, instead of just a crossword puzzle.

"I'm not here for the archive," Harry said and it was indeed the case that he'd mostly researched what he'd wanted to for the moment. "I'm here to see Ms. Skeeter."

The harridan looked him up and down with her hawkish nose and unimaginative brown/grey hair bun. "Ms. Skeeter isn't expecting anyone," she said and continued pretending that he wasn't there.

"Well, in most cases you would have the authority to not let me through, however, this time I am bringing a story that I would like Ms Skeeter to write. Considering that denying me here would actually impact your job, I think it's best if you go get her," Harry said patiently and looked around to check if there was anybody else present. As expected, considering it was the same as the last few times, there was no one in the entry hall or the archive.

The librarian sniffed, scribbled something on a piece of paper and pulled out her wand to cast a spell on it. The paper folded itself into a little paper crane, which flew off in a loop behind the woman and slipped through a little opening at the top of a large wooden door, which Harry assumed was the entrance to where the writing and whatnot actually happened. Although God only knew how wizards ran their newspapers if the Daily Prophet was really the best they could come up with.

Maybe he should consider getting a Quibbler subscription?

As the seconds passed and Harry waited, he had the opportunity to reflect that it might have been a bit of a spontaneous decision to come here immediately. Perhaps him having met her here the only two times he'd come to the Daily Prophet archives had tinged his view of her. She was supposed to be a reporter, which generally included leaving the office occasionally.

A smudge of green entered his peripheral vision and he managed to look up just in time to see the scowling face framed by blonde curly hair that dragged him away and out of the building.

"You have a lot of nerve, coming here," Skeeter scowled once she'd pulled them out of the building and deposited him on the corner of it. "Harry Evans," she sniffed, "more like Bratty Liar."

Harry stared at her aghast. "Was that really the best you could come up with?" he asked, at which Skeeter blushed, before huffing.

"Anyway, my point stands. You have a lot of nerve showing your face around here. Trying to get a retraction on that article Stodges wrote? If so, I'm sorry to inform you that nobody will care about your opinion, or mine for that matter if you're hoping for some sort of support," she finished, angrily, chest heaving in a manner that was slightly distracting.

Harry looked around, to check if anyone was here to listen in, but the street was mostly empty. Similarly to last year, people were more busy hunting for presents on the main street and didn't care about repairing their luggage at "luggage repair for lugs". Also, in addition to that, he didn't really feel like people actually cared that much about their conversation, or the conversation of anyone that they weren't either acquainted with.

"Ms. Skeeter, I'm not interested in retractions or anything of the sort. I just came here to suggest that perhaps another side of the story could also be shown. After all, wouldn't a good investigative journalist be able to uncover if I am indeed a second-year with delusions of grandeur, whose only above-average skill set consists of possessing the correct blood mixture to receive favouritism from the hopelessly deluded and progressive Hogwarts staff?" Harry asked rhetorically, and by the widening of Skeeter's eyes, she knew exactly what he was suggesting.

Nevertheless, her frown remained. "And how do I know that you are? All I know is that you're a brat with too much time on his hands and tongue faster than his wand."

Harry bit his lip to refrain from replying that his tongue was never fast, or slow but always moved at the correct speed for the occasion. "Verify it then. What the article refrained from mentioning is what spells I showed off to gain the advancement I got. Probably with the knowledge that it would invalidate the whole thing. I could cast the spells again, showing everyone what I'm capable of." He considered for a moment, "I'm sure people are curious about what is required to advance beyond one's age in our country's most prestigious learning institution, they'd use the knowledge to try to secure advancement for their own children."

Skeeter hummed thoughtfully, "I don't remember the protocol of what was tested actually being mentioned…" She trailed off and looked at him appraisingly. "Arithmancy and Charms, right?" she asked. At his nod she tssked. "Well, can't really show off arithmancy. What spells did you need to know?"

Harry agreed with her arithmancy conclusion. While a first-year passing the fourth-year arithmancy exam was impressive, it wasn't really visually striking. "I performed all the second-year charms to the level required to pass the course and then in addition I also performed the water-making spell and the disillusionment charm, which are both sixth-year material. I'm also capable of the explosion spell as well as the summoning charm, which is fourth-year material. I could upgrade the bombarda to the bombarda maxima quite quickly as well." Harry explained while Skeeter considered him.

"That is impressive," she reluctantly agreed. "Anything else?" she asked.

Harry thought about his current abilities; he had created a spell that was slowly spreading around the world, but for some odd reason he didn't feel like revealing it was him who'd created it. It was his contribution to the world, done out of personal interest, but shared out of a passion for learning. It wasn't something he wanted to sully with dirty politicking and smear campaigns. Also, he felt that spell-creation wasn't easy to prove and that it would leave an avenue of attack. His detractors could claim that Flitwick had given him the credit so as to safeguard his reputation. His Occlumency, while impressive, was best kept a secret and the same was true for his burgeoning ability to sense magic and his sorcery. His Transfiguration wasn't anything to write home about and he couldn't really prove any duelling capacity until he actually participated in the tournament. Which he as of yet didn't know how to enter, nor did he know the level of the competition. All of that still hinged on Flitwick's answer.

There was one charm, however, which was supposedly beyond even the Hogwarts curriculum that he had wanted to learn, like anyone who'd ever read the Harry Potter books.

After all, who really wanted to face a threat that could steal your soul, but be unable to do anything to protect one's self?

"My Transfiguration is above average, but nothing crazy," he reluctantly admitted. "There is one charm I've been meaning to learn, however, that would doubtlessly shut up a lot of people."

"Which one?" Skeeter asked.

"The Patronus charm," Harry replied. Skeeter seemed reluctantly impressed by his audacity.

"Well, if a second-year student could perform the patronus, then arguments against your advancement really wouldn't have any ground to stand on," she concluded. "You think you can manage that?" she asked, looking him up and down doubtfully.

Harry thought about the life he'd lived till now, both of them. Full of disappointment and misery. All of his happiest memories of his past were tainted by an inhuman amount of grief. There was one thing, however, which hadn't disappointed him yet, which had been an ever-present companion through the most difficult periods of his life. Magic, the joy he'd felt when he'd first managed to levitate a pencil in his childhood bedroom at the age of two had been immeasurable. If it was that memory, then maybe he could… "I can learn it," he concluded and nodded resolutely.

"I would have to read up on the spell myself," Skeeter muttered thoughtfully. "My career isn't easy, I don't want to do something that I'm not completely sure will succeed, especially if it puts me at odds with senior reporters and the head editor," she said while bringing a hand to her mouth to bite at her nails. "But if you managed a patronus of any kind…" she trailed off, gaze unfocusing and looking into a distance above Harry's head.

"I take that as a conditional yes then, if I manage the Patronus you'll write the article. Something along the lines of, "In the mind of a prodigy; what it takes to excel at one of the world's premiere magical academies"," Harry suggested.

In a surprising move, Skeeter stretched out a hand to playfully ruffle Harry's hair. "Let me think about the headline, brat," she said somewhat fondly. "Just owl me if you manage to get anywhere with your Patronus and I'll do the rest," she said with a sigh, before suddenly noticing the glaring logistical issue. "Wait, you have a trace outside of Hogwarts and I'm not allowed at the school without permission. How would we even manage to do the interview?" she asked.

Harry shrugged, "You'll just have to sneak in. I trust you can manage that," he said. He didn't want to involve a professor in this, since they likely wouldn't agree with his strategy anyway and would form a different opinion on him afterwards. Unfortunately, the slander could not stand and needed to be counteracted. For strategic reasons.

Also, fuck the ministry.

"Anyway, I should head out. Have some stuff I need to do," he said non-committedly to Skeeter and left her muttering to herself there on the curb, apparently trying to figure out how she could sneak into Hogwarts. Wasn't she an animagus?

Leaving the side street Harry entered the rush hour of present buyers once again. He thanked the heavens it wasn't raining but then tried to remember if he'd ever seen rain in Diagon Alley. He shrugged, not caring that much. There was probably some sort of ward assuring good weather. The walk to the pub was annoying, full of being jostled and deafened by the excited screams of children and the loud conversations of adults who couldn't quite make each other out through the high volume, and thus resorted to adding to the madness. He saw a store that seemed mostly empty, which was odd and swerved off the street, past a cadre of older witches fawning over a book stand and a large moving painting of a grinning blonde man in a foppish outfit playfully wrestling a werewolf. Entering the store he discovered that he'd entered, unsurprisingly, a bookstore. Quite frankly, there were fewer people currently frolicking around the high wooden shelves than there had been in summer, which made sense. Back then most of the clientele had consisted of children or their guardians, now that was done with for the year and normality could return.

He'd never really considered books a good gift, he thought as he aimlessly wandered through the story, occasionally laughing at the stupid names of the books. One could never quite nail down what a person would like to read. In addition, buying them a book usually put them under some sort of pressure to read it, which people then took as a reason not to read the thing, but to keep it on a visible shelf for the rest of its, or their, life.

After having walked through most of Flourish and Blotts he frowned as he realised that other than school material, most of the books were fiction, cookbooks, autobiographies, histories, or poetry collections. Where were the other magic books? He flagged down a clerk who wasn't currently doing anything but lounging around and the brown-haired man came over lazily.

"Where are the magic books," Harry asked brusquely, at which the man blinked in confusion, before pointing to the shelf stocking the Hogwarts curriculum. "No, I mean stuff beyond the Hogwarts curriculum?" he asked, at which point the man's 20-something face lit up in recognition.

"You're a muggle-born, aren't you?" he asked while bringing up a hand to scratch at his stubbly chin and looking at Harry from under two heavy brows.

Harry's defences were raised by the question, considering that blood purity was such a sensitive topic. "Half-blood, what's it to you?" he asked defensively.

"Don't worry, I'm a muggle-born, I just asked because if you're not from around here," he said, vaguely waving his hand, "then you probably haven't gotten the memo yet."

"What memo?"

The man shrugged. "That wizards and witches aren't that interested in magic," he said cheerily.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, intrigued. This was the first time he was meeting a muggle-born out of Hogwarts.

The man beckoned Harry to follow, which he did, as the man explained further. "You know, they do their compulsory Hogwarts education and then they go out, get an apprenticeship and learn the magic they need to do a specific job. Then they're done usually," he explained. They reached a shelf in the back of the store. It seemed to be dedicated to romance novels. "I'm Ian, by the way, Ian Brown," the man introduced himself.

"Harry Evans," Harry replied in kind as he looked at the shelf they'd stopped at. "What am I looking at exactly?" he asked.

"You're looking at the entirety of this store's books on magic, how to cast it and all. Well, the stuff that isn't about household, hygiene or beauty spells," Ian explained as he bent down and took out a book from the lowest shelf, which Harry noticed was the only one not chock full of novels which had scantily clad witches or wizards on the cover. "Here," Ian offered him the book.

"Enchanting the objects of everyday life," Harry read, then looked back at the amount of books available, probably around 200. "This can't be true," he eventually concluded. Ian simply laughed.

"The thing about things that you're born with, they ain't special no more. A wizard sees his magic as a tool for convenience and never uses it for anything else. I've heard some ministry clerks don't even need to know any magic, beyond apparating to work and the spells necessary to sort paper-work," Ian explained, but Harry was still reluctant.

"But there are professors, researchers, duellists and enchanters, these people have to love magic in some capacity," Harry argued, at which Ian simply shrugged.

"Sure they do, but they're the exception. Just like a normal muggle doesn't really do anything passionate with their life, other than working a job they're only mildly disgusted by, most magicals just do their thing. I mean, the examples you listed… How big of a percentage do professors, professional athletes, artists and researchers make up in muggle society?" Ian asked rhetorically, and Harry saw his point. He sighed and slumped his shoulders.

"That's depressing," he muttered.

"Well, think of it that way. We have the advantage since we're actually interested. Issue's the politics of course, but what can you do?"

"Isn't working in a bookstore similarly a bit uninspired?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Ian laughed. "Maybe, but it pays the bills, also, I get to read on the job. I mean look around," he said, waving his hand. "This place is deserted except in the summer hols. There ain't no fancy library for me anymore now that I've graduated, gotta have the connections to access the interesting stuff," he leaned in, after looking around to check if someone was listening. "The interesting stuff's in Knockturn, by the way," he said, before straightening up. "Of course, don't go before you're seventeen and can defend yourself," he warned. "Anyway, you wanna buy anything?"

Harry shook his head, "I just came to look, I don't really have any money."

"Pick a book, it's on me," Ian said with a shrug. "I get three books a month, you can have one."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Thanks," he said, before squatting down to read the titles of the magic books. "Any recommendations," he eventually asked, after he failed to get much of anything from the titles.

"Well, you're still at Hoggy, so probably something you can't find in the library," Ian mused, before twitching his finger and causing three books to fly out of their shelves. Harry froze as the books landed in front of him, cover up. The man could do wandless magic as well?

"You're a sorcerer?" he blurted and looked up, surprised. Ian just grinned cheekily.

"It's a parlour trick," the clerk insisted, before introducing the books he'd picked out.

"Enchanting ain't taught at Hoggy, so a basic introduction for that could do you good. Although, you need a well-developed magic sense to infuse objects well. Maybe something to keep in mind for the future. Then we got an introduction to Light Magic, including the patronus, some shields and so on, very basic stuff. But they don't teach emotion-based magic in Hogwarts so it's something to look into." Harry looked at the book on the Light Arts, a pure white tome with a silver stag imprinted on the front. No title. Ian introduced the last book, "Book on apparition and other wonky space-time stuff. They usually just teach you how to do it, and don't explain nothing. I doubt the book is even in the restricted section, since fucking that up just insta-kills you…" the man trailed off. "In hindsight, maybe not that one," he said with a wince and the purple book floated back to the shelf.

"Anything on the Mind Arts?" Harry asked.

"Someone's been reading ahead, but no, strictly regulated, Knockturn only. And even then you're as likely to get a book that tricks you into lobotomizing yourself, rather than anything serious. A lot of magic like that is passed down orally only. Too dangerous to write down and the ministry tends to destroy the books when they find them."

"The Light Arts, why don't they teach it at Hogwarts?" he asked as he picked up the white book and stood up.

"Learning how to fuel your magic with your emotions makes you more prone to experiencing those emotions, and strongly at that."

"Makes sense," Harry muttered, "Feeling is also a skill. That's how the Dark Arts corrupt then? The user has to delve into hate and anger to practise them, turning themselves hateful and angry?"

"That's the gist, anyway, let's skedood. Shifts almost over," Ian said and they went to the front desk, where Ian "bought" him the book, as promised and they said their goodbyes.

"Thanks, for the explanation," Harry said with a frown, thinking about the new things he'd discovered about the magical world.

"No skin off my back, good luck out there. I'd suggest either making it big or going muggle, this place is a bit medieval," Ian said.

Harry left the store confused, but happy.

-/-

By the time Harry was done in the alley, an impatient Vernon was already waiting for him. Harry chuckled as he considered how nostalgic his uncle would one day feel for being able to park in London in the past. In the future, it would mostly become an impossibility.

Throwing his newly acquired book in the back of the car, he got in at the front and they drove off, tyres screeching and squealing for all they were worth. Which, considering his uncle's thriftiness, probably wasn't a lot.

They reached home in record time and when Harry entered Privet Drive 4 through the front door he had to face a hugging assault from his aunt, while an awkward Dudley patted him on the back. The boy was growing, Harry realised. Vertically, thankfully, rather than horizontally.

"No hug for me?" Vernon grumbled as they moved to the dining room, where a sumptuous feast was already spread out, along with the good china. They sat down, while Vernon got a twisted ear and a narrow look from his wife. While her right hand was busy doing that, her left disappeared behind his back, Harry suspected, to pinch his bum.

He turned away, getting a bit green in the face. He didn't want to know, to be honest. Not waiting, or wanting to be courteous, he loaded a piece of the meat pie and some coleslaw onto his plate.

"How has school been going? You don't write enough," his aunt said as she also sat down and doled out the dinner to her husband and son.

Harry considered his classes, which were going fine. He had stopped putting that much effort into everything, including Potions. Just doing the brews once in advance seemed to keep him at a passable level so he didn't feel the need to overexert himself. Considering that he had time to pursue magical sensing, duelling and getting his ass beaten by Professor Potter, in a non-sexual way, he would say that this year was shaping up to be the most productive yet. A lot of last year had been stuck creating the word-search spell, which made his life now a lot easier and probably saved him half an hour every day. Not that he hadn't enjoyed the spell-creation process, but no matter how painful magical sensing and duelling were to practise, they were definitely more rewarding in their execution. While for the spell he'd had to slave away for months, only to get one spell. With his current projects, there was a noticeable improvement every day. "School's going great, actually. All the classes I advanced in have been manageable and I've been making some progress in that duelling thing I told you about," he thus explained.

Petunia nodded. "Didn't you say though, that the professor, Flirthicc, or whatever, would only help you out after Christmas?" she asked.

"I've been doing some independent study, and got help from some classmates," he said, thinking of Tonks.

Petunia sighed. "What is it with men in this family being obsessed with violence," she lamented. "Dudley's been talking about picking up boxing," she explained at Harry's confused look.

"Dad said I could," Dudley sulked from his corner, with a full mouth.

"It builds character," Vernon huffed and the two parents glared at each other, it seemed like this wasn't the first time they were having this discussion.

In Harry's experience, martial arts tended to have two spectrums of people in them, the most passionate and kind killing machines imaginable, but also the biggest cringe-lords. He decided to weigh in, perhaps to suggest a compromise. "I think martial arts can build character, but boxing involves getting hit in the head a bit too much. There is this new scientific fighting style created, which involves locking joints. In a fighting tournament with no weight restrictions, a small Brazilian fighter used it to beat people three times his weight and size. I think in comparison, boxing just sounds a bit limited. It's called Brazilian jiu-jitsu"

Dudley's eyes widened and he snapped to look at Petunia as if he were a shark smelling blood. "Can I mum, can I, can I, can I?" he asked repeatedly until the woman relented and nodded stiffly, glaring at Harry as she did so. He innocently raised his hands.

"If you deny it, it's just going to become an obsession, training for any sort of sport is boring, lots of running and stretching," he reasoned, while Vernon huffed.

"Brazilian jiu-jitsu, pugilism is a proper British sport. Why do something foreign, ridiculous."

"Oh, you shut up!" Petunia snapped, "you and your shotgun." she said.

Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at the people sitting at the table. "Shotgun?" he asked.

"It's because of those blasted wild animal attacks, I didn't even know we had so many beasts in England, but they've been ripping people apart left and right," Vernon reasoned. Harry reluctantly agreed with the man but felt the need to address the misconception. Wild animals. More like, a wild werewolf.

"A shotgun might honestly not be such a bad idea," he chimed in. "You just might want to buy silver bullets," he said, throwing a meaningful look at Petunia and then Vernon. Both of them paled, while the reference somewhat flew over Dudley's head. He was probably too busy imagining himself beating up famous wrestlers three times his size with the power of South American Japanese fusion martial arts, which actually did sound really exotic and cool now that Harry thought about it. Not wanting the dinner to dwell on things such as werewolves and whatnot he turned to his aunt.

"How have the new neighbours been settling in?" he asked, knowing that it would completely derail the situation.

By Petunia's stiffening facial features, it worked. "Horridly," she complained, "they can't even figure out the trash takeaway dates, let alone their garden. Their whole porch and front yard are a bane to this community and I can always see the young wife peeking around behind the blinds," she said, stretching out her long neck, which had probably become like that, doing exactly that.

"Well, what else would you really expect from a woman who married her dentist," Harry agreed, blindly gripping a detail that he'd remembered from his aunt's letters, which served also as strategic updates about the going-ons of the neighbourhood.

"I always said, never trust anyone married to a doctor," Petunia grumbled, "did anyone listen? No." She stabbed at the sausage on her plate and impaled it violently, before cutting it in a manner that felt very personal.

Chapter Text

A few days after his arrival home, Harry had spent enough time with his family, to once again want to be alone. He thus decided to go to his special clearing in the forest.

It was one of those winter days before Christmas that were unfortunately without snow, but thankfully without rain. If possible Harry passed even fewer people than usual cycling on the dirt road that he always used to reach his secret place. It seemed that people were enjoying the good weather to go to town and walk around the Christmas markets, rather than trekking through the countryside.

With him, he was only bringing a can of tea and three books, including his new book on the Light Arts. Oddly enough, even though developing his fighting ability and magic sense was much more gruelling than what he'd done last year, they were much more relaxing. While he had felt guilty and stressed whenever he'd stopped working on the spell, due to his ability to do so pretty much anywhere, this year's challenges had a more spatial context.

He couldn't train either of the skills without being at Hogwarts, which meant he could relax when he wasn't there. He would try to steal the hat again the next summer vacation, considering that his Occlumency training was far from done.

While Chanithachuah had told him that his skill had reached an acceptable level, the fact that the hat itself could still break into his mind, invalidated that statement so he wasn't quite done with it yet.

Harry arrived at the clearing and got off the bike. He looked at the obviously magical apple tree that dominated the space and wondered if the obliviators would ever have an issue due to muggles discovering the always fruit-bearing grief tree and its immortal field of flowers.

The apples attracted his gaze seductively fully red and ripened, just like they had been for years now. In a way, he was more willing to try one now. Perhaps he felt emboldened by the new bezoar necklace he'd made himself, which hung safely tucked away on his collarbone under several layers of clothing which protected him from the cold.

There was one difference, however, in the apple tree, since the last time he'd seen it. Or rather one could say that he had a new way of perceiving it. After all, this was the year that he'd started figuring out the ability to sense magic and while he had been making minimal progress, it was somewhat impossible to miss the supernova that the tree and its meadow represented against a magic-less backdrop. Going up to the tree Harry took off one of his gloves to put his bare hand against the smooth bark which felt warm to the touch. Closing his eyes and focusing his senses he was able to feel the small nexus of power present in the roots of the tree, which spread out to the rest of its body and to the meadow, but in lower quantities and concentrations. The only exceptions were the apples, which were all bursting with energy, and a broad dome that expanded over the tree's crown and enveloped the clearing. Not that Harry became immediately aware of that; his range still wasn't that good. No, he'd spent around thirty minutes walking around the clearing and testing the boundaries of the invisible dome. Unfortunately, Harry was not yet at the point where he was able to distinguish very well the different nuances of magic.

He could only tell if something had less or more of it.

Harry was actually very interested in the roots of the tree. After all, according to the knowledge he'd gained reading the book on magical foci, the roots would probably make very good wood for a wand. The issue was of course that while the tree was obviously Apple, this was just the outer appearance of its genus. The reality of it was probably much more complex considering the magical nature of the thing. Actually, in a way, considering the tree was magical, wouldn't it make for a much better core? He wondered. All the trees used for wands were seemingly more symbolic rather than magical, from his understanding, and they served more as a stabiliser for the magical core, which delivered the actual amplification and such.

Idly scratching at his chin Harry considered one of the apples hanging at eye level more closely. For all intents and purposes, it was the perfect fruit. Juicy, heavy, ripe. Would the fruit be a better core? Also, only magical creatures seemed to traditionally serve as cores, he hadn't read anything about anyone using a plant. Considering how a lot of magical plants were basically sentient, more sentient than some of the things which were used as cores for wands, that was a bit odd.

Maybe he could visit Ollivander in the summer? Ask him about why magical cores were more animal than plant? The answer would probably be along the lines of similarity between user and core. After all, people in general found it much easier to identify themselves with animals rather than plants. Considering how much Stavenot had stressed in his book that wand-making was a family art passed down and guarded jealously, he likely wouldn't get an answer either. But, if he could maybe bring a cutting of the tree, the man might be interested enough to say something.

In a way, the question was also if this tree that Harry had grown with his accidental magic all these years ago was unique or not. It was very unlikely that Harry was the first person whose grief at the loss of loved ones had spawned some sort of plant-based accidental magic. Perhaps it was time to research the magical significance of apple trees appearing on graves?

He eventually decided to leave the tree be. He wasn't willing to experiment with it right now, let alone eat one of the apples. Any possible knowledge about the phenomena was to be found, if anywhere, at Hogwarts. Perhaps he'd been subconsciously avoiding the exploration of the thing that he'd created because of the fact that he'd been trying to forget the past. But, his mood had been on the rise these past months. Having clear goals helped. The tree had waited several years, it could wait a bit more.

Harry sat down and started practising magic. He didn't bother going to the cave, because, for some odd reason, he felt safe here. Safe from people finding him. Perhaps the dome was a sort of ward that protected this clearing. Obviously only speculation, but that was his impression.

He waved his arms in circles and created, rather than the usual ball of fire, a wave of heat, which he directed at the ground in front of which he was sitting. The air vibrated in place from where he was pointing his hand and he smiled when he noticed that he had managed to create a heat that didn't immediately kill the plants. Applying another wandless warming charm to himself he scooched forward, leaned his back against the tree and cracked open the book on light magic.

He read the first chapter, which mostly dealt with the emotions necessary to use the sort of magic and which discussed the fact that the Light Arts did not have any attack spells. It was different from the light magic sometimes depicted in games or movies, which involved throwing spears of heavenly light which pierced demons to the ground and destroyed their insides. In this magic system, light magic was fuelled by positive emotions like happiness and love. Since it was hard to infuse a spell meant to break someone's leg with love, or happiness, then there were de facto no leg-breaking spells available.

In fact, for all the hype that the author, a certain Leyli Lighter, tried to create about the magic, the entire thing barely managed to accumulate five spells. Harry knew for a fact that there were thousands of dark spells out there, and perhaps it was something to be said about the fact that the light arts were such a deserted field, whereas there were ten different dark spells and curses just to boil different parts of someone's body.

He knew this because he'd taken a short glance at some books, which he maybe shouldn't have had access to.

While the patronus was pragmatically the thing that Harry needed to work on the most. He couldn't use his wand right now. That's why he started reading something else. In the context of his recent effort to become a better fighter, he thus looked at the two shields elaborated on. One, protegens amores, was a spell fuelled by a feeling of love, which counter-acted most dark spells. As an anti-thesis, it required less energy to do so than the standard protego. However, there was one big downside to the spell, which made Harry deadpan.

It didn't work against neutrally aligned attacks, so while it would block a flesh-rending curse, it wouldn't protect the user from a simple knock-back jinx.

Maybe Harry was uneducated, and there was a particular situation where this would be useful, but quite frankly, he didn't see it. The next spell wasn't much better, perennem amorem, was a shield that could be applied to an object, which would then be resistant to dark magic. It went more into the direction of enchantment, said the author, but it could still be used in "the throes of passionate battle," to protect one's animated transfigurations from a dark wizard's attempts to blow them to pieces unless he just used a normal explosion spell, then it was useless.

The biggest issue Harry saw was that using light spells in a fight would require the caster to be able to bring up the associated emotions… While a dark wizard could probably summon the requisite amount of hate quite easily.

Connecting to love while fighting seemed like a challenge.

Thankfully that was the end of the so-called, "battle magic," section and the next spell that Harry perused the chapter of seemed actually useful. Regeneracio was a spell fuelled by love which led the body it was cast on to heal from wounds faster, essentially supporting the capacities of the entire organism. The only caveat was that it couldn't be cast on one's self.

It was still more useful than the next spell, motus, which put the target into a state of child-like excitement and wonder. From the description, it also sounded like it granted a minor form of ADHD.

Quite frankly, Harry found the book to be a bit of a disappointment. The four spells other than the patronus all seemed heavily situational, although, to be fair, the patronus was heavily situational as well. The book offered some good advice on how to grow one's capacity to feel and experience love and happiness and such, but still, he'd come in with very specific expectations on powerful or epic magic.

Of course, it was always fun to peruse a magical tome, no matter the subject. This was proven by the fact that he'd sat still for three hours reading the thing and absorbing the information within it. At least the book had provided very specific guidance on the patronus, although it did not include the variety that could send messages. Deciding that now was as good a time as any, even if he didn't have a wand Harry closed his eyes and followed the instructions on how to create the necessary feeling of happiness. This was the part of the work that the book had excelled in. If he had used the instruction that Lupin had given Harry in the original books, then the attempt likely would have taken much longer.

One didn't need the happy memory to fuel the patronus. That was a common misconception. One needed the happy memory to feel happy, which would then fuel the patronus. In essence, bringing up the happy memory was only a tool, the happiness it produced being what one needed. This was an important distinction to make because one didn't necessarily need a memory to be happy. Thus Lighter proposed in his book to test out different thinking patterns that produced happiness for the person trying to learn the spell and to practise them before even attempting to cast it. Then once they'd nailed down a method, he suggested they learn how to cast the spell in stressful environments that didn't tend to produce joy.

A big part of light magic was learning how to bring forth the emotions necessary to fuel it, in situations when one wasn't prone to doing so.

For Harry, the thing that had always brought him happiness was an appreciation of his relationships with other people. In a way, one could say that his happiness was derived from love. The fact that there were people there who would drop whatever they were doing to help him if need be, and for whom he would do the same, delighted him and kept him going through hard times. It was a remembrance of these bonds thus that he used to bring up the deep-seated contentment, or rather, happiness inside of him. He dwelled on the feeling for a bit, before raising his hand and looking at his palm. He infused the magic he was about to cast with the emotion he was feeling and let the spirit guardian trapped inside his soul run its course. A faint white mist spread out from his hand, accumulatively perhaps the size of a nectarine. Nonetheless, Harry smiled. He was on the right path.

Chapter Text

The Hogwarts Express announced itself with a loud whistle as it slowly chugged to a stop at station 9 ¾. Harry shared a glance with his aunt, who was standing reluctantly at the wall that led into the magical part of the train station. She'd wanted to accompany him to the train, to see him off properly. But due to her quite rational fear of the magical world, she wanted to stay standing at the exit, so that she could leave quickly.

An unsaid goodbye passed through where their eyes met, and Harry watched, pained at the odd twitching that seemed to pass through the woman's arms. It was like she wanted to hug him, as an instinctive reaction. But she couldn't, the distance between them was too great. They'd come early, to avoid the traffic of other wizards and with a nod, they both departed into their separate worlds so that they wouldn't clash.

Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express with a loud sigh, a glance over his shoulder showing him that Petunia had left. It was a sad situation, losing your child nine months a year. It was good for him, because for all that he loved his family, he wasn't in the market as someone who needed parenting, but he couldn't imagine it was very easy for the Dursleys.

At the end of the day, his mother's death had been a tragedy with very far-reaching consequences. As most tragedies did, it seemed to reverberate far further than its initial devolvement. Stowing away his luggage, seemingly the only person on the train, Harry pulled out his wand. Everyone always cast spells on the train, and there had been a particular one he'd been looking forward to casting with a wand for two weeks now. He wasn't really in the mood, to be perfectly frank, but that itself would be good practice.

Bringing up the happiness intrinsic to most people's life and the gratitude that came with this capacity to experience it, he waved his wand in an intricate and elegant pattern. He'd practised with a stick for two weeks, and it seemed to show, as when he finally incanted, "expecto patronum." A bright white mist erupted from his wand and filled up his half of the compartment. It lingered for a few seconds, struggling to form a coherent shape before it dissipated like a fart in the wind.

Unbothered by the failed attempt Harry made to try again when an itch at the back of his mind made him look to the compartment door, where a heart-shaped face was staring at him in stupefaction. He aborted the second attempt to cast the spell and instead twitched his wand.

The door to the compartment slammed open with a bang and Harry frowned. He'd been powering up his telekinesis this Christmas since it was apparently a viable way to harm creatures with innate magic resistance.

"You're really a bloody genius, aren't you?" Tonks asked bitterly from where she stared at him in her continued position of standing at the door. Her hair was black, for once, and Harry had to say that it suited her. Pale women, as was the norm in the United Kingdom, looked really good with black hair.

"Don't tell anyone, it's a secret," Harry muttered. "What do you want?" he asked, slightly bitter about how he'd been avoided by the upper year.

Tonks snorted unkindly, before breathing in and calming herself down. "Look, I just wanted to say sorry. For how our duel went. I think it's better if we don't have another one."

"Alright, you can apologise. I'll forgive you," Harry replied.

"I just did."

"You said you wanted to say sorry, you didn't actually say sorry."

"I'm sorry, ok, I lost it. It was too much, why am I struggling against a second-year? How am I ever supposed to become an Auror if this is the step I already failed at?" Tonks questioned, bitterly, still standing.

Harry wondered if she actually wanted to know the answer to that question, then decided that he wanted to give it anyway. "Do you think there's any Auror in the department that could defeat Albus Dumbledore in a duel?" he asked.

"What, no!" Tonks said with wide eyes, before thoughtfully putting a hand to her chin. "Well, maybe Potter, or Black-"

"They wouldn't stand a snowball's chance in hell and you know it," Harry harshly reprimanded. Dumbledore's magical prowess was one piece of knowledge that he didn't doubt at all.

Tonks sputtered, before growing incredulous. "You're not comparing yourself to Dumbledore, are you?" she asked angrily.

"The difference between an Auror and Dumbledore is that the Auror trains to be able to fulfil their function. They have an arbitrarily set fighting capacity they have to reach before they qualify for the role. Dumbledore never gave two wet shits about his fighting capacity, he just loved magic and studied the fuck out of it for several decades. Becoming one of the most powerful wizards in the world was an unintended consequence of his passion. That's the issue with ambition, at some point you fulfil it. The thirst for knowledge, however, never goes away. Neither does passion. I love magic, it's the one thing that I couldn't live without in this world, even if I left Wizarding society behind me. For you, it might be just a tool with which to gain the social prestige inherent in being an Auror, but for me, it's a way of life. You're a deer only going to water when you're thirsty, whereas I just love to swim. The results of these two different attitudes are completely obvious!" Harry almost shouted, out of breath. "I'm not Dumbledore, but I'm definitely not an Auror," he finished, more calmly.

"That's so bloody arrogant!" Tonks snarled, finally putting a foot into the compartment. "You don't know me, how much I practise. You don't know anything about me!" she shouted.

"I don't know anything about you," Harry replied. "But you're a simple person at heart. You want to get married, have some kids, have a slightly prestigious and successful, but not too difficult career and a vacation house by the sea. It's not a bad dream, but the moment you compare yourself with someone obsessed, you don't stand a chance. Just accept that you're average, the most special thing about you being an inherited trait," he goaded with a glint in his eye. She was incredibly entitled in thinking that her weekly training, which probably lasted 5% as long as his, would make her anything but cannon fodder. He was trying to protect her, really, from dying so uselessly as she had in the original books.

The hair on Tonk's head started furiously cycling through colours and her face was a rictus of anger, plus some tears. "I'll show you," she whispered threateningly.

"I should be able to open up my schedule somewhere towards the end of the year," Harry said dismissively, "I might have lost the last two times, but that's over now, and we both know it. Use the time to practise and you might make me break a sweat."

Tonks stared at him with clenched fists that looked like they were about to start leaking blood.

"You'll lose," she said, before storming off.

Harry slumped back in his seat once the girl finished her departure and wondered if he'd acted correctly. In a way, Tonks did deserve to get some backlash for how she'd acted towards him, but he'd quite obviously gone beyond any means of retaliation and had instead gone into completely priggish provocation. The thing was that Tonks obviously needed a kick in the ass to get anywhere with her ambitions. He was just being a nice guy by helping her gather the necessary motivation.

If it got him one more practice duel against the person who'd likely decided not to fight him anymore, and whom he needed to defeat to attain a sense of narrative catharsis, then so be it. For quite some time now, Harry had started feeling as if he was walking towards a grand and unavoidable destiny. Perhaps such hubris was normal for someone excelling on all fronts, even if a comparison to other people his age wasn't justified.

Whatever the case, having been mean to Tonks didn't affect him overly much and the biggest thing taking up space in his mind was his quest to learn the patronus and his excitement to talk to Flitwick. He couldn't wait to hear what the man had to say about Harry's progress, considering that at least on a grade level, it had been nothing but exemplary.

"Have you seen Tonks?" a voice suddenly asked from the still-open compartment door.

Harry looked up lazily and saw Charlie Weasley, wild red hair contrasting brightly against his black Hogwarts uniform.

"You seemed to have known each other at the Slug Club party," the boy insisted. "We said we'd meet early on the train but now I can't find her."

Harry tilted his head at the boy, in a way a relationship probably represented a distraction from Tonks' desire to become an Auror. However, he wasn't someone willing to get in between a teenager and the way they made horrendous mistakes they would regret for years to come. Some lessons need to be learned, and if Tonks wanted to try a long-term relationship, with a wild card that would run away to Romania to live with dragons first chance, then she could do whatever she wanted.

"Check the female bathrooms, she seemed upset for some reason," he said innocently, receiving a grateful nod before the other redhead rushed off.

Harry was curious to some extent how the boy would get Tonks out of the bathroom if she was there, but decided that practice took priority. A twitch of his wand closed the door to his compartment and soon enough white bright mist filled the inside of the room.

Chapter Text

"Finite," Percy Weasley invoked a bit too loudly, likely discouraged by his previous failures. They were learning the general counter-spell in today's Charms class and had been put in pairs of animator and dispeller. Harry, perhaps due to being distracted, had blessed the pillow with an animation charm that was a tad too powerful. Ever since he'd started practising magical sensing he had been getting more and more proficient with enchantment-type charms, as his magic became more easily nestled into its end destination.

The pillow did an energetic backflip as if to taunt the poor redhead, who again cast the spell to no success.

Considering that the general counter-spell was something that Harry had mastered to the point of being able to cast it wandlessly with some success, the class was quite literally beneath him. Which was why he decided to flip forward in the book to check what they were doing next week, while Percy continued battling with the pillow break-dancing on their part of the extended desk that encircled the podium from which Flitwick taught.

Harry was just reading up on the cheering charm, which was an interesting spell, in the manner that it affected one's emotions when a squeaky voice spoke up from behind the red-haired duo.

"Do try to rein in your frustration, Mr Weasley, it will only cause the spell to become more difficult to cast. It's a complex piece of work, only taught this early due to its sheer utility. There's no need to feel frustrated," Professor Flitwick said from behind the two.

The man then turned to Harry. "Perhaps a less powerful animation charm next time, Mr Evans, I feel that this pillow is a bit too lively to let anyone dissuade it from its efforts."

The pillow was doing cartwheels now, going in a circle so fast that it became nothing more than a blur of blue movement.

"Will do, professor," Harry promised and went back to the textbook after the man had left. After another minute or so the pillow fell on the desk lifelessly and its vanquisher caught his breath with a shaking wand arm and a red face. The boy barely applied his own animation charm to the thing before Harry already dispelled it and put the pillow under his sway again.

This time it seemed to be mock-performing some sort of opera. Slower movements, less energy. Harry nodded, satisfied with his control, while Percy glared at him, before sighing and getting back to work.

The class continued in the same manner, Percy suffering, but learning, and Harry reading and thinking about the curriculum. Once the lesson finally finished, Percy had been one of the only students other than Harry who had the spell done, for which the boy seemed grateful, albeit with a certain frustration.

Understandable, for someone as ambitious as this particular Weasley.

"You're not going?" Percy asked as he stood up to depart from the classroom with the rest of the pupils.

Harry, who'd remained sitting down, shook his head. "Go ahead, I have to talk to the professor about something."

Percy left with a nod, leaving Harry alone in the room with the short professor, who quickly fixed up any mess with a widespread repairing charm. So overpowered that Harry managed to feel its clean presence sweep across the room.

"I see you weren't dissuaded," Flitwick commented after the second-year student had walked up to him where he was arranging his lecture podium for the next class.

"Have you ever known me to be anything but stubborn and focused?" Harry asked curiously, at which the professor took down his glasses to wipe them, as he rolled his eyes.

"I guess not," he muttered. "However, while your classwork has been sufficient for me to technically consider your proposal, along with the conditions I set out, I do have to ask what else you've been doing this year?"

"What do you mean, professor?"

Flitwick waved a hand dismissively in the air. "You're just as ahead in third-year Charms as you were in first-year Charms. You seem to be managing all of your other subjects similarly well. Arithmancy hovers at EE, rather than the Outstanding I was expecting, but that's fine. You're essentially playing catch-up, and winning. Transfiguration has been progressing nicely, although Minerva is feeling a bit frustrated, as she feels you would also have the capacity to jump ahead in her class, but you simply refuse to put in the effort." He paused to inhale. "What I'm trying to ask is, last year you were similarly challenged by your class-work, perhaps just a tad less, and it was your extra-curricular project that took most of your time. This year you don't seem to have one, how come?" Flitwick asked.

Harry tilted his head and looked at the professor with some confusion. Did the man think that Harry had simply been doing nothing but wait for this conversation about duelling. "How come you think I haven't been doing anything, professor?" he asked curiously.

Flitwick faltered. "Well, I would assume at least one professor would have known about such an extra-curricular project, but I've talked to them all and they all said they hadn't discussed anything of the sort with you."

Considering those words, Harry quickly caught the inconsistency. He'd been practising with James, for some time now already and the man also knew that Harry was working on his duelling independently. Had Flitwick asked James, and the man simply hadn't informed the head of Ravenclaw? Or was Flitwick lying to him about nobody having said anything? "Well," he began, "I've been working on duelling, I got a bit of help from Professor Potter and some friends," he said, not wanting to even hint at the existence of the room of requirement. He would soon give up its location and the Horcrux likely hidden inside it. But first, he needed to deepen his magic sense so that he could distinguish what was safe to loot from the place and what wasn't. There were probably at least some galleons in the room of hidden things, and Harry quite frankly didn't want to just let them slip through his fingers.

Flitwick stroked his short beard as he considered the second year over the rim of his glasses, "That's all?" he asked, sounding a tad disappointed. "There's not much to do in Hogwarts in that regard…" he trailed off.

Harry got the distinct feeling that the man wanted him to explore other extra-curricular activities as well. Perhaps he'd set up too high expectations last year, technically he was doing even more, to be fair, but he really didn't want to tell Flitwick about his burgeoning magical sense. He was a paranoid man, boy, considering the fate that had befallen his mother. That was why he carried a bezoar around with him everywhere, to protect himself from poisons. The ability to sense magic, if otherwise furthered, would probably be similarly useful. After all, it was probably hard to ambush someone who could feel your spells without seeing them.

Wait, Harry thought. There was one thing that he'd been working on that he didn't mind sharing.

"Well, other than learning some more spells for duelling, after mastering the ones you suggested for me, I have also been working on other things. One spell in particular has been proving to be very difficult," Harry began, at which Flitwick immediately perked up.

"Is it a charm?"

Harry nodded. "I stumbled upon the topic of dementors, and it motivated me to start learning the Patronus charm, it's been quite hard to master," he said, the implication being that he'd been working on it for longer than just two weeks now. The spell was actually quite hard, similar to the disillusionment spell which he'd taken several months to learn last year, and it still wasn't completely mastered.

"That's not really something most Hogwarts students would have an easy time with. What stage are you at?" Flitwick asked.

"I can create a shield, but I'm struggling at the shaping stage," Harry admitted, at which the professor nodded.

"Managing anything at all can already be considered impressive. Would you mind showing me?"

"Give me a moment to gather the appropriate emotional fuel," Harry said and pulled out his wand, turning around to direct it in the middle of the tables that encircled them. It didn't actually take him a minute, but it was always better to ask for more and then impress by needing less. "Expecto patronum," he cast once he'd mustered the necessary happiness and watched as a bright white mist erupted from his wand to create a dome-like shield before him. Occasionally it sprang forward, as if to create a specific shape, but failed to do so each time. Eventually, the spell became too difficult to hold, forcing Harry to drop it.

Turning around to see Flitwick's reaction he was surprised to see that the professor wasn't looking all that surprised. Hadn't the original Harry Potter been praised for learning the patronus in his third year? he wondered.

Then he realised that with the way he'd been excelling in all academic and magical subjects, he was probably skewing the professor's capacity to distinguish between what was normal and what wasn't. In a way, he should really apologise to the other students of Hogwarts for making their lives harder.

"Do you want to advance to another grade?" Flitwick eventually asked curiously, after seemingly having mulled over what Harry had just shown him.

The second year thought about the question and wondered about the usefulness of such an action. Currently, he was investing all his energy into duelling and magical sensing and was just following the coursework like a normal student would, one lesson at a time. Ignoring of course the useful spells he'd learned in advance because they served a particular purpose.

"I think that it would be possible, but that I would need to dial down my other projects to manage to do so. The spell work is growing incrementally harder and if I had to master all the fourth-year spells by the summer, in addition to the normal coursework, then it would probably leave me with very little free time. Why do you ask?"

"Well, if you advanced another year, then you would be in Hogwarts for two years without having to attend any Charms lessons at all. You would be sixteen and seventeen years old respectively, which would be a much better time to enter the duelling circuit. The time you would have free by having finished Charms and Arithmancy by then, we could use to advance the goals you seem to have in regards to duelling," the professor suggested kindly.

It was a good suggestion, really. If he finished Charms and Arithmancy in his fifth year then he could truly focus on becoming a duelling champion. By that time he would also have a much larger repertoire of spells and would have, presumably, hopefully, managed to beat the dummy in the Room of Requirement, which he still wasn't anywhere close to. However, while this would be a decent plan had his goal been to become a successful duellist, Harry's intention was actually to become an effective fighter. Duelling was simply the best way he had available.

His future knowledge wasn't that accurate, obviously, but it was accurate enough for him to have realised that Potter or not, trouble was brewing in the Wizarding World. Ministry officials were taking over the Defence against the Dark Arts role, in search of something at Hogwarts. The prophecy presumably haunted the boy who lived and Voldemort was just as likely to return on the back of Quirrel's head next year, as he was to be resurrected any time now by some unfortunate contrivances of fate. Blood-purism determined public policy and action and Harry Evans was a twelve-year-old kid who was more than anything, likely to be mere collateral in any coming conflict. At least the way he was now. It was hard to combine the real and unreal dangers lurking all around him into something he could actually prepare for. Considering that at his current level of fighting ability, he couldn't even beat an average sixth-year however, it was very clear that he needed to up his game as fast as possible.

While Hogwarts was the fulcrum of a great danger, it was still a danger he knew, to some extent. Due to his knowledge, it was also the best place to grow as strong as possible. He had to stay, but not stay as a normal student, with normal ambitions. He had to run, sprint even, no matter how much others insisted that he should be content by walking.

Also, duelling was fun. The spells he'd exchanged with Tonks had all been sharpened in their bouts and fighting someone who wasn't actually trying to hurt him was as exhilarating as any sport, drug or sexual encounter. In a way, he enjoyed the suffering he had to go through to become stronger, a wizard to watch out for. Why else would he subject himself to the humiliation of being beaten by a duelling dummy, the torture of complete sense deprivation and the grinding mental decay experienced when learning Occlumency? Perhaps his ambition could have remained fettered in a world without magic, where the biggest reward for a lifetime of work was becoming rich, or having power over others.

But in a world of magic, where personal effort could very well amount to becoming something akin to a god? There was no reason to not work harder than anyone considered sane, there was no reason to look back and there was no reason to not try to ascend.

Harry noticed that he'd been staring at Flitwick, glassy-eyed, for a while now while he considered his options. He refocused his gaze and looked at the man. Whatever lay in his eyes seemed to scare the man, as he took a step backwards.

"Starting to duel at 12 seems like it would create a better duellist than if one were to start at fifteen," he said distractedly, before furrowing his brows. "Perhaps that's the pragmatic answer…" he trailed off. "The reality is, however, that there is an itch," he put a hand on his heart, "right here. It's burning me up from the inside. I need to be challenged in a way that's more meaningful than mere academia, or I might just go insane."

"If I help you enter the tournament, you won't win it, it's impossible," Flitwick said lightly, "you're a great student, with perhaps a bit of an ego. That ego will be broken the moment you enter. Nobody does so under the age of fourteen, and even that is only to gain experience. They'll pull your name through the mud for having the audacity to enter. Your blood-status. Your age," the man said softly.

"Your heritage," Harry realised and looked at the half-goblin, "with the importance wizarding society, at least in Britain, puts on blood purism. They must have despised you. It's why no one knows you were once at the top of the world. They probably were ashamed, rather than proud, of your achievements," he breathed with wide eyes.

"It's why I was surprised you even know of the title I once held," Flitwick muttered.

Harry blinked, "It's why you were reluctant, trying to steer me off. You were trying to spare me."

"It would be alright if you entered and won, but if you did so at too young an age, only to lose…" Flitwick trailed off, smiling bitterly.

"Professor," Harry began, coming to a grand narrative realisation, "don't you want revenge?" he asked. Flitwick remained silent, so he continued. "There must have been some reason you once stood on that podium, receiving the trophy. Some desire to prove them all wrong. But they didn't change, did they?"

Flitwick shook his head with a faraway look.

"Facts are logical, hatred is irrational. If one does not believe in the former one can only lean into the latter. Let's prove them wrong, professor. I'll lose the first time I enter, maybe even the second. But the third, I'll show them that they are weak, pathetic and sad. That magic is might, that might makes right, and that in a world where a single individual can change the course of history with a wave of their wand… that prejudice is just a foolish recourse of the tribal idiots living among us," Harry said as if in a trance, swaying his body and licking his lips like a snake, tasting the atmosphere of the room.

If he could convince Flitwick to train him, not as a favour to a student, but as a part of a personal agenda with emotional stakes. Then he would likely receive support beyond what he'd gotten before, from any professor, in this world or last.

The half-goblin shook his head, resolutely. "I've let go of bitterness, I do more to change minds by teaching children at Hogwarts than I ever did disarming opponents in a ring," the defence sounded rational but weak.

"But it's not as satisfying, is it," Harry concluded. "I'll win anyway, you know that professor," he switched tracks, "what chance do they truly have against someone like me," he said and raised his arms, pointing to himself as if he were a prize bull at an auction. The implication was that he was a genius and that once focused in a direction there would be none capable of standing before him. The truth was that it would be an adult competing against children, not a fair contest in any definition of the word.

Victory.

"The youngest person to ever win the U17 international duelling tournament, a misnomer by the way, as it doesn't usually have any Asian or African participants, is Gellert Grindelwald at age 14. I believe you will find it hard to match that achievement, but 15 is still prodigious," Flitwick acknowledged, "I'll help you as I would any talented student, without an agenda," he decided firmly.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed out. "I'll win anyway, professor, why not make it mean something. Why not make it a statement, from us filthy half-bloods to the rest of the world."

Flitwick seemed to mull over the words. "Britain is really the worst of the lot. Most other countries are quite a bit more progressive." He sighed. "But, I guess they do deserve a kick in the pants every now and again. Especially after that horrid article," he mumbled, before sighing. Looking Harry up and down he eventually gave his final approval. "Quite frankly, Mr. Evans, rather than simply being in awe of your talent, your progress has been beginning to seem more terrifying than wondrous recently. Let's meet on the weekend, assess your abilities and start working on the basics, but for now, shoo. I have a class to teach," the man finished and demonstratively waved Harry away.

"You won't regret it, professor," Harry said with a smile and left, satisfied that he'd secured himself another expert invested in making him a better fighter.

Leaving the classroom he passed through a waiting throng of students who he'd shared charms classes with last year. The second-year Ravenclaws and Slytherins. They glared at him as he walked through them, but they were too beneath his notice for him to bother meeting any of their gazes.

The one jinx someone tried to shoot at him once he'd exited the crowd, he simply side-stepped, without looking back. His magical sense had alerted him to the slow-moving beam, which splashed harmlessly on a suit of armour, instead of on his back.

He heard the incredulous whispers that erupted from behind him but was too focused on planning out a training schedule in the Room of Requirement to really focus and make out the words spoken.

It was time to let go of the responsibility of knowledge. It wasn't his job to worry about Horcruxes and dark lords. It was time to let go of anxiety and let the adults handle the situation. Let the wizarding world deal with the problems they'd created, and give him the time to focus on what was really important.

His magic.

Chapter Text

For all intents and purposes, things had been going rather well for Harry Evans in recent times. Having received private instructions and promises of such from very talented individuals indeed, all evidence pointed to his future development as a very powerful and skilled wizard. However, a new moon followed shortly after his discussion with Flitwick, and with this moon had come a disaster which had shaken Hogwarts to the core.

"A moment of silence, please," Dumbledore bade into the Great Hall, of which the colourful house banners had for the day been replaced by black. Harry, alongside his neighbours at the Hufflepuff table, lowered his head and closed his eyes, following the headmaster's direction to think of the dead.

He hadn't known the family that had been ruthlessly slaughtered by the werewolf in Hogsmeade, he hadn't even ever been to Hogsmeade. But it was a tragic fate indeed to hear once a howl from inside one's house and then to watch your loved ones be ripped apart while you tried desperately to prevent the slaughter and fail.

By all accounts, those had been the last moments of Edgar Huntley, an American wizard who'd moved to Britain for his wife and his three children. It wasn't information that Harry had known before, but considering how tightly the Daily Prophet had bit into this story, it was hard to escape from the ever-escalating focus put on this rogue werewolf apparently intent on haunting the British isles and who was moving closer and closer to Hogwarts as it did so.

Sharing a disquieted look with Penny after the respectful silence ended, they both sat and stared listlessly at the food delivered upon the tables as dinner. Cedric made some abortive gestures to load a few cuts of veal onto his plate, mumbling about training but stopped once he remembered that training had been cancelled for the day.

Harry's eyes kept wandering to the second page of the Daily Prophet, one of many littering the table, open on various stages.

'Minister Crouch: "A new bill to more tightly constrain the movement of Britain's werewolf population is becoming more necessity than a possibility,"' the man said, before promising to catch the werewolf with the help of senior Aurors and the Department of Magical Creatures.

In a very callous manner, perhaps, Harry considered that he should pay attention to reveal his patronus in the newspaper when the moon cycle was further away from the full moon. If another attack were to occur, then surely his exposition would be found on one of the latter pages.

Disgusted with the direction his thoughts were heading, Harry abruptly stood up from the table. For all that, this werewolf business did not concern him and he did not want to get involved, and for all that he was perfectly happy to remain in the castle indefinitely, unlike those already complaining about the cancelled Hogsmeade trips, the discourse still worried him.

In a way he was beginning to understand the distaste the magical population had on lycanthropes. It was scary to consider the existence of a person, who might under the light of the full moon turn into a ravenous beast, intent only on ruining his fellows and devouring their flesh.

"You coming?" he muttered to Penny, who was staring listlessly into her silver plate, seemingly gazing at her reflection.

"Dinner?" she queried weakly.

"Do you have an appetite?" Harry retorted, at which the girl nodded and stood up.

"Cedric?" Harry asked, but the boy preempted the question by beginning to force food into his mouth in a mechanical and unnatural manner more befitting a robot.

"The atmosphere is like a funeral, and it is a funeral. I can't believe they still haven't caught the beast," Harry muttered to Penny as they left the great hall.

"It's not as easy as it seems," the girl replied sullenly. "You can't detect a werewolf once it reverts back to a human. It could be anyone. This whole thing feels like a children's story. Like one big warning not to open the door to anyone on the full moon, or even to leave the house."

"It makes me worried about my family, despite the fact that they're all the way south in London and knowing they're more likely to die in a car crash," Harry admitted.

"This is horrible, I don't have the words," Penny murmured and they aptly stopped speaking. Her great sense of empathy now being a detriment as everyone around them grieved and suffered.

"We can only distract ourselves and wait for this to be over. We're only second-years. There's literally nothing we can do."

"You said you wanted to try to brew some potions," Penny suggested lethargically. "I thought you didn't want to anymore. Now that your grade is a comfortable A in the subject."

"Not much to write home about, but yes, there is some stuff I want to brew," Harry muttered. The both of them silently struck the way to the room in which Penny, currently, was mostly doing her potion experiments and whatnot. For all that the castle was cut of the same stone everywhere, it was always possible to orient oneself on the paintings.

For example, Harry knew the exact position of the painting of a snake devouring the world which was hanging on one of the walls they passed, and through this knowledge, he could find his way to where he needed to go.

"The Draught of the Living Dead is supposed to be difficult," Penny worried as they walked.

"The instructions passed on by the half-blood prince should be helpful," Harry reassured her. "I'll do the Wiggenweld then, and help you in the incubation phases."

They walked in silence after that, knowing that the requisite ingredients had already been gathered with the assistance of Slughorn. Harry was curious about the fact that Penny didn't at all seem interested in why he wanted to brew again, after so long a hiatus, but decided that it was best not to ask. It was perhaps due to the subduedness of their steps, in light of recent events, that they managed to sneak up on a conversation around the corner, on the fourth floor, without the speakers having noticed their approach.

"I told you I'd find some sort of work in Britain if only you didn't!" a male voice exclaimed.

"It's the only thing I ever wanted to do! Why do I have to sacrifice my dream, when it doesn't even involve having to leave the country!" a female voice, that of Tonks, responded.

"Because I want us to be alive. Aurors are currently out and about seeking deadly beasts. Professor Potter looks like he hasn't slept in days," the other voice replied, more calmly. Not having talked to the boy much, Harry still suspected it belonged to Charlie Weasley, Tonk's current boyfriend.

"Someone has to do it," Tonks said.

"Why you, you're not Potter or Black, you might-"

"So I'm not good enough, is that it!?" Tonks screamed. "Why would I be? Untalented clumsy Tonks, she'd trip right into a werewolf's mouth if you let her," she said angrily.

"I didn't mean to-," Charlie began, but was cut off again.

"I don't care what you meant," Tonks sobbed. The conversation stopped before quick footsteps left the corner at which the conversation had occurred behind.

"Wait!" Charlie shouted, before similarly running off.

Harry shared an awkward glance with Penny.

"Young love, am I right?" he asked, as they waited for the footsteps to disappear completely.

"Well, I hope whoever I end up dating supports my dreams. Being a Potions Mistress is also dangerous," Penny muttered with a red face as they started walking again.

"There's no point to life if you're not chasing your dreams. Just a bunch of regrets and laments," Harry said. He thought about how the only years of his life that he'd ever truly regretted, had been those he'd spent not pursuing a goal close to his heart. So introspective was he, that he did not notice the hopeful look Penny gave him after he uttered those words.

"What's your dream then?" the girl asked eventually, as they entered the room that she used for her brewing.

Harry considered while he put down his satchel. He hadn't really thought much about what dream he had in this world, but beyond simply surviving the answer was actually quite clear. Magic was wonderful and the one thing he didn't think he could ever live without again. It brought immediate gratification to pursuits related to its discovery and strengthening, which was a rare pleasure indeed when one was doing something actually meaningful.

"Magic is my dream. I want to continue exploring it for the rest of my life," he answered.

"A family?" Penny asked, as she set up her workplace, and made an additional one for Harry to make his potion in.

Harry had indeed wanted a family, back in his old life. Now, he wasn't so sure anymore. It wasn't something he wanted to think about. He wasn't even sure if he ever wanted to be in a long-term committed relationship again.

"I'm twelve, Penny. I have a family," he thus answered. "You?"

"I'm thirteen already," she said, avoiding the topic. They put the personal matters aside and started working. Penny on the draught of the living dead, which was a potion that could put whoever drank it into an eternal sleep. It was a poison, essentially, and it would do Harry good to try and sense it in contrast to the regenerative draught he was creating. He wanted to see if he could distinguish the two brews into good and bad, dark and light, essentially. His time frame for clearing the Room of Requirement remained tight. He wanted to help his friends by next year, use it to further themselves, like he had. Also, he wanted to off-load the responsibility of his meta-knowledge, and for that, he needed the Diadem Horcrux, if it did indeed exist in this world. He would start with Potions, but hopefully, by the end of the year, he could manage what he needed to do.

They brewed in silence for a while, Penny reading extensively from her notes and those of the half-blood prince, while Harry stubbornly stuck to the instructions of the textbook. He'd been improving his brewing recently, to acceptable levels, but every time he went off script it just messed him up further, even if it had technically been supposed to help the potion be more potent.

"Book says I can test potency by dropping in a leaf," Penny murmured at some point.

Harry dropped the Murlock Sap into his cauldron unceremoniously, letting the disgusting green sludge sink to the bottom of the cauldron. Then he turned off the flame and walked over to the window of the room that was already open. They were quite high up in the castle, but he thought it would be possible, he mused as he looked out the window and stretched out his right arm, wand in hand, to point at the forbidden forest.

"What are you doing?" Penny asked in a worried tone and came over to hold onto Harry by the robes, seemingly afraid that he would plummet to his death.

"Getting you a leaf," Harry replied, before concentrating on the spell he wanted to cast. "Accio leaf," he cast and looked expectantly at the big green blot that was the forest. Naturally, a leaf would have been too small and too green to really see against such a background at first, so he patiently waited. But it never arrived.

He turned his head to Penny, "I don't think-," he started to say, before something flew violently into his ear, causing him to fall into the room, tumbling to the floor in a pile with the other Hufflepuff. Lying thus atop Penny, looking her in the eyes as he did so, while she struggled for breath, he plucked the mysterious object out of his ear and held it up for both of them to see.

"It worked," he exclaimed happily as he waved around the oak leaf.

"Get off," Penny forced out, tears coming to her eyes as she tried to shove him off her.

Noticing the compromising position they were in, Harry rolled to the side and handed the leaf to Penny. "Sorry about that," he said.

She looked at him warily as she backed off towards her simmering cauldron filled with pink liquid. "Don't worry about it," she muttered, before curiously dropping the leaf into her potion. They both watched as it landed for a second on the surface before it disintegrated into little flakes which drifted upwards alongside the fumes of the potion.

"Maybe you should try to advance a year in Potions, that was a sixth-year brew," Harry mused.

Penny blushed and glanced at his potion, which had finished dissolving the sap and now rested at an acceptable level of light green. Muddy green, in this case. "You also did well," she praised.

Harry rolled his eyes and they both bottled their potions, getting about a dozen vials of each. "No, really," he insisted.

"It's mostly due to the half-blood prince, he inspired me to start to make changes to the process and to think more critically about the instructions," she deflected. "It's also because of you, your work ethic rubbed off on me. I didn't even realise that you could spend so much of your free time on extra-curricular projects and have so much fun doing it until I saw you go through it."

"Well, most spells I've learned have also been in thanks to the person who created them. Does show-casing those spells to advance grades make me undeserving somehow?" Harry teased.

"What would I even need to do to advance?" Penn asked, seemingly opening up to the idea.

"Well, in my experience you'd need to be able to do this year's curriculum to an Outstanding level, next year's to a level that Exceeds Expectations and then showcase two or three things completely beyond your years, such as the Drought of the Living Dead, or any other NEWT-level potion," Harry said.

Penny blinked in surprise. "That doesn't sound that hard," she exclaimed. "I can already do most of that."

Harry could only shrug. "It isn't that hard. I mean, look at it this way. If you count classes plus homework, we spend about four hours every week on Potions. That means that in a school year, we work on the subject for about 120 hours. You, I know, do at least an additional nine hours of experimentation a week. Essentially, you've had as much practice in making potions as a fourth-year already."

"I also make them at home," Penny mused.

"It would probably help you get a good apprenticeship if you manage to skip a class."

"You're right, I'll think about it. I don't really mind brewing a potion I already know in class since it allows me to experiment on it, but maybe it would be a good idea," she said. Then she turned her attention to their collection of vials.

"Now. Wanna tell me what you want with these potions?" she asked.

Harry shrugged and stepped up to the table with the vials. He closed his eyes and hovered a hand over the two different sets of potions. He grinned as he felt a small difference in the magic between the two. One was safe, the other one wasn't. It made sense that his ability distinguished the two sets by safety, that was what he was mostly concerned about, after all.

"Well, it's always good to have some healing potions on hand," Harry said. "And if we ever have to break into a corridor guarded by a Cerberus, I think we should be able to make it fall asleep by giving it a steak laced with the drought of the living dead. In case the music doesn't work," he said as he took the vials and put them into his satchel, leaving Penny some of them as well.

"Harry, what Cerberus?" the girl asked, clear exasperation in her tone.

Harry only laughed and made to leave the room. "You should practise your potions, miss overachiever," he said.

"Harry! What Cerberus?" Penny screamed after him as he exited the room and shut the door.

Chapter Text

Harry was doodling on the mock test that Vector had given the class. For once it wasn't because he'd solved the entirely quite easily and now had extra time until the time ran out. Oh, sure, such had been the case for nine of the ten questions, but for the tenth one he didn't even know how to start. So he just left it out and started waiting. Of course that had gotten boring at some point so there he was, doodling little birds on the side of the paper.

"Time's up," Vector announced after a few more minutes of tense silence and excited scratching of quills on parchment. "That was a simulation of the final exam of the year, with material that we've already covered. Do try to keep in mind that the length will only become more extensive," she warned. "Exchange your parchment with your neighbour. Your homework is to grade each other, honestly, and to complete the tasks you didn't manage to do now. No, I won't be checking, it's your future you're playing with if you don't do it," she finished.

Sounds of shuffling resounded through the rather barren classroom, and Harry exchanged his parchment with his bench neighbour. A heavy-set Gryffindor who liked Gobstones, and Arithmancy. He was the only one in class who regularly did better than him at the exercises and mock exams. He tended to throw Harry a condescending smirk whenever he did so. The boy looked down at the exam, saw that the tenth question was left blank, and sent Harry one of his smirks, to which the second-year could only roll his eyes.

"You won't have much to correct," the Gryffindor boasted, before packing away his things and leaving.

"Evans, stay behind," Vector announced once most of the students had left. Harry and a few others were still there, being slow in their steps. But the others quickly shuffled out at the professor's announcement.

"What's up, professor?" Harry asked as he stepped up to the woman's desk, behind which she'd sat down, observing him. Not having any delusions about the common school-boy fantasy of being told to stay behind for 'remedial lessons', by the hot young teacher, he knew that the topic of conversation was likely to be annoying.

"You've been slacking," Vector accused and frustratedly tousled her brown hair, removing even more of it from the bun that she seemingly only applied once per day, in the morning. "What's this about duelling? Flitwick recently came and asked me about your grades."

"I haven't been slacking, professor," Harry defended himself. He hadn't indeed, and had a work schedule more brutal than ever, especially with Flitwick now about to add to it. He even had a short session with James right after this.

"Please, we both know the steady stream of EEs you've been getting is much below your actual ability. They certainly don't Exceed my Expectations," Vector huffed.

"Considering I advanced two grades, instead of one, I think an EE is a perfectly acceptable grade," Harry retorted, at which Vector rolled her eyes.

"We're both filthy half-bloods, boy, with a muggle education to boot, one that most of them don't have... Be honest with me. Why aren't you putting in the effort? I won't be mad," she asked, angrily puffing at her cigarette.

Entranced for a moment by the way her lips pressed around the tip of the thing, and how her mouth opened to let out the smoke after, Harry decided to be truthful. It wasn't like it mattered.

"I thought you knew of my muggle academic record. Grades good enough to pass, but nothing out of the ordinary, other than my age."

Vector waved him to go on.

"Well, that's just my attitude to subjects that aren't my priority at the moment. I study enough to comfortably pass, which for arithmancy is about an hour a week, and then I focus on other stuff."

"That's sad, Evans, very sad, you have talent, you know."

Harry's eyes glinted with some anger, he always felt like he was being treated like a fool when other people felt that they had the right to tell him what to put his focus on. "With all due respect," he thus began, "when one has as many talents as I, one has to be selective as to which ones to focus on."

The professor blinked at him, before throwing her head back to laugh. "I think it's the first time I see you being openly arrogant about your academic achievements," she said with a tight smile that indicated her enjoying him doing so. What does your schedule actually look like, I wonder, if you claim you don't have the time? Flitwick hasn't even been teaching you yet."

Harry frowned.

"Relieve my curiosity," Vector prodded.

Harry considered how his average day looked before answering. "Well, classes usually last from morning until the afternoon. I always try to finish the homework in the breaks in between, or before, and after lunch. If that doesn't work out I spend about an hour in the library after the last class finishing up and shortly revising my notes, reading a few sentences of any recommended literature. Then I usually practise some extra-curricular stuff until dinner. For dinner, I eat with my friends and hang out with them for a bit, and then until curfew, I again go back to my extra-curricular activities until I go to sleep.

Vector blinked, some ash gently floating from the cigarette in her mouth onto her sleeve.

"Weekends?" she asked.

"Well, some time with friends, a bit outside and sometimes a quidditch match, the rest of this is magic."

"So, what. One hour a day during the week and four a day during the weekend. You only give yourself 13 hours of free time a week?" she asked.

Harry frowned. "Of course not. Any time not studying or working on magic is time off. I sleep for eight hours a day, eat for cumulatively one and a half, and walking between destinations in this huge castle takes me at least another hour a day. Then I hang out with my friends, making my life perfectly balanced. 12 hours of free time, twelve hours of work. The whole thing is flawed anyway, I don't consider magic to be work, it is also my free-time activity," he argued. Although, he did have to admit that while he was learning to really love magical combat, the practice itself was quite difficult.

Vector just stared at him, having abandoned her cigarette with a vanishing wave of her wand.

"And all of this extra-curricular activity, it's currently being focused on?"

"Duelling and some specific Charms," Harry answered.

"I was really hoping you'd try to make another spell this year, it would have been great fun," Vector eventually said with a sigh.

"Maybe next year," Harry said non-committedly.

"Well, I'm curious how far you'll go with duelling if this is how much time you're willing to invest in it," Vector mused, before waving him off. Harry took the cue to leave, he had a session with James, and it was time to focus on attacking, rather than defending for once.

"Go then, I'm sure that in your calculation this talk was put under the free-time category, I'm happy to have been your respite," the woman joked.

-/-

Harry entered the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom as if he owned it, without knocking. It was the first time he'd done so, which was why perhaps it was specifically this time that he caught James sitting at his desk and looking intently at some sort of large parchment spread across it.

"Harry, I wasn't expecting you quite yet," the man said with a fake cheer as he quickly folded the parchment and stuck it into his pocket, standing up.

Had that been the Marauder's Map? Harry wondered with a tilted head. It would make sense for James to have it, considering that it was probably something very useful for exploring Hogwarts, and presumably looking for the source of the curse upon the defence position, which the man was here for.

"You look like shit." Was the first thing that came to mind upon looking more closely at the Auror. Bags under his eyes, haggard and a distant pained look in his eyes. James looked like he'd seen better days.

"Thanks," James drawled sarcastically, before looking Harry up and down, no hint of the pained look that sometimes accompanied the gesture. "You look the same as always?" the man muttered.

"Well," Harry started with a sad sigh. "I'm really grateful you have someone like me to trade in an hour of instruction in return for two hours of correcting essays. I don't know how you'd manage without me."

"Truly, I don't know, you truly are the annoying little brother I never wanted," the man joked. "Continue the drill again?" he followed up.

Considering his answer, Harry thought of the progress they'd made with the basic drill that forced him to explode, untransfigure and dodge at an ever-increasing speed. He wasn't deluded enough to think that he was pushing James to cast anywhere close to his full potential, but he thought that he'd gotten quite far.

Far enough to face some kids who hadn't even graduated from their respective academies yet at least. He considered the session he was to have with Flitwick quite soon. It was unlikely that the man would send many transfigurations at him, so perhaps it would be a smart move to learn something that might surprise the man.

"Can we do something offensive today? We've been working on defence for a very long time now," Harry proposed.

His instructor idly cleared the tables and set up some shimmering wards, which were invisible to the naked eye, but Harry could start to feel the constant thrum of magic and youthful spirit coming off of the castle itself.

"Flitwick recently came to me to ask about your progress in class. Told me about your desire to be a duellist," James started, while he tapped his foot. "Is that what you want to do after Hogwarts, duel?"

Rolling his arms to prevent any stiffness from impeding him, Harry walked into the created circle and shrugged. "Seems like a fun thing to try at least. I don't know what I want to do directly after Hogwarts yet. Travel, probably."

"You know, I think you'd make a good auror. Although, from what I hear, you'd have to get your Potions grades up," James mused.

"I'm sure the academy would make an exception for someone with a duelling trophy."

"It's become a very prestigious profession, it might not be that easy."

"I'm sure I'll find some high-ranking auror to write me a recommendation letter if I choose to apply."

"Maybe," James muttered, before shaking his head. "Anyway, to the lesson." He started pacing around the area he'd cleared, tapping his wand against his chin. "As you've seen, Transfiguration offers some very powerful avenues of attack. You can use it to create a variety of autonomous combatants to attack your opponent. It can be used to create very powerful golems, which, if you're any good at Charms, can become quite indestructible, or, if you're good enough at Transfiguration, self-regenerating. Anyway, the possibilities are endless."

"Issue is I can't do anything like that yet," Harry said.

"Issue is also, that if you want to use Transfiguration in the duelling circuit, you're not going to have any material, so you'll have to conjure whatever you want to use," James added.

The second-year frowned and wondered if he should bother wasting the precious time he had with James on something he likely couldn't even do yet. He decided to let the man tell him his own conclusion, however.

"Do you understand why some people have a preferred animal which they transfigure in high-stress situations?" James suddenly asked.

Harry considered the variety of animals the man tended to throw at him, before coming to the conclusion. "Familiarity, if you feel a particular connection with an animal it's easier to create it. Also, if you spend a lot of time studying it, you can spend less magic to get faster results."

"Yes, you can probably see where I'm going with this. If we can find an animal that you have a particularly high affinity for, we could perhaps squeak out some possibility of success. Teaching a second-year conjuration is quite unprecedented, to be honest, perhaps only Albus was capable of such a feat when he was your age…"

"How do we figure out what that animal is?" Harry asked with furrowed brows. He liked dogs, but it wasn't like that was the definite answer in this situation.

"One's animagus form is usually a safe bet," James mused, causing both of them to laugh.

"Would a patronus also work?" Harry suddenly asked, causing the professor to open and close his mouth.

"It should, yes." He shook his head. "Of course, the whole thing is useless if your symbolic animal is a bear, because we'll never get you to the point of actually conjuring one in time. I wouldn't even expect someone in their seventh year to be capable of such a feat.

"What do we do then?" Harry asked.

"Do you know what a transfiguration challenge is?" James asked and received a shake of the head.

"It's an official duel between two practitioners of transfiguration, in which both receive the same amount of material to work with and have to transfigure it into beasts that then fight. It's an outdated way to receive a mastery in the subject, beating someone who already has it in this manner. There was this Austrian who somehow managed to transfigure himself a dragon every time someone challenged him. Herzog, or something. He was undefeated for the longest time before the most unexpected riposte made him lose his first duel in decades a few years ago," James mused.

"How did he lose?" Harry asked.

James closed his eyes in concentration. "I think it was an Egyptian witch, yes. I wasn't present at that particular conference, but instead of trying to beat the dragon with brute force, she transfigured her material into a swarm of scarabs, which poured down the dragon's mouth and ate it from the inside. Due to her magic being present in her enemy's construct Herzog was unable to change it. He was quite mad, I heard. Anyway, ever since then it's been customary to close any orifices in a construct, to prevent such a thing from happening."

"Interesting," Harry muttered, thinking about a swarm of flying piranhas, and how fast they could technically eat a human alive. Of course, before he started transfiguring chimaeras, he would have to start with something smaller, which actually existed.

"Anyway, what I was thinking for you is, that the only way we could make you use transfiguration would be if you conjured something small. Something close to heart, to make success more likely. On the NEWT level they start you off with birds and snakes, which are easy for Hogwarts students due to the symbolism," James said.

"I could do insects?" Harry mused.

"I could probably help you manage to create at least one in the forty minutes we still have," James agreed. "After that, you'd have the homework to capture some of the same species, get familiar. Then we could start working on a swarm. After that, we can quickly cover the requisite animation and defensive charms to make the swarm into an actual threat, rather than something which just needs a small heat-wave spell to down. Any preference for the insect you'd like to work with?"

Harry tapped his chin with his wand as he considered the different species of insects he was familiar with. He couldn't really say he was close to any of them, but if he were to think of one that he would hate to get swarmed by, it would be either mosquitos or hornets. Although, between the two of them hornets were likely more deadly, due to their toxin. There existed some species which could kill with just a few stings.

Overall they were painful anyway, even without venom. They also had sharp incisors and he didn't want to imagine how it would feel to be bitten by more than one at once.

"Can Transfiguration replicate toxins?" Harry asked. James just shook his head.

"It's so incredibly advanced that it's not worth considering for another decade, even for you."

"How about hornets then, you know, big, angry, stingers and sharp teeth," Harry suggested.

"We should try it, the first answer is usually worth at least attempting," James agreed with some distaste at the suggestion, at the insect, not at Harry. "Now, there isn't a specific conjuration spell for creating hornets, but there is one for insects. Practise the incantation for a bit, and then I'll show you the wand movement. It's 'Animacreo,'" James said.

"Animacreo," Harry repeated and the two of them got right to work. Harry realised that perhaps he wasn't as ahead in the auror defence drill as he'd thought if James could have sent a swarm of bees at him at any moment. He decided to thank god that he was learning to master such a dark power himself before it could be used against him.

By the end of the session, Harry was able to create a blurry hornet and was excited to end the session on the small victory of having created something that could actually fly, even if it did so badly.

Soon, the world would tremble under his hornet-summoning powers.

Chapter Text

Harry was in his dorm, writing a letter, scratching out passages, inserting new ones, remembering all the minutiea he could remember. He wasn't writing to his family, which was the usual reason he had for writing letters while at Hogwarts. No, he was writing down his so-called future knowledge. What Voldemort's Horcruxes were, their location, how to destroy them, his theory that the man had gone completely insane from splitting his soul that often, and that a shard was likely to be found in the iconic scar resting on Neville Longbottom's forehead. The identity of all the Death Eaters that he remembered the name of, and Voldemort's ability to enter an alliance with the dementors at the drop of a hat.

In a way, Harry was writing down his last will and testament. But, since he didn't really have any important objects he wanted to bequeath to anyone, he was leaving behind information that he didn't want to die with him.

He'd been hiding from the possible contribution he could have had in the battle against Voldemort with what he knew. Hiding behind his fear, that he would be somehow recruited into the battle. Hiding behind the excuse that he first needed to profit from the Room of Requirement by himself.

Well, the age of profiteering was coming to an end.

The hat was well and truly stolen for the year, something only possible with the room's help. Next year, Harry likely wouldn't need its assistance anymore, as the hat had told him that he was approaching a level of Occlumency impenetrable by most. It had been a long and arduous journey, made much easier by the meditative practices he'd mastered before even getting to Hogwarts.

The duelling dummy, similarly, was reaching the end of its usefulness. It was only really an aid for the completely amateur and he was slowly improving to the point where he didn't need it anymore. Especially as he would soon be getting private instruction from a former champion, which was likely more important to his development than the assistance of an enchanted block of wood.

Closing his eyes and leaning back, he felt the enchantments woven into the stone and the way the heavy magic of Hogwarts contrasted against the weak magic present in some of the stuff that his year-mates brought with them from home. His magic sense was approaching a point where he could safely start distinguishing between magic he wanted to be in contact with and magic that he wanted to avoid.

In summary, while the Room of Requirement had been incredibly helpful in his quick development into someone with advanced knowledge and ability, he was approaching a point where its assistance was not going to be indispensable for his development as a wizard anymore.

This was why he was willing to relinquish knowledge of its existence in the letter he'd just written. Today, after his meeting with Flitwick, he was going to loot the Room of Lost Things for all that it was worth, hiding his ill-begotten gains in another part of the castle. He was taking a lot of precautions for simply being in the same room as a Horcrux, considering that in the books it had never seemingly bothered anyone, content to simply sit there. But safety was paramount, and it was because of this horcrux's inactivity that he was daring to do what he was planning on doing anyway.

If he nonetheless died or was hurt in the attempt, the letter would find its way to Dumbledore. If he survived and managed to get away with the loot, the letter would similarly find its way to Dumbledore, so that the man could go remove the diadem.

In a way, Harry was washing his hands of the whole thing, by giving up all the information he had. Perhaps it was selfish of him to have done so only now, in his second year, when he had a professor he would rather keep on the roster, but he was making decisions that could potentially have far-reaching consequences. For all that he had judged the decisions of novel protagonists in the past, now that he was himself at the steering wheel, his life and the life of others on the line, his mind was as jittery as a block of jello and his sense of morality was doing back-flips in his intestines. He was too stressed, afraid, and afflicted to make a good decision. But the time had come to make a decision. Inaction was its own action, and the information he had was much more likely to help Dumbledore than to hinder him in some manner.

He sealed the letter and laid his wand on the edge of where it closed. Spells alighted from his wand, spells he'd specifically sought out to keep information secret. He stood up from the desk he'd been sitting at and stretched, putting the letter in the inner pocket of his robe. He had a meeting with Flitwick now, but afterwards, he would initiate plan "money," and plan, "information of strange origin."

-/-

"Professor Flitwick," Harry greeted as he entered the charms classroom. He looked around appreciatively at the manner in which the man had put aside the desks to create an open space. Something that James always did only after Harry had arrived.

"Harry. Filius, please," the professor insisted from where he was sitting behind his desk, grading some papers. The man hopped off his chair, showing that he was dressed in tight-fitting red robes very dissimilar from his usual garb. Suddenly Harry felt underdressed in his usual black robes. Although to be fair, he'd started wearing jogging pants and a t-shirt to his bouts with the duelling dummy. Robes in general just weren't made for jumping around and sliding on the floor.

"Filius, then," Harry corrected himself, as the two naturally gravitated towards the middle of the room and faced each other. For the moment, not in a duel, but simply a metre apart, to discuss.

Filius looked his student up and down. "Do you think I've never noticed how much you hold back some things that you know?" the man suddenly asked.

"Excuse me?"

"You cast with incantations when we both know you could do without, you hide the fact that you somehow managed to learn a basic level of Occlumency and quite frankly, I'm fairly sure someone of your skill level should be able to manage some wandless magic," Filius elaborated.

Harry stood rooted to his spot and began sweating in place. This wasn't necessarily how he'd expected the conversation to go. While he hadn't necessarily hidden that he could do some stuff wordlessly, and Penny herself had witnessed some of his sorcery on their summer vacation together, he hadn't thought anyone had noticed that he knew Occlumency.

"What gave me away?" Harry asked with a sigh and sat down on the floor, defeated.

"I've seen you do wordless occasionally, obviously. The Occlumency becomes a good guess when one considers your maturity and emotional control. It's the sign of someone who's practised the Mind Arts. There are always rumours floating about how the higher stages of Occlumency grant the user the ability to have several thought streams at once, have a perfect memory and be able to think more quickly. While all of this is exaggerated, the mind is a muscle, and exercising it gives benefits," Flitwick explained.

"Wandless magic?" Harry queried, at which the small man shrugged.

"Nobody that has so much talent, has not exercised magic in their youth. Since you obviously didn't have access to a wand and I know your mother was buried with hers, you must have practised without one," Flitwick explained.

A grimace. "You were at my mother's funeral?" he asked.

"Me, Professor Slughorn, Professor Potter and Mr-, invisible, in the corner. Ashamed," Filius said gently with a far-away look in his eye.

"It's partially because of my mother that I hide what I can do," Harry said bitterly. "Occlumency might help me prevent obliviation, wordless magic helps me react faster if I'm ever ambushed, and sorcery," he said as he brought up a hand and lit up a small flame in the middle of his palm, "means I'm not completely helpless if I lose my wand." He stopped speaking for a moment, before pulling out the bezoar necklace that he always wore, shoving it in the direction of the slightly teary-eyed professor. "If I'm ever poisoned," he explained.

"It always breaks my heart to know that for some students Hogwarts isn't a place that represents safety, but rather danger," the man whispered and dabbed at his eyes with a sleeve after taking off his glasses.

"Considering everyone is running around with a potentially deadly weapon, it's remarkably safe. Ollivander once said that magic is capable of great things, just that great can either mean good, or terrible. Nonetheless, it is great," Harry said.

"Perhaps, but I think that we as a society are much too cruel, sometimes," Filius said with a sad smile. "A consequence of rather incredible levels of ignorance I'm afraid."

"Whatever, people will be people and I mean that in the most derogatory way possible," Harry scoffed. "Why did you bring it up, Filius?"

The professor shook his head slowly, "I can't teach you if I don't know what you're capable of. Just the fact that you do indeed know some Occlumency changes the direction our instruction could take."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked curiously.

Filius considered for a moment, before giving a more elaborate explanation. "There are basics that all duellists must know. Stances, attacking, defending, dodging. However, all duellists worth their salt also have a speciality that falls outside of these categories. Those who know Occlumency for example, can train themselves to act incredibly calmly in a duel, erasing all tells of what they're going to do through their slightly more refined control of their mind and therefore body. I used my small stature to become very good at dodging since my opponents had a hard time aiming at me anyway, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm quite short," the man joked.

"I'm alright with sharing, as long as everything stays between us. I reserve the right to not use a strategy in the circuit if I think I have to keep it in reserve for life-saving purposes," Harry muttered, after having mulled the thing over. There was a loss there if other people got a whiff of everything he was capable of. But, if someone competent like Professor Flitwick helped him further all his competencies, the growth in skill should offset the loss of secrecy.

"Good, I promise whatever you tell me won't leave this room," Filius promised.

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Filius. As for my skills, I guess I can only list them. I'll preempt it by confirming that I know Occlumency, and if there is a spell you think is important enough for me to learn to do wordlessly, I can do it."

"I'll refrain from asking how you learned Occlumency."

"Thank you."

"Well, anyway, it would be better if you simply did all the spells we'll be using wordlessly. The only situation in which it's better to use the incantation is if you need some extra power to break down a shield. But even in those cases, it's better to use the time not speaking saves to send two instead of one spell. Spells that require emotion as fuel often are harder to say silently, so just shout the expecto patronus if you meet a dementor."

"Will do," Harry promised.

"Go on," Flitwick prompted.

"Well, other than that it's just a list of spells. I guess I could mention that I found an enchanted dummy to practise against. I've gotten decent at dodging, having a stance, casting quickly," Harry admitted, deciding to air all his not-so-dirty laundry.

Flitwick didn't look all too pleased with the dummy part but bid him to continue.

"Other than that I just know a bunch of spells. Bombarda, incendio aquamenti, expelliarmus, flipendo, protego…" he trailed off. "I also know the common jinxes, and finite, as well, I can do it wandlessly," he said. Flitwick's eyebrows rose into his hairline at that last admission, and he quickly summoned a sheet of paper into his hand and charmed it to be red.

"Show me," he demanded as he handed it to Harry.

Harry looked at the red piece of parchment and frowned as he felt inside it with his magical sense. It was stronger than the charms he usually practised the annulment spell against. Which made sense, of course, considering the charm had been cast by a professor. However, what that meant was that he wasn't completely sure that he could dispel it. Deciding to give it his all nonetheless he concentrated and channelled his magic. Releasing it in a powerful burst at the paper, he succeeded, but not in the way he wanted to. Rather than exploding the charm that had been cast on the parchment, his finite rather turned it an ever weaker shade of red, before the colouration disappeared entirely. The whole process took around ten seconds and left only one of the two participants in the spectacle impressed.

"Well, you'll be glad to know that you showing me that particular wonder has already paid off with letting go of your secrecy," Flitwick said happily with a far-away look in his eyes.

"Really, professor?" Harry asked, with some doubt.

"Of course. Almost nobody in the duelling circuit knows any wandless magic, let alone a spell as useful as finite. Ignore for the moment the variety of attacks you've learned. The disarming charm and bombarda are all that you'll need. One for precision strikes, capable of ending the duel if it lands, the other, a loud attack that can be used to batter shields. You'll need protego sometimes, sure, but usually putting up a shield means that you lose. Duels are fast-paced with no time for defence. No, the bread and butter of any good duellist is spell-deflection," Filius explained.

"I read about it, but there were no instructions. What is spell deflection?" Harry asked, thinking about the hours he'd spent researching duelling as a sport before he'd decided on the routine that he'd used to train up until today.

Filius nodded. "Spell deflection is the technique of creating a little finite bubble at the tip of your wand and using it to bat away an incoming spell. It's incredibly difficult. Usually finite would not be powerful enough to bat away most spells, but, by attuning it specifically to the spell one wants to deflect, it manages. More specifically, it dissolves the component of the incoming spell which determines its trajectory, therefore, the direction that you batted it away becomes its new direction. Naturally, if you harm the spell matrix too much the spell dissolves, but with sufficient mastery you can even send it back at your opponent."

"Sounds like a powerful way to regain the momentum, if you ever lose it," Harry muttered.

"Or to prevent your opponent from ever gaining it," Filius amended.

"But what does that have to do with it being at an advantage, it's a well-known technique," Harry questioned.

"Well," Filius began, "forming a finite bubble at the tip of one's wand is obviously the easiest place to put it. However, one could technically also bat away a spell with one's free hand, if one knew how to cast it wandlessly of course," he explained and it became clear to Harry.

"The opponent wouldn't know if I'm dodging or sending it back, or what I'm doing. Not only could it be an immediate game-changer, but it could also put them completely off their game," he mused. "But it would only work once," he determined.

Filius nodded, "It's still a clear advantage, even without the surprise factor. But I would definitely save it for an important duel. A trick like that could end up clinching the championship one day. What other wandless magic do you know?" the man asked at which Harry could only shrug.

"I know how to cast scourgify without a wand. Probably not that useful. A bit of fire, a bit of water and some telekinesis," he admitted.

"You do terrify me, Harry," Filius said cheerily as he whipped back and forth on his heels. "I try to hide the feelings of inadequacy and fear under enthusiasm for your future, however."

"I don't know what to say to that. One of the reasons I didn't tell anyone is also because I don't want people to treat me differently," he said.

"Ah, it was mostly a joke, don't worry about it!" Flitwick exclaimed. "Well, it is what it is. Do show me the extent of your wandless magic and let me be the judge if it would be of any use."

Harry then proceeded to demonstrate a weak fireball which would probably give someone first-degree burns at most. His hydrokinesis was likely only useful for drenching paper unless he used it to create an ice ball that he could chuck at people. It was at his telekinesis, which he used to throw a book violently against a wall, before retracting it and making it hover above his hand that Flitwick again nodded approvingly.

"Pyrokinesis is actually the most common wandless magic seen in duels, mostly by those with veela heritage, most good duellists won't be too surprised. The second most common is telekinesis, but it's undoubtedly very useful. You can block a physical projective without using your wand, thus allowing you to retaliate faster," he explained.

"I've started work on creating a swarm of hornets to send at someone as well," Harry mused.

"Wandlessly?" Filius asked with wide eyes, but Harry only shook his head.

"No, with a wand," he amended.

"Ah, well, I'm sure it will be useful once you figure it out, the duelling scene does lack conjuration since it is so energy-inefficient, but quite frankly, transfiguration isn't my area of expertise, so while I can help you integrate it into your style once you master creating the swarm, I can't really help you on the way there," the professor said, before clapping loudly. "Anyway, I'm all excited now, so why don't we get to it, a little practice duel to see where you're at, and then we can work on spell-deflection. It's a must-have, and the earlier you learn it the quicker you'll be good at it."

The two of them walked away from each other, and it was at this point that Harry realised that he might have bitten off more than he could chew.

Because for all that he'd been having a zoo sent at his ass by James every now and again, and for all that he'd faced Tonks, the duelling dummy and almost certain death last year at the hands of Twix… Standing in front of a duelling champion when about to duel was another feeling entirely.

While Flitwick might have been small, and Harry had to look down from where he was standing opposite the man, the presence he exuded was quite frankly, insane. Metaphorically, Harry felt like he was facing a giant. There was no gap in the man's loose stance with the wand unerringly pointed at Harry, seemingly following even the movement of his chest expanding as he breathed.

"I will conjure a pebble in the middle, once it hits the floor, we start," Filius said and when Harry nodded, having readied himself, the pebble appeared.

Gathering up his magic and will, Harry sent a wordless expelliarmus at his instructor with all his might. Only for Flitwick to lightly hop to the side of the red beam and send one of his own, twice as fast. Harry barely managed to duck, and deciding that all cards were on the table anyway, he sent a storm of fire at the small man. It didn't seem to faze Filius, for all that Harry couldn't see him. And for all that, it was him in the middle of a scorching blaze, it was Harry who became pressured, as barely visible off-white spells came flying at him from inside the fire. Dropping the spell to throw himself to the ground, thus avoiding the spells, which had been aimed at his torso, he sent off a bombarda at where he assumed Flitwick's feet were.

A small explosion rocked the classroom, but Flitwick walked out of the dying embers and the dust of obliterated stone as if he were taking a scenic walk along the Seine. Despite his seeming relaxation, a slew of spells, white, red and yellow were sent Harry's way. Rather than trying directly to hit him, they seemed to travel at different speeds which caused them to arrive in front of him all at once, creating such a wide net that he was unable to dodge and had to put up a shield.

"Protego!" he cast desperately, barely weathering the storm, which felt like repeated hammer blows to his shield.

"Shielding means you lose mobility and momentum. Do avoid doing so against a more experienced opponent," Flitwick said and slashed down his wand. The spell that came out was invisible, but Harry could feel the gigantic wave of sheer pressure flying towards him. There was no dodging this, he realised and poured all his magic into his shield. So much so that it turned a bright blue. However, no matter how powerful a wooden structure, it would never survive a napalm bomb. His shield shattered into tiny splinters which glittered as they disappeared into the air. The force disappeared with it, but a barely visible red spell ripped his wand from his hand as he felt the backlash of losing the shield.

Filius caught Harry's wand and walked over to the boy-who-sat-down-because-he-was-breathing-hard. He offered his student the wand, handle first, which Harry gratefully took.

"Lay it on me, Filius, I know that improvement can only come through critique, I'm not a prideful creature," Harry said with a sigh as he saw the man hesitate. Perhaps a real genius would have lost their shit at the tear-down that was about to happen, but Harry's ego had long been destroyed by a variety of professors in his last life. Despite his pathetic showing, he was now the most dangerous opponent of all. The one able to not care emotionally about critique, but capable of integrating it into his attempts to become better.

"Well," Filius started, "you obviously weren't able to show me everything due to how difficult the opponent was, but I would say there isn't a single fifth-year at Hogwarts capable of facing you in a duel. Especially with the storm of fire, the untrained have no real answer to that. However, you're still at the level that when facing the trained duellists you will find at the tournament, you will need to rely on luck to even pass the preliminaries."

Harry looked down with a sigh. "Well, I guess that's fair for someone with no formal training, good even," he muttered.

"As for what we have to work on, perhaps saying that we should focus on spell-deflection first was a bit ambitious," Flitwick winced. "You abandon your stance too easily, and you don't keep it very well while moving. Perhaps we should work on that first, using only single-target spells and then see what's next."

"How did you make the spells travel at different speeds so that they all reached me at once?" Harry asked as he stood up to face Flitwick again.

"Practise," the man said and they began.

It was gruelling, every now and again Filius called a stop, walked over and corrected Harry's form.

However, it was also rewarding, and by the time two hours had passed, Harry thought that he'd received a similar amount of value from the lesson as he had from practising against the duelling dummy for the last six months. Which was to be his homework, practising the stances and his movement ability.

Tedious, but necessary.

With legs that felt like jelly Harry said goodbye to the professor. He wished that he could simply go to his dorm and sleep the pain away, but he had a letter to hand over and a room to loot. Indeed, there was no rest for the wicked.

Chapter Text

Harry was sitting down in a closed and thus dark broom cupboard. He'd been here for a few minutes but expected that his wait would end soon. As expected at some point he noticed a presence at the door and a tenuous knock resounded through the wood.

"Come in," he said, and the door opened outwardly, Tonks staring down at his crouched form without saying anything.

"Nothing to say?" Harry asked curiously, at which the pink-haired girl simply shrugged.

"You're the one who asked me to come here…" she muttered, before looking him up and down more thoroughly. "You don't look so good."

He didn't feel good either, his stomach hurt and his head was banging. Both issues were probably reflected in the pallor of his face.

"You don't look so good either," he noted.

Tonks had dark circles under her eyes and exuded a stressed energy. Harry wondered why she didn't simply metamorph to fix those things. Maybe her powers didn't work that well when she was under pressure.

"Exams," Tonks bit out.

"Hmm, yeah, I've had some of those as well in the past, very not fun," he started. "You look like you're having boy trouble though," he said with a grin, receiving a glare.

"Why did you call me here?"

"I'm going to do something stupid."

Tonks reared back at his admission and furrowed her brows. "You're not gonna, confess, or something, right?" she asked as she inched backwards, noticing the letter in his hands.

The boy scowled. "God, no, disgusting," he cursed. "Get in here so I can tell you in private, you never know when someone is listening in in this castle," he said and set up a muffling zone. Tonks warily entered the cupboard, at which point Harry threw the letter at her. She caught it, but in the low light, the room was only illuminated through slits, so she couldn't make out what it said on top.

"It's for Dumbledore, in case I don't come back within three hours," Harry explained, at which Tonks recoiled.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed.

Harry shrugged. "A bit of that, a bit of this, you know how it goes. Anyway, I'd suggest you wait in this cupboard for three hours. Then run to the headmaster's office if I don't come and pick you up."

Tonks crossed her arms. "And why would I do that? We may have had our differences, but I'm not going to let you run off and do something stupid."

"Who said I would be giving you a choice?" Harry asked with a smirk and before Tonks even had the chance to widen her eyes at the implied threat, and the much more real threat of Harry's wand pointing at her torso, a bright red light hit the girl, sending her into unconsciousness.

Stunning someone wasn't the best way to knock someone out for a very specific amount of time, Harry considered as he caught the limp girl telekinetically, but it sure did knock them out. He chuckled as he gently lowered Tonks to the ground and made sure that she was comfortable. He laid the letter in her lap and looked down at the girl, lamenting how easy it was to take advantage of someone with magic, before he exited the broom cupboard and warded and locked it to all hell.

While this wasn't the best warning system that he could have set up for Dumbledore in case he died during his greedy attempt, it still nonetheless was one.

And quite frankly, he found that he rather enjoyed being Tonks' enemy. She was so reactive, interesting and tense.

Harry's robes swished as he turned and started walking towards the room of requirement. The castle was empty, especially on the seventh floor, which had no dorms. A perfect time to move a bunch of money from one room to the other.

-/-

'I really should have put you into Gryffindor when I had the chance. You and Godric would have hit it off like a goblin and a vault full of gold,' the hat lamented in Harry's mind as the latter walked up and down the corridor in front of a tapestry of a man trying to teach trolls to dance.

"I don't know," Harry said out loud. "I think that I proved my hard work with the preparations I took for this particular bravery. Similarly, the attempt shows my ambition."

'And your greed,' the hat added. 'No amount of gold is going to help you if you're killed by whatever dark and powerful artefact you told me might be present in the room.'

"They can bury me with it, it'll be more gold for the next life," Harry bit out as a door materialised in the section of the wall he'd been pacing in front of. Breathing in deeply he reached for the door handle, only to stop and hover his hand over it as he reconsidered one last time.

The Horcrux had never really sought to hurt anyone in the books, so he would probably be fine. While he could simply move the Horcrux and give it to Dumbledore, it would be safer to just clean out the rest of the room.
Since he didn't want to give up access to the gold and other potentially valuable materials this was the order that things had to be done in.

"Anyway, if there is a powerful dark magical artefact in there, better to check so that I can tell someone, no?" Harry asked.

'You and Godric would really have gotten along. Brave to the point of stupidity, but also greedy to the point of death.'

"I'm finding more and more," Harry started. "That while risking one's life might have been difficult to conceive in the past, now that I'm doing it for very specific reasons, it's becoming much simpler to do so."

'All who gamble eventually lose,' Chanithachuah retorted.

"They do," Harry acknowledged, "but not now, and not like this. For now, until we die, we are invincible," he said and pressed down the knob, opening the door into the room of lost things.

It was a mess, visually, and magically. Towers of items, the odd and the magical stacked on top of each other. Little rows going through, so that one could walk. He could already tell just from what he saw and felt that there were few particularly powerful magical items here. However, it was only those who looked, who found and thus Harry started stumbling his way through the pile of refuse, which the room mostly consisted of. The first pile took him barely a few minutes to sort through.

In the middle of it all lay a gigantic taxidermied troll, brown, hairy, and decisively not castrated. Everything else was just leaned against it. Amongst those things was a seemingly functional trunk, out of which Harry dumped a pile of used female underwear of different sizes, shapes and colours. He scourgified the container and threw in the rest of the useful-looking stuff in it. A magical umbrella that didn't trigger any of his danger senses and two pouches of money, one filled with knuts, and one with pounds. The rest was non-magical magical stuff. Things he could find at any flea market, and which weren't worth carrying.

Harry's fear and anxiety lessened as he methodically moved through the piles of lost items. Most of them were trash, and he realised that if anyone were to possess something valuable, they were less likely to lose it. He threw aside the seventh Playboy magazine when he stumbled upon an actual little treasure. A wand, hidden beneath some statues that exuded a magic he would rather not touch. He wiggled it out of the pile telekinetically and looked at the light brown instrument of potential destruction in his hand. It wasn't necessarily that he had a use for a second wand, hell, he didn't even know if the thing would collaborate yet, or if it had the Trace. But, a wand was a mostly harmless magical item that cost up to nine galleons if one bought it new, so in the trunk, it went.

Moving through the piles of debris Harry slowly began developing an efficient strategy to get through it. He would pick up stuff he didn't want telekinetically and simply throw them behind himself, to the piles he'd already touched. The cursed objects that blipped up like dark shadows in his magic sense he would avoid completely, and the objects that he wanted, he wiggled out from underneath where they were trapped. This mostly consisted of coin pouches and more benign magic objects such as wands and enchanted bits and bobs. Occasionally he would stumble upon an interesting book, but it would inevitably be about either the Dark Arts or just straight-up pornography. He kept the former just so he could read more about the magic his foes were likely to use, but discarded the latter.

Considering how much Harry treasured little curiosities it was odd to see how many he was leaving behind. Robes, boots, paintings, globes and furniture. The issue was simply, that Harry was realising that non-magical things were useless to him because in the future he would just have enough money to buy whatever he wanted. And while he was interested in owning paintings in general, magical paintings struck him as a bit privacy-invasive.

There were dark artefacts all over his magical sense radius, but most were small and seemingly harmless. While he didn't want to touch any, he couldn't help but match some of them up with the curses described in the book he'd read. There was a necklace that probably caused the wearer's hair to grow uncontrollably and which refused to be taken off. A book which prevented the reader from stopping until they were done. A pair of shoes that would likely cause whoever was unfortunate enough to put them on, to dance themselves to death.

Mostly stuff one could deal with. It was however as Harry approached being halfway done with the room, and was coming closer to its back-end, that he felt something truly vile. Looking down the corridor created through the piles his gaze was first drawn to a large black cabinet. The vanishing one. He would have liked to have it perhaps. But considering that it was just a few metres away from a bust of an old woman with a tiara on her brow, he would rather not get anywhere close.

In a way, Harry felt completely and utterly disgusted by what he felt. A hole, in reality, an aberration against god. Sacrilege. A vile concoction of puke and shit would have been more palatable and he felt sullied just by being in the same room as the Horcrux.

'Harry,' the hat said seriously in his mind. 'Turn around and leave, don't get close to that thing.'

'You can feel it?' Harry responded.

'It's reaching out its tendrils towards us. I don't know if it wants to possess or to lead us away, but it's trying to set up a connection through which it can do something,' the hat warned.

Harry looked around, grabbed the largest thing he could justifiably want, an atlas of the magical world from 600 years ago and put it into his trunk.

"Trunk's full, have to go and clear it out," he muttered to himself, but mostly to the Horcrux before he promptly turned around and left the room. Even if he'd only held the diadem in his eyes for a second, not wanting to make it think that he'd perceived its existence in case it had eyes, the image was burned into his skull. A simple thing of perfect gleaming silver. Tarnished beyond comparison. As he rolled the trunk out of the room, not planning on coming back, Harry realised that even in the Dark Arts, there were some lines not to be crossed. The most interesting items he'd taken, had been a statue, an interesting dagger and a grimoire. All very dark. It was disgusting to feel the magic of, twisted human emotions used to harm others.

A Horcrux was something else though.

Harry hadn't previously considered the soul as anything sacrosanct, only having found out about its existence after his death. It was just there for him, for the most part. But now he knew that he wanted nothing to do with it. Its scarring was obviously the closest one could come to a crime against magic itself. If there was anything that would bar one's entrance into heaven, it would be having done something like this.

He exited the room and breathed out a breath he hadn't known that he'd been holding. The atmosphere in that particular part of the room had been stifling in hindsight.

In a way, he was also happy to have seen the Horcrux, because it proved that not all of his knowledge was useless.

But for the moment, he would be happy if he never had to see one again.

Casting a quick tempus he saw that he'd spent an hour and a half in the room. Enough time to stash away his ill-begotten gains behind a crevice on the seldom used seventh floor that he'd found through his nightly wandering, and make his way back to where he'd left Tonks.

'Are you planning on going back for the rest of the stuff?' the hat asked, to which Harry shook his head.

'I risked it because I thought I would find some powerful magical artefacts, but in the end, most of the things in there were provided by students. It's not worth a return trip and in the end, it doesn't matter that much if I have 200 instead of 100 galleons. The important thing is that I have them,' he replied.

'Tell the headmaster about the cursed diadem,' the hat said.

"I will," Harry muttered and made his way to the place he wanted to hide the now full trunk. After having done that he quickly made his way to where he'd left Tonks and after making sure there was nobody to see him, he slipped into the broom cupboard. She was lying there just like he'd left her. Defenceless, snoring, peaceful. He tilted his head as he looked down at her. He noted that she looked much better when she was unconscious. He hadn't noticed but he hadn't seen her face truly care-free for about a year now. There was always some stress, some worry.

Harry didn't quite know what he felt about Tonks. In a way, she was a girl closer to his level of maturity than most Hogwarts students, and if she were a bit older he would say that their personalities would click quite well. On the other level, she was a stupid child chasing after a dream, as stupid children were wont to do, by not doing anything to actually make the chances of accomplishing it any likelier.

Maybe she would grow up soon, he thought, and decided that in case she did, maybe they should spend more time together. If she wanted to after the fiasco that had been this year, though. He trained his wand at her and twitched the magical utensil after taking the letter back, waking the girl up. She woke with a gasp and before he knew it he found himself restrained in ropes, an angry metamorphmagus glaring down at him, in a reversal of their previous position.

He hadn't taken her wand to avoid this on purpose, she deserved to vent her frustrations for serving as his last will and testament for the short time she'd done so.

"What was that?" she bit out and started pacing, as much as one could pace in such small a place.

"I needed your assistance with something, so I secured it. Sorry for stunning you, but there was no other way. Anyone who I can trust to deliver the letter wouldn't let me do the thing I did, while anyone who I didn't, I also couldn't trust to deliver it."

"Why me?"

Harry smirked. "You were in the sweet spot of being responsible enough to deliver the letter, but also someone who I didn't mind stunning. You can be very annoying, you know."

Tonks snorted. "Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. What were you doing," she demanded.

Harry slowly shook his head. "I can't tell you, I'm afraid," he said with a sigh.

"I wasn't asking," Tonks retorted and aimed her wand at him. "You made me a part of this mess."

"The mess is already over, it doesn't involve you."

"You stunned me."

"And I'll do anything you desire to apologise."

"Except tell me what it is that you did?"

Harry looked into Tonk's eyes and perhaps, for the first time, spoke to her seriously.

"Tonks, I consider you a friend, perhaps the way I treat you doesn't fit in that understanding in your head, but one day you'll realise that my frustrations with you come from a place of love and that my japes are my way of expressing friendship. I'll let you in on a secret, which you probably would have only discovered when you became much older." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Sometimes, knowledge can be more dangerous than any spell and there are very few people you can trust in life. I am one of those people, so when I tell you that what you're asking isn't something you should get involved with, please believe me. You can trust me, and sometimes it is better not to know."

Tonks stared at him with slumped shoulders and a defeated look in her eyes. She lowered her wand and herself to the floor. "Everyone thinks I'm some stupid kid, even people younger than me. My mom, my dad, my uncle, they keep telling me to grow first before throwing myself against the challenges I know I'm ready for."

"It is because I think you are adult enough that I am telling you to trust me. Doing so requires a level of emotional intelligence that I don't think children are capable of. To them I would just lie," Harry said.

Tonks wiped at her face with a sleeve and it was too dark to see if she was crying, but Harry assumed so. "What would it take for people to actually believe I could manage what I want?" she whispered. Harry got the feeling they weren't talking about the letter anymore.

"I have a question for you, Tonks," Harry said, causing the girl to look up. She had chosen to not ask further questions, this was clear, so he could trust her with some more information. Maybe move her ass into gear. With her pace of learning, she'd just die against the first slightly competent Death Eater she faced.

Flitwick already knew anyway. So what was the point of hiding it?

He concentrated on a point between where his and Tonks' eyes met and created a small flame, a flicker, barely, but enough to light the room. He flexed his will into a wandless finite, and the ropes binding him disappeared.

"Do you think I'm a genius?" he asked, as the girl's eyes widened to an almost comical degree.

"But- this- even Dumbledore-" she stuttered as Harry slowly shook his head.

"I had my first bout of accidental magic when I was three years old," Harry lied. "It was the most amazing thing I've ever experienced and I did everything in my power to replicate it. Which I did. It wasn't accidental anymore, I could do wandless magic, or in other words, sorcery. It was fascinating, challenging, and interesting. I was hooked. Magic was like heroin and I was a hopeless addict. I practised almost every day for at least three hours. Doing the maths of multiplying 300 days a year with three hours a day and times seven years before I got my Hogwarts letter…" he trailed off as the metamorph's eyes glued themselves on him, as if in a trance.

"That's approximately 6300 hours of continuous, laborious practice. 260 days of learning. Almost a year. Almost 10% of my entire life until the age of 11 has been spent doing magic," he explained, and she saw in Tonks' eyes that she was beginning to understand. He wasn't done yet.

"You think I slowed down after Hogwarts? Of course not, there was more magic that I could learn in a lifetime and I wanted to have started yesterday. Three hours a day? That turned into the time I had free to eat, walk from class to class and spend time with my friends occasionally. I sleep for nine hours a day. The other twelve I spend attending classes and doing magic. This means that with the school year being 200 days long, I've spent 2400 hours of my 11th year of life just doing magic, focusing on magic, learning magical theory and doing magical homework. That's 100 days a year of nothing but magic." Harry paused here, and let his rough calculation set in.

"Talent has nothing to do with it, it's all just hard work. How many hours have you spent doing magic, exactly, and why do you think this commitment has set the foundation for to you become an amazing auror? Or maybe just someone who will be accepted into the program due to her innate ability?"

Tonks looked down at his question, and with the fire he could now clearly see that tears were slowly emerging from her eyes, travelling down her heart-shaped face, and landing on her robe.

"You think it's hard to excel in Hogwarts?" Harry asked, before shaking his head. "It's not, most students barely do enough to get by. With one extra hour a day, you belong to the fifth percentile. With two hours, you belong to the first. With three, you're on your way to being one of the best in your chosen field. With four, well, it's not really a competition anymore. I believe you can be the best auror that Britain has ever seen, Tonks. You just haven't given me a reason to think that you want to be."

"How do you do it?" Tonks asked with a shaky voice.

Harry shrugged. "By all accounts, I'm a shadow of a man. I have no real hobbies and I barely spend time with my friends and family. All I do in my free time is magic and if you took it away from me I would be nothing. I'd have to rebuild myself from scratch. Magic isn't a choice to me, it's a drug. My one and only obsession," he said gently.

"I can't be like you. I have friends, I have a boyfriend," Tonks said bitterly, causing Harry to laugh.

"You don't even need to be half of me to achieve your goals. I'm set to be the next Dumbledore at the pace I'm going. I've never told anyone this, as it would sound arrogant, but it's a bit hard to not make that comparison. You just want to be an auror, a good one, I presume, the best one, I hope. I think that's manageable," Harry said.

"Alright," Tonks said with a sniffle. "This is a bit pathetic. But in return for trusting you, I want your help."

"My help with what?" Harry asked. "I could help you learn a few spells that would get you an O+ in your DADA NEWTs next year. I could also help you create a schedule which would make you an eligible auror candidate by the end of your seventh year, or I could share some unfair advantages I've used to get where I am now."

Harry didn't particularly mind Tonks becoming a better witch, maybe it would prevent her from dying as she did in the original books. And also, he realised with a sigh, he would have to limit his access to the room of requirement for the foreseeable future if he told Dumbledore about the Horcrux. It would be awkward to meet the man while exiting the room.

"All of the above," Tonks said, interrupting his trains of thought. He couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Well, you're learning at least," he said with a grin. "One can never have too many resources."

They parted after that, having determined when they would meet again, but while Tonks left in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room, Harry stayed where he was and turned himself invisible. While had not successfully looted the Room of Requirement for all that he was willing to loot, he now had a similarly complicated task in front of him.

He had to get the letter with his knowledge to Dumbledore in a way in which he could be sure that the man would read it. Perhaps he could simply use an owl, but that method would make him stressed about Dumbledore perhaps not having read the letter, or not having received it. He needed the man to get it and see him read it, for his own piece of mind. This was of course quite problematic, as he also wanted to remain anonymous during this. Suffice it to say that sneaking anything past Dumbledore while being in his sight was going to prove to be incredibly difficult. After all, the man likely had an infinitely more developed magic sense than Harry.

Not having really thought of a solution yet, considering that he hadn't been quite sure if he would return alive from the Room of Requirement until recently, he walked towards the great hall as he pondered the issue. He could float the letter to the headmaster as the former ate, but he was fairly sure that Dumbledore would be able to identify who was casting the magic. This also singled out being invisible in the man's vicinity and shoving it into his face.

Perhaps the only way to outsmart someone who could likely sense magic was to use magical means without them in the vicinity, or to not use them at all?

Getting an idea Harry ran into the library, which was mostly empty on the weekend, especially with exams being so far off. Once there he committed the ultimate sacrilege of telekinetically ripping out the last half-empty page of a book about magical pasta-making. Then he cast the copy-charm and created a replica of his letter on the desecrated book page, thus securing a version without any fingerprints or body oils or whatever. With a small flex of his magic the original burned, and the new version started floating beside him.

He turned himself invisible and made his way now to the great hall, which was currently empty for the most part, as dinner was only set to start in a few hours. Harry walked around the staff table at the top of the room, not sensing any wards that would prevent him from doing so. Of course, it would be a gamble to simply put the letter on the headmaster's chair, considering the man often wasn't present at all, however, Harry didn't necessarily have any other ideas. He did check out the cutlery which was already laid out, but noted a faint protective shimmer covering it, making it seem unwise to tamper with it. Harry didn't want to risk leaving the letter in the open, as it would risk someone else taking it.

He needed another idea. Looking around the great hall he saw a few Gryffindors sitting at the large table and joking around, but beyond that, the only thing of notice was the absolute lack of anything. It was the great hall. Four large tables, banners and floating candles that weren't lit yet. The enchanted ceiling showed some sun and shit, whatever.

What Harry needed was an invisible string. He could tie the letter to it, hook it over a floating candle and then mechanically, without any magic, drop the letter on top of the headmaster while he ate.

He obviously didn't have such a string, but that was the point when he realised that he could just transfigure it, and then cancel the transfiguration once the letter was delivered. He didn't want to cast any magic to deliver the letter, but cancelling the transfiguration was not casting magic, but simply stopping the supply of it. If there was a way to trace someone's magical signature from even the most minuscule spells that they cast, the copying charm would already screw him anyway, so there was no point in quibbling about this now.

Leaving the Great Hall behind him, Harry gathered some materials from the floor and started transforming them into long pieces of see-through string in an abandoned corner of the castle. It wasn't an easy task creating something so long. He eventually figured out that rather than a continuous change, it was easier to change the piece of wood he was working on piece by piece until he got a string that was long enough for the purpose. Having wasted more than an hour, Harry tied the letter to the string and ran back to the great hall, hoping that there was nobody there.

Thankfully the gods seemed to smile at his attempt and the Great Hall was empty when he arrived, dinner now being one hour away. Stretching his telekinesis to the limits Harry looped the invisible string around one of the floating candles, the letter sticking right by it. Moving the string showed him that he could lower and heighten the letter at will, and so he sat down for the most nerve-wracking part of the scheme. Sitting there before anyone had even arrived, holding the string telekinetically so it wouldn't just slap the letter into some unsuspecting student's face.

He sat there for half an hour, sweating before another student even entered the great hall. The Ravenclaw prefect gave Harry an odd look as he sat down at his own table, cracking open a book. This reminded Harry that he could do the same, and so he took out a book of his own and started pretending to read. Eventually, more and more people joined, upping the decibel level and taking the attention off Harry.

Thankfully the headmaster did arrive eventually, causing Harry to breathe a sigh of relief. However, just as he was about to relax, and was watching the head-master amble towards the staff table, someone clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"What're you doing here so early, Harry?" Cedric asked, scaring Harry into letting go of the string. The letter tumbled down on the Headmaster's plate before the latter had even sat down, drawing everyone's attention. The Transfiguration ended, and a stick fell on top of it with a clang as it landed on the plate, further increasing the silence that spread out through the hall.

For his part, Dumbledore walked unhurriedly to his seat with a gentle smile and slowly sat down as the student body watched him in anticipation.

"Oh, a letter? For me?" the old man asked cheerfully as he sat down and picked up the envelope. He inspected it briefly before opening it. The student body had lost interest at that point because if the letter didn't explode upon opening, it was obviously just a letter, not a prank.

Everyone's attention refocused on the upcoming meal. Except Harry, he watched as Dumbledore started reading, and could see in real-time as all the colour left the old man's face. In an action that many people decades younger than the man would find impossibly spry, the headmaster sprang up and rushed out of the hall, once again drawing the attention of the student body, as the other professors also started arriving for dinner.

Harry didn't quite know what to say about the odd way that everything had transpired, but having seen Dumbledore receive the information, he couldn't help but feel that he was finally free.

Chapter Text

The next few days flew by Harry as if they were farts in the wind. After having given Dumbledore the information, he obviously couldn't use the Room of Requirement, which is where he'd been spending most of his time in his second year at Hogwarts. However, his magical sense was developed enough that he could train it just by walking around the magical castle and tasting the different flavours present, and he had started to outgrow the duelling dummy recently anyway, so he wasn't too mad about it.

The room would be there again next year, if it was under surveillance he could just pretend that he'd found it for the first time. It would suck a bit for Tonks, whom he'd now committed to helping, but she would have access for the entirety of next year.

Overall, Harry found himself, despite his sessions with James and Filius, with more free time than ever. In a way, this served as a vacation for him, and having decided to keep this relaxation going until the end of the year, he'd started studying for the exams early. If he had the material down pat already now, a few months before the exams, then there would be no need to study then, and he could simply focus on preparing for the duelling tournament, which Flitwick was helpful enough to sign him up for.

It only took him a few days, at the pace that he usually studied, to finish the theoretical load for Astronomy, Herbology, and History of Magic. The classes really were intended for children, and the rest of the year would just serve as revision. Charms and Arithmancy were difficult enough that he preferred moving with the rest of the class, while DADA often consisted of fun exercises with a variety of creatures and scenarios which he couldn't really read ahead for since the theoretical knowledge was useless without the practical experience. Transfiguration was chugging along as always, with him outperforming everyone but occasionally Cedric and McGonagall looking disapprovingly at his comparable lack of effort in the subject. They both knew that he could advance out of the year if he really tried.

Actually, thinking about it, Harry could conjure two very realistic and pissed-off hornets right now, and would probably be able to manage a swarm by the end of the year exams. Considering that conjuration of any kind was a skill learnt in the fifth year, that might just be enough to clinch an advancement. However, Harry really wanted to focus on duelling this summer, so he didn't know if he wanted to bother. There were a bunch of wandless tricks he could practise that would help him in the tournament, whereas any wand-magic would require him to go to a magical settlement or practice under supervision.

Although, hadn't there been wands in the trunk he'd ended up taking out of the room of lost things? Yeah, there had been, although the question if the thing would even work for him was still up in the air.

He wasn't feeling too pressured to go check anytime soon. He'd wanted the money to buy stuff in Diagon Alley and since he wasn't leaving school for another three months the whole point was sort of moot.

"You look like your thoughts are on another continent again," Penny commented as she walked up to him where he was leaning against the wall next to a suit of armour at the entrance to their little potions laboratory. Although it was definitely mostly Penny's. "Do mind that you book the return portkey."

"How were second-year Charms?" Harry asked instead of retorting with a witticism.

Penny blew a raspberry at him. "What will you be working on today?" she asked.

"I was thinking about working on the girding potion and the strengthening potion. I should have enough time to brew both. They're the most likely to come up on the exam, and I would like to experience how it feels to have super strength or super endurance."

"Do you have enough ingredients?" Penny asked doubtfully.

"Slughorn lets me nick whatever I want, especially since I'm set to pass my advanced classes with flying colours," Harry explained. "I wanted to ask you actually, if maybe you could brew more ageing potion and some more wit-sharpening tonics for me. Maybe a language tonic as well if you have time."

"Any specific music wishes, maybe a massage. What am I? Your personal potioneer?" Penny groused.

"Come on, I help you as well, you know. I get you the ingredients for your experiments and I help with your Charms and Transfigurations when you're struggling," Harry insisted. "The wit-sharpening potion is so useful for study sessions and I recently used up last year's batch, you can't not help me make some."

"And the ageing potion, I remember you having several vials left after France?" Penny asked doubtfully.

Harry blushed a bit, thinking about the fate that those vials in particular had experienced, and had helped him experience. "Come on, it's nice being treated like an adult every now and again. I used them up in the summer."

"I'm not going to help you become an alcoholic," Penny refused.

"I don't use it to drink," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.

"You better not, the last time we…" she trailed off with a far-away look on her face before shaking her head. "Anyway, it's not right."

"I can take a vow that I haven't used the ageing potion simply for its access to alcohol," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.

"Alright then, I'll make the stuff for you," Penny grumbled, "but not today. I specifically planned on working on the shrinking solution."

"You've been making a lot of third-year potions recently, is someone planning on trying to follow the footsteps of their much more attractive and charismatic older brother figure?" Harry teased, causing Penny to mime puking.

"Harry, no offence, but if you were my brother I'd poison your breakfast."

"Well, if you were my sister, I'd eat it," Harry responded and they both chuckled. "Thanks, Penns, means a lot to me. I'd brew them myself, but it's just a waste of time when you compare our results. If you need help with the advancement, just tell me and I'll help you out. I'm not nearly good enough at Potions to offer insights, but I know a bit about how to set up a good study schedule and what the requirements for advancement are," he offered, more seriously.

"Thanks, but I don't really need help with Potions," Penny said with a sigh. "Maybe just keep my other grades up. I doubt they'll let me take the test if I'm failing other subjects."

"I have a spell that would get you an O+ in charms if you showed it off in your OWLs, as long as the rest of your work isn't too atrocious," Harry offered, getting an odd look from his friend.

"Harry, I don't have the time to learn a spell that's so difficult it would get me an O+ on my OWLs. That's in three years."

"It's actually not that hard," Harry said with a shrug.

Penny put a palm to her face and looked at the ceiling for guidance. "What's the spell?" she asked.

"It's the patronus, the only spell that will protect you from dementors and some other very dark creatures. It's Light Magic, which means it requires a specific state of mind to cast. This is where the difficulty lies. It's why you would have just as many chances casting it as an older you would. It's all about being able to bring yourself into a state of happiness which can serve as fuel for the spell," Harry explained.

"Can you show me?" Penny asked curiously, lighting up at the mention of Light Magic. It was probably something used by the main characters in wizarding children's tales. Unfortunately in reality the art was a bit more useless, filled with situational spells for which one usually wouldn't be able to bring up the requisite emotions in the heat of battle. Although, if someone could cast a Patronus in the middle of a swarm of dementors, they could also probably cast a love shield during a fight.

"Sure," Harry agreed, thinking that even if he only managed a powerful shield, it was still something to be proud of. Although, he felt lighter than ever today and the feeling of happiness that was requisite for the spell was easier to bring up than ever. He brought up his wand and cast the spell, "expecto patronum."

A white mist emerged, as always, before slowly thickening into a solid shield, from which sprang, for the first time, an actual animal form. A racoon jumped from the shield and frolicked around the room in the air, doing twirls and jumps, before landing next to the window looking out at Hogwarts's grounds, and dissipating into bright white-blue motes of light.

"That's so cute," Penny crooned. "It was a racoon, right?" she asked the stricken Harry, who stared aghast at the form that his guardian animal had taken. He wasn't mad, per se. But why had the original Harry Potter gotten a majestic stag, and he had gotten a raccoon? An animal mostly known for searching through the trash of unsuspecting humans.

"Yeah," he muttered. "It was a racoon."

"Will mine also be a raccoon?" Penny asked curiously.

"The animal changes depending on the person, it's a bit like the animagus form."

"Are the two the same?" she asked, causing Harry to thoughtfully tap at his chin.

"I don't quite know honestly. It would make sense, right?" he wondered, before shaking his head. "Anyway, that doesn't really matter. Would you be interested in learning it at some point? It's the best I can offer right now."

Penny shook her head. "Let's do it after I successfully advanced. I want to put all my focus into potions at the moment."

"That's the spirit," Harry cheered her on, and they got to brewing.

It was in the usual calm and copacetic fashion that they shared the room, their cauldrons bubbling and their ingredients disappearing at an alarming rate. Harry, for once, was not failing completely, as the strengthening potion had a lot of the steps that he'd already needed for the potions of last year. What he did notice, with his newly developed magical sense, was the way that he and Penny differed in their potion-making. Penny's magic was tranquilly interacting with the growing ball of yarn that was her cauldron, whereas Harry's magic ebbed and flowed, sometimes adding too much, sometimes too little. It destabilised the overall process, but not to the point of catastrophic failure.

At this point quite fed up with the subject, Harry wasn't too excited to have potentially found the reason for his persistent failure. However, it was nice to know at least where the issue might lie. Perhaps he would have a few sessions in which he experimented with this particular part of potion-making, which he'd never found mentioned in any book.

Not today, though. Today he had to send a letter to a certain reporter, who with her animagus form would hopefully be able to sneak her way into Hogwarts.

He would perhaps have been more willing to accept the snide looks that he sometimes got from the other Hogwarts students, particularly those of a particular blood type, so to say, if the duelling tournament he was planning on winning wouldn't have put him in the spotlight anyway. Since he wanted to stay in the magical world and continue learning and working, a good national reputation was better for his future career than a bad one.

Chapter Text

Walking up the stairs to the owlery, as cracked and covered with mouse bones as they were, Harry wondered about what Dumbledore had done with the information he'd provided him. He daydreamed that the man had already gotten rid of all the Horcruxes, went to Albania, and banished the shade hopefully wandering around there somewhere. Of course, the biggest problem would be if Neville was also a Horcrux. James, for all that he was apparently willing to leave his adopted son to pursue teaching, probably wouldn't be too amused at Albus attempting to cast a killing curse at the boy.

Harry had posited all that he knew, and what he thought might be the case with all the changes to Albus, it depended on him what to do with it. It was all finally out of his hands. The ring in the shack, the diadem at Hogwarts, the cup in Gringotts, the diary at the Malfoys, the locket in Grimmauld Place, the scar on Neville's head and the ghost running around in Albania.

He finished his ascension to the owlery and glanced at the only other student present.

Harley looked at him from where she was tying a letter to the foot of a large black owl.

Harry simply nodded at her and started his search for his own owl. "How do you do?" he greeted automatically, not expecting to get anything but a grunt for an answer.

"Classes are fun," Harley mumbled, before throwing the question back at him. "You?"

Harry pepped up. Trying to remember when had been the last time that someone had asked him how he was doing. The question really was one that was only generally posed to strangers so in an odd way. None of the people that actually mattered would usually elicit the answer. Although, to be fair, with friends you could air your grievances, without being asked to do so.

"You know what, I'm actually doing pretty great!" Harry replied enthusiastically. "How's your dad? I met him briefly at the ministry once," he explained.

Harley pet her owl, saying goodbye, as it flew off, before turning to him with a playful smile. "I know. He mentioned you. Said that some kids lived in the library so much that they started treating classes as something to work ahead in. He told me to look at how you studied and to do the opposite, so I wouldn't become a prefect."

Harry huffed. "Considering his rank in the department I hardly think he has ground to stand on. You have to be a real job-ner to get that many promotions."

The girl cracked up. "Job-nerd, I'll have to tell him that."

"Also," Harry added, "being a prefect is the last thing I want. It would seriously eat up into my study time," he explained gleefully. "People bother you about Longbottom, still?" he asked, more seriously, causing the smile to fly off Harley's face.

"Less and less, with time. You set a bit of a statement at the sorting, you know. Maybe I should have thanked you instead of telling you to bugger off," she sighed. "I wish I'd been brave enough to do it. My dad would have loved it, but I guess I'm not brave enough for that, or for Gryffindor."

"You know, the more I hear about your dad, the less seriously I can take him, which is ironic because that's-"

"literally his name!" Harley interjected with a pained grimace. "Please not you too, I thought I escaped hearing that joke every day of my life when I came to Hogwarts."

"Tough crowd," Harry muttered, a comfortable silence entering the owlery. One usually only found between friends. Harry was impressed, quite frankly. Harley was more mature than she'd let on in previous interactions.

"You know, you're not who I expected you to be," Harley eventually said.

"Did me breaking that guy's nose really ruin my image that much?"

The first-year shook her head. "It didn't in my eyes, but the other Hufflepuffs… A lot of people have told me about you, almost as many as have asked me about my brot- Neville," Harley quickly corrected herself.

"People are talking about me?" Harry wondered, he hadn't thought he interacted with nearly enough people for any significant amount of them to have anything to say. "What are they saying?"

"I'm not some sort of rumour regurgitator."

"I'll pay you," Harry offered, drawing a stunned look.

"With what exactly?" she asked.

"I'll show you something cool," he offered, drawing a look of disgust.

"I don't want to see your penis," Harley said, angrily, causing Harry to sputter.

"What?!" he shouted with wide eyes, "I meant a spell!" he tried to defend himself.

Harley twirled a strand of her wavy black hair in her fingers and smiled at him beatifically. Harry realised he'd just been pranked. "Ah, I see. You're funny, you know that," he complimented as his heart rate dropped down to a normal level again. He didn't want to know what James would do to him if Harley had actually thought that, and told the man.

"Which spell?" Harley asked curiously, causing the boy to cross his arms.

"I have several, the hotter the tea, the cooler of a spell that you get," he said, causing the girl to groan.

"Ah, you ass. My curiosity at what you consider impressive is stronger than my desire to see the actual spell," she groaned, before squaring up. "Fine, I'll tell you what I've heard," she conceded. "How big is your ego for you to even want to hear," she muttered in an accusatory tone.

Harry waved her on, telling her to get on with it.

"Well, we already talked about my dad. The next time I heard about you was from that article, about you only getting to advance in classes because the Hogwarts staff was political. Well, he said with who your mother was that it wasn't a surprise you would advance and that the ministry would hate it. He called Crouch an old muppet with more prejudices than brain cells, which he does a lot anyway, but don't tell anyone I said that" she hastily added. "James said you'd make a good auror. I don't see it," she said, looking his skinny form up and down.

Harry knew he was going to hit a growth spurt soon, he better, but a tick-mark still developed on his forehead.

"He always seems hurt when he talks about you. Or wistful. Or angry," Harley added. "Why?" she asked.

"He tried to date my mom when he was in school. It didn't work out, and then she died in the war," Harry explained briefly.

"Sorry," Harley whispered with a pained look in her eyes. "My mum's dead too," she eventually said.

"War?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck Voldemort, may he rot in hell and have his balls tortured forever, if he even has any," Harry said crassly, causing Harley to jump in fright at his mention of the name.

"Don't say that," she hissed, looking around as if there was someone potentially listening in.

Harry's magical sense wasn't that good at sensing people yet, even if it was a skill he was quickly developing, but he was fairly sure there was nobody present. "Any other rumours? Not a lot you're providing might have to show you a Lumos," he taunted to get the conversation back on track.

Harley huffed and put her hand on her hip. "Well, the professors love you. Flitwick constantly has to bite his tongue to not brag about you and I'm pretty sure Sprout has a picture of you on her nightstand. The students…" she trailed off.

Harry meanwhile was sincerely hoping that Sprout did not have a picture of him on her nightstand. It was a disturbing thought.

"The muggle-borns want to be you, the half-bloods admire you, and the pure-bloods are terrified. They express it through criticism. But it's clear they're afraid. Afraid that their agenda will be shown as a sham. The fact that only Neville, a pure-blood, or his mother, a pure blood, were able to stop You-Know-Who, a pure-blood, almost strengthened their beliefs somewhat," she explained.

Harry had to really bite his tongue there, to not blurt out that Voldemort was a half-blood son of a muggle and a squib and that his father smelled of elderberries.

"I'm showing them that the only reason any wizard reaches the heights that Dumbledore did, might have been their effort, instead of their blood. It makes their failure to be anyone of particular importance in terms of magical ability a personal failure, rather than something decreed by a higher deity. They hate me because I am showing them that their lack of ability is their own fault. And by god, do they lack in ability," Harry said with a sigh, not mentioning the fact that while Voldemort had been a champion of the pure-blood cause, killing and terrorising countless blood-traitors and muggle-borns. Well, Harry Evans, with his past, was definitely not going to go against a murderous rampage against anyone but the established pure-blood regime.

Nobody was thinking that far yet, hopefully. Harry was just a student, not a dark lord in the making. If anyone thought that, they might decide to eliminate him before he could defend himself. Perhaps his patronus would convince everyone in the other direction. The general consensus he'd read about people who could use the Light Arts was that they were too soft to do anything truly bad.

Which made sense. Practising the Light Arts was basically an exercise in making positive emotions more readily available in one's mind. It was for the same reason that dark arts practitioners usually ended up as sadistic monsters. It took a strong mind to practise hateful magic and not become a hateful person.

"If you're waiting for more, that's it, you egomaniac," Harley said, interrupting his thoughts.

"Thanks for the deets, babe," Harry said automatically, before cringing and his word choice.

"For your information, after today, I think you're a weirdo," Harley said bluntly.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Harry mumbled. "Let me show you the spell now. I need practice anyway." He pulled out his wand, carefully not aiming it anywhere near the tense girl's direction, before bringing up the requisite happiness. Chatting away on a tower with a beautiful view. It was nice, wasn't it? The only thing missing was a glass of wine and a cheese platter.

"Expecto patronum," he cast to the side, a bright ghostly raccoon immediately ejecting itself out of his wand and starting to swim around in the air. No really, it was doing the back-stroke. Not wanting to exhaust himself too much, Harry dissipated the spell and went for the door.

"It was nice meeting you," he said to the stunned girl. "I think it's the first time we talked long enough to justify saying that," he said, before opening the door and starting to make his way down the stairs.

-/-

Harry sidestepped a blisteringly fast disarming jinx and wordlessly fired off his own, with minimal wand movement. Flitwick simply batted the red beam back at him at double the speed, causing the student to have to dodge again. This game continued for a few more exchanges, before a deflection came right at the middle of Harry's torso, causing him to have to throw himself to the ground to dodge.

This uncoordinated scramble meant that it was his loss. No real duellist would lose against someone struggling around on the ground. Harry lay there panting, as he heard the gentle taps of Flitwick coming over.

"Your disarming jinx has improved once again," the man remarked. "Quite remarkable speed. If you continue like this you might even get it up to adult duelling standards before the tournament."

"What's that standard?" Harry asked curiously as he sat up and straightened his back, essentially coming eye to eye with his short mentor.

"No wand movement, execution in under half a second. Speed?" Filius twirled his moustache. "About the same speed that I'm sending them back at you."

"That's still double," Harry grimaced. "We've been focusing on just one spell though, professor. But with it being the most commonly used one, aren't I just walking into the trap of learning the one thing everyone will be able to deflect?" he asked.

"I've been thinking about a good and reusable strategy that I can impart to improve your chances of passing at least the preliminaries. Once you master that, we'll look further, but it's always better to start with the basics. Will you complain once you realise that a big part of being a professional duellist is shaving off milliseconds of your best spells, rather than learning more of them?" he asked.

Harry just shook his head. "Filius, I haven't even participated in a duelling tournament yet. Currently, you have my unconditional trust."

"Good," the professor nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Now, the simple answer is, just because you know which spell is coming, doesn't mean you're capable of deflecting it. Let's say I wanted to deflect a disarming jinx sent at me by… Grindelwald, let's say. Do you think I would be capable of doing so?"

Harry scratched at his chin. "Well, as a professional duellist deflecting disarming jinxes seems to be a bit of a speciality. So I'd say, yes, but with great difficulty."

"Yes, but with great difficulty indeed. The spell would likely come with such power behind it that deflecting it would cause my wand arm to be blown askew, opening me up completely for the follow-up spell. Let this be a lesson. Spell deflection only works between people either on your level or one stage above it. If they're on an entirely different planet, just forget about it." Filius cautioned

"I'm afraid I don't understand. What strategy?" Harry asked, a bit frustrated. What was the duellist getting at?

"patience, I'll get to it later. Regardless, I've started up a correspondence with some old acquaintances who have stayed in the field, rather than leaving it as I did. I asked them about the level we are to expect in the U17 circuit. From them, I learned that spell deflection was uncommon and that those who used it only knew how to do so for a select few spells. Disregarding naturally some of the prodigies who've been trained by their families since they could walk and who will likely win the whole thing in the end. Anyway, a disarming jinx at the adult circuit level is at the adult circuit level because those beneath it can't replicate it. If you manage to reach such heights, then you can mostly barrage the unprepared into submission. Those whose eyes will gleam at your seeming reliance on the spell and who know spell deflection will try to deflect it, only to find that your skill at the jinx is higher than their skill in deflecting it, thus opening them up to be struck down before they've reset," Filius explained. "Come on, stand up, let's do a demonstration," he said with a clap of his hands.

"Now, I will barrage you with disarming jinxes not at my level, but at those of the average adult duellist," he said as they set up into their stances, about twelve metres apart. Seemingly not interested in giving a warning, Flitwick started swiping his wand through the air, sending the red beams at Harry at a pace that he frankly just wasn't able to deal with. He could dodge one, two, three, before the fourth one clipped his elbow as he was forced to spin out of the way, throwing him to the ground. His wand flew out of his wand and towards his vanquisher.

"You're not at the level of the average foe that you'll encounter yet. But most you'll face should have no issue with just this level of assault," Flitwick lectured as he came over to hand Harry back his wand.

"Now, for the second part, send an expelliarmus at me, and I will fumble its deflection to the best of my ability. Then send a second one as quickly as possible. Remember, if you miss by too wide a margin they will just dodge, you have to aim to where they will be tantalised to deflect and show off," the man reminded as they once again took their positions.

Harry nodded and unceremoniously sent out the spell at the man's upper body. Slower than he'd ever seen him do so, Flitwick swiped out his wand in a grandiose diagonal gesture from upper left shoulder to right hip, smashing the spell weakly into the ground, during this time Harry's second spell was already hurtling at the man whose wand arm was now mispositioned. Nevertheless, Flitwick simply side-stepped, before calling to a stop.

"Do you see what I mean? Had your second spell been faster, you could have won right then and there. If the stars align properly for you, you can put on their ass the first slightly competent opponent you meet, if you play on their desire to deflect your jinx. This will be your homework for next week, practice rapid-casting expelliarmus. I don't care if you have to do it four hours a day to get it to the requisite level, just do so as quickly as you can. The faster that happens, the faster we can work on the next strategy," Flitwick requested harshly.

He'd been falling more into the role of a drill instructor with impossible demands. Harry quite liked it, as this was the environment that he thrived in. Other children might not have been able to just cast one spell for several hours straight. First, they'd get exhausted, but Harry had been using magic for more than a decade now. He could probably just about manage. Second, they would lose their motivation. Harry would just put on some music and enter the flow state with his experience in meditation. Maybe even have the hat on his head to attack him with random mental probes so as to simulate the distraction of a real duel. In the end, it also helped that Harry was training for the sake of survival purposes, not just glory.

"Are we already done?" he asked, confusedly.

Flitwick also seemed confused by the question. "Of course not," he said and looked down at his watch, "it's only been an hour. There's just no point in wasting our valuable time together on just one drill. No, we'll also work on the protego. There is a specific technique in which you can let go of the shield, and it stays up for just one more second. This allows you to bring it up to deflect an area of effect spell, while still being free to reposition and retaliate."

"Does it also get rid of that horrible backlash you feel when your shield is destroyed?" Harry asked and received a nod. "Good, I really hate that."

"Well, let's get to work then," Flitwick said as he rubbed his hands together. The man really liked teaching, Charms and duelling. While he'd been teaching the former for a few decades now, it seemed like teaching the latter again for the first time in a while had unlocked something in the man.

As long as Harry reaped the rewards, he was fine with being the test subject of a manic instructor.

Chapter Text

Harry had been standing disillusioned in the corner of the room in Hogwarts that had been used to teach ballroom dancing centuries ago for approximately fifteen minutes when a beetle finally flew in through a window that he'd opened and transformed into Rita Skeeter. The reporter stumbled in her high heels from the transformation, likely encumbered by the large camera she was carrying. By her method of infiltration, she'd removed the possibility of using an actual photographer, so the pictures would depend on her.

Tilting his head Harry observed Skeeter look around confusedly, looking for him, and only bothered to disillusion himself when she was about to pull out her wand, likely to cast homenum revelio.

"Interesting," he remarked, Skeeter startling and clutching her heart with the hand not holding the camera. "I didn't know you could bring such a big object with you when transforming. Impressive," he complimented, while the woman took deep and calming breaths.

"Shit, you scared me," she said, before sauntering over to him. "My animagus form is a secret," she warned with narrow eyes as she stabbed at him with her pointer finger.

"Alright," Harry said with a shrug. "It was a question, by the way, a genuine one," he stated.

Skeeter furrowed his brows. "Ah, right. I forgot I'm here to interview an academic overachiever. Anyway, it would be quite stupid if an animagus left all their clothes behind every time they transformed. Very dangerous if they did so with their wands," she explained, "most people can instinctively bring these things with them, everything else takes a bit of practice. I think the most anyone has ever transported was a carriage."

"A carriage," Harry clarified.

"Yes, a carriage," Skeeter said with a roll of her eyes.

"I assume you learned the transformation in hopes that it would help set you apart from your peers. Help prop up your failing career with some eavesdropping. It would only help if you didn't register, right?" Harry asked curiously, already knowing the answer, but enjoying the way the woman froze up.

"Remember that I'm doing you a favour here, kid," she angrily retorted. "It stays between us."

"We're doing each other a favour. I get some positive media representation, and you get an article people will want to read, and which the editor won't be able to reject unless he wants to harm his own bottom line. Me not black-mailing you is not something you have to barter for. It is just naturally not something I do to someone whom I have a productive work relationship with," the focus was on productive working relationship. If Skeeter tried to screw him over somehow, well, he could yank her chain a bit. "I'm not a Slytherin, you know, unlike a certain someone," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Alright, alright, whatever," the woman said in an annoyed tone of voice, adjusting her lime-green dress. It had slipped a bit during her transformation, revealing a bit of her lacy black bra. Harry had noticed, as any boy in puberty would have. "Just don't try the transformation yourself. It's hellishly complicated and you need a high understanding of human transfiguration."

"Would be an easy way to get an O+ on my transfiguration NEWT," Harry remarked.

"Sure, whatever you tell yourself at night. Now, show me the patronus, come on," she said, urging him now.

"You don't want to interview me first?" Harry asked curiously.

"I want to see you can actually do it, so I don't waste any time if you're a liar," Skeeter retorted, causing Harry to shrug.

"You know, you should be nice to me, make me feel good and relaxed. The spell only works if I can bring up the correct state of mind," Harry joked. He looked around the dark dusty room. "The environment doesn't necessarily help."

Skeeter simply held up her camera. "Cast it at me already. I think we can make a good shot of you standing with your wand pointed at the reader, and then the spell coming out at them," she ordered.

Harry shrugged and followed her commands, as she positioned him in front of the windows so that he was cast in a halo of light.

"Alright, that looks fine. Now, tell me when you're about to start waving your wand, and I'll press the button," she said.

Harry closed his eyes for a minute, to make absolutely sure that he was bringing up a sufficient amount of happiness from within himself. "Now," he said and heard a click. He started waving his wand in the pattern, as he incanted, "expecto patronum!"

His trusty racoon did not disappoint, bursting out his wand in a flying Superman pose, stopping in mid-air to puff out its chest for the camera, before flying directly at the lens and stopping in front of it, letting Skeeter get a good view of its spectral nose hairs.

"Impressive," the woman complimented in a sugary voice. Her tone completely shifted now that he'd proven that he could provide his end of the deal. "How many times can you do that, so we have some pictures to choose from."

"Let's find out," Harry said with a grin and cast the spell again, and again, and again.

It turned out, after a few minutes, that using the spell eleven times was his limit, after that, his first failure had occurred.

"I just can't seem to hold the mental state for that long," Harry explained later as part of the interview, it seems that the requisite emotions are a more difficult part than the actual magical energy needed.

Skeeter nodded, as she scribbled down some notes, by hand, thankfully.

"What spells do you think helped you pass the test for advancing in Charms? You said one needed to master all the next-year material, but then also show-case some things beyond that," she asked professionally.

Harry considered his answer and decided that he didn't want to reveal to the world that he could disillusion himself so blatantly. "Aguamenti, I would say. It's a sixth-year charm, partially a conjuration. It's what I show-cased and what the examiners seemed the most impressed by," he said, receiving a nod from Skeeter.

"Would you mind showing that spell as well?" she asked and went for the camera.

"Alright," Harry quickly agreed. The more footage of him throwing around spell-work beyond his years, the better.

The interview continued for another hour, Skeeter extracting all the information from him that he was willing to give. Just as she was about to fly off again with her camera and stack of notes, Harry stopped her by taking hold of her hand.

"By the way," he started, "I'll be participating in a high-profile event this summer. It's going to come as quite a shock to a lot of people. I'm talking about international significance. If I like this article, you can have an interview for that as well," he said, adding one last incentive for Skeeter to report on him positively.

Although, he wasn't that worried. The Rita Skeeter he knew was just a woman trying to break into a field which rejected her. Her building bitterness would have eventually turned her into the person she'd been in the original books, but she didn't seem to exhibit those traits quite yet.

The reporter looked at him calculatingly, shaking off his hand. "A deal is a deal," she said, before transforming into a beetle and flying out the window.

Harry was left alone in the room and decided that he was going to turn in early for the day. Play a game with Cedric and the boys. He'd done enough work for the moment. Everything he'd been doing had been giving him great returns, the interview, Tonks, duelling. He'd finally unloaded his burdensome knowledge on Dumbledore's doorstep for the man to deal with, which he'd hopefully been doing if one considered his now permanent lack of presence at dinner. Something that the headmaster had made sure to attend at least a few times a week previously, despite all his other pressing responsibilities.

Perhaps it was kind of the world that let him enjoy a few more days of peace and quiet. Or perhaps it was unfair that he'd been lulled into a sense of security and thus felt the lack of safety all the more harshly when the next horrible event occurred. One that shook the entirety of magical Britain.

A few days after the interview, when he and the rest of the Hufflepuff second-year boys had all gone to bed, they were awoken very abruptly a few hours later by Professor Sprout, who ushered the entirety of the house towards the Great Hall.

She didn't tell them what had occurred, but considering that it was the night of the full moon, it wasn't too hard to guess. No amount of secrecy from the side of the professors could keep it quiet either.

Soon everyone knew that a werewolf attack had occurred at Hogsmeade and that alongside an entire family of four, Charlie Weasley had been killed.

Chapter Text

Harry was not unused to going to sleep in a state of anxious waiting. He'd lived more than thirty years now, and he'd experienced it all. Going to sleep a day before a medical operation, dreaming about having one's sides cut open to remove a swollen appendix. Going to sleep with a family member in the ER after a horrendous car crash, knowing that on the next day, he would find out if they were either alive or dead. He'd even gone to sleep once as a child in the U.S., on a family vacation, wondering if a plane was going to crash into their building as well.

He was used to getting whatever sleep he could get. He'd even started appreciating it as a useful fast-forward button of eight to nine hours when awaiting certain calls, e-mails, or results. However, as he lay on his back in a sleeping bag alongside the entirety of the Hogwarts student population, it wasn't his own thoughts, keeping him awake, but those of the other students.

Whispering spread through the great hall, unstoppable by the tired professors who patrolled, trying to tell people to stay quiet. Students were crying, rumour-mongering, figuring out who was missing. At one point a devastated Weasley trio consisting of Percy and the twins was led out, as it became clear that their elder brother was the only one not present.

Somehow, at some point, it was revealed that the werewolf who'd attacked Hogsmeade had also killed Madam Puddifoot, proprietor of Madam Puddifoot's tea shop, her husband, and her two children.

Suffice it to say, nobody got a whole lot of sleep that night, and Harry wondered about the sense of having congregated in the great hall. Did the staff think that the werewolf could enter Hogwarts, somehow? The only reason a student had died was because they'd been sneaking out for some sort of purpose, knowing Charlie Weasley, to find some magical creature that only came out under the full moon...

When the sun rose over the great hall, blinding everyone with its light which was communicated perfectly through the enchantments of the ceiling, a confused, tired, grumpy and scared mass of students cleared up the sleeping bags in which they'd spent the night and slowly but surely made their way over to their tables.

Harry sat between a stricken Penny and a dead-tired Cedric, as Dumbledore, whom people were seeing for the first time in a while, marched into the great hall, followed by the rest of the professors who were still missing. Not knowing if it was the Horcruxes on his mind, or the werewolf, the old man looked the most severe that Harry had ever seen him. A big old frown on his face, but the facial expression was dwarfed by the sheer feeling of displeasure that radiated from the man.

Magical sense having improved enough for Harry to probe from a distance, he was able to feel that Dumbledore's magic was unrestrained. Leaking out of him. The second year came to the realisation that as one trained to access one's magic, at some point it would become a process as easy as breathing, and something that one would need to learn how to control.

Stepping up to the podium from which the student body was generally addressed, he raised his wand, and with one swish, all the house banners present in the great hall turned black. Contrasting horribly with the bright sun shining down on them all.

"Today marks a tragedy," Dumbledore began, framed by the dark countenances of the other professors already standing at the high table. "As some of you have already doubtlessly concluded or heard, a werewolf attack occurred at Hogsmeade yesterday, costing the magical world five lives." He swept his gaze over the hall, "One of these lives belonged to Charlie Weasley. A seventh-year student, kind, talented and dutiful, he shall be missed dearly, and his disappearance shall be felt by all of us. A minute of silence."

Everyone lowered their heads, even the Slytherins. Perhaps the wounds of the blood war had begun to heal enough for the blood-traitor status of the victim to not matter. Or perhaps the disgust for creatures like werewolves was stronger than their dislike of blood traitors.

A minute passed before Dumbledore spoke again. "In light of this string of recent tragedies, I would ask all of you to support each other, to not leave the grounds and to respect the grieving process of those who have lost a family member," he said, doubtlessly referring to the Weasleys, of whom there were for the moment, four missing seats at the Gryffindor table. A heavy loss, as they currently made up 5% of Gryffindor. "Hogsmeade trips have been cancelled for the year," Dumbledore announced to no surprise, "and an auror task force has been established to hunt the perpetrator. James Potter shall remain the professor for defence against the dark arts, as it is our belief that he can help protect the school the most if he remains within it. Classes for the day will be cancelled but will continue as planned tomorrow. That will be all," he finished, and went to sit back in his high chair and loaded up his plate with food.

He started eating demonstratively as everyone watched as if trying to force everyone back into a sense of normalcy by sheer force of habit alone.

Harry joined in, the first of the students, taking some scrambled eggs and some toast. But in the corner of his eye, he kept an eye out for Tonks, whom he was supposed to meet today to discuss her study schedule. She looked horrible, staring at her plate like a corpse, and Harry wondered why she too hadn't been taken aside considering the very personal nature of her loss.

Did the staff simply not consider that losing a boyfriend would be only slightly less traumatic than losing a family member? Or had they not even known that the two had been dating. It would make sense in a way, as the professors really didn't have anything to look for in their students' love lives.

A flutter of owls announced the incoming barrage, and Harry readied himself for howlers that would likely come, telling children that they better not leave school grounds.

Although, did the parents of the Hogwarts students even know about the attack, and the death of a student? It had just happened that night, nobody had had time to send a letter home yet.

A glance at the daily prophet that Penny was holding up answered the question about when the parents would find out, and he grimaced as he read the title. "Horror at Hogsmeade, really?" he muttered as he started reading over Penny's shoulder.

The article wasn't anything special, simply saying what Dumbledore had already said. There was a slight jab at the ministry though, and the aurors, for being apparently incapable of locating and arresting the werewolf that had been wreaking havoc all over England for half a year now. The whole thing was emphasised with moving illustrations of how a werewolf transformation looked like.

For all the hate that Harry felt towards this one particularly horrible werewolf going on a murder spree, he did feel a bit of pity for all the other werewolves whose image and likely, rights, would all go down the drain shortly. This one monster was ruining the lives of all his contemporaries. For what, exactly?

"You're on the third page, Harry?" Penny asked curiously, as she flipped forward, getting green in the face at some of the graphic imagery on the first and second pages.

"In the mind of a genius?" Cedric asked as he looked Harry up and down. "Mate, I don't know how to tell you, but I think there's a doppelganger of you running around, and he's pretending to be a genius."

Harry simply rolled his eyes as he quickly scanned the article that Skeeter had finally managed to get published. He didn't know if the third page was good or not, but at least this should negate the hit piece the ministry had done on him previously. He looked quite fetching, casting a patronus at the reader, really. Like a really good boy learning all the good and light magic. Some sentences sprung out at him, and he mentally decided to work with Skeeter again in the future.

At age twelve Mr. Evans is already casting magic usually considered impossible for most Hogwarts alums. What exactly will he be doing by the time he's actually seventeen is a question that this reporter desperately wants answered today, instead of in five years. Perhaps Mr. "Call me Harry," Evans will be pursuing a mastery in charms, or becoming a researcher. All paths seemed to be open in this young man's future.

Britain can rejoice for having helped produce another genius, who shall in time join the illustrious line of people who graduated from the gem of the British Isles, Hogwarts.

"All paths seem to be open?" Penny asked doubtfully. "Did you not tell her about potions?" she asked.

Harry snorted and stood up. People were starting to discuss the werewolf article in loud and fearful voices, looking over a friend's shoulder to read the morning edition of the Prophet if they didn't have a subscription of their own. This unbearable loudness and atmosphere were accompanied by furtive glances being thrown his way specifically. This told him that some people had started reading the article about him, too, and that it was time to leave before anyone gained the courage to come over and ask him insipid questions.

For all that he was willing to connive for a favourable article in the country's most popular magical newspaper, Harry was unwilling to waste his time in actually appearing approachable to his peers. The thing with wasting time was that it became easier and easier to do it, the more one did so. Harry didn't want to get into the habit.

"This whole werewolf thing is horrible," he muttered, only loud enough for his friends to hear, and left the great hall. "I'm going to go do some magic, have an additional full day when I can focus on just my projects. Try not to think about the attack too much. It's safe in the castle," he said instead of a goodbye and tried to catch Tonk's eye as he did so, but she was avoiding his gaze.

Today was supposed to be the day when they would have met to discuss her schedule and see if they could get her on track to becoming a good candidate for the auror academy. Naturally, they'd planned the meeting after classes, which had now gotten cancelled. Also, considering the loss she'd just gone through, Tonks was likely to fall into an episode of grief which would make just keeping her previous level of school performance hard, let alone improving on it.

Nonetheless, Harry was going to go practice in the room they'd originally decided to meet in. He had a brain-dead task to do and it didn't matter where he did it. Practising the disarming charm, as Flitwick had demanded. The sooner Harry got it up to snuff, the sooner they could start doing something else. He'd been practising it exclusively since their last meeting, and he did notice the slight improvement. He'd gotten rid of the wand movement completely, could cast it in quick succession and the whole thing was draining his stamina less and less with each cast.

Familiarity bred low magic costs when it came to spells. Perhaps Voldemort's killing curse strained the man as much as a child's levitation charm, considering how much he'd liked throwing that spell around in the books.

-/-

"Expelliarmus," Harry cast at the wall of the abandoned classroom, the Hogwarts wards making sure that he wasn't chipping the stone.

8721, he counted in his head.

"Expelliarmus," a soft red beam hit the wall with a thunk. The sound of stone hitting stone.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

He'd transitioned back into using the incantation after the first hour of practice, being too mentally drained to not use it.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

After the second hour, he'd started using the wand-movement.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

After the third he'd slipped on his magical sensing, the introspection he used to observe the specific way in which the spell formed inside of him.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

Now he was just casting it without any thought.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

Automatically.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

He felt like he was looking at his body from a third-person perspective.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

The casting was completely unconscious, allowing him to hold a completely different stream of thought as he went through the motions.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

The spell wasn't slowly bleaching its colour because Harry was trying to learn how to camouflage it, to make it more difficult for an opponent to dodge, but because his grasp on his magic was slipping away.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

He was on his fifth hour of practice.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

The longest he'd ever gone at once.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

The cancelling of classes had provided him with a golden opportunity to reach the 10.000 mark he'd set as a goal sooner than expected.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

The intervals between each instance were growing longer, not shorter, but Harry knew that once he rested and restarted tomorrow, he would have made immense progress.

"Expelliarmus," another one.

The door to the room creaked open and Harry mechanically turned around, in the same pose, to face the interloper.
8739.

Tonks raised her hands in the air. "I come in peace," she slurred through deeply bagged eyes. She looked like shit. Her pink hair was more washed out than neon, and she looked like someone had shoved their hand in her chest cavity and pulled out her heart.

Harry knew the feeling, intimately.

"Expelliarmus," he said instead of a greeting, as he reholstered his wand. He shook his head, switching to the first-person point of view again, before fixing his words. "Sorry, hello."

"Hello yourself," Tonks said with a brittle grin. "How long have you been at it, for you to forget how to talk?" she asked.

"Since breakfast," Harry admitted, causing Tonks to gape at him.

"I'm sorry for making you wait so long."

Harry shook his head. "I was not waiting. I was practising in a place you might find me."

"Anything interesting, or just the disarming jinx?"

"Just that."

"Harry," Tonks started quietly. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm quite fine, actually," Harry said, surprised that he was getting asked that question and that he wasn't the one posing it. "Why do you ask?"

"Breakfast was ten hours ago," Tonks said and finally entered the room completely, closing the door behind her.

"I guess I lost track of time," Harry said blithely, surprised he'd lost track that thoroughly, but he had been in quite a bit of a trance. "How come you're here?" he asked. "I understand if you'd need some time to come to terms," he said, perhaps more bluntly than it would have been good.

"I wrote down a schedule, how much time I spend in class, how much time I practise, learn, and hang out with friends and…" Tonks trailed off, before shaking her head. "It's not the schedule of someone taking their dream seriously," she admitted.

"Can I see?" Harry asked and got a small roll of parchment pushed into his hands. He unfurled it and checked it out.

There was classwork, a heavier workload than he had currently. Then there was a lot of time spent with friends, a lot of time spent with the now deceased Charlie Weasley. During the week maybe two hours a day of studying and homework, on Saturday four and on Sunday nothing. It was basically how much was necessary to keep up in class when one reached the NEWT level.

"I see," he said and handed the schedule back. "Your grades are good though, right?" he asked.

"O in transfiguration and DADA, EE in Charms, Potions, care of magical creatures. A in ancient runes."

"Sounds about right. If you push an O in the subjects you have an EE in, that would be enough to make you a contender by grades alone," Harry muttered while he thought.

"How much time do you think I'd need for that?" Tonks asked curiously.
"Well, I don't know about your study pace, but if you invested an extra two hours daily in all of those subjects, you'd probably manage unless you're hideously untalented," he said. "I think it would also be smart to work that DADA and Transfiguration into an O+ though. It's the subjects the Aurors will most appreciate. Direct combat potential."

Tonks shook her head. "To get an O+ you need to get like 98% on your exams, it's almost impossible."

"It's not worth it wasting several hours pushing those 2%. I agree," Harry said. "A much better way would be to keep your outstanding performance in the subjects and to get yourself some extra-curricular spells to impress the examiners with. I have one for DADA and charms, but it's probably not the time to practise that. Maybe next year. It's really not as hard as it's made out to be," he mumbled, as he tried to think of a way to impress McGonagall.

"Patronus, how did you do it?" Tonks asked, causing Harry to look up in surprise. "I saw the article in the Daily Prophet," Tonks elaborated.

"Well, practice, of course. I think it took me cumulatively 30 hours to get the specific emotional state down?" he wondered aloud. "So basically, if you start practising next year, and invest two hours every Sunday, you could have it in four months and then go work for transfiguration."

"I don't really feel like I'll ever be happy again," Tonks said.

"I'd suggest just straight out asking McGonagall as to what would be impressive enough for an O+ in her opinion and then working towards it. You have more than a year. If you ask now you could read up on all the theory during the summer and work on the practical part during the year," Harry said, switching the topic.

"Is that how you would do it?" Tonks asked curiously. "If you wanted to become an Auror, I mean."

Harry considered the hypothetical. Naturally, he'd already reached the point of his pedigree where he could pick mostly whatever job he wanted after school, as long as his grades didn't drop completely during his NEWTs. Advancing, patronus, duelling tournament soon.

"If I were in your shoes. I'd try to get all my core subjects and care of magical creatures to an outstanding. Then, I'd go down the list of what is most important to the Auror Academy and try to get one extra-curricular project for the plus at a time. Learn the patronus first. Then once I have that I'd do something for transfiguration, then charms, then potions, then care. I'd go for the professors of all these subjects and tell them what I'm trying to do. Firstly they can help point me in the right direction. Secondly, they have some influence and might even be willing to write me a letter of recommendation. During the summer I'd try to do some sort of relevant internship, or participate in an impressive hobby, like the duelling circuit," he eventually said.

"You have some sort of deal with Professor Potter, don't you?" Tonks asked.

"Isn't your cousin Sirius Black, wouldn't that offer you an in?" Harry asked. "Also, isn't he Professor Potter's best friend?"

Tonks shook her head. "I want to get in on my own merit and while I could ask my cousin, I've never met the professor much. He seems to work a lot, and what free time he has he spends with his son and with Sirius and Harley. They're their own unit. I'm just a cousin…"

"Well, I currently have a deal with Professor Potter where I grade the first-year essays and he gives me one hour of private instruction. If you want I could take you with me tomorrow and you could try to convince him to let you cut some sort of similar deal. It's a good revision too, anyway. Correcting essays," Harry said.

"You would do that?" Tonks asked surprised.

"It's no skin off my back, I can even tell you what he's most probably going to work on first. If you prepare for that, you can impress him. Well, as long as you don't let it slip that you knew about it beforehand," he said.

"What is it?" Tonks asked curiously.

It seemed to Harry that she was using this plan they'd made together, to make her more likely to get into auror academy, to distract herself. Which was actually a good and productive way of handling that. Distracting oneself with something one needed to do anyway.

"I can't replicate it, obviously. But it consists of him sending different animals to you. You have to untransfigure the ones that have been conjured and blast apart those that have been transfigured. You could practise quickly switching between those two spells and it would improve your chances of not getting clowned on like I did the first time we did that drill," Harry said.

"Can I practise here, with you for now?" Tonks asked, and Harry nodded.

"Sure, practise away. We'll go visit the professor tomorrow."

Chapter Text

Harry leaned back against the wall next to the defence against the dark arts classroom and reread the letter he'd received.

It was unfortunate that the werewolf attack occurred on the evening after which your story was coming out. It would have been front-page otherwise. It's still a victory however, and while the department wasn't the most happy that they showed two reporters with different opinions, it's not my fault if they were too stuck up the ministry's asshole the first time they wrote an article about you. I know you liked what I wrote, so I'll be looking forward to the surprise you said you had in store for the summer.

Best regards,
Rita Skeeter

It was funny that Rita assumed he had liked her article, but he didn't feel like pointing it out considering that she was right. He liked it. It was well-written and to the point. It was all that journalism should aspire to be, ignoring of course that he'd essentially manipulated the circumstances into providing a positive tone. In that way, it was all journalism shouldn't be. However, it certainly was all that it was.

Overall the effect of the article had been good. People had looked at him more kindly. Perhaps even with some admiration. All of that without having to personally correct any misconceptions in person, and through that have to interact with a bunch of children.

Considering the success he was even rethinking his previous decision to keep his spell-creation anonymous. However, the arguments against it still stood. It was too impressive, and considering the political landscape most would assume that Dumbledore, or Flitwick, had created the spell and were only pretending that Harry did. All to show the fact that half-bloods could be successful magic users as well and that that attribute wasn't exclusive to pure-bloods. Which was the common belief. For some odd reason.

Another argument about not releasing the spell publicly was also that he'd gotten enough letters already just from this one stunt. He didn't want to even know what would happen after the duelling tournament.

He'd received everything from letters of encouragement and respect to letters of hate. Some had been cursed, probably with something minor like a howler. But he'd just burned them. Overall it seemed that the article had sparked a certain reaction. A polarising one. It was probably better not to feed the flames.

What was important was that there was now a true version of his capabilities and feats out there for all those people interested in the truth. Those who believed the ministry propaganda article when a much more likelier version was already out? Well, those weren't really the people Harry was interested in convincing.

"What did you get there?" A voice asked from Harry's left, and he turned his head to see that Tonks had arrived. He put Skeeter's missive away in his satchel until further notice. He could answer it later.

"Just more letters from my adoring fans," he joked, before shrugging. "You know how it is."

Tonks rolled her eyes at him, still encumbered by deep dark circles and walked past him towards the door, ruffling his hair as she did so. "Are we doing this?" she asked, pointing a thumb at the entrance. She was jittering, vibrating in place.

Harry feared that while Tonks had started taking her application into the auror force more seriously, she was using the endeavour as a coping mechanism for Charlie's death. He wasn't really her closest friend or family member, so he didn't know the specifics of where she was in her grief process. But, as a study buddy and something of a mentor, he wasn't quite sure if any advancement had been made since the news.

He worried about her but didn't know how to broach the topic. "Yeah, let's do this," he said with a sigh, for want of anything better to say. She let him pass as he walked up to the door and opened it without preamble, or knocking.

In one of his better moods, James had once used the short pause between knocking and answering the door to conjure a ball of water above the entrance to the classroom, drenching Harry.

"We don't know what he's after, and nobody I've reached out to has been contacted by him. However, if our hypothesis is right and it's Greyback, then-"

Those were the words Harry and Tonks got to hear as they barged into the classroom, disrupting a conversation that their DADA professor was having with a thin and sickly man. Light brown hair and dressed in slightly ratty robes.

Harry immediately recognized Remus Lupin and seeing him contrasted with James Potter, someone of the same age as him… he felt immense pity for the man. He looked ten years too old in comparison to James, who himself didn't look too great with his messy hair and stressed countenance.

"Am I interrupting something?" Harry asked brusquely, before turning to James. "You know, if you're using Hogwarts as an excuse to have a space to meet your boyfriend, then I'm sorry to say but my opinion of you has dropped. Aren't you married?"

James sputtered, while Lupin let out a weak chuckle. "I'm afraid our rendezvous will have to wait until next time, my heart," he said faux-romantically, fluttering his eyelashes at their professor, before making to leave. "You can tell me about the patrol schedules and your progress with the… thing, later."

Remus walked past Harry and a confused Tonks on his way out, turning to the former for a second with a nod and a sentence of acknowledgement as he did so. "It was a wonderful patronus, Mr. Evans," he said instead of a good-bye, and promptly left the three of them alone in the room.

"I could have just waited if it was important," Harry mused aloud.

"Sorry, professor," Tonks said to James, who groaned.

"Please, Tonks. Just call me James, this little bugger already does anyway, so it'll get messy otherwise," he muttered, gripping his chair and turning towards the two students. "What can I do for you?"

"We had our session planned today," Harry reminded, receiving a surprised blink.

"Ah, yes. That. I'm afraid it will be our last actually. I need all the free time I can get. I've been drafted onto a much more rigorous patrol schedule after the incident," James said.

Harry tilted his head curiously. "I thought that by grading the essays, you would save time by instructing me personally, though. I even brought a friend, who would be willing to grade the essays above my level and below hers for the same deal," he said and pointed to the fidgeting girl.

"Well, it's a bit awkward to say. But, while it did save time in the past, there actually won't be any homework in the future. Exams are in less than two months, and while I would give out stuff for another three weeks usually… Well, according to my experience in dealing with werewolves." The man grimaced. "And my position as one of the more proficient combatants. As well as my responsibility as an auror, I will be the one organising the schedule of the other professors, and taking most of the patrols myself. You'll use it to prepare for the exams, I'm sure."

Harry scratched at his chin. There was something the man wasn't saying. While it would have been a good coincidence to have a competent DADA professor for once, in the one year when a werewolf was stalking the area, James had specifically come in search of the curse on the position. Or did he perhaps know about Horcruxes?

"With all this werewolf fore-shadowing and the curse on the position… I have to say, professor. Please don't get killed. It would be sad attending your funeral," he said earnestly, trying to get a rise out of the man.
While Tonks cringed from where she was standing next to him, James unconsciously bit his fingernails and furrowed his brows.

"Yes, the curse. Problematic," he mumbled distractedly.

From the fact that he didn't confidently crow that the curse wouldn't be able to get someone like him down, Harry deduced that Dumbledore had not in fact been communicating with James. In a way, he understood Dumbledore's decision. If Neville was a Horcrux in this world, then he needed to die for Voldemort to find his end. James, as the adopted father, would never allow that. If he ever learned about the existence of Horcruxes, he might take Neville and flee the country, hiding out for the rest of his life. Making Voldemort, who in his folly had placed his Horcruxes in very obvious places, actually immortal.

Or maybe Harry's assumption that the diadem was connected to the curse on the position was wrong and while Albus and James had disarmed the diadem, it hadn't meant the disarming of the curse. He groaned internally as his mind twisted itself in a pretzel and decided to abandon the train of thought.

"Well, this session still counts. I already graded the homework so you can't back out," he said petulantly as he crossed his arms. James chuckled.

"I won't go back on my word, don't worry. Even if you have been holding out on me. A Patronus, impressive. Unfortunately, I won't be able to offer the deal to Tonks, so I'm afraid you came in vain," James said, seeming genuinely sorry.

Tonks probably felt like an idiot, since the conversation had revealed that up until this point, James would have been willing to swap her help for private instruction. The girl slumped into herself.

"She can have my session," Harry interrupted. "I'll just go work on my wasps somewhere private." He had been neglecting them instead of the disarming jinx. But considering that he'd reached 10.000 casts with it recently, perhaps it was time to do something else.

"You don't have to-" Tonks started, but Harry just slapped her ass on his way out. Which was an effective way of shutting her up in this particular situation, in the context of their non-sexual, but friendly relationship.

AN: This work of fiction does not advise slapping the butts of women with whom you are not currently in a romantic relationship and will not be held responsible for any misdeeds attributed to its non-educational value.

"You need it more than me girl, enjoy the tutoring," he said with a wave over his shoulder.

"Thanks, shithead," Tonks snorted, while James gaped at the interaction that had just occurred before his eyes.

Probably jealous that a twelve-year-old had more game than him.
Harry exited the room and shut the door behind himself, only to stand still and look at the grey ceiling. There was no purpose to be found in the stones, and Harry was adult enough to realise that while his surroundings were experiencing a crisis, from society's point of view, his only job was to pass his exams.

He started making his way to the potion's lab where Penny was probably working. He needed a break from the disarming charm and some ageing potions and wasp swarms would be the perfect distraction.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed peacefully for Harry. He practised potions and prepared for his other exams. Arithmancy was something of an actual challenge, and he was finding that it took about as much time as all the other core subjects, sans potions, combined. It was also, on the other hand, incredibly useful. He was starting to see connections in potions recipes, improvements he could make to spells with just some finagling.

The possibilities were endless.

His motivation was as well.

He didn't do any of the things he'd recently been enabled to do, which would have maybe been cooler. Harry had something that other children didn't have. Impulse control and patience. He was currently at Hogwarts receiving private tutoring from a former duelling champion. Modifying spells, creating new ones… These were all things that would tantalise Flitwick, amaze him even.

But Harry had spent too long getting the man to unleash his inner pride as a duellist and project it onto Harry, making the boy's future dominance of the circuit the man's future dominance of the circuit.

If Harry bounced Charms ideas off of the man, they would have less time to practise the basics. And the basics were the basics for a reason.

"How often did you say you managed to practise the disarming jinx?" Filius asked, stupefied.

Harry closed his eyes and repeated the number that had slipped out of his mouth when he'd been asked about how practice had been going.

"14.581 times."

The professor brought up his hands to take off his spectacles and rub at his eyes. "How, even? I gave you the instructions a week ago."

Harry blinked. "Well. Mathematically speaking, Filius, it makes perfect sense. We met on a Saturday afternoon. After that I practised for 4 hours; starting quicker and ending slower I can cast a disarming jinx about once every 2 seconds. If I didn't need rest periods in between that alone would have constituted about 7000 attempts. However, I do, and I only managed 900 that first day. Which is quite pathetic. Only four a minute, really. I read a lot in between. Sunday was easier as my magic had gotten used to the spell, and I managed 1200 in four hours. Then Monday was off, due to the werewolf attack and I practised the whole day. Maybe ten hours in total. And so on," he explained.

"And you didn't," Flitwick trailed off. "Fall unconscious during any of this? Feel a metaphysical cramp?" he asked.

Harry slowly shook his head. He knew what the man meant. He'd already experienced such magical cramps when he'd been all alone practising sorcery as a child. He was intimately familiar with the feeling and knew when to stop right before it occurred. A bit of rest and meditation got one fixed right back up in about half an hour. It was more of a mental strain that occurred when one over-drew on magic, and that was much more manageable than a physical issue. The mind was more forgiving than the body if one knew how to use it properly.

"Well, don't hold me in suspense, Harry, show me!" Filius exclaimed, throwing out his arms to encompass the repurposed charms classroom, all of its furniture shoved to the side to make space for their session. The student only looked around confusedly, not sure where to aim. But he did pull out his wand.

"Send it to me," Filius insisted. "It's the best way to test it out." He swept out his hand and did something with his wand, some sort of red band appeared on the side of the two people now facing each other. It was ethereal and simply floated there in mid-air.

The student obliged his teacher and the smallest twitch of his wand and a mental flex of the incantation sent out the spell at the man. Then another, and another. Flitwick batted them all aside with contemptuous ease, but his eyes gleamed brighter after every deflection.

Harry eventually stopped his onslaught and he noted that the band was now glowing yellow bordering on green.

"Wonderful," Filius exclaimed after he took a glance at it. He answered the question that Harry hadn't had the time to ask. "A spell of my own creation. It's used to measure the velocity of spells, useful when you're trying to train yourself to send out different combinations at different speeds. Or, simply to see how much progress has been made. I'm quite frustrated I didn't measure you last time we met. I just knew that you were still too slow, which is why I gave you this task."

"What's the verdict?" Harry asked curiously.

"0.4 seconds. I set the thing to become green at 0.3 since that's the standard without which there isn't much point in participating in adult competitions."

"So I could have it on that level by next week if I did a repeat performance?" Harry wondered, but Filius shook his head.

"You must have noticed that it becomes tougher to shave off every extra decimal. I assume you were at about 0.6 when we duelled the last time. Already impressive. Assuming it took you a week of almost continuous practice then perhaps two more could put you at 0.3."

Harry frowned. "What's your speed?" he asked.

Filius blushed, and Harry got the feeling that he was about to receive some false humbleness. "0.1," the man said. "Perhaps a bit more."

Harry sputtered. "How do you even deal with spells coming at you that fast?" he asked in disgust.

Flitwick grinned boyishly. "Well, as can be seen by my success, most people simply didn't. Deal with it that was. Quite frankly, my strategy was simple and straightforward. Hit harder, hit faster, dodge."

"I need to deal with it though, but how?" Harry insisted, at which he just received a shake of the head.

"Practice. You need to gain muscle memory. In duels of that level, you don't have time to think, even an Occlumency-enhanced mind can't keep up anymore. You need to train your fundamentals, have the perfect movement ingrained in your very being so that, when it becomes necessary, you can do it by sheer instinct alone."

"That's what our sessions are for," Harry muttered. "I can't practise that alone, and that's why the dummy was of limited aid."

Flitwick nodded. "Yes, on a basic level, it's good to have the experience, but it's only with an experienced teacher that one can learn the necessary movements quickly. If one doesn't have access to that, one must learn from one's mistakes. A frustrating process, I can assure you. One loses a hundred times before reaching an appropriate level," he said as if speaking from experience.

Harry looked at the half-goblin and realised that not many would have been enthused to teach him. He probably figured it out on his own, which was why his tactics had been so simple.

"If this is the level of a former duelling champion," Harry muttered. "Then what exactly did the duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald look like?"

"A horrible thing, I'm sure. I've seen similar things and I wouldn't have lasted more than 15 seconds myself, against either combatant. Dragons of earth bearing down on flames that burn brighter than the sun. Atmospheric changes, spells that bend around shields and allies to always strike true. Attacks of the mind, of the spirit. Magic used in ways I've never even considered," the professor replied solemnly. "Duelling hones the basics, to go beyond that one must have a gift. I consider myself a master of the fundamentals. But if you ever wish to go beyond that, I'm afraid I won't be able to help you."

"Is there a way to view a battle like that?" Harry asked curiously. "In a pensieve perhaps?"

"A horrifyingly complex and expensive magical artefact. The headmaster has one, and there are a few in the ministry. Perhaps you could have asked to see some memories as recompense for your spell last year. But I don't think anyone is interested in dredging up memories of those horrible times for no reason," Filius said, essentially warning Harry not to approach Dumbledore and ask to see the duel between him and Grindelwald, or him and Voldemort.

"It's all right, professor. Perhaps I'll start asking for memories as payment for future services, but for now, let's focus on the fundamentals," Harry said.

Flitwick squared up from where he'd gotten lost in thought. "Perhaps we could use some of my memories of past duels and ask the headmaster for use of his pensieve," he mused, before shaking his head. "You're not even experienced enough to follow what's happening. It will all be too fast. I assume I can trust you to continue practising the disarming jinx, then?" he asked.

Harry nodded with some distaste. It wasn't fun, but winning was winning, and winning was potentially surviving. "Yes, you can rely on me for that. I'll get it down to 0.3, believe it," he said. "That's my wizard way."

"All right," Flitwick said happily. "Then, let's get back to the basics!"

They did. Go to the basics. The fundamentals. Until Harry was barely capable of moving and had to leave the classroom as if he were a slug.
Sometimes he wondered why he put himself through this.

But he knew why.

-/-

Working almost exclusively on the disarming jinx had an interesting effect on the time that passed. In a way, it stretched out forever. Harry had finished learning the patronus, he wore the hat for occlumency practice, and he didn't feel like going to the room of requirement to work on his magic sense. But the latter improved anyway, just with walking around the castle, now that a minimal amount of functionality had been secured.

Revising for the final exams didn't take as much time when you were smart and knowledgeable enough about the subjects to have already mastered most of the fundamentals.

This left Harry in an odd middle point between being utterly and completely bored and exasperated at the number of times that he cast the disarming jinx on any given day. On the other hand, however, he could feel himself improving. And just like all those professional athletes, who trained day in and day out to shave that one half a second of their sprint, he was growing addicted to the grind.

It would be weird when he finally mastered the spell, at that point, he would have worked on it for so long that stopping would create a gap in his schedule. He would have to rely on Flitwick in that case, to give him something else to work on.

"You look lost in thought," Tonks commented as she entered the room they'd decided to meet in. She looked better, in a cosmetic way. The bags under her eyes were growing lighter, and she walked with more pride since she'd started throwing herself completely into trying to become an auror.

"What's the most recent count?" she asked the boy who she'd walked in on in one of his rare rest periods, which interspersed his practice.

"41.871," Harry replied dully from his spot by the window. The sun was setting.

"Completely ridiculous," Tonks responded with a sigh. She closed the door behind herself.

"How was the session with Professor Potter?"

"Illuminating. He gave me some good tips. Said that even if I'm only slightly better at transfiguration than DADA, I should focus on it. It's rarer to get someone with an O+ in transfiguration than in DADA in the auror academy applications. Said it would stand out more. We worked on some general tactics I can work on in my free time," she explained.

"He's useful, that one," Harry mused. "Sad it had to end. Fucking werewolf." He noticed that his social skills were in a free-fall during the disarming jinx sessions since he was so focused on one thing that he forgot how to do other things. He noticed that he said the wrong thing the moment it had slipped out his mouth.

"I'm sorry that the attacks inconvenienced your private tutoring sessions," Tonks growled with an angry glare.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

Tonks huffed. "Whatever. What do you even train so hard for? People would think you were even more of a maniac if they knew about the disarming jinx thing. Are you trying to be an auror as well after all that duelling?"

Harry snorted. "James asked me the exact same thing. Said I'd make a good auror," he said, looking up at the ceiling and thus missing the betrayed look that passed over Tonks' face. "I don't think it's a job for me. Working with the ministry. The paper-work. I just want to do magic, without any of the bureaucracy. I don't owe this world anything," he said softly.

"God, you can be so obnoxious, sometimes. No, most of the time actually," Tonks spat out and pulled out her wand. "Let's just have this duel, I have things to do."

"It's almost 10pm, by the time we're done the only thing you'll have to do is get to bed," Harry taunted as he stood up and faced his nemesis.

"You always try to have the last word, it's annoying," Tonks said.

Instead of replying and proving her right, Harry simply twitched his wand, starting the duel. A blazing red bolt of light flew in Tonk's direction, a second one quickly followed, and a third soon after.

Tonks simply swept out her wand. "Protego." A blue shield made of small hexagons flashed into existence in front of her. It stayed in place for only a second as Tonks did something else with her wand, this time silently, but it was enough to absorb Harry's offence. By the time the shield crumbled, there was a swarm of sparrows flying around Tonks. From that point onwards, whenever a disarming jinx came close to the girl, one of the birds would fly down to block it. Meanwhile, Harry lightly stepped around whatever spells the girl sent at him, the practice with Flitwick coming in handy.

"That's a nice conjuration," Harry complimented idly as he side-stepped a bombarda, which tried to force him into the path of a smaller flipendo. He simply ducked underneath it. "But they can't protect you from this," he said and thrust his wand at Tonks, creating a great cone of fire that enveloped her entire half of the room.

He'd gotten very familiar with how hard he was allowed to hit the castle with his endless practice of the disarming jinx. And the castle was very resilient indeed. He kept the stream of fire until the stones grew cherry red, knowing that the girl could handle it.

After a few more seconds he cut off the spell and made himself invisible as the flames cleared up, revealing Tonks encased in a ball of water. The birds were still flying around her. "You think I wouldn't learn something to counter-" the girl started, before realising that Harry was nowhere to be seen.

The second-year wasn't capable of firing off any spells while in his invisibility mode, but he used the opportunity to reposition by walking in a parabola towards Tonks. He was aiming to get her from behind, in a non-fun way. However, while it did take the auror-wannabe a second to process what was happening, she was quick to react. She dropped the water and waved her wand in a complicated motion, the sparrows circling her head suddenly all morphed into iron spikes which were pointing outwards menacingly, Tonks holding up her wand and keeping them steady in the air.

It looked like a perfect defence against a werewolf, a bunch of heavy-duty weapons one could fire outwards in all directions with some heavy telekinesis.

Harry wasn't a werewolf, but a wizard. He dropped his invisibility when Tonks glanced to her right, the wrong direction, and sent a bombarda her way. The girl cursed and dropped her spikes. Whatever projectile-firing spell she had wouldn't be strong enough to reach Harry through the kinetic force of the explosion. She was forced to drop her levitation and perform another shield spell. It was of a more permanent variety than the previous one.

Harry knew he had her on the back foot, he started a barrage of disarming jinxes. They battered away at Tonks' shield with loud bangs like thrown hammers hitting a stone wall. Tonks couldn't drop the shield unless she had a perfect answer to the pace of attack that Harry was setting. And the spells were coming so fast that she clearly didn't.

Inevitably the shield broke before Harry's stamina ran out, the disarming jinx had become his absolute speciality. A powerful one as well, showcased by the fact that Tonks was absolutely blown backwards by the spell, her wand basically flying to Harry's hand in a straight line, rather than the arc it usually travelled in.

Tonks groaned from where she was slumped against the wall, and when she came to herself her hands immediately flew to her neckline where she fumbled around before calming down.

"Break a necklace?" Harry asked as he approached and gave the girl her wand back. He pulled out the bezoar that he carried around his own neck and showed it off. "I know that issue. No clue where to find a good chain these days."

The girl shook her head and pulled down her robes, just enough to show him a pale collarbone and an obelisk-shaped little flask of golden liquid that glimmered, even in the low light of the room.

"Felix Felicis. Reward for making the best draught of the living dead in class," she said tiredly. "Got it just a few days ago."

"That extra studying is already paying off, huh. I'm jealous," Harry said as he eyed the little vial. It disappeared under the robes quickly.

"You wouldn't be the only one. Everyone's been asking me if they can have some," Tonks muttered. Which explained why she'd taken to carrying it around with a necklace.

"You know, in hindsight," Harry said as he theatrically stretched his arms up, getting some satisfying cracks from his spine. "These duels are really eating into my mind-numbing repetitions of the disarming jinx. Maybe I should start considering asking for payment," he teased.

Tonks shook her head. "I need it, I'm not sharing it with anyone," she said seriously, and Harry backed off.

"Another duel?" he suggested while wondering if Penny would share some liquid luck with him when she inevitably won some in four years.

It really was crazy that Slughorn just gave out that thing to students. It was an incredibly valuable and difficult potion to make. Students likely didn't even know what they had and would likely drink some in the hopes of getting laid. It was so much more though. Essentially a get-out-of-jail card for any dangerous situation. Although, probably not even liquid luck would save some schmuck from Voldemort if they got involved in a duel and the latter really wanted to kill them.

"Sure, another one is fine," Tonks said as she stood up and brushed herself off. "But tell me what the secret behind your disarming jinx is. The thing hits like a truck."

Harry laughed. "Trick? You of all people should know that there isn't a trick. I literally have just been casting it at a wall for several hours a day for almost a month now."

Tonks grimaced. "Merlin. I wish mine were that good, but I don't know if I have the patience for something like that."

"Well, if you do an hour every week for the next year, you'll get to where I am now," Harry said with a shrug before raising his wand. "En garde?" he asked.

Tonks raised her wand in return. "En garde," she said with a serious nod, and they were off again.

-/-

Harry ended up winning more than he lost, by a thin margin. Tonks seemed unsure if she should be proud of him or angry at herself.
Death loomed.

All the pieces for the second disaster to come had been set.

Chapter Text

Perhaps the fact that Harry had not connected the dots as to Tonks' thinking was proof of his social obliviousness, or maybe it was a simple slip of logic.

Her desire to be an auror, the death of her boyfriend to a serial werewolf, her mental state, her winning a potion which would on paper increase her chances of survival, or victory, if she were to be attacked herself and her learning of spells and tactics that would be useful against a magically resistant foe.

These things might not have said too much about the upcoming issues on their own, but anyone with access to all their information would have been able to predict the girl's next actions. Or at least, suspect them enough to warn the girl against attempting revenge.

However, no one but Harry knew. Everyone knew that she wanted to be an auror, that she had won the Felix Felicis from Slughorn, and that she had been dating Charlie at the time of his death. He was the only one he knew that she'd been working on anti-werewolf magic, that she was more broken inside than anybody suspected.

It was really unfortunate for Tonks that the only person who had all the prerequisite knowledge was an idiot.

Because while she was honing her spell-work with a clear-minded focus and determination only found in the manically depressed, or angry, Harry was making potions with Penny.

"Penny, what would you do if I told you it was possible to get Felix Felicis from Slughorn," he'd told her seriously at their next session together.
The blonde in question tilted her head and tapped her chin. "Probably ask you how I could do that. Why?"

"Because there is a way to get Felixis Felicis from Slughorn," Harry explained, leaning on the table they generally used for brewing. It was currently lying empty as they'd recently focused on improving Penny's other grades. To make her class advancement more likely. They'd sped up her transfigurations, worked on her history, and taught her some more advanced charms.

"Wow, that's cool," Penny breathed with wide eyes. "How do I get it?" she asked.

Harry started walking up and down the room, looking a bit like a general planning a siege. If the general was twelve years old. "I found out that Slughorn likes to reward a small vial of liquid luck to whoever brews the best version of the drought of the living death in their sixth year. If you start working on it now, you could definitely be that person. If I start working on it now, I could as well."

"We could get it twice if I manage to advance a grade."

The boy paused. "I like your way of thinking. There's only one issue."

"And what's that?" Penny asked with crossed arms.

"Well, the drought of the living dead is something you could show the committee as proof that you deserve to advance. However, if you show that you already know it, Slughorn would probably discontinue offering the reward for this specific potion in particular, since the winner would already be decided," he explained.

"Oh," Penny muttered and uncrossed her arms. "That's true. Although, why do I have to start working on it now? The sixth year is in four years, maybe three."

"I need to start working on it now if I want to win," Harry said with a sigh, but there was a fire of passion in his gaze. He liked potions, they were useful. Language tonics, healing potions, wit-sharpening potions, ageing potions.

But liquid luck was something that trumped all of that. Would it be strong enough to win the lottery? Convince a group of 10 female supermodels to have an orgy with him as the only guy? Beat Flitwick in a duel?

Harry did not know the answer to a single one of these questions. But he wanted to find out. So badly. So, so badly.

"Well," Penny said hesitantly. "I kind of don't," she enunciated. "Need to start working on it now," she added.

"That's probably true," Harry mused. He inwardly laughed at how Penny had desperately tried to avoid sounding arrogant. "Maybe I got too excited. If you work on it now, but don't show it off at the advancement exam, then you lower your chances of passing. Rather we could say that you start working on it when you've advanced, and maybe I will start working on it now."

"I'm not sure we have all the ingredients. We don't get that much stuff from Slughorn, only the things that are about to expire. The biggest load is supposed to come at the end of the year."

"Well, we can't determine if we have or not have the ingredients unless we read the recipe," Harry said decisively. "Where's the scribbled versions of advanced potions?" he asked.

Penny went over to her bag and rummaged through it, pulling out book after book on potions. The girl really was going slightly insane. Harry hesitated, before posing a potentially important question.

"Do you," he paused. "Do you maybe think that you work on potions too much?" he asked, getting a dumb-founded look from the blonde girl.

"You're asking me that?" she asked in a tone that made it very clear that some things did not compute in her mind.

"Weeeeeelllllllll," Harry muttered. He was an adult who couldn't really interact with his peers. He had healthy obsessions he knew how to manage. Penny, on the other hand, was an actual child. Even if she was shooting up and sideways recently, in certain places. "You are basically in this room making potions, what, four hours a day?" he asked. "The only time you're not is when we focus on other subjects together."

"Harry," Penny started with a roll of her eyes. "You're my best friend. I love you more than anyone else in this school, even if we spend the least time together. But for the love of Merlin. Please don't throw stones. You are not in a glass house. You are the glass house. And you are in a rock. You are a glass house throwing yourself at a rock, a big one."

"I don't think you quite grasped that metaphor," the boy muttered as he tried to untangle what had just been said to him.

Penny triumphantly pulled the book he'd asked for from her bag and turned to face him completely, one hand on her hip. She idly contorted her lips and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "You know what, I spend maybe two hours on average working on potions during the week, more during the weekend. I also practise and work on other subjects. I hang out with friends and I take time off to play Quidditch with Cedric. Since you keep blowing him off, he keeps coming to me. I've literally gotten over my fear of heights. I do all of this and I still have free time. You do none of it, almost, meaning you basically just work on magic all the time. All the time!"

Harry was confused about where this was going. His friend sounded like she was accusing him of something, but he didn't quite know what yet. Was he a glass house throwing himself at a rock and that was bad?

"You've shown me that we're free to follow our passions," Penny said more gently. "That there isn't any minimum amount of time we need to spend with our friends and still be friends. There isn't any maximum amount of time we're not allowed to spend more than when it comes to things that excite us. Potions are my passion, I thought you of all people would understand," she said and turned away so that she was looking away from him.

From the vast amount of experience that Harry had accumulated in his last life, he knew that she was crying. "Hey," he said softly and stepped up to the girl, taking the book out of her hands and gently putting it on the table. He took her hand in his and brought up the other one to cup her face and to turn her head. Her eyes were puffy and some tears were running down her face.

"I wasn't accusing you of anything. I wasn't mad at you, angry, suspicious. Any of the feelings. Maybe I was a bit worried and maybe that worry was presumptuous, and I'm sorry if it was. I just wanted to check up on you, to ask if you were doing alright. That Potions was still your passion and that all this work was what you wanted to do," he said and pulled his friend close into a hug. Taking one step back so that they could lean against the windowsill.

"I'm sorry," Penny muttered into his ear, their accumulative hair muffling the words. "I just felt like it's you of all people who would understand. Some of the girls in the dorm don't. They're mad that I'm not hanging out with them as much anymore, and that I always bring the smell of potions into the room, even when we don't have the class that day."

"I understand completely. It's just that I'm wary of people following in my footsteps. It only works if you really love what you do, not if the reason you're doing it is something else."

Penny froze in his hug, and Harry pulled himself away to look at her eyes, but she lowered them.

"Well, I have been trying to do more because of the advanced exam," she admitted with a small voice. "Because you managed to do it, I didn't want to be left behind."

Harry cursed in his mind, at the fact that his unfair advantage against other children was pushing them to misunderstand the normal level of achievement at their age. "You know, there's no rush in advancing a class. The student you respect so much, the half-blood prince. He was in all the normal years and then he just took his NEWT one year early," he said, not bothering to mention that Snape had taken ALL of his NEWTs early, which was quite crazy really.

"You know who the half-blood prince is?" Penny asked, suddenly curious. Harry realised that he'd never told her. It wasn't like it mattered.

"Severus Snape, he was in the same year as my mother," he explained.

"No one special, just a random half-blood. Like you, me, Dumbledore." Voldemort, he added silently.

"Oh," Penny said sadly. "Sorry for bringing it up," she said and cuddled back into his chest.

"It's alright. My point is, that just doing as much Potions as you like will mean that you'll advance anyway. Maybe it will be a year later, but what's wrong with that, really?" he wondered aloud. "It might even make the transition easier if you practised for two years, instead of one. You're also forgetting that potions are harder to practise than Charms, or Arithmancy. You're reliant on ingredients, tools and rest periods. There is a reason that potion masters are rare."

"Thanks, Harry, I'm sorry for being weird," Penny said. "You're a good friend."

"I think you're a better friend than me," the boy said humorlessly. It was undoubtedly true as well.

"Maybe we can just agree that we're both pretty good friends. Which makes us best friends, I guess," Penny muttered as she separated herself from him. She was the same height, so they ended up looking each other in the eyes in a very direct manner.

"The best of friends," he agreed and found himself stunned by the beauty of her gaze, her eyes were such a stunning blue. Like all the colours of the sea, in two pupils. She was looking at him transfixed as well, and he got the feeling that the appreciation was mutual. The surroundings blurred around her face, distorting the shape and he unconsciously found himself leaning forward, towards her, as she did the same. When her hot breath gently tickled his face from her parted lips and he somehow found that his own had opened slightly as well, he realised what was about to happen. He violently snapped his head away, feeling like he'd just done the ice-bucket challenge and pushed Penny off him from when she'd suddenly gotten so so close. He stumbled back into the wall and caught himself.

Penny blinked at him, confusedly, tilting her head. If any fully grown adult had gotten this reaction to trying to kiss someone for the first time, they would have been furious. The fact that Penny was obviously just confused, starkly reminded Harry that she was just a child.

"What's wrong?" Penny asked with a blush and looked down.

"I just-" Harry started with a hoarse voice. "We were about to kiss-"

"You didn't want to?" she asked, perhaps a tad hurt now.

"We were just talking about the fact that we're best friends. I didn't want to rush into something that might change that. I don't want to lose you. First kisses are supposed to be awkward," Harry weakly argued.

"Oh, ok," she said and brightened up again, before breaking the tension and going to the advanced potions book and handing it over to him.

"Here's the book. I hope we have all the ingredients. It would be nice to have some Felix Felicis."

Harry stared at her, confused for a second as he tried to comprehend how she had managed to defuse the situation better than him, the actual adult. He took the book and muttered a thanks, going to the page on the drought of living dead to check the ingredients list. With a sigh, he quickly determined that he didn't have the stuff, and with another sigh, he was reminded that this was the page on which the half-blood prince had stopped making notes.

This sucked because the original Harry Potter, not the brightest potioneer, had been able to beat Hermione with the instructions written down by Snape. With some practice thus, and the same instructions Harry Evans should have been able to do the same. Unfortunately, however, it seemed like he was cursed to brew the potion as many times as it took to get anywhere.

Or maybe he could find a Potions textbook that wasn't intentionally dumbed down for safety reasons. Decisions, decisions. Another decision that he had to make now was also if he wanted to stay in the room with Penny. He felt awkward, and as he looked at her back as she hummed and brewed he realised that he was now going to be entering a time of potential trouble.

He was entering puberty, and hormones were a thing that tended to fuck with one's decision-making. At the same time, his friends were entering puberty and were going to be similarly affected. Teenagerhood was the process of turning a child into an adult, and he'd already noticed that the people around him had started to mature, becoming a tad more interesting to talk to. He just needed to pay attention to keep the age of everyone involved in his mind.

For now? After what he'd almost done? He needed a break.

"We don't have the ingredients," he said in a defeated tone as he walked up to Penny, sensing the way she mixed her magic into the cauldron. Instinctually in a way he would likely never manage. It really did seem that with his practice of sorcery, he'd traded in his ability to be good at potions.

"Ah, that sucks. Maybe they'll be in storage, in case Slughorn gives us the leftovers again," Penny said idly.

"I'll go practise some stuff then," Harry said and hugged his friend goodbye. She froze for a second, before melting into the touch and turning around to hug him back. "Have fun with the potions, I'll go have fun with my charms," he said.

"I will see you tomorrow," Penny replied, and Harry quietly left the room into the crevices of which their activities had long since added a certain smell that no Scourgify could get rid of. Fire, brass, magic.

Harry walked up to the room of requirement, disillusioned, muffled. He met several students sneaking about on the way and walked past Professor Sinistra as well. But none of them noticed him. Once he'd reached his goal he wished for the sorting hat and unceremoniously plopped it onto his head, asking it to attack him as brutally as possible.

Chanithachuah didn't complain and did as he was asked, seemingly stuck in his own thoughts, the legilimency attacks coming as naturally and as easily as breathing to the millennial artefact.

The boy himself had grown so practised in batting away probes, even ones with real intent to harm behind them that he was able to simply walk around the room as the attacks occurred. Not particularly harmed in his capability to think about other things. The room slowly morphed around him, becoming a hexagon of glass pane walls which allowed him to see the entirety of the castle surroundings from his high vantage point.

It gave him perspective as he aimlessly meandered in circles, admiring the full moon of the night, but also looking at it with trepidation. He didn't see anyone on the grounds, even if he had to a certain extent expected aurors.

In a way it made sense. Even if the school had been put on high alert, it was very unlikely that the werewolf had stayed in the area. For all that it seemed to be a ravenous beast, it also clearly calculated its attacks, always moving and never staying put. That was horrible, obviously, as it meant it would be harder to capture, but on the other hand, it made being in a place where an attack had already occurred, safer than in one that hadn't.

The auror department, or James Potter clearly thought the same thing, if they didn't post any guards around the school or Hogsmeade. At least not any that Harry could see. Maybe they were disillusioned?

He had noticed that while the disillusionment spell was not that impossible to learn, he'd never once crossed anyone invisible who seemed to have been using it in the halls since he'd developed his magical sense and would have technically been capable of noticing that someone unseen was walking past him.

For all its utility it didn't seem that the spell was that popular. Unless all the adults that used it also had a method for masking their magical presence, which every witch or wizard subconsciously exuded, want it or not.

As he pushed against another mental probe, grateful that the hat wasn't interested in whatever was putting him in a pensive mood, Harry saw something on the grounds that stuck out because it was the only thing there. A person, leaving the castle seemingly through one of its many side entrances, or hidden passages and aimlessly walking around. It was because of the cloudless sky and the bright full moon that Harry recognized the mop of hair even from how high up he was.

Hard not to, considering that only one person at Hogwarts ever sported such a violent pink.

-/-

SHORT RANT: Harry almost kissed Penny, which in my opinion was an important scene to set the tone of emotional realism for the novel, which is my goal as an author. I think everyone who has touched grass, which I agree, might not be all of you, has had moments with friends or dates where hormones and feelings just took over. What's important isn't that the connection that Harry and Penny was misconstrued by their developing bodies, which misunderstood platonic friendship for perhaps romantic interest, but that Harry, being the adult of the two, stopped himself knowing it was wrong. I got a PM when I posted this on Patreon which was salty about me condoning pedophilia or something, which I don't, but it's exactly these sorts of responses that erase nuance from art. I know most people have the media literacy depth of a particularly retarded teaspoon, but please don't ruin my day with it.

I also write about killing, does it mean I condone murder? I just think its unlikely that even someone who reincarnates doesn't at least at some point consider these things when surrounded by so many people their body's age. We also all think about jumping off a ledge when we see one, but we don't do it. It's called an intrusive thought, and they're not a sign of our character, but simply something most of us with an actual modicum of willpower can ignore.

Rant over.

Chapter Text

Seeing Tonks strolling around the grounds on a full moon made Harry realise several things at once. Single and seemingly isolated pieces of knowledge clicked together in his mind. He nearly wanted to hit himself for not having made the conclusion earlier.

Tonks was out for revenge. She'd been training to get revenge. That's why she'd focused on tactics that could be used against a werewolf. That was why she'd so desperately clutched at the vial of Felix Felicis at her neck. She was planning on avenging Charlie, and through her victory gain entrance into the auror academy.

Harry didn't think the plan was very good, considering that the auror academy probably wouldn't be impressed by vigilantism and that Felix Felicis was more likely to lead one away from an angry werewolf rather than towards it, but still. He sort of understood where the girl was coming from. Even if he didn't agree.

He sighed as he paused in his walk to watch Tonks amble around aimlessly at the edge of the forbidden forest. She clearly didn't really know where she was going, or what she was doing. The issue was naturally that even if the werewolf had most likely moved on, knowing about the heat that attacking Hogsmeade and killing a Hogwarts student would bring, walking around the forbidden forest was a dumb decision. Werewolf or no werewolf.

'Grief, it can imprison you,' the hat said in his mind, at which Harry just rolled his eyes.

"This isn't grief," he muttered. "Just aimless stupidity. She's lost, and seemingly no one has been there to help her. I guess it's up to me," he said with a sigh and ordered the room to create a way outside the castle, in Tonks' general direction.

The room had a seemingly powerful dominion over the entirety of the castle being able to provide shortcuts to most of its areas. It was something Harry had figured out recently, and that he'd been using to leave the seventh floor quickly after his practice sessions. The only issue was that one couldn't use the trick to get to the room, since one needed to be inside of it to change anything about it.

'You're not going to inform a teacher or anything?' the hat asked curiously, causing the boy on whose head it was sitting to shake his head.

"The last thing she needs is to also get into trouble with the faculty," he said. "The werewolf is long gone most likely, so as long as she doesn't run straight into the forest she's mostly in danger of getting a cold. She needs someone to talk to, not disciplinary action. I guess her friends just don't have the maturity to handle someone who's lost their first love like that."

'And you do?' Chanithachuah asked dubiously.

"Let's just say I have personal experience with losing people," Harry said bitterly and took the hat off his head. "Thanks for the session, as always."

"Wait," Chanithachuah said aloud. "Take me with you, I feel like taking a stroll."

"I'm sorry, but I don't want anyone to find out I'm the person who's been stealing you," Harry replied to that.

For all that the hat didn't have real eyes, Harry suddenly felt like they were being rolled at him. "Disillusion me, you numbskull," it said in a frustrated tone of voice.

"Ah." Harry paused. "That makes sense," he concluded and tapped the artefact with his wand, watching curiously as the invisibility slowly spread over the whole thing, tip to the rim. He put it on, feeling a bit sad at the loss of the fashion statement that he made when he wore it visibly.

'My beauty is metaphysical. People can appreciate it even if they can't see me,' Chanithachuah informed him as he walked over to the slide that the room had provided for him and jumped in.

It was a perfectly smooth ride down for once, the room not embellishing the experience with any of the loops and twirls and cork spins it usually liked to add in there in an attempt to make Harry vomit. Perhaps it was feeling some of his urgency to get to his friend before they did something stupid. It even spat him out onto the grass where he barely found his feet, instead of still inside the castle. He looked back just in time to catch the closing of a hole in the castle walls.

"So it can even put me outside the castle, huh," he mused, before turning around towards the forbidden forest and starting a very intentional walk towards where he'd last seen Tonks.

In hindsight, he realised that he should have somehow tried to pry out the patronus variety that allowed it to transmit messages. If he and Tonks actually encountered something dangerous, it would be nice to have an option of calling backup. However, Harry had a good feeling about the fact that nothing would happen today. The only thing that was really in danger was Tonks' clearly unstable thinking.

Some thoughts tumbled through his mind as he fearlessly approached the border of the forbidden forest, where Tonks was simply standing, looking into the trees. He was able to sneak up on her without even really trying, and he wondered how no one else in the castle had seen the two of them and come out to shout at them that they should first; be in bed. Second; not be outside. Third; definitely not be outside on the night of the full moon.

"Nice day for a stroll, huh?" he asked once he'd gotten close enough to Tonks to be within hearing distance. The girl jumped and spun around, wand extended, causing Harry to put up his hands in faux surrender.

"Peace, peace, I come in peace," he said placatingly.

"Harry?" Tonks asked, as if unsure if she could trust her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, taking a walk," the boy replied. He thought he could make out tears in the older girl's eyes. It was low visibility, but she didn't look too well.

"I'm not taking a walk," Tonks laughed bitterly.

"The werewolf isn't dumb enough to stay in the same location for too long. I'm quite sure that you're less likely to meet it here than literally in any other magical settlement in Britain," Harry said.

"It's a werewolf, it's not thinking." Tonks bit out.

Harry shook his head. "They only shift three days a month, or something. They're rational the rest of the time. At least this one obviously is. It's been rampaging all across Britain and they still haven't managed to catch it. There is obviously something here, more than just a beast thinking on pure instinct."

"It's a monster!" Tonks said to him in a raised voice.

"I never said they weren't. I'd argue that giving them some modicum of human intelligence makes them even more monstrous since it means they plan out their acts and know exactly what they're doing" Harry said softly, trying to de-escalate the conversation.

The girl didn't reply, and they just continued walking along the edge of the forest.

"It would be easier if it were just a monster though, wouldn't it. If there was nothing human about it." Harry paused as he picked his next words. "It's easier to kill a wild animal controlled by instincts than it is to kill a human."

"I don't want to kill anyone," Tonks replied brusquely.

Harry raised an eyebrow, not that she could see. "Interesting, I'd want to kill the werewolf personally. But if your moral fibre is so strong then who am I to disagree."

The metamorph stopped in her tracks to spin around and stare at him. "I thought the whole point of you being here was to convince me that revenge isn't the solution," she said bitterly.

"There is no point to this. I'm taking a walk. Having a chat about morality with my friend," Harry replied.

"You're not my friend!" she shouted.

And while that did hurt Harry a bit, he didn't take it too personally. "Just because I'm not your friend doesn't mean you're not mine."

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Tonks screamed as she held up her sleeve to her face to muffle the sound. "Why does everything have to be so complicated? I took the bloody potion, is this me being lucky?" she asked.

Harry furrowed his brows at the information that Tonks had already taken the potion, before feeling a short burst of relief. If Tonks had already taken the potion, then it was even less likely that they were going to meet the werewolf tonight.

"Tonks, tragedy strikes when we least expect it. That's why it's tragic, had we known it was coming, and had time to brace ourselves, it would be less fucked up. Sometimes we just wake up expecting a normal day, and then we're confronted with the fact that the person sleeping next to us got a heart attack at night and died. Car accidents, diseases, war. Everyone's constantly losing somebody."

"Just because it's normal doesn't mean I want to have it happen to me," Tonks said with a sniffle.

"Life is harsh and it can either break us or make us. Bad things will keep happening, and the only thing we can control is how we deal with those bad things."

"So what, I'm just supposed to change my attitude. Forget about Charlie?" she asked casuistically. "How, Harry, how!" She paused. "It's gnawing at my mind, I can't forget about it. It was unfair and stupid, I can't let go of it."

"You're here for a reason, you must have thought that it would help you somehow. What were you doing, exactly?" he asked as he looked to the left, into the dark and foreboding forbidden forest. The trees were crooked and he heard disconcerting animal sounds coming from the tree-crowns.

"I told myself that I wouldn't seek it out. That I'd just be ready if it happened," Tonks said softly as she stopped, to also gaze into the forest. "I don't know why I drank the liquid luck," she said as she grabbed at the necklace holding the now presumably empty vial. "Maybe it was so I'd find the werewolf, maybe so that it wouldn't find me. Maybe because I feel broken and I was hoping to find a way to fix that."

"Turn around Tonks," he said as he did what he was asking, and gazed at the castle, warmly shining down at them from the top of the hill. Its inviting fires and windows permeate a calm presence over the entirety of the clearing. A presence that stopped abruptly at the edge of the forbidden forest. Harry didn't know if he was experiencing it to be more creepy due to the werewolf fears he felt to a certain extent, or if there was really just something completely fucked up about the place.

Tonks turned around to look at the castle with him.

"It looks warm and inviting. It's home. It's safe." For the lack of a definition of safe. Harry personally had almost been killed last year. "It's a place where we can still develop, away from the stresses of the adult world. Up until the day we leave. We should go back and enjoy the time we still have there. Go to the kitchens to have random food shoved down our throats by house elves. Talk about classes in one of the many abandoned classrooms. Look at the stars while lying on or backs on the astronomy tower roof."

He let his words sink in before he delivered his coup de grace. If he'd just walked up to Tonks and told her to go back to the castle with him, she would have easily rebuked him. But after a conversation, after some emotional appeals, she'd probably find it harder to say no.

"Let's go back. Drink some butterbeer or something. You took liquid luck, don't you think that me randomly seeing you and coming to talk to you was a part of the plan?" he asked gently.

He almost had her, he knew. He saw some tears streaming down her face, and he recognized them to be good ones. Tears that one shed as one moved away from tragedy. She wasn't anywhere near the end of the road, but at least she'd finally started, he got the impression.

"Yes," she agreed. "Let's go back." She took one step towards the castle.

And of course.

That was the moment that the werewolf decided to strike.

Chapter Text

"Ground!" the hat shouted from the top of Harry's head, out loud and into the boy's mind.

Harry had never dropped to the ground faster in his life. Even his magical sense wouldn't have informed him fast enough and he realised that if he hadn't taken the hat with him tonight, he would have died.

Tonks shrieked as the werewolf leapt over Harry, wide open mouth and claws extended. It landed behind him on all fours, separating the two students from the castle.

Considering that what separated them from safety was more than 500 metres of flat plains, they were royally fucked, because they were never going to outrun a werewolf.

Harry looked at the hideous and large form, illuminated by the full moon as it stared at the two of them. More than two metres tall, with lanky arms and canine legs it snarled at them, but didn't howl. There was a glimmer of intelligence in its eyes, not offset at all by the saliva dripping from its mouth on its chest which was marred by an ugly X-shaped scar.

"He's conscious, somehow. Intelligent," the hat said, somehow.

"I thought the wolfsbane potion didn't exist," Harry muttered while Tonks gasped and staggered back from where she'd drawn her wand.

"It's Greyback. I recognize him from the papers back then," Tonks said in a trembling voice.

"Ah," Harry realised as the werewolf tilted his head at them, eerily similar to how a dog would have done it. "That's why he's here. Probably wants revenge on Potter," he concluded, glad to be finally rid of that mystery at least.

"That bastard," the werewolf rasped in a voice oddly unafflicted by its condition. "I walked through deserts and swam across seas to get back here. To kill him!" he growled.

"If you were beaten back then, then you won't win this time!" Tonks said and brandished her wand again, not casting any spell. Smart, the longer they kept the thing talking, the likelier a teacher would come to save their sorry asses.

"He couldn't kill me back then. He had to resort to using the Portkey!" Greyback said arrogantly. "And if I can't get to him, I'll get to those close to him."

"Hey," Harry interjected. "So, since you want Potter, how about letting the two of us go on the condition that we fetch him and tell him to come alone," he suggested, semi-calmly, despite the fact that his heart was beating probably too fast for his fragile body to handle.

"What?!" Tonks shouted, but Greyback just laughed.

"What a refreshing attitude," he rasped. "But no, killing the students under his protection will hurt him more than killing him." He paused. "How about you join me, we can wreak havoc together. Life is good when you're free to do what you want."

"Considering that it seems a fight is inevitable, I'll say that I'll join you if you succeed in beating and turning me. I won't follow anyone weaker than me," Harry said while Tonks stared at him as if she was seeing a ghost.

"What the fuck, Harry," she whispered.

He could only shrug. "Hey, I like being alive, it's great. I'd rather be a werewolf than die a wizard," he said, speaking to Tonks, but intending the words for Greyback, who was looking at him curiously. From what Harry remembered the man liked turning children, so he was hoping that if he didn't go for a killing blow and tried to turn Harry, it would be more likely that he would leave an opening allowing Harry to go for the killing blow himself.

"I haven't laughed so much in ten years," Greyback howled with a raspy chuckle. "I accept your challenge. And if I succeed in turning you, the first people you're killing are the next students that make the mistake of leaving the castle!"

Harry shrugged. "Alright, there's some I wouldn't mind putting down for good, so that's ok." He turned to Tonks. "You can use this to see if you really want to be an auror. Being put in a death match against powerful dark wizards slash werewolves slash criminals is what it's all about, no?"

"Harry," Tonks replied softly. "I'm killing Greyback, then I'm killing you for the shit you're pulling."

"You got balls of steel, kid. I could use someone like you," Grey back with a smirk that revealed a few too many fangs. However, instead of going for Harry as his words indicated, he went down on all fours, pushed all his claws against the ground and shot towards Tonks in one incredible leap, maw open and aiming for the girl's throat.

It was obvious that the girl reacted instinctually, rather than rationally, and while Harry was already transfiguring a blade of grass into an iron spike, she put up a simple shield charm. Harry cursed and abandoned his transfiguration, casting a strong summoning charm on her robes, dumping a ridiculous amount of magic into it to get her to stumble towards him and thus dodge Greyback's leap. The protego hadn't even held a second, a simple punch shattering its opaque surface as if it were glass.

"Get your head in the game. Physical objects only, he's resistant to magic," Harry helpfully reminded her as Greyback once again crouched down for a jump forward.

Tonks nodded and brought up her wand, a hand tearing away at her neck. Harry once again abandoned a transfiguration to take what she handed to him, feeling the warm glass of the vial against his hand, feeling that it was still half full.

Greyback leapt, and while Tonks quickly transfigured an iron slab between them, Harry chugged down half a dose of liquid luck. Although, when one considered what sort of situation the potion had gotten Tonks in, he wasn't sure if it was expired or not.

He tapped himself on the head, turning invisible as Greyback smashed against the iron slab, probably having expected to simply use it as a battering ram against the two young magicals. However, Tonks had apparently started using her brain, as she held the slab up with a wingardium leviosa.

It was still too much for the girl though, and her magical strength wasn't capable of matching Greyback's sheer physical might when he was transformed. He picked up the slab, claws gripping it by the edges, and ripped it out of where Tonks had pushed it into the ground. He swung it at the girl, only for Harry to untransfigure the improvised weapon before it could decapitate his friend. Hairy clawed fists full of grass swung right past the girl's face, and another summoning charm brought her out of the reach of a pair of snapping jaws.

'You'll never outmanoeuvre him enough to have time to actually transfigure something,' the hat helpfully offered inside his head while Harry desperately tried to get into a good position, while pulling Tonks away from a series of deadly-looking swipes.

It was clear that Greyback was planning on killing Tonks and turning Harry, but he was also following a second objective. With every second the battle was shifting more and more away from the clearing where a teacher might have noticed the life-and-death struggle going on and into the forest.

'I have no momentum, I know. What am I supposed to do? The guy's like a war veteran or something,' Harry shot back at the hat as he continued his role of being a glorified puppet master of one pink-haired girl, leading her around while she desperately tried to send iron spikes and needles at the werewolf, only for them to all be dodged or simply blocked with a less sensitive part of the body.

Greyback was laughing the whole while, and in general, looked like he was having a bit too much fun for Harry's tastes. Even while invisible he didn't feel particularly safe anywhere near the madman. This proved to be doubly true when the werewolf apparently got sick of Tonks always being pulled out of harm's way and shifted directions, jumping straight at Harry instead, revealing that he'd known where he was the whole time.

So much for being invisible.

Instead of conjuring anything, transfiguring grass or backpedalling in the face of the angry werewolf flying at his face Harry used a tactic that might have seemed a bit contradictory at first glance. He jumped forward and got to see the surprise in Greyback's eyes, before Harry fell to the floor, sliding on the grass underneath the beast, avoiding getting nicked by the claws on the man's feet by about a millimetre.

'This is going to sound weird, but I'd prefer it if you didn't die,' the hat started in his mind, sounding like he was about to go on a whole spiel.

'Tell me what to do and fast!' Harry interrupted him as Greywolf got to his feet from where he'd landed and turned to face Harry.

'Drink the potion in your pocket and let me take control of your mind,' the hat said in his mind. It was a testament to how royally fucked Harry was that he didn't bother back-talking. A quick search of his pockets revealed that he was somehow in possession of one of the strengthening tonics that he and Penny had brewed all those months ago.

It went down his throat and disappeared faster than a bottle of beer given to a homeless alcoholic. Even then, the only reason that he had the time to do so was because a rain of iron spikes fell down on where Greyback was standing, forcing him to jump to the side, rather than at Harry.

Feeling an unnatural amount of physical might surging through his body Harry did something he'd never done before. He opened his mind to intrusion rather than closing it and was rewarded by an alien and ancient intelligence flooding his head with its being, shunting him straight from his body and into a third-person perspective of himself.

Oddly enough, the fact that he was being possessed was not the first thing that Harry thought about when he witnessed this new perspective.
Rather, it was a 'fuck I'm scrawny,' that ran through his head as he beheld the scene that he'd given up on salvaging. A completely terrified Tonks trying to transfigure some significant amount of material, and a now visible small red-headed boy facing a two-metre-tall snarling werewolf who was also a war veteran/terrorist.

For all that Harry had practised duelling, theoretically and practically, he realised that all of his transfigurations were currently too slow to really be used effectively in a fight. Tonks seemed to be suffering from the same issue. He'd have to work on that if he got out alive.

He was curious as to what the hat's plan was and looked intently at how his body took the hat from its head and gripped it in his hands like a sword.

If he had an eyebrow he would have raised it. Was the hat planning on summoning the sword of Gryffindor and wielding it with the now physical body it had taken off Harry's hands? If so, why was it gripping the hat as if it were a sword? The sword was in the hat, after all, supposedly.

His metaphorical eyebrows widened, however, as the floppy leather in his body's hands suddenly morphed into a long double-edged silver sword. Rubies glittered on its hilt in the moonlight, and before Harry had the time to properly admire the beauty of the artefact, his body, or rather, Chanithachuah, sprang forward at such a blistering speed that he was surprised the grass didn't ignite.

It was obvious from Greyback's quick freeze that he'd never experienced a wizard running towards him rather than away from him, let alone a twelve-year-old kid with a sword. The freeze allowed Chanithachuah to close in, and direct a stab at the werewolf's torso, which was narrowly avoided by an awkward hop. Suddenly, Greyback was on the back foot as Chanithachuah wielded the sword with unnatural strength and speed, which could only be explained by the potion. What couldn't be explained by the potion was the absolute mastery of the sword that the hat was exhibiting. Every moment flowed seamlessly into another, creating a cage of silver after-images that Greyback couldn't escape from, while each and every swipe got closer to his body.

Chanithachuah was the puppet master and Greyback had just turned from a seemingly unbeatable enemy into a children's doll with too many strings. They danced through the trees, jumping over roots and occasionally clashing the flat of the blade against a claw. A bite was dodged by a smidge and a decapitation strike by a hair.

It was only due to the third-person perspective that Harry had over the event that he saw the web that Chanithachuah was weaving. Greyback wasn't only being pushed back. He was being turned around. His back was now facing Tonks, who'd managed to create two iron spikes the size of her forearms. She looked terrified out of her mind and utterly confused to boot, but there was murder in her eyes when she saw her opportunity.

Harry was still tethered to his mind, he could feel the hat's presence in the space he'd previously occupied. There hadn't been anything there up until now other than a deadly calm only found in snipers and psychopaths. But now there was something. A swelling force builds up inside the hat's matrix. It was as Chanithachuah paused his strikes and pointed two fingers at Greyback, that Harry understood that he was seeing a mental attack from the outside.

"Spikes!" Chanithachuah shouted as a mental attack so powerful it distorted the air around it, shot from Harry's fingers and struck Greyback right in the head, snapping it back. The werewolf's body froze in place, completely and utterly still. A second later two iron spikes shot into its back so violently that they protruded out of his chest. Not dead yet the impact seemed to awaken the werewolf from his state of mental shock, two clawed hands going to his chest to uselessly fumble at the spikes. Instead of helping, the gesture just smeared blood everywhere.

Chanithachuah sprang forward, sword raised. A down-wards strike at the head was dodged as Greyback stumbled backwards, but it was just a feint, Harry's body spun in place, black robes creating a perfect circle of cloth, the sword creating a larger, silver one, only interrupted by Greyback's body. The weapon slid right through, bisecting the monster. A torso with a shocked head and two arms fell to the ground. One second after a pair of legs crumbled, falling first on the knees, then on the pelvis, the reality of their death having just hit them.

Harry didn't get any time to admire the beautiful fatality scene that seemed taken right out of Mortal Kombat. If the mental switch that had occurred between him and the hat could have been described by a rubber band metaphor, then that rubber band snapped. With a violent jerk, ten times worse than what he'd experienced when he'd been born, Harry found himself once again in his own body, stumbling back from the corpse in front of him, and onto his arse. A hand went up to grasp at his violently beating heart and the sword fell to the ground with a thump, reverting back to a leather hat which looked, more than anything, tired.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck me up the ass," Harry muttered shakily as he quickly scrambled to the hat, the strength that he'd felt from the potion leaving his body like diarrhoea. Suddenly and violently. He managed to put the hat on his head, barely. The smell of blood hit him and he retched. Not in any sort of moral disgust, but simply because it smelled really bad. A mix of iron, pus and rotting dead animals.

Out of sheer disgust, rather than any sort of rational thought as to the state of his stamina, Harry slapped a hand onto the ground with as much intent as he could. A hole opened up underneath the corpse of the werewolf and swallowed it up, leaving nothing behind but a few splatters of blood and a freshly tilled earth.

"Harry!" Tonks shouted, suddenly appearing at his side on her knees, holding his shoulders and looking at his eyes through a film of tears. "Are you okay, did you get scratched?" she asked frantically as she shook his back and forth, making his head loll.

Snapping out of her grip he fell backwards, but she followed and kept shaking him, her hands on his chest and hair tickling his face from how far she was leaning down. Tears fell from her eyes on his face and she started apologising. "I'm so sorry, it's all my fault if I hadn't come out here then," she blubbered before falling into complete unintelligibility.
Harry was traumatised as well, but considering he had more experience with death, and, just like last year with Twix, the whole thing seemed to have ended quite well, he wasn't nearly as hysteric.

"Tonks," he started, planning on saying something ridiculous enough to break her out of her funk. "This position is awkward as fuck, either kiss me or stop teasing," he said jokingly. It seemed to work, as the shaking stopped and she just looked at him. Harry couldn't see much of her considering that her head was covering up the moon, but she looked like a grimy miserable wretch.

Then, to probably both their surprise, she leaned down and smashed her lips against his. It wasn't really a kiss by any definition of the word. Just a violent collision of lips that happened in the completely wrong context for it to be anything but bizarre. But, the act seemed to have had a calming effect on both participants and once Tonks lifted her head again from the stunned second-year, they were both silent, lightly panting. Their heartbeats finally slowed down again.

The girl collapsed again, not into a kiss this time, but in a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder. "You're a great friend. I'm sorry. For everything. Thanks for being here."

"Don't mention it, literally," Harry replied with a dry laugh. "If anyone ever finds out what we did, we're getting expelled faster than you can say 'goodbye'." He pushed the girl off of him and stood up. He was weary to the bone, but if nothing else they had to leave the forbidden forest behind before the smell of dead werewolf attracted any other critters.

He offered Tonks a hand from where she'd chosen to lie on her back and stare at him. She took it and he helped pull her up. "You stole the sorting hat?" she asked as they started limping their way back to the castle.

"The sorting hat is a sentient object with its own wants and desires. It just got bored of the headmaster's office and wanted to go around a bit," Harry defended himself. He looked around shiftily as they entered the clearing that separated Hogwarts from the forest. "Just don't tell anyone."

Tonks chuckled weakly. "I can't believe you managed to transfigure it into a sword. That's so cool. Where did you learn to fight like that?" she asked.

'Chanithachuah?' Harry asked mentally.

'Lie your ass off,' the hat demanded.

Harry did as he was told.

"I guess in a past life. Still wouldn't have helped me if I hadn't had a strengthening tonic in my pocket for some reason."

"Very lucky that," Tonks said acerbically, before groaning. "Fucking Slughorn. Felix Felicis my ass."

"We're lucky we're alive, I guess," Harry muttered. "You seem to be in a better mood too, so maybe it worked."

"Who needs emotional resolution when you can almost die fighting a werewolf to speed up the process," she joked. She seemed to be acting weirdly normal considering what had just occurred, but he knew she was just forcing it. He recognized his own efforts in hers.

"Have to remember that next time I'm feeling down," Harry agreed resolutely. The two of them arrived at the castle and quietly entered it, starting to make their way to the Hufflepuff common room.

In some manner of strange luck, they didn't meet anyone on their way, and traversed the path quietly, without speaking.

"I've been a horrible friend. It's stupid, because out of everyone you've been here for me the most," Tonks said once they'd reached the barrels that signalled the entrance.

"I've also been keeping some things from you," Harry admitted. "But I think that's an issue for another day. We can start anew, without any of the bullshit. Just not now. I'm falling asleep as I stand." It was true as well, his eyelids felt heavier than dumbbells, and by the slur in her speech, Tonks wasn't doing any better.

"Yeah, you're right," Tonks admitted.

They entered the common room and split up there, with one last hug. Almost dying next to someone had the tendency to bring you together, Harry guessed. It was sort of surreal, how they hadn't met anyone on their way to their dormitories. The luck continued, and soon Harry was divested of his disgusting sweaty and muddy clothes and lying in his bed. Rather than bother thinking about the implications of all the events that had occurred, he passed out. Sure, it was hard to believe he'd been fighting a werewolf just 20 minutes ago, and that now he was lying in his bed back in the castle.

But sometimes these things just didn't matter, and you only wanted to sleep.

-/-

AN: Harry has survived another potentially deadly encounter with nothing but sheer dumb luck and the efforts of others? Will he ever beat a villain under his own efforts? Find out in the next instalment of "My body possessed by a magical hat decapitated a werewolf slash terrorist and then I got panick smooched by a manic and stressed senior, my high school romance is much much weirder than I could have ever imagined and I seek for the sweet release of sleep."

Chapter Text

Thankfully the next day was Sunday, and his roommates had been gracious enough to let him sleep in. From how shit Harry felt, he wasn't quite sure if he would have been capable of moving had he, on top of everything else, also not gotten enough sleep. His joints ached, his muscles ached, and his hands ached. He felt like he'd run a marathon while carrying heavy dumbbells in both arms.

"Fuck," he hissed as he laboured to sit up on the bed. Just that had already exhausted him. It took him another ten minutes to get dressed, pocket the hat, which had been oddly unresponsive since yesterday, and leave the room.

The stairs proved to be another challenge, and thankfully there was no one present to see him creep and crawl his way down into the common room. Once there he took a break on one of the yellow and black sofas, enjoying the softness of the material and the roughness of the fibres underneath his fingers. He didn't know how long he sat there, just considering the events of the last night. Some people came and went, but it wasn't anybody he knew or wanted to talk to.

Eventually, Tonks came down, glanced at him, and without any words sat down next to him. Not at the other end of the sofa, but right next to him, so that their knees touched. She was wearing a pair of washed-out jeans with some boots and a T-shirt. She looked comfortable. Harry wore his robes, like always. He liked robes. He let his head loll back on the backrest once he'd gotten too tired to hold it up.

"It's surreal," Tonks eventually muttered, magenta eyes flickering over the faces of the people entering and leaving the common room. "It's like nothing happened yesterday."

"Nothing did," Harry replied.

"For them, maybe," Tonks said in a low voice and gave Harry a meaningful look. She extended a hand to squeeze his. A friendly gesture, just that after, she didn't take it away. They sat there for perhaps another half an hour, before Harry sighed, knowing what he had to do.

"I'm super cramped and achy from yesterday. I'm going to go get some wiggenweld I have stored in an abandoned classroom," he said.

"Can I have some as well? I'm bruised to all hell. I think your puppeteering damaged my joints somewhat."

"Yeah, sure. Let's ditch this place," Harry said and laboriously stood up, getting a wide-eyed look from his friend.

"Bloody hell, you're really not doing well," she hastily said as she stood up to support him, arm under his shoulder. He leaned onto her and noted that she'd found the time to shower. She smelled good. He closed his eyes with a sigh and let himself get led out of the common room and into the corridor. He wanted a shower as well.

They took some hidden passages to get to Harry's and Penny's potion room. Some that Harry knew, and some that Tonks did. They knew approximately the same amount. They continued not meeting anyone on the way.

"The castle is completely empty, somehow," Harry muttered once they entered the room. Tonks curiously looked around.

"Exams are soon. I can definitely tell you that most students are desperately cramming," she said. "Those that aren't, well it's a nice day. They're spending it outside."

Harry went over to a little trunk filled with vials and took out two green ones, he immediately drank one, before handing the other to Tonks, who looked at it curiously before drinking as well. The effect wasn't immediate, but it was magical, and Harry could feel the ingredients working their way through his body.

"What is this place?" Tonks asked curiously, looking at a bubbling cauldron that Penny had left here probably for some sort of rest period.

"Me and Penny practice Potions here," Harry said as he made his way to the exit, Tonks quickly came over to support him again after she noticed that he still wasn't doing perfectly fine.

The girl looked at all the ingredients strewn about, the cauldron's, books. "You're not afraid of someone finding it?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "We put it here because it's the emptiest wing on this floor. Also, the door has some spells on it."

Not many spells, of course. The room was being used by two second-years after all. But a magical locking charm and notice-me-not ward.

Harry was particularly proud of that second one, he'd only recently managed. It didn't feel particularly strong to his senses, the ward, but anything was better than nothing.

"What now?" Tonks asked once they'd exited the room, Harry reapplying the spells on the door.

"I don't know about you, but I think I deserve a spa day," the boy muttered, already thinking about how he could abuse the room of requirement into giving him enough hot water to drown a village.

"Damn," Tonks muttered. "I always hated it when my mom took me, but now I really feel like one too. Where to find one in Hogwarts though? I know prefects get access to some sort of special bath, but I don't know the passcode anymore, they changed it recently."

"I have a place," Harry muttered. Now that the diadem was gone. He'd checked and used the room since. Several months of waiting in between, if Dumbledore hadn't managed to remove the thing by now Harry could honestly just kill himself now, save Voldemort the trouble if this was the competency level of the dark lord's adversaries. "But it's a secret."

Tonks mimicked zipping her mouth shut and rolling her eyes. "I think we have bigger issues than just some secret room," she said. They slowly and laboriously started making their way up to the seventh floor. They didn't meet anyone as they passed through the wings of the castle that held obviously empty classrooms and not dormitories. The only beings that saw them were some ghosts, who asked if Harry was ok, but who were easy to reassure, and some paintings, which just went about their usual vapid and repetitive existence.

"Have to respect the attempt," Tonks mused as they arrived at the entrance to the room, which faced a mural of a man attempting to teach trolls how to dance.

"Yeah, well," Harry muttered as he stumbled back and forth in front of the blank stretch of wall, drawing curious looks from Tonks. "I'm sure he had his reasons."

"Being an insane moron is a reason too," Tonks mused. She was startled when a door suddenly appeared where the blank stretch of wall was. "Bollocks," she muttered. "Scared me."

She stood there and breathed in and out deeply while Harry opened the door and looked at her curiously.

"Are you coming?" he asked as he held it open and went inside. She quickly followed and gasped when she beheld the scene that Harry's imagination had summoned up. A large Middle Eastern space with blue and gold tiles illuminated by torches on every pillar. The ceiling was dominated by a beautiful fresco of naked nymphs chasing each other and laughing in a tranquil lake and right underneath it was a large square pool full of hot water. Steam so thick you almost couldn't see through it.

There were platters of food and drink floating on the water's surface, on wooden boards cut to look like lotus leaves. A gramophone was playing Vivaldi from one of the corners, the others all being filled up with lounges on which one could lay and stack luxuriously plush cushions into whatever seating arrangement one desired.

Basically, it looked like a Sultan's washing room, where he went to relax and spend time with his harem.

"Merlin's beard," Tonks muttered as she looked around with a wide open mouth.

"Stop being such a country bumpkin," Harry teased as he quickly undressed himself, transfiguring his underwear into a pair of swimming trunks.

"Harry!" Tonks exclaimed, scandalised, at him having changed in front of her, despite the fact that he really hadn't.

Harry entered the pool through the side with the steps, breathed in the steam, and let his head rest on the pool's edge from where he was sitting.

The warm water infused every part of his being and he felt his body relax into a content puddle of nerves and muscles.

He groaned. "Oh god, this is it." He tilted his head to see Tonks still standing outside. "Come on, it's heavenly," he urged.

"Sure, just give me a second. Don't look!" she exclaimed, at which Harry turned his head away from her. It wasn't like he could see anything through the steam. He felt with his magical senses as she did something, probably the same transfiguration he'd used, before joining him.

"Oh my magic, where was this all my life," she moaned after a while of them just enjoying the water and the music. "What is this room? Some sort of heaven?"

Harry debated explaining the specific function to her but decided to do so later when a floating lotus made its way over to him. There was an assortment of cheeses, fruits and meats on it, along with a bottle of wine.

"Amarone," he muttered, before nodding. "Good taste," he complimented the room as he poured himself a glass of the perfectly temperate wine. He didn't drink a lot, knowing that it wasn't the most amazing thing to do when so young. But sometimes you just had to. Also, the higher the quality of the alcohol, the less bad the damage.

"Is that wine?" Tonks asked, alarmed when she saw him take a big sip from the glass.

Harry could only roll his eyes. "It's not wine, Tonks. It's a classical Amarone, it's basically the liquor of the gods." He took another sip before trying some of the ham. He threw his head back and almost died and went to heaven. "God's, it's Pata Negra, where are we getting this stuff?" he asked. Was he an idiot all along? Using this room only for practising duelling and magic sensing. All this time he could have been asking for this sort of food.

But couldn't the room only provide stuff that was in the castle, which meant that there was some of this ham in the kitchen? "Those bastards," he concluded. "That's why their podium is raised. To hide that they're eating different food than us."

"I don't know how I feel about the fact that you're drinking," Tonks said.

"What the hell, girl. You're a teenager, where's your spirit of rebellion. You should be drinking too!" Harry exclaimed and flexed some telekinesis to send a lotus flower to Tonks. This one didn't have wine, but another liquor that he recognized. "It's crema di limoncello with some dates and figs, should suit your palate more," he mumbled in between bites of ham and gulps of wine.

Tonks hesitantly poured herself a little glass of the cream and sniffed it, before quickly dipping her tongue into it. "Wow," the girl said, blinking at him, as if surprised. "This is good," she said before pouring herself more and promptly gulping it down.

Harry meanwhile, was starting to develop the nice and heady feeling that he generally associated with getting drunk on wine specifically. Having reached his goal he mostly ate, only occasionally sipping to enhance the flavour and to keep his level of drunkenness. "I always say," he mumbled to himself. "The Italians make the best wine, and the French the best cheese." He giggled like a moron, drawing a confused inquiry from Tonks.

"What are you laughing about?" she asked with a slightly slurred speech.

"Just how to offend the maximum number of people possible in one sentence," Harry replied back.

She seemed to think of an answer for a second, before letting out her own stupid laugh. "With your potion skills, you do that just by existing."

"Oi," Harry mumbled. "Meanie."

A pause entered the audial space between the two. Interspersed only with occasional groans complimenting the temperature of the water and the beautiful music playing in the background.

"I'm sorry," Tonks eventually said.

"Hmmm?"

"For dragging you into that, yesterday."

"Well, all's well that ends well. Maybe I'd be a bit mad if I'd been bitten, but considering there were no negative consequences I'm glad I was there. I don't think you'd have survived alone," Harry said.

"There were consequences though," Tonks mumbled and turned to look at him with penetrating eyes. Glowing so red he could see them through the steam. Kinda creepy. "You had to kill someone."

Harry scoffed. "People like to argue after which point someone has lost the moral agency that grants them their right to not be killed. I think everyone in the world would agree that Greyback had long since left that point behind. Embracing the wolf, turning children, participating in mass slaughter with Voldemort."

Tonks sucked in her breath at the mention of the name.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sorry, You-Know-Who."

"How… Did it feel?" she eventually asked.

Harry thought back to seeing himself bisect the werewolf. He'd mostly felt relief that the threat had been eliminated. Maybe some disassociated disgust at the blood and guts flying everywhere. Perhaps he'd feel guilt if it had been more than just his body wielding the sword.

But all in all, it had oddly felt like, "a job well done," he ended up saying. "You? You also helped, you know?"

"I felt relieved. Charlie he…" she trailed off. "His killer is dead, you said revenge doesn't lead anywhere but it felt… Good. Like a weight was lifted off my chest. I couldn't breathe for months, up until that point. But I didn't even know"

Harry took in her words and realised that Tonks stood at a precipice. She'd participated in a battle to the death and he was the only one she could talk to about it. "I think that makes sense. Society today kind of frowns on it, but it makes perfect sense when you think about how humans lived by the proverb "tooth for a tooth, eye for an eye." I don't think that revenge necessarily comes from a completely selfish place. You also want to avenge the dead by killing the killers, because as long as they live, your life and the life of your loved ones are still in danger. It's a self-preservation instinct to hate those that did us wrong. After all, if you don't defend yourself, what's to say they won't do it again?"

"Maybe you're right. But, what's the point in being an Auror then," Tonks wondered aloud. Her voice sounded exhausted, but also, for the first time in a while, genuinely calm. She sounded like she was at peace with herself.

Harry had always wondered why the media of today depicted everyone having such an adverse reaction to their first kill after the adrenaline had died down. Sure, it was an unshackling of the moral norms of the modern world, but killing was something that had been a part of human history since the beginning. Killing someone in a completely justified manner should have even less of an effect.

"The reason why modern morality frowns on vigilantism is because the law enforcement system in place is better than it ever has been. People don't have to seek their own justice anymore. They don't have to live in constant fear. Being an Auror helps create this society, in which people don't immediately think of escalating a conflict. It's noble, in a way. Also, if you became an Auror I'd feel better about it. I think people going into positions of power like this generally have the wrong motivations. Did you know that in some muggle countries, it's the dregs of society that become policemen? How sad is that? James Potter at least reformed the system in the sense that being an Auror is something to strive for, not just something you do if all other's paths close. With you in the force, I'd personally feel safer myself."

"That's a nice speech, but I think you can take care of yourself just fine," Tonks said with a laugh. "Where'd you learn to wield a sword like that?"

Harry paused, looking at her outline in the steam. "Ah, you have to leave a man some secrets, right?"

"You're not a man though, are you?" Tonks asked, and rather than it being a statement, it sounded more like a question. The air in the bath turned fragile and Harry took a gulp of his wine to delay answering.

"I think it's quite clear that some special circumstances made me grow up very, very fast. It's not something I want to get into, but maybe we can leave it at the fact that, unlike other students, to whom Hogwarts was the start of the journey… I've lived a very curious life already before this school," he eventually said.

It was a testament of the bond that Harry and Tonks had created, by dancing around each other for two years now, before codifying their relationship with a bloody and violent secret they'd likely take to the grave, that Tonks didn't dig.

"Alright. I'll accept that," she said quietly. "But what now?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean. After yesterday. What's next?"

Harry tilted his head. "Classes?"

"That's it? I go back to trying hard on my NEWTs, trying to get into the Auror programme. You get back to duelling, getting Outstandings?"

Harry had his eyes closed as she asked those questions. Finding them quite calming. Yes, he would like to go back to duelling, to classes.

Werewolves weren't really present in the life he envisioned for himself.

"Yeah, shit happens, life goes on," he answered simply.

"I guess you're right," Tonks said, suddenly closer. Harry opened his eyes and glanced to the left where the girl had approached him. She was now close enough to notice the colour of her hair. The pensive, calm, but still slightly pained look in her eyes.

She hugged him and he hugged her back. It felt warm and reassuring. As if he hadn't known that he was still alive until the hug.

After the hug, Tonks got out of the water.

He heard her putting on clothes behind him before she came over to kneel next to his head. A hand suddenly touched his hair, running through it gently before pulling his head backwards, making him look up directly into the now green eyes of the metamorph hovering over him.

"Thanks for saving my life, Harry. You're an amazing person," she said, before standing back up. "I think I need to be alone and rest for a bit."

"Take time to process everything, and come find me if you have to talk," Harry replied, not particularly minding being left alone either. It had been an... odd day, suffice to say.

Tonks paused at the doorway, turning back towards him one last time with a cryptic gaze. "Of course, let's talk when we can, but for the moment. "You have a duelling championship to win, and I have an academy admittance to earn."

The door closed behind her.

A sigh. "Felixis Felicis, huh? Survived an attempt on my life and gained a friend for life." He was fairly sure that from this point onwards, he would never abandon her, or she him.

He stayed in the room for another hour, moving from the pool to the pillows where a hookah was waiting for him. Laying there, enjoying himself, Harry realised that he was getting used to almost dying. But the haze of the alcohol and… other substances made him come to a realisation that he wouldn't have come too sober.

He wasn't afraid of it anymore. As long as it was for a good cause

Chapter Text

​The next few weeks of school were as awkward as they were surreal.

Tonks and Harry hadn't told anyone about the fact that Greyback was now dead, which meant that the teachers and the students stayed on high alert. The newspapers reported on the case, and the Auror Department occasionally gave apologies for the fact that they weren't making any progress. Professor Potter looked incredibly stressed, although if that was due to the werewolf situation, or the possibility that Albus had not shared with him the fact that the curse on his position might have been broken, was up in the air.

As for the headmaster, he remained elusive, only appearing at dinner in the great hall on very rare occasions.

Perhaps it was a testament to the fact that Harry had been overly paranoid about his Occlumency back in the day, that Tonks, who had no defences, and probably thought about that night a lot, hadn't given up the secret to anyone. He'd ended up telling her about the Room of Requirement, after verifying that the diadem was gone. She used it for the dummy, and for learning magic sense, something he'd recommended she work on.

Harry did feel a bit dumb there at that specific moment, but his shields provided him with a piece of mind, which was almost as important as an actual defence.

Everything else? Business as usual. Flitwick continued instructing Harry, joyous at every point of progress. They finally finished up the disarming spell and started working on some other tricks for the tournament that Harry was now officially signed up for. It would be happening in Austria, Vienna. The former seat of the Habsburg empire, but also one of the places from which Grindelwald had launched his conquest initially, all those decades ago.

He continued practising Potions with Penny and occasionally helping Cedric with Transfiguration to get him that O+ again. His Magic Sense continued developing, as did his wasp conjuration attack.

Classes were more fast-paced due to the upcoming exams, but just as easy as they'd always been. All the subjects except Potions and Arithmancy required minimal effort to stay on top of, something that frustrated many of his classmates in the subjects he'd advanced in. The pressure on them was higher, now that they risked being outperformed by someone a year, or two younger than them.

Eventually, after the next full moon, people realised that the werewolf hadn't done anything in two months.

Maybe the monster had moved on.

The exams passed in a blur. His Patronus assured him a perfect grade in Charms and DADA, and while McGonagall was disappointed by the fact that Harry did not seek to advance in Transfiguration, although she was impressed by his wasp conjuration.

The year ended with a whimper, not a bang, all the narrative momentum being used up in the last few chapters. After saying goodbye to his friends, to Hogwarts… To the library, from which he'd made many copies, there were only two important conversations that Harry still needed to have before he could complete the year with no loose threads. He'd end up having three important ones because even if he hadn't realised it, other people included him in their plans as well.

The first conversation occurred in the Room of Requirement, after one of Harry's Magic Sense practice sessions. He was working on detecting smaller and smaller amounts of magic in the void and had managed to work his way down to a spoon that was enchanted to always stay see-through. A useless thing, when one considered that this enchantment also made it incapable of actually holding any liquid as a side-effect.

"We've been avoiding the conversation long enough," he started, addressing his Mind Arts mentor, who sat on his head as usual. "I need to know if you still want to come with me, or if you want to stay in the castle."

The hat slumped on his head, and Harry could literally feel the metaphorical gears turning inside it. Then, it began telling a story.

A story about Godric Gryffindor. A young and hot-blooded combat mage extraordinaire. A British wizard who was at the time, considered the best duellist alive. Hailing from a small village now named Godric's Hollow, the man travelled the continent in his youth, defeating foes and saving princesses from dragons. And on one special occasion in Romania, dragons from a particularly vicious and hateful princess.

All the while he left behind him people confused as to how they had lost against him in the duels he'd challenged them to. They had all underperformed, not used their best spells, and succumbed to terrible and sudden headaches.

One thing that history had forgotten about the man, or perhaps never known in the first place… Was that he had been an absolute master of the Mind Arts. An obscure branch of magic used to befuddle one's foes into making fatal errors, in situations where no fatal errors were allowed.

The man travelled, eventually taking an apprentice, as was common. A brave boy with more courage and heart than brain. A boy completely untalented at magic, but very good with a sword and with the lute. It was here that Godric decided to make a sacrifice to fulfil his student's dream of being an adventurer like his master. A troubadour. Godric had won a goblin-forged sword, made from a material that absorbed magic and the attributes of the things it killed.

He infused it with his magic, specifically, his knowledge of the Mind Arts.

Eventually, the sword gained a mind of its own and the ability to use Legilimency at the level that Godric had used it at the height of his power.

The boy took the sword, gratefully, as was fitting, before striking out on adventure. It was a fun year, full of music, laughter, and protecting the innocent. Then it ended in tragedy. What use was one wizard who couldn't apparate against a pillaging army? Virtue might have protected the villagers, who'd gotten enough time to flee, but it hadn't protected the hero from being killed by the mass of enemies. No matter how many enemies his magical sword was capable of striking down, an army was like a hydra. Two heads growing to replace each one lost.

Godric arrived too late. The only thing that remained was a bloody corpse with more holes than meat and a sword stuck in its chest as a last respect towards a fallen warrior.

That was when a necessity became clear.

A necessity to teach magical children from young onwards, so that they would have time and safety a plenty to master all the magic that they needed to survive and thrive before the cruel world took them.

"I was done with violence at that point, blood sickened me. When they created Hogwarts, I asked to be retired, and given a peaceful task. They granted me the ability to shift between a hat and a sword. I've been sorting students ever since," the hat finished, leaving Harry stunned by the tale he'd just heard.

"Will you teach me how to wield you?" Harry eventually asked in the resulting silence. The question was a question and all that that implied.

"Yes," the hat replied.

-/-

"Well, you'll have two weeks off when you get back, then you're going to be joining me for a quick refresher, a quick strategy meeting. Then we're off to Vienna. Congratulations, Harry, you're officially registered for this year's U17 duelling tournament."

"Thanks for organising it, Filius," Harry said gratefully. The man had gone through all the bother of signing him up and organising accommodation for the one-week spectacle.

"You focus on your training, I'm past my prime, I can do some light organisation work. It only took me five owls to get everything done," the man said cheerfully, leaning against the podium from which he usually lectured. Harry had come to say goodbye to his mentor specifically before the train left.

"When will the listings become public?" Harry asked. He'd need to pay attention to when it would become public so that he could coordinate with Skeeter. She'd likely want the story to be as high impact as possible and he, well, he wanted something in return. A thirteen-year-old daring to sign up for a competition in which 15 was usually the lowest age was juicy enough to ask for something big.

"A day or two before the start. The experience is that anything longer than that and the excitement has time to die down."

The second-year nodded absentmindedly. "Good, good. I just wanted to check in before leaving. One last question. Is there any chance of me winning?" he asked.

Filius hesitated and awkwardly twirled his moustache. "Harry, I have to say. You're incredible. If I'd had your work ethic when I was your age I'd have won the championship a decade earlier. You're academically gifted, as your spell-creation project from last year shows, but you also have the perseverance to just cast a spell several thousand times when it's necessary to elevate it to the next level. You have the instincts, the drive, the talent…" he trailed off.

"I'm not afraid of losing," Harry said. The werewolf and Twix had put losing into perspective. Had he failed to upkeep his part of the battle in either one of those scenarios he would be dead or turned by now. Losing in a duelling competition seemed insignificant in comparison. Especially since he had four more three more tries in him. "If I learn anything I wouldn't even particularly mind."

Filius looked at him searchingly before nodding. "Good. Quite frankly, you could win in case of a miracle. If you had the same amount of training as everyone else and were 17 I'd bet my life-savings on you. But you're fighting more than just an uphill battle here, you're fighting an uphill war."

"Everyone's going to have more training, more experience and probably more support," Harry stated.

"Yes, it's a family tradition often enough. It took me longer than it should have to win my first championship because I didn't have such tricks to rely on. Tricks that generations of my ancestors had developed at that point."

"Well, the situation isn't entirely similar," Harry said. "I do have you, and the entirety of Hogwarts at my back."

Filius considered before nodding seriously. "An impressive legacy to back your claim. I have no doubt that if you keep at it the way that you have you'll win the tournament eventually."

"Just not this year, and probably not the next," Harry said.

"Yes."

"Thanks, Filius, I'll see you soon," Harry said, not having anything more to say.

"Have a nice summer, Harry. I'm looking forward to our preparation week," the professor said, and the two of them parted with a firm handshake.

-/-

Harry awkwardly ambled his way on the train, cutting it close with the leaving. Usually, he went on with his friends, not caring that he was part of a larger mob of students all rushing in. But now he was doing something a tad more complicated, for which he needed all his concentration, and for people to not bump into him.

He was pulling his trunk, which he would normally levitate. The reason why he wasn't was because he was currently levitating two more trunks. Just that they were invisible, and above his head, so nobody could bump into them. It was a laborious exertion of his telekinesis, and his face was probably red. He never could have done anything like this had he not developed his magical sense. Other students gave him weird looks as he passed by, making his way to the last compartment. But none of them bothered him. Finally, he reached the last part of the train, where he found an empty compartment to drag his shit into.

"Really looking forward to selling all this crap," he cursed as he threw himself onto the seat. The question of how exactly he would do that was still in the air. Some of the stuff he'd dragged out of the room of requirement was sus as fuck. The only reason he was considering Knockturn Alley was because the hat that he was once again bringing with him was apparently a bona-fide badass. Godric Gryffindor's Mind Arts capabilities distilled into one artefact was likely something that could keep most people away. Also, killing a werewolf as infamous as Greyback was a huge confidence boost.

Of course, only one of his trunks was filled with stuff from the Room of Requirement. The other one was filled with reading material. Harry had brought a lot of paper into Hogwarts this year, and he'd also scavenged the room for any loose parchment, all for one reason. Reading material. He didn't have access to the library while he was on summer vacation, so he'd used the copy spell sent to him by Slughorn all those months ago to take with him as many books as he could. He would be gone for two months, and considering the pace at which he read, it likely still wouldn't be enough.

The amount of notes and topics he was accumulating was getting a bit ridiculous. He could hardly keep track of it all, and the software application OneNote was still a few years from being developed.

His compartment door suddenly opened, ripping Harry from his thoughts and he looked up to see a confident Tonks stride into his space. She walked better now, after the werewolf. As if there was less weight on her shoulders and as if she was confident in her skills.

Her eyes still looked haunted, however. Less so every day, thankfully.

"Wotcher, Harry," she greeted as she sat down opposite him. He met her eyes, green like his. She'd adapted to wearing his eye colour recently. It fit considering he thought himself closer to her than ever.

"Hey," the boy greeted back. "You look good," he complimented, and she did. Not bothering with muggle clothes Tonks was already wearing shorts, a black top that hung loosely off her shoulders, and of course, Doc Martens.

"Thanks," she said, before giving him a cryptic look over. "You look…" she paused. "Manly," she eventually settled.

Harry sputtered, before laughing. "Manly?" he asked, before pointing at himself. "Girl you've seen me without a shirt. I'm about as manly as you," he said.

Tonks tapped her chin with her finger. Black nail polish, of course. "You know, I think it's the adjective that fits you most. I've always been at a loss for words on how to describe you. But I think manly is it. Not physically, but. Attitude. You're confident, hard-working, you have ambition, social skills, and you get respect. You're just stuck in the body of a child, for some reason."

Harry tilted his head. "That's interesting, those are the words I'd use to describe you. You walk differently now, more confidently. And the amount you work finally matches your ambition."

Tonks nodded, before leaning in conspiratorially. Harry did the same and offered an ear. "You're not the only one who's noticed," she whispered. "You won't believe the amount of dates I've been asked on since we killed that bastard," she said.

"That's a bit insensitive, considering…" Harry muttered.

"Charlie, yeah," Tonks muttered and leaned back. She crossed her arms and looked out of the window as the train started chugging along.

"It's the confidence, I'd say," Harry started switching the topic back. "Most people are directionless and insecure. They love latching on to those that exude an aura of 'I know where I'm going'."

"Is that what you used to think of me?" Tonks asked, with curiosity, not hurt.

Harry didn't feel like lying. "Not entirely, but somewhat. I always knew you had potential. You just needed to cut off-"

"The debris of the irrelevant," Tonks interrupted him while rolling her eyes.

"I know. Who needs friends, relationships and hobbies that don't directly bring one close to one's goals."

The second-year rolled his eyes right back. "I have all of that. People just confuse their priorities. Having friends and hobbies isn't the point of life. It's what you relax with when you're tired from following your actual purpose," he finished and noted that through all of his talking Tonks had just been staring at him, tenderly, with her chin on her fist and her elbow on her knee. "What?" he asked defensively.

The girl shook her head. "Nothing. I just really admire you, you know."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, not remembering when the last time had been that he'd gotten so much emotional positive reinforcement from anyone in his surroundings who wasn't family. Sure he was a hard worker, a good friend. But people didn't often compliment him for just who he was. "I've grown to respect you as well," he said back. "I like this more honest version of yourself. The fearless version."

"Thanks, Harry. That means a lot to me," she said softly, and they just held each other's gaze for a few seconds. Then she suddenly switched topics. "Anyway, we should hang out sometime this summer, I won't have much free time but something should be possible."

"You can apparate now, can't you?" Harry asked curiously. Tonks shook her head.

"There was a class, but I decided to learn it privately in the summer. I had more time for studying that way."

Harry nodded and quickly scribbled something on a piece of paper before

throwing it at her. "Well, here's my landline. If you don't have a phone you can reach me by owl too," he said.

"Thanks, I'll be in touch," Tonks said and put away the paper.

They didn't have much to say after that and descended into a comfortable silence for the rest of the ride, both of them reliving and rehashing some of the memories of the year through partially melancholic, and partially nostalgic lenses.

-/-

AN: I always consider it quite a milestone to finish another year at Hogwarts. Most fics fizzle out before the even finish year one. I'm learning a lot from this story and having a lot of fun writing it.

Chapter Text

If anyone had happened upon a certain clearing with a gigantic apple tree and three tombstones during the first weeks of summer vacation, they would have found a scene that would have confused them as to what century they were currently in. A boy, approximately thirteen years of age, who was filling out nicely with some growing muscles and height, was swinging a silver sword up, and down, up, and down, relentlessly. He was shirtless, with his longish red hair tied into a neat ponytail. Sweat was flying everywhere and his pants clung to his legs like hyenas to dead meat.

It was naturally Harry Evans wielding the sword, and it was naturally the magical hat that was the sword being wielded.

"98," the sword said when Harry swung it down.

"98," it said when he raised it back up in a diagonal slash.

"98." A block.

"97," a down-wards slash.

It was endless. Just practise after practice after practice. Harsh breaths and gulps for air being taken in a staccato of desperation. Muscles aching, being repaired by the wiggenweld potion, before being torn to shreds again and then coming back stronger.

Harry loved every second of it. There was just something about learning how to use a sword that spoke to his inner, and outer child. There was no need to fear that he was being instructed suboptimally either, as he was literally being taught by the sword he wielded.

"And, done," the sword said. They'd finished the drill and it was time for a short rest. "Good job, Harry," Chanithachuah said. "Glad to see you put in an utterly ridiculous amount of energy and dedication into anything you set your mind to, be it Occlumency, the disarming jinx, or sword-fighting." The voice seemed to be coming from the big red ruby embedded in the pommel, but really it was coming from a slight vibration of the entire blade which culminated in that area.

"It helps me think for the rest of the day," Harry said as he struggled for breath and walked slowly around the clearing trying to still his heart.

"Well, that was it for me. I'm looking forward to this mediaeval festival you promised, but otherwise, you do you," the sword said before transforming, still in Harry's hand, into a leather hat. Harry promptly carried the hat to his backpack, pulled out a Walkman and started playing some music. David Bowie, this time. Chanithachuah had explained after they'd come back that in hindsight, classical music was a type of music that was readily available at Hogwarts, and that he'd rather spend his limited time exploring modern muggle music instead. Harry had been all too happy to oblige. The classics were great, but not to the extent that the hat had insisted on listening to them last year. It didn't help that its favourite composer had crystallised to be Mozart, who was Harry's least favourite.

Done with hooking up the hat, Harry mentally went through the set of priorities he'd given to himself this summer.

Wand-magic was still out of reach due to the trace, none of the wands he'd looted ended up being compatible. Sword-fighting and Occlumency had just been finished. It turned out that Chanithachuah greatly enjoyed probing Harry's mind while being wielded, perhaps even more so than at all other times of the day. Something about constant vigilance, especially in combat.

The only thing Harry really worked on in the clearing other than that was wandless magic. He'd been given one task from Flitwick, and that was to concentrate the effect created through a wandless finite into his left fist.

But… Harry had already been doing that every day since he'd come back. He wanted to work on something else.

"I'm allowed to work on something fun, not just something useful," he told himself as he considered his options. As a second wandless priority Flitwick had told him to work on telekinesis since it would likely be the most helpful in the ring. A third priority was water since it could help him against opponents with veela heritage who could unleash firestorms at a moment's notice.

But Harry also liked fire. It was fun. And it was what he'd used to win his first duel against Tonks. Perhaps it was a bit of a dumb idea to put a whole day's focus on it. Especially in a forest. But… His water-shaping skills and telekinesis had recently plateaued. Sure, they'd passively increased the mastery with which he could use water spells and force spells, but still, it was time for a change of pace.

He held up a hand and clenched his fingers, summoning forth a blazing hot orange fireball at the top of his palm. He stared into the flame like an idiot for several minutes, mesmerised by the patterns of his own magic being given thermodynamic form. Then he started shaping it.

Triangle.

Circle.

Square.

Circle.

Triangle.

Square.

The variations were as endless as they were boring. At some point, he started trying to replicate Tom Riddle's trick of writing his name into the air. Harry Evans didn't offer quite as many possibilities as Tom Marvolo Riddle, but, it did offer gems such as:

Rary Hevans; Hary Revans; Sarny Harev and the best one, in Harry's humble opinion, As Har Revan. Which, if one pronounced it a bit oddly, could be read as 'Ass Hair Revan,' which was just Harry's personal homage to the Star Wars universe.

Unfortunately, he never did manage to get past five letters. The fire dissipated after that regardless of how focused he was. As Har Revan would forever remain unspelled, but not unthought and unappreciated.

After he was done with the fire Harry had to quickly ride home, so that he would be back in time for lunch. His aunt would give him shit if he didn't manage. But, thankfully, the pedals of a bicycle could be propelled by telekinesis, which made the whole thing vastly simpler.

Harry zoomed home. The only lament was that he wasn't a Zoomer anymore. Now he was just a filthy millennial. An early one at that.

-/-

"That looks nasty," Harry said once he arrived back home and parked his bike in the garage. He was referring to the oil spill on the floor, which a grumpy Vernon and Dudley were busy cleaning up with a bunch of rags.

"The guy who sold us the Cadillac didn't tell us he forgot to empty it," Vernon grumbled, referring to the highly stylised and baby blue car taking up most of the space in the garage.

"What's the point in fixing up an American car, the driver's seat is on the wrong side anyway. No way will you get to drive it anywhere, or sell it to anyone who wants to do that," Harry said with a slight tone of confusion. He hadn't bothered asking where his uncle and cousin were going this morning, just knowing that they were picking something up. He hadn't known it was a car.

He smiled. It seemed like the two had bonded now that Harry was gone most of the time and Dudley had gotten old enough to help with the car repair part of the family business.

"We already called a car museum and asked," Dudley said proudly, with a tarred face and black hands. "They said they want it."

"If we can fix it up properly," Vernon added. "They're this new thing that's opening up outside London. A car museum where you can drive the cars, for a fee of course. They have a private track so the inversion isn't an issue."

"That's cool, I'd actually be interested in going to something like that," Harry said with a surprised mutter. It was quite a great idea actually. The only issue was. He still didn't have a driver's licence. And likely wouldn't, for a while more considering he was only now turning thirteen.

"Get in line," Vernon said with a smile. "I'll sell this to them for cheap if I get an all-inclusive ride around."

"Dad!" Dudley exclaimed. "You promised I could get that skater VHS set if we sold it for more than 500 pounds."

"I never said I'd not try to sell it below that," Vernon snorted with a roll of his eyes. "Skating, where is this world coming to," he muttered.

Dudley looked disappointed and mad, which gave Harry a great idea of what to give the boy for Christmas. A skateboard hardly counted as a corrupting present, did it?

"Come on guys, let me get this," Harry said with a sigh and bent down towards the oil spill, putting a finger towards it. He wanted to test something and now was as good a time as any.

Due to his developing sensing skills, which were originally meant for better identifying curses and enchantments and such, Harry had found something new when coming back to the Dursleys. He'd found the trace on his wand, a small thing that he hadn't noticed back in Hogwarts due to the ambient magic. But either way, it was such an inoffensive little piece of spell-work that hardly anyone would be able to tell it was there.

A little knot of grey magical thread wound around the stick-shaped magic of the wand. It had shrivelled up to even smaller proportions in the magic-less environment of Privet Drive, but it created a small field, in which, Harry imagined, if magic was cast, it would alert the ministry.

It just so happened that the garage was outside of that field, so without further ado, he channelled a wandless scourgify into the floor. Under Vernon and Dudley's stupefied gaze, the oil spill started clearing up. Harry's spell wasn't powerful enough to disappear the whole thing at once, but if he continued channelling it?

The spill was gone soon, leaving nothing behind.

In a synchronous movement, Vernon and Dudley looked at each other, before looking at Harry and holding up their absolutely filthy arms entreatingly, with puppy dog eyes. It didn't look nearly as cute considering their coal miner look, but it wasn't up to Harry anyway.

"Not comfortable casting that one on humans yet," he said with a shake of the head.

"Aren't you going to get in trouble for this?" Vernon suddenly asked, concerned.

"Yeah, no magic outside of school. But I saw you playing with water last year in France…" Dudley said before trailing off.

"I think I found a way to circumvent that particular issue," Harry said. "If I don't get an angry letter from the ministry then maybe I can clean the whole house. God knows that no matter how hard Petunia tries, there will always be things that can't be removed by a non-professional."

Vernon nodded sagely. "It can be my birthday present, to her," he said.

A tick mark developed on Harry's forehead.

"If anything, wouldn't it be my present?" he asked.

"Is this the gratitude I get for raising you all those years? Who do you think taught you the work ethic that allowed you to develop that skill, huh?" the man sputtered. Both his son and his nephew gave him doubting looks.

Vernon sullenly crossed his arms and looked away. "You'll see," he muttered. "My present will be much better than any fancy magic." He looked towards Dudley. "Let's go hose down. This is a mess."

They parted ways, father and son going outside to get cleaned up, and Harry going into the living area of the house, where he walked into Petunia holding up a phone speaker.

The woman turned towards him and gestured for him to come over. "It's for you," she said, "Tonks. Right on time for lunch, she knows your habits, this girl," she said and handed Harry the speaker before disappearing into the kitchen.

"Thank god you're here Harry," Tonks said over the line once they'd exchanged greetings. "Your aunt was grilling me like a sausage. Please never be late again for whatever you do in the mornings, that was horrible."

"You haven't told me yet why you can only call at lunchtime and after dinner," Harry said while rolling his eyes.

"It's a surprise, dumbass," Tonks huffed. "Anyway, are you free this weekend? My parents just told me that they were invited to a wedding, no children allowed. You could come hang out for those days, they're letting me be since I'm 17 now. Adult in the magical world and all that."

"Tonks," Harry started, unsure of how to communicate this next bit to his good friend. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this. But you live in Manchester."

"Haha," his friend said in a dead voice. "Thanks for breaking the news. But you don't get it. I'm gaggin for someone to talk to who has a ball in the game. I'm so down in the strops I snapped at me mum yesterday. I need to see a friend or I'm gonna go bonkers."

"What about your other friends, the ones who did the apparition licence already? Can't they just, I don't know, literally pop over?" Harry asked a bit doubtfully. Why did Tonks want to hang out with him specifically?

A longer silence followed on the phone, followed by a bit of a sad

confession. "I was neglecting my friends already at the start of the year, for Charlie. Then after the… you know, I continued doing it for the grind as you would call it. We've had a falling out."

Harry could have made a joke that with Cedric and Penny he officially had more friends than Tonks, but decided against it. Tonks needed encouragement, not jokes. "I'm sorry to hear that. But in the end, if this was the limit of their patience, you wouldn't have made it after graduation anyway. It might surprise some students, but Hogwarts is in fact the time of your life when you have the most free time you'll ever have."

"Thanks, Harry, for that absolutely depressing take, you wanker," Tonks said with a sigh. "So, are you coming or not?"

"Of course I am," Harry said while rolling his eyes. "I'm a loyal puff alright. I just think that my aunt will want to speak to your dad first."

"Oh, no worries, I'll go get him," Tonks said.

"No, you dumb cunt," Harry hissed, preventing the girl from leaving. He repeated himself, more slowly. "I'm saying, maybe you should use your very special talent, to call your dad, so that he can talk to my aunt, and tell her that he'd love to have me over, under his adult supervision."

"Ah, right, sorry, I'm such a snit sometimes," Tonks said, her voice switching to a deeper and more masculine pitch in the middle of the sentence. "Alright young man, can I talk to your guardian?" she said, affecting the tone of voice of a strict middle school teacher.

"Auntie!" Harry shouted, and it was obvious that Petunia had been trying to listen in on the conversation from how she appeared around the corner to take the phone off his hands and talk to 'Ted.'

Chapter Text

Perhaps being allowed to go off alone was unsurprising when one considered the context in which Harry existed within his family. For the most part, he was treated as an adult. This had already been the case years ago, and now that he was getting older, he was getting more and more freedom.

But, anyway. There he was, packing the things he was going to take to Manchester. His aunt and 'Ted' had had a very nice talk over the phone.

Just like Penny's parents had allowed her to visit Harry and go to France with his family, Harry was now packing his things to go visit Tonks.

He wasn't taking a lot of things, just some ageing potions, books and other necessities. It was frustrating to see that he'd already made a significant dent in the literature that he'd copied and brought with him to Hogwarts, but there wasn't really a solution in sight.

He expected to get a very rude wake-up call when he graduated, wanted to look up a topic, and didn't have a gigantic library to immediately give him, if not an answer, then at least a direction.

Packing away the books he was planning to leave on the train, mostly stuff about enchantment this time, he sighed and stood up. "All done," he muttered, looking at the two trunks he'd prepared. One full of necessities for his trip to Manchester, one full of stuff he'd looted from the room of requirement.

Since he was already going to London to catch his connection, he didn't see a reason to not drop by Knockturn Alley first. And while he could have then with the money he was going to get bought himself a direct floo trip to Tonks, he wanted to save his soon-to-be sizable sum of wizarding currency for actual emergencies.

Also, Harry was 100% sure that while Tonks was 17 and could invite whoever she wanted, her parents had warded the floo-network to log who exactly she was inviting. His magical sensing was useful for not walking into magic he didn't want to walk into, but appearing through the floo kind of meant that by the time he noticed the ward, he would have already tripped it.

The train was preferable. He could read anyway, so it wasn't like he was losing any time.

The only thing Harry was leaving behind was his wand. He'd already suspected in the past that the thing radiated a zone in which any magic use would alert the ministry, but now that he'd basically confirmed that, the tool was staying firmly locked up in the cupboard under the stairs.

It was sad that the ministry had turned what was supposed to be his biggest tool, into an object he had to be suspicious of. This was why he'd started looking more into the books on Wards and Enchantments. The Trace wasn't really a curse, so his curse-breaking reading wasn't of help here, but an enchantment could be broken just as much.

They were all oddly similar, these things. A curse was an enchantment born out of negative emotions, generally with the intent purpose of harming whoever came into contact with the item. An enchantment was the consecration of new magical qualities onto items and warding was the same, just that it essentially affected the concept of a space.

For example, if one warded a house, one didn't have to necessarily walk around it completely, tracing the circle one wanted to create with a wand. One could just cast the spell and have it ward one's concept of what that specific house was.

Naturally wards, enchantments and curses were all incredibly complex magic. Learning to dispel them was easier than creating them because it was always easier to destroy than to create, but even that was beyond Hogwarts' curriculum. If he ever wanted to gain any expertise in the field, he would need to gain it on his own.

If anything Flitwick would have likely been the biggest help in dispelling enchantments and wards, but the man likely wouldn't look too kindly on Harry's ever-broadening plethora of interests.

Maybe it could wait until he won the U17 tournament, be it this year, the next, or the one after. Harry had five attempts overall, as the rules of the tournament allowed entrance also for people who were turning 17 the year it was held. This meant it wasn't really an under-17 tournament, but more of a 17-and-under tournament. Harry had never cared particularly much for sports, so this had been a surprise for him.

"Can we leave already," the hat grumbled from its perch on Harry's desk chair.

The boy rolled his eyes and put it on. A wave of his hand and some intense concentration shrunk his trunk which had no magical stuff in it. Another wave made it featherlight. It disappeared into his pocket. The other one, he had to take manually. He wasn't good enough to shrink stuff that had magic inside of it. And some of the objects in that trunk were enchanted or cursed.

He paused in his stride as he made to leave.

Maybe he'd keep some of the enchanted stuff to try and dispel the enchantments. You had to start somewhere, right?

He opened the trunk, took out an enchanted quill which let one cycle the input ink through all the colours of the rainbow, and closed it again.

Then he went down the stairs, said goodbye to his aunt, and let his uncle drive him to the train station.

"So you're going to visit a girl?" Vernon asked once they were alone in the small car blue beetle.

"Yeah, her name's Tonks," Harry replied.

"Different from the blonde one we took to France last year," the man muttered but didn't say anything after.

The boy rolled his eyes as he looked out the window, at the passing houses, lawns and cars. It made sense that his family would start getting interested in the women he was spending time with. But, it wasn't really a conversation he ever wanted to pursue ever again. He'd already gotten the, 'we're expecting babies, so be a gentleman,' from his old family, and while he'd loved them, he'd never really agreed on them having any sort of influence on his love life.

He didn't pick the topic up, and neither did Vernon once it became apparent that his nephew wasn't interested in pursuing it.

They stopped at the train station where he clapped his uncle on the shoulder, they grunted at each other, and he was leaving again. He noticed how he was spending less and less time at home with his family. But that was just the natural progress of life. It was just that he was an early bloomer. Hehe, early boomer.

He'd already been home for a few weeks now, but other than doing his own thing and relaxing in the garden with a good book, he hadn't done much. He enjoyed cooking with Petunia, helping Vernon in the garage and helping Dudley with his homework. But on a purely conversational level, besides asking each other how they were doing, there wasn't that much to discuss with his family.

Neither one of his parents had gone to university and they still didn't read a lot, preferring the television. This left most discussions bereft of depth. Additionally, the further that he sunk into magic, the more they lost him to a world that they had no access to.

As purchased his ticket and sat down on the train, Harry wondered if he was a bad son. After some introspection, he came to the conclusion that he was just a son and that those tended to leave the nest at some point anyway. He closed his eyes and tried to let go of the responsibility he felt towards his family, to hang out with them, to be their perfect child.

At the end of the day, while it would certainly be nice of him to spend more time with the Dursleys, to thank them for his upbringing… It certainly wasn't a moral obligation, and he spent enough time with them anyway.

Perhaps he should ask Tonks once he arrived in Manchester; how much time she spent with her parents; if she ever felt guilty that it wasn't enough. He suspected that the general answer he'd receive from any teenager would be that they didn't think too much of it.

Letting go of the topic he pulled out a light read from his trunk and started lazily going through the pages of his Arithmancy textbook. It looked like maths, really, from the outside. It was just upon closer inspection that the whole thing looked a bit made up.

The train chugged on at the same pace with which he flew through the pages, and before he knew it they'd arrived at the station he had to get off at if he wanted to go to the leaky cauldron. It was too cramped here to slip into a toilet and come out looking a decade older. Too many cameras. So, Harry made his way through the station with its bustling suited adults, trash cans, pigeons and drunk young adults onto the main street. From there it was just a 20-minute walk to the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry quickly slipped inside.

The magic and the smell hit him. Warmth radiated through the entire building on a meta-physical level, the smell of butterbeer and fire whiskey hung damply in the air and the laughter of witches, wizards and hags reverberated through the air.

It was a different world. More dangerous perhaps, but still real. Where people talked to each other and lived for more than just work. In a way, Harry felt torn. While his interactions with people were mostly superficial on both sides of the fence, they were starting to become easier on the magic one. Perhaps he'd have to go to Muggle higher education to find his people there, but at the moment, other than his family and some flings he wasn't planning on calling again, nothing was tying him down there.

Here, he mused as he walked through the pub and right back out on the other side; here he had friends, ambitions and a riveting history. He wasn't just Harry Evans, the child of a rapist and a mudblood anymore. He was Harry Evans, inventor of the word-searching spell, werewolf slayer -even if no one knew it-, wielder of the sword of Gryffindor and future duelling champion.

It was just a different kind of legacy than the one he had in the muggle world, where his only accomplishment was that he'd graduated secondary education relatively quickly, through no real hard work or talent of his own. Just happenstance.

He idly glanced at a newspaper discarded on the floor, something about the faster processing of search warrants in case of dark artefact suspicion pushed through by Dumbledore.

Then he closed his eyes and felt around him, making sure nobody was coming.

A quick chug of one of his ageing potions transformed him into an older version of himself. He'd specifically brought looser clothes just for this occasion. But quite frankly, he was hitting a growth spurt anyway with all the physical training he was doing, and at 1.66m he was probably almost as big as he was ever going to be. He didn't have many aspirations of going beyond 1.83m.

The disillusioned sorting hat joined the rest of his ensemble on his head.

'You're sure about this?' the hat asked once it touched its brim to his forehead. 'We could always just wait, none of that stuff expires.'

"Nah," Harry drawled as he started opening up the passageway to Diagon Alley. "Let's sell some shit," he said. The bricks slid to the side and he walked onto the shopping street, getting lost in the crowd almost instantly. A hood was pulled up over his red hair and he became truly anonymous.

It was time to visit Knockturn Alley.

-/-

AN: I think people have been waiting for this chapter for a while, at least going by the amount of people screaming at me in the comments why Harry hasn't looted RoR yet (on public forums), lol. Well, the first half of looting happened. Now its time for the second half.

There will be surprise, so put on a diaper or you might shit your pants... If you're wearing any

Chapter Text

AN: I think this is our longest chapter yet? But as we all know, its not about the length, its how you use it.

-/-

The entrance to Knockturn Alley was quite undramatic. It was simply a side street to the larger Diagon Alley, situated between two perfectly normal stores. An apothecary and a quidditch supply store. Sure, it wasn't as well-lit as the main street, which was weird considering there was no light source other than the sun outside currently. There were also odd figures hushing about and the space looked leaky, somehow, but in a shadowy way, maybe.

Okay, yes, Harry was scared. Sue him. He'd never been particularly scared, in his past or this life, of being robbed or whatever. He'd been privileged to live in countries with very low crime rates. London itself wasn't nearly as bad now, in 1991, as it was going to get by 2010. However, he'd always known that bad areas existed; he'd just never explicitly entered them with the intention of fencing off partially illegal goods.

"C'mon, Harry. You killed a werewolf, what are you scared of," he muttered to himself.

The invisible hat on his head mentally cleared its throat. 'Excuse me, I killed a werewolf.'

'Yeah, but you were using my body, so I killed a werewolf.'

'Did not.'

'Did so.'

'Did not.'

'Did so.'

'Did not.'

'Did so.'

'Did not.'

'Did so.'

'Bloody hell just go in there already you fucking twat!' the hat shouted mentally, providing the kick in the ass that Harry needed to get going. The boy grimaced, reassured himself that he looked as intimidating as anyone could ask him to look in his older form, clad in all black and that, and entered the alley.

It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, actually, and he managed to confidently walk the first ten metres or so with his chin up. Sure, it was dark, sure, the magical atmosphere reeked of some very hateful emotions, and sure, there was a hag sitting on the floor with a collection of eyeballs and organs in front of her, hawking her wares.

But at the end of the day, just with the hat on his head, Harry was one of the more dangerous people present.

He flagged down interesting stores that he would perhaps feel like visiting when he had some money. There was a second-hand store which seemed to focus mostly on books. He was quite interested in that, but perhaps not out of any practical reason. He just really liked books. Currently, Hogwarts provided him with all that he needed in that regard.

'There are many works Hogwarts doesn't have, some books are warded against copying after all. Grimoires.' the hat provided in his head as Harry passed a pharmacy, wondering what it offered that wasn't available in Diagon Alley.

'Maybe worth a look then,' Harry replied, passing a pub which had a pair of vampires sipping a drink that probably wasn't tomato juice on one of its outside tables. He squinted and identified Borgin & Burkes in the distance. Frankly, he'd passed several second-hand stores already, but maybe it was his sentimentality that made him want to visit the one he'd read about.

"What are ya carrying in that trunk of yous, boy?" A voice suddenly rasped from behind Harry and he was halted in his steps as the trunk he was dragging with him was held down by a strong pair of hands.

The boy turned around to look at the ghoulish-looking man who'd grasped at the trunk, wisps of hair floating gently in the air despite there being no wind.

He felt calm, actually, despite the eyes he felt on him. From the vampires, passerbyes and from inside the shops. All looking at how he would react. Well, he'd been dragging the trunk instead of floating it so that he'd have some magic free to incinerate any idiots bothering him, but actually, he had a better idea.

"That wasn't very smart of you," he informed the perhaps attempting robber.

"Why's that," the man asked confusedly, looking down at his hand still latched onto the trunk.

"I warded it with a mind disintegration curse. Should be kicking in any second now. Keep your hands off other people's stuff if you're too incompetent to have developed a magic sense, really," he said blithely, causing the man to let go of the trunk and take a step back, drawing his wand.

"Ya think-" the man started, and then the hat on Harry's head got his cue.

'Ah, you're talking to me,' it said, before extending a tendril, or rather, a lance, at the man who'd so bothered their peaceful walk.

'Something impressive, but not deadly,' Harry cautioned as the ratty man aborted his attempts for a wand, whatever shields he had breaking like an egg on the pavement. He stood straight, rigid, and utterly silent, his face pulled in a rictus of agony. His arms started trembling, his wand clattered to the ground, and then he just collapsed. No sound, but the impact of a body on the floor. A sort of dusty flop. Like a mop being dropped, but without the hilt.

Harry turned around and continued on his way to Burgin & Burges, people now giving him a much wider berth than they had before. He felt a magic signature from behind him dragging off the man who'd put his hands on his trunk. He felt them both retreating into a side alley. He tried not to think about it.

He reached the shop he'd been aiming for. Dusty vitrines facing outwards. Dried tongues, seemingly human, a blood-stained pack of cards, a gigantic grandfather clock showing the time with a pair of bones. He entered, feeling the stares of the evil-looking masks scattered on the walls and the wards he'd just passed through. "Charming," he noted, looking around.

Burgin, or was it Burkes? Was involved in a conversation with another customer at the moment. Behind his desk in the middle of his dark magic emporium, he could only see the back of the woman he was arguing with, frilly but expensive-looking dress, blonde hair weaved in a French braid.

He took the opportunity to look around, checking up on the objects available in this demented thrift shop. His magical senses helped him avoid touching stuff that he shouldn't, and he realised that the store probably wouldn't take everything that he'd brought. It seemed to be a bit high-end. So, likely, there were only a few things he had with him he could sell, the others would have to go to other second-hand stores.

He examined a dagger which seemed to be enchanted, not cursed, to hold the blood it extracted in a ball of liquid at its tip. 'For ritual magic,' the hat informed him. It was during this examination that the negotiation at the counter seemed to come to an end.

"Perhaps I'll just take my business somewhere else, in the future," the woman said loudly enough for Harry to make out. He turned around and saw something that made his blood freeze. A little book on the counter.

The moment he laid eyes on it he recognized it for what it was. It was actively hiding from him, but he could feel it. Darkness. Evil, for lack of a better word. As the woman, Narcissa Malfoy, presumably, scooped it up and was about to storm out of the store, he was forced to make a split-second decision.

"See if I care, fallen house like yours," Borgin, or Burkes, was in the middle of muttering when Harry stepped up to the counter and slapped down a hand on the diary horcrux before Narcissa could put it back in her purse.

"My, my," he drawled, meeting the woman's eyes as he slowly slid the diary towards himself. "Borgin, or Burkes," he said, turning to the man who was looking him up and down curiously. "I respect your business acumen and your sense of self-preservation for not wanting such an object in your store, or anywhere near you, really, but some things you just have to have. It's history!" he chided.

The old slumped man grunted at him. "History is nice if it doesn't kill you while you sleep. Also, I deal in curiosities," he said with a broad gesture directed at his store. Then he glared at the diary. "Not in abominations."

"Well, I do," Harry said. He was stuck in an unfortunate position. He'd told Dumbledore about the Horcruxes and the man had presumably been doing something. However, this inadvertently led to Narcissa Malfoy trying to get rid of the diary.

Hadn't Lucius originally given it to Ginny when Arthur had started putting forth legislation that would allow the search and seizure of homes due to suspicion of the presence of dark artefacts? If she couldn't sell it here, he didn't know what else she would do with it. Perhaps just throw it in the ocean. In which case, they were all fucked anyway since neither Dumbledore nor Harry would be capable of finding it.

Voldemort would be immortal, for real this time. The diary was mostly safe as long as one didn't write in it, so Harry couldn't excuse himself from the situation here, saying that it wasn't his problem. He had to take it, so it wouldn't be potentially lost forever.

"Excuse me," Narcissa said coldly. "But the diary is mine."

Harry gave her an annoyed look. Wasn't she supposed to be around 36 years old right now? She was about his age, but still behaving like a child.

"Please, you're trying to get rid of evidence. You should be paying me to take this off your hands. The very idea that you thought Burgin, or Burkes would pay you for the privilege of potentially being possessed by this monstrosity is ridiculous."

Narcissa glared at him with her blue eyes, before sniffing aristocratically.

"Who are you even?" she demanded, looking disdainfully at his cheap black robes and the tattered trunk he was pulling behind him. Seemingly not satisfied with waiting for the answer she made her second mistake of the day. She tried to probe his mind.

Harry respected the attempt. She wasn't even using a wand, seemingly. But as he felt the, in comparison to the hat, little worm of mind magic trying to wiggle into his mind, he got a bit angry. He gripped the probe, mentally and squeezed it, holding it in place.

Narcissa shifted her posture from arrogant, to rigid, and tried to retreat.

Harry didn't let go. This was an opportunity to practise against someone who wasn't the hat, and at the same time have it be legitimate self-defence, while also impressing on Borgin, or Burkes, that he wasn't to be messed with. He flayed the upper layer of the probe. Slowly. Narcissa flinched. He incinerated the next one and she reeled back. Then he crushed what remained.

"Ha- have it then," she spat with a stutter, turned around and rushed out of the store. Harry was lucky she'd tried to face him in the only field he could have trounced her in. He would have lost a duel, but occlumency was where he'd made real efforts to shine for quite a while now.

He looked at the ancient man behind the counter, now looking at him warily. "Women," Harry said with a roll of his eyes.

The old man cracked a grin. Misogyny, the attitude that allowed generations to connect. Beautiful.

"I'm Burkes," the old man grunted, looking at the diary that Harry had trapped under his hand. "What are you going to do with that?" he asked warily.

Harry picked up the Horcrux and put it in his inner breast pocket. He didn't quite know what he was going to do with the thing yet, other than keep it very far away from himself until he found a way to give it to Dumbledore. Had the man tried to search the Malfoy residence through legal means? Instead of simply breaking in and taking it? The diadem was gone, presumably destroyed, but Harry was starting to get worried about what kind of tactics the headmaster had been using to get a hold of the other Horcruxes.

He couldn't speak those plans aloud though, if he said loudly in the presence of the diary that he wanted to destroy it, it would throw everything it had at trying to possess Harry, or escape, never to appear again. Already he felt a light brush against his occlumency. But, in comparison to the hat, it was nothing. He batted it away and the attempt stopped. He felt the Horcrux draw in on itself.

"It's a fascinating magical artefact," Harry thus said. "I can feel the power inside it, probably quite important really. Considering that we both know that the owner isn't as gone as some would believe, perhaps it would be good to hand it over once they resurface. I'm sure a finder's fee could be arranged." He said. He wasn't sure how, but he somehow felt the diary relax at his words.

At the end of the day, the thing was just a very dark and powerful artefact controlled by the mind of a quite frankly, mentally ill 16-year-old. It was only as strong as its weakest link.

Burke looked at him doubtfully, probably thinking correctly that Harry had no other fate than death if he ever walked up to Voldemort and gave him back his school diary, thus revealing he knew the man's real identity.

"Well, you have it all figured out," the man mumbled. "How did you recognize it?" he asked suspiciously.

Harry, knowing he had to upkeep a certain image in this situation, simply snorted. "Is any wizard worth their name incapable of developing the ability to sense magic after they graduate Hogwarts?" he asked rhetorically.

The shop owner, who probably possessed the ability himself; how else would he know what to buy or sell, idly nodded. "Well, I guess we are both worthy of the name then," he mused with a chuckle. "However, speaking about names…" he trailed off with a pointed look.

Having witnessed what had happened to Narcissa, and obviously being smart enough to connect the dots on how well a mental invasion was likely to go, thus there was nothing to the look. But, it was penetrating enough. Watery blue eyes perhaps hinted at age, but that wasn't anything to underestimate someone over. Especially an old, probable dark wizard like Burkes.

"You can call me Charon," Harry said, already having predicted that he would need a fake identity if anyone asked him to introduce himself.

"A fake name for a fake body." Was the reply to that.

Harry, or rather Charon, just smirked. "What is all this attachment to the original when it is so much more fun to be anyone you want?" He refused to be drawn into a discussion about his identity. He was here to sell some stuff. "But I didn't come here to discuss philosophy, or to divest foolish noblewomen of their powerful artefacts. This is a pawn shop, and I recently came upon an interesting room holding some curiosities."

"A pawn shop," Burkes muttered, offended. "We deal in antiques and artefacts, not second-hand books on beginner potions." He crooked a finger upwards. "But show your wares, Charon. A wizard of your quality probably found at least something interesting."

Charon bent down, lifted the trunk and slammed the whole thing on the table. It was an old ratty and partially dusty thing. It fit in perfectly with the vibe of the store. Burkes didn't even flinch and simply watched as Harry unlatched the trunk. A bunch of items were revealed, most of them in a bad state. But, Harry's magical senses and his own wits told him that there were at least some things he'd dared take from the room of requirement that Burkes would likely be interested in.

He hovered a hand over the trunk, and through telekinesis unearthed the first treasure. A little black statue. One of those horrible jagged and bronze things that artists copying Giacometti liked to make. This one was thin as a rail and was holding out its hands as if trying to encompass the world. It was cursed, badly. Dark magic. Harry hadn't been able to identify what it did exactly, but he did know that its effect radiated outwards to those who had insufficient mental defences.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Harry asked, despite not knowing at all what the thing fucking was. "Its effect radiates outwards to encompass the whole room if you let it."

Burkes warily eyed the statue as it hovered in front of his face. He bent down and seemed to search for something under his counter, before coming back up with a pair of leather gloves which he used to pick the thing out of the air. "Seems to be an amateur and modern rendition of the seven deadly sin statues," he muttered as he inspected it.

Harry nodded, pretending that he knew what that meant.

'A series created by a mad catholic wizard in the 9th century. He created seven cursed statues which caused an area-wide effect related to the sin. He believed it would show who was truly devoted, as any true Christian should have been able to refuse indulging in sin. However, his madness was too great and the curses became too powerful. Anyone who spent too long in the presence of the statues died without fail. Either gorging, copulating, or sleeping themselves to death. I think his name was Aelfred?' the hat helpfully provided.

Harry immediately used that information. "Perhaps it's an attempt to fake an 8th statue having been created, or just proof of concept. Anyway, while we both know that Aelfred would be rolling in his grave at such a 'weak' curse being used to truly test the faithful, the thing in itself is still quite strong and interesting."

Burkes looked at him suspiciously. "Oddly well informed, but yes. There have been many fakes created over the years. However the issue is, copies lose value to the originals no matter how well made, and this isn't even well-made."

"Lower your defences and test it?" Harry prompted. "If you go insane in some way we can agree it's well-made and you pay more, if you don't, then less is fine by me."

The old man snorted in amusement and pulled out his wand, casting some silent and quick charms on the statue. "I would say it's a medium-strength curse. The craftsmanship is… too muggle to be quite frank, to interest my clientele much. I'd give 50 galleons for it."

Harry snorted, but on the inside, he was boggling. 50 galleons was a lot.

"I call bullshit, but let me keep showing you stuff. If we can't agree on a price for a single one of the items we're discussing I'll take the lot of them and sell them elsewhere. 50 galleons," he muttered derogatorily.

Burkes put down the statue on the counter next to the trunk and waved him on to keep going. Harry picked another item from the pile, levitating it up. It was a book, old, for sure. Burkes' eyes lit up when he saw that it was untitled and he quickly snatched it out of the air to peruse its pages.

"It's a grimoire," Harry said. Grimoires were the accumulated secret research results and spells of entire groups or families that went unpublished to keep an advantage over their competitors.

This one had belonged to some dark family that had been extinct for a while, and Harry had no idea how it had come to the room of hidden things, and how Voldemort hadn't taken it. It was filled with spells on torture and other dark magics.

It was useless to Harry, since he wasn't interested in learning dark magic, and furthermore, didn't believe he needed more than the three Unforgivables if he ever decided to do so. "It's mostly shit we all know already, but I imagine there's some purebloods out there who like collecting stuff like that. Have a secret little library full of grimoires from dead families. It's about the feeling, not the usefulness of the spells."

"The Syracuses," the shopkeeper said. "Extinguished in the mind wars of the 17th century. Everybody and their mother was learning occlumency when a prodigy published a book on how to defend one's mind. New tools for information gathering were being created. The Syracuses mostly focused on novel torture methods that didn't risk the victim going insane and thus useless halfway through the process." He paused. "15 galleons. A decent addition to someone's collection, as you said, but of no real value magically."

Harry nodded along. 15 galleons was actually a decent price in his opinion. Nowadays large compendiums on magic went for one galleon in a normal bookstore, if it was really extensive and well-researched.

"It would be ten times more valuable if the magic inside was anything but a pile of rubbish," he agreed. "Twenty is a good price, a bit higher than what you offered, but that's because I know exactly that you have a list of pureblood families that still exist, are your clients, and had a feud with the Syracuses when they still existed. Having one of their grimoires is just the icing on the cake. Just from spite alone, they won't be able to resist."

Burkes hesitated at his words, before putting the thing down next to the statue with a sigh. "I agree, unfortunately. I know just the person who'd go for a sentimental purchase like this."

Harry pulled out the next thing from the trunk. "A blood quill," he said, simply, putting it down next to the statue and the book. "I'd say five galleons. Don't really make them anymore but it's hardly that special. Some dark families would probably like one to discipline their children with." Then he pulled out the last truly interesting item. A cursed dagger, it was a curved and ugly thing, serrated to look like it was the jaw of some beast. The effect was similar to the statue in power but more localised.

He actually knew exactly what this was, and by the widening of Burkes' eyes, so did he. Harry had found similar daggers during his research into curse-breaking. There had been a collection made by a Hungarian witch in the 16th century. 72 daggers, knives and swords. A work of a lifetime.

"One of the 72, if I identified it correctly. Seems to be a late one as well," he said, spinning the dagger so the bottom of the hilt was pointed at Burkes. He wanted to show the stylised R and the number 59, the calling card of the creator. She'd been a genius, of a sort.

Her most famous dagger had the mystifying effect that the wounds it created appeared on the people most closely related to the victim. It had been used to cull entire families before it was confiscated and destroyed. Another creation turned whoever it was used to harm against everyone the person, or animal, or creature, had previously considered allies.

The dagger that Harry had brought didn't have such a crazy effect. Or else, despite his hesitation to get involved with dark magic, he would have kept it for himself. But no, it had the mostly harmless, harmless in the way that the same effect could be created through a spell, the effect of mummifying the person it killed.

It was probably meant to help prep the body to be turned into an inferi. But since the whole process could also work manually, probably just as fast, he didn't have any qualms about anyone getting their hands on the thing. What were they going to do? Use to create an army of inferi they were going to create anyway? There were places where well-preserved bodies were kept for any necromancer to take advantage of. They were called graveyards.

The doors to the shop suddenly closed behind Harry as Burkes raised a hand. He glanced back to see that the sign had switched, now showing him the open sign, and whomever was outside the closed side of it. He turned around to raise an eyebrow at Burkes, who was reverently holding the dagger, before frowning.

"I'm not going to try and cheat someone capable enough to get their hands on one of these," the man said. "The issue is I don't have enough liquidity to buy it," he admitted. "Would you be willing to trade?" he asked, looking at him intently.

"I'm not principally against the idea," Harry admitted. "But you seem to focus quite heavily on dark magic. I'm not really interested in that, I find using emotions to fuel magic disdainful." Negative ones, at least, he added in his head.

'You should probably take the deal even if you don't walk away with exactly what you want,' the hat cautioned in his head. 'He seems to want it a lot and might be willing to attack you for it. Usually, it would be fine with my help, but we are in the wards of this shop, and they probably aren't overly pleasant.'

Harry mentally agreed. Burkes scratched at his chin and started pacing around, dagger still in hand. "With dark magic, you mean only the part that necessitates emotional fuel. Not all the additional stuff the ministry bans just because they're a bunch of morons, right?" the man eventually asked.

"Yeah, I'm obviously proficient in the mind arts, and a plethora of other things the ministry wouldn't want me to know anything about," Harry said.
"Are you thinking of offering me books?" he asked, at which Borkes slowly nodded.

"I know you're not interested in collecting things for no reason. Otherwise, you wouldn't be selling me what you're selling. Knowledge is useful, however," the man said.

It probably helped that Burke wouldn't really lose out on anything if he gave Harry a bunch of books. After all, he would have had ample time to copy them all by now. But, in a way, Harry would appreciate the books more than gold. He would get a lot of it, probably, anyway. Some things money couldn't buy, and Burkes probably didn't use the book deal a lot, he didn't want to create powerful dark wizards just running around wildly in Britain, which was why none of this supposed library was on display.

"I like books, the thing is, I have quite a nice library myself," Harry said, musing how sucky it would be if he ended up getting replicas of stuff available in the forbidden section.

Burkes chuckled. "I think you underestimate me, boy."

"Boy?" Harry queried. "I could be older than you for all you know."

"Nobody born older than me would use the word 'yeah,'" the man snorted.

"Just because someone is old doesn't mean they can't live in an environment that forces them to evolve their language," Harry said with a roll of the eyes but conceded the point. "Before we get to the books, let me tell you the physical items I would be interested in if you had any," he said, causing the shopkeep to perk up.

"What are you interested in?" he asked, "I have a fascinating deck of cards that allows you to divine the future by sacrificing muggle eyes. Very efficient resource management." The assumption here was that Harry killed lots of muggles anyway, and had up until now not had any use for the eyes, and was thus wasting them.

"Well, I was more thinking something along the lines of," Harry started, before pausing. "Basilisk venom." If Burkes had any, then he could get rid of the diary immediately.

Unfortunately, the man shook his head, giving him a queer look. "That would probably be more valuable than the dagger," the man muttered.

"Sad," Harry said. "But anyway, do you have any vanishing cabinets?" he asked instead, at which point Burkes' eyes lit up, before dimming.

The man obviously knew that Harry would be able to tell immediately if the thing was broken. "I have one, but not the pair. Can't go through either. The other one must be broken." he admitted.

"I'll take it anyway," Harry said. The action might prevent an attack on Hogwarts in the future. He would be able to shrink it, right? If not then he would just have to come back for it later. It was a big fucking thing made from wood, how had the original Draco lugged this thing around? It didn't even fit in the floo.

While he was worrying about that, Burkes simply nodded, seemingly pleased.

Harry looked at him expectantly. Their eyes locked. The younger of the two developed an eyebrow twitch. "Go get the books man, one broken and unpaired vanishing cabinet isn't nearly enough to clear your tab," he muttered darkly, and the shop-keep scurried off.

While Burkes was gone Harry examined the rest of the items on sale. With not very many exceptions they were dark somehow. Either they harmed the user or helped the user harm someone else. Harry didn't see the point, really. If he wanted to harm someone he didn't need a cursed spear to do so, he could just blast them in the face with a disarming jinx.

'It's from another era, this focus on curses. Most of their effects can be replicated by wand magic these days, but back then having a cursed spear was pretty good since you only knew a few select spells anyway. It seems mostly tradition now, to create these items and to put value on them.'

"Culture, basically," Harry muttered, not finding anything of real use. Sure, there were some interesting things, like the hand of glory which could help a thief in the dark. But, Harry already had a quickly developing magical sense, what did he need a candle for?

It was mostly curiosities and collectables. Just like antiques in the muggle world. Was a table from the 16th century more useful than one of the same material from the current century? No, but if the old one belonged to the queen of England, it would go for tens of thousands of pounds. The new one could be commissioned for a few hundred. The only real use of cursed items like this was to attempt an assassination.

However, anyone difficult to assassinate wouldn't be done in by a cursed necklace, while everyone who would actually fall for the old cursed necklace trick, would just as likely die to a killing curse in the back.

Shuffling steps alerted Harry of the return of Burkes, who was carrying a small mountain of books with him. About 13, mostly fairly thick tomes stacked up in his arms? Why wasn't he levitating them? Harry extended his senses as he came back to the counter and saw and felt that the books were protected against tampering. Perhaps a good practice object for his future enchantment-breaking sessions.

"I left out the ones on dark magic," the man muttered as he spread the books out on the table. Most of them still had quite ominous titles regardless. 'A Complete Guide on Obliviation,' was the shortest book available. It turned something in Harry's stomach so he promptly shoved it back towards Burkes.

"No need for that," he muttered, letting the man assume what he wanted.

Perhaps he thought Harry was already a master at obliviation, the truth was he simply hated the spell and wished it had never existed.

'That one looks interesting,' the hat said, pointing towards a large book in lime green. 'A compendium of the mind arts, defence and offence, an arms war,' by Zorian Kazinscki. Harry picked it up, opening it at a random page.

"Good eye," Burkes praised. "Zorian was an infamous wizard specialising in mind magic in the 18th century. He was Polish, and this is the only copy that was translated into English. Some say he taught Grindelwald himself, but that his pupil killed him once he'd learned everything the man had to teach."

Harry read a few passages and noted that this wasn't just a compendium, but a full-on instruction manual on the mind arts.

'Would be nice to see how the field developed. I'm hardly the end all be all of the mind arts. Perhaps even a bit outdated,' Chanithachuah admitted.

Harry pulled the book towards him. "I'm taking this one," he said, before examining the rest. 'Fire that burns,' looked interesting, and a short analysis showed that it had clear instructions for fiendfyre as well. He took it so that he could destroy the diary himself if necessary.

He pushed away all the books on potions, of which there were three. They probably didn't have anything Penny would want to know if Burkes was selling them. And, it would be a bit hard to explain where, how and why he'd gotten the 'All the poisons in the world and how to use them.'

His hand hovered over a book on ritual magic. Voldemort had used a ritual to come back from the grave, he decided it would perhaps be good to know something about it. He took that one. The rest were, oddly enough, history books.

"The ministry does love their editing of history, but as much as I'm curious, I'm not that curious," he muttered but ended up taking one of them anyway. He looked up at Burkes who was looking down at the pile and the selection Harry had made. "These five books, the vanishing cabinet and 500 galleons. The statue is worth 200, the book 20, the blood quill 5 and the dagger 775 to round things off nicely. Pay one-third of it with cash along with the other items, while each of the other things you're giving me clears 100 galleons of the debt."

Burkes nodded, probably because he was getting a good deal. But he had a sour expression on his face. "I can only put forward 450," he said, notedly not arguing about the price of the statue. Harry had known that the man had been fucking with him.

"Well, what else do you have to offer me?" Harry asked blithely. "I'm feeling gracious so you can give me a curiosity and a wand and we'll call it even."

"I have a book on time magic, very illegal, very impossibe. Just a bunch of kooky theories that never lead anywhere. The author claims he used to work for the Unspeakables, but I can't imagine how considering the stupidity he spouts. Bunch of nonsense about sands of time," the old man grunted.

Harry paused. "I've honestly never looked into the topic, but sure, bring it."

Sands of time, he mused internally. Now wasn't that something he'd heard before?

Burkes came back with the book alongside a fistful of wands. Harry took the book and hovered his hand over the wands, emitting magic to try to find a good vibration. A longish black wand ended up being the best match and he promptly picked it up.

He went over to shrink the vanishing cabinet, which took him most of his concentration and energy. It was immensely difficult to shrink magical objects, and perhaps this one only worked because vanishing cabinets were supposed to be shrinkable anyway. How else were people supposed to transport them? If it was inadvisable to shrink, then it was probably a very bad idea to apparate with the thing.

When he came back to the counter, he found that Burkes had removed everything off it that Harry hadn't purchased, and was rummaging through the trunk Harry had brought.

"Useless knick-knacks, all of it," the man grunted. "You can probably get five galleons for the lot? But you'll have to sell them individually and barter for every sickle." He passed Harry a heavy coin pouch, bulging, literally, and the size of the bag matched something one would use to shop for food. Looking inside confirmed that it was a lot of fucking gold. Real too.

"Five galleons are five galleons I guess, nice making your acquaintance, old man," Harry said, quickly clearing away the books he'd gotten into the trunk. He went for the exit, but Burkes stopped him.

"Come back if you find more interesting stuff," the man said. "But not before you've gotten rid of that dairy, don't want that thing in my store ever again." That was apparently the goodbye. Harry left.

He was in a bit of a pickle now, because he'd miscalculated. He thought he'd go to the pawn shop to get rid of all his illicit goods, and go to Tonks with a bag of money. Now he not only had a bag of money, but also a horcrux, a vanishing cabinet, and five very illegal and banned books. And he was bringing them to the house of his friend who wanted to be an auror…

Before he could properly think of the dilemma, however, Harry noted that once he exited the store, he wasn't really alone. A woman was waiting for him. A blonde one and she wasn't Skeeter.

-/-

Check out my Pokemon story as well!

Chapter Text

"What do you want?" Harry asked Lady Malfoy as she stepped up to him after he'd exited the store. He was still stuck with the dilemma of where he should put all his newly acquired illicit goods before going to Tonks. He couldn't really have her snooping through his trunk and finding… Well, all of that stuff. Although she knew her, she wouldn't recognize anything but the book on rituals as being illegal.

Lady Malfoy and looked him up and down disdainfully.

Was she trying to power-play him? Harry wondered, blinking in surprise. One would think that after one disastrous attempt at attempted mind reading, illegal, by the way, the perpetrator would give up on posturing.

Quite frankly, why did he have to entertain any notion that the woman would bring forth anyway? He hadn't heard anything about the Malfoys after Lucius' death, so he presumed they'd slid straight back into irrelevancy. They had money, sure, but the only really important thing they had was the Horcrux, and he'd taken that.

He tried to walk past the woman standing in front of him and went towards the exit of the alley. Find someplace to either reapply the ageing potion or slip back into his role of Harry Evans, resident soon-to-be 13-year-old.

But, the woman stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

If he'd known how to apparate, this was the moment when Harry Evans would have apparated away. Had Narcissa Malfoy been anyone else, he would have told the hat to make her catatonic. However, she wasn't just a random nobody. She probably had decent mind shields, and if she survived the onslaught, could probably beat him in a duel. It might even lead to uncovering his identity.

"What do you want?" he asked, annoyed.

Narcissa looked him up and down. "Who are you, I've never seen a wizard like you in Britain?" she asked, not answering his question.

Harry looked at her. Really looked at her. She was… frazzled. Presumably a single mother. Her Black heritage probably didn't mean much, he couldn't imagine she got along with the surviving head, Sirius. The Malfoys had likely fallen in relevancy, perhaps even lost some of their fortunes. "You're desperate for something," he concluded. She didn't flinch at his words, but her eyes did tighten. "I'm not some uneducated idiot who will, through any empty posturing you presume to act out, ever feel deferential or on the back foot to some random woman." He paused, letting the words sink in. He didn't want to be too harsh and trigger a duel. What he needed to do was get out of this alleyway. "If you want to talk, talk, but for any debate requiring longer than 30 seconds, you're going to have to sit down with me somewhere and treat me to a meal, not ambush me in some dark alleyway." He looked around demonstratively, at all the people peeking at their altercation. He leaned into the rigid woman. "I also presume you'd prefer to make a scene somewhere more private," he whispered, and twitched his eyes to the left, towards Diagon Alley.

He walked past her. She didn't try to stop him this time but just fell in step. Harry didn't like Narcissa, due to what she stood for. Pure-blood supremacism. But, he was in a situation where it was smarter to talk to her, rather than ignore her. However, while he'd been kind and understanding with the professors at Hogwarts. Understanding even, Harry did know what to get what he wanted out of a conversation, or a deal. Especially if he didn't like the person he was negotiating with. Narcissa seemed to want something from him, and it certainly wasn't the diary. Considering she didn't have anything he wanted, this gave him the complete and utter upper hand.

They walked with each other silently, being given a wide berth. Presumably, this was due to the pairing of Harry, a man who applied mind-melting curses to his luggage, and Lady Malfoy, who was too high profile to bother with. He had a few minutes of silence as they walked back into Diagon Alley, to think about what he could demand from the Malfoy family for whatever they wanted from him.

Not wanting to lose his momentum when coming back to the alley, not knowing a café or something they could sit down on, Harry navigated them towards the one place he did know. Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour. They drew some looks, two darkly dressed adults entering the place mostly catering to children, but, one of the advantages of a sunny day was the fact that the kids hung out in the outside patio, looking out at the stores riddling the street, picking out what they wanted and screaming at the passerbys.

Narcissa didn't look too amused sitting in a corner of an ice parlour, of which the main colour scheme was cream (which clashed horribly with her black dress). The server, Florean, presumably, was a bit confused as well at the grim meeting being held in his store but remained professional. He took Harry's order of a "Banana split galleon deluxe with extra cream," and Narcissa's "Coffee, black, no sugar," in stride and quickly came back with their orders. Looking at the head-sized monstrosity of ice cream in front of him, Harry decided that it was time to block out any unwanted listeners. He twitched his newly acquired black wand, creating a bubble of silence around their little corner. He'd gotten quite good at that. Muffling your footsteps while exploring the castle almost every second night while at school would do that to someone.

"So, now that you're buying me a meal, you have until I've finished eating to get me interested enough in the conversation to stay after that's over," Harry said and picked up his long golden spoon. He felt that the tub of ice cream he'd ordered was charmed with a cooling spell, so he wasn't in any rush to finish the portion. He tried some of the chocolate ice cream and hummed appreciatively. As expected, using magic one could make even better ice cream. Considering how great the original version was, that was saying something. He'd come once, back when Slughorn had shown him around the alley two years ago, and it had seemingly gotten even better since.

"You're not a pure-blood, are you?" Narcissa asked calmly, seeming less in a rush now that they'd sat down. She took a dainty sip from her coffee.

"I am, actually," Harry shot back. In a way that was true as well. Both his parents were magical, and even if one even got the pure-blood designation if all four grandparents were magical, he didn't care. If Voldemort could lie about his blood status whenever it suited him, then so could Harry.

"What's your family name, then?" Narcissa asked suspiciously.

Harry rolled his eyes and took another bite of ice cream. "None of your business. I prefer to remain anonymous in all cases. You can call me Charon."

Lady Malfoy did something that he'd previously thought impossible. She cracked a smile. He noticed then that she was only severe looking because she always looked like she'd stepped in shit. In reality, she was only 35 years old, and a classical beauty. Magic prevented ageing, so she looked more like 25.

Not that Harry would be thinking with his dick in this situation. Although, she would be the closest he'd probably ever get to a blonde princess. He could finally realise his childhood dreams of banging Elsa.

"So, I assume you'd be willing to transport someone to the afterlife? As long as I paid you?" she teased, and instead of thinking that she was trying to hire him on as an assassin, Harry understood that it was a joke. He chuckled.

"Well, I see someone knows their classics at least. But no, unfortunately, that's not a part of my service package," he winked as he said that. Perhaps hinting that it was? Narcissa was still a more powerful witch than he was a wizard at the moment and he needed to keep her on the back foot. There was no way implying that he was a murderer for hire would backfire on him, right?

The woman nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I had to read the entirety of the olden Greek mythology as a girl. It was oddly entertaining, considering most of the tales were clearly made up. How does a wizard transform himself into a bolt of lightning anyway?" she scoffed. "Fanciful."

"Yes, perhaps the time of your parents would have been better spent improving your mind arts skills," Harry muttered, taking another bite of ice cream.

Narcissa glared at him.

"It's clear to me that you know who I am," she eventually started. "But I have to ask, what do you know about the Malfoy family?" she asked.

"The Malfoys?" Harry wondered aloud. "Not much. I know they came over at the time of the conquest, which makes them a relatively young family. They overcompensated for that, naturally, buying themselves the appropriate titles and everything, displaying more blood purism than actual ancient families. Abraxas Malfoy went to school with the Dark Lord, where he was seduced to throw his money behind the cause, however, this would prove to be his ruin. His son followed in his footsteps, but before he was old enough to learn that real lords fund revolutions, not fight in them. He died as a result of his misdeeds. Vigilantism. He left behind a sizable fortune, some businesses, a wife, and a son." He shrugged. "That's about the extent of my knowledge." A pause. "Abraxas died of Dragon Pox or something?" he wondered.

"That about sums it up," Narcissa said with pursed lips. "If you leave out approximately 99% of the information and all the relevant context." She looked him up and down, this time genuinely disparagingly. "Are you even from here?" she said, intoning here as to mean Britain and high society.

In a way, Harry wasn't. What should be mentioned at that point is that when he'd entered this adult persona, he'd switched accents to that mishmash of sounds that would later become known as European English. A blank verse, essentially, with influences that were so muddled they became indistinguishable. And in fact, he didn't identify as British anyway.

"I'd refer to myself as a citizen of the world, really," he muttered thoughtfully. "And quite frankly, I detest the insinuation that I'm somehow uneducated for not knowing every minute detail about some irrelevant house so far removed from continental politics they might as well not exist. I believe that in a world of magic, where one man can grow powerful enough to face off with an entire country, knowledge and skills that are considered oh so important in terms of social collectivism and control become slightly irrelevant."

"I'll have to disagree," Narcissa said primly. "It is this knowledge that helps us preserve our culture and lead our people to a brighter future. Context matters. If none of us learned anything about history, we'd just be killing each other over basic loot."

"Ah yes, the civilisation myth. The belief that only certain education privileges one to participate in society in a meaningful way beyond just being a serf. I prefer putting that time into my magic, so I don't miserably fail whenever I try to read someone's mind, but we're all allowed to have our preferences, don't we?" he said with a thin smile, reminding Narcissa that she'd been the one to initiate hostilities.

The woman flared her nostrils, a bit like an angry bull.

"You're a barbarian," she eventually said, in a very tactful manner, not in any mean way.

Harry honestly considered himself quite educated, it was just that he was educated in muggle matters, which the Malfoys understandably didn't appreciate much.

"Also," she continued. "If you were capable of penetrating my mind, I think you would have already done so," she finished challengingly.

'She's got you there,' the invisible hat muttered into Harry's mind. 'You never bothered with the offensive aspect of mind magic.'

'I was a bit preoccupied, honestly. Perhaps I'll pick it up sooner, rather than later,' the boy responded.

'She obviously wants you to try to breach her,' the hat mused.

'What so that she can call the Aurors? No thanks.'

'I know her breed, you have the diary to incriminate her. She would never. No, I think it’s a test. If you can manage, she probably has a job for you. These types of people think everyone they meet is a servant whose wage they can just negotiate.'

'Should I do it, then?' Harry asked.

'You got some good books and some good stuff from Burkes. But realistically that won't happen that often. The Room of Hidden Things was running low on resalable objects and Burkes is probably running out of things you want. An old house like the Malfoys might provide more benefits that you haven't tapped into, yet.'

'Would you mind helping me out then?' Harry asked.

'You really remind me of him…' the hat murmured, before giving him a sign of agreement. Chanithachuah would breach Narcissa's mind, so Harry wouldn't have to.

It all happened in a second. The communication Harry had with the hat, and the hat doing what it promised to the woman sitting opposite them. She paled, and her eyes twitched. It was impressive that she didn't give any other indication.

'What did you do?' Harry asked curiously.

'I went in. Decent defences, but she hasn't had the practice. You can lose your touch if you don't engage in mental combat now and again. I said, in your voice mind you, "What makes you think I'm not already here?"'

'U nasty, man,' Harry said, as he chuckled out loud.

'I'll take it as a compliment… bro.'

"Impressive," she muttered, instead of being horrified. The Black family child-rearing techniques truly were something else, Harry guessed.

"Thanks," Harry said sarcastically.

"The reason why I asked what you knew about the Malfoys earlier is because… Well, you know what happens to a noble house when its heir is yet too young to lead it, and the caretaker wasn't formally introduced to the family business," Narcissa said with a pained face as if the admission itself put a dagger through her heart.

Harry didn't want to know what kind of face she'd make if he forced her to explain what the fuck she was trying to say. 'They're being bled dry,' the hat muttered in his head. And it all clicked in place.

In the original books, Narcissa had been shown only as a concerned mother and a high society wife. Perhaps due to some sort of prejudice, some sort of tradition about gender roles… Lucius had been the one who knew how all the family businesses worked, he was the one who went to vote in the Wizengamot and he was the one who probably led the family Black Blackmail Book. If he had to place a bet, he'd say that Abraxas died of Dragon Pox, before, or at the same time as Lucius was killed. This left Narcissa, who'd likely only ever been raised to be married off, not how to lead a house, in charge of a large fortune and empire.

Harry put together the clues and came to a startling but undoubtedly true realisation. The Malfoys were being picked apart. Probably from the side of the ministry, with Crouch at its head for the last dozen years. From the side of the political opposition in terms of a strengthened "liberal" faction led at least symbolically by James Potter and Sirius Black. And also, probably be their former allies, who, like any good set of vultures, jumped on any opportunity to profit from a carcass of their brethren.

It had been an odd conclusion to come to when considering the vast influence the Malfoys had had in the original books. But it made perfect sense that with the death of Lucius, that wasn't the case anymore.

What this all meant, however, and what Narcissa likely wanted from him. His mind swirled. His process of realisation must have shown on his face, because the woman he was sitting opposite of, sighed.

"I see you finally understood," she muttered. "But it's good that it took you so long. It means you might be who I've been looking for."

"It's all on Draco," Harry muttered. "If he doesn't live up to his name, the period of weakness will be extended even further." Narcissa was currently battling to stay afloat. A strong heir would likely make at least some opponents back off. A weak one…

"He's going to Hogwarts this year," Narcissa said, with an odd amount of pride when one considered that her son was going to the only school in the country.

"And you won't be able to protect him. He's a little boy running around with a vast fortune painting a target on his back, and he doesn't have the appropriate backing to make sure nobody will try something." Harry nodded, took another bite of ice cream and leaned back in his chair. He realised that Draco was even more screwed than just that, his godfather in the original books had been Severus Snape, the head of Slytherin. Draco had been under double protection. With Snape not teaching at Hogwarts, the boy was fucked.

"Doesn't have anything to do with me though," he concluded while idly pulling a booger out of his nose and flicking it away.

"Of course it doesn't," Narcissa said bitterly. "It doesn't have anything to do with anyone."

Harry remembered that with Sirius at the head of house Black, the Malfoys probably weren't getting any clout from Narcissa's maiden name either.

"I'll have to pay you, like I've had to pay everyone else since my husband died."

She'd probably gotten everything handed to her for free her whole life. From people trying to curry favour from both her families.

"Yeah, ok. I won't say I'm not for sale, but, what exactly could you possibly have that I would want?" He'd just gotten the paycheck of his life. He was still going to Hogwarts so he had access to a premiere library. The only thing he'd been able to think of that he could ask for had been…

"You refused to tell me your real name, so it's not like I know who you are and thus know what you want," Narcissa said with a wan smile.

If she was expecting Harry to blurt out his identity at that, then she was sorely mistaken. "What can I say, I'm a mysterious guy. It gives me an edge in negotiations."

"It hardly makes up for your clear political ineptitude though."

"I thought that's exactly why I was valuable because I'm too dumb to take advantage," he said with a grin. He was kind of enjoying this back-and-forth. The ice cream was good. Narcissa was nice to look at. When she wasn't pulling a face that was.

"Perhaps," the woman mumbled.

"We should maybe get to the point though," Harry said. "I have other appointments too." His tub of ice cream was closing in on being empty, and he still had one thing to do in Diagon Alley.

"I need someone to teach my son occlumency," Narcissa blurted out, before blushing in shame, as if she'd made a faux pas.

Harry had another moment where everything clicked together. What was the field that Draco's original god-father had most likely been able to help with? Potions, Dark Arts and occlumency. Which one of the three was likely the most important for an heir of a noble house? Definitely protecting one's mind. From Narcissa's earlier attack, he'd gotten to know that she wasn't too gifted in the area. And, it was one of the few skills one needed a decent practice partner for. Similarly, it was one of the skills that, if taught by the wrong person, could end in disaster.

'With a malicious teacher, Draco could be one nudge away from signing away everything he owns at age 17. Teaching someone gives one ample opportunity to add suggestions and change priorities,' the haid said ominously.

Now Harry had to wonder if the sentient object had done anything to him.

"I imagine you'll need a magically binding contract to allow me anywhere near your son's mind. Which I'd have to sign with my real name for it to validate itself." The joke was on her however, at this point in his life Harry still had two names he identified himself with.

"An unbreakable vow," Narcissa said.

"Fuck no," Harry replied. "Which is what I imagine everyone else said as well." Harry quite liked his magic and life, he wasn't going to put either in jeopardy for a measly teaching position.

Narcissa's shoulders slumped. "A magical contract, then."

"I quite value my anonymity, you'd have to first pay me to even sign the bloody thing," Harry grumbled, while on the inside he was laughing.

"How much?" Narcissa asked brusquely. Perhaps her wanting a more common teacher was also because those were easier to blind with money. But, the people on the top never dealt in money. There were many more valuable things floating around.

'Question is, do I want to teach a future Death Eater how to defend his mind better?' Harry wondered. 'I don't need anything they have to offer.'

'It's always good to have certain people indebted to you,' the hat replied. 'Also, being the boy's teacher, don't you think you could change the opinion he likely has on muggleborns and such? Going by his mother he's not a very progressive thinker.'

'I'd be getting paid to defuse a ticking time bomb,' Harry realised. Of course, this was only the case when labouring under the assumption he could reasonably change Draco. But, well, he already had some ideas as to that.

"I don't need your money," Harry replied to Narcissa. He could use this opportunity to do a good deed, even if everything else fell through.

"What do you want, then?" the woman asked with a roll of her eyes.

"Give me your stupidest house elf," Harry said.

Chapter Text

"Give me your stupidest house-elf."

Narcissa stared at Harry as if he'd started speaking Gobbledygook. "What?" she asked, for the first time in the whole conversation looking completely baffled.

"Every pure-blood house has that one elf, you know. The one getting ideas beyond its station." He meant, of course, Dobby.

"You want a house-elf. A misbehaving one," Narcissa asked slowly, as if unsure that she'd heard him correctly.

"Yeah."

"And you'll sign a teacher's contract."

"Well, no, I'll sit down with you and negotiate one. If we don't come to an agreement I'll keep the elf. He's just a fee for the time we'll probably need to agree to the specific wording and the payment for you getting my real name."

Narcissa frowned. "What do you imagine the contract to say, approximately."

"It will stipulate a pay. Since I know you've hit on hard times perhaps ten galleons an hour and free access to your entire library. A room in your mansion in case I ever want to sleep over. Lodging and meals and such, you know," Harry said idly. "In return, I'll oblige myself to teach your son to the best of my ability." Which wasn't saying much, since he didn't even know legilimency yet. "I'll promise to not harm him in any way that was unavoidable for the sake of teaching or my safety during the duration of the contract, which I can cancel at any time, as long as I give a week's notice." Narcissa made to say something. "Provided I am not, during that week intending to kidnap your son and wait for the period of non-harm to run out."

Narcissa licked her lips, looking nervous. "You'll sign a clause not to share anything you've learned in the library, or my son's head. Ever."

"Unless I've received that information somewhere else."

"I'll let my lawyer sign up a draft. Send it to you. We'll go over it together through correspondence," the woman decided when she noticed that Harry wasn't going to be unreasonable about it. The only thing he wanted was not to be obliviated, and not be forced to not harm Draco if it was the boy initiating conflict in school.

Narcissa paused, noticing an issue.

"I'll book a mailbox in Diagon, put it under Charon. The correspondence will go there, and my new house-elf will check it once a day in the afternoons," Harry decided.

A sniff. "Good luck getting him to do anything correctly, he'll probably cook you the letters for dinner."

"Oh, so it's a him?" Harry asked curiously, leaning forward.

"I sincerely hope you need a house-elf as a ritual sacrifice, it's about as much use as you'll get out of this one."

Harry refrained from telling her that she didn't know the value of a truly loyal house-elf. But, hadn't her mother had Kreacher, who'd defended her long after her death, taking orders from her portrait? Or was he mixing up the Black family tree somewhat? It was a complicated one. Walburga was the mother of Sirius, but Sirius was the cousin of Narcissa, so Narcissa was not the daughter of Walburga.

"You leave handling the house-elf to me," Harry ended up saying. "And, if I'm not misjudging the situation, we've discussed what we had to discuss."

"I'd want the lessons to start before September," Narcissa said.

"That can be arranged$. We should have the contract handled by then. Depends mostly on you really, I'm not too picky about what's in it. Keep it simple."

The woman breathed in, deeply. "Alright, that's settled." It was clear that it was taking her a lot of strength to do what she was doing.

How low must have house Malfoy fallen if the matriarch was stuck picking the mind arts teacher of her son from the street?

Or was it perhaps that if she put up an ad for a teacher, only vultures would apply? Picking someone at random in this case was more likely to end up in a mutually beneficial relationship.

"Dobby," the lady barked suddenly, a pathetic creature appearing at her side with a crack. "You're being sold," she informed the nervous-looking elf dressed in a tea towel. Its already large green eyes bulged out even further, before a handkerchief landed on his head, covering them along with his snout-like nose.

The house-elf put up a hand that was trembling something mighty to pull off the offensive piece of cloth. He looked at it, then back to Narcissa, who refused to meet his gaze. Then to Harry, who had a small smile on his face. He'd felt a magical connection between the elf and Narcissa snap.

"Dobby, is a free elf?" he asked confusedly.

"Oh, I wouldn't say so. More like under, new management," Lady Malfoy said snidely before promptly standing up, throwing a galleon on the table and walking past Harry, where she paused for a second, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. "You'll hear from me soon," she said, before rushing off.

Harry tried to share an amused look with the elf, with whom he, decisively speaking, did not have any sort of magical connection yet. Dobby just looked at him suspiciously, backing off a bit.

"Dobby, right?" Harry asked, extending a hand. "It's nice to meet you."

The house-elf looked at his hand suspiciously, perhaps more used to things that looked like it striking at him, rather than being offered as a greeting. Eventually, after a few long seconds, the elf stepped forward, clutching the handkerchief like a lifeline and shook Harry's right hand, with his left. "It is nice to be meeting you sers."

"Now," Harry started. "I'd like to fix a little misconception. I didn't as much buy you, as I did negotiate your freedom. You are, in fact, a free elf," he explained, causing Dobby to look at him wondrously. "I just know that all these old families have a bunch of house-elves that don't want to work for them and Lady Malfoy asked me for a favour. The thing is, she didn't have anything I needed, so I decided to negotiate a good deed instead." He nodded.

"Sir is very kind to Dobby," the house-elf said with a reserved smile, however, Harry didn't have too much time. He'd dallied a lot, and he wanted to still get some stuff done today. Perhaps Dobby would also appreciate having some time alone to consider his situation.

"Now, with your newfound status as a free elf, I was wondering if I could hire you for a little job. As the Swiss would say, the pensum would be 5%, implying, going by a 40-hour work week, that you would work for me 2 hours a week. I'd be willing to part with four galleons a month for this, with two days a week off."

Dobby narrowed his eyes at him. "Dobby works all 40 hours a week, gets paid 4 sickles a month, and gets one day off every half a year."

Harry blankly stared at the elf. "That's not how you negotiate," he said, before shaking his head. "Two galleons a month, 6 hours per week, one day off a week."

"60 hours a week, 3 sickles a month, a day off every nine months," the elf shot back.

"Alright, alright, I take your previous offer. But be warned, I don't have that much work, so you'll mostly just be on call, not actually doing anything," Harry conceded with a groan at the stupidity of this conversation. "Is it possible to start right now?" he asked. "Have something urgent that needs to be done."

The elf nodded, and with a snap of his fingers, a magical cord shot out of its being and towards here, where it tried to latch on. The boy allowed it, and with no bang and no fanfare, he got himself a new house elf. He pulled out four sickles from his money pouch and handed it over to the house-elf, who looked at the money oddly as if it had never held any before. Then he showed it somewhere in his tea towel.

"What do sirs need Dobby to be doing?"

"Can you teleport me and my belongings to a place if I mentally hand you the coordinates?" Harry asked, at which Dobby paused, before slowly nodding.

"Dobby can. Master not want to apparate?"

"No, I'm fine without for the moment," Harry replied, before mentally prodding at the hat. 'Send him the coordinates to our special clearing,' he prompted. Before he knew it he felt a mental packet fly from the hat to the elf, who nodded seriously, took Harry by the hand and with a crack, they disappeared from the spot.

-/-

It was an hour or so later that Harry was sitting on a train heading for Manchester. He'd shown Dobby his little clearing, sworn him on all kinds of secrecy in regards to its location, Harry's own identity and basically everything else.

Perhaps it was a bit dangerous to employ a house-elf who had foiled his master's schemes in the past, future, and potential timeline? But, Harry had always liked Dobby's character, and the house elf was already growing on him now, after just an hour.

The little guy seemed excited by the new opportunity. Being given a pouch of coins and told to make the cave Harry used to practise magic in a hospital with some furniture, some magic. He told him to buy himself an actual outfit instead of a tea towel which had almost caused a misunderstanding in the elf thinking he was being fired a few minutes after landing the new gig. Shown the mailbox Harry had decided to rent, ordered to bring him whatever letters arrived in it with some discretion.

The usual.

The most important order had been, however, to not under any circumstances interact in any way with the Horcrux buried several feet underground. Although, Voldemort probably wasn't that likely to possess the body of a house-elf.

Well, you could never tell with these dark lord figures. Anyway, for the moment the Horcrux was secured in a place nobody had access due to the natural wards that had sprung up there. Harry's ill-begotten gains from his deal with Burkes were similarly stashed away in the cave, which was being renovated into a more liveable situation by Dobby. It was more for the house-elf than Harry really, as the boy wasn't going to sleep over at the cave anytime soon. But, if he'd told the house-elf itself that the cave was partially for him, he would have likely tried to haggle Harry down to a dog house next to the furnace or something.

Weird guy. A bit confused at his new lot in life, which was why Harry was fine with leaving him be for a few days as he hung out with Tonks. He'd always adapted best alone when other people weren't there to influence his mood.

For now, Harry was on a comfortable train reading a nice book and drinking some tea. Manchester would soon appear on the horizon, ruining the view, but Tonks would be there to salvage the visual aspect of that experience.

The meeting that he hadn't had with Skeeter he could do on the way back and overall everything was pointing towards a fun weekend.

-/-

AN: This chapter was a bit short, more intermezzo, but that's life sometimes. I sometimes think I should be more consistent. Two chapters ago it was 6k words, last one was 4k, this one is 2k. But, it just makes more sense to cut it of where it feels natural rather than wasting my time making arbitrary word counts. Just makes me lose my energy on stuff that isn't writing.

Chapter Text

Chapter is 3 days late, had some issues to resolve. Next one will be in seven days to keep the 1ch/10 days schedule

-7-

Gringotts broken into! Wizarding Britain in shock!

After having stood as an unassailable bastion of wizarding banks, we here at the Daily Prophet are shocked to report that Gringotts has been broken into during the previous night. While the Head chief of the bank Sir Gribblybock tells us that the vault broken into was one that has been dormant for the last ten years and that nothing was stolen, people are, understandably, concerned about the safety of their funds.

A specific timeline of the break-in has not been released yet and likely will not be due to security concerns about copycat robbers.

Soon-to-be former minister Crouch, whose mandate is running out at the end of this winter session had this to say about the potentially worsening goblin relations in the context of this most likely wizard-planned robbery.

"It is truly concerning that the black underbelly of our wonderful country is growing impetuous enough to challenge institutions as old and powerful as our national bank. This situation is certainly troubling when one considers the recent tension between the government and the bank over the requested personal information of several disreputable clients…"

Having managed to read a bit, and had remained mostly undisturbed on the blissfully empty train as it drove into the Manchester Victoria train station. Exiting the quickly, not encumbered by the luggage that he'd reduced the weight of, he made his way to the adjacent parking lot where he'd discussed meeting Tonks.

It didn't take him long to find her, mostly because she was involved in some sort of altercation with a pair of teenage boys, or young men.

"Come on, Luv, why wait around this groggy train station when there's so many more exciting things to see," one of them said, with his stupid bright red mohawk hair. He was leaning on the car Tonks was with his right hand and was holding a beer bottle in his left.

Tonks for her part, remained firmly unamused, standing there with her arms crossed, but with her right hand twitchy. "Will you two bugger off already, I'm here to pick up a friend. Not to get harassed by two punks with no style," she ground out, her eyes flicking to Harry when she noticed him approaching out of the other parked cars and the throng of people decisively ignoring the developing shitshow in their midst.

The other punk looked over, shaved head this one, super tall and built dude, but with a bit of fat around his torso. Too many chains, Harry thought. "Is this yours little brother?" the man asked.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "She wishes I was her little brother, it would make her genes more valuable by the default of association," he said, approaching the situation.

The two punks both turned to him and gave him a queer look at that. "He a London twat or what?" they asked almost in unison.

The young boy rolled his eyes. "Look, no matter which part of England we're from, we're all brothers in the end. Does it matter if we're having an angin or a horrible day? If Manc United wins the Champions League I'll cheer just as much as if it was Arsenal. Quite frankly I just want Madrid to lose, I hate those Spanish bastards. Think they're better than me just because they have some fancy ham." He turned to Tonks. "Can we ditch this place? I hate train stations."

The two men looked at each other, obviously a bit confused at the confidence with which Harry was entering the situation. They were probably more used to eliciting fear, or with their dress style, disgust.

"Yeah, let's go," Tonks said with a sigh and got into the car.

"Have a good one," Harry told the punks. Once he entered the car he rolled down the windows so that he could address the two punks one more time as they quickly drove off. Tonks managed to choke out the vehicle by starting too quickly twice. "Don't do drugs," Harry said and waved.

The two punks waved goodbye as well, nodding half-heartedly.

"Sorry you had to go through that," Harry said as they exited the parking lot and entered their first traffic jam. Getting out of the city would take a while. "Worst types of people at train stations, no idea why, it's not like it's very residential."

"Dad always said poor people take the train, which means there's always rats there," Tonks joked. "But don't worry about little old me, a spell or two would have fixed that. My trace is already gone."

"And what if you didn't have your wand? Or if it was a muggle in that situation. It's fucking horrible. Those people piss me off," Harry said as he watched buildings slowly move past him as their little red Fiat Panda traversed the urban landscape.

Silence descended on the vehicle for a minute as they waited at a red light before Tonks broke it. "Yeah, well. One of the joys of womanhood," she said bitterly.

"I'm sorry for ruining the mood."

The girl sighed. "Don't worry about it. Life always finds ways to drag you down if you let it."

"I see that turning 17 has made you very introspective," Harry joked.

"I'm finally an adult in one world," she joked, gripping the steering wheel and not taking her eyes off the road. It was odd seeing a witch drive a car. She wasn't dressed in anything special, just jeans and a t-shirt, and she'd actually come with her natural black hair today. But, there was something so casually mature in picking up a friend from the train station with a car. Harry sighed.

"Well, it suits you, being an adult," he said.

"Thanks. It suits you as well. You've grown a bit," she noted.

Harry had, in fact, grown a bit. In several directions. He'd gained a few inches, but also some muscles since he'd started working out with the sword. His birthday would be coming soon, in Vienna. "I'm hardly an adult," he said bitterly.

"Well, you know more about wine than I do, so that adds at least a decade."

"Oh, you're younger than me then? I'm not sure I'm comfortable spending the weekend at your place then, someone might accuse me of being a cradle robber."

"Your sense of humour is as exquisite as always," Tonks remarked as she took an exit from the highway they'd taken to get around Manchester. "We're almost there."

"Got the grades yet?" Harry asked.

"Yes, actually. I got an O in DADA, Transfiguration, potions, Herbology and care of magical creatures. EE in runes and an EE in Charms. Got unlucky with the last one, some stuff I didn't expect."

Harry whistled. "You got an O in four out of five cores, I think that's pretty impressive," he said. "As long as you just got unlucky in Charms, maybe you can go for all five next year."

"Maybe someone will help me with the Patronus charm."

"It's not that hard," Harry mused. He'd already promised to help her anyway. "It's just light magic, it's different. Takes some getting used to."

Tonks remained silent as she turned into the drive-away of quite an average-looking two-story red-brick house with a green lawn and some flowers. "Yeah, sure, it's so easy picking up types of magic you've never cast before," she said sarcastically as she pulled the handbrake and turned off the car.

"Most things are quite easy if you're willing to invest 40 hours into it," Harry replied as he opened the door of the red Fiat Panda and got out, taking a look around the neighbourhood. It was frankly, just a random Manchester suburb a dozen or so minutes out of the city centre.

"Have you ever considered investing 40 hours into knowing how to act normal?" Tonks joked, before noticing something. "Where's your luggage anyway? If you think you're wearing my clothes you can keep dreaming."

They went up to the front there, where Harry bid Tonks to stop what she was doing as he focused inwardly, then outwardly, trying to nail down what he was feeling. He wasn't an expert or anything, especially wards. It was hard to be considering that the Hogwarts ones were so big it was hard to tell when one was in them. But, there was a layer of something on the house. A sort of stickiness. Like a film of magic clinging to the property. Harry growled when after a minute of trying he couldn't distinguish anything important or relevant or even slightly useful. He could feel that there was something there. But he couldn't tell exactly what.

"What's up?" Tonks asked when she noticed his frustrated countenance.

"Nothing, just not good enough yet to try something I wanted to try," he muttered as they entered the house. "So this is where you grew up, huh?"

Unlike the outside of the house, the inside was a tad more magical, but not by much. Everyone followed the standard system of corridor into the living room and kitchen which was the norm for several-story houses in the UK. The Tonks family had a fridge, a television and a dining table. It was just that all these everyday objects and flowery patterns were interspersed with the occasional magical item, like a potions book, a moving poster, a magical radio, the floo powder next to the fireplace or a cauldron.

It looked like something Harry would have probably grown up with, had his mother survived long enough to raise him. A mix of muggle and magic. Decisively average in both.

"It's a house, I guess," Tonks muttered from behind him. "Inherited it from my dad's side of the family so there was never a reason to move elsewhere. When you're magical it doesn't matter much where you live anyway. Apparition can get you anywhere."

"The wizards," Harry said quietly. "They truly live, amungus."

"What?"

"Nothing, anyway, where's my crib?" Harry asked quickly.

"Guest bedroom is right next to mine," Tonks said as the two of them took off their shoes and started going upstairs. Harry went behind and enjoyed the view as Tonks led him to the second floor, where it was quite obvious which room was hers. The band posters and the stop sign were pretty good indicators. Tonks was just about to open the adjacent door when Harry's spidey sense got tripped, before she could put her hand on the knob his arm shot forward and grabbed hers, pulling her back.

"Stop!" he hissed loudly as he looked suspiciously at the door.

"You got some strength for a brat," Tonks complained as she uncurled her arms from his and rubbed it with a wince. "Well, you did kill a werewolf with a sword so I guess that kinda makes sense, fuck," she muttered and shook her head. "What's up?" she asked suspiciously, but not at him. Considering their shared near-death experiences, they were a team. Dysfunctional, but together, against the world, for better or worse.

"Let me double-check," Harry said and stepped forward, extending a hand and focusing his senses on the simple brown door in front of him. After a few seconds of what must have looked like him mysteriously waving his hand up and down in front of the door, he stepped back and nodded once. "Doors warded with something. So, unless you spelt the door-knob to prank yourself, there's something up with this room," he concluded.

Tonks pulled a face and pulled her wand out of the back pocket of her jeans. It was a thin light brown thing under the mercy of which Harry had been quite a few times now. She pointed it at the door and began humming. A light vibration started originating from her hand, making her handshake a bit, she bit back a curse and put it away. "Ughh, really, mom?" she asked exasperatedly.

"How did you figure it out by waving your hand around?" she demanded.

Harry gave her a queer look. "How'd you do it by waving your wand around?" he returned.

"Harry," Tonks said softly as her hair turned purple, stepped up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. "You're a good friend. I love you. But please, stop being a little shit," she asked politely.

"Ok, ok," the boy sighed. He'd been so secretive for so long that it had become a part of his nature. "Once you're in tune enough with your magic you can turn that sense outwards to get a feel for magic that isn't your own. It's an integral part of curse-breaking and quite frankly, helps with most disciplines."

"Harry," the girl said with a smile and closed eyes. Then she violently shook him for a second. "What the fuck are you talking about?!" she shouted. Then she shook him again. "AAAHHHHHHHH!" she screamed, before sinking to the floor. She was a bit taller than him so her hands didn't actually detach from his shoulders to do so.

"I mean, the Hogwarts curriculum isn't really the end all be all of magic, overall they definitely teach maybe 1% of what you can learn all in all?" he said softly while awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Is it a genius thing? Do I not know about it because it's a genius thing?"

Harry nodded. "It's either an adult or a genius thing," he said confidently.

"Alright…" the girl said softly. She had somehow teleported while Harry had spoken and was now hugging her knees and drawing circles on the floor while hanging her head.

"What's that spell you did, looked cool?" Harry asked, trying to cheer her up.

"It's just a diagnostic spell I learned recently. I got a summer practice as a healer in St. Mungos. Was supposed to be a surprise," she mumbled.

"Healing, huh? Well, the Aurors will love that, that's for sure," he muttered. "How about an exchange, I will teach you some stuff and you teach me some stuff."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "You'll need a wand without a trace…"

"I have one," Harry nodded. Tonks just stared at him.

"Go fuck yourself, seriously."

Chapter Text

AN: I am quite dissatisfied with this chapter. Harry's and Tonks' relationship is complicated and I don't know if I hit the right notes to showcase that well. I've been going over this longer than I have any other chapter, but I'm still not happy. At this point I just have to post it. Usually I take feedback and all, but if you have negative feedback don't feel the need to share this time. I know exactly what's wrong here, I wrote the damn thing. Unfortunately its beyond my ability to fix so we're just all gonna have to live with my failure.

-/-

In the end, Harry and Tonks had been similarly stumped at the ward on the door of the guest bedroom. While they were both capable in their very own manner of identifying that the ward was there, neither of them were confident in dispelling it without triggering it. And even if they had been, the parents would have noticed that the ward was gone when they came back. Thus, the guest bedroom was out of service. Harry dumped his trunk in the living room, and in the end, they'd decided that he'd likely just sleep on the couch here.

It was an inferior and suboptimal option, but Harry had slept on couches often enough in his last life. He wasn't overly bothered by continuing the tradition. Also, his body was currently still small and young, so any damages would be self-corrected.

Tonks assured him that magical bodies were better at keeping themselves in shape anyway unless the wizard in question was suicidal. The innate wishes for a healthy body simply grasped small amounts of magic flowing through and consecrated them to the task of upkeeping a state of decent wellness of being.

There was a reason that magicals mostly only ever died from similarly magical diseases and Harry was grateful for this piece of information he hadn't actually known before. He had noticed that he hadn't gotten sick nearly as often after his rebirth, but had just chalked it up to his youth. He'd only started becoming ill regularly in his past life after the pandemic, which might have just coincided with the age at which the body started degrading, not growing.

Otherwise, he and Tonks just chatted away, made a simple lunch, watched some TV and generally just fooled about. They had become friends during the last year at Hogwarts. Or, if nothing else, trusted comrades.

It was once it started getting dark that Tonks proposed leaving the house again. "Want to take a drive to a nice spot I know?" she proposed from her position sitting on the rug on the floor, while Harry telekinetically floated a procession of vinegar chips down his gullet.

"Can't side-apparate yet?" he asked, wondering why she wanted to drive and received the expected shake of the head. "Honestly, I'm vibing tots. If we had some weed we could play some card games and watch some more TV. It's actually kind of weird, I love Hogwarts and my family, but it's nice to spend some time apart. I think it's hard to constantly have an identity defined by one's surroundings. At Hogwarts, I'm always a student and at home I'm always a family member. With you I can be…" he trailed off.

"Don't you think friendship defines you too?" Tonks asked.

"The good kind doesn't," Harry responded and the girl thoughtfully played with her hair, laying down on her back.

"I heard weed rots your brain," Tonks eventually said.

"It does, a little bit if you start young. But weren't you just telling me that our magic helps us deal with that sort of stuff," Harry retorted. He realised as Tonks mulled over her words that despite the provocatively metal and rock way that she dressed as if she were a scene girl, she had been going to a boarding school every year for six years now. All parts of puberty had been spent at the draughty castle in the Scottish highlands. "Don't tell me you've never smoked before. I mean, the older years at Hogwarts have to be doing something, no?" he asked curiously. There had never been any mention of drugs in the original books, but surely there had to be something the wizarding population was getting fucked up on. They were teaching kids how to brew potions, for god's sake.

"It's mostly fire whiskey. Magical drugs can get you real bad, and most of them require controlled substances to brew. I'm sorry, but honestly, maybe muggles chase highs so much because their life is mundane. Wizards have other escapes," Tonks explained with a shrug.

"All right, 17 years old, never smoked even a lil bit of the devil's lettuce. This is going to be our job for tomorrow then, we're going to find some weed." Harry spontaneously decided with a serious nod.

Tonks just stared at him, with a tilted head. "All right, you know what, sure. Your suggestion on the wine and the alcohol was good. I asked my parents for a bottle of that thing and it was amazing. They were really surprised I even knew what I was talking about. I'll trust you on drugs as well. I mean, you're thirteen, plenty of time to get that experience in."

"Still twelve," Harry corrected, causing his friend to wince.

"Still twelve, yikes. Anyway, we should probably get going," she said and stood up.

"One last thing," Harry said, looking at his trunk in which he'd stored some adult-sized clothing. "Can I drive?"

Tonks stared at him. Just stood there and stared at him. She seemed to consider his question, before retorting with one of her own. "Do you," she started hesitantly. "Have a driver's licence?" she asked, as if unsure if she was asking a question that was even valid in any sense of the word.

"No, but I know how. I can even take an ageing potion so nobody stops us," Harry suggested.

"I think I need an adult," Tonks whimpered and looked around as if a random adult was going to suddenly jump out of the corner like a boggart and scare some sense into both of them.

"Tonks, Tonks, Tonks," Harry tutted, standing up himself and walking up to the girl to pat her on the shoulder. He leaned into her ear. "Haven't you realised?" he whispered. "You are The Adult." A pause. "Do your friend this one favour. If you can trust me with a sword against a werewolf, are you really not going to trust me behind the steering wheel."

After a second or so of consideration, Tonks gently laid her hand on Harry's head and pushed him back violently with a sudden force that seemed to surpass what she should have been capable of. Harry landed on the couch with a whumpf. "If something happens to the car. My parents will kill me," she growled.

"I've been fixing up cars for more than half a decade now. Your threats have no power here," Harry shot back.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Tonks began, putting a hand in her pocket and coming up with a small keychain. "But yes, random potentially mentally affected 12-year-old, you can drive my car."

Harry wandlessly summoned the key chain out of the girl's hand, her permission making the act easier. He cackled, and Tonks looked like she regretted ever having woken up early that morning when they'd first met.

-/-

It was barely five minutes later that Harry sat in the driver's seat of the car in his full adult glory. Decently tall, more muscular than the last times he'd changed, and with a demented smile. Tonks for her part was mimicking prayer motions in the passenger seat.

She'd given him a long hard look after he'd come out looking like he did, but had reverted to her usual self soon after.

"Is it too late to change my mind?" Tonks asked into the night.

Harry turned serious for a moment as he inserted the key and shifted into reverse, slowly but smoothly taking their car out of the driveway. "Relax, Tonks. I'm a decent driver. I was just fucking with you. I know cars are dangerous and I wouldn't put your life at risk for a joke," he said calmly as he started accelerating down the road, shifting into third gear.

"That's good," Tonks muttered. "Take a left here."

Harry followed the girl's instruction as she fiddled with her thumbs. It was a smooth ride. He went a few dots under the speed limit due to the bad visibility of the night but accelerated quickly when they switched to a faster road.

"You actually know how to drive," Tonks breathed at some point, as they went off a street and started driving into a forest. Had he been with anyone else he would have been worried he was being led to a place where he'd have to dig his own grave. Eventually however, after a minute or so of driving through a dense forest, probably spooking animals as they went, they emerged into a large clearing which seemed to be the top of some sort of hill. It was still warm so Harry didn't complain when Tonks brought out a picnic blanket from the trunk, along with some snacks, including one bottle of something he couldn't quite make out in the dark.

They didn't have a flashlight and Harry didn't feel like using his magic. He enjoyed having to stick closer to Tonks to see her under the light of the moon and the stars. He felt her hot breath on occasion as they prepared their seating arrangement, having to get close to each other to solve certain issues. She was also a witch with a wand, so she must have enjoyed the atmosphere just as much. Perhaps this was the advantage of being in an adult body right now. In her eyes, he wasn't a child anymore. His attitude finally fit his form.

However, in his eyes, she'd probably remain a brat for a bit more. She'd done a good job in leaving that particular description behind in the last few months, working relentlessly on her ambitions, but it clung to her like a bad trip to the hairdresser.

Eventually, they both settled down on the picnic blanket. Their eyes had adapted and shapes became distinct, features cutting themselves out of the dark to create a sort of veiled realism.

There was only one thing Harry wanted to do before he engaged in the conversation Tonks had brought him here for. He raised his wand and waved it in a complicated pattern, "perdere parva forma," he cast quietly. "An insect repellent with a very dramatic incantation," he explained to the girl curiously tilting her head. "Now, is there any reason you brought us all the way out here? A guy could almost think you wanted to have a serious conversation about something," he joked.

Tonks didn't reply, instead taking the bottle he hadn't been able to identify. "Ogden's Whisky," she explained as she poured them both a cup. They clinked the paper cups together and knocked it back.

It was strong, searing Harry's throat as it went down. It dispelled for a moment the interesting atmosphere of mystery and darkness, bringing everything into sharp focus. Then it all came back, just under an additional layer of drunkenness.

"It's good," he said and poured himself another one. This one he would sip and savour. Tonks mimicked him, seemingly unable to start the conversation she probably wanted to have.

"How's being a healer treating you?" he eventually asked.

"I'm not a healer," she replied with a short laugh. "Just an intern, but it's good. You're out there, helping people. It's a job with a point. Society couldn't survive without it."

"Decent wage?"

"I'm doing unpaid work, but, yes. You get good pay when you're fully qualified. More so when you're a senior. My mom is, that's how I got the internship."

"Don't denigrate your efforts, with your grades you would have gotten it anyway."

"Perhaps with my current ones, but I had to apply with my O.W.Ls since I didn't have the report card yet. What did you get, anyway?"

Harry mulled over, trying to remember. He'd been happy about the results, but not happy enough to be able to list them off at a moment's notice. "I got an O in charms, arithmancy, DADA, Transfiguration. The rest I don't remember at the moment. Astronomy and History were never important to me. I'm proud of my A in potions though. I think Herbology was an EE.

"The grades don't reflect how much of a monster you are," Tonks mused. "If you had all O+ then maybe people would realise that what you're doing shouldn't be possible."

"It's because I'm not aiming for 0+ that I can do what I can do," Harry sharply retorted. "Should I be spending an additional hour per week on every subject I got an O one just to grind that one plus. Three hours a week for those that I only got an EE for. Five for the As? Utterly pointless. Grades can signal to an employer that you're a hard worker and a conformist at heart, but real skill is ineffable."

"That's what I mean. What kind of twelve-year-old talks like that? You can be intelligent but what do you know about what employers want?" Tonks suddenly demanded harshly. "Who are you?" she bit out.

Harry could have likely pretended. Someone intelligent enough could infer everything without having to experience it themselves. He believed that if you locked a genius into a library for 15 years it was possible they'd come out knowing more about society than anyone who'd been living in it their whole lives. As long as they had at least some experience of course. But. Tonks had been getting curious for a while now. Bullshit would only distract her for a while, and he was beginning to value her as a friend. He didn't want to lose that.

"Let's assume I have a secret. A reason why I am how I am. It wouldn't be a very good secret if I told you about it, wouldn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

"You don't trust me?" Tonks asked, hurt. Well, he had just questioned the loyalty of a puff.

"In the magical world a secret only remains one as long as the holder has very good Occlumency," Harry said, wondering if he'd have to explain to Tonks what that even was. But, she seemed to already know.

"How do you know about the Mind Arts?" she asked. "My mom said she'd start instructing me when I graduate."

"Well, you know how it is. A book here, a book there, and suddenly you've pieced together some important information," Harry said evasively.

The girl snorted and drew in her knees, hugging them close to her chest. "So your secret is bad enough that you don't want to risk someone reading my mind?" she asked.

Harry nodded silently, taking a few of the snacks and showing them into his mouth all at once.

"You think you can defend yourself from people like Dumbledore if they wanted to take a look?" she asked.

"Well, probably not, but that doesn't mean I should take unnecessary risks."

Tonks sighed sadly. "Here we are, making plans and thinking we're big and strong. But if another Dark Lord comes along, we'll just be swept along like a leaf in a typhoon. The war was horrible. The Dark Lord was like a raging dragon, with the magical abilities of a wizard."

"Voldemort was also just a young boy living in a run-down orphanage who had to develop his magic and sadistic attitude to protect himself from boys twice his size," Harry said harshly. "You saw him after he had fifty years to perfect his craft. Look how far we've gotten in so little time. Do you think evil ever gives up? It doesn't. That's why forces of good aren't allowed to either."

"You think you'll be the next Dumbledore?" Tonks scoffed.

"Someone is going to take the mantle of the most powerful wizard on the British Isles. Why couldn't that someone be me?" Harry retorted. "What is the point of dreaming small in a world of magic? Shoot for the stars and worst case you can still land on the moon. Excellency is always worth pursuing for its own sake."

"You know Harry, I sometimes wonder. I'm trying to get better at magic so I can help people. You just get better at magic to be better at magic. What exactly are you aiming for?"

"But were you getting better, until you got a kick in the butt?" Harry argued. "If your goal is just to know the magic you need to know to be an auror then you'll never progress beyond that level. Who's the better artist, the one who does it to get a job, or the one who does it for art's sake."

"You're impossible," Tonks sighed. "You exist on the precipice of me being scared for your mental health from how much you work and me thanking god that at least this manic attitude infected someone with a moral compass."

Harry considered the words, not liking where the conversation was going. He didn't know what the problem was but wanted to avoid the trajectory. He took a sip of the whisky before handing the bottle to Tonks. He scooted on the blanket to be closer to her and looked up to see the stars. They were beautiful and numerous. They'd only become less and less so every year. Light pollution. "Maybe that's why you shouldn't allow yourself to be satisfied with being just an auror. You'll have to be as good as me to stop me if I ever turn bad," he teased and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. He felt some of the tension leave her body from underneath his palm.

She exhaled. "Maybe you'll have to do the same for me. I have this cursed blood in my veins. Crazy family. Even my mom and Sirius. Never going to go fight a werewolf with a sword though. Maybe that can stay your area of expertise."

"What's all this conflict about, Tonks?" Harry asked. "Thought we were a team, you know, back to back against scary things in the night trying to kill us."

"Maybe we're a team. But how are we supposed to stay one if you don't tell me anything," Tonks urged, returning the topic to where it had been previously.

Harry considered the situation, he wasn't willing to tell Tonks everything until her Occlumency was up to speed. He'd never want to tell her about his status as a reincarnation either. But, he had recently signed up to teach someone Occlumency, little Draco Malfoy. Perhaps it was time to get another student? But, the issue was, what exactly would he be getting from teaching Tonks?

The answer was simple. He'd be getting experience in Legilimency. He could also ask the sorting hat if it was interested in taking another student. He didn't have it with him at the moment, so it would have to wait. Unfortunately, he didn't think that the answer would be yes, but it was worth a try. His stealing the hat was the least of his crimes, and if it started teaching Tonks, then she would become an accomplice and then not snitch on him either

"How about you go to your mom and tell her to start your Occlumency training right now? I can help as well. I don't know Legilimency yet, but I could learn at the same speed that you learn Occlumency," Harry suggested.

Tonks seemed to hesitate at the suggestion. "There's no point in asking my mom. She'll stay firm in her decision. But if you could help me…" she trailed off. "Legilimency is illegal though."

"Hey, you're not an auror yet. And you know what they say about extenuating circumstances," Harry joked. "They make stuff legal."

She punched him in the arm. "No one says that," she complained, before groaning. "I'm sorry for the weird mood, I brought you here to thank you for saving my ass against Greyback, but I got distracted."

"You're welcome," Harry said.

The girl adjusted her hair. He couldn't tell which colour it was, it was too dark for that. But, he could see the outline of her body. It was getting a bit chilly. "That wasn't my thank you, yet, you git," she muttered, before turning towards him and enveloping him in a hug.

"Oh, alright, I like hugs," Harry said and enveloped her in his arms. He was bigger than her, for once, due to the ageing potion. It was a proper hug for once. A hug between two adults, and the emotional implications of the act when it was shared between two people who knew exactly why they were hugging.

"If you weren't twelve maybe I'd kiss you," Tonks whispered into his ear.

"Alright," Harry agreed. "Won't be twelve forever."

"What just like that, Not going to fight for it?" Tonks shot back, causing the boy to laugh again.

"I'm perfectly content being your friend right now."

"Hmm, shows how little you know," she harrumphed.

"Tonks, I trust you with my life. I respect your ambitions and your newly found work ethic. I appreciate your humour. I admire your maturity and your development. I think we'll be friends for a long time. But, no offence, you're a teenager."

Tonks leaned out of the hug and looked at him silently for a few seconds, before palming her face. "This isn't how I was expecting this evening to go," she eventually said again.

"What did you think was going to happen?"

The girl waved her arms around. "I wasn't expecting the conversation we would have." She sighed. "I need to sober up," the girl said and pulled a small potion from one of her pockets and chugged it. She offered one to Harry, but he refused it.

"Nah, I'm alright. Enjoying the buzz. You can drive us back," he said and started packing together everything they'd laid out. The mood was a bit awkward, so when they put the stuff in the trunk he decided to do something about that. He shut the trunk with a slam, unceremoniously picked Tonks up put her on the trunk of a car in a sitting position and hugged her. "Don't make it awkward, girl," he said. "We're bros for life, no matter what. The point of being friends with someone is to let down those walls and finally breathe a bit." He let her go and stepped back, going to the left side of the car and getting into the passenger's seat. After a few seconds minutes Tonks came to join him, starting the car and driving them off.

"You're a real piece of shit sometimes bro," she eventually said, breaking the tension.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're annoying as well sometimes, bro. The way you talk about shit I'd almost call you a virgin."

Tonks didn't answer anything to that and simply started the car. Suddenly, Harry realised a horrible possibility.

"Wait," he muttered. "Are you a virgin?"

Tonks refrained from answering as the boy laughed. She sped up the car but no amount of pressing the gas would get her away from her embarrassment.

"Saving yourself for marriage, bro, I respect it," Harry eventually commented.

"It's not like that!" the girl shouted.

Chapter Text

"Diagnostic spells are always the very first step to any kind of healing. You know how to heal a cut, and how to identify one. But, a diagnostics spell is more than just the identification of a wound or a malady. It actually sort of gives you a blueprint of how the wound, ehh, feels?" Tonks asked more than explained.

"You don't sound that sure of yourself," Harry prompted from where they were sitting on the living room rug. They'd decided to do a little magic exchange today. Harry was once again in his younger form.

"It's hard, ok!" the girl exclaimed. "Teaching isn't easy. I'm just an intern anyway, I was only taught how to identify the physical wounds. Most stuff Mungos deals with is magical."

"Lots of potions?" Harry asked, receiving a nod.

"Anything slightly more complex requires a regime of potions alongside a healer using some magic themselves. Like that guy who had a tree growing out of his ear. Can't just cut it, have to give him a potion symbolically opposite to tree growth first so the wood turns dead. So much weird stuff, I hope being an auror is less complicated."

"So, I guess I should learn the diagnostics spell first?" Harry asked curiously as he pulled out his second-hand black wand and twirled it between his fingers.

"No, eeh, actually. Diagnostics is the first step, but it's not the first thing you learn. Episkey is the most minor and thus the least complicated healing spell there is. It just works on purely physical injuries and it's not very strong."

Harry thought back to the light magic spell that had been in the book from which he'd lifted the instructions for the patronus. It had necessitated love and had conferred a certain level of regeneration on the target if he remembered correctly. "What about light magic, do you use that?"

Tonks shook her head, before hesitating and nodding. "Supposed to be unreliable, but I heard some healers know how to use it. Not part of the curriculum though."

"Alright, let's start with episkey then," Harry said and rolled his shoulders in preparation as if he was going to enter a boxing match or something.

Tonks, for her part, explained the spell in more detail, and showed him the incantation and the wand movement, before pausing awkwardly. "We don't really have anything to practise on, we used a fish at the hospital. Supposedly they don't feel pain like we do."

"A small cut would do?" Harry asked, repeating the wand motion again and again. It was just a circle, really. When Tonks nodded he pointed his wand at one of the napkins left lying on the table from their previous meal and transfigured it into a needle. Picking it up he lightly pricked himself, enough to draw one drop of blood.

Tonks looked at his finger with a grimace. "Well, we could do that, I guess," she said with a sigh.

It didn't take Harry that long to get the spell down, but it did necessitate several more pricks and even a small cut to really feel confident in adding it to his repertoire.

He took a glance at the clock, seeing that the whole process had only taken one hour. "That didn't take that long. I think we can even do some more, maybe the diagnostics spell?" Harry suggested. It was only noon, and there was no point in going on a quest for weed before the evening.

A gleam entered Tonk's eyes. "Oh no, this is a two-way street, now it's your turn to teach me something I don't know. Something cool. Occlumency, magic sensing, wandless magic."

Harry tapped his chin with his wand in thought. He couldn't start with occlumency, since he hadn't brought the hat and he wanted to discuss the Legilimency spell with it before he committed to anything. "I don't feel comfortable with the mind arts yet, need to consult some more sources first. Magic sensing…" he paused. "The room in Hogwarts where I already showed you the dummy. Ask it for a deprivation chamber. To learn it you need to be in tune with your magic, then spend some time in a magicless environment. Can take a few days but to me the method seems foolproof. Wandless magic…" he trailed off, put down his wand and pointed his hand at the bloody needle. A slight flex of his magical muscles transformed it back into a napkin.

"I don't really know how to explain wandless magic," he admitted. "You sort of just, take the magic and do stuff with it. It's all willpower and imagination." He raised his hand. "You just go, shazam, or something," he said weakly, brought down the hand and levitated the napkin so it floated above the table.

"Wow," Tonks said with a deadpan. She raised her hand, pointed it at the napkin and pulled a face. She was probably trying to concentrate, but it just looked like she had to go to the toilet. "Shazam," she said. Nothing happened. She put her hand back and thrust it forward. Nothing. She looked up at him.

"You're kinda useless, aren't you?" she asked.

Harry considered his repertoire of spells, which he'd learnt at Hogwarts, which meant that Tonks probably knew them. "I can teach you some cool cleaning spells and Arithmancy," he eventually suggested weakly.

Tonks just stared at him, before slowly shaking her head. "It's alright," she said pityingly.

"I swear, I just have skills that need a lot of effort, not many spells," Harry argued.

Tonks laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're a third year, Harry, it's expected that you know less than me," she said sagely while nodding her head.

Harry slumped his shoulder. "Diagnostics?" he asked.

"Diagnostics," Tonks nodded.

-/-

The day ended up consisting mostly of Tonks teaching Harry in the end, which sort of made sense. The boy was younger, and despite having practised magic for longer, it was the older girl who'd received four additional years of magical education.

It was sort of humbling in a way, and good that it had happened as such. Harry had needed to be reminded that simply because he was now capable of beating a sixth-year student in a duel, this didn't make him the magical equivalent of a sixth-year student. NEWT years were hard, it was when children matured into adults and were given an age-appropriate workload. Hogwarts didn't teach a course specifically directed at learning how to fight. DADA didn't count as it taught methods of defence, and the appropriate spells, but never put any real practice into, well, practice. Thus, being good in a duel was probably not the best way of determining the magical prowess of a Hogwarts student.

Although, to be fair, someone who had better grades likely had a better chance of being good at duelling as well.

"Thank you for your teachings, missus Tonks," Harry said once they'd finally given up on shovelling new spells down the endless gullet that was his capacity to cast them with little to no explanation. Overall he'd learned several new and interesting, but realistically useless jinxes, some interesting bits of magical theory, and the healing duo of diagnosis and minor regeneration. He felt quite good about that and wondered if it made sense to maybe get a private tutor himself with the money he'd be getting off the Malfoys. While all his classes at Hogwarts provided his knowledge base with more depth and interconnections, just sitting down with somebody and having them teach spells was probably also useful in some way.

Tonks, for her part, looked exhausted. She was slumped in her chair doing a perfect rendition of Stanczyk the Polish court jester.

"You know, with your metamorph powers you could technically wreak a lot of havoc, no?" Harry suddenly asked. "Like pretending to be Clint Eastwood to get admittance into a club and get the special treatment."

"That's what we call illegal in our special little club of sane people, Harry," Tonks snarked and rolled her eyes. Then she grimaced. "Also, eww."

"Serious question, have you ever shifted into a man and experienced an orgasm? With the existence of polyjuice, I have been seriously considering experiencing the pleasures of the female body. Would have to wait until I have a girlfriend though, get some consensual bio-material," he mused.

Tonks didn't say anything at that, which is how Harry knew that something was up. He grinned. "Usually you'd be denying it and calling me gross. Whose willy did you give yourself?" he asked.

To say that Tonks blushed was an understatement, her whole face and hair turned red.

"How did it feel, did you feel tired after?" Harry continued.

"Gods, Harry, it didn't work, ok!" Tonks shouted, covering her eyes with her hands. "Metamorphs need a mind-boggling amount of anatomical knowledge to reproduce anything functional. We just shift the shape, not the insides."

"Oh," Harry said, somewhat disappointed. "That sucks. Is that why you decided to do an internship at St. Mungos?"

"No, that is not the reason I decided to do an internship at St. Mungos," Tonks said with a roll of her eyes, before standing up and getting the two of them glasses of orange juice and some snacks. All that learning sure made me hungry. "I wanted to ask though…" she trailed off for a moment. "How is it that you never ask more about my talent? Everyone I know has asked me to turn into something, other than you. My body feels oddly static when we hang out since you never prompt me to change."

Harry let his eyes rove over her, shorts, stomach-free t-shirt, messy purple pixie cut and a, quite literally, perfect face. Tonks already had a perfect body, after all, if she could change it then why settle for anything else? "I don't know girl," he started in a low voice. "You already look hella fine to me, why change anything," he finished while exaggeratedly biting his lips.

"Merlin, you're so gross sometimes," the girl muttered. "But, no really."

She didn't seem like she was going to let this go, but it wasn't like the answer was very revolutionary. "Look, I know how to do wandless magic, I'm a god in comparison to some of the plebs attending Hogwarts. You're not that special with your little parlour tricks. Also, do you have any idea how annoyed I'd get from all the requests to show off some sorcery if other people knew I could do it? I'd show them sorcery all right, with a fireball straight to their face." A pause and a sip of the orange juice, a nibble, two or maybe a fistful of the vinegar chips. Disgusting, was there anything Manchester couldn't ruin? "Also, I don't know about you, but I respect your boundaries, you've never given me the indication that you wanted me to be invested in a particular form, so I've never done so."

"If you could have me be anyone you wanted, who would I be?" Tonks suddenly asked.

A possibility flashed through Harry's mind. Of a family he'd lost, seeing them again. But, how was this different to the Mirror of Erised? "You know," he muttered. "There's a dangerous magical artefact called the Mirror of Erised, desire if you reverse the last word." He wondered if it would be at Hogwarts next year. He was trying not to think too much about the possibility of being in the same building as Voldemort. "It shows in its reflection nothing else but our most heartfelt desires, no matter how buried."

"That sounds nice," Tonks said with a smile.

"People get stuck in front of it, lost in the visions, they sit in front of the cursed thing and starve to death," Harry finished explaining, causing the smile to flee Tonks' face. "There's people I've lost. My mom for example. You could shift into her, I have the pictures. You could tell me how proud of me you are, how you love me, how you didn't want to leave me and how I should eat all my vegetables and lay off the drinking. Then you'd kiss me on the forehead and tuck me in at night, read me a little bedtime story."

Tonks was looking away from him now, refusing to meet his gaze which was boring directly into her cheek.

"There wouldn't be a point though. At the end of the day, you're Nymphadora Tonks, not Lily Evans. Lily Evans is a rotting corpse in an unmarked grave. It would just be an illusion that would bring up old pains." Harry let the deafening silence descend into the house, suddenly in a bad mood. It wasn't Tonks's fault, however, so he tried to break out of the funk.

"If you're talking sexually, however... Can you do elves? With pointy ears and stuff?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. It didn't work, Tonks just gave him a sad look, eyes glistening with what could be tears soon.

Her ears suddenly turned pointed, slanting and extending upwards. It was a horrible contrast to her miserable-looking face.

Harry didn't know if he should laugh or cry, what he did know however, was that he needed some weed.

-/-

Before the protests, Harry is appalled that Tonks has never smoked weed so he wants to get her some. I know its bad for people under 25 and has some questionable effects on those older, but I don't feel like getting into a debate in the comments so I'll just clarify this now. Most people drink in Europe, most drink underage, most people smoke weed, some do it underage. Harry was an adult where he could do what he wanted, and how he occasionally has these flashes. If anything its a symbolic reference for me to distinguish how a child vs an adult would act. An adult knows where to find drugs and wants them occasionally, whereas a child doesn't. I'm not going to be engaging with any "Uhhh actually alcohol and weed bad, did you know?" Yes I know, thank you for telling me.

Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Parts of this chapter may be based on historic events, but should not be confused with factual history.

-/-

Finding weed in any European city was not a particularly difficult task. Back when Harry had been still living in his previous life, he'd simply always had friends who had friends who had a dealer. At some point, he'd even been getting a steady supply of free stuff from a female friend whose boyfriend grew his own stash.

However, that had been after the year 2010, when stuff like that had been a bit more normalized. It had even been offered as a medical option. However, currently, in the year 1991, it was actually still classified as a class B drug.

This didn't necessarily mean that it was hard to find, but, it did mean that the process was a bit more suspect. Having drank the ageing potion and dressed in his big boy clothes, he and Tonks were now walking the Manchester streets at night. The girl had opted out of her pink hair for once, actually changing some of the features. According to her, this was so that in case Harry did something extremely stupid, it wouldn't be led back to her.

In his right hand, Harry was carrying a bottle of Jaegermeister along with some small paper cups, the importance of which would be revealed later.

"This looks approximately what we want," Harry said once they arrived in front of a rather large park, on which the clear moon was casting a pleasant light. It was a decently warm summer night and the campus of the local university loomed in the background. There were little groups of students, young people, and homeless louts pre-drinking either for a night of clubbing or for an early death to escape their dreary existence.

"It's a park, Harry, with a bunch of people drinking beer. I think I just saw a homeless person inject something," Tonks said worriedly.

Harry for his part simply walked on the close-cut mawn and approached the first decently mixed group that he saw. It was composed of six women and four men, all of them ranging somewhere between 19 and 24. They were dressed in very non-conformist fashions and looked over curiously as Harry approached them.

"Yo, new to town, mind if we sit down? Currently on the walk around meeting new people and y'all seem like cool peeps," Harry said in a very laissez-faire manner as he plopped down in an open spot between two dudes dressed in metal shirts. "Burzum," he commented. "Good taste my dudes."

The one on the right, with overly long brown hair and a scruffy attempt at a beard laughed. "You American or what?" he asked. "Nevah been called a peep before. What you doing in Manchester?"

"Just here on an exchange semester starting next, moved a bit early since I have the means anyway," Harry lied, like a liar. "Always wanted to visit the glorious motherland and considering y'all voted out that walking abomination last year I thought now would be the perfect time." He poured out three little cups, passing them to the two metalheads.

"I'll drink to that," the one that had been quiet up until then muttered and took a cup, choosing to ignore the beer sitting at his booted feet.

"Not like there's any hope anyway, new one's a tory as well," a girl complained from the other side of the circle, where Tonks had awkwardly sat down and was being interrogated by two women dressed in short jeans and tank tops.

"I don't know, may the party rot in hell and all that, but this John Major seems like a decent enough bloke," Harry said, not really knowing how to break it to the poor students that the quiet conservative was the last good PM their country would get. Tony Blair, David Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak, the muggle part of the country was doomed as fuck.

"Bah what do you know ya yank," someone muttered good-naturedly.

"Maybe it's his image, nice set of accountant glasses, very non-threatening," Harry compromised and raised his glass along with his two neighbours to take a shot.

"Bloody cold," the long-haired one sputtered. Harry wasn't barbaric enough to drink warm Jaeger and had cooled it down magically.

"My beer's warm by now, can I have some of that?" a red-haired girl from the other side, and before long Harry was handing everyone a shot of the cool herb liquor, chatting about philosophy, sociology and other such things.

He was just telling John, the long-haired-metal head, a 3rd-semester student of philosophy, about how Thompson's seminal work was actually incomplete due to her inconsideration in regards to anti-natalist viewpoints when someone started rolling the first joint.

Glancing at Tonks he saw the girl looking at the process awkwardly, probably never having even seen a grinder before. Before she could create a tense atmosphere Harry interrupted. "Damn you guys got a supplier?" he said faux jealously. "I just landed a few days ago, why you gotta flex on me so hard," he complained eliciting numerous laughs from the other Brits. "Bah, don't feel too superior, I heard this costs way too much on these islands."

The joint started passing around, at which point the conversations started becoming a bit more incoherent, but several times funnier. Harry himself, who hadn't smoked at all in his life nearly coughed at his first drag but managed to control himself and pass to the next person. He could already tell that he was going to be extremely high from just the small amount as the heady feeling making everything seem irrelevant but hilarious rose to his head. Maybe this body was blessed with a low resistance, or perhaps it was just because it was his first time. He was trusting his magic to mitigate the negative long-term effects of smoking young, but once would probably be fine anyway.

He was Tonks take a hit amateurishly, and leaned towards the person who'd made the joint. "Yo, if you make me another one for the way I'll give you the whole bottle of jaegermeister and a story," he offered. The seemingly oldest of the group seemed amused and promptly rolled another joint. Liquor and joint switched owners and one of the girls laughed.

"A story, what story?" she asked in between giggles.

"Well, it's about that one time a German friend visited me in New Haven on the East Coast. We went to New York together to have a drink and attend a museum party in Brooklyn. The dude was too cheap to hail a cab back to the hotel and we ended up walking the whole way. The story involves three Jamaican drug dealers from Staten Island, one prostitute, one near fatality and a whole lot of running," he explained.

"You're a Yaley then?" Someone asked. "What are you doing in Manchester? Shouldn't you be exchanging at Oxford or Cambridge?"

Harry waved them off. "Hey, don't judge me. I wanted to go to Birmingham originally, the most beautiful city in the world that it is, but they wouldn't take me. You lot are decisively second choice."

"Fuken Birmy he says," someone guffawed.

"Tell the story," someone prompted.

"Alright, I can do that," Harry started. "It's honestly quite quaint, just another one of those examples in which the German spirit, predisposed to walking as it is, got everyone else into trouble. Yeah sure, they usually walk over borders to achieve that, but y'all should know that you don't walk anywhere in the U.S. Firstly, things are too far, secondly, you're going to get mugged. Or shot, or both. Anyway, try telling that to a German microbiologist whose only impression of the U.S. at the time was going to the Brooklyn Museum to a night party with a bunch of fashion designers. Dude bankrupted himself getting there, those flights aren't a joke, and a taxi was just going too far. It was only one hour walking," he let that sink in, people groaning.

"Fucking Germans," someone muttered.

"It wasn't that this was the only problem though, you see, my friend, Lukas, was quite drunk. They were really boozing him up back there, and now his taste for drugs had taken a new edge. He wanted some weed. Desperately. He didn't tell me this of course, or else I would have told him that that shit ain't going to fly amigo and that I have some at home back in New Haven. Of course, drunk and potentially racist that he was he walked up to the first people smoking pot that we passed on our nightly escapade and asked the six foot-six-something Jamaican's leaning on their fucked little Ford Comfort if he could have some weed. The dude's answered in their accent, hilarious by the way. They were like 'Mi luv it when someone straightforward. Wheel up the blaze maaan,' one of them said and started rolling an absolute abomination of a blunt. It wasn't cigarette paps he was using, but a fucking cigar leaf, no tobacco in it either. I was looking at the thing like, no fucking way am I taking a puff of that. Anyway, Luka is like 'Yeah broo let's hit that,' with a completely plastered face. The Jamaican dudes start puffin', blowing rings and whatever, start asking us what we do. Lukas was doing a PhD in Microbiology at that time, so one of the dudes asked him if he knew how to make crack. Says he's been saving up and has a 40k to start the business up, would be willing to do a 50/50 split."

"No fucking way," Tonks muttered. "Harry do you ever shut up."

"Shush babe, I'm telling a story," he said, before turning to his attentive audience. "Anyway, Lukas is about to answer, but the blunt monster finally passes to him so he takes a puff, starts looking a bit shaky, but says that he doesn't know how to make crack. But, he offered, if they ever needed their synovial fluid analysed for LPS concentration he was their man. Blunt passes to me, I pretend to puff, knowing we'll need a sober person at the end of the night. Just whiffing this thing with my nose though is as strong as any joint I've ever had. That's the point when Lukas runs green in the face and collapses, falling to the floor. I've never seen someone move so fast in my whole life, the dudes jumped in their car and wheeled off in what I swear was less than a second and I was just left standing there with a collapsed idiot and the biggest blunt I've ever seen in my life. Didn't really want to call an ambulance so I decided to put out the blunt and check on my friend, if he didn't wake up in 30 seconds I was going to call one, that's how long people usually need to recover from a short fainting spell. Lukas awakens with a gasp five seconds after I checked his pulse, thankfully still there, and pukes all over my shoes, the bastard. I call us a taxi, which he attempts to refuse while still lying on the floor. Anyway, the taxi comes, takes one look at the suspect situation and just drives off. Zero fucks given, those cabbies don't want none of that. I'm sort of desperate at this point since I can't really carry this moron all the way home, so I manage to stumble with him down the street until I come across a scantily clad lady, around fifty years old, a bit chubby, still beautiful in an oddly erotic way. 'Damn girl,' I said to her. 'You free tonight?'"

Everyone busted up at that, after the laughter died down Harry continued with his story.

"She takes one look at me, and my absolutely destroyed German friend slurring in his native language. 'Triple for two,' she says and I can only nod at that point. I asked her if she had a car, at which point she reluctantly said that she did. Anyway, I paid her 50 bucks to drive us to our hotel. ," He finished recounting, getting some more chuckles.

"What happened to Lukas?" one of the girls asked, at which Harry shrugged.

"I mean, he lived and all, but I never went out drinking with the dumbass again. Last I heard he's studying the link between gut microbiota composition and neural degeneration in dementia on some Finnish cohort in Helsinki. Postdoc." He turned to Tonks. "Anyway, I think it's time for us to go," he said, walking over to the girl who'd actually seemed to enjoy chatting with her newfound friends and helping her up by the hand. "It was nice meeting y'all," he said to the Manchester students. "See you around."

They got well-wishes and banter thrown at their backs as they distanced themselves from the group. The mission was successful, they'd gotten a joint, all for the low, low price of one bottle of Jaegermeister. A horrible deal really, but it wasn't like Harry wanted to make smoking a regular habit. He always ended up demotivated the day after and didn't accomplish much. As much as this was alright in the context of summer vacation, he was quite attached to his magical progression when he was at Hogwarts. And considering his work ethic, just missing a day or two was quite the setback. Also, he didn't want to risk his magic not counteracting the negative side effects. He'd start smoking more again when he actually turned 25, not when he only looked like it due to an ageing potion.

This brought up an interesting question regarding the ageing potions' ability to reduce neuroplasticity by ageing. Magic, simple as always, dealt with forces much beyond the understanding of the user. Quite frankly anyone with an actual knowledge basis of modern medicine, physics, or chemistry would likely have a heart attack when considering the implications of some spells and potions, wondering how the caster hadn't either killed themselves or set off a nuclear explosion. Harry was pragmatic and had decided early on to ignore that part. Magic worked, that was that. Any muggle-born delusional enough to think that they could fuse muggle academics and magical knowledge soon realised their folly. There was no inbuilt way for the two systems to truly interact. Magic was nothing like anything the world had ever seen, this was why it was magic and not just another field of science.

Or maybe Harry just wasn't smart enough. It wasn't like he'd been an avid scientist in his past life. He'd died before being able to complete his bachelor's thesis in a humanistic field.

"What was that principle called again?" Tonks suddenly asked as they made their way back to the car. This was before every European city was impossible to park in, Harry enjoyed the short reprieve. "When the most obvious solution is the most likely one?"

"Occam's razor states that between a complex and a simple solution, the simpler one is always more likely," Harry answered as they crossed over from park to street and walked past party-goers and drunkards. It was turning out to be a lively night. They'd enjoyed an hour or so of it with the students, but it was a good time to be going back.

"That was a real story you told back there. Your work ethic. The way you speak. The way you handle social interactions. Your knowledge of food and alcohol. The only thing that seems remotely real about you is your ability to do magic, and even that's crazy," Tonks began. "The simplest explanation is that you're not actually a twelve-year-old. The more complex explanation involves… I don't even know."

Harry didn't reply to that, deciding to plead the fifth. But after Tonks didn't say anything for a while, he had to ask. "So what does that mean exactly, and why does it matter?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter," Tonks said with a sigh. "You're a good person. Or else you wouldn't have stood between me and a werewolf with only a sword. You help your younger friends excel in class. You're an adult somehow living in a child's body. Which doesn't have to necessarily be a bad thing…?" she trailed off. "You're not a dark wizard possessing the body of a child are you?"

"I'm not a dark wizard," Harry said while rolling his eyes. "Never used a dark spell in my life, actually."

"Alright, I guess that's enough for me," Tonks said. "You said you'd tell me more when my Occlumency was good enough."

And also when Harry was powerful enough that it wouldn't matter if people wanted to kidnap him due to the nature of his existence, Harry added in his head. This would probably happen by the end of Hogwarts to be honest, at the pace that he was going. How strong would he really leave the institution? As powerful as the average auror? As powerful as Alastor Moody, who was capable of taking down ten Death Eaters with him? Maybe as powerful as Flitwick.

In a way it was funny, despite knowing how driven he was and how hard he worked, everyone assumed that his ambitions were normal-sized. The Hogwarts staff thought he wanted to excel academically and learn as much as possible. Flitwick thought he wanted to win the duelling championship. Penny thought he wanted to not fail Potions and his family thought he wanted to retire to the seaside with a nice little cottage and spend his life idling, maybe after going to muggle university. It would definitely be a nice experience to do so. However, while these were certainly all short-term goals, a larger something was beginning to brew inside him. Every new piece of magic he learned, every new area he excelled in. The shackles of conformity and normal expectations were falling off him as if they were made of sand. He could feel it in his soul, a low hum. A vibration. A resonance with the universe.

Nietzsche had been a philosopher who'd tried to counteract the incoming wave of nihilism that he'd predicted from the death of religion. His famous musings on the death of god. How god has remained dead. How we killed him. How shall we, murderers, console ourselves; was more of a prompt for others to come up with ways to combat the future inevitable wave of pessimism that marked any great civilization that lost its guiding light.

For Harry, the answer was simple. While his past incarnation might have laboured under the chains of physics and physical frailness. Of needing, as a muggle, other muggles to achieve anything great. Then his magical self had sprung all those chains and realized the simple truth. If god was dead, then the throne of god was empty, and if the throne of god was empty, then someone else could sit on it. Magic was not a hobby, a convenience, as some wizards and witches thought. It was not a tool to subjugate others, to spread terror. Neither was it a fascinating force of the universe which was to be studied and never used. Magic was nothing more and nothing less than the possibility to inflict a personal ideology onto one's own life without needing the help of anyone else to do so.

"You know, you could at least say something," Tonks grumbled as they got to the car.

Harry threw her a smile. "You're a great friend, Tonks. But you're really going to need to work on your Mind Arts skills." He was oddly unafraid of someone growing suspicious of him by gleaming Tonks' opinion from the surface of her mind. After all, he'd been giving people enough reason to be suspicious already. Also, it wasn't like Tonks really knew anything. He was always going to cut a suspicious figure as an adult living in a child's body. This didn't change anything. The duelling tournament starting up, however, could maybe change everything. While Harry didn't think he had it in him to win quite yet, a good showing might just tip the scales in several different directions.

He started the car, taking the anti-intoxication potion Tonks had prepared. The drive back home was short and pleasant, the atmosphere between the two friends as clear as it was going to get.

-/-

AN: I think this was a very interesting chapter with a very different tone than the rest of the story. True story about the weed btw, just made up the prostitute bit, we did eventually get a taxi.

Chapter Text

When the time arrived for Harry to leave, all good things came to an end eventually, neither of the pair really wanted to separate. However, sitting in the car parked at the train station wasn't something they could sustain indefinitely even with their top-tier banter, and thus eventually they had to let go.

"It was a nice weekend," Harry commented.

"Just nice?" Tonks asked with a cheeky smile, causing the boy to roll his eyes.

"It was amazing, Tonks. I'm looking forward to Hogwarts already," he said. He really enjoyed having a weekend where he could shoot the shit, drive a car, smoke some weed and hang out with some students.

"Don't go back on your promise about the Mind Arts, I'll start badgering my mom but I don't know if she'll relent," Tonks said.

"All in due time, bro," Harry chuckled. "First got a duelling championship to win."

Tonks rolled her eyes but leaned in to give him a hug. "Good luck, Harry. Learn as much as you can from your inevitable loss and knock 'em dead next year."

It wasn't easy to walk away, take his trunk and leave for the train back to London, but Harry was mature enough to manage. He'd see her again soon, in Hogwarts. He suddenly felt less lonely, not even having realised previously that he'd been feeling so.

He returned home with a heavy heart, knowing that he was leaving behind a fun get-away with a friend for the responsibility of dealing with a Horcrux, trying to win a duelling championship he didn't stand a chance in, learning legillimency and preparing for his O.W.L in Arithmancy. Now that he suddenly had someone to spend meaningful time with, Harry found his schedule cumbersome.

Hopefully, that wouldn't last, or else he would never get done with all the shit he had to do.

-/-

There was a particular reason why Harry took the train back to London, despite now having a house-elf he could call on to teleport him around. Firstly, this was because he had a lot of things to consider, for which he needed some solitude, and secondly, because in all the excitement of the weekend, he'd forgotten that he had a house-elf which could bring him back faster. Of course, objectively a train wasn't necessarily the most peaceful place to ponder, but already in his last life, when he'd had to commute to university via train, and had used the time to study, he'd always considered it somewhat calming. People on public transport generally didn't give a single shit about anyone else, and thus it became the perfect place to reflect in the anonymity of the crowd. Also, he liked trains, the Hogwarts Express had been taking him home when he wanted to go home, and to school when he wanted to go to school. In other words, it was pretty great.

Also, it was sort of funny, to be sitting in a compartment with what seemed to be a professor reading a book on diachronic linguistic development and a younger woman absorbed in chatting on the phone, about her latest beau. It provided an ironic background to the things going on inside Harry's head.

Dumbledore had presumably broken into Gringotts to get to the Horcrux there and had presumably destroyed it. The diadem was similarly gone. This left the locket and the ring of which Harry did not know the fate. Maybe Neville Longbottom was also a Horcrux, but that was a bit hard to verify.

Of course, Harry wasn't particularly worried about any of those, as their fate was out of his control. He'd simply have to trust in the fact that Dumbledore wasn't making a complete fool out of himself out there, with the information Harry had given him.

Harry himself, would be responsible for the destruction of the diary, hidden as it was under the ground at his hide-out. Destroying it was the obvious solution, no matter how tempting plumbing the mind of a burgeoning dark lord on all things magic and hidden passages would likely be. For that task, he could learn either the killing curse or Fiendfyre, the former of which would probably be less destructive if cast incorrectly. The latter would maybe be something he'd have to experiment with in the Room of Requirement, as long as it could offer him a safe space to do so in.

Anyway, getting rid of the diary Horcrux was an immense task indeed, but not something Harry could control beyond getting the blasted thing and casting curses at it until it broke.

What he was much more worried about was his impending teaching of Draco Malfoy and Nymphadora Tonks in the fine art of Occlumency. The hat had recently described his defences as adequate, so the hopes were that this would translate decently enough into the offensive aspect of the Mind Arts, once Harry talked to his mentor about starting that part of his tutelage.

An additional problem was Dobby, now bound to him, and not having nearly enough work to distract himself. Hopefully, the clearing wouldn't be in chaos when he came back, although maybe the fact that the house-elf had not sought him out since he'd left for Manchester was a good sign.

In comparison to dark lords, mind arts and house-elves the duelling championship coming up actually seemed relatively easy. He just had to show up and either win or lose.

Even his next appointment would potentially be more complex than that, which was why he was going to London to finish it as quickly as possible. He needed to start checking things off his list, or else he was going to go insane from the pull he was experiencing in different directions.

-/-

Getting off at the Grand Central and slipping into a nearby café of no particular importance was easy. Waiting for half an hour was a bit more annoying, but it was his own fault. He'd scheduled the meeting a bit later due to the possibility of missing one train, in which case he would have had to have taken the next one.

He slowly sipped at the shitty tea he'd ordered, and gotten, so as to justify sitting there. He probably looked weird, a lone 12-year-old at the biggest train station in the country. But, with his recent growth spurt, it looked more natural. His cheekbones protruded a bit more and he'd grown taller, and leaner. If this change could be attributed to age or to his now regular sword training remained in the air, but Harry appreciated the lack of clumsiness that his recent athletic endeavours had granted him. He still remembered how in his last life, his teenage years had involved a lot of falling down stairs and hitting his head on things.

It was good to train for that to not happen because if he fell down one of the moving staircases at Hogwarts, he might just never get back up again.

It was into that morbid atmosphere that the blonde reporter entered, looking perfectly at home in the muggle surroundings, dressed in a pair of washed-out jeans and a white shirt. She seemed to have not applied any of the severe make-up other than her violently red lipstick, and her hair was at the least curly that Harry had ever seen. She looked around inquisitively for a few seconds before her gaze zeroed in on Harry and she strode over.

"Success suits you, Rita," Harry joked as she sat down. "As does the new look, has anyone told you that you look effortlessly beautiful when you're not trying to look professional?"

The reporter threw him a withering glare. "That's the point. I don't want to be beautiful in the workplace. Then they'll just treat me like a woman, not a reporter." She paused. "Well, regardless, thank you for the compliment." A twitch of her wand, hidden in the sleeve of her shirt made a waitress that had been approaching them suddenly stop in her tracks and look around confusedly, before going to another table, at which two men in suits were loudly arguing over the success of Stratton Oakmont in America and if they should invest.

"A notice-me-not," the reporter said at Harry's inquisitive gaze.

The boy rubbed his chin contemplatively, it really was a useful spell, wasn't it? He already knew how to cast it, but maybe it deserved further exploration. Rita's use seemed more natural than his and he couldn't help but notice how decisively no one even glanced at them anymore.

"Anyway, I don't appreciate being stood up last week, so you better have something good," she said with a scowl.

Harry shrugged, he'd actually had a meeting planned with Skeeter when he'd gotten derailed by Narcissa Malfoy and the Horcrux, but it wasn't like there was anything one could do about that. It was his fault of course, but he was here to negotiate, and that meant not taking any shit, especially well-deserved shit. "You know how it is for those of us leading successful careers and lives full of ambition. There are so many forces desiring our attention and pulling it ragged in all directions. Thankfully people like you are more flexible."

Skeeter raised a blonde eyebrow. "Did I come here to be disrespected by a child?" she asked.

"Rita," Harry said sardonically. "We don't have to pretend that we're friends. I needed that article last year as much as you did, it was mutually beneficial. You've been actually publishing stuff in the Daily Prophet these days, you have a career to speak of now. Me, I got all the idiots off my ass who believed the ministry bullshit. But," he raised a finger. "Let's not commit to this secondary education level banter. I had something come up and I had to reschedule, it must have been alright with you if you came to meet me today, so stop trying to leverage and talk to me, half-blood to half-blood."

The woman huffed and crossed her arms. "What MBA program did you escape from," she muttered, before shaking her head. "You talk about me having a career? People just noticed that I exist so I get some stories, but it's none of the big stuff. Just exposés and letter of the week columns."

"Well, that's what being a reporter is like sometimes until you've built your network, or figured out a way how to legally access non-public information and reveal it for the shock factor," Harry said. He didn't really understand the job, to be honest. Who wanted to be out there writing about how Helen, 49, had broken a hip flying the newest Nimbus while drunk and was demanding restitution? Sounded like some circle of hell.

Investigative journalism, maybe? Everything one had to do before that, to get there? Hell no.

"What do you want?" Skeeter asked, getting to the point.

Harry tutted and shook his head. "That's the wrong question, Rita. Rather than asking what you can do for Harry, you should ask what Harry can do for you."

The woman mulled it over. "Did you try to quote Kennedy at me?" she asked. "Badly?"

"Well, Rita, you're still not asking the right questions. I thought that was the point of being a reporter."

The woman sighed and rubbed her temples with her overly manicured fingers. "What can you do, for me? Harry."

"Well, I've always lived by the motto, "Those who dare to fail miserably can achieve greatly.""

An exasperated groan from the woman.

"To this purpose, I have, over the last year at Hogwarts, been seeking out personal tutoring from Professor Flitwick in all manners regarding duelling. That is because I shall be participating in this year's U17 Internation duelling championship," he explained.

"Flitwick was the last wizard to bring the trophy to England," Rita mused.

"Well, there is also Dolohov," Harry amended.

"Let's not talk about him," the reporter retorted, seemingly lost in thought. "You don't stand a chance, you know. Fail miserably indeed."

"Define failure, in this context," Harry prompted. "A thirteen-year-old signing up is the height of arrogance. I'm a modern-day Icarus, baby; fly too close to the sun then crash and burn. But, I don't have to escape the labyrinth, I just have to stay in the air long enough to exceed people's expectations. When I get those tongues wagging, and I still have four more tournaments ahead of me? I'm gonna get eyes."

"Everyone will expect you to lose out in the first round," Skeeter agreed. "If you manage to make it beyond that…"

"Then it's already a contextual win. Sure, people may laugh at the idiot who signed up and only lasted two rounds, but they'll all know deep down that if they'd done the same at age thirteen they wouldn't have even managed to leave the country without crying for their mothers."

"I assume you're dangling an article in front of me?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, you'll be my personal liaison, no matter how it goes. If I lose miserably I'll take an interview and you can take me for a fool, if I get far enough to not be considered a fraud, you can show me as a glowing bastion of Hogwarts, and the British education system."

"Britain's largest contributions to the circuit in recent times have been a half-goblin and a Death Eater, people aren't that excited about the sport at the moment," Rita argued.

"Maybe it's time to add a half-blood to the list. People are already interested in me due to the class advancement. Britain needs a win after the last decade of sheer embarrassment. They'll love me, or love to hate me. Either one indicates a good reader response to your article."

"You'd be alright with being embarrassed in front of the whole country? I thought avoiding that was the whole point of the damage control you had me do with the Patronus." Skeeter queried sceptically.

"Who cares if I don't win next year, I have five tries. Most people don't even sign up until they're sixteen, they're missing out on valuable experience. I know I won't win now, and I probably also won't win next year. But… in four years? When I'll be sixteen, I think I'll have a good chance. One win will be enough for people to forget three losses, especially if they're justifiable by such a large age difference."

Rita seemed to contemplate his words, before reluctantly agreeing. "No matter the result, it will be a good story." She looked at him analytically. "What do you want in return?" she asked.

Harry leaned back. "Well, I know you have ambitions of being an investigative reporter one day. So I thought I'd give you a task to start with. You can publish it or not, I'm not just using you as a private detective. It could even be a great build-up article after I finish competing in the tournament."

"Out with it," Rita said with a roll of her eyes.

"You know, for the longest time, I didn't know if I wanted to find out. But it's something that's been bugging me for a while now. Do you think you can find out who raped my mother?" Harry asked

-/-

AN: A lot of new plot points being set up as we start the next year of Hogwarts, just like with the Werewolf last time :)

Chapter Text

In the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, a meeting that would, under normal circumstances, not arouse any suspicion occurred. Dumbledore and Slughorn stood around the large table that dominated one side of the room and were talking. Fawkes, coming out of a burning phase, was weakly chirping.

However, all of the portraits in the office were empty, which was the first indicator that this chat was more special than simply the head of Slytherin informing the headmaster that one of his students had severehomesicknesss.

The grave tone of voice used by the two hinted at the fact that this wasn't a pleasant matter.

"He's really done it," Slughorn said in a defeated voice. He looked helplessly at the golden cup and the silver diadem on the table, restrained as they both were by two circles of little black stones with runes inscribed on them. Anyone with magical sense would be able to tell that there were strong barriers surrounding the objects.

"Worse than that, if the letter is to be believed, five of them," Dumbledore said very slowly before sighing and bringing up an old gnarly hand to massage his temple. It was on days like this that he truly felt old. Being the headmaster of a school was an experience that made the person younger, but dealing with old students like this?

One could only curse.

"What have you learned, Albus?"

"I have learned that these are indeed Horcruxes, just as we initially suspected. Seeing two of them together now, it is clear that the reason why the compass we created all those years ago wasn't working was because there were several of them. We can only hope that the person who wrote the letter was wrong and that the compass will stop spinning after we destroy these two," Albus concluded worriedly. He had run all sorts of tests on the Horcruxes as safely as he could, along with the device that he had created with Slughorn to track such objects.

It had never worked, and now they knew why... A compass couldn't work if there was more than one north.

"I really hope that the compass stabilizes after we destroy these. If there were only two, maybe three," the potions professor said with the tone of voice indicating that he wasn't actually very optimistic.

The headmaster sighed, and one hand went inside a wide sleeve to recover a little vial containing a clear greenish liquid.

"To think you would wait for so long simply to not have to cast the two curses that can destroy such a thing," Slughorn complained. "You know that I would have been perfectly willing to stain my soul to end the abomination I have created."

Dumbledore nodded. "I am very well aware of your willingness to make sacrifices. However, the Dark Arts are a disease of the mind that is not easy to get rid of once one has succumbed even once. It is better not to risk it, especially so early in our journey."

"Just that much must have already cost thousands of galleons."

Dumbledore shook his head. After such a long and successful career as one of the most influential wizards alive, he truly did not lack money. What he was lacking was ability. How else could one explain why he'd only ever defeated one dark lord and not two?

He uncorked the vial cautiously and brought it forward to hover over the cup first. Hufflepuff's cup, to think that they had managed to bring it back to Hogwarts after so many years only to have to destroy it. Truly, Tom had sunk so low that even the home that he had supposedly so loved had been irreparably tainted by his greed and hatred.

The cup seemed to sense its imminent demise, and a black mist that emanated all the hatred in the world surged out of it. But the protective circle held and contained the malice. What it could not contain was the drop of basilisk venom that Albus carefully rationed over the cup. Basilisk venom had strong anti-magic properties. No ward could truly contain it for long. The drop of liquid fell into the chalice and, with a scream of agony, started biting into the metal like a particularly enthusiastic termite. Soon, the screaming stopped, and the black mist dissipated, leaving behind nothing but a tragedy. A broken artifact with no magic, good or bad. To think that the cup had had the property of replicating even potions. It could have done so much good at a hospital like St Mungos, where potions were always in short supply.

He continued the task and repeated the destruction with the diadem. Another sad sight. They had considered if the artifacts could be salvaged by letting dementors eat the piece of soul inside. However, one relatively little-known fact was that while dementors ate souls, they digested them very slowly. Considering the ephemerality of the creatures, it was dangerous to essentially create a temporary Horcrux that truly could not be killed. Considering how bound together the artifact and soul became, even the killing curse would have ended up destroying the object. There was no way to salvage these particular parts of history.

The old man and the older man, after the destruction of the Horcruxes, looked to the side, to the compass that was supposed to point out such soul sprinters. The needle adjusted for a second before quickly spinning out of control again and thus pointing to nothing.

"It was more than three then," Slughorn said in a defeated voice.

"Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem. The information we received has been incredibly precise so far," Dumbledore said.

"One of them was easy to find, but the other, breaking into Gringotts…" Slughorn muttered.

Albus nodded. It indeed hadn't been easy breaking into the bank. But at his age, there were still some tricks that he could rely on.

"We've confirmed the location of the Gaunt shack in Little Hangleton and that there are powerful wards with Voldemort's magical signature protecting it. But the reason we went for the cup first was that with Lestrange in prison, Tom would find it more difficult to check up on it if he so desired."

"If he so desired, he could very well go to the Room of Requirement when he inevitably attempts to break into the school next year," Slughorn said sharply.

Albus nodded. "But he won't. He still believes that neither of us knows of the room's existence, and as long as he believes this, then he will not draw attention to it. The only student who seems to know about the room is young Harry, and I doubt Tom would consider that a threat if he managed to find out somehow."

"We are making a lot of gambles based on the psychology of a madman."

The critique mostly just expressed his dissatisfaction with the difficulty of the situation. What else were they supposed to do? Just leave the diadem there? Then Tom could just hide it somewhere else if he so desired.

"We do not have a great many choices in this battle, unfortunately. The only thing we can truly hope for is that by trapping Tom, we can negate the final battle of the prophecy and make the whole thing end with a whimper rather than a scream," Albus said.

"To think that he would go so far into his attempt at becoming immortal only to be immortalized by fate," Slughhorn said. As a competent brewer of felix felicis, he was more than aware of the fundamental laws of reality, such as destiny.

Tom could only die at the hands of Neville. But that did not mean that he could not be trapped until Neville was a man and not a child.

Dumbledore closed his eyes. But the boy was a Horcrux, so what sort of life could he truly live? The letter had hinted at the fact that perhaps the killing curse from the person who'd severed the soul from the body could possibly sever the Horcrux instead of the young boy, but who was willing to bet on such things without being wholly desperate and lost?

"The ring is supposed to be in the Gaunt shack. The locket has disappeared from Grimmauld Place. Sirius said that he threw everything out years ago when he inherited it. The diary at Malfoy Manor will soon be acquired legally. The next step is clear. It is Little Hangleton which we must tackle next." Dumbledore decided.

"It would be best if we somehow managed to penetrate the wards and retrieve it without leaving behind a hint that we had entered the place. Then, even if someone checks up on it, they might not necessarily go to the effort of looking at the ring. Just verify that the wards have not been broken," Slughorn said.

Another not-so-easy task, but thankfully, rather than the one of acquiring the diary, something that could be accomplished with just magical abilities. Albus would take this trade-off.

"If we could break into Gringotts, then why not Malfoy manor? It's really stupid," Slughorn said.

"Gringotts, I have confidence breaking into without being seen. Similarly, there is a big enough motive that even if I'm noticed and reported as an anonymous robber, people will simply think that I was there for the gold. However, breaking into the manor of a dying house like that. The moment Tom hears about it, he will know that the diary is the only thing worth the risk. It is easier but more risky. We will leave it for last in case the legal means don't work, and if Voldemort is trapped by the end of the year, then we can still…" the headmaster trailed off.

"Are we sure of the plan with the stone?" Slughorn asked, obviously feeling anxious. "I know we were unable to dissuade Quirrell from going to Albania and that he is the most likely infiltration point, but what if something else happens?"

"I am, as always, open to suggestions. The issue with spirits is that they are very hard to nail down unless one can lure them into a place that one has prepared long before. Greed and overconfidence will blind Tom like they have in the past. He thinks that we are foolish to hide the stone in a school, and that will be his undoing. He has always overestimated himself and, through that, underestimated others. A trap that looks like an opportunity to the megalomaniacs of the world is the one that snaps shut the hardest," Dumbledore said coldly.

"Bloody hell," Slughorn complained and brought up a handkerchief to wipe some of the sweat staining his brow. "How far have you gotten with reactivating parts of the order?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not very far. People are confused at my warnings that the dark lord is not truly dead because there has yet been no conclusive evidence of that being the case. They are willing to listen to me but unwilling to put forward actions. Perhaps something will happen soon that will change their minds, but until then, I do not know."

"Well, one problem remains the same. If everything goes according to plan, we will need a new defense instructor, despite removing the curse fulcrum," the potions professor joked, trying to lift the horrible mood.

Dumbledore chuckled helplessly. "A problem that will hopefully be rectified starting next year once and for all. I did receive a fascinating offer from a previous alumni this summer and the only reason I rejected it was because I wanted to give Quirrell the opportunity."

"The plans that require patience are the worst, but thankfully, we old men are very good at waiting," Slughorn concluded. "Or else the situation would have easily spiraled out of control by now."

"I agree. Perhaps this is not as horrible as we think because now we have actual knowledge with which we can do something. Before this, we were simply stumbling in the dark. I guess in the end, we must thank our informant. No matter who they might be."

"No leads?"

"It must have been someone capable of breaking into the school and delivering the letter to the table. It couldn't have been any of the students or the staff last year, and I'm truly at a loss. It's like a completely new player has appeared and started making moves. I do not know anything, nor can I predict any of their decisions."

"This might not necessarily be a good thing, but it also might not necessarily be a bad thing," Slughorn concluded. "The person at least seems to be quite adverse to Voldemort."

"Alas, being adverse to Voldemort can also very well mean that they are a competitor rather than an enemy."

-/-

AN: I think it's unreasonable to assume that after being given the information, Dumbledore wouldn't have managed to do anything useful. So, the war has started on at least one front. Will it truly end so easily? Who knows. The locket is missing and could be anywhere by now. As long as one Horcrux and Neville exist, the compass cannot give an accurate direction. Similarly, Harry now has the diary. What will he do with it?

It's all very mysterious. Hope you liked the chapter.

In case anyone forgot, due to Lily's death Slughorn underwent a character change and now seeks to end the dark lord he helped create rather than simply hiding away. What can I say, Dumbledore is good at guilt trips.

Similarly, they know Harry has been accessing the room since they obviously checked on it, but they don't make the connection between him and the information because of the way the letter was delivered and because a 12-year-old has no way of knowing these things. A blind spot in regards to children. I think it's reasonable. Curse me out in the comments if you disagree.

Chapter Text

In a very weird way, the clearing that Harry had created all those years by burying the remnants of his past, like the corpse that it was, had remained the only source of real stability in his life in the past years. He'd gone to Hogwarts, made friends, and met teachers. Had become skilful in several different magical and non-magical disciplines. And yet the apple tree, and the cave, and the green grass and the tranquillity of the forest that greeted whenever he entered the clearing remained the same.

He was glad that Dobby had not apparently tried to change anything during Harry's absence. The house-elf was crouched in on himself on the grass, the Sorting Hat on his head, looking wondrously at a butterfly that was fluttering about from flower to flower, collecting nectar and proving to the world that whimsical beauty was not only a realm reserved for women with weird hair colours.

"Enjoying your newfound free time, Dobby?" Harry asked as he approached the house-elf, dropping his bike unceremoniously on the floor and wiping his slightly wet hands on the green hoodie he was wearing. It was raining outside the clearing, just not in it. Here, it was as sunny always as if the forever ripe apples refused to not beckon the visitors with their red-lustre magnified by rays of sunlight.

The house-elf sprung up at Harry's seemingly sudden entry, looking for all the world as if he was about to stand at attention.

"At ease, soldier," Harry jokes, only for the quip to fly over the house-elf's hat-covered head.

"What does master be needings Dobby to do?" the house elf asked enthusiastically.

The boy tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Have you touched any of the things you weren't supposed to touch?" he asked and received a shake of the head. "Well then, it seems like you can continue enjoying your time off. I will be calling on you when I need you." He walked past the baffled house-elf, plucking off the hat and putting it on his own head. Dobby, meanwhile, sat back down, only to notice that the butterfly had flown away.

Harry walked over to the entrance of the cave, which he noted was now equipped for actual living. A rickety but solid-looking bed with what seemed like an expensive mattress. A small table was shoved against the wall. There was a letter on it addressed to Charon. He thought he recognised Narcissa Malfoy's character in the writing and disregarded the likely contract for the moment.

He looked around more, finding a bookshelf on which his five new acquisitions from Borgin & Burkes had found their place. The entire scene, oddly domestic as it was, was alighted by a ball of light at the top of the cave. There seemed to be little shapes reminiscent of fairies dancing inside of it.

The ground in which he'd buried Voldemort's Horcrux seemed undisturbed. There was a list of things that Harry needed to do, now that he'd enjoyed a weekend of teenager-like freedom in Manchester (which was not a word combination he'd ever thought would go through his mind). Might as well start with the simplest of the bunch, he decided and sat down in his newly created study corner. Hovering a hand over the letter he determined that it contained no magic that could possibly harm him, not even a teensy winsy tracking spell. It seemed that he'd made quite an impression on Narcissa if she'd given up discovering his identity. Or maybe he was simply being arrogant, and there were much more subtle methods involved. Surely, a combination of houses as old as the Malfoys and the Blacks would have several books worth of tricks on how to get one over their enemies.

Maybe not, considering how little reverence and interest old pure-blood families seemed to really hold towards the magical phenomena that was magic.

He opened the letter, pulled out a piece of parchment that wasn't overly long and started reading it. It remained oddly non-confrontational. He'd been expecting to become involved in a back-and-forth of government bureaucratic proportions.

However, it seemed like Draco's mother was prioritising the speed of the boy's instruction as much as possible, no matter the cost. All of the provisions that Harry had mentioned were described clearly in writing. The fact that he wouldn't harm or plan to bring harm to the boy unless provoked by a reason much more serious than childish ignorance. That he could decide the meeting place, and he would have access to the Malfoy library to some extent during the extent of his tenure as a professor. And, as a cherry on top, he would be earning ten galleons an hour, regardless of all the other benefits he'd already received.

Although, taking a house-elf that was as prone to misbehaving as Dobby was off the Malfoy's hands was more of a favour, really, considering how badly the little bugger would have betrayed them eventually.

Harry put the letter down, deciding that he'd sleep on it before reading the contract again, just to make extra sure that he wasn't missing anything.

He turned his attention to the Horcrux, innocently lying on the ground, unfelt by even his now quite well-developed magical senses.

It truly was a stroke of genius on Voldemort's part to hide the pieces of his soul in such prominent locations and not simply throw them in the ocean, bury them underground, or shoot them straight up into the vastness of space. Had the man bothered to do so, the fight against him would have been as fruitless as it would have been eternal. Surely boring for the Dark Lord. He'd likely made such obvious planning mistakes out of a desire to give his enemies a chance so that the contest over Britain's rule would be more fair.

Or the idiot had simply gone completely insane, his already present narcissism and megalomania becoming almost cartoonish after the doubtlessly damaging process of splitting one's fucking soul into pieces.

Having had more time to think about what to do with the Horcrux, the answer was quite obvious. It was to be destroyed, and its destruction communicated to Dumbledore. For this purpose, Harry had two options, the killing curse and Fiendfyre. Since he didn't want to risk his life against the flames of hell so far away from any help, the killing curse would do.

The decision as to the fate of the diary made, Harry wondered outside the cave to pluck the sorting hat off of the elf's head. He wanted to wear his lucky charm and mind protector for the deed, and if he was already at it, he might as well breach the subject of maybe becoming actually competent enough to teach what he'd promised to teach.

'So, you think you could start teaching me some Legilimency as well?' Harry asked, completely unprompted.

"The Malfoy brat?" the hat asked.

'I recently found someone else too,' Harry thought back and explained how he wanted to teach Tonks also.

Chanithachuah considered the information before replying. 'I understand the reason. First, you're helping a friend. Then you're leading a child away from a path of bigotry and also getting paid by one's enemies, therefore depleting their resources. What I don't understand is how you think you'll get anywhere quickly enough to teach by the time we come back from the duelling championship.'

'I'll try my best, as I always have,' Harry replied cooly. 'You can't tell me I haven't achieved great feats with simple hard work in the past.'

'I will admit that your occlumency getting to the level it is now, that of a very proficient adult, is quite inspiring. However, it took you two years to get here. Your first lesson, however, is less than in a month.'

'Well, if I start learning now, won't my first attacks be quite crude and thus easier to detect? Isn't it actually optimal to have someone learning Legilimency almost at the same rate as the other person is learning Occlumency?' Harry wondered.

Chanithachuah almost didn't have a reply to that. 'But you'll be a horrible teacher, unable to adjust your attacks for an optimal learning experience and deliver a variety of attacks to build a strong defensive portfolio.'

"I fail to see how that's my problem," Harry muttered.

'You absolute asshole,' the hat realised. 'You don't care about being a good teacher. You're just interested in getting paid to learn a skill you're marginally interested in.'

'Don't forget my motivation to turn children away from the path of darkness and help my friends defend themselves.' Harry thought innocently.

'Alright, I'll help, but first, we maybe let's first see what to do with that dark artefact over there.' The Horcrux had also been a part of the memory packet that Harry had sent over.

Harry underwent a small dilemma but quickly resolved it. The hat was, weirdly enough, the entity that he trusted the most in the world. He'd trusted it with his mind, his secrets, and, to a certain extent, his entire identity. If he couldn't tell the hat about Horcruxes, then he couldn't tell anyone. 'It's a Horcrux, we're going to destroy it.'

The hat paused. 'Oh, those things. I thought they went out of fashion, or more importantly, that all mention of them had been purged from the records.'

'You know what they are?' Harry asked, surprised.

'Of course, Godric was quite the adventurer when he was young, middle-aged, and old. We destroyed one once,' the hat said as if it wasn't anything special.

A thought suddenly struck Harry. If the hat had indeed adventured with Godric Gryffindor of all people, then maybe it could show him some of those memories. Harry also really wanted a Pensieve and ask Dumbledore for his duels with Voldemort and Grindelwald to see if he could learn something.

'How did you destroy it? Fiendfyre, basilisk venom, killing curse?' Harry asked frantically. Maybe there was a scenario in which he wouldn't have to use dark magic.

The hat sighed. 'Godric didn't want to sully his mind with dark magic at the time, so he used an obscure light spell he had created. I can't teach it since I only have his Mind Arts ability.'

"Interesting," Harry muttered. For all that he'd prefer experimenting with the killing curse without any pressure, it was still the best alternative. After all, it was a powerful weapon that could be needed in a clutch situation, and he wasn't planning on practising it enough to really get infected by the hate and the self-righteousness of thinking one had the right to simply kill other human beings. How bad could it be? He sighed. 'Killing curse it is then,' he thought dejectedly.

The hat, for all its dislike of Dark Magic, didn't have anything to say to that. 'Check if it's real first before you waste your humanity on it.'

'Now?' Harry asked, worried about the sudden implication of killing the Horcrux in his little cave of privacy.

'Why wait?' the hat replied, which was a justified response. Why wait? The more he waited, the more dangerous it became, and the more likely that through some twist of fate, the Horcrux would escape and endanger other people.

'I guess you're right. Protect my mind,' he prompted, getting a positive response.

Harry was a careful person, a cautious person, a person who wanted to stay alive. The reasoning made sense, and despite the slight fear that existed in his mind about dealing with one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, he knew it was an acceptable risk to get rid of a piece of the bastard.

He flexed his magic, lifted the ground covering up where he'd buried the Horcrux and revealed it to the fresh air once again. Harry didn't feel anything from his magical sense and frowned, pulling out his wand. Then he paused. Shouldn't he verify first if this was actually the real Horcrux? It would suck if he just killing cursed a normal book and then thought Voldemort was mortal again. He pulled the little black journal out of the ground and went to get a pen. He opened the notebook to the first empty page and wrote into it.

Hello Tom

There was no response, and Harry started to doubt himself.

Do you have anything you want to offer to convince me not to kill you? He wrote.

The magic of the Horcrux suddenly exploded, tendrils of mind magic swiping out but being batted away quite simply by the hat.

Harry sighed in relief as the dark magic signature of the book grew darker and darker. He concentrated his hatred, which was very easy when the target was Voldemort. He drew on his belief that some people were beyond redemption. Moved his wand in the requisite pattern, his pale fingers tracing the form of death into the air. His hatred became a spear of justice. He meant it. He really, really meant it. "Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light went through the cave for just an instant. The spell hit the diary, which promptly crashed together like a black hole from a magical perspective. A shrill scream. What remained was just a simple diary with a hole in the middle.

"It was easy," Harry muttered, thinking of the ease with which he'd been able to cast the spell.