July 12, 1996

In a dark room in a small town, Harry Potter was meditating. He was trying to meditate. Sort of. He was trying to learn how to occlude his mind.

Clear your mind!

It was not working all that well thanks to the constant flashes of his short life he experienced. He was sure this was not a part of the mythical concept of normal in relation to the Mind Arts. Then again, he was sure his whole existence was a convoluted 'fuck you' to normalcy.

Maybe I should strike normal from my dictionary. It would save time and effort.

His room was exceptionally tidy today as he was about to get released from his prison. Only two books were out of place; When Bad Things Happen To Good Peopleand Miracle of Mindfulness.

The first was a book Hermione sent on the third day of his... vacation to help him combat the crushing depression setting in after Sirius' death.

You have to love that girl. She'll find a solution to death in one of her books one day.

And yes, he was sceptical, but it helped. It helped Harry put a name to the emotional rollercoaster he was experiencing for the past year; Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It helped Harry accept his depression and try to move on.

And that was why he was reading the second book. It was a book on tips for self-awareness and meditation.

After the failure of last year's end of the year adventure, Harry had combed through the Hogwarts Library top to bottom on any books on Mind Arts. He had found none. Turns out, both Occlumency and Legilimency were near impossible to find in books. To learn both talents, you would need a master of the art.

Dumbledore learned from Flamel. Snape learned from Dumbledore.

When Harry found out about this, he had cursed whoever taught Tom Riddle for three days straight.

So, he went to a bookstore to buy a book on meditation. This book had two types of meditation techniques; one required the practitioner to move in slow, precise motions and focus on their breathing, the other required you to sit still. The first was a combination of fighting techniques and dance moves. The second was a sore arse.

With the first one, Harry needed to focus his mind outward, focus on his environment. It worked great for Harry. After every practice, he was calmer, freer and lighter than ever, and he was more aware.

The other needed Harry to close his eyes and turn his focus inward. It had a side-effect. He kept seeing - more like re-living - snippets of his life. It felt similar to when Snape used to tore through his mind but the pain and the migraine were minimal and easy to ignore.

He dubbed this new skill that came with focusing inward Pottermency. 'Cause only Harry Potter could try to learn Occlumency and learn how to use Legilimency on himself, Harry thought to himself and snickered. Always see the bright side.

It was the fifth day he was practising his new talent - Pottermency - and he was getting better at it. Since the day three, he could filter which memories to relive based on who the memories involved or the emotions relating to them. It was a great help in remembering and honouring Sirius, and sadly, getting over his death.

Okay, Potter, focus.

He focused on the one image that always made him feel safe, calm and excited at the same time; the first time he saw Hogwarts on a rocky boat on a still lake. It was the most awe-inspiring thing he had seen, the castle; and the sense of belonging he experienced for the first time in his short life was memorable.

At once his heartbeat and breathing evened out to a level that if anyone saw him they'd think he was asleep. Without even knowing when it happened, he found himself lost in memories.

This pseudo-talent of his had its advantages. It allowed Harry to compartmentalise and see things through a new, older and more experienced perspective. Okay, maybe most wouldn't consider almost sixteen that much different from fifteen or fourteen, but it allowed Harry to find patterns.

These patterns showed him a picture of himself he was both proud and ashamed of. He was proud of the way he held his head high even in most dire circumstances; how he fought through, no matter the odds and pain. He was proud of his friends and he was proud of the loyalty and respect he inspired in his peers.

It also showed him how much of his life he wasted on non-consequential things; how much he wasted his time slacking off even though he had been through multiple near-death experiences. It showed him how ill-prepared he was to face what was coming.

Worst of all was, he realised how ungrateful he acted towards Hermione Granger; his most loyal and supportive friend. The girl with the scariest brain and the sexiest right hook. The whole debacle with the Firebolt in his third year and the constant the fights from last year had been atrocious. The way he had ignored her and her counsel sometimes, almost always when it was about studying, had been disgraceful.

That has to change, Harry vowed. Hermione was, and always would be, his most important resource and most valued friend, if not more than that.

Today's focus was Albus Dumbledore. After a long inner debate, Harry had decided to re-examine his relationship with his… mentor and find the crucial things he had missed. He needed to know the man better if he was to learn from him, both what to do and what not to do.

The memories started with the sorting ceremony; he saw the way his sorting and consecutive actions had held the old man's attention. The next memory was the night Dumbledore busted him in the room with the Mirror of Erised. He realised 'busted' was the wrong word in that situation. Dumbledore knew all along he was there almost every night for a while and allowed it. It was his obsessive behaviour and his sleepless state that pushed Dumbledore to reveal himself.

Harry continued to review every interaction he had with the revered man and analyse the causes and effects of those interactions. It painted a complex picture; a puzzle he didn't have all the pieces for and had little hope to figure out without further contemplation and help.

Harry jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang and checked the time before running downstairs, guessing correctly it was his headmaster. He made it to the bottom of the stairs just as his uncle opened the door to reveal Albus Dumbledore in a black travelling cloak. That cannot be Dumbledore. For one, he isn't wearing outlandish colours.

"Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I imagine Harry told you I would come for him?"

I knew I forgot something! Harry smiled sheepishly and called out to the aged man, "Ehm, Professor, I might've- well, I forgot to tell them."

"Nevertheless, let us assume you didn't forget," Dumbledore said with a kind smile and turned to Vernon whose face was purpling in outrage. "And let us assume you invited me in like the civilised people you are."

What followed was the most awkward and fun forty-five minutes of his life in Privet Drive. Dumbledore explained to him about Sirius' will and had him check the results by ordering a grumbling Kreacher around. He explained to the Dursley family the civil war in which Wizarding Society found itself and reprimanded them for their treatment of Harry.

He did all of that while simultaneously insulting the family in a most polite voice, causing Harry to look up at him in awe.

It must be fun to insult people while maintaining a pleasant smile.

| O |

When they left the obnoxiously ordinary lives of the Dursley family, the Headmaster grabbed hold of Harry's arm and whisked him away.

I must beg Hermione to look for or discover a better, more comfortable way of magical travel, Harry decided in between gulps of breath. "That was fun. Let's not do it again."

"It gets better with practice," Headmaster said with a small grin, what passed for mocking for Albus Dumbledore.

Harry nodded even though he had no desire to 'practice'. "Sir, I don't think we are in Ottery St. Catchpole. Are you sure you know how to apparate?"

"Astute observation skills, Harry, and I assure you I know how to apparate. No, we are in a small village with the name of Budleigh Babberton. We are here to persuade an old friend and colleague of mine to come out of retirement."

"And why am I here, sir?"

Dumbledore gave the boy a small smile. "Oh, I think we'll find a use for you." He walked at a brisk pace, leaving Harry to follow him.

Harry took a deep breath to squash his irritation at the old man but when he spoke, his voice still carried some of it. "So, you will throw me into the deep end without telling me what my purpose is. Again."

The Headmaster's pace faltered at that. He said nothing for a while, deep in thought, and Harry didn't interrupt. "You make a good point, dear Harry. In my old age, I find these little games a little too entertaining." He increased his pace, but he didn't even sound breathy. "Horace Slughorn is a renowned potion master and the old head of the house of Slytherin. Like every old man, he has his vices. He likes luxurious things and to surround himself with important people and students of great potential. He used to have dinners and parties, to which he would invite talented students and those with the 'right' sort of connections. He would cultivate relationships between important people and students who had the right making to go far in the world. They made him appear and feel important and influential."

Harry was starting to suspect he was here as the Chosen One as the Prophet deemed it sensible to call him.

"Which is why you are here. Horace has information crucial to the war effort which is why we need to lure him to Hogwarts. I know you hate your fame, dear boy, but in this case, your fame, we will have to use."

All throughout his monologue, the Headmaster kept walking and Harry had the suspicion it was so he wouldn't have time to object to the blatant manipulation and distasteful use of his fame. He wouldn't. "If it's important, I'll do it, sir, but I'd appreciate it if you are upfront with me about these things in the future." He took yet another deep breath. This was important. He needed to show the Headmaster he could be sensible and responsible. "I understand that you think I am too young to have an active part in this war and know certain things. You are most likely right, but if I have to be the one to end this war, I need all the information I can get. Last year showed I can't afford to stay ignorant."

Headmaster stopped walking altogether and turned to Harry, looking at him with piercing blue eyes and a grave look on his face. "We shall discuss this after this incursion, Harry. Draw your wand. I want you to keep your wits and be alert."

Harry did as ordered, crouching lightly. "Why, what's wrong, sir?"

"Most likely nothing, but if it seems necessary, I give you permission to use your wand."

Dumbledore palmed his own wand before turning and walking towards a house Harry now realised was in disarray. The door was hanging off its hinges and the inside of the house was in a similar state. Harry followed his mentor as quietly as he could, his heart beating against his ribcage.

The young boy wasn't sure what he was feeling. Excitement because he might get to help with the war? Fear because he might get hurt? Pride because he might get to fight next to a legend?

All those jumbled out reactions turned out to be for nothing.

After they searched the ransacked house thoroughly, the Headmaster revealed the old professor they were looking for by probing an armchair. To Harry's surprise and awe, the armchair turned into the man they were there for.

I didn't know it was possible for a wizard to transfigure himself as an inanimate object. Or was it an illusion?

One way or another, it was one genius move, and the boy was sure it would've fooled anyone but Dumbledore.

Must remember to use the Dark Mark if I ever imitate this technique.

After turning the house back to its original, pristine condition, Dumbledore gave the potion master a self-satisfied smile. "Horace, my old friend, may I introduce my young charge, Harry Potter," Dumbledore waved his hands in a Tada! fashion.

Slughorn turned to Harry with hunger in his eyes but didn't take the bait right away. "I know what you are doing, Albus, and it will not work," he declared, foregoing pleasantries, his tone not as sure as his words.

"Told you, Professor. I'm nobody," Harry interjected in a dejected tone before either man could continue. "It's not like I'm the first person to kill a basilisk or the first person to conjure a corporeal Patronus at the young age of thirteen."

Dumbledore looked at Harry in surprise before smiling pleasantly, his eyes twinkling away. "Now, my boy, I won't have you belittle your own accomplishments. Not many can say they won the Triwizard tournament at fourteen and taught his peers and older students how to defend themselves at fifteen."

Harry was all too aware of the dumbfounded expression on their host's face but ignored it. "It didn't do any good when we fought against the Death Eaters though. We, the Ministry Six that is, only managed to fight them to a draw. And besides, I don't feel comfortable misleading the nice professor here. I'll probably get Exceeded Expectations at most in my potions OWL, which means I can't even attend his classes. You should have brought Hermione Granger with you. She's the one who will get twelve OWLs."

"Now, now. I know Miss Granger is truly an exceptional student but let's not forget, you scored the highest score in Defence Against the Dark Arts in history. And thanks to your efforts, Hogwarts has the best scores in Defence in the world this year."

I broke the record in Defence?! Why, you infuriating old man, didn't you tell me this before?

"Okay! Stop!" shouted Slughorn, his face reddening like a Weasley. "My answer won't change. No, sir, it will not!"

Dumbledore regarded his 'friend' for a moment before smiling kindly at him and bowing courteously. "At least offer your guests a drink for old times sake. We travelled all this way in the summer heat."

The portly man hesitated for a moment before relenting. "Fine. One drink. Then you will leave because my answer won't change." Slughorn waved them to sit while he prepared their drinks. Harry sat on a shockingly comfortable armchair, smiling naively like he wasn't aware of the tension in the room.

After he basically threw them their drinks, Slughorn sat on a different armchair, his back straight as glared them to leave him alone.

Dumbledore took a sip of what Harry guessed to be whiskey before asking, "How have you been, my old friend?"

"Not so well. Weak lungs. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. I'm getting old."

"And yet, you must've moved fast to prepare such a welcome," commented Dumbledore. "You couldn't have more than three minutes of warning."

"Two. Didn't hear the Intruder Charm go off. I was taking a bath." The supposed potion master shook his head. "It matters not. I am an old man, Albus. A tired man who earned his retirement and a few creature comforts."

"You are not as old as I am yet, Horace."

Slughorn nodded like Dumbledore just made his point. "Then you should consider retirement as well. Reactions not what they were," he commented, pointing to the Headmaster's darkened hand.

"Indeed." Dumbledore shook back his sleeve to reveal his whole arm looking dead. It sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

What the fuck?!

The bearded man opened his arms wide in a what can you do motion, causing the light to glint off a ring with snake motifs in his right hand. The ring sent another shiver down Harry's spine, making him believe it was no ordinary accessory.

And, if I'm reading him correctly, it did the same thing for dear Horace.

"So, were all those precautions for me, Horace, or are you expecting trouble with Death Eaters?"

"What would Death Eaters want with an old, retired man like me?" Slughorn all but shouted. He gave up the pretence when Dumbledore gave him a pointed look. "Fine, I've been on the move for a year. Never stayed in one place more than a week. Always chose a muggle house. Owners of this fine dwelling are on a vacation in the Canary Islands."

Dumbledore smiled victoriously. "Sounds like a tiring existence, not exactly the quiet retirement you wanted," Dumbledore pointed out. "Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts-"

"If you are going to tell me about how my life would be peaceful at Hogwarts, don't bother, Albus! I've heard the rumours about Dolores Umbridge, I have!"

"Dolores ran afoul of a centaur herd," Dumbledore cut in. "I think you are wise enough not to insult centaurs while trespassing on their land, Horace."

"Is that what happened?"

Harry's snort was far too loud to go unnoticed. "Sorry. It's just- For a girl with the utmost respect of authority, Hermione is a rebel. It was she who convinced Umbridge to go there, and I still can't believe she sat Snape's robes on fire," explained Harry with a chuckle.

Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise. "Severus never mentioned."

"Oh, yeah. She thought it was Snape who was cursing my broom back in my first Quidditch match so, she did what any reasonable student would do; set a teacher on fire." Harry was outright laughing now.

"See what I mean, Albus? Students attacking teachers," said Slughorn, though he couldn't hide the small smile even if he tried.

Harry shook his head. "I can't help but think Snape deserved it preemptively. I imagine if it weren't for him, I would be much better in potions."

"It's Professor Snape, Harry."

"Sorry." Harry shrugged, his tone conveying how not sorry he was. "I just wish we had a better instructor."

Dumbledore looked at Harry for a second before standing up suddenly.

"Are you leaving?" asked Slughorn hopefully.

"No," Dumbledore answered. "I was wondering if I might use your bathroom?"

Slughorn's disappointment was all too clear on his face. "Second door on the left down the hall."

Harry and Slughorn sat on their respective armchairs in uncomfortable silence for a long minute before Slughorn broke it. "You look very much like your father."

Harry chuckled at the conversation starter that was now a routine. "Would you believe me if I said I hear that a lot?"

"Then I shall refrain from mentioning your mother's eyes," the balding potions master answered with a chuckle of his own. "She was one of my favourite students, Lily Evans. One of the brightest students I ever taught. Vivacious. Kind. Charming. She had quite a way with words. I always thought she should've been in Slytherin."

Seeing Harry's surprise, he explained, "She always knew what to say to win an argument. It was a nightmare; trying to change her mind about something. You would always end up changing your own mind. She had this way of getting into your head and making you doubt yourself that I found uncanny."

Harry, in his short time in the magical part of Great Britain, had heard some stories about his parents. He listened to stories about how brave they were and how much they loved him. He heard stories about his father's pranking days and their teenage romance. But, he realised at that moment, when Slughorn talked about one of his favourite students from two decades ago, that this was the closest he ever felt to his mother. This was the first moment he could imagine his mother as a real person, not just a bedtime story character.

He could imagine his mother ranting at a fellow student about the invalidity of blood purity and how keeping the gene pool small can lead to disastrous results.

He could imagine his mother complaining about the immature pranks of his fellow Gryffindors and how those said pranks would lead to resentment. How that resentment could lead to the bullied students finding solace in a dark lord with false promises and a charming speech.

That lead to a disturbing realisation. His mother sounded like Hermione. She sounded like Hermione a lot; which wouldn't be a problem, seeing as Hermione was one of the few people he respected without a doubt, whom he would support with no reservations. It wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't starting to look at his best friend in a new light since he started Pottermancy.

Okay, Potter, get it together.

"She sounds like a wonderful person," choked up the young orphan.

"She was. A prodigy at potions, and charms too, that it was hard to believe she was a Muggle-born."

Oh, shit. I was just starting to like him, Harry groaned silently and leaned forward with his elbows on his legs and his cheek on his palm. "One of my best friends, Hermione Granger from before, is a Muggle-born. She is the best in our year. Hell, she is the smartest student I've met," Harry said with a faux-pleasant smile.

Slughorn must have realised how he sounded because he amended immediately. "No, no! You mustn't think I'm prejudiced. Like I said, your mother was one of my favourite students. I wasn't surprised because I think Muggle-born are inferior. No, I was surprised because she was one of my best students from the moment she walked into my classroom. Which is surprising considering most of the 'well to do' pureblood students had private instructors."

That actually made sense. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to offend you, sir," Harry smiled shyly. "It's a touchy subject."

"Indeed, it is." Slughorn pointed to a dresser that was right next to Harry with signed moving pictures on top of it. More accurately, he pointed towards the one with his mother and a beautiful, wide small on her face. "You'll also notice Barnabas Cuffe, the editor of the Daily Planet. Then there is Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes. A lot of famous names."

Harry smirked, out right smirked, at the opportunity. "Yes, Barnabas Cuffe. I so wish I could meet him. I'd like to get his opinion on how an 'attention seeking liar' could become the Chosen One within a year, considering his 'newspaper' came up with both depictions of me."

Slughorn looked flustered. "Well, you'd have to ask him."

"Yeah." Harry swallowed his values, at least for the moment, and went for the kill. "The funny thing is, they got it right."

"They got what right?" asked the prospective potions master, confused.

"I am the Chosen One." Harry's smile turned predatory. "I am the one who is going to defeat Lord Voldemort. It may not be today. It may not be tomorrow, but give me a couple years and I will end him and his pathetic Death Eaters."

Slughorn looked distinctly uncomfortable, yet intrigued. "Yes, well-"

"I mean the guy came after me five times so far and I sent him with his tail between his legs four of those five times. And the one I didn't, I was mighty tired; and was bitten by an acromantula and exposed to Cruciatus. Oh, and let's not forget, I was surrounded by thirty of his followers."

Slughorn said nothing in return and they allowed a thoughtful silence take hold between them for a few minutes before Harry tried to turn up the heat. "What I don't understand is, why are you against taking the post? Hogwarts, with Dumbledore and I there, is the safest place to be at the moment. Everyone says Dumbledore is the only person Tom fears, and while I can't claim I invoke fear in him, it's safe to assume he is wary of me."

"Well, yes, it is true You-Know-Who has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," he agreed grudgingly. "And I suppose he would be wary of you after he failed to kill you as a baby," he trailed off.

Dumbledore chose that moment to return to the room, causing the already tense future potions professor to jump. "There you are, Albus. I was beginning to fear you had an accident in the restroom," he joked weakly.

The elder of two old men smiled but there was no humour in his straight, powerful posture. He looked cross between an elderly statesman and a general. "No, I was reading the Muggle magazines and forgot myself. Well, Harry, I believe we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality long enough."

Harry got up as Horace asked, "You are leaving?"

"Yes, indeed. We made our offer. You are wise enough to make the right choice," answered Dumbledore, leaving no doubt what the 'right choice' was in his opinion.

Slughorn wasn't as confident about his choices as Dumbledore thought he ought to be, though. He was fidgety and agitated, playing with the buttons on his thin cloak.

Dumbledore raised his healthy hand in goodbye and said, "I hope to see you at Hogwarts, Horace, I truly do. I think it would be the safest option for you. Know that even if you decide not to take me up on my offer, Hogwarts' doors are always open to you should you wish to visit."

"Yes, well..."

Dumbledore threw one last look at the nervous potions master and made his way out of the house. "Take care of yourself, old friend."

"Bye," Harry added with a cheerful wave.

| O |

As soon as Harry straightened up after another gut-twisting apparition, Dumbledore was speaking. "Well done, Harry."

Harry could agree but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I feel dirty." Harry looked up at the stars, taking deep breaths to soothe his chaotic stomach after a god awful transportation.

"I know you don't enjoy using your fame but-"

Harry shook his head and looked right at the ice-blue eyes of the Headmaster. "It's not that, sir. I have no problems using my fame for a good cause. It's the manipulation of the truth which makes me feel awful. The way I see it, if you focus as hard as I did on not lying, you are already lying."

Dumbledore let out a shaky breath, unable to hide the how much that statement affected him for a moment.

Harry didn't let him talk though. He needed to talk, needed the release. "I feel like I spat on Sirius' death; like I dirtied my mother's sacrifice. I- The way I talked, you would think I had no fear of Voldemort. I didn't tell him how disturbing it was to burn someone with my bare hands; or how painful it was to have basilisk venom coursing through my veins; or how dirty it made me feel to have him possess me."

Harry took a deep breath and turned his eyes skyward, trying to calm his racing heart and spiralling thoughts. He stood there without moving for a few minutes before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He cast his eyes at his mentor. The frown on the elder man's face and the sad look in his eyes were highlighting his wrinkles, making him seem older than ever.

"I wish you could have the life you want, Harry, but the sad truth is we are in a civil war. Believe me, I so wish I could shield you from this burden."

"I know, sir, and I appreciate it but I have to accept it and move on. I always dreamed of being normal but... Well, fate has other plans so there is no use in dwelling on it. I can't bury my head in the sand and hope for the best."

With a kind smile on his face, Dumbledore gave Harry a gentle push towards the Burrow. "That is a very mature way of looking at life, my dear boy. I must say, I am proud of the way you are handling this burden and Sirius' passing."

Harry shrugged in response. "The prophecy wasn't much of a surprise, to be honest. It was a little overwhelming at first, to have the confirmation of what I will have to do but, looking back, I can see I already knew, at least subconsciously. And Sirius' death... Well, there is nothing I can do now but to learn from it and never make the same mistakes again."

"That is a mature way of looking at a tragedy, Harry. And, you are right; all of us have to take responsibility for our failures," Dumbledore agreed. "I shall endeavour to do the same. Which brings me to something I wanted to talk to you about. This year, I wish to give you private lessons."

Harry knew, if everyone could see him at that moment, they would worry he went mad with the face-splitting smile on his face. "Oh, thank god! I was worried about asking you for the same thing. I need help. So much help. Truthfully, watching you and Voldemort duel was an eye-opener. I can see now how little he thought of me. He was playing with me so far."

Dumbledore's step faltered at that, making Harry wonder. "Yes, well, we'll see what we can do about that." He sped up, giving Harry the impression he was uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. "Let's not deprive Molly of a chance to complain about how thin you are any longer."

And that was that. A nice meal to end a nice day.