This is the original story of "Harry Potter, The Orphan Who Survived".

October 31st, All Hollow's Eve

A figure clad in flowing, black robes walked along the cobblestone road of Godric's Hollow. Even as the children and parents around him walked around happily, laughing and talking, filled with happiness, the man was set on a grim goal.

He kept walking, keeping his head bent to allow the hood to better conceal his features. He passed a pale, dark–haired woman who looked at him with a serious face, but said nothing. Thinking nothing of it, he continued onwards. Towards a house in the centre of the city.

It was neat, cosy and the lights shone warmth onto the street. The man looked at it for a minute, deciding his approach. He neared the door and as he was about to reach it, he withdrew a wand from his cloak. In a flash of light, the door was blasted into a million pieces.

Inside, a man with untidy, black hair and glasses was standing, holding a book and looking alert. His other hand was already in his pocket, gripping his wand. As the man saw the trespasser's face, his eyes widened and he immediately cast a stunning spell. The dark figure easily deflected the red light, after which the black–haired man turned and shouted up the stairs.

"Lily, take Harry and run! It's him!"

The dark figure waved his wand and a sickly green light flew out of it and hit the man, and with a look of horror etched in his face, the man slumped backwards and moved no more. Hearing a feminine scream from the first floor, the robed man moved towards the stairs. Almost flying up the stairs, he could hear the woman speaking quietly to someone.

He moved towards the room from where he could hear the woman. As he got closer, he could hear the crying of a baby. Moving ever forward, the man entered the room to see the fiery–haired woman at the crib, clutching the wooden bars that separated her from her baby.

"Harry," she whispered, "Harry, you are so loved. So loved. Harry, mama loves you. Dada loves you. Harry, be safe. Harry, be strong."

The man neared the woman. Hearing his footsteps, she whipped her head around. Her eyes were red, her face stained with tears and her voice cried out.

"No, please, not Harry! Please, kill me instead, but don't hurt Harry! Please!"

The man spoke in a cold, yet irritated voice: "Get out of the way, stupid girl! You don't have to die."

The woman kept begging him to spare her son. In the end, the man raised his wand once more and again cast the green light.

The woman fell over, dead before she hit the floor. The man turned to the crib. The little baby inside cried and wailed. The man chuckled slightly in a cold, dark manner, with a morbid humour.

"How ironic, Harry Potter. Ironic, that it will be your death that ensures my life."

The boy quieted down, looking at the robed man with large eyes. The man stood and gazed at the boy for a while. Without a word, the man pointed his wand at the young boy. He looked with deadened eyes and spoke words dreaded all over Great Britain:

"Avada Kedavra."

The sickly green, bright light filled the room, bathing it in a cascade of jade and emerald.

•••

A woman with pale skin and dark hair walked down the streets of the small town, when she felt a powerful and malign presence. Looking up, she spotted a man in dark robes walking in the opposite direction of herself. As he passed her, she saw his eyes gleam a dark red.

She felt a shift, a slight dizzy and cold creep up her spine. The dark sensation, the bloodlust radiating off this man was significant, though in no way overwhelming. Intrigued by the sinister thoughts pulsing through his head, spiralling around a boy and a prophecy of some kind, she quietly followed.

The man led her to a small townhouse. He violently entered and killed a man right inside the door. As she quietly disguised herself from human perception, she silently walked up the path to the front door. She heard a woman screaming, pleading for someone named Harry to be spared. After a few seconds, she saw a green light coming from the room and the voice went quiet, and a small thump indicated the woman had fallen.

She stood there for a little while longer, waiting in morbid curiosity. After a while, she heard a man yell something that sounded like 'abra cadabra', and there came another green light. At the very second it started to fade, a sheen of red energy glimmered from the window, and the room was blasted open, the wall blown apart.

The woman outside hurried in and up the stairs. She passed a dead man and some broken furniture, arrived up there to find the body of a dead woman next to a crib where a baby sat. His face was stained with tears as he looked at the woman, and a very recent, yet unbleeding, wound in the shape of a lightning bolt was on his forehead. As she entered, his head turned towards her and his emerald eyes looked directly into her dark ones. She felt his gaze pierce her obfuscation and peer into her soul.

Her centuries long dead heart "skipped a beat", and she felt so sorry for the boy. It had been hundreds of years since she last felt compassion, but this defenceless toddler had instantly placed himself in her heart. She walked over to the crib and slowly picked him up, holding him close to her neck, which she warmed just for him. He latched on and rested his head against her neck. He didn't cry or scream. He just let her take him.

The woman looked around the house, taking things she assumed could be heirlooms. She grabbed a few picture albums, some of the woman's jewellery, the man's watch, some general books and some framed photographs. She knew the boy would want to know about his family when he became older, as humans tended to cling onto the past and their family. The least she could do was bring some mementos for him. Other than that, she took some of his clothes and playthings, bottles and other necessities. She packed it all into an old trunk wearing the name "James Potter".

Taking a last look around the house, she grabbed the trunk and carried the boy away, into the night. Just after she turned around the corner of the narrow street of cobblestone, she saw a gigantic motorcycle fly down from the sky, roaring in the stillness of the darkness. The woman turned and started walking away, the little boy sound asleep in her arms.

11 years later, June 25th, subterranean London

A 12–year–old Harry was sitting in the humongous library his mentor had built decades ago. Before him lay a monster of a book, circles, triangles and strange shapes drawn all over the page, with a bulk of text written in a nearly extinct language. He seemed to have no trouble deciphering it, as his eyes kept sweeping the text without pause. Harry closed his eyes for a few moments, and he remembered his nightmares that had plagued him for the past few years. A glint of green light and a man's voice shouting. He closed the book and pushed it away. He reached down to his right thigh and caressed the military–issue bayonet that rested in a holster there.

His mentor, Mistress Meerlinda, had taken him in as a toddler. She had raised him in this underground chantry where laid a practically endless library, and many locales for various purposes. Meerlinda had it built as her own, private dwelling in the 19th century, but it had become his home. Meerlinda was a vampire, or a Kindred, as they liked calling themselves. She was from clan Tremere, a powerful Kindred bloodline that specialized in the blood sorcery of Thaumaturgy, an adaption of House Tremere's hermetic magics from their mortal days, since they were rendered incapable of using it after their transformation.

Harry instantly detected the faint sound of his mistress opening the door to the library, and despite her mildly impressive skill at stealth, his keen hearing picked up on it effortlessly.

"They sent another letter this year," he heard the crystal–clear sound of his mistress' light, enchanting voice. "I think you could learn something from going."

"I'm not interested," Harry replied nonchalantly. "Besides, I doubt they could teach me anything useful."

"Harry," Meerlinda said and sat next to him. "The man you want to kill went there as well. You might learn more about your enemy from the teachers there."

Meerlinda was a woman whose beauty was leagues above the definition of the human term. Her raven–black hair cascaded down her back until it reached her waist, and her grey eyes held a certain allure that even Harry couldn't shake off, despite two centuries of exposure to them. And her face could only be described as one might describe an angel's divine radiance.

"Well, look at the downsides to your proposal," Harry countered. "First, I am literally centuries ahead of every other student in terms of… everything, really. Second, I doubt their magic could be of any help to me, what with the magic I already know. Third, I just might be tempted to kill some of them," Harry listed off, making it clear that he thought, not only would it be a waste of his time, but he would pose a potential danger to the school's population as well.

"You just have to reign it in. You're a brilliant actor," Meerlinda countered. "You could fool anyone there."

"Maybe," Harry conceded that point, "but that wouldn't mean that things couldn't go horribly wrong."

"Then I insist that you go," Meerlinda said calmly. "As your mistress, I order you to go there for at least one school year. If you still don't want it, I will let you off."

Harry glared at her, but her eyes made it impossible to maintain.

"Fine. I'll go."

"Fantastic," Meerlinda smiled and gripped Harry in a warm embrace, which Harry melted into.

Meerlinda might be a monster, but she raised him. Took him in and cared for him. Taught him everything he knew. Helped him with everything he wanted. Clothed him, fed him, gave him shelter. And above all, for whatever reason Harry could never hope to determine, loved him like a son, just as he'd come to lover her like a mother.

Diagon Alley

Harry was standing next to a pub called "The Leaky Cauldron". He'd seen it before, but he'd never gone inside. Through his correspondence with the school via the owl they sent, Harry had been informed that it was a front for the entrance to a street where wizards and witches could spend time amongst one another whilst hidden from the "Muggles", or ordinary humans. He was wearing dark jeans, a dark v–neck t–shirt and a dark utility jacket, crowned with dark shoes. Any human walking by would probably consider him a goth, but he'd always favoured black. It was the same colour as his and his father's hair. Then came red. His mother's hair–colour. And then green. His own and his mother's eye–colour. Meerlinda had described his parents to him, since she saw them as she took him from the house they lived in.

Harry heard a quiet 'clink' and looked up. Out of nowhere sprang an elderly man, with long, silvered hair and beard. He was wearing strange robes and bore half–moon glasses. Until his mistress' experimental ritual to enhance his body, Harry had needed glasses as well. He was thankful he didn't anymore. They became a bother in the long run. The elderly man studied Harry with surprised eyes, especially when he saw Harry's face completely void of emotions.

"You must be Albus Dumbledore," Harry said. He walked over and extended his hand to the man. "Harry Potter. A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said with a small polite smile.

"The pleasure is mine, as well, Harry," Dumbledore returned with a smile and shook the boy's hand. "I have been looking forward to seeing you for a decade."

"So, shall we get to it?" Harry asked and opened the door to the pub and held it for the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Indeed we shall, thank you very much," he said as he entered, followed shortly by Harry.

As they walked through the pub, a few strange–looking fellows looked at them and were stunned into silence. Harry clearly heard a few of their whispers.

"That's Albus Dumbledore! And that boy, he looks like… Potter!?"

Harry ignored them, but as he and the old wizard left out the back and came to a wall, he questioned Dumbledore on it.

"How did everyone in there know my name, professor?"

"You are quite famous in the wizarding community, my dear boy," Dumbledore replied. "You defeated the greatest dark wizard our society has known at the age of one."

"About that. Who was the man who killed my parents?"

Dumbledore stopped and turned around. His face implied regret and sombreness.

"He called himself Lord Voldemort. He was a great wizard, but also the darkest Hogwarts ever produced."

"I see," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore pulled out a wooden stick, likely a wand, and poked the brick wall in front of them a few places, after which it opened and pulled away to reveal a bustling street. There were colours everywhere, fantastical things on display in windows and people going about their business merrily.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley, Mr Potter. The place you can buy everything you will need for your years at Hogwarts, and more."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, but instead of finding a stunned smile, he found nothing but Harry's cold, analytical gaze flittering about the street. Almost like an animal searching for potential threats. He also noticed Harry subtly sniffing the air, as if trying to find any scents that might belong to some hidden predator.

Dear me…

"Harry, are you alright?" Dumbledore asked with concern. "You seem… a little off."

Harry looked at Dumbledore for a few moments.

Should I tell him? Eh, a little of it.

"I learned pretty quickly how to tap into my magic," Harry said bluntly. "I found out I could use it to enhance my senses fairly easily. That's why I don't need glasses anymore, either. I mean, if I lose my focus, I'm as blind as a mole, but I've gotten used to keeping up the magic."

Dumbledore was astounded. He'd never heard of such a use of magic before. To be able to use magic for something so… primal, was new to the old wizard. Something only a predator would need to learn.

Thinking nothing more of it, Dumbledore led Harry to the large, marble structure at the end of the main street.

"This is Gringotts. The bank where your parents stored their wealth."

"My parents were wealthy?" Harry asked, intrigued by this information.

"Wealthier than most, but far from the wealthiest," Dumbledore explained. "Some of your ancestors were savvy businessmen."

"I see," Harry replied with a small smile.

Business, huh?

They went inside and were padded by some wizards who carried silver rods. The one used to pat down Harry started vibrating when it came to his waist, and Harry mentally berated himself.

Shit.

Dumbledore and the guards were surprised, and the one patting Harry down reached under his jacket and pulled out a spring–loaded folding knife. The three adults looked at him with shocked expressions. Harry smiled sheepishly.

"The streets of London aren't that safe," he explained with a somewhat embarrassed expression on his face. "Better safe than stabbed, right?"

The guards exchanged strange looks, until the one who pulled out the knife put said item in his pocket.

"Come collect it again when you leave," he said and padded Harry on the shoulder.

Harry nodded understandingly and went inside with Dumbledore. After the goblin named Griphook received Harry's vault key from the old wizard, they were led on a bizarre carriage ride, very akin to a rollercoaster, and landed at a certain vault. The goblin used Harry's key to open the door, and Harry saw the heaps of gold, silver and bronze lying in there. He looked at Dumbledore.

"Well, how much should I take?" he asked. "I don't know the worth of this currency."

Dumbledore smiled and used his wand to conjure a leather pouch, very medieval. He filled it with a handful of gold coins, a handful of silver coins and a handful of bronze coins.

"This should be more than enough to cover all your expenses. You might find a few extra things you would like, as well. You will grasp our currency soon enough, I am certain."

Harry nodded graciously and took the pouch. They left the bank, and Dumbledore gave Harry his key. And Harry retrieved his knife from the guard.

"I'll remember not to bring it next time," he apologised to the guard, who couldn't help but smile and ruffle Harry's hair.

"You look so very much like your father. It's a shame what happened to your parents. My condolences."

Harry smiled back and nodded, then turned back to Dumbledore and followed him. He straightened his hair back into a more presentable state.

"It would be advisable to get your school robes first, as they will require tailoring," Dumbledore commented.

"Robes it is," Harry seconded.

"If I may, you are very articulate and mindful of etiquette for a thirteen–year–old," Dumbledore told Harry. "Who taught you that?"

"My guardian," Harry answered, "Linda Watson. She's a teacher, with specialty in history, social studies and culture."

"I see," Dumbledore muttered. "I was worried when we couldn't find you in your parents' house. No one knew where you were. Just that you were alive."

"How did you even know that, anyway?" Harry asked, curious about the information.

"The Ministry of Magic has records that reveal when a magical child is born, and when a witch or wizard dies. You were born, but the records said you hadn't died."

"Oh," Harry said in understanding.

That means they might be able to trace me as well.

"Is there a way to track a witch or wizard?"

"To an extent, yes. There is a trace on every magical child younger than seventeen, which reveals under–age magic."

At least I know not to practice wizarding magic at home.

They came up on the shop, Madam Malkin's, and Harry entered alone. It wasn't long until the kindly woman had taken his measurements and made him a few sets of school uniforms. Harry paid the lady and left the store with his robes wrapped in brown paper. Dumbledore waited patiently outside. They then went throughout Diagon Alley and bought Harry everything he would need for the first while at school. All the while, Harry kept asking Dumbledore questions about the wizarding world, and Dumbledore patiently answered all of them. They were finished before noon, and Dumbledore graciously offered to have his most of his school supplies delivered to Harry's eventual dormitory, but he would have to bring at least one set of school robes, as he would have to wear them at the sorting ceremony. When Harry asked what it consisted of, Dumbledore replied with a knowing smirk and a 'you will see'. Harry was irritated by this, but didn't push it further.

September 1st, King's Cross Station

Harry was standing alone on the train station, black backpack hanging by his left shoulder. He was leaning against one of the pillars, listening for any chatter related to the school or wizard–kind in general. He quickly sifted through several dialogues, alert for certain keywords, most importantly 'Hogwarts'. His eyes closed in concentration, and they opened when his hearing honed in on a conversation.

"Honestly, Ron, you can be such a prat at times!" he heard a girl speak, no older than himself. "Ginny went through Hell at Hogwarts last year, and you're warning her against having any boyfriends!?"

Harry peeked his head around the edge of the column and located the girl ranting. She was about Harry's age, had long, brown, curly hair and was actually rather attractive. She was accompanied by people he assumed to be her parents. And surrounded by… five redheads? Clearly all related. Harry pushed off the column and discreetly followed them. None of them even thought to look around for any uninvited shadows.

Civilians are so lazy and unaware. It's almost painful to watch.

Harry tailed them for a little, and then saw one of them start running headlong at a wall.

You have got to be–

And the redhead disappeared right into the wall.

Well, fuck me.

Harry watched each of them run through, one–by–one. Until the red–haired girl was left with her parents. She seemed hesitant to go through.

"Come on, Ginny. Last year was an accident, you couldn't have done anything better than you did," her father reassured her.

"You will be safe from now on, sweetheart," her mother chimed in. "Dumbledore will make doubly certain that you will be out of harm's way."

Harry decided on his approach, and walked up to them.

"Ah, hello there," he said and rubbed the back of his head with feigned embarrassment. "I couldn't help but overhear your talk."

The redheads were on high alert.

"You mentioned the headmaster at Hogwarts, right?"

The man looked at his wife and daughter, and then turned all his attention to Harry.

"Yes, we did. Why?"

"Oh, it's just that I only recently came back to the country after a few years in America, and I received a letter to go to Hogwarts," he began, and the redheads seemed to calm down considerably. "But the teacher who took me to Diagon Alley forgot to mention how to get to the train. King's Cross doesn't have a platform…" he looked at the letter he'd fished out of his pocket, "Nine–and–Three–Quarters?"

The man chuckled lightly.

"Don't you worry about that, dear boy," he said merrily. "We'll show you how to get there."

"Thank you very much, Mr…"

"Arthur Weasley."

"Mr Weasley."

Arthur and Harry shook hands, and the woman stretched out her hand as well.

"Molly, dear."

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley."

"And this is our daughter, Ginevra," Arthur introduced the girl standing between them.

She looked embarrassed for the most part, but Harry instantly recognised the looked in her eyes. She had Post–Traumatic Stress Disorder. Harry couldn't help the words that blurted out of his mouth.

"What happened to you, Ginevra?"

She instantly looked him in the eyes, and a look of guilt and regret washed over her face.

"I've seen that look only in soldiers returning from war," Harry further commented, "traumatised from what they saw or what they did. You were a victim, weren't you?"

"Who are you?" she asked quietly.

"A victim, as well," he said and pulled away the hair covering his forehead, and revealing the scar located there.

The three all gasped in surprise. Harry let his hair fall once again.

"Harry Potter," he introduced himself and stuck out his hand to Ginevra. She shook it timidly, and her face became almost as red as her hair. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ginny."

Ginny turned around, grabbed her trolley, and sped through the wall that separated the wizards from the Muggles. The Weasley parents looked concerned after their daughter, and then turned back to Harry.

"Your daughter will be fine," Harry told them sombrely. "She has the look of a warrior in her eyes."

"Well, now that she isn't here, there is something I would like to ask of you, with utmost respect, of course," Arthur began. "Would you look out for her? She had a rough time last year, and a lot of her friends won't return her mail. I suspect they all blame her for what happened. But she doesn't know you. Would you please take care of our daughter?"

Harry smiled.

"Of course."

Both the adults sighed in relief.

"Well, let's get going. Can't miss the train on your first day, now can we?" Molly said joyfully.

"No, we most certainly can't," Harry replied.

He followed them through the portal, and was faced with a veritable sea of humans. Harry was a little overwhelmed at first, but quickly pushed his surprise back down. They guided him to the train, and Molly, in an act which caught Harry completely off–guard, pulled him into a bear hug.

"I am so happy we ran into you, sweet boy. I'm sure Ginny will be just fine with you looking after her."

Harry awkwardly padded her on the shoulder and smiled awkwardly at Arthur, who merely shook his head, as if saying 'there's no way around it'. The large woman let him go, and he smiled and waved them goodbye as he boarded the train. He walked through the halls, looking for an empty compartment. It wasn't until he found Ginny that he stopped. She was sitting next to the window and held her face in her hands. Harry hesitated for a moment, but opened the door and walked in.

"I hope you don't mind if I sit in here," Harry said quietly. "Everywhere else is full."

Ginny shot up straight and looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

"No, no," she said quickly, "it's fine."

"Great," Harry replied and sat down with his backpack next to him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both trying to figure out what to say. Ginny was freaking out on the inside. Here, right next to her, was sitting THE Harry Potter. The legendary hero, who saved the wizarding world as a toddler. Her greatest wish had been to meet him, to befriend him. Maybe even become his girlfriend. And now he was sitting next to her, reading a– Ginny didn't trust the item he was holding to be qualified as a book. More like an encyclopaedia, large enough to describe every animal species in the world.

"What are you reading?"

Harry looked up.

"A book about alchemy," he said casually. "It's a very interesting subject."

"You mean like 'philosopher's stone', alchemy?"

Harry's brow furrowed slightly.

"What makes you say that?"

She blushed a little.

"Two years ago, a philosopher's stone was being kept in the school. You–Know–Who was trying to get it, and it was only because of my older brother Ron and his friends Hermione and Neville that he didn't get it. Hermione told me that it's used to make an elixir of life, that makes you live longer."

Harry was quiet for a little.

"Well, I don't know what the stone itself can do, but alchemy can be used to extend a life indefinitely. It can do a lot of other things, too."

Ginny nodded, never taking her eyes off Harry.

"So what happened last year?" he asked out of the blue.

It was only then that Ginny turned her eyes away in shame.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"I understand," Harry said and returned his focus to his book.

"How could you–" Ginny was about to get angry, but remembered who was talking. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

"It's alright," Harry brushed it off. "It happened a long time ago. I've gotten over it. I don't even remember what happened."

They sat in silence a little while longer, and then they heard the whistle shrill, indicating the immediate departure of the train.

"Aren't you going to wave your parents goodbye?" Harry asked Ginny when he noticed she didn't move.

Ginny looked at him, but turned her head back.

"No."

"Fair enough."

The train started moving, and soon it was quickly moving away from the station. Suddenly, the door was slammed open, making both Harry and Ginny jump, although for entirely different reasons. Harry's hand was at his hip, behind his back, fingers itching to draw the folding knife clipped onto his belt out of reflexes. The open door revealed three other redheads and the brown–haired girl from earlier.

"Hey Gin, hope you don–" the youngest of the Weasleys was about to say, until he noticed Harry looking up at him, half standing and hand behind his back, reaching for something. "Who the Hell're you!?"

"Ron!" the girl next to him whined and slapped him on the back of his head. "You can't talk to strangers like that!"

The girl pushed her way past Ron and stuck out her hand to Harry, which he took, pulling his hand away from his hidden knife.

"Hermione Granger," she offered with a smile. "And you are?"

"Harry Potter," Harry replied. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Hermione."

All the other Weasleys' and Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

Please don't–

"THE Harry Potter!?"

Fuck.

"Yes."

The older Weasleys made their way into the compartment and sat next to him and next to Ginny.

"Do you ha–"

"The scar, yes. I do," Harry said dryly and returned his focus to his book.

"Hey, what's with the attitude!?" Ron asked indignantly. "It was just a question!"

Harry put the book in his lap.

"That I've endured a hundred times so far. Forgive me if I don't like being the centre of attention," he said.

Ron almost laughed.

"You don't like attention!? You're kidding!?"

"Ron!" Hermione complained again, but Harry closed the book and stood up.

"No, I don't. And I don't like loud noise, either. Now, excuse me," he said as he grabbed his pack and walked out of the compartment.

Harry heard the arguments long after he left, so he sought out a compartment far away from it. Problem was, everyone was being noisy. He finally found a compartment that was nice and quiet, and only inhabited by a lone figure. A grown man sitting by the window, seemingly sleeping. Harry glanced at the trunk on the carrier above him and saw 'R. J. Lupin' written on the name tag. Harry sat down opposite the man, opened his book, and began reading again.

The Attack

A few hours later, once the darkness had descended over Great Britain, Harry felt the train suddenly brake.

Fucking shit.

Harry felt the air getting colder, so much so that he saw his breath starting to fog. Harry heard nothing but silence. Until he heard something. A woman. A woman… screaming. He couldn't make it out, meaning she must have been very far down the train.

"Professor?" Harry called out to the sleeping man. "Something's wrong."

Despite being calm, Harry started feeling something he hadn't felt in a long time. A sense of… loss. Despair. Harry's rational thought was slowly being overpowered by this increasingly powerful sense of dread, something which only made him more afraid.

This isn't right… something magical is going on.

The screaming woman's voice became increasingly louder.

"Professor!?" Harry called, his fear starting to climb to the surface.

Few things had the power to make him afraid, but he knew this wasn't natural fear. It was magically induced. But to him, that knowledge didn't make it any less frightening. Looking at the door, a large, cloaked thing reached a slimy, skeletal hand out to open the door. The scream grew louder and louder, and Harry realized it was that creature doing it to him. When the door opened, he saw that it had no feet, and was floating in the air. And despite the fact that there was no breeze inside the train, especially at a stand–still on a windless night, the thing's cloak billowed as if there was.

"NO, NOT HARRY!" Harry heard, but it wasn't through his ears. It was inside his head. "PLEASE, NOT HARRY, PLEASE!"

"Stop," Harry muttered weakly, his energy slowly fading. "Please make it stop."

"NO, NO, NO, NO PLEASE NO!"

"Make it – stop," Harry said weakly, and suddenly a bright, white light came, but Harry fell unconscious.

•••

"Harry? Harry, wake up."

Harry felt a hand gently tap his cheeks, trying to wake him up. He opened his eyes slowly and looked around. His bleary vision cleared in moments, revealing a ragged man in equally ragged robes kneeling over him, examining him.

"Nice of you to wake up, professor," Harry cracked with a small smirk. "I thought I'd assume room temperature for a moment there."

Lupin couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"You are definitely your father's son," Lupin commented. He stood up and offered Harry a hand, which he took. Lupin then pulled Harry to his feet.

"Yea, I've gotten that a lot, recently."

Lupin sat back down in his seat, and pulled something from a pocket in his cheap suit beneath his cloak.

"Chocolate?" he asked Harry with a kindly smile. "It'll help."

"I bet it will," Harry replied and took the offered piece. "What was that thing?"

"A dementor. A being that drains all positive thoughts out of its surroundings. It's usually a guard in Azkaban, but since the escape of Sirius Black, they've been put at Hogwarts to guard the school."

"Why Hogwarts? What does this Black want there?"

"You."

Harry put the whole piece of chocolate in his mouth and chewed it. When he finished, he swallowed to ask Lupin another question.

"And why does he want me?" Harry asked calmly.

Lupin seemed a little taken aback by his calm, but answered nonetheless.

"He's your godfather."

Harry's eyes widened for a second.

"Really?"

"Yes. I suppose you could say that I am, too."

"How so?"

"Sirius and I were your father's best friends when we went to Hogwarts."

"So you're Remus, then?"

Now Lupin was the one to be shocked.

"How do you know?"

"Old photos, and a journal of my mother's."

Remus sat back and took a good, long look at his late friend's son. He would never have guessed that Harry would turn out to be so… mature, at such a young age.

"So why was Sirius imprisoned?"

"He was blamed for leading to the murder of your parents."

Harry's eyes instantly and visibly darkened. As if his humanity had suddenly been shut down.

"How?"

"People say he was the one who revealed your parents' location to Voldemort. They were in hiding with the Fidelius charm. Only Sirius could have informed anyone of where your parents were."

Remus seemed regretful, sad, and most of all, as if he carried great guilt.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," he said sombrely. "I never would have thought he would do –no– could do something like that."

Harry's eyes brightened again, this time with understanding. He was quiet for a little while. Then Remus got up and walked over to the door to the compartment.

"I will go and have a talk with the conductor. We should arrive at the school soon. You should probably get changed."

Then he left. Harry leant back in his seat, and now smiled a little, wicked smile.

"You cheeky fucker… you didn't do it, did you?" he muttered to himself. "The advanced charms book I bought in Diagon Alley said that the Fidelius charm allows only one 'secret keeper' to be able to pass on the confided information. And I'm ninety–nine percent sure you weren't it. It would make too much sense to use one of the best friends who would never reveal anything, even under torture for someone dedicated enough. You were clearly a decoy, then. So, who was the real secret keeper? Someone meek, most likely. It might even have been your idea. Pick someone no one would trust a secret with. But then, that poses entirely different problems; how to ensure their loyalty? What to do in case anyone found out? If you kill the secret keeper, the title, right and power to divulge the information is passed onto everyone the secret was revealed to. But who would reveal it to Voldemort? Only someone without a spine. With no true loyalties. A rat."

Harry mulled over his latest theory whilst he changed. The uniform fit like a glove, but he felt somewhat restricted in it. He'd had to put his knife in his pack, but he could handle himself in any situation just fine without it. It was just a little safety measure and scare–tactic to avoid confrontation. The train soon reached the destination. Harry grabbed his pack and headed out into the hallway of the train. Students were welling out in waves, pushing Harry along. Harry followed the stream, uncomfortable with the way so many students were crowded so tightly around him, but he got over it. It wasn't like any of them were carrying blades and were going to stab him.

Right?

Harry was soon greeted by a large, booming voice.

"First years! First years over 'ere!"

Dumbledore had told him to go with the first–year students, so that he would be sorted. Harry went over there and stood behind a large flock of eleven–year–olds. Some of the older students leaving the train laughed at him, and some just stared at him like he was an idiot.

If only they knew.

"Ye must be 'Arry, then! Last time I held ye, yer wer jus a babe!" the half–giant identified by Dumbledore as Rubeus Hagrid called over the sea of much smaller students.

"I am," he called back.

"'Ell, let's get in the boats!"

Harry sat in the back of a self–propelled boat, along with three younger boys. They all looked at him weird, but he paid them no mind.

This reminds me of my training in Thailand.

There was nothing but silence as they approached the castle, sitting imposingly on the large, rocky peninsula.

What a sight.

Soon, the boat sailed into the small docking area at the foot of one long staircase. Many of the students were tired after the first set. The entire thing didn't so much as get Harry winded, much less make his heart beat the slightest bit faster. They reached the entrance hall, and were greeted by an elderly woman, but Harry wasn't fooled. Despite her feeble–looking body, Harry saw the strength hidden within. This woman could prove to be a formidable opponent, indeed. She told them a few words of what was going to happen. Her eyes rested on Harry a few times, but never lingered for long. Soon, the great double doors, probably weighing over a tonne each, swung open unassisted. Harry and the other unsorted students followed her inside. People were whispering to each other when they saw Harry. Some chuckled, others looked confused. Harry paid them no mind, though his sharp hearing did pick up a few insults. The unsorted made their way towards a stool with an old, weathered hat sitting upon it. The professor known as McGonagall walked up to it, and turned around to face the entire dining hall. She then rolled out a piece of parchment and began reading names, sorted alphabetically by surnames.

"Potter, Harry," she spoke loudly as it came to his name.

The hall became loud with whispers and gasps. A single glance from McGonagall was all it took for the entire student population to fall quiet once more. Harry walked up and sat on the stool. She then placed the hat on Harry's head.

Let's get this over with, then.

I see. Impatient, are we?

No, bored more like.

Is that so? Well, where to begin? Cleverness, intelligence and wisdom beyond any other student, a great Ravenclaw you would make. Patient, hard–working, and loyal to those who earn your trust, even to the point of self–sacrifice, those are worthy Hufflepuff traits. Or perhaps Slytherin, the house of the cunning, ambitious and resourceful, you would fit right in. But what I see the most in you is unwavering conviction, strength, nerve, courage and fearlessness. Perhaps you should be in…

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted to the hall, and the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers and glee.

"We got Potter!" Harry heard someone shout at the top of their lungs.

Harry got up and walked down to the table. He was pleased to find Ginny scooting over to make space for him, even as she didn't look at him or say anything. Harry sat down without a word. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, though many of the other Gryffindors tried to make conversation with him. He stared down most of them without uttering a syllable. They were all led to their common rooms after that. Harry was loath to discover that he was sharing dormitory, though he was delighted to see Dumbledore's promise fulfilled, as he saw his school supplies resting on his bed, including his father's old trunk which had the clothes he would wear throughout the school year.

"So, Mr Harry Potter," Harry heard a dawdle from behind him, and he instantly recognised it as Ron Weasley. "The famous Boy Who Lived. Sharing a room with poor, little me and my friends. Must be pretty satisfied, a hero among peasants."

"Not particularly," Harry said without looking back. "You still have a bad attitude."

Harry sensed the flare he'd grown so accustomed to: the intention of harm another living being. Without even looking, Harry dodged the sloppy punch thrown by the pathetically inexperienced fighter. He whipped around faster than any of the boys could have reacted, grabbed Ron's outstretched hand, and within the blink of an eye, Ron was slammed onto the floor. Harry then swung Ron's arm to turn the Weasley on his stomach, and put his arm in a joint lock. Ron screamed in pain at the odd angle Harry was forcing his arm into. Sitting with a knee on Ron's back he looked coldly at all the others in the dorm. Everyone was shocked by the display of superior might and skill, and the emotionally void look on Harry's face.

"Where I'm from, a bad attitude gets you killed."

He quickly released Ron and got back to making sure his things were exactly as he wanted them.

"And I'm no hero."

Harry looked over his shoulder, and the boys all clearly saw the look of intent to hurt someone in his eyes. Ron got up and ran to his bed, on the opposite end of the room from Harry's. He sat on it and caressed his arm, whilst looking fearfully at Harry. Harry then went to bed after making sure all his things were in the place he wanted them.

First Day of School

Monday morning at 3:42, Harry was out running around the Black Lake. He'd done three laps so far, and he would take the fourth in a dead–sprint before he started doing strength and balance exercises. A good morning routine was important, and to Harry, it consisted of fifteen kilometres fast jog, followed by five kilometres sprint. Then came one hour of strength, flexibility and balance exercises. During that, he would punch a tree two hundred times, followed by two hundred kicks. One hundred with each hand and leg. One hundred open–palm strikes, one hundred closed–fist strikes. One hundred foot–kicks, one hundred shin–kicks. Then came the last, slow jog of five kilometres to cool down. He would be done by 7:00. The magic used to permanently enhance his physique made it so that he could easily keep at a task for hours without tire, and he could run a marathon at a sprint, but a workout to keep up his current physical shape would require at least four hours, at least three times every week, even if he did it all seven days of the week. In the end, Harry had concluded, it took a lot of time and effort to maintain, but it was worth it.

Harry's first lesson of the day consisted of Care of Magical Creatures. He'd quickly deduced that the book he was required to have was a living creature, and he had to appease it to open it. He'd tried feeding it bread at breakfast, but it would still try to snap at him. So, he'd caressed it along the spine, to try and calm it down. It instantly went docile and let him read it. He'd briefly wondered what psychotic teacher would make their students buy a book that could take off fingers, but brushed it off. Harry had spotted Ron and Hermione at the breakfast table, and without them noticing, followed them to their first class. Turned out, Hagrid was the teacher of the subject. Interesting.

When Harry arrived, he thought about what might happen. So he took a few minutes to put a little something together. Harry then sat down on the ground and leant up against a tree, hoping to rest his body a little. He pushed himself harder and harder every workout, and had come to the pleasant realization that his endurance was extreme. As he rested, the other students came down as well.

"Well, well," a smug, slick voice rang out. "If it isn't the famous Harry Potter."

Harry opened his eyes and saw a teen with platinum blond hair and wearing Slytherin colours standing a little distance away, surrounded by a posy. Two of them looked somewhat strong, but the simple looks on their faces told him that the size of their shoe might equal their Intelligence Quota.

"Who's speaking?" Harry asked and closed his eyes again.

"Draco Malfoy," the boy sounded proud at being a Malfoy.

"Okay."

"Okay?" he asked indignantly.

"What did you expect?" Harry asked with a smirk and opened his eyes. "An applause?"

"Some respect might have gone a long way."

"Too bad I don't care."

Malfoy was visibly angry. Harry could tell that the boy wanted to curse him.

Let him try.

"Well, I'll just make you care!"

"Doubtful."

"I can!"

"No, you can't."

"Watch me!"

"I don't intend to."

Malfoy stormed over to Harry, pulled out his wand and pointed it at the black–haired teen.

"Not so high and mighty now, are we?" Malfoy asked with a smirk.

"I never was," Harry said confidently, "but you walked right into my trap."

Malfoy's eyes widened, and Harry pulled out a small knife from his pocket. Using it, he cut a small rope. All of a sudden, Malfoy was hanging upside–down by his ankle. His face was red with anger, embarrassment and blood.

"How dare you!"

"Easy. I just do," Harry said and smiled at Malfoy, whose head hung a little more than an arm's length away from Harry's.

"My father will hear about this!"

Harry's smile instantly fell.

"So you can't fight your battles yourself?" he asked. "That's just pathetic."

"YOU'RE PATHETIC!"

"Says the daddy's boy hanging from a tree by his ankle."

That shut Malfoy up.

"Oi! What's goin' on 'ere!?" Harry heard Hagrid's voice call out.

"Draco's being a little bitch, that's what," Harry said humourlessly, glaring into Malfoy's eyes.

"YOU'RE DONE, POTTER!" Malfoy shouted.

"Yes, I am."

Harry swung the small knife and cut the rope that held Malfoy up. The teen fell to the ground, rushing to get his wand. Only to find out that it wasn't where he dropped it.

"Looking for this?" Harry asked and held up the wand. He then threw it at Malfoy's face. "Take it."

Malfoy rushed to pick it up, and as soon as he held it, he shouted and sent a light charging Harry's way. He'd aimed at Harry's head, which made it much easier for Harry to dodge. He just leant to the left, and the spell discharged into the tree.

"No spells outside class!" Hagrid roared at the top of his lungs.

Malfoy was heaving with rage, the humiliation of being caught off–guard so effortlessly fuelling his fury.

"I'll have you killed, Potter!"

"If you try, I will kill you myself. I don't need others to do it for me," Harry replied with a voice so low, no one other than Malfoy could hear it.

"Malfoy!" Hagrid shouted. "Don' you run around thret'nin' other students!"

Malfoy spat in the ground in front of Harry, and stormed off, his two goons padding off behind him. Harry was honestly amused by the meatheads.

Attending School

A week passed, and Harry quickly adapted to this new environment. Luckily, his trunk and bags hadn't been inspected. He might have had some serious explaining to do if someone had found the armaments he had packed.

A military M9 bayonet, silver plated to allow for the takedown of werewolves more easily. A SIG–Sauer P227, a compact, yet powerful, semi–automatic pistol using a .45 Automatic Colt Pistol cartridge for increased stopping power. He had brought subsonic, silver jacketed hollow–point rounds, accompanied by a suppressor. His pride and joy, the Nemesis Arms Vanquish, an easily disassembled, long–range sniper rifle using a subsonic, silver jacketed .308 Winchester round paired with a suppressor as well, and effective to over 1500 metres in Harry's extremely capable hands. A powerful shortbow with silver–tipped arrows, and finally, he had brought a few grenades. Three smokes, three frags and three bangers. And six specialty grenades he had devised himself: a frag grenade, with the shrapnel and casing made of a silver alloy, and powdered silver inside. The perfect grenade against werewolves. Harry wasn't a werewolf hunter, but he liked to be prepared. Which was why he'd also brought a few crosses, wooden stakes and arrows purely of wood.

He hadn't needed any of them yet, and for some reason, that unsettled him. When he wasn't in his mistress' chantry below London, he was always on alert. Muggers, killers and assassins were everywhere, and vampires practically ran the London Underground. People would probably call him paranoid. But the people you had to look out for were the ones who seemed the most normal. They were the real psychos. Harry made no pretences of not being dangerous. His dorm mates had discovered that the hard way when he had completely subdued Ron in less than two seconds his first night there. Word of the incident had spread quickly, and no one wanted to be anywhere near him, in case he might do the same to them. That suited Harry just fine. But it didn't suit a certain, old wizard with long hair and beard. A week into the first semester, and Harry had already been summoned to the headmaster's office. Harry was escorted by Professor McGonagall after Friday afternoon's Transfiguration lesson. She had tried talking to Harry all the way to Dumbledore's office, but he would only give short, vague answers to her questions. Soon, he was sitting in a chair in front of Dumbledore, with McGonagall standing behind the headmaster.

"So, Harry," Dumbledore began. "I hear you've caused trouble, in the first week no less."

"I don't start fights," Harry replied quietly, "but I have been taught how to end them."

Dumbledore put his elbows on his desk and folded his hands.

"What do you mean?"

"The streets of London aren't safe. There are muggers and killers everywhere. So, my guardian had me take self–defence classes, so that I wouldn't get stabbed in some alley at night."

Though McGonagall usually made an effort to keep her face stern, it did soften a little at Harry's face and explanation. Dumbledore looked equally concerned.

"And that fight with young Mr Weasley?"

"Not a fight. He struck at me. It was just my reflexes from training that took over and made me subdue him before he could hurt me."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding.

"So Mr Weasley was the aggressor?"

"Yes."

"I see," Dumbledore stated. "In that case, I will have Professor McGonagall scold him for his ill temper. You are free to go. Enjoy your weekend." Dumbledore winked at the boy who smiled apologetically in return.

•••

Harry walked into the great hall, Saturday morning, after his morning routine, showering and dressing in his usual black jeans and t–shirt. As he walked over to the Gryffindor table, he noticed a few girls at the Ravenclaw table looking at his exposed arms, which were rather tight from strong, lean muscle–mass. More than that, on his left upper arm was a tattoo. A straight sword without a guard, with a wing on each side and a banner across it all, with the phrase 'WHO DARES WINS' written on it. A reminder of one of Harry's instructors, a man who had indoctrinated him with endurance, perseverance, restraint, and honour.. Harry ignored them and sat down at his own, rather unpopulated table. He put some eggs, bacon and a loaf of bread on his plate, poured himself some orange–juice, and started eating. He was soon joined by two redheads, one sitting on each side of him.

"Good mornin', Harry," the one on his left said.

"How're you doin' today?" the other asked.

"I'm fine, thank you," he said before taking a swig of his juice. "You?"

"Oh, we're just fine."

"See, the thing is, we'd like to talk to you about our wittle brother, Ron."

"If you're here to threaten me, save it," Harry said casually, putting some bacon in his mouth. "He tried that too. Didn't end well for him."

"Oh, we don't wanna threaten you."

"On the contrary, we want to thank you."

"Icky little Ronniekins was becoming quite a pain because of his last two years here at Hogwarts."

"I could tell. He has a bad attitude."

"Tell us about it. Summer last year, the prat wouldn't shut up about saving the philosopher's stone from You–Know–Who. This summer, it was killing Salazar Slytherin's Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets under the school."

"Meaning your brother's a hero. Let him brag. Anything that keeps attention away from me is appreciated."

The twins exchanged glances.

"You don't like getting attention?" the left one asked.

"No. I prefer not being noticed," Harry answered.

"You're a strange hero, Harry," the right one stated.

"I'm no hero," Harry said as he stood back up. "I'm just an orphan who gets praised for being alive."

That final statement left both the Weasleys speechless.

"Oh, what're your names?" Harry asked before he got too far away from them.

"I'm Fred," one of them began, "and I'm George," the other finished.

Harry nodded and left the great hall. He wanted to get familiar with the school.

•••

Harry had been practically everywhere in the castle by evening. His memorisation and navigation skills allowed him to keep track of exactly where he was in the castle. He'd come across students here and there, but there weren't many when you compared it to the entire school population. He'd found that some of the girls his age kept staring at him. Boys did too, but with vastly different emotions painted on their faces. It occurred to Harry that he was attracting attention by the virtue of his looks. He didn't particularly care about his appearance, so long as he could blend in with a crowd, but he supposed that a thirteen–year–old with muscles like a military man would attract some measure of attention. After all, Harry rationalised, it was rare for children his age to train their bodies for anything other than playing football or some other sport. As he was heading down to eat dinner, he came across a bathroom on the second floor, doors wide open. Inside, he saw Ginny Weasley standing in front of a collage of sinks. Harry looked at her for a few seconds, then realised that she wasn't washing her hands. She was reliving memories. He walked over to her and stood beside her. Her eyes were blankly staring at the sink in front of her, and Harry studied it closely. There didn't seem to be anything odd about it, except perhaps for the shapes of snakes raised in the tap–iron. Ginny didn't notice him at all. Harry then did something he usually wouldn't do on anyone he wasn't trying to classify as a potential threat: he focused his mind, cleared it of everything, and let it slip into Ginny's.

Harry was standing in a large, dark and humid hall. Statues of snakes surrounded a path of tiles leading to a large statue of a face. An old man. Next to the statue stood a figure wearing Hogwarts robes, though they were subtly different from the ones his schoolmates wore. Perhaps from decades ago? Harry made his way over towards the figure. He noticed Ginny lying on the ground next to him, not moving. Harry then heard rapid footsteps from behind him and turned to see who it was. Ron and a slightly pudgy boy Harry recognised as Neville Longbottom from his dorm came running.

"It's over, Riddle!" Ron shouted at the boy standing over Ginny. He couldn't be older than seventeen.

"Yes, Weasley. It is over."

'Riddle' then turned to the statue of the old man's face, stretched out his hand, and said something with a hissing noise. Harry couldn't make out what on Earth it meant. In his years of study, he'd never encountered such a language. The mouth of the statue opened, and Harry saw two gleaming, yellow eyes in the darkness within. The duo of Gryffindors turned their heads away, an action Harry thought very unwise when faced with an opponent. Then it dawned on him.

"That's the basilisk?" he muttered to himself. "Supposedly, it can kill any creature that looks directly into its eyes. So that's why they turned away, huh?"

A humongous snake, at least twenty metres long, came out of the mouth and hissed menacingly. Harry didn't feel the slightest amount of fear at the size of the snake, though he realised that he was witnessing a memory. He looked over at Ginny.

"But if she's unconscious, then how can I witness this?" Harry muttered to himself.

He looked at Riddle once more, and took a good look at him. He looked… translucent, somehow. Like he didn't have a physical form. Harry looked around and saw a small, black diary next to Ginny. On the cover was written 'Tom Riddle' in faded, gold letters.

"Tom Riddle?" Harry murmured to himself. "A spectre? Did he leave an imprint of his essence in the diary, perhaps?"

A shrill came from behind the two second–year Gryffindors, and Harry saw a scarlet bird come gliding towards them. It dropped the sorting hat on the ground next to Ron and Neville, and then headed straight for the basilisk.

"What a stupid bir–" Harry was about to say, but it stopped near the basilisk's head and started clawing out the giant serpent's eyes. "What a clever bird."

Ron and Neville once again faced Riddle and the basilisk, now writhing in pain and hissing loudly.

"My basilisk may not be able to see you, Weasley. But it can still hear you!" Riddle shouted, and Neville took a single step back, his shoe clacking against the stone ground and echoing in the chamber. The snake's head instantly whipped to face Neville's direction.

"Oh shit," Harry breathed out.

Ron's and Neville's faces looked exactly like Harry's statement implied, and they took off running in opposite directions, to the sides of the chamber.

"Huh, they're actually capable of strategy. Who knew."

The serpent seemed a little confused at first, but then took off in Ron's direction. Neville, meanwhile, sat down behind a column, catching his breath.

"BLOODY HELL, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Ron shouted at the top of his lungs.

"IT CAN STILL HEAR US! IF YOU KEEP MAKING NOISE, I'LL GET THE SWORD!"

"WHAT SWORD!?"

"THE ONE THAT JUST APPEARED IN THE HAT!"

Harry looked over at the sorting hat, and sure enough, a ruby–studded silver grip was sticking out of it.

"Neville may just be smarter than I first gave him credit for. Good for him."

Harry wasn't worried, since he'd seen both Ron and Neville in the present, alive and well. But he was interested in seeing how they defeated such a mildly intimidating foe at the age of twelve with no prior combat training. Harry didn't doubt he could have killed it himself, but he was no ordinary boy. Ron kept running around, his shoes clacking loudly against the stone floor and echoing strongly in the large, subterranean chamber. Neville started quietly sneaking over to the sorting hat, and when he reached it, he grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled it out. Harry was amazed by the silver blade, the craftmanship that forged it. An almost perfect sword. Neville then started running over to the giant snake. It heard his footsteps, and turned to him instead. He ran up to it and started hacking away at its body. Despite Harry's inner voice telling him it was a futile effort at such a location, he was stunned when he saw the sword cut into the snake cleanly, as if the scales were made of butter. The basilisk swung its tail at Neville, but couldn't reach him, much less find his exact location. The snake was clearly in pain, and soon it slammed its head towards the spot Neville should have been, except that the scarlet bird had miraculously grabbed him and flown away from the spot.

"What a ludicrously strong bird," Harry commented to himself.

The battle between the serpent and the school boys raged on for almost half an hour, between cutting, slamming and running. In the end, Neville managed to fell the huge snake, but not before getting bitten. Harry saw the boy's arm darken as the venom spread from it.

"How the hell did he survive that?"

The bird flew down and landed beside him, and started… crying? Harry saw the tears drip onto the wound in Neville's arm, and the poison in him started fading, and the wound healed over.

"What a ridiculous bird," Harry couldn't keep from saying to himself. "I want one."

After that, however, Harry noticed the room getting darker and darker. Sounds became muffled and unclear, as if underwater. He decided it was about time to get out of Ginny's head, seeing as that was the point where her memory faded.

Harry refocused his senses as he came back to reality. Ginny beside him seemed to slowly come out of her memory as well.

"You alright?" Harry asked her quietly.

Ginny jumped in shock nonetheless.

"Blimey!" she shouted and put a hand to her chest, right on top of her heart. "What are you doing here!?"

"I was walking by and saw you standing here, looking at that faucet," Harry explained, purposefully neglecting to mention the fact that he had witnessed her memory. "Were you remembering something?"

Ginny wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to comfort herself.

"Yea," she said quietly, as if ashamed. "What happened last year."

"I see. Did it help?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "None of my friends talk to me anymore. I keep telling them I didn't have a choice, but they don't believe me."

"Why didn't you?" Harry inquired. Why wouldn't she have a choice?

"Riddle, he– the guy who was behind it all… he did something to my head…"

"He possessed you?" Harry asked curiously.

"YES!" he exclaimed. "You understand!?"

"Of course I do," Harry stated as if it were a matter of fact. "Possession of another's body isn't that rare of an ability. I know several people who can do it."

Ginny looked shocked.

"You do?"

"Sure."

"You're kidding?"

"Not at all."

"You're serious?"

"I am."

"Bollocks."

Harry studied Ginny for a little. She seemed rattled, but she would likely calm down momentarily.

"Want to go to dinner?" he asked her.

"I'd like that," Ginny returned with a small smile.

They walked through the few corridors and down the stairs to the great hall. They went over to the Gryffindor table and sat down.

"So," Ginny began, "let's get to know each other."

"What do you want to know?" Harry asked as he poured both of them pumpkin juice.

"Where were you raised?"

"London."

"Really? I always wanted to try and go to London without going to Diagon Alley!"'

"It's not that interesting," Harry told her, "and it can get really dangerous after nightfall."

"How dangerous?"

"People get mugged, beaten or murdered every night. That dangerous."

Ginny slapped a hand across her mouth.

"Is that true!?"

"You don't know much about large cities, do you?" Harry inquired her as he took a slice of bacon and put it in his mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"People get murdered in large cities every day and night. London isn't as dangerous as, say, Berlin, but it's dangerous nonetheless."

"Where's Berlin?" Ginny asked him. Harry didn't believe his ears.

"You don't know where Berlin is?"

"No." Ginny seemed a little offended at the condescending question.

"Ginny, do wizard children go to school before Hogwarts?" he asked her, hoping she would say 'of course'.

"No, why?"

Harry let go of his fork and started rubbing his forehead and his closed eyes.

"Berlin is the capital of Germany," Harry said, never letting go of his face. "Every Muggle child learns that around eight years old."

"Muggle children go to school before eleven?" she asked with an expression that just screamed 'I'm an idiot'.

"They begin school at six," Harry said, and was now thoroughly wondering if he should take up politics and change how wizarding children were educated. "Usually, they don't stop their education until nineteen or twenty. In total, they go to school for about fifteen years."

"Merlin's beard," Ginny whispered. "How can they take school for so long?"

"They learn to deal with it."

"Deal with it?"

"Yes, deal with it."

Ginny was confused at the prospect.

"How?"

"They just do," Harry replied and shrugged. "Everyone develops their own way of dealing with it, and that is an important skill."

"An important skill?"

"Yes. If I have a problem, I deal with it. I could ignore it, I could confront it. If my problem was a person, I could scare them off. I could trick them into leaving me alone, or I could get someone else to deal with them for me. Whichever way I do it, the result will remain largely the same, and only my personal preference would be the determining factor as to which approach I choose."

Ginny nodded as if listening intently, but Harry knew she didn't understand what he said. She had that glazed look in her eyes of someone who lost focus. Oh well.

"Well, it was nice talking with you," Harry stated as he got up from the table, "but I need to do my homework. I'll see you another time."

Ginny nodded, and just as Harry was about to leave, he heard someone with a familiarly irritating voice shouting at him.

"Oi! Get away from my sister, freak!"

Harry couldn't help the small smile that crawled onto his lips.

"Good evening, Ron," Harry said politely as he turned around.

He grabbed the fist flying towards him with a hand that may as well have been a steel vice. He pulled Ron forward, setting him off–balance, and then twisted the boy so that Ron was on his knees in front of him, crying out from the pain in his knees and wrist.

"Always with the violent greeting, I see," Harry commented.

Ginny and Hermione, who were both right next to Harry and Ron respectively, gasped at the sight.

"What are you doing!? Let go of him!" Hermione shouted, and started slapping Harry's arm. It didn't budge.

"He attacked me," Harry said casually. "I'm merely preventing any harm to come to myself."

"Ron, you prat!" Ginny yelled. "You don't just run around punching people!"

"You don't understand, Gin!" Ron shouted back. "He's dangerous!"

"Well, more dangerous than you, definitely," Harry commented with a smirk. "This is the second attack you've made against me, and both failed dramatically."

Hermione kept slapping at Harry's arm, and while it didn't hurt him in the slightest, it was just as pesky as a fly that just wouldn't leave you alone.

"Would you stop that?" Harry asked her. "It's only annoying me further."

"Then let go!"

"What is going on!?" Harry heard professor McGonagall shout, and saw her enter the great hall.

"Ron Weasley attacked me again, professor."

McGonagall glared down at Ron, who looked at her fearfully.

"Is that true, Mr Weasley?"

"No! He started it!"

Harry snorted and squeezed a little tighter on the boy's wrist.

"Yeah, I did! Sorry!"

Harry's smirk widened a little, and he let go of the terrified boy. He looked at Harry like Harry was a giant spider. And due to his extraordinary talents, Harry could tell that was one of Ron's greatest fears.

"I have to say, Mr Weasley, that I am thoroughly disappointed in you," McGonagall started. "You attack a classmate twice in one week, with no provocation at all!"

"He was sitting next to Ginny, professor!" Ron tried, but McGonagall shot him down.

"And doing what? Stabbing her with a fork? Drowning her in pumpkin juice? I doubt it."

"But he's dangerous! He shouldn't be here!"

"He's not wrong, by the way," Harry chimed in. "I am dangerous." He then shot Ron a dirty look. "But I only act in defence."

"Which I admire very much from a Gryffindor," McGonagall said and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I will write a letter to your family about your behaviour, Mr Weasley."

Ron went pale.

"Then what about his family?"

"You're really dense, aren't you?" Harry chuckled. "I'm an orphan. I have no family."

Ron's face seemed to fall a bit, not having thought about that little fact. That Harry didn't have a family to write to. With a final look at Ron, Harry walked around McGonagall and exited the great hall. He'd probably go for a midnight run.

Stirring Trouble

The next month went relatively quietly. Ron despised Harry, as did Draco Malfoy. And there weren't many people who liked Harry in general. That suited Harry just fine, though. He had his classes, his workouts and his homework. Though, he'd quickly discarded the quills and ink the school used. He'd soon switched over to black biros he'd brought from home. And the schoolwork was easily taken care of. He'd memorised all his books by heart at the end of the first month, and a few he found in the library. His spellwork wasn't too bad either. By mid–October, Harry had already caught up to the rest of his year in terms of practical spells he'd needed to learn. All his teachers were astounded by the rate at which he learnt. He could recite whole pages from his book without looking, and once he'd gotten used to tapping into his wizarding magic, learned how it felt and moved within himself and his wand, learning spells had become easy. Harry always told the teachers 'I'm a natural learner', but that wasn't the whole truth.

By Hallowe'en, Harry had advanced to fourth–year spellwork, and his teachers were even more astonished. Which was exactly why he was, once again, sitting in the headmaster's office. The senior wizard was sitting across from Harry, studying the young boy thoroughly.

"It seems you are naturally gifted with spellwork," Dumbledore said. "I would like to know how."

"I'm a quick learner," Harry brushed it off.

"No one learns that quickly. Not even Tom Riddle."

Tom Riddle? That boy from Ginny's memory?

"Who?"

"More commonly known these days as 'Lord Voldemort'."

Harry sat up a little straighter.

"My parents' killer."

"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed whilst nodding slowly. "He was an extremely talented wizard, and not even he learned three years' worth of spells and theory in one month."

"Guess my talent is greater than his, then," Harry said dryly.

"And that concerns me."

"Because you think I will take the same route as him."

"That's not what I meant," Dumbledore said coolly. He wasn't stupid. He had become well aware that Harry was no ordinary boy. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

"But it's what you insinuated," Harry countered. "And I don't blame you. I do have skills and talents that make me a dangerous foe."

"Another of my concerns."

Harry started studying Dumbledore as intensely as the old man studied the young boy. They were both deathly quiet for almost five minutes, just reading each other. Until Harry spoke.

"You are far cleverer than I took you for at face value, sir."

"I could say the same about you, dear boy."

"All cards on the table?"

"All of them."

"I have been raised to become the perfect soldier and assassin."

"When I was young, around 1899, a dark wizard by the name of Gellert Grindelwald was my closest friend. I later imprisoned him in Nurmengard, a prison he built for his own enemies."

"My guardian is a centuries–old vampire."

"I may have been the cause of my sister's death."

"May?"

"My brother, Aberforth, Grindelwald and myself were duelling. We never learned who threw the spell that killed her."

"I've been the subject of magical experiments. I have some of the traits of werewolves and vampires, and my body has been enhanced to make me the most powerful human on Earth."

"Interesting," Dumbledore said, but Harry could clearly hear the sadness in his voice.

"Indeed. And my guardian's haven, or home, has been magically altered. Time moves much faster in there. In reality, I'm closer to two–hundred–and–thirty than thirteen. At least mentally."

"Then I can skip the niceties. You are, according to yourself, a hundred years older than myself."

"How old are you?"

"One–hundred–and–twelve."

"You look strong for such an old human."

"Wizards can live much longer. We are subtly different from muggles in body."

"I see."

"I don't believe Voldemort is gone."

"What do we do?"

Dumbledore leant back in his chair. Harry was far different than he could have ever imagined. James' and Lily's son was so tragically broken. Even without reading further into the boy, Dumbledore could clearly see the look of a traumatised man in Harry's eyes. He'd seen it in many men after the Wizarding War.

"I will teach you about Voldemort. Who he was. How he came to be who he is. Everything."

"When do we begin?"

Dumbledore was also saddened by the fact that Harry responded exactly like a soldier would. Never asking 'why', only 'when'.

"Christmas holiday. When there are fewer students at the school. No one will question you going missing for the entire day."

"Understood."

That little word cut into Dumbledore's already torn heart, but he kept the mask. Harry would see Dumbledore as his commanding officer. And a commanding officer should never show sadness.

"And please do keep up your fine work. You are advancing brilliantly. I am proud. As would your parents be."

Dumbledore caught the tiniest of smiles gracing Harry's lips at the mention of his parents. He then stood up, bowed, and left. When he was out of the door, tears pushed deep finally broke and cascaded down the old man's wrinkled cheeks.

"Poor boy," he whispered with a broken voice. "You shouldn't have to be like this."

•••

Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower after eating a light Hallowe'en dinner. When he came to the portrait of the Fat Lady, however… the painting was slashed. Without thinking, Harry whipped out his bayonet, which he'd taken to keeping on him, just in case. He pried the portrait off the wall effortlessly, and stormed inside. Keeping his knife ready, he quickly went through the common room. Nothing. He stormed up the stairs to the boys' dorm. Nothing, though there were clear signs of someone looking for something. Trunks were overturned, mattresses and pillows slashed. He ran downstairs and up to the girls' dorm, but the stairs beneath him changed, turning to a slide instead. Using his agility and quick wit, he put the knife in his mouth, careful not to cut his tongue on the serrated back of the blade, and jumped. He reached the top of the stairs easily, and barged in. Nothing, and no sign of intrusion. The burglar probably either knew how the stairs worked, and didn't try, or wasn't committed enough to make it to the top. Or maybe he knew what he looked for wasn't in there.

He quickly slid down the slide, stuffing his blade away as he did. When he reached the bottom, the common room was filled with students, and professor McGonagall.

"Potter!" McGonagall yelled in surprise. "Did you find anything!?"

"No," he said begrudgingly. "Either the burglar knew the stairs would turn to a slide, or he figured out the hard way and didn't try again. I think it was a former Gryffindor. The boys' third–year–dorm has been ransacked. He was looking for something. Whoever it was certainly didn't find what he was looking for."

"How can you tell!?" a student asked.

"Because he threw stuff around. Normally, if you didn't find what you were looking for, you just drop it and moved on. This man threw pillows and clothes all over the boys' dorm. He got upset."

"Wow!" someone exclaimed. "You're like a detective!"

"It doesn't take a genius to figure that out," Harry said flatly. "Black's gone now, though."

There were gasps all over the room.

"SIRIUS BLACK!? HERE!?" someone shouted.

"How certain are you, Potter!?" McGonagall asked sternly.

"Whoever did it hasn't showered in weeks, at least," Harry stated as he wrinkled his nose. "That would match up with the fact that Sirius Black is a prison escapee, and hasn't taken the time to wash up, since he's on the run. And I can't imagine him getting a nice, hot shower in Azkaban."

"Your logic is sound, Mr Potter," McGonagall said proudly. "I am happy to have you in Gryffindor."

Harry nodded and started up towards his dorm.

"Where are you going?" McGonagall asked.

"To get my sleeping bag and a pillow. I can't imagine you teachers letting us students sleep in here, knowing that a wanted criminal infiltrated the castle without anyone knowing. The most likely scenario in my mind is that you make us sleep in the great hall."

"One day, you must tell me how you became so clever," McGonagall said with a small smile and a wink, an incredibly rare gesture for her to make.

"One day," Harry agreed and headed upstairs, ignoring the whispers behind him as he did.

•••

Amongst all the sleeping students, Harry was lying on his back, feigning sleep. He had gotten fully dressed in his favourite apparel whilst obscured by his sleeping bag: dark combat pants stuffed into black combat boots. A black military belt with his bayonet in a sheath on his left leg and his pistol in a holster on his right leg, and over his knees were hard–plastic kneepads. He was wearing a skiing undershirt, over which he wore a dark fleece jacket. His outfit was completed by hard–plastic elbow pads and fingerless gloves.

He was waiting for every student to be asleep. And that time, thankfully, had come. Using some of his vampiric abilities, he hid himself from human senses and left his sleeping bag. He snuck soundlessly out of the great hall, and nearly ran into Filch, the despicable janitor of the school. His cat, Madam Norris, looked straight at Harry, but he continued on. He quietly opened the large doors leading outside, and started running towards the Forbidden Forest. Black's most likely hiding place. After all, a human couldn't have gotten far. Harry soon reached the edge of the forest, and sat down. He focused all his senses and tried to locate the scent he's smelled in the Gryffindor Tower.

He found it. It was faint, but it was there. But it wasn't coming from the forest. He turned around, and started running towards the scent. After almost fifteen minutes of running, he came to a large willow tree. It was swaying gently in the cold breeze, and Harry was glad he'd put on two warm layers of clothes. Harry could smell the man's scent from the base of the tree.

A hidden passage? Lovely.

He started towards the tree's base, but suddenly, he was forced to jump out of the way of a large branch smashing down where he'd been only instants earlier.

A sentient fucking tree. Unbelievable.

Harry quickly moved out of the tree's reach, contemplating an approach.

Guess there's only one thing to do.

Calling up the power latent in his magically enhanced, quasi–vampiric blood, he moved like a flash, zooming past any branch and reaching the tree's roots, all in the blink of an eye. He quickly located the hidden entrance, and slid down. The exhaustion was minimal, but there. He took a few seconds to calm down and focus on the long tunnel he was in. Black's scent permeated throughout the tunnel, a clear sign that the man had gone through here less than a day ago. When he calmed down from the usage of his incredible speed, he continued down the corridor. It continued for a long time, and Harry was certain that the end was nowhere near Hogwarts' grounds.

Soon, the tunnel went upwards, and he started climbing, making sure he didn't make any noise as he went. He soon came out in an old, abandoned house, ready to fall apart any minute.

Black is in here.

Harry crept through the house, and ended up in a room with a lone man sitting on an old bed. He was looking intently at a piece of paper. Harry recognised it as Neville's list of passwords. The boy couldn't remember anything at all. Harry leant against the doorway, studying the man in front of him. The man didn't seem to notice him.

Harry cleared his throat.

Sirius jumped, whirled around and drew a knife.

"WHO'S THERE!?"

"Harry Potter," Harry said calmly. "Nice to meet you."

Sirius' face fell from it's angry expression to one of hope.

"Harry?" he whispered hoarsely. "Harry?"

"Yes, Harry."

Sirius' eyes scanned him over.

"Tell me something only Harry would know."

"Then how would you know I told the truth?"

"I'll know."

"Alright. You and Remus were my father's best friends."

"Anyone could know that," Sirius said, and the hope in his eyes dwindled slightly.

"Okay. My parents were killed exactly twelve years ago."

"Everyone knows that."

"Then I don't know what else to say," Harry said casually. "There's nothing else I could say that you'd be able to verify."

Sirius slowly raised his knife again. Harry's hand was instantly on his bayonet.

"I wouldn't recommend that. I've far more experience with a knife than you."

"Who are you?"

"I told you already," Harry said and unsnapped the clasp keeping his own knife in place. "If you won't believe me, that's fine. But at least tell me why you raided my dorm."

Sirius was quiet.

"You were looking for something. Whatever it was, you didn't find it. Will you trust me if I find it for you?"

Sirius' eyes showed only a hint of relief.

"I was looking for a person. An Animagus."

"What's an Animagus?" Harry asked.

"A wizard or witch who can transform into an animal at will," Sirius explained, never letting his guard down. "The one I look for takes the shape of a rat."

"Who is it?"

"A man named Peter Pettigrew. He framed his death after he told Voldemort about the Potter's hidden house. He was the secret keeper of the Fidelius charm hiding them."

"I knew it," Harry muttered.

"What is it?" Sirius asked.

"I thought someone else might have been the secret keeper. You were too obvious of a choice."

"How did you know?" Sirius asked, astonished.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out. I'll find him."

Sirius studied him cautiously and nodded.

"He's undercover as a boy's pet rat. The boy's a Weasley, red hair–"

"Freckles, a temper. I know him. He's attacked me a few times so far."

"Why?" Sirius said, his eyes narrowing.

"Cause he's a prat with a fetish for attention. Then the 'famous Harry Potter' came around and took the spotlight."

Sirius couldn't help the amused grunt that escaped him.

"You don't look anything like what I'd expect Harry to look."

Harry's jaw tightened.

"And how would you expect him to look?"

"Like a child. You look like a soldier."

That made Harry chuckle.

"Sorry to disappoint you. I'll tell all about my childhood another time."

Harry turned around and was about to leave.

"You really are Harry… aren't you?"

Harry stopped for a few seconds.

"Figure that out for yourself."

He then left the house, and went through the tunnel once more that night.

Search and Destroy

Harry watched Ron intently as the boy woke up in the great hall. He saw the rat scurrying around, and Ron caught it and held him.

"Blasted rat," Harry heard Ron mutter, even thought there were twelve, chatting students between them.

Harry stared at the rat, trying to come up with a way to catch it. Catch him. Pettigrew. Harry felt his anger flare, but he pushed it down. Losing his cool was the last thing he would want, ever.

Harry let the next few days pass quietly, merely observing Ron and his rat. Pettigrew would run off at times, and then come back hours later. And he did it at night, most often. But Harry had also noticed Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, being on the prowl for 'Scabbers', Pettigrew's rat alias. Harry was considering making Crookshanks an ally, but he would have to be subtle. If anyone, especially Hermione, saw him talking to her cat, they would think he was insane, and Hermione would likely throw a fit. Ginny, Harry had been glad to find, enjoyed his company. She'd even divulged what happened in detail to him, even if he knew it from her memories. But he didn't intend to tell her that.

One evening, after eleven, Harry was sitting in the common room with a book. Everyone else had gone to bed. And just as he'd hoped, down from the girls' dorm came Crookshanks.

"Good evening, Mr Crookshanks," Harry said, and focused on the cat. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

The cat looked at him strangely.

What a stupid human. He doesn't understand my speech.

"No, but I can understand your thoughts," Harry commented.

Interesting. How can you do so, human?

"It's a special talent I've cultivated over the past few years," Harry explained. "But that isn't why I've been wanting to talk to you."

Then why?

"The rat you've been hunting. Scabbers. I want him captured alive."

To what end?

"My concern. Will you help me?"

The cat was silent for a while.

What will you give me in return?

"You're a cunning animal. I will give you strength and speed."

I am already fast.

"Clearly not fast enough," Harry commented. "Else you would have caught him by now."

Alright. I will bring him to you… alive. So grant me the speed to capture him.

"My pleasure," Harry said and tapped the couch next to him.

The cat walked over and jumped up on the sofa. He sat right next to the boy, expectantly. Harry took out his pocket knife and cut his thumb. He held the bleeding finger down to Crookshanks, and Crookshanks started licking it up. The cat shuddered, but kept taking in the blood.

What exquisite flavour.

"Now, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain."

Of course.

"Deliver him to me in the courtyard right outside the entrance hall. I will be waiting there tomorrow night, at this time."

I shall be there.

Crookshanks ran off, out of the common room, clearly eager to try his new speed and strength. Harry smiled wickedly, and headed to bed.

•••

Around midnight, Harry was sitting outside in the outfit he'd worn when he went to see Sirius. It was a practical set of gear, which could adapt to any situation. He could run, climb and jump freely, he was protected from the worst of the elements except for extreme changes in climate, and he had some measure of protection. He was holding a small cage he'd spent the past few days making. Once Pettigrew was inside, he'd either stay in rat form, or he would get his neck sliced when he tried transforming. Soon, he heard the light, almost silent paws hitting the ground rapidly, and Crookshanks came running with a squealing rat in his mouth. Harry quickly took the rat and threw it roughly in the cage.

"You've done a good job, Crookshanks," Harry commented.

He then sat down and used his bayonet to slice his thumb open again, and let the cat drink it.

"You can have some every weekend. I need time to replenish it."

Thank you, human. I look forward to the next weekend.

The half–Kneazle then ran off to God knew where. Harry picked up the cage with the rat trying to escape with a fervour he had only seen in men trying to escape certain death. Harry started walking leisurely towards the Whomping Willow, as he'd learned it was called. He soon reached it and pulled his bayonet from its sheath. He expertly threw it, and it struck right in the one knot Sirius had told him on one of his later visits would stun it for a little. As he closed in, the willow tree did nothing. As he reached the entrance to the secret passage, he retrieved his knife and went down. On his way through the tunnel, he started whistling a merry tune, but his face showed no hint of enjoyment. Rather, it was grim anticipation.

This is it. Tonight, I get to avenge the first part of my parents' murder.

He glared down at the rat trying to escape the cage, and shook it a little. The rat cut itself on one of the sharp blades he'd put in there, and he felt a little joy in that. Harry reached the part where one crawled into the 'Shrieking Shack', and climbed up. Harry heard Sirius footsteps.

"You have him?" Sirius asked just as he came into view from another room.

"I do," Harry replied and held up the cage, and shook it a little, causing the rat to screech again.

A frown spread on Sirius' face.

"Thirteen years," he muttered, and walked over to Harry. He grabbed the cage and shook it forcefully, making the rat cut itself more. "Thirteen years I sat in Azkaban, paying for your crime!"

Harry let go of the cage and Sirius stormed off.

"I think we should inform Dumbledore and Remus," Harry said. "We could use Pettigrew to clear your name, so please don't kill him."

"He killed James and Lily!" Sirius shouted. "He deserves to die!"

Harry held his hands up defensively.

"I said 'kill'. I don't mind if you rough him up before we get him to Dumbledore."

"You really aren't the Harry that was supposed to be here," Sirius remarked at the boy's words.

"But I'm the one that is," Harry said bluntly. "Get over it, Sirius. I'm a soldier. A killer. Once Voldemort's taken care of, I'm leaving Britain."

Sirius put the cage down and walked over to a worn–out couch. He plumped down, and gestured for Harry to sit in one of the chairs, which he complied with.

"Where will you go?" Sirius asked.

"New Orleans, in the United States. It's the city I feel the most at home in. And I have someone there who'll take good care of me."

Sirius was silent.

"You could come live with me, you know," he remarked after a little contemplation.

"I'd rather not," Harry shot down the offer casually. "When Voldemort's dead, for good, I'm getting out of this wizard–crap."

"It's your legacy!" Sirius exclaimed in surprise. "And you call it 'crap'!?"

"Well, how would you see it?" Harry countered. "This 'legacy' has given me an extinct family, a world I really don't want to be part of, and a maniac who wants nothing more than my head on a spike. So yeah, my 'legacy' is crap."

Sirius was stunned into silence. Harry had a point, despite how he put it.

"Besides, when everything is said and done, I'm just another murderer. I'm no better than Voldemort, and I don't intend to pretend otherwise. I'm telling Dumbledore and Remus about what is going on, and to come here. Whether you like it or not."

Harry and Sirius stared at each other. Harry knew that Sirius wanted to take care of him, like he was supposed to have done. But Sirius had realised that, with everything Harry had been through already, there was no way Harry would let him. Harry turned around and left before Sirius could say anything else.

•••

Harry made his way, almost one in the night, towards Dumbledore's office. He came up to the gargoyle that guarded his office, and gave it the password.

Why sweets, of all things?

The stairs rotated and let him up to the headmaster's office. He knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Harry entered and saw Albus Dumbledore sitting in his chair, and several other people around him, which made Harry freeze. An old man with a bowler in his hands. One man was tall and dark–skinned, and had a somewhat intimidating presence. There was a woman with vivid, bubble–gum pink hair, and finally, a short woman wearing laughably pink clothes, most particularly a cardigan. Everyone looked at Harry, and now, Harry was in deep shit. He was wearing what essentially equated to a soldier's uniform, along with a knife that was good for killing werewolves and a pistol with silver bullets. For the first time, he felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Ah, Harry. Good of you to join us. Remus should be joining us shortly as well," Dumbledore said casually.

The dark–skinned man drew his wand at seeing Harry's armaments, and in response, Harry put his hand on his pistol.

"You know my name," Harry told the man cautiously, his hand ready to draw his pistol. "Who are you?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said, his wand ready to unleash a spell.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Shacklebolt," Harry nodded lightly, his hand never leaving his pistol.

"Likewise, Mr Potter," Shacklebolt replied with a polite nod of his own.

The older man and woman who were clearly ministry officials looked at Harry with surprise.

"Harry? Harry Potter?" the woman asked, her voice high pitched and cutting Harry's ears. "The Boy Who Lived?"

"The Orphan Who Survived, more like," Harry said calmly. "What's going on?"

"Mr Fudge and Madam Umbridge," Dumbledore gestured at the officials, "are here to discuss the importance of the dementors staying here to capture Sirius Black."

"That won't be necessary," Harry stated, his eyes never leaving Shacklebolt and his hand never leaving his pistol.

Fudge and Umbridge looked at him like he was an ignorant child.

"Of course it is, dear boy," Fudge began with a warm smile. "Sirius Black is–"

"Innocent of the crime he was put into Azkaban for," Harry finished. "He never worked for Voldemort, and he never would."

Fudge's eyes widened at the name, but he cleared his throat.

"You may not realise the gravity of the situation–"

"I do, because I've captured the culprit who framed him."

"You what!?"

The pink–haired woman looked at Harry with strong interest. The pink–clad woman laughed.

"You? A thirteen–year–old boy? Even if Black wasn't the criminal we know he is, you couldn't apprehend a grown man, Mr Potter."

"Want to make a wager?" Harry said as his hand closed around the grip of his pistol. "If I'm right, I gain diplomatic immunity from the persecution of the Ministry of Magic as long as I exist. If I'm wrong, I'll play mascot for the Ministry. Imagine the talk; Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, whole–heartedly supporting the Ministry of Magic. The populace would go wild."

Harry noticed Shacklebolt's small smile which disappeared as quickly as it had come to be. He was amused and impressed.

"Come now, Mr Potter," Umbridge began. "You can't honestly–"

Harry stuck his left hand out to his side, and without sound, a cage with a small rat materialised in his hand.

"I present Peter Pettigrew. Unregistered Animagus who killed thirteen muggles and cut off his own finger before he transformed and scurried off," Harry said calmly. "And a supporter of Voldemort."

Harry saw Dumbledore smile just a little, but it was a sad one. Harry snapped his fingers, and a strong chair of metal, with chains appeared in front of him. He opened the cage and pulled the rat out.

"Professor, if you would?" he asked Dumbledore as he held the rat above the chair.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and the rat started growing, until a short man with rat–like features sat in the chair. With a snap of his fingers, the chains wrapped tightly around Pettigrew's arms and legs, restraining him.

"No, no, Harry, please!" Pettigrew begged. "I was your father's friend!"

"Some friend you were," Harry said and pulled out his knife. "You betrayed my parents, Peter. You betrayed Sirius, when you framed him for your murders."

"I had to get away! You understand, don't you!?"

"Oh yes, I understand," Harry said calmly. "I understand that you're a spineless coward who'd rather sell out his friends than endure a little pain."

With that, Harry slammed his knife into Pettigrew's thigh, and the man screamed in anguish. Harry put a hand to the man's mouth to dampen the loud sound. Then he twisted the blade and pulled it out.

"Now, do you confess, that you were the one who killed those muggles?"

"YES!" Pettigrew screamed in pain through Harry's fingers.

"And do you confess, that you serve Voldemort?"

Pettigrew was silent for a little, so Harry stabbed his knife through the man's hand.

"YES!" Pettigrew started crying from the pain.

Everyone in the room was made uncomfortable by Harry's brutal behaviour. The pink haired woman flinched at both stabs to the Animagus, and Shacklebolt, though stoic, was clearly at least somewhat disturbed by the interrogation.

"Now, Peter," Harry said with a dangerous tone of voice as he put his hand on Pettigrew's shoulder. "The million–pound question: did you reveal my parents' location to Voldemort?"

Pettigrew nodded and threw his head down in anger, tire and sorrow. Harry grabbed Pettigrew's uninjured hand and roughly pulled some of his fingers back, breaking them. The sound made the pink haired woman flinch, and Fudge and Umbridge were mortified.

"YES!" he screamed at the renewed torture.

"There you have it," Harry said casually. "A confession."

"You…" Fudge was about to say something, but he couldn't get it out.

"It's not called torture," Harry said. "It's called 'enhanced interrogation'. The American government is quite particular about the distinction."

Harry wiped his knife off in Pettigrew's jacket, and sheathed it again. Shacklebolt put his wand away, but he looked no less disturbed by Harry's display of ruthlessness.

"What happened to you?" the minister asked Harry with a horrified look on his face.

"Reality," Harry answered coldly. "Voldemort killed my parents. I was taken in by someone who could teach me how to get my revenge. I accepted. In short, reality."

"I'll have a word with that guardi–" Fudge was about to say, but Harry shot him down again.

"Don't bother. You'd never find her. And she's much harder to find than the Death Eaters in the Ministry."

Fudge's eyes bulged at that statement.

"WHAT!?" he roared, and took a step towards Harry.

Shacklebolt, much to Harry's gratitude, put his arm outs so that Fudge couldn't get close.

"Oh, it's true," Harry continued. "My mentor has spies in the Ministry. And they've rooted out several Death Eaters working there, right under your nose. I can list them, if you like."

"HOW DARE YOU!" Fudge shouted, but Dumbledore stood up.

"Harry, is this true?"

Harry nodded.

"It is. If I hadn't come here, my next plan had been to infiltrate the Ministry and assassinate the undercover Death Eaters."

Shacklebolt reached for his wand, but Harry shot it down.

"If I hadn't come here, keep up."

"You are no normal boy," Umbridge said, and something told Harry she thought she was above everyone else. "For the good of the school, and the safety of the students, I think it would be best if you came with us and let us detain you for a while."

"I'd rather rip out my own entrails, thank you very much," Harry said with an awfully polite smile for such a gory statement.

"Very well," the ugly woman said with a sickly–sweet smile. She leisurely reached for her wand, and aimed it at Harry. "Incarcerous."

Harry had less than a second to react, but that was all he needed. Ropes shot out of her wand and flew straight at him. Harry pulled his knife and swung it downwards; the silver blade cleft the enchanted ropes in half, and the rope disappeared. Harry then held his knife by the blade over his head, ready to throw. His movements were too fast for anyone to see when he transitioned grip and stance.

"Calm your bitch, Minister," Harry said calmly, with a hint of a threat.

"We're calm, Potter," Shacklebolt said. He stashed his wand into his robes, and gestured for his accomplice, who'd drawn hers as well, to do the same. She reluctantly did.

"Good. Then let's get to business," Harry said, his knife still trained on Umbridge. "Sirius Black is to be released of all charges. Peter Pettigrew is to be tried for the same crimes Sirius was, in addition to the murder of James and Lily Potter and attempted murder of their son, Harry Potter. He must be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss, after being found guilty."

"No, please," Pettigrew protested weakly, the pain almost knocking him out cold. The response was a knife in his knee, again too fast to see, after which he passed out.

"Alright," Fudge said begrudgingly.

"And just so that you will stick to your word," Harry said with a smirk, and pulled out a recorder, which was recording the entire conversation, "I'll be holding onto the verbal agreement."

"You little…" Fudge began, but stopped. He had learnt what Harry could do.

"You," Harry called to Shacklebolt's accomplice. "What's your name?"

She looked back at him and studied him a little before answering.

"Tonks. Auror."

Harry smiled a little.

"I like your hair. Really makes a statement."

Then, without any sound or trace, he disappeared.

•••

Harry appeared in the Shrieking Shack out of nowhere, and Sirius was startled at first. He then jumped up and shouted at Harry.

"WHERE IS HE!?"

"Being punished," Harry calmly answered. "Within a few days, you will be relieved of all charges, and be a free man. And Pettigrew will get a little smooch from a dementor."

Sirius calmed down just a little.

"You had no right–"

"I had more right than you, Sirius," Harry said loudly. "You were put in prison. He cost me my whole family."

"You still have me and Re–"

"You are NOT my family, Sirius," Harry yelled.

This was the first time Sirius had seen him upset.

"Pettigrew handed my family over to Voldemort! He was the one who set this whole mess called 'my life' into motion! I decide what happens to him, and he is losing his soul! End of story!"

Harry stared down Sirius, his temper flared, as it incredibly rarely did.

"You have your freedom. You're welcome."

With that, Harry disappeared without a trace once more.

•••

Harry sat in the common room. There had been no use in going to bed. There was only three hours left until classes began, though being Friday, Harry was just happy to get things over with.

Exams

Harry was reading up on Potions for the upcoming end–of–term exams. Many past months had been quiet, considering that the secret about the Potters' demise had been revealed. Students here and there gave Harry their condolences, and some expressed their sympathies. Harry had thanked everyone with a polite smile, but he just wanted it to end. Christmas had gone without incident, and the spring had been lovely. Harry had read more and more textbooks, and tried more and more spells. He'd quickly gotten to fifth year curriculum, and had even gotten to sixth in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Potions. Both Lupin and Flitwick had been greatly joyed by his progress, but Snape was as insufferable as ever. Harry had no idea what Snape's deal with him was. He'd wanted to probe the potionmaster's mind, but he'd quickly discovered that Snape had mental wards in place. Harry decided it would be best not to try and slip through them, as the despicable man would find out.

Also, Hermione Granger had become quite hostile towards him. Ginny had told him it was because he was far smarter and better at school than she was. That had made Harry crack a smile. Ginny went on to explain that Hermione was an overachiever, and despised anyone who got more praise for school work than her. And especially because no one saw Harry struggle whilst studying, whilst Hermione worked hard to be smarter.

Ginny had turned out to be a valued friend. Despite his reservations, Harry had felt himself letting his guards down around her, and was more forward with her than any other student. They spent time together, but she had come to know that Harry valued time alone a great deal, and so left him sometimes, saying she would come see him in an hour or two. Harry really appreciated it, and helped her with her homework when she asked him. She progressed quickly under his tutoring sessions.

But Harry had become concerned. Remus turned in sick a few days every month, and Harry quickly realized that it was always the day leading up to the full moon, the night of the full moon, and the day after. Harry also quickly came to the conclusion that Remus was a werewolf. Harry read in his DADA book that the wizarding world's werewolves were forced to transform every month, and that it was an excruciating experience. Harry tailed Lupin one full moon night and saw him enter the passage beneath the Whomping Willow.

Harry decided not to press the issue, but right now, a week until the next full moon, in the Gryffindor Tower, Harry decided to do something about it. He closed his book, went up to the dorm and gathered some alchemical compounds and ingredients, packed it all in a bag, and left. He ran through the castle and came up to Lupin's quarters, which were close to his classroom. He knocked on the door and waited. Harry heard shuffling, and Remus soon stood in the door.

"Harry," he said calmly. "What brings you here at this hour? It's curfew soon."

"The full moon does."

Remus stiffened.

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

"I mean exactly what I said," Harry elaborated. "Your next transformation is less than a week away."

Remus went even paler than he already was.

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I insist you leave."

Harry expertly slipped past Remus into his living quarters, and despite himself, Remus closed the door to make sure no one listened.

"You're a werewolf, and as such you will transform into a wolf on the next full moon," Harry stated factitiously. "I want to help you with that."

"What? How?" Remus inquired.

"I'll try and change the nature of your curse," Harry said casually once more. "If I can subvert or replace certain qualities of your condition, I might be able to at least change how your lycanthropy works."

Remus looked at him wondrously.

"You can do that?"

"Only one way to find out. I want to try a magical ritual that my mentor devised. She used it to enhance my human body with inhuman traits," Harry stated as he started unpacking his bag. "She used the heart of a werewolf, powdered silver, the blood of a powerful vampire, wood shavings, molten lead and several other ingredients, incantations and symbols to do it, but she managed."

"What are you saying?" Remus asked bewilderedly. "You're not human?"

Harry smirked.

"If we go crazy about the details, you could say that I'm a human with two supernatural creatures' powers and traits, and my body simply incorporated them into itself when it adapted to try to survive, but essentially, I'm barely a full–blooded werewolf who has vampire–blood coursing through my body, which replenishes itself a little every day."

Remus sat down on a chair and watched Harry work.

"I use Hermetic and Egyptian paradigms for my rituals, but I'm going to try and incorporate some of the magic I've learnt here, since this is most likely the magic that started the curse in the first place. I'm going to try and unchain the curse from your soul and bind it to your body, instead. I've been reading your soul for a while, and from what I can see, the curse isn't part of your soul, it's leeched onto it."

Remus nodded, quietly and intently listening to what Harry was saying.

"Now, If I can separate it from your soul, I doubt it will stay gone for long. Curses of this magnitude are likely only removable by veritable gods, but I am confident that I can change it, if only slightly. So, I'm going to reverse engineer my mentor's spell on me, and try and do the same for you. Hopefully, you will become no more a full werewolf than I am. In doing so, you will never be forced to change, and you will have complete control over your form."

Remus was quiet for a little.

"Do you think you'll succeed?"

"I am confident it will, but the risk of failure is there. And it will hurt. A lot. Therefore, I will perform it on you as you transform next full moon, and keep casting it throughout the night. You'll be chained down with silver, and I'll perform the ritual. Will you agree, Remus?"

Remus thought about it a while before he nodded.

"Good. Now take of your clothes besides your underwear. I need to assess your body's receptiveness to the change, and I'll need samples of your blood."

Remus did as he was told and stood up, almost naked. Harry slowly walked around him, prodding his body at different places.

"You have a good musculature," Harry commented, "I'm sure you won't be out for long. Now, the blood sample," Harry said and walked over to his bag.

He pulled out a syringe and a small vial. He attached the vial to the syringe, and walked back over.

"Don't you need to clean it, or something?" Remus asked a little.

"Cleaning it is to prevent infections," Harry said calmly as he felt Remus' lower arm for a good vein. "You're a werewolf, so not only would an infection in your body get killed within a week, your body would adapt to it and make you immune to it in the future."

Remus nodded, and didn't flinch when Harry stuck the needle into his arm. Harry pulled back the syringe's stamp, and saw the blood get pulled in by the vacuum. When he had enough, he put a small ball of cotton to the tiny wound and withdrew the syringe.

"Put some pressure on the cotton," Harry said, and Remus did as asked.

Harry walked back over to his bag and put the syringe away, leaving him with only the vial of blood. He placed it on Remus' desk and sat down in front of it. He then started staring at it, and didn't move for several minutes. Finally, Harry got back up.

"You should be fine. Your blood is highly receptive to change, as I suspected. Now, I'll give you a few elixirs. You have to drink them all, okay?" Harry said, and Remus nodded.

Harry grabbed four flasks filled with various liquids. He went over to Remus and held one out.

"That's an elixir that will force your body to expend energy faster. You will have to eat a lot more, but your body will be fully prepared to deal with all stress, and you will feel better and more energised."

Remus downed it without question.

"Not bad, actually," he said and smacked his lips a little. "Spicy."

"Yeah, I never got used to all the bitter potions," Harry said with a smile, "so I found ways to make them all taste better. Second one," Harry held out the flask, "will numb your nerve endings. That means you won't be able to feel as much, but pain will be greatly decreased as well."

Just the same, Remus slung it back.

"The third makes your body highly dynamic. Shapeshifting is smoother, less painful and much easier, and the fourth is the world's most powerful aphrodisiac."

Remus eyes widened in shock as he was handing said flask back.

"WHAT!?"

"I'm kidding," Harry laughed loudly. "Oh, the look on your face! No, it's a potion that will make you feel… fleeting. Ephemeral. You'll feel like you're having an out–of–body experience, but don't let it fool you. You are still very much in control of your body."

"Why will I feel like that?" Remus inquired.

"Because your soul will become less ingrained into your flesh. It's almost like a poison, you could say. To alter your soul even the slightest bit, it must be free from your body to at least a certain extent. I'm giving it to you now so you can get used to the sensation, and so that your soul's ties to your body weaken."

Remus looked a little tense.

"Don't worry, the first potion keeps your body from letting it go completely. You won't die, but you could technically be called dying."

"Perfect," Remus said as he started putting his clothes back on.

"I'll get the things set up in the Shrieking Shack. Meet me there the afternoon of your transformation, and I'll begin the ceremony."

Remus, now fully dressed, looked at Harry for a while, then nodded.

"You really are your parents' son. Lily was sharp as a razor. And James was quick as a snitch. You combine their best traits."

Harry nodded, gathered his things and left.

•••

Harry sat in the great hall eating his breakfast. His body was sore from his morning routine, but he was otherwise fine. Tonight, Remus would transform, and Harry needed to be there. He'd neglected to mention to Remus that if he didn't complete the ritual, Remus' transformation would push his soul out, and leave a dead werewolf. Harry pushed the thought out of his head. It was Sunday, he had all day to prepare himself.

Ginny plopped down on the seat next to him. Harry grabbed her goblet and filled it with apple juice, her favourite.

"Thanks," she said and pulled some eggs and bacon onto her plate.

"You're welcome," Harry said as he handed her the sausages.

"Anything today?" she asked casually as she gathered all the things she wanted on her plate.

"A school project," Harry replied. "I probably won't be around most of the day, especially the evening."

"Alright," she replied and started eating. "Need any help?" she asked when she swallowed her first bite.

"No, but I appreciate the offer," Harry smiled at her.

He and Ginny had become good friends over the school year. He was happy to spend time with her.

"Mum told me to invite you over for the summer holiday," Ginny commented. "She really wants to meet you again."

"Well, I'll be going home first. Maybe later in the holiday," he said with a small wink, which made Ginny smile and blush a little.

"Sure."

"I really look forward to seeing my guardian again," Harry explained. "I haven't seen or spoken with her since I left for King's Cross."

"That's a long time," Ginny agreed. Then she remembered something. "Oh, yeah! My family's going to the Quidditch World Cup this summer, and we have a ticket left! Want to come with us? It's a little over a week before start of term."

Harry studied Ginny's face a little, taking in every little, delicate detail. He'd grown to like Ginny a lot.

"Sure. It'd be lovely," he replied with a smile. "So long as Ron doesn't try and attack me again."

Ginny burst into laughter.

"Don't worry about that!" she said, her voice quivering from laughing. "I'll make sure he doesn't."

"Then I'd love to come along."

Ginny threw her arms around Harry's neck. Hesitantly, Harry slowly draped his arms around her back. Physical contact like this was… something he'd need to get used to. A little voice in the back of his mind told him that Ginny was going to strangle him, but that was his paranoid, overzealous training in self–preservation that was talking. He let go, and she did as well. She was blushing quite heavily when she did.

"I'll see you later, then," Harry said and stood up.

"Later."

He left the great hall with a smile plastered on his face.

•••

"Alright, the full moon is coming in close," Remus said as he stood naked, chained by silver to some blocks of rock Harry had conjured up. No werewolf from the wizarding world could have done anything about it.

"Right," Harry said and walked over to the grown man with a small vial. "Drink this. It's a little of my blood. It will enhance the effects of the potions I had you drink the other day."

Remus leant his head back so Harry could pour it down his throat. Sinking it, Remus prepared himself for the pain that would soon ensue.

"If it doesn't work, I'll undo all the magic I cast on you, and we could try another time," Harry said quickly. "It shouldn't be necessary, I have everything I need. Now, we wait until you start transforming."

They didn't have to wait long. Just as he'd finished talking, Remus fell to a knee, grunting in pain.

"That didn't take long," Harry muttered as he went to work with his wand.

He waved it around, spouting incantations of various spells he'd found which could be moderately helpful. Shielding charms, healing spells, warding magic and some magics he'd never dreamt of. Then, when he was satisfied, he placed his wand on his little workstation, and went to work in his usual, ancient style of magic. He began walking around Remus, convulsing and screaming and changing, whilst throwing things at him. Powdered silver. Crushed wolfsbane. Lilies and rose thorns, and purified water. He chanted in ancient Egyptian tongues, spouting riddles and puzzles for the wolf to figure out, and slow down the transformation. He then prayed to Anubis, the jackal–headed lord of the underworld, to give this cub peace and control.

The candles which were littering the room all flared up in icy blue flames, and Harry felt the chill of the Du'at sweep through the Shrieking Shack. Anubis heard his prayer, and responded. Remus' transformation stopped, and started reversing. Soon, Remus was lying, naked and shivering in the cold, on the floor, grunting and groaning in pain. Harry undid his shackles and wrapped him in a blanket.

"It's done," he muttered in Remus' ear. "You are in control."

But Remus had already fallen unconscious.

•••

Remus awoke in his bed at Hogwarts, more tired and worn out than he'd ever felt after a transformation. His muscles and bones ached like never before, and his eyes wouldn't open. Suddenly, his nose was assaulted. He could smell coffee, bacon and eggs. And he heard everything. The rain clattering against the windows sounded like bombs going off mere metres from his head, and the sizzling of the frying bacon sounded like the rush of a river in his head.

"You'll get used to it within the next few days," he heard a whisper, but there wasn't anyone near him.

That was when he realized, that it was Harry's voice, and he could hear a beat. Slow, and steady. Harry's heartbeat. He could hear the boy's even, rhythmic breathing. Remus sat up, and he smelt the food coming closer.

"What is this?" he whispered as quietly as he could, but it still sounded like someone talking loudly, right into his ears.

"You have gained control over all aspects of your inner wolf," Harry quietly explained as he placed the bulging plate of a least two pounds of bacon and four pounds of scrambled eggs in front of him. "But you didn't transform as you should have, last night. So, you'll need to eat a lot these next few days. More than before."

Remus nodded slowly, and felt his body's ache slowly ebbing away.

"As an enhanced werewolf," Harry began his explanation as Remus started eating with a fervour, "you will have to restructure your life a little. You will have a greater appetite these next few months as your lycanthropy settles in place, and you will need to exercise regularly for the same duration, or your muscles will start cramping up, deteriorate and eventually wither. When your body has accommodated, however, you won't have to keep exercising to stay strong. All your senses are heightened to an extent they have never been before, but they will fade over time. You will have to exercise to learn to use them at will, and you can learn to change your shape at will. And it won't even hurt anymore."

Harry held out his hand, and it started growing fur and claws, resembling very much a werewolf's hand when transformed. But no other part of Harry changed.

"And given enough practice, you can learn selective transformation."

Remus nodded, finishing his food quickly.

"I've never been hungrier in my life," he commented as he leant back and rubbed his belly.

"Well, you'll be hungry again within the hour," Harry chuckled. "I'll come by with an exercise plan later. You need to follow it to the point. You can do more if you feel like it, but it will be the minimum you have to do to keep your muscles from shrivelling up into dried husks."

"How much exercise do you do?" Remus asked Harry.

"Four hours every morning and evening."

"Eight hours every day!?" Remus sputtered. "Why!?"

"So that I maintain my speed, strength and endurance," Harry calmly stated. "I am far above any human in terms of physical ability, and I can fight transformed werewolves in my human form. I like it that way."

Remus nodded his acceptance, and then stretched his body.

"I really feel like sleeping again."

"Go to bed. You'll wake up when you feel hungry again," Harry smiled and stood to leave.

"Your parents would be proud of you, Harry," Remus said before Harry could leave. "You're a natural genius, and a powerful wizard."

"Thanks."

With that, Harry left. He was feeling quite smashed himself.

•••

Exams were rolling around, and Harry nailed each one. He got full marks, came out on top of everyone in his year and was congratulated by all his teachers. Except for Snape, but Harry hadn't expected to. Remus came out with Harry in the mornings for some running and exercise, but he couldn't keep up for long. When he'd done the minimum, he would sit down and relax. He was astonished whenever he saw Harry's routine, not fathoming how a thirteen–year–old could keep going like that. Ginny had come out one morning, and was shocked when she saw Harry doing his exercises. He was blasting kicks and punches at a big, thick tree, not flinching the slightest when he struck hard enough to rattle the large oak, a feat Ginny doubted any ordinary human could possibly do with their bare hands. She quickly ran away again, hoping he didn't see her. Fortunately for her, the breeze had been with her, and her scent never carried to Harry. She didn't mention what she'd witnessed, but it always nagged her thoughts. Punching an old oak tree so that it rattled… no human could do that. Oak was notorious for making extremely hardy and sturdy wands. She was as delighted as ever to spend time with Harry, but she always wondered how he could punch and kick so hard.

End of term came rolling around, and Harry was packing his things. He would know not to bring his rifle next year, but he would bring the other things again. The incident in Dumbledore's office had taught him as much. And he'd had to hide around in the castle when Umbridge had sent Aurors to capture him at Hogwarts. When they came knocking, Harry made himself scarce. They'd looked everywhere for him, but they never found him. He made sure to hide his belongings as well, fearing they would be confiscated. It wasn't difficult. His vampiric power of obfuscation held strong against their revealing charms. Sometimes, just for fun, he followed them around as they searched for him. Occasionally, he whispered things like 'come find me' or 'getting warmer' in their ears. It amused him to no end when they whipped around and stared right through him.

Eventually, they gave up. Also on behalf of Dumbledore, who pulled some strings in the Ministry and declared Harry's actions in self–defence, and that Umbridge had acted out–of–line.

Due to his closeness with Ginny, Ron despised Harry more than ever, but Hermione's contempt had dwindled. She stopped seeing the point in holding a grudge just because Harry seemingly put no effort into his studies, and apologised for her behaviour. Harry accepted it with a smile and bade her sit with Ginny and himself at dinner. She graciously accepted.

But alas, the school year came to an end, and Harry rode with Ginny, Hermione and Ron back to King's Cross. They spent the whole trip talking, though Ron was less than pleasurable to be around. Harry never minded what Ron said, but Ginny definitely did. Words of insult were exchanged, and meanwhile, Harry was providing Hermione tips on a few spells she'd had difficulties with. Granted, they were fourth year Charms spells, but she had difficulties nonetheless.

"So all you have to correct is your wand–movement," Harry said. "It's too wide and flashy. It needs to be more tight and controlled," Harry said as he demonstrated the movement. "Like that."

"Right," Hermione said, and did it as well. "Like that?"

"Yeah, exactly."

Hermione spent the next few minutes getting the movement into routine, and then put her wand away, realising that they were pulling into the station.

"This is it," she stated and gathered her things. "The end of another year."

"Yeah," Ron added. "Didn't happen so much, right?"

"Right," Hermione said. "It was nice and peaceful."

Harry had to suppress a snicker. His year had been somewhat eventful, at least.

"Well, let's go!" Ginny exclaimed brightly. "Mum and Dad are waiting for us!"

They all left the compartment, with Harry as the last. He followed a little behind. They landed on the platform, and started looking for their parents.

"They're a little further down," Harry said, and everyone looked at him a little strangely.

"How'd you know?" Hermione asked.

"I saw them right before I hopped out of the train. Elevated position, and all that," Harry shrugged and gestured in the direction they were headed.

They pushed their way through masses of students and parents, saying 'sorry' and 'excuse me' all along the way. Soon, they came up on the Weasley matriarch and patriarch.

"Children!" Molly shouted gleefully and threw her arms around Ginny, Hermione and Ron. "How was your year!?"

"It was fine," Ginny said first with a smile.

"It was great!" Hermione said as the second.

"It was okay," Ron finished.

"That's nice!" Arthur exclaimed. "And Ginny, did you invite Harry to the World Cup?"

"Yeah, Dad! He said he'd love to go! Isn't that right, Harry?" she asked and turned around, but Harry wasn't where he'd been just a moment ago. "Harry!?"

Something told her to look in her pocket, and she did. There, she found a small, handwritten note.

Sorry, I'm headed home. Come see me in The Leaky Cauldron sometime. I live in London, so there's a fair chance you might run into me in Diagon Alley. Otherwise, I might drop by the Burrow sometime before the World Cup.

Yours, HP

Ginny smiled a little.

"Harry!?" Arthur called out and looked around for the boy.

"It's alright, Dad," Ginny said calmly. "He's gone home already. But he'll come to the Burrow a little before the World Cup."

Arthur gave his daughter a strangle look.

"He lives in London. We might even run into him in Diagon Alley."

Arthur and Molly exchanged looks, but smiled at their children and their children's friend again. The Grangers and Weasleys parted ways, and went home. And from a support beam above, sitting on his father's old school trunk, Harry sat and observed the scene, cloaked from human perception. He smiled sombrely.

"Friends, eh?" he muttered to himself. "I'll have to get used to the thought."

And with that, he and his trunk simply disappeared from sight entirely.

•••

Harry walked through the door to the chantry, trunk right behind him. His mistress would already know he was home, and he had about a decade in the chantry until time in the outside world caught up to the Quidditch World Cup.

"I'm home," he called sarcastically and walked through the halls, until he reached his room. It was larger than the average Hogwarts classroom, and was filled with books, training equipment and had its own laboratory for magical work.

"Glad to have you back," his mistress' sultry voice came from behind him. "Have a good school year?"

He turned to face her, and did a double–take as he did.

"What happened to you?"

His mistress, who was embraced in her late 30's, looked no older than eighteen, and could easily pass for a fourteen–year–old, were it not for her very womanly… features. She was no less curvaceous, her bosom and hips still very appealing, which Harry determined to be intentional. She was also still a few centimetres taller than him.

"Tzimisce?" Harry asked.

"Tzimisce," Meerlinda confirmed. "I felt like I needed a new look. If I were seen in public like this, no one would recognise me as Meerlinda. I'd simply be Linda Watson."

"'Simply'. You're no less beautiful, and no human could ever attain your beauty. Anyone in the know would recognise you as a supernatural creature."

"But they wouldn't recognise me as Meerlinda," Meerlinda countered as she sauntered over to Harry. "That's what matters."

She wrapped her arms around Harry warmly, and he returned the affectionate gesture.

"I've missed you," he muttered into her hair.

"I've missed you, too," she replied.

They let go and walked side–by–side to the lounge which could be described only as a living room the size of the great hall at Hogwarts, where they sat in a couch.

"I'm going back after the summer," Harry informed his mistress. "And at the end of the summer, I'm going to a friend's house. They invited me to a sports event, and I accepted."

"That's nice to hear."

"And I'm going to spend the summer learning all about the Ministry of Magic. The minister knows you have spies there."

"You just had to tell them, didn't you?" Meerlinda scolded Harry light–heartedly. "Oh well, it's not like it was important to begin with."

They were both silent for a while before Harry shared his new information.

"I have a godfather."

"Oh?"

"Sirius Black. He lives here in London, as a matter of fact."

"Are you going to live with him then?" Meerlinda asked casually, but Harry knew that something, and what, worried her.

"I'd rather tear out my own intestines than leave you, Mistress."

Meerlinda snuggled the crook of his throat.

"I hoped you would say that, though the intestines would be of more use inside you."