Harry Potter's Second Year

A/N: Increased level of violence in this chapter, description of Harry being beaten, as well. Harry's second year is far darker than his first, but it's still better than Hogwarts. I make no apologies for the cliffhanger at the end, but you are forewarned.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"My god, Sirius, did you see that? It just devoured an entire cow in two bites."

Harry was acting more like a six year old than the twelve year old he was. This was, by his own admission, only his second trip to a zoo of any kind. And the first one hadn't been devoted to dragons.

"Of course, Harry. It's bigger than the house where your 'relatives' live."

At that Harry began to laugh. They'd been at the dragon preserve in Romania for nearly two hours now and Harry was still finding things to marvel about.

"Shall we join one of the guided tours?"

"Sure. Maybe we can get some good stories out of the tour leader…"

Sirius liked Harry's curiosity and his scheming mind. He knew what he wanted and could usually find a way to get it.

The pair joined up with the others from the Scoil who had come on the Creatures Club-arranged tour. Harry and Sirius were detouring after this to Bulgaria, but for now they were all about the dragons.

A grizzled old man, who had deep burn scarring over most of his right forearm, came out of the administration hut at the appointed time for the tour. "All right, you lot. Let's start walking. Lots of dragons to see. Might even catch the handlers feeding some of the newly hatched ones at the end of the tour. Look mighty cute, but they're certainly vicious…"

"Cute," Harry said. "Dragons? Is he insane?"

Sirius laughed. "Might be related to Rubeus Hagrid in some way…"

"Hagrid did tell me he always wanted a dragon."

The tour leader introduced them to seven different varieties of dragon. "They're all so different, especially that Horntail. But, in the end, they all respond to the same things. Food, safety, rearing their own young. They also all have the same weaknesses, if you're ever on the wrong side of an angry one. Spells are fairly useless unless aimed at the eyes or through an opened mouth; all fire spells are useless no matter where you aim. Enchanted blades can pierce dragon skin, but I'm not sure I'd want to be that close to an angry dragon. Best solution: half a dozen simultaneous stunners to the eyes and open mouth. It'll get you thirty minutes of a sleeping dragon. If it's just you and the dragon, tough luck. Distract it, hide from it, or (if you're a particularly strong wizard) you could try putting it in an enchanted sleep."

Harry considered that odd comment as he walked with the rest of the group through the reserve. That began his interest in determining how he would escape from a variety of strange and dangerous creatures and situations.

One of the dragon keepers looked sort of familiar. Sirius noticed him, too.

"That's a Weasley if I ever saw one, Harry…"

"Right, probably one of Ron's brothers." He thought for a moment. "He did mention that one of them worked with dragons, I think."

"Been in touch with anyone from Hogwarts?"

Harry shook his head. "Left that place with a foul taste in my mouth."

Sirius frowned mildly. "I guess I understand. It's not like I write letters to the human prison guards at Azkaban, is it?"

Moments later the group came across the 'recently hatched dragon' room. The conversation was mostly forgotten as Harry and Sirius stared at the crazy little monsters that, somehow, did look the slightest bit 'cute.'

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The magical hotel Harry and Sirius had found in Sofia, Bulgaria, was rather bleak. Still, they were here for business and not pleasure. Harry had to locate a tutor for his metamorphmagical talents.

His correspondent from Bulgaria, Elizabeta Krum, had promised to introduce Harry to her son-in-law, Aleksandr Dobrydin.

He and Sirius made their way out into Sofia and eventually stumbled across the small café where he was to meet Elizabeta and Aleksandr. Both spoke English well enough to hold a conversation, and French well enough to converse with a still practicing Harry Potter. Harry liked Elizabeta more than Aleksandr. The man was a bit rough, a bit dark. But Sirius handled the negotiations. A mutually binding Oath of Secrecy, some days of training, and a payment of golden galleons.

Harry and Sirius spent the next three days almost totally in the company of Aleksandr Dobrydin. Harry wasn't going to master his metamorph skills in three days, but he was going to be given a grounding in the things he needed to learn. He and Sirius both took nonstop notes as Aleksandr spoke. It would take months and months of practice to actually put all the training to use. 'Years to master it all, boy, never forget. A Mastery of this material will take you years. And you don't have years to safely learn it. Such a dilemma.'

Harry did begin the first round of exercises to access what Aleksandr called his 'body's magic.'

It was a series of meditative exercises. Harry had never seen anything like it. Meditation had, of course, qualified to be on a long list on 'disapproved' topics at the Dursley household: not to be seen on television, not to be read about in the newspaper or in The Economist, not to be discussed within the environs of the house, not to exist at all in the Dursley's view of a perfect Little Whinging.

It took Harry most of an afternoon before he could calm his mind enough to sit still for the meditation. First Harry learned to clear his mind. He substituted all of his normal mental chatter, per Aleksandr's instructions, for a single image. Harry chose a view of Hogwarts Lake. That had been perhaps the most impressive thing he'd seen while at Hogwarts.

Aleksandr nudged Harry back to consciousness after the boy slowed his breathing and really focused on his image. "You lasted almost ten minutes. That's what you need to be doing all the time, clear out the garbage, get to know yourself. Your mind, your magic: those are the important things to a wizard, especially a powerful one, boy."

Harry next learned to take himself from a clear mind to a focused mind. He spent quite a while settling back into his view of Hogwarts Lake. Then he eventually began trying to turn the lake, per Aleksandr's instructions, into the memory of what he'd eaten for breakfast four days earlier. In his conscious mind, Harry didn't remember what he'd eaten, but Aleksandr had assured Harry it was still inside him.

It took hours before the lake gave way to the short memory.

Harry gave a whoop of joy when he came out of the trance.

"You've accessed yourself, boy, your memory. Took you plenty long, I'd say."

Sirius frowned at this. These were hard skills to learn at any age and this Dobrydin seemed more interested in making cruel remarks than in teaching.

"Now, boy, we can see about moving into accessing your magic. We'll start tomorrow. It won't feel like you've done much today other than sit and 'sleep,' but you'll find your body finds this stuff very draining at the outset. You'll sleep just fine."

It was true. Harry enjoyed the sleep of the dead. The next morning he and Sirius returned so that Harry could begin the third phase of meditation.

"Before we start, kid, I just want to caution you that you need to practice all this on your own time. You'll need to make it easier to clear your mind, to access yourself. You'll need to be able to do all this very quickly, even instantaneously. It'll take months, more likely years to become truly proficient at all the exercises I've shown you. We'll only be practicing four of them here and now, but I gave you more than thirty that have some value. Learn them all. Don't just try them each once and call it done, boy. Master each of them. You have no idea of what magical power is until you can complete each of them at will…

"But, once you are skilled in each exercise, once you've truly mastered them all, you'll have an impregnable mind, instant recall of any fact, event, or conversation you may desire, and control over your body's magic. From what I can tell now, you have the ability to become a perfect mimic; you probably also have untapped potential in transfiguration generally, even the animagus transfiguration. If you stick with this, I suspect you may with time even become skilled enough with accessing you own magic to cast and control wandless magic – but you're a long ways away from that. Metamorphic transfiguration, even the animagus transfiguration, is simpler to learn and control than even the simplest wandless levitation. So don't push yourself too fast, right?"

Harry nodded. He was still rapidly writing down everything he'd just heard. He'd puzzle out the implications later. By the dumbfounded look on Sirius' face, this was all important stuff.

The third meditative exercise wound up taking the entirety of their final day together. (Harry would have to learn the rest of the thirty odd exercises on his own – or return to Bulgaria later.) This was the step where Harry figured out just how much each step depended upon being skilled with the previous ones. He had to clear his mind and then transform his mind into a model of his own body. Then Harry was told to transition the model's hair color from black to blonde – and not to make any other changes, just change the hair color.

After a half dozen failed attempts, Harry became a blonde. It took him another three hours to reverse the change, however. That's where the day went. Sirius kept a careful eye over Harry and also quizzed Aleksandr to fill in a number of details missing from his earlier exposition. Sirius was a dogged investigator.

"And what are the advantages of a non-metamorphmagus learning these techniques?"

"Almost identical to what Harry can achieve…assuming diligent practice on your part. You can perfect a clear mind, a discipline known as occlumency; you can learn the skill of mental recall of any memory you choose, even Muggles can be gifted with a form of that; you can even access your body's magic and progress down the path of mastering wandless magic. I suspect if you dedicated a few years to the pursuit, Sirius, you could become proficient…"

Sirius made notes on his Muggle lined paper. "What you're describing is nothing like how I learned the animagus transfiguration…"

Aleksandr didn't seem surprised. "People can learn a hundred ways to achieve the same thing. Different teachers prefer different methods; that's what they teach, of course. The method I suggested is not how I learned to be an animagus either, but it would have been both easier and more challenging. There would have been no potions and no partial self-transfigurations, but I would have had to master my own mind before attempting it. The other benefit, theoretically, is that one who does not lock in a form with a potion may access the spirits of several animals that one's mind and body have affinity for. I don't know that it would be true, but I suspect…"

Sirius hid his excitement as he scribbled away. Until he learned this 'perfect recall' ability, he'd have to rely upon well organized notes to help himself and Harry.

"How did you learn all this?"

"I'm afraid I can't say. Just as you will never be able to speak of how you learned this from me – it's part of the reciprocal oath we swore. I know why you wanted to protect Harry's identity, but I wanted to protect my own as well…"

"Why?"

"All true metamorphmagi are highly sought after in the magical world. There are far more of us than anyone suspects. Some give in to temptation and become pawns of the government or this or that powerful force, Dark Lord X or Y, Generallisimo Franco or Mussolini. That most of us remain secretive about our gifts makes it harder to teach those who need instruction, but it keeps us safe from virtual 'enslavement.'"

Sirius nodded. He seemed a bit sad thinking about his cousin Nymphadora. Had she chosen to join the Ministry? Or had it been one of those Dumbledore-style 'choices' that had no other alternatives?

"What do you do, then, Mr. Dobrydin?"

"This 'Mr. Dobrydin' you speak of does nothing. It's a pseudonym I use, one of a dozen or so. This is not, of course, my real face. My real work…well, you wouldn't necessarily believe me. It's got very flexible requirements, very piecemeal-based work. High risk, very low profile, high compensation…"

"An Unspeakable?"

Aleksandr smiled. "Perhaps."

Sirius immediately dismissed the idea that Aleksandr was an Unspeakable. He wouldn't have even said 'perhaps' had he been one.

Harry groaned from the mat-covered floor. Sirius moved to be next to his godson. He noticed the boy's blond hair rippling away and dark black locks replacing it.

"He'll wake soon, Mr. Black. Then I will say my last words of advice and give you a way to contact me should you ever need to again. I will say this for your ears: he has an awesome gift, a lot of potential. I think he'll be motivated enough to see himself through the training, but if he's not, you need to help him…"

"I've already committed myself to doing that. I'm attending a Master's program just to learn some new ways to keep him safe."

"Good, Mr. Black, very good."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry walked down the massive staircase of the Black Estate in County Cork. Sirius' guest was here apparently, but Sirius himself would be unable to let him in.

Harry walked to the door and opened it. "Mr. Lupin?"

A rather bookish man in tatty robes smiled kindly at him.

"You must be Harry?"

Harry nodded and waved the man inside.

"Is Sirius sleeping in?"

Harry smiled. "No, Sirius is paying for a prank he played on me when I was tired last night…"

"Do I want to know?"

"I'll let him tell you after he manages to free himself."

Remus Lupin laughed and he seemed to look a few years younger when he was doing it.

Harry played the host for half an hour, preparing a proper cup of tea for Mr. Lupin and serving scones, before Sirius managed to get downstairs.

"This means war, Harry."

"I took your prank last night as a declaration of war, Sirius…"

Remus goggled at the pair and began laughing.

"It's almost like a young James and a decrepit Sirius arguing back at Hogwarts again…"

At this Sirius smiled for a moment before he faded into a more stony face.

"Who are you calling decrepit, Mooney? You look like you've been living in a forest…"

Remus shrugged. "For part of my life, I do, Sirius." He looked at Harry and indicated that he didn't want to continue this line of conversation.

"He already knows, Remus."

"Huh?"

"I thoughtlessly handed him some of my old schoolbooks. James had basically turned one of my history books into our plan for the entire 'Make Mooney Some Friends' campaign…"

"You had a codename for learning the animagus transfiguration?"

"Of course. James codenamed even the act of going to the bathroom, changed it every time, too. The man might have been happier as a Muggle spy or a general planning out military campaigns…"

Remus laughed. Harry just smiled.

"So, Harry, why did I ever teach you basic warding?"

"So I'd be prepared for the world," Harry said.

"That's right. If you'll remember it wasn't for you to be able to prank your godfather was it?"

"Side benefit, I'd say."

Sirius practically growled.

"And how did you figure out how to layer spells within wards? That's not taught until N-level classes."

"I read your binder of warding notes looking for something interesting. So I jumbled together an intruder ward with a mild petrification spell, a leg-locker, and a tickling charm. You walked right into when you went for your bathroom, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"I'm getting you back. You'll never be able to get into my room at the Scoil to do it again, Harry…but I will do the most bizarre things to you."

Harry just smiled, as if he knew something important that Sirius didn't.

Eventually Remus leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear. "Aren't you afraid? The man's mostly insane and a certified prankster."

Harry whispered back, "I've got my own house elf at the Scoil who thinks I belong to her. She'll keep out the worst out of what Sirius does. Plus she'll co-opt the other elves to help me get Sirius back. I'd like to see him ward his room against elves. He'd have to do his own cleaning then – and that will never happen."

Sirius stopped his ranting when he noticed that both Harry and Remus were laughing. And Sirius hadn't said anything funny.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Severus Snape knew his tenure at Hogwarts was drawing to a close. Minerva disliked him and his particular proclivities – but she was only Interim Headmistress as the Board of Governors was basically deadlocked on a replacement for Dumbledore.

He decided to thoroughly enjoy this final year as a teacher. He'd be free of this blasted school – and all the taxing, ridiculous children. There were only one or two per year worthy of his attentions anyway.

On the plus side, the scandal over the deaths of two morons, plus Dumbledore's ouster, would probably be enough to ensure that a number of 'students' here returned to home schooling. People had trusted Dumbledore for so long it had come as a shock to realize some of the man's true nature. Most refused to believe the man evil, but Snape knew better. Dumbledore was a touch kinder as a Master, and he didn't utilize the Unforgivables as he felt it weakened a wizard to rely on such damaging magic, but he was just as deadly, controlling, and evil as Voldemort had been.

Case in point, he'd blindly turned his head while Snape diddled his way through the more attractive younger year boys for a decade – up until Potter had fled the school for nothing more than a standard Snape verbal lashing. It had been nothing unusual or particularly harsh. Snape certainly hadn't drug out his cat o' nine tails or anything.

Hypocrite. Dumbledore wanted the boy for himself, for some political game or other he was playing. That prophecy. He wanted Potter for his games and had become bent out of all reason.

Snape thought over his last year's worth of prospects. His godson certainly was more handsome now than when he'd been seven or eight. That Blaise was rather fetching for a black boy. Snape, though, knew that the real prize would have been Potter. A broken, bleeding Potter screaming for mercy. Delicious.

The new third year boys were already turning spotty. And spots meant puberty. Nothing disgusted Severus more than beautiful boys turning into hormonal monsters.

The pick of the litter was Draco. Or perhaps there would be some fetching Muggleborn first year. They tended to scream more, but an Obliviate and a sphincter tightening charm could take care of everything after he served his 'detention.' Severus could barely wait to see.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry's second year at the Scoil started out very well. His best friend Victor shared some tales of Quidditch matches.

"Wish I could have gone. We were close to where the Vrasta Vultures play, but their matches were in Italy then."

Harry thought Victor was everything a friend should be: bright, confident, a little devilish from time to time, and funny to boot. He mentally compared his first friend at Hogwarts, Ron Weasley, to Victor O'Neil and knew that Ron would have turned into a prat. The kid at eleven was jealous of all his older brothers, his younger sister, Harry Potter, and everything else he seemed to lay eyes on. He needed a mind healer of some sort.

Harry and Victor often ended up on opposite teams during pick-up Quidditch games. Harry was excellent as a seeker and marginal as a chaser and beater. He wasn't very good as a keeper even though Victor mocked him for it. (Victor did his best work as a keeper.)

His friends made Harry happy. His godfather made Harry feel safe (as long as Sirius wasn't attempting to prank Harry somehow). And his classes made Harry feel powerful. But his academic interests had begun to change.

He'd found Charms, Jinxes, and Hexes the best subject in his first year, but the second year material – such as air cleansing charms, cleaning charms, and food preparation charms – was far different from what Harry wanted to learn and what he eventually taught himself. So, without the assistance of his tutors, Harry mastered room expansion charms, renewal charms to perpetuate the longevity of enchantments and wards, and oodles of defensive charms.

Defense, dueling, and combat became Harry's favorite subject in his second year. His stunner became strong enough to break through a medium-level shield. His banisher could send a practice dummy four meters across the room. His air gusting spells could confuse and annoy the others he sparred with in the Dueling Club. Sirius Black had taught his godson two or three image multiplication and manipulation spells – so Harry could appear to be have a quartet of identical twins or to suddenly look like a wardrobe at the side of a room. Harry learned disillusionment. He became decent at calling forth shields, magical and physical. He learned dueling and combat tactics.

Harry learned whatever he set his mind to learning. After the advice from his odd metamorphics teacher, he tried harder in transfiguration. As he paid the subject more attention, he found he improved at it.

Harry walked out of his Potions tutorial – where he reviewed with his tutor the three potions he'd brewed for the week – and headed off to the Flying Team. Harry loved to run through the grass outside the school barefoot, but he loved to fly. He also loved it when his godfather went flying with the team. Sirius hadn't been on a broom in a long time, but he'd been a fair beater at school years earlier.

Sirius and Harry discussed plans to visit a rare bird sanctuary at the next break, winter break. The Black Mansion in London had sold, so Sirius wanted to acquire a property in France, probably along the Riviera, hence the bird sanctuary.

Harry flew back down to the lush green grass behind the Scoil and sat. Sirius joined him a few minutes later.

"Have you heard anything else on Dumbledore? I know he can't get inside the Scoil – and it would be hard for him to even come to Ireland – but do we know anything yet?"

Sirius shook his head.

"Well, I don't want to just sit here and wonder. Isn't there something we can do?"

"Like pranking one of the top five magic users in the world? We can't exactly go and steal his familiar, Harry, as I don't think a phoenix would cooperate. (Still think the books have to be wrong about phoenixes. Dumbledore has one and he's as twisted in the head as anyone I've ever known.) We can't shortsheet his bed because I haven't the slightest idea where he's staying now that he's been removed from Hogwarts. Pranking him? No, I don't think that's a good idea, Harry."

"No, not something silly like that… Although we could probably convince some house elves in Britain to do that. He'd never catch on." Harry smiled and shook his head. "I was thinking about something else. I mean, all of his positions are gone, but he still seems to be after me. Isn't there something we can do?"

"I guess we could kidnap him and lock him in a cave…" Sirius was trying to keep a straight face.

"Er, maybe you're right. I just hate feeling helpless, Sirius…"

"You're not, Harry. You're getting stronger and more talented every day. I'm learning wards that would knock Albus out cold if he ever tried to abduct you…"

"Is that enough, Sirius? It sounds like he's messed around in nearly every magical family's private matters for the last forty years. He's stolen knowledge – and withheld it – from everyone it belonged to. He was someone people trusted, someone I was supposed to trust. It just makes me so mad, Sirius."

"I'm glad, Harry. But you deal with the anger, you don't hold onto it. Anger won't help to make you stronger. It'll make you careless and overzealous and maybe even arrogant. That will get you hurt or killed. You need to be skilled, rational, and powerful. And I know you can do it. I see it every day."

Harry sighed. "I only just got my copy of the family spellbook. Most of its way too advanced for me now, but a little bit of it works just great. I learned a new way to silence someone – they don't even know they're silenced. Could be great in a duel. Works to disarm an opponent who can't cast wordlessly and is also confusing as can be…"

Sirius laughed. He knew Harry was just venting. Getting to come to a school was exciting; having to remain in its shadows, or near to an adult, for safety's sake was annoying and confining.

"I just wish there was something…"

"I wonder." Sirius was thinking now. "My favorite kind of pranks, Harry, were the ones I lobbed into an area then walked away from. Twenty minutes or an hour later, boom. I was well away – with a safe alibi of some sort – when the chaos started. The very best ones had the victims accusing each other of performing the prank – and then retaliating against each other far more severely than the original prank. I think there might be something we can do, it's not much, but it might be a lot of fun…and we'll be watching from afar. We'll get it started, but if it works it will be self-perpetuating."

"Okay, spill."

"It all starts with us writing a book, a self-updating book…"

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry woke at five thirty most mornings so he'd have a bit of time to meditate before the chaos of the day started. He wanted to master his metamorphmagus talents as quickly as he could. He usually also found at least a free hour during the day or before bed to continue his studies. For as haphazard a schedule as Harry kept, he always managed to work in at least an hour, if not two, of his meditation exercises. He was becoming somewhat adept at changing basic things about his appearance, like his hair color and length. He hadn't yet begun attempting to change the shape of his face. That was harder and Harry was waiting just a bit longer on that.

He finished his morning meditation and then threw on some muggle sweat pants. They were jogging outside in the grass barefoot this morning and then doing an obstacle course the school built in its basement. Since the thing was magical it was always a bit different every time Harry ran through it.

He ran at a fast pace for nearly fifty minutes before he noticed he was the last one still running. Doing mindless things like running gave Harry the chance to clear his mind in a real life situation with his heart racing, it was exercise number nineteen on the list he had. It wasn't something he'd set out to learn early, but the opportunity did present itself.

Harry wanted to learn. It was safe to do so now. Harry even found he enjoyed it.

That afternoon's Dueling Club meeting was a special treat for Harry Potter. First he watched a duel between two Master's candidates. The club had arranged for the exhibition and Harry found it riveting.

He watched the way the man and woman moved around the platform. They never stood still. He watched how one relied upon shields a lot, some of which Harry could recognize, and the other preferred dodging. His teacher last year had them practicing the skills, but this was the first time Harry had really seen the ideas in practice against each other. It was mind awakening.

As Harry watched the action, he knew there was a lot of difference between what he'd learned in an academic way and how to apply it without thought or hesitation as these duelers did. There was an art to this beyond just practice, Harry decided. He wanted to be this good. He wanted to get started today.

The duel lasted twenty minutes. Harry recognized maybe twenty percent of the offensive spells used. It gave him a new goal to shoot for. He had the other eighty percent to learn, didn't he?

The duelers gave a brief explanation of their respective styles and answered a few questions. Then the Dueling Club's main event started: the Battle Royale. The Club always did one per term, even the usually lackadaisical or harried master candidate members showed up for that. The bigger the groups the more exciting it was.

This was obviously the first one Harry would participate in.

Harry was assigned to the Leprechaun team. He stood with his eleven other team mates and was ignored while they discussed strategy. Harry tried to listen, but realized no one wanted to hear his suggestions. He had no idea what he was doing, of course, but decided he wouldn't be a drain on the team.

A fifth year student named Colin Matthews was named the King of the team, hence the name Battle Royale, as the older team members wanted to focus on more offensive tasks. His team remained alive so long as Colin was 'alive' in the game's terms. If the other team picked Colin off, they won.

No one gave Harry any orders or suggestions. They simply assumed he'd quickly get picked off. That made Harry a bit more than angry. He decided to take the straight forward approach.

"Any suggestions?"

"Die fast, kid. Die away from the rest of us, too, so we don't trip on you." That was Colin.

Harry pursed his lips. He wasn't going to do either of those things. No way.

The Battle organizers transfigured an equal number of items on each half of the battle area: stones to hide behind, tons of litter to banish at opponents, pieces of wood and books and other items to transfigure into shield items or other weapons.

The battle began and Harry Potter promptly disappeared. He'd been practicing his disillusionment charm for a while now and was quite good with it. He snuck to the very edge of the battle area and cast two spells in a soft voice. One tripped an attacker; the other caused someone to drop his wand. The other Leprechauns took advantage of this and quickly subdued both of them.

Harry snuck to another part of the battle area and cast two more spells, then immediately rushed away. Then another two and a retreat. And another two. He wasn't stunning anyone, just giving his team some help so they could stun them. Harry stopped and prepared to launch two more spells before he himself fell over stunned.

He hadn't seen the spell approach. He reviewed his memory after calming down. No, the flair of magic has come from his back. He'd been attacked by someone on his own team. That bit of information boiled Harry's mind. It made him angry.

His uncontrolled magic broke the stunner's effect. He got to his feet and walked to the edge of the battle area before he cancelled his disillusionment. He walked over and explained to the club leaders why he was withdrawing. He made his anger with Colin Matthews very clear.

"I don't know who stunned me or if they did it on purpose, but I was well away from the path anyone was firing on. Someone would have had to turn to fire at me. I snuck around under disillusionment and sent tripping hexes and hand-biting jinxes. Someone on my own team sent the stunner toward me and I was just helping them. It wasn't accidental friendly fire, no way, because there was no one near me at all, not in my direction. I won't stand this sort of crap, bullies like this Colin Matthews. He and the others made it clear they didn't want me on their team, so I'm done with them."

Harry walked out of the room. The meeting had started so well, too. He sat down at the desk in his room and wrote down the shields from the duel and how they'd been used. Then he scratched out a list of the offensive spells he'd seen. He meditated and went back into his memory of the duel. He tried to remember the words for the other spells – or at least what they looked like, the color, the shape, the effect.

When he woke out of the trance, he wrote down that information, too. He'd have something to keep his few free hours occupied now. It was better to study than to complain to Victor for hours on end.

The poor boy would only get upset on Harry's behalf. Beyond complaining to the club leaders, there was nothing Harry felt he could do. There was only the future, only getting better.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"Come in, Mr. Potter, come in."

"Good afternoon, Headmaster."

"And Happy Winter Holiday to you, young master wizard."

Harry took a seat in the small sitting area the Headmaster had in his office.

"How was your term?"

"I enjoyed most of it, sir."

Orion Murphy-Black nodded. "I had reports from all of your tutors. Your Charms teacher reports you've been working ahead…"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, the class got a bit dull."

"Many second years feel that. Still, the material will be covered on your exams near the end of your third year. So long as you learn it, no one will have any problem with you working ahead, I'd say. Next term focuses on medical charms, for the most part, plus some cosmetic and disguising charms. Perhaps that will be more to your liking." The Headmaster looked down at some notes he had prepared. "It seems you've impressed your tutor in Transfiguration, as well."

"Yes, sir. The training I began for my metamorphing has been somewhat helpful with transfiguration generally."

"Interesting. I didn't know that, but then again you are the first metamorphmagus I've known personally. How is your work progressing with that skill?"

"Very well, sir." And then Harry proceeded to change his hair so that it was identical in color, shape, and length to Orion's.

"I'd say, Mr. Potter. Quite impressive, very showy."

"I'd appreciate it, sir, if you'd keep knowledge of this ability to yourself. The tutor who trained me has made an oath of secrecy…" He reverted his hair style.

Orion nodded. "I understand."

"Defense has also become a favorite of mine. The dueling club was particularly inspirational. I've been working with my godfather lately on learning more shielding options and also better offensive spells. I find I finally have enough magical power to use the Sleeping Charm and the Blinding Curse…"

Here the Headmaster almost flinched.

"Not the Dark version. The one I found can be stopped with the ending spell. But in the anger and fear caused by being blinded, not many would think of that. It might be fairly effective."

"I see, Mr. Potter. Interesting perspective. Do be careful using a spell like that. Permanently blinding someone in a duel is a prosecutable offense, of course."

Harry just nodded. Sirius had already gone over and over all the safety precautions he needed to utilize.

"I understand that something happened to turn you off of the Dueling Club. Would you care to share the circumstances with me?"

Harry paused and thought about it. It seemed the Headmaster already knew something about the situation. He decided to tell the story and leave out any names.

"I see, Mr. Potter. And why did being stunned in the back make you so angry?"

"I've dealt with bullies and thugs my whole life, sir. I'm no longer a push over. I won't return to my relatives because they're bullies. I won't stand for it here, no matter if it's embarrassing, sir. Bigger kids picking on – or belittling – littler kids fits my definition of bullying…"

Orion held up his hand. "I've heard this speech before, Mr. Potter. I do understand. I just wanted to hear some of your thoughts on the subject…"

"Of course, sir." Harry was feeling a touch sheepish for mounting his soap box in such a strident manner.

"The Scoil doesn't tolerate bullying of any sort. From what I heard, the Club leaders mentioned to your teammates that they had been awfully stupid stunning someone who had been effectively distracting the opposition. I believe the team you were on was winning until you were stunned, Mr. Potter. Then they lost rather quickly after that."

Harry felt a small measure of dark glee.

"Perhaps you'll consider returning next semester. They do impart good skills." When Harry seemed unwilling to comment either way, the Headmaster filled in the silence. "Moving on, Mr. Potter. Do you have any other thoughts on your classes? Any you regret taking, perhaps?"

"No, sir. Chemistry is quite interesting as is Algebra. I've started on Runes, too, so that I can eventually study more on Warding. Sirius has taught me a bit about that, of course, but I know he's holding back on me."

Orion smiled.

"That would be his method, wouldn't it?"

Harry thought they were wrapping up when Orion Murphy-Black reached into a desk drawer and brought out a thin file folder.

"I did have a bit more to share with you, Mr. Potter. Much of the business over the Chamber of Secrets reopening at Hogwarts has been hushed up. For example..."

He pulled out a slim newspaper clipping and handed it to Harry.

"Professor, Malfoy Heir Petrified at Hogwarts," went the headline. The body of the story didn't say much more. It mainly reiterated that no one knew anything. It used a lot of words to repeat the same maddening notion.

"The clipping left out a good deal, of course. Snape was identified by name, of course, but it wasn't noted how little he was wearing – or that the Malfoy Heir was basically unclothed at the time – or that they were attacked inside a men's room in the dungeons. Apparently Snape had wards preventing him bringing students into his office or private quarters…"

Harry felt a bit sick at the revelation. He hadn't taken to Malfoy, but he felt anger and pity for anyone abused that way. Thankfully his Uncle Vernon had no sex drive, otherwise Harry could imagine his uncle might have resorted to more than raising his voice or a fist from time to time.

But the idea of the wards on Snape. Did that mean it was known to the school what he liked to do to the students? Harry scrunched up his face in disgust.

"That's horrible, sir."

"It's not the worst part, young Harry. There are truly strange happenings in Britain these days." He handed over another clipping.

"Malfoy Wife, Auror Slain by Lucius Malfoy After She Makes 'Chamber' Accusations; Former Minister Fudge Heavily Wounded."

The article had a bit more detail, but it seemed hazy on the details.

"From the story I received, Narcissa was furious that her son was petrified from the plot Lucius hatched…"

"Hold on, Lucius Malfoy got his own son petrified?"

"Yes, and the boy's godfather."

"Snape is Draco's godfather? And they were almost naked in a bathroom together? Gross."

"I agree. She had Lucius arrested while Fudge was attempting to intervene on Lucius' behalf. Malfoy struck his wife down, killed an auror, and injured Fudge severely before two other Aurors killed Malfoy…"

"That's horrible. Draco's an abused orphan, petrified, and he doesn't even know yet?"

Orion nodded. "Draco's case aside, I don't know what kind of a school would have a monster in it – and I'm not talking about Snape either. The British just bung everything up, I swear…"

Harry smiled at Orion's colorful language.

"Draco's been made a ward of the Ministry. Some woman named Dolores Umbridge has been assigned as his guardian. I know you'd rather not think about Hogwarts, but I believe that ignorance isn't bliss, particularly given who you are, Harry."

Harry nodded.

"Did they solve the problem? Do they know what's petrifying people?"

"They don't have a clue."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Dumbledore was having a rough week. He'd managed to pass through the wards into Ireland – and to penetrate the Irish Ministry building. He needed to find instructions for getting to the Scoil ar Draiocht Glas. That was the only place Dumbledore knew Harry Potter would be. He already had a full copy of the school's schedule. But the boy could do anything on his breaks, couldn't he?

His attempt on the Irish Ministry hadn't gone well. Dumbledore hadn't counted on multiple sets of redundant wards. The British certainly didn't use such complex mechanisms in their Ministry building.

He'd been knocked unconscious before he made it to the Ministry's Department of Education. And now he was in this blasted holding cell, complete with magic inhibitors and every kind of anti-transport ward possible.

Dumbledore was a powerful wizard, but his wandless abilities consisted mostly of parlor tricks. He'd never had the patience to really develop the skills. With the wand he possessed, and its incredible power, why would he bother?

It was one day after he'd been captured when one of his guards had handed him a copy of a perfectly vile book. The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore by A.N. Onymous. He read the teaser copy and cringed. "A collection of nonfiction accounts of Dumbledore's actions toward Cornelius Fudge, Harry Potter, Millicent Bagnold, Sirius Black, James and Lily Potter, Bathilda Bagshot, Aberforth Dumbledore, Reginald Oswald, Mipsy the House Elf, Rubeus Hagrid…and you. After reading the book, feel free to use the magical parchment at the end to contribute your story – or that of a friend or relative – to this magically self-updating volume." Albus flipped through the blasted thing and saw there were three hundred seventeen chapters. And a magical counter indicated there were 3,148 copies in print. No, 3,155. They kept printing more. Whatever fragment of truth resided between these covers wouldn't be pretty.

Albus looked at the book, just staring away, for hours before he finally cracked it open and began to read. And then he couldn't put it down.

The chapter on Harry was all true, but it wasn't even a quarter of Dumbledore's complete actions toward the boy. The part on Fudge was mostly made up, it seemed, but it got a few things right. An entertaining piece of fiction. The stuff on Sirius Black was true and brutally written. The person who'd written that account hadn't missed much, had he?

Albus found himself enjoying the strange little book. So much of it was false, but there were enough nuggets of truth in it to make Albus remember the better days, the fun days. The accounts of so many wonderful things he'd done – well, from the writer's points of view they were awful, even criminal – Albus loved to re-read his successes.

Still, the stories didn't paint him in a very good light. They were out for public consumption, public ridicule. People were so ungrateful. One couldn't defeat the Dark without sacrificing some puffskeins and weak-kneed morons, Dumbledore liked to say.

3,163 copies.

Didn't they know he was Albus Dumbledore? Didn't they know he was carrying out his plans for the greater good?

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry walked from his Chemistry tutorial with a smile on his face. He was really beginning to understand and like this particular science. Unlike Potions, it made sense to Harry. It followed rules. Potions was all so nebulous: stir this counterclockwise, stir that potion clockwise; crush the scarab eyes for this one, juice the lizard lips for that one, debone and thinly slice the newt tails for this potion.

Bah! He'd figure out Potions one of these days. There had to be a method to the madness. It couldn't just be memorizing stupid formulas without any rhyme or reason.

Following the Headmaster's implied advice from last term, Harry had decided to give the Dueling Club another shot. He walked there for the Wednesday afternoon meeting. There were round robin duels scheduled for today. Harry was planning to observe…at least he hadn't signed up at least week's meeting to participate. He wasn't giving the vicious upper years another shot at stunning him when his back was turned.

Harry walked through the door and one of the club leaders looked excited. "Potter's just signed up for the second pool…"

"What?"

"We had two people come down with wizard pox. They're in the infirmary, you're in the round robin. No tourists here!"

Harry grumbled and pulled out his wand. It was, apparently, time to see if these people had an honorable bone in their bodies.

The first duel was a lot of fun. Harry was up against a third year who was preparing for his O-levels. The pair spent seven minutes trading increasingly bizarre spells, almost a perfect study list for the Defense examination. Harry finally won when he used one of his standard 'bizarre' tactics to end the duel. He shot a chimney floo cleaning spell – which created a strong, sudden gust of wind – at his opponent's chest. The disarming spell caught his opponent as he was recovering from the impact.

"Excellent little duel, Breckin."

"I concur, Potter. You've done some reading ahead, I'd imagine."

"Some," Harry said. He was never boastful.

Myer Breckin smiled then.

Harry's second duel was less pleasant. He was up against the fifth year Colin Matthews, the same kid who had likely stunned Harry in the back during the Battle Royale the previous term.

The rather unpleasant young man didn't bother bowing to Harry before the duel began. It was a clear breach of dueling etiquette, but the idiots who ran the Club didn't notice or care.

Harry decided to see what he could do against a fifth year. He wasn't going to have a fun duel this time.

Harry shielded, stepped away from Colin's first spell, and then sent a bludgeoner toward Colin. He sidestepped another spell while still shielded before he cast two banishers back to back. He ducked so the spell aimed at his head flew past him. Then, while still crouched near the floor, he cast a leg-locker, a stunner, and a banisher. The leg-locker absorbed into Colin's shield, while the stunner and banisher both hit him. Colin flew off the end of the dueling platform. Harry stood up then. He'd used nothing advanced compared to what a second or third year should know. He'd put only moderate amounts of power into his spells. And he'd done most of his best work dodging Colin's efforts.

It was a quick, ruthless ending.

Harry had shown his cards. His next opponents didn't treat Harry like a second year. He lost his third duel narrowly. His fourth duel was a draw as both were stunned at the same time. He did win his fifth duel against a fourth year student. He felt good that his first experience with a round robin was 3 wins, 1 draw, and 1 loss.

But he noticed that Colin Matthews' dismissive stare at Harry had turned into hatred a la Dudley Dursley. Colin was a bully, so Harry decided to keep an eye on him.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Dumbledore had been the 'guest' of the Irish Ministry for nine weeks now. He had observed their security procedures thoroughly. He had also noticed they had begun to think of him as an old man instead of as Dumbledore-the-Conqueror-of-Grindelwald. It was a mistake he would exploit today.

Dumbledore had spent his weeks of confinement determining what had gone wrong in his quest to capture Harry Potter. His conclusion: he'd attacked a strong target without adequate knowledge.

His solution: Harry Potter had to be taken while away from the Scoil so that Dumbledore didn't have to bother learning its location and entrance procedure. It also had to happen in a climate of general fear so that people wouldn't be immediately looking for Harry. No, they'd be patching together whatever site or location had just been attacked.

He nodded. He had such a plan laid out in his mind. He could 'do' general fear very well.

The security staff opened his door to bring him his tray of food a few minutes earlier than normal. Albus only glanced up from the old Quidditch magazine he'd been given to read.

He ate his meal at a moderate pace once the guard left. Then he waited.

Another guard came into the room thirty minutes after Albus received his tray. He reached out to pick up the tray when Albus attacked. He was without a wand, but one of the parlor tricks he had learned wandlessly was the Legilimens curse, as he'd used it on students thousands of times over the years to keep tabs on things. Albus tore through the guard's mind, destroying memories as he went, and then implanting a few. It had taken a good long while to compose all this so it would be ready for this attack. It was a very difficult mental activity to compose vivid, detailed memories that would stand up to another's scrutiny

"Mr. Dumbledore," the programmed guard said, "if you'd stand up, I need to escort you to a different cell. I received a report that this room is to be scanned for contraband."

He slowly stood up. "Alright."

Albus Dumbledore let his wizard stooge lead him to freedom. The wizard even returned Dumbledore's wand to him.

Albus walked out of the Ministry prison with his guard escort. No one questioned what looked like a prisoner transfer.

Dumbledore stepped outside, walked past the wards, and apparated away.

His first act of chaos? He made his way carefully to St. Mungo's. He'd heard from the guards in Ireland that the former British Minister of Magic had been attacked and was still in the hospital. Dumbledore disillusioned himself and went in the rear entrance, the one for prominent members of society.

He stalked invisibly through the hospital wards until he found the one with two rather dull looking Aurors guarding the door. He cast sleeping charms on both of them. Dumbledore stalked inside and saw what remained of the former British Minister of Magic.

He looked more savage than Alastor Moody on a bad day. At least one eye was gone. He was also missing an arm and possibly a number of internal organs. Whatever spell Lucius Malfoy had cast that day was quite horrifying, especially if the Dark Magic couldn't be dispelled and the wounds healed.

It was only Healing magic that was keeping Fudge alive at this point, some combination of spells and potions. Albus drew his wand and cast three silent Reductor Curses at the disgusting mess in the bed.

Let the British begin to puzzle this one out.

Dumbledore's reign of terror had begun.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry Potter saw a copy of the Dublin Magical Times at breakfast. There were two profile deaths on the front page, both from the wretched British Isles.

"Cornelius Fudge Murdered at St. Mungo's."

"Dolores Umbridge Dead at Age 82."

"Malfoy Heir, Age 12, Emancipated by Wizengamot."

Harry frowned a bit. This all smelled fishy to an extreme. He read into the articles on the two murders.

In one a 'person or persons unknown' snuck into a security laden hospital, past two Aurors, and into the former Minister's room where he was 'recovering.' Harry knew enough medical magic by now to say that one was either healed by the magic within hours or days, or one was so debilitated by one's injuries that one would likely never recover. With magical maladies, there was little middle ground.

In the other story, the old woman was found 'covered in grafitti all over her skin' with her hand showing 'equivalent slogans.' Two blood quills were found next to the body. One unnamed source reported that the old Mercator family was known for inventing and 'popularizing' blood quills; the same source mentioned that Dolores Umbridge was related into the family on a minor branch. The vicious article writer, a Rita Skeeter, speculated that Umbridge had gone loopy, like so many other government officials, and had in effect killed herself while exploring a nasty hobby.

The third article reiterated that Draco Malfoy was still petrified at Hogwarts and was the last of his family line. The article did not explain why the Wizengamot did not assign the boy another guardian or two.

Harry found he didn't really care for the hazy way that these reprinted articles (from the Daily Prophet) explained their subject matter. Had Harry himself turned any of these as an essay due for a tutorial, he'd get, at best, an 'A,' but more likely a 'moderate fail.' No way were they close to 'Exceeding Expectations' or 'Outstanding.'

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry enjoyed spending time with the folks of the Creatures Club more than he did with those of the Dueling Club. Harry still took in a Dueling meeting one or twice a month, but he didn't participate. Not after all the fifth year students put up such a fuss. Why were people so stupid?

The Creatures Club meeting had focused on the 'interesting monster hiding in Britain's Hogwarts.' Seemed an odd topic for a discussion, but it had turned out a few interesting ideas. The Club leaders had gotten detailed reports of everything that had happened in the, at present, four petrification attacks.

"Here are the details we have: the Chamber of Secrets is some kind of legend; it's been opened before, fifty-odd years ago, when four people were petrified and one killed; the monster was supposedly left the Founder named Slytherin; we know from reports that the late Narcissa Malfoy accused her husband of delivering a dark object to a Hogwarts student to make all this happen; all the school's roosters and chickens have been killed…"

The discussion took the group through many of the famed or legendary creatures described in the Club's books. Finally it was Harry who started the right series of question.

"Hold on, you said the Slytherin House founder left the Chamber?"

A Master's candidate who had gathered up the details nodded.

"Slytherin was in the line of British parselmouths. There are a few dozen lines elsewhere in the world, but only his line possessed it in Britain." Harry's parseltongue coach in his first year at the Scoil had covered some of the history along with the evil image associated with the gift. Harry never displayed his parseltongue talents for his classmates. He had enough trouble as it was.

But Harry's suggestion was enough to get everyone else thinking.

"It could be a dragon. They respond to parseltongue, I've heard."

"But dragons kill with venom and flame and brute force trauma. The petrified folks don't have a mark on them."

Three different volumes on snakes and serpents got hauled out before the group decided the most likely candidate – 'given the killing of the school's roosters' – was a basilisk.

Harry was half-humming a little tune as he walked back from the meeting. He had his hand on the doorknob to his room before he felt magic overwhelm him from behind. He fell into blackness.

When he managed to wake, his hand hurt something awful. His face felt wet and was in a great deal of pain. Even breathing hurt. He took just a moment to realize what was happening. He felt a foot stomp on his knee. Merlin! He heard something tear. The pain, oh, the pain.

He was being attacked. People were pummeling him with their feet. He'd been immbolized and then attacked – but how? He remembered the spell, the unconsciousness… He'd been stunned in the back again! Harry hated this. He recognized the 'signature' action immediately. He hated them.

The anger and hatred welled up in his body until he screamed. The magic inside him viciously attacked anyone or anything nearby. He heard at least two fleshy thuds nearby. He felt pain like he'd never felt it before. He felt tired, like he wanted to pass out, like he never wanted to wake up again.

Before he succumbed, he called out, "Mipsy. Sirius. Help…"

He didn't remember anything after that.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Voldemort's ethereal presence was sleeping and dreaming in his renewed Albanian exile. He'd tried for the Philosopher's Stone with two nearly retarded human hosts: Quirrell and the even more useless Gilderoy Lockhart. He had failed both times. He had had to sit for days, waiting, trying to get Lockhart to find the stone in that last room, but the fool only wanted to look at his own reflection in the mirror. It was only after he realized that Lockhart had lost all touch with reality that Voldemort had abandoned his retarded host.

Voldemort had given up on the Philosopher's Stone. It never danced in his dreams. No, now he dreamed of a new body. He had come across a reference in that Lockhart man's mind about a dark ritual he'd once stolen from a wizard's mind. The tale hadn't made it into Lockhart's books, but it could have been true. The major lies in Lockhart's books had to do with his self-reported level of intelligence along with the identities of those who actually performed the feats he described.

The feats themselves, by Lockhart's own mental admission, were mostly true. A very few had been exaggerated to make for a better reading experience.

But the ritual seemed genuine. It seemed incredible. Voldemort had never come across such a thing in all his many years of Dark Arts exploration. No book had ever mentioned the ritual, not even an allusion.

The ritual Lockhart stole from an African wizard named Mugoda was designed to create a body, but not a human body. A powerful body, a magical body. Voldemort dreamed of a ritual with dragon blood and bone, of him fashioning a body stronger than a mortal human's. A body fit for an immortal wizard. A body so fearsome in appearance that one would pass out in fear from simply looking at it.

When Voldemort awoke from his slumber, wrapped inside a new snake host, he decided it was time to find a new wizard host who could help make him his new body. He'd need to be close to dragons. There were wild clutches in Britain, in Peru, and all over Eastern Europe. That would get him access to dragons. But he needed a powerful host, as well. Then he remembered about the tended reserves, the closest was in Romania.

Voldemort abandoned his snake host, listening to it die as he left. He set out for Romania, for the body he needed, for the life he was going to put back into circulation.

He was looking for a host, a powerful wizard unafraid of dragons or killing them.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

By odd coincidence, Albus Dumbledore found himself in Azkaban Prison. In fact, he was there on what would rapidly become its most famous day in existence. One might be forgiven for thinking he was there as a prisoner, but that was not in his plans. He hadn't enjoyed his stay at the Irish Ministry's much nicer facility so he would never choose to remain in such a dung pile as what the British used.

In point of fact, Albus Dumbledore was in Azkaban freeing perhaps its most notorious prisoner, the only woman to have received a life sentence for the last ninety years, Bellatrix Lestrange.

The dirty, emaciated, disheveled woman looked up at her hooded visitor after Dumbledore walked into her cell. He didn't look like a guard or bellow like one, either. He didn't feel cold like a Dementor, but he did have a rather vile, evil aura, didn't he?

"Master?"

"No, child, I am not Voldemort. But I will free you from this place to do my bidding. For three years you will do as I command and then you will be free to seek out your former master. Do you agree?"

"Do I have a choice? Rot here, useless, or get strong again outside so I can find Lord Voldemort. I choose freedom…"

The magic engulfed her as her ironic words completed her bonding. She was now a virtual slave for three years.

"We have chaos to unleash, my minion. Follow behind me and make no noise. I know the secrets of this place, but can't protect you if you're willfully stupid…"

Albus Dumbledore lead his 'follower' out of the evil-feeling prison. As he stepped outside he clutched Bellatrix's arm and disapparated with her. His plans for luring Harry Potter to him required simultaneous operations throughout Britain and Ireland. They required massive amounts of fear.

Dumbledore always knew what he was doing. He knew the Ministry would never willingly report that Bellatrix Lestrange was missing from Azkaban. It would make them look bad.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

In the chaos after his attack, Harry forgot all about the letter he had planned to write to Hogwarts about the probable basilisk inside the school. At first, the only thing he could consider was that he wanted to leave the Scoil.

He'd been beaten again. He kept seeing his Uncle everywhere he turned. He kept seeing Dudley and his fat friends huffing after him. All his miserable childhood kept reappearing in front of him wherever he looked. Harry knew it was impossible that those Muggles were actually here. He was inside a magical school located in an old leprechaun cavern, which was about as far as one could get from Little Whinging, Surrey. But it didn't stop the things Harry saw and remembered.

It took him longer to overcome his desire to flee than it took his wounds to heal in the Infirmary. It was only Sirius who managed to get his godson to settle down.

In the days that followed Sirius' intervention, Harry's fear began to manifest as anger and a desire for vengeance. Harry started and threw away a half dozen letters to the Scoil's Headmaster asking for his attackers to be expelled. He wanted their wands snapped. He wanted them to live as Muggles in dirty alleyways begging for food. He couldn't concentrate on anything other than seeing them punished.

His attention in tutorials began to wane. He just didn't care about his classes. He stopped going to most of his assigned lectures. He avoided his godfather. He avoided most everyone. He was snappish, cold, and rude.

This time it was his friend Victor who helped to begin setting Harry aright. Victor did have to magically bind Harry to a chair to make him sit still for the conversation, though.

"You need to stop thinking about them, Harry. You're the one who needs help right now. You look terrible; you look so angry you could burn paper with your eyes. You're not a basilisk, Harry, you're a wizard and my friend…"

"It won't stop, Vic. I can't stop thinking about that night. What if I'd been more observant? What if I'd been carrying my wand out? What if I…"

"Harry, they cursed you in the back. They're cowards and bullies. You didn't do this. They're screwed up in the head, not you. Don't let them ruin you. I heard one of the teachers mention that Matthews' father was set free by the British after the Voldemort wars. He claimed the 'Imperius defense,' Harry. Matthews' basically a Death Eater…"

Harry's jaw unclenched.

"Really? Why didn't…" He wondered why the Headmaster hadn't told him at their last meeting. The man certainly knew the story. He decided to ask straight out instead of stewing. This anger wasn't making him stronger, was it?

"What'd they end up doing with them? I never asked."

"I don't know, Harry. No one's seen them since you all went into the Infirmary…"

"Did the Headmaster tell everyone I'd been attacked?"

Victor hesitated, but then nodded. "Did people believe him?"

"Yeah. A lot of people knew Matthews was a bully. No one knew exactly why until now, I guess."

"I don't like this, Vic. I don't like not feeling safe. I don't like not being in control…"

Harry eventually got right in the head again. It took some time. It took talking to a lot of people, too. Harry ended up spending hours with Sirius, just talking. He also threw himself into his studies and his physical education class. He'd been weak after sitting in the Infirmary for eight days, most of them designed to help heal Harry's mind, not his body.

He learned detection spells of all sorts. Even ones that could reveal someone hiding under an invisibility spell or cloak. He redoubled his meditative exercises. He was going to learn controlled wandless magic by the time he left the Scoil. (It wasn't enough that his anger had twice given him uncontrolled and emotional wandless magic; he needed control.) It was not a goal; it was a commitment.

Harry Potter would never be beaten again. He might lose a duel or a training exercise, but he would never be a victim. He was learning now, learning all the time. He was a machine. He still laughed, went flying, and enjoyed his life – but he had a purpose now.

He had grown up knowing only to run from bullies or to bow to their will. He'd run from Dudley's gang and almost consented to his aunt and uncle's abuses. Then he'd run away to Hogwarts to escape all that. And run to the Scoil to escape the liars and bullies at Hogwarts.

But there was another options, wasn't there? There was another way to handle bullies, another purpose Harry could apply himself to.

Wouldn't that be nice? Harry could be more than just a famous orphan, one whose fame derived for not dying when his parents had. Harry knew what he was about now. He would never fall to bullies again. Not ever.

Harry would fight them. Head on. Every time he discovered them.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Peter Pettigrew found life rather enjoyable as a pet rat. He got plenty of food and water; lots of rest. Since he was so old and decrepit, like everything else Weasley, no one expected him to do much or accomplish anything. His mere existence justified his food, water, and lodging. He only found himself experimented on by the Twin Terrors a few times per year. Lately, they'd grown completely out of their fascination with giving him scales or turning him fuschia. Life as a Weasley rat was good.

It was better than the Cruciatus Curse any day. Or being discovered by the Ministry and sent to Azkaban. Or found by Sirius Black, who'd already served ten years in prison for Pettigrew's murder. Could they send Sirius back to prison if he did wind up killing Pettigrew? Peter never wanted to find out.

He was an uncurious sort of person. It was one of his major flaws.

The other was that Peter had never really understood pain. He didn't know how to deal with it or avoid it or suffer through it. He really knew nothing about it at all.

His grand plan for avoiding the pain of war after Hogwarts had been to join the Dark Lord. Only after he did that did Peter learn the effects of the Cruciatus Curse first hand.

That hadn't worked very well for avoiding pain, had it?

Peter became extremely familiar with the Pain Curse before the Dark Lord fell. And then he spent the rest of his time as a rat. He hadn't actually transformed into his human form in a few years now. He felt very comfortable in his animagus form; it suited him rather well. He wondered idly if he would have a problem changing back when the time came.

Peter looked around when he felt himself being jostled. Damn, he'd fallen asleep inside Ron's tatty old cloak and the boy was fastening it to himself. It was the dead of night and the boy wanted to go exploring when there was a monster on the loose. Couldn't Weasleys breed brains into their children? They seemed to go for quantity over quality. A bit annoying really.

Peter tried to go back to sleep but found all the jostling annoying. Suddenly Ron stopped in his tracks, there was a horrifying hissing/screeching noise, and Ron went stock still. Then his body plummeted to the floor, almost crushing Peter. He scurried out of Ron's cloak and found Ron stiff as a board.

Oh, no. His 'owner' had been attacked like that teacher and the Malfoy boy and the other few. Peter needed to get out of here, but he moved so damned slowly as a fat rat. He tried to reverse transfiguration to return him to his human form. It took three tries before Peter became Peter again. He began running. He turned around a corner just as he saw a pair of giant yellow eyes.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"Ah, Mr. Potter, I see you are a bit upset. Sit down, let's talk, shall we?"

Harry took a seat, the one farthest away from his Headmaster. Harry had surrendered much of his anger over what had happened to him – but not all of it. He could, of course, carry a grudge.

"I believe we might have some business to clear away before we discuss academics?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

Orion Murphy-Black just nodded.

"Unlike other Headmasters of the Scoil who might have claimed it, Harry, I am not omniscient. I do not always see a problem for what it is before it pops up. In this case, I saw Colin Matthews as a bully, as someone with a lot of talk. I did not see him attacking, with two other accomplices, another younger student for any reason, let alone a stupid one…"

"Sir, you knew about his father's history…about him being a Death Eater who went unpunished…and you did not tell me."

The Headmaster looked solemn when he nodded. "I did not tell you, that is correct."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"For the weak sounding reason that I did not want you to think worse of Colin – for something he did not do – than you already did. In theory, Colin was not his father. However, he has reproduced some of his father's more repulsive actions. At the Scoil, we do not let evil acts go unpunished. He and the others have been confined to rooms. As soon as the school unseals itself for break tomorrow, all three of them are expelled from the grounds. They may finish their educations elsewhere. Any records the Scoil sends out will contain remarks on their unprovoked attack on a fellow, younger student…"

"Four weeks ago, that would not have been enough. I would have wanted to challenge them to a blood duel or wanted to hire a mercenary to torture them for a good long while…"

The Headmaster leaned forward in his chair. "And now you do not?"

"I don't want that kind of personal vengeance any more. I have better things to study than revenge. But shouldn't they be charged with a crime? Their loss of an education here is not enough to help soothe the nightmares or my still shaking hand…"

"I was not aware you were still suffering from nightmares, Harry, or any physical debility."

"I didn't see you coming around to ask…"

Orion nodded and then looked a bit crestfallen. "I did visit you in the Infirmary twice, Mr. Potter. I asked our Healer for your condition several times. As for your hand, I was assured it would be fine with time…"

"Mr. Murphy-Black, you need to choose. Either you can be the headmaster for everyone here or you can try to serve as a counselor or a friend to the people here. Don't think you can have it both ways, friendly when you wish and stern ignorer of inconvenient truths the rest of the time…"

"I don't see the distinction, Mr. Potter."

"You can be the aloof, ignorant Headmaster or you can be the concerned, well-informed Mr. Murphy-Black. I like the Scoil. I like what I'm learning here. I know you regard me as a curiosity, as an achievement of sorts, but I no longer plan to leave because of what happened to me or the lack of real punishment for these three. I have already written letters to the Irish government, sir. If they do not bring charges, then I will keep on pushing. I will send out public letters. I will see these three punished specifically so they may not do this to anyone ever again. Colin Matthews has attacked students here before – I talked to the victims – he's been punished and even suspended (in school) before, but more times than not his friends have aided him in covering it all up. I'm not shocked he thought he could get away with hurting me, sir, but I won't stand for bullies any longer, in any form…"

"Some of what you say is true. It seems we tried so hard to see past Mr. Matthews' father's influence that we erred on his side a time or two…"

"You allowed a bully free reign in your school for years. That's inexcusable. It's equivalent to condoning the bullying, sir."

"The Scoil does not condone bullying…"

"Sir, anyone can write a good policy. It takes a different sort of person to enforce a good policy even in the face of other interests. You can't just give everyone an infinite number of chances. My old Headmaster, I've read, tried to rehabilitate a Death Eater. How did that work out for him? For the students?"

The Headmaster frowned and stayed silent for a few moments. This was not the Harry Potter he expected to meet in this end-of-term meeting. Something was different about the boy. He was angry, but he seemed more thoughtful about the larger world. He was growing up too fast, but it couldn't be helped any more, could it?

"I see the point. But Mr. Matthews was not a Death Eater. It was his choice to become evil and he did that very recently. I do not possess the Sight. I am sorry you were his victim, Harry…"

"I was his fifth victim. There could be more, I suppose. Five different accounts of bullying and at least threatened violence – that's a pattern, sir. He's not some misguided youth. He's a budding criminal."

"I hope you get your wish, then, Mr. Potter. I will neither attempt to support or quash your attempt at receiving justice. I stand by what the Scoil has done. I am sad for the pain you received…"

"Sir, you misunderstand. This is not about my pain. This is about four others who received no real relief from a bully before he attacked me more harshly, with enough violence to finally 'merit' expulsion. Bullies who aren't stopped early get stronger, more violent, more hateful. Stop them early or you have lost… This conversation is my attempt to get you to act earlier, with teeth, against others who use violence in any form as an answer to a problem…"

"Phrased like that, Harry, I think I can see what your concern is. I will discuss it with the other senior teachers. May I invite you to tea after the holiday to discuss this again?"

"I would appreciate it, sir."

"Fine. And how did the term go in an academic sense. Most of your reports remained excellent, of course, save the week or three following this unfortunate attack on you."

The conversation lasted for twenty minutes before Orion turned the meeting to a few other matters.

"We did have an application from a twelve year old to join the Scoil…"

"Sir?"

"Given you vehemence about knowing fellow students' backgrounds, I though I should mentioned that Draco Malfoy has been unpetrified and has withdrawn from Hogwarts. He's applied here and to a few other schools…"

"Thank you for the warning. Other than a handful of meetings at which he acted unpleasant to me, I have nothing to say about him. If he shows himself a bully here, I'd expect you to take action."

The Headmaster smiled the slightest bit.

"As a curiosity, I thought you might wish to know Severus Snape, your old Potions teacher, has been sent to Azkaban very quietly after a secret trial. No one wanted to admit publicly what the man has been doing to students for years…"

Harry nodded in disgust. Snape was a classic example of a bully given free reign. Even worse, he took advantage of his freedom in unconscionable ways.

"There was another development. This one was so highly embarrassing to the British government it was censored from the papers, I believe. Peter Pettigrew was found, dead, at Hogwarts near where another student had been petrified."

"Does Sirius know?"

"I will tell him at lunch, Harry…"

"My parents' betrayer finally dead. Why hush that up?"

"Because few believed he was still alive, especially the former Minister, Cornelius Fudge. They freed Sirius because of his veritaserum evidence in a public trial they hadn't expected to give him, but they never looked for Pettigrew. I'm not even sure they rescinded his Order of Merlin, either."

"See what I mean, sir? Bullies don't just live in schools…"

Orion did nod.

"Finally, Harry, one of the senior teachers who generally works with master's candidates, Enrico Bastata, has asked me to invite you to participate in a special project at the start of your third year, as he'll be off next term conducting research. That's a year earlier than special projects are typically undertaken, of course. But his interest is in soul magic and he thinks there's something unusual about your curse scar."

"If a teacher wants to explore my scar, I'm all for getting rid of it, sir."

"I'll pass along your words, Mr. Potter. As for me being a Headmaster or a counselor, as you distinguish between them, I do promise to always listen to what you and the other students have to say, even if I do not agree with you or cannot act as you might wish me to…"

"And I promise to always tell you what I think, especially when I think you're doing the wrong thing."

"I could ask for nothing more, young master wizard."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Voldemort's spirit had identified the strongest of the wizards at the dragon reserve in Romania. Twice he had been ejected from the ginger-haired man's mind. It had been much easier to take over Quirrell, as he'd been mostly in favor of the move. Lockhart had had no mental defenses at all. But this Weasley was a thing of strength.

It just reinforced Voldemort's interest in this Charlie Weasley. The wizard was obviously strong enough to collect the fresh dragon parts Voldemort would need for his ritual.

Voldemort didn't realize that his two recent possessions had already spent most of the power he'd managed to absorb since his ejection from his true body in 1981. He would never have had enough power to possess Charlie Weasley without waiting for five or eight years first.

Voldemort made his third attempt to take possession of Charlie Weasley late on a Thursday night. The dragon handlers slept in communal bunks as the bulk of their funding went toward the dragons – and the humans came a distant second. An old cursebreaker turned dragon handler named Wilberforce Blackmarsh saw Charlie thrashing around. He recognized that something odd was happening and he began his standard set of diagnostics on Charlie.

"What the hell's possessing the lad? Kid's fighting it off, but I can be of help," he muttered to himself.

Blackmarsh went outside and levitated a massive chunk of stone. He returned and began casting spells at Weasley. One hooked a magical tether into the invading spirit. Another he used to place both Charlie and the possessing spirit into a deep sleep. A third drew out the possessing force. Blackmarsh then pointed his wand at the stone and banished the spirit into the stone. It was an old technique for dealing with ghosts, dark wraiths, and other bits of odd magic he'd encountered in Egypt and other countries.

He cast a spirit sealing curse around the stone at that point before rousing Weasley from his magical sleep.

"…what the Merlin was that?"

"Possession attempt, lad. Has it happened before?"

"I think so. Such a strange dream I get. Red eyes, a hissing sort of voice…"

"Doesn't sound good, lad. Let's turn this over to some professionals. I can think of a couple in the British Ministry, in one of those departments that don't really exist…"

Charlie tried to puzzle it out, but found he was exhausted. "Fighting that thing took a lot out of me. I'm out for the count. Can we discuss it tomorrow?"

Charlie was asleep before Blackmarsh had a chance to say 'yes.'

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry took one look at Trenton Rand and stood up from his seat at the dinner table. "Excuse me, Sirius, I have to stop an idiot."

"I understand," his godfather said.

Harry walked over to where one of the remaining fifth year students sat at a table mostly filled with first years.

"Excuse me. Is Mr. Rand bothering you this evening?"

None of the intimidated students said anything, but Harry could see the fear in their eyes.

"Mr. Rand, perhaps you'd care to join me and my godfather for dinner. I'm sure these students would like to discuss their classes without feeling as if they were leaving you out of the conversation…"

"Butt out, Potter."

"Actually, I insist. I'm sure my godfather would love to speak with you. He can share many of his memories of being in prison with Dementors – or perhaps talk about the mostly illegal curses dreamed up by the Black family of years past. He knows one curse that will liquefy a person's… well, perhaps that isn't fit conversation for dinner. Let's be off, then, shall we?"

The bully clenched his teeth and left the table. But he didn't follow Harry back to where he was eating. The boy left the dining hall altogether.

"Did you threaten this one with me again, Harry?"

Harry just smiled.

"I never noticed how unfriendly the older kids could be to the younger ones… How did I miss that last year?"

"You were probably so busy adjusting to everything you didn't notice – or you chalked it up to being new and unfamiliar with the way things are."

Harry nodded and returned to his dinner.

"Things won't be that way any more so long as I have a say."

"You can be perfectly charming on moment, Harry, and utterly terrifying the next. Keep working on that. I think it's an excellent skill to have."

Harry almost choked on a piece of chicken as he began to laugh.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The halls of Hogwarts were utterly deserted. The portrait guardians and disappearing walls had been charmed to let no one out after hours.

The person who was currently stumbling along like an inferius had not returned to her dormitory before curfew. She knew many places to hide in the school. She knew many things, period.

She knew what was about to happen once she opened the secret entrance in the abandoned bathroom. She knew what would happen once she made it to the Chamber. She had been trained her entire life to know of the good that Voldemort could do for the world. If it cost her her life, well, her father had always told her he wished he'd had a son. Perhaps her parents would try for more children?

Perhaps they would someday know that it was her sacrifice that had returned the Dark Lord to power?

Pansy Parkinson knew she was the fourth to possess this diary within Hogwarts, but the first to hold it willingly. The book had rifled through Ginny Weasley's mind only to command her, after opening the chamber the first time, to pass the book to Penelope Clearwater. From there the book went to Emma Ranforth, the Head Girl of the year. The book finally settled on Pansy to be its prime instrument.

She found herself in the chamber. She found herself fading into darkness as the handsome form of Tom Riddle came into being. She felt herself dying. It was only then she began to struggle. Only when it was far too late.

Pansy Parkinson died that night. Tom Riddle regained a sixteen-year-old body at that exact moment. And when his soul fully transferred from the diary into his new body, he exploded into silver and gold shards of magic.

The young Tom Riddle had only begun his researches into soul magic when he created his first horcrux. He didn't know the dangers of a horcrux-trapped spirit attempting to make itself a new body so long as the original soul fragment still existed on the earth.

Tom Riddle had unknowingly created a paradox. He willed his soul into a body when his original, but diminished, soul remained in the world (even trapped inside a massive piece of stone). Magic responded in the only way it knew how: it destroyed the paradox, it made the offending, duplicate soul cease to exist.

The student Riddle wouldn't learn until he was nearing forty about the dangers of time turners and how they truly worked – for a time turner seemed to make two identical persons. The truth one that it couldn't replicate a soul; it merely permitted two bodies to exist, both tied to the same soul.

The older Voldemort was a smarter chap. His horcruxes created later in life would have known not to attempt what the young Voldemort had just done. Too bad his younger form had been so overreaching.

Pansy Parkinson needn't have died that night. She accomplished nothing profitable for her would-be master.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Harry laughed midway through the duel in his Dueling and Intermediate Combat course. The instructor had brought in a number of Master's candidates to duel his students. Harry had a rather foppish man who as entirely too precise in his wand movements and incantations.

Harry took delight in being especially sloppy with his words and wand waving for that duel. He did things that shouldn't have made any kind of spell at all, just to show the foppish man a few interesting things.

He had really enjoyed his third term at school. He had no problem putting bullies in their places. Victor and he had begun delving into the library for more and more dueling techniques. They'd begun an informal dueling group for people in their year and the year above them. The membership in the official Dueling Club had been down considerably after Colin Matthews' attack on Harry.

The Scoil didn't categorize magic in the same ways that the British did. There was no light and dark. The library stocked books on rotting curses – and their counters – and on every kind of ritual ever conceived. The Scoil didn't teach a course on Rituals, but that was mainly because the skill level required to perform many of them wasn't often attained by fourteen or fifteen year old students.

These oddities of magic Harry studied, but didn't feel tempted to try. It wasn't as if they were forbidden and thus more tempting. They were odd bits of magic that Harry looked at with some curiosity and disgust.

He enjoyed all his classes, some a bit more than others, but his new passion was his introduction to archaeology tutorial. A few of the Master's candidates had done stints as cursebreakers – ahem, grave robbers – in interesting parts of the world. Harry wondered if he could convince Sirius to arrange a trip to Egypt this summer. Harry knew of a few places that might be quite a bit of fun to explore.

His 'Study of Other Magical Races' course was still interesting. He'd gotten to meet a full-blooded veela and also make friends with a hippogryph.

He saw the Headmaster three times during term. It sounded like the teachers were beginning to rethink their policies on bullying. Some were a bit hard to convince about an 'early intervention' approach to the problem, but Orion Murphy-Black promises to keep working on them.

Harry kept trying to shame the Scoil into action by confronting every act of bullying or intimidation he witnessed. He kept a little notebook. The number of incidents were down from the start of term, but they still occurred. Some people never learned…

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Dumbledore had the boring job today. He'd sent his minion, Bellatrix, to do the distracting.

She was so pliable and her mind was beyond reason. She still hadn't pieced together that Dumbledore had freed her from prison. (Perhaps she wouldn't piece it together until the moment just before Dumbledore eliminated her altogether. She'd take the blame for all the recent chaos in Britain and Ireland so Dumbledore could busy himself with his new apprentice.)

The woman couldn't think at all, but she could destroy with the best of them. He felt a bit jealous.

As she was out blowing up the magically obscured portions of Blarney Castle that only witches and wizards could see and visit, Albus was sitting behind the reception desk looking to all the world like a witch named Eliza Callahan. He was waiting for a particular letter he'd sent out this morning to have an effect.

It was nearing eleven o'clock when a young man walked up to his desk.

"I'm here to see Remus Lupin."

Perfect. The boy had come alone. Albus had heard that Sirius Black was in France. He had hoped Harry would come alone when he received the 'official' hospital letter notifying him that Remus was in care and had requested Harry to know.

Albus stared at the boy for a second.

The boy in front of Albus looked nothing like Harry Potter, no black hair, no scar, no green eyes, no glasses. But he'd said the words. Since Remus Lupin wasn't in the hospital, even after Albus' best efforts to find and harm the disgusting were-creature, the code phrase Harry had just said was as good as screaming out his name.

"Just one second, young man. Could you sign in there, please."

Harry frowned for a moment before reaching over to the guest log. Albus quickly reached over to offer Harry the quill. His right index finger strayed over Harry's hand and the potion that was magically pooled on Albus' finger leached into Harry's body rapidly. The poor boy collapsed before Albus was able to make it around the desk.

"Boy needs some air. Let me take him outside for a moment."

That was how Albus Dumbledore was able to kidnap Harry Potter without anyone knowing the first thing about it. Albus carried the boy in his arms outside the hospital wards and disapparated away.

It would be some time before anyone found the real Eliza Callahan dead in a broom closet on the fifth floor. No one would ever officially tie together her death with any sort of kidnapping, either. It seemed to all concerned a random, senseless killing.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X