Achieving Greatness – Chapter 2

'

I'm fine, the notes all read, stacked neatly at the center of his ornate mahogany desk. Four of them, all signed simply Harry. One from Hermione Granger, one from Ronald Weasley, one from Remus Lupin and one from Sirius Black. The last one humorously addressed to 'Snuffles', but sadly the situation was no laughing matter.

Albus Dumbledore sat in the comfortable brown leather armchair behind the desk, troubled. His fingers steepled in front of him, he gazed blindly past them and pondered the notes. As soon as he'd gotten word of the short and seemingly unprovoked message of reassurance from the almost frantic Mr. Black, he'd of course sent Alastor to investigate Harry's condition at Number 4.

They had been shocked to find that Mr. Potter's relatives weren't even aware of his absence and that there was no trace of where he went. It was further troubling that most of Harry's belongings had been left behind, as that indicated the boy didn't know exactly what he would be doing – perhaps not even what he would be doing – and didn't care to drag a trunk with him for the journey. No Knightbus-ride to London and comfy room at the Cauldron then, Albus had surmised. What are you up to, dear boy?

Inquiries to Harry's friends, family and acquaintances had gotten them nowhere closer to finding the boy either – except to yield the additional three notes. The Order of the Phoenix members stationed at Privet Drive yielded even less, mostly irate and bored complaints from the assigned watchers. Oh, how Severus had raved at the next meeting about the value of his own time and the arrogance of James Potter's son in consuming it. Just how Harry's escape from Privet Drive was in any way arrogant, nobody was quite clear. Foolish perhaps yes, but arrogant?

The searching around the limited number of probable locations had been unrewarding as well – it didn't seem Harry had been anywhere near Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, the Burrow or Diagon Alley. Though it wasn't as if they were questioning every random person on the street; it wouldn't do to let slip to the public or the Ministry of Magic that Harry Potter was out on his own in the world, thoroughly unprotected.

Voldemort would have a field day if the news were to reach him, soon on the hunt.

The Prophet would use it to paint Harry as a renegade, a probable Dark wizard, once again and the Ministry would use it to discredit Albus himself – obviously lacking in his guardianship of the boy.

Harry didn't know, but then again Harry didn't care. Harry had life and death in mind, not public opinion.

'

It was a lazy Sunday evening at the Burrow. The heat of the day still lingered in the twilight, as the silhouettes of Ron, Ginny and the twins zipped around on brooms outside, working off their dinner with a simplified game of two-on-two Quidditch.

Bill let out a sigh of contentment as he leaned back in a rickety wooden chair, situated at the far left side of the Weasley family dinner table. The enormous meal he had just consumed rivaled even his brother Ron's appetite and left him feeling sluggish as his body diverted energy to processing the food. If there was one thing he had missed the most while on assignment down in Egypt it was his mother's home-made meals.

Oh, Bill knew it wasn't the healthiest food by a long shot but the long stints of eating nothing but what the health-obsessed cook stationed with his curse-breaking team whipped together had left him thoroughly convinced that most healthy foods tasted like ass. He'd dial it down to normal portions in a week or two.

He let his mind wander as he absently listened to his mum and dad telling each other about their days. They rattled on about how the ministry was working his father ragged over some new muggle-baiting fad he had to control – some sick bastard had actually started producing and distributing fake, touch-explosive muggle currency around metropolitan areas, leaving both Misuse of Muggle Artifacts and the Obliviatiors working double shifts until the spellwork could be deconstructed and the culprit traced. His mother complained that Ron and Ginny did nothing but play Quidditch all day instead of studying or helping out around the house, while the Twins were almost always locked away in their room, judging from the sounds coming through the walls experimenting quite dangerously with new magic.

Fred and George had told him about their ambitious plans for a joke shop to rival Zonko's and asked his advice on a number of potential items; he was impressed, though he knew their mother would be much less so and wondered where they got the gold for all those potions supplies. 'Oh, that's our little secret. Between us and our investor that is!' They'd told him, leaving him even more suspicious.

Bill couldn't help but compare his siblings to the focused powerhouse of a young man that was his new employer slash student. While technically a contractor employed by Gringott's, Bill couldn't help but feel his loyalty lay more with Marcus. Bill was no teacher, as the many fresh-out-of-school apprentice 'Breakers he'd been forced to somewhat mentor down in Egypt would heartily attest. They were idiots, most of them, obnoxious wannabe's with no real future in the business. Marcus, on the other hand, was a bloody inspiration to teach.

Coming home to the Burrow for dinner after having finished today's session with Marcus and greeting his siblings had been like stepping through a portal to completely different world. Marcus' concerns about a coming war lingered to a lesser degree in the gazes of his parents, but his siblings seemingly remained wholly unaware of the looming threat despite the fact that they – like Bill himself – had been present at the Death Eater attack on the World Cup final and that it was their friend Harry who had been abducted for and barely escaped with his life from Voldemort's resurrection ritual.

While Bill naturally didn't wish to tarnish his siblings' youth with the horrible realities of war, he sorely wished that they – like Marcus – had the foresight to be prepared. He couldn't bring himself to set them straight about their frolicking enjoyment of summer, but silently hoped this deficiency wouldn't cost them their lives.

Marcus was so very different. The boy had shown his dedication and work-ethic time and again over the last week, working himself to the bone in his training sessions and studies alike, whether faced with the transfigurative exercises meant to bring his poor magical control into shape or the obscurities involved in sensing out and manipulating enchantments and wards. The vast array of enchanted items Marcus somehow had in his possession had helped in that regard, acclimatizing his senses to the intent behind different types of enchantments.

That was where Marcus' true strength lay, in Bill's opinion. While the young man obviously held considerable power, demonstrated by the fact that he could spend entire days doing nothing but facing daunting magical exertions, Marcus held little obvious talent, save one. His poor control held him back from utilizing the vast power at his disposal effectively; his spells came out medium-powered at best and the success/failure rate of most exercises was abhorrent, even though he was steadily and impressively improving. Marcus would simply barrel through exercises time and again until trial and error granted him an understanding of the underlying magical theory, and then move on to whatever was next. Never resting, docile or unoccupied.

The way Marcus could utilize his magical senses, though, was a marvel to behold. After only a week of exercises, it was clearly evident that he was a natural. Bill thought back to the end of their session a couple of hours earlier…

'

Sweat was pouring of Harry in tiny rivulets as he stretched the influence of his magical core outwards once again, feeling out the newest ward Eliza had set for him. Bill observed from the sidelines, his hand and wand weaving continually through different diagnostic charms while Eliza smirked at Harry from within the ward.

'A tough nut to crack, then. Wait, was that a -? Oh, she's devious. Poor Marcus.'

"You won't get through this one, little man." Eliza taunted their student as she passively kept the combat-ward's power-rune filled to capacity. This only spurred their charge on, and Eliza knew it, goading him to try harder. If ever Harry reached a breaking-point, being reminded to view every exercise as a challenge would steel his mind, granting him the will to push through whatever barrier kept him back.

'Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that…' Bill thought to himself, as he detected the surge of magic that suddenly swept out of young Marcus. A few minutes later, their student had sensed out every bit of magic in the ward, every rune – both those actually carved and those inherently implied in Eliza's earlier casting – and though he didn't have an awful lot of runic knowledge yet, Harry's grasp on their intent was instinctual and impeccable.

While diagnostic charms were the primary method of feeling out a wardstructure for dangers and weaknesses, the draining aura-sensory technique Harry was using was much quicker and more reliable to a practiced and powerful Curse-breaker. Bill himself was quite proficient at the discipline, but to see a 17-year old – not yet out of school and certainly not well-versed in curse-breaking – utilize the magic with such brutal efficiency was almost beyond belief.

Bill saw Marcus mirror the Wardmasters smirk as he found the weakness in the ward's arithmetic and runic structure. With a shaking arm, Harry sliced a series of Norse-variant runes through the air with his holly wand firmly in his grip despite the obvious magical strain he was under and Eliza's smirk faltered into a look of astonishment.

BOOM! The force of the blast rocked the training room and pushed Harry back several steps, shielding his eyes from the storm of magical energies ripping free from the constraints of the wardstructure.

"Fuck!" Eliza's voice carried through the air as the magic and sound of the explosive ward-break settled and disappeared. She lay trembling on the floor over the inactive power-rune, her robes thoroughly scorched despite the last-minute shield she had been able to throw up. "Oh, you idiot! How in the-You were not supposed to do that!"

"What?" Harry questioned, confused and exhausted. "I found the weak-point and sliced it open, it's rather standard procedure for a quick de-warding. No need for stealth here, now is there? Slipping through a combat-ward unnoticed is pretty improbable."

"I wasn't talking about stealth!" Eliza hissed at him as she picked herself up from the ground and stomped over to their pupil for a good chest-poking, while Bill tried to hide his chuckles from the sidelines. "Stealth wasn't the point, knowing your limit was the point! When you're outmatched you give up or face the consequences! That was the point!"

"How terrible of me to ruin your grand plan, Miss Eliza. I do apologize, oh so sincerely." Harry grinned back at the shouting girl, patting her on the head in mock-sympathy. "I guess we'll return to trying to find my limits next time, huh?"

Eliza's normally fair skin flushed at his teasing and she momentarily looked as if she would rip him a new one, but instead she finally slumped in defeat, trying to hide a small smile of her own. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." She sighed tiredly. "I'm sorry; you did better than I expected and those expectations earned me a pummeling. Frustration got the best of me."

"No worries," Harry assured her with a tired sigh of his own. "Could've hurt you pretty badly with that break there, didn't really think things through."

Eliza snorted. "My own fault really, should've let the ward blow up in your face before you cracked it. But make no mistake; I'll get you back tomorrow."

"To hell with that, that was freakin' incredible Marcus!" Bill interjected. "I knew you were a natural, but that – that was something else! Most of what's left for you in 'Breaking is just expanding your knowledge-base and practicing like mad, you've already got a good grip on Aura-Sensory Technique and you obviously have the power to effectively use it without putting yourself in a coma."

"Yeah, well, I had a head start there. I've actually been getting a feel for magical objects for a while now; I just didn't know I was using a 'Breaking technique until you got fed up with my shoddy analysis charms and taught me the fun stuff." Harry chuckled as he flopped down into a sitting position, his legs a little shaky and his breathing heavy from the ruthless strain of the technique.

Eliza had thought Marcus wouldn't be able to break her Bunker Ward and in all fairness that was the likely outcome, considering the Bunker Ward was a powerful and complex combat-entrenchment ward.

It was meant to serve as a temporary reprieve in mid-combat, to regroup and tend to the wounded, and was designed to explode outwards when released or broken, momentarily overwhelming even shielded attackers to ensure those inside could gain the advantage and not be immediately barraged with spellfire. Harry's unconventional use of the Norse runes to bleed his intent into the primarily Egyptian-based wardstructure had turned that feature against its caster, forcing the ward to explode inwards instead. 'Crafty, crafty little Marcus.' Eliza thought with a smile. 'Redtop's approach during our exams was much more thorough, but damn it if Marcus' wasn't quicker.'

Marcus' steady and seemingly unthinking decimation of her lower-level ward-schemes had frustrated and excited Eliza in equal measure – though she would be hard-pressed to admit the latter, this- this kid actually challenged her – and so she had set a trap. She had been trying to teach him a lesson in restraint, forcing him to either admit defeat or foolishly unleash the wards powerful – but not deadly – kickback upon himself. It was a valuable lesson, as taking on a ward beyond ones capabilities could often have quite deadly results. There was a reason that 'Breaking was a well-paid line of work, after all – many had found their deaths in the tombs of Egypt and the like.

'But', the lithe raven-haired witch found herself thinking. 'I apparently underestimated Marcus quite handsomely.' For Marcus' instinctual grasp of runic magic and the intentions behind it was astounding, and the thought of his potential made a small shiver run down her spine.

'

'It's funny how life works, like that', Bill thought. 'that was practically a mirror-image of the end of our Mastery Exam.' The difference was that Eliza had been fortunate enough to draw up a shield this time. And Marcus hadn't needed to spend a week in the hospital being treated for magical exhaustion. The Aura-Sensory Technique was really draining.

"I'd be glad to help out around the house in my off-time, mum." Bill spoke up amiably, noticing his parents were still on the topic of his siblings not being productive. "I'm available a couple of hours during the day because of my new assignment."

"Oh, thank you dear," His mother gushed, waddling over to hug him. "It's so good to have you home again. But what kind of job gives you hours off in the middle of the day, Bill? I thought you joined the administrative branch." Arthur's interest seemed peaked as well.

"OH, right. Um… I hadn't really thought to mention it, and I don't really know how much I can tell you," Bill begun uncertainly.

His parent's grew concerned and Arthur asked, "What's the matter, son? Is it – is it something to do with You-Know-Who? Are you on assignment for Dumbledore?"

"Oh, no, Merlin no. Nothing that dangerous, it's just that I'm on contract tutoring a very wealthy youngster – client of the bank – and we're held under non-disclosure oaths for… some reason I can't quite put my finger on." Bill hadn't really thought about it. Why had Marcus insisted on strict confidentiality? Why was his flat under a ward as impregnable – and bloody expensive – as the Fidelius? Was someone out to get him?

His parent's locked gazes for a moment then turned back to him.

"It's Harry, isn't it? Oh, the foolishness of that boy, running off from those horrible muggles without telling the Headmaster where he was going-" Molly started to rant. "Where is he? We need to make sure he's safe and get him situated back at Headquarters immediately and –"

"It's not Harry," Bill cut her off sharply, "And even if it was I wouldn't be able to tell you anything, but truth be told, my student is nothing like the Harry Potter I've met and heard about. They're both good kids, but M- Ma-" Bill hacked and coughed, overcome by the sensation of choking.

"Are you alright, son?" Arthur interjected, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. The Oath kicked in. Anyway, my client has a determination and fire about him that I've never once sensed from Harry and they look nothing alike. I think you should give Harry a break, in any case. As you say, his relatives are horrible; he shouldn't have been forced to stay there in the first place."

"Yes, but-"

Bill groaned. "Why are we arguing about this? It isn't going anywhere helpful. Just be glad Harry is still sending out notes to let us know he is okay, alright? Dumbledore confirmed they were from him, and not written under duress." How much his old Headmaster could tell from just the residual magic on the notes left Bill in awe.

"Mm, thank Merlin for small blessings-" His parent's relented, and the conversation turned much more pleasant as they discussed Bill's new job without worry for Harry overshadowing it. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew of Bill's earlier exploits in teaching and were surprised to learn he was enjoying himself, as well as being quite well compensated due to the erratic nature of his schedule. Bill expressed his appreciation for his student's determination and increasing skill, as well as his company, while his parents barraged him with questions, many of which he couldn't answer. No specifics, it seemed, not even that he was teaching Marcus Curse-Breaking, which seemed self-evident. 'Who was this young man?' Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wondered curiously.

Despite his assurances to his parents however, the seed of doubt had been planted. Bill had never heard the name Carver before in Wizarding Society and yet the kid talked as if he came from a reclusive pureblood line. Maybe the kid was a half-blood with a muggleborn for a dad, hence the confusion?

'Ah, whatever…' Bill brushed it from his mind. Marcus was making it easy and fun to make good money, he shouldn't complain. The main point was that the kid wasn't anything like Harry Potter.

'

Morphosis was a thick and heavy tome bound in cracked and worn formerly black but now more greyish leather. It was more than a century old, written by a long-dead Transfiguration Master by name of Joshua Harkness, whose architectural brilliance could be witnessed even today among the wizarding societies of modern-day Great Britain, France and the United States. The architecture that had made him famous was ironically but mere profession, profitable ventures that funded his studies into his true passion and area of expertise – human self-transfiguration.

Written towards the end of his long, prosperous life, the book covered every possible facet of his passion in great and brilliantly explained detail and despite its obvious age and fragile look, Harry found that the tome didn't so much as creak when he first opened its cover.

As the structure in Harry's mindscape turned rather dull after the initial excitement of discovery, when he could make no headway at discerning its secrets, Morphosis also turned into Harry's first side-project to his lessons with the Wardmaster and Master 'Breaker.

Every moment between physical exercises, lessons and sleep Harry poured over the masterpiece of a book. It detailed a great number of things of interest, from Magi transformations to curse-based transformations to complicated wanded spellwork, and it laid out the theory behind each section it in such a way that it made mind-warpingly intricate ideas somehow easily digested and made Harry wish he'd had the tome for the first four years of his Hogwarts education.

The book also held many disappointments for Harry, though that was less the books fault and more the fault of his genes and the impossibly cumbersome rules of magic itself. He had chosen to buy this particular book for two specific reasons, the first of which was to find a more permanent way of hiding his real identity.

Sure, the goblin-made Potter-enchanted bracelet was a life-saver. Endlessly useful and apparently very hard to detect, but it could easily be ripped off and by no means was it foolproof. Harry had a hard time imagining the bracelet would hold up against Moody's mad eye, specifically designed to see through illusions, much less wizards of the caliber of Dumbledore or Voldemort.

Charming the bracelet indestructible had occurred to him, but sadly charms laying claims to indestructibility were rather exaggerated and would also render the original glamour-enchantment inert. So, a sadly pointless endeavor. 'Besides', Harry thought, 'For an object dedicated to the goblin Deity of War, it's a bit on the fruity side design-wise…' He would endure, of course. The girly bracelet was far too useful to discard on the premise that it offended his fashion-sense.

Wanded self-transfiguration – now there was a useful subject! If you were looking to conceal an ugly birth-defect or perhaps fix it in conjunction with potions, or some other cosmetic change that wouldn't really matter if anyone were to detect and dispel. It was easily spotted by the experienced mage and much too easy to reverse to be worth spending time learning.

Metamorphmagic was the difficult art of wandless human-to-human transfiguration, almost impossible to detect and irreversible once detected except through magical depletion or mind control, it was something definitely well-worth mastering if one had the genetic advantage of being born with the ability. Not so easily discouraged, Harry had delved deeply into the signs of a developing Metamorphmagus, remembering his childhood instance of accidentally re-growing his own hair after a particularly dreadful haircut by his aunt. Sadly that instance of accidental magic was rather meek compared to the usual signs of rapid color-changing or haphazard shortening and lengthening of limbs; while Harry might possibly have had some small affinity for Metamorphmagic it would never be enough to be useful, particularly considering the grueling training it would've entailed.

Harry read through the Curse-based transformation as well, out of pure interest. While he was unsurprised to find nothing helpful towards his current interests there, he learned a great deal of history and theory behind the werewolf and vampire transformations as well as the other were-beasts, such as the werecats who only transformed if they looked up at the constellation of Orion on particularly cloudless nights – a bit of a failed curse, that one was – and the amusing but harmless wererats whose trigger was instead emotional, it's onset brought on by the infected individuals fear, transforming them into a strangely deformed rat with humanoid characteristics that quickly scurried to safety. Harry found himself chuckling at the idea that perhaps Peter Pettigrew was not an animagus after all, cowardly piece of filth that he was.

Having been thoroughly disappointed when it came to his first objective, Harry finally delved into learning everything he could about the second one. His father and the Marauders – well, save Remus, he supposed – had been Animagi; Harry himself felt it was a worthy path to follow in their footsteps.

It wasn't as if he was doing it out of pure nostalgia either, as both his godfather and the fucking rat had demonstrated amply so far having an animal form could be highly useful. Protection against Dementors, an easier escape, a deadly bite, hiding in plain sight or flying without a broom – even if the animagus transformation was rather easily countered by a competent wizard if the animagical was cornered, the possibilities were too many to ignore. Even were his form to be a common worm he could easily disappear from sight and burrow, vanishing without a trace.

This skill was definitely worth investing in; worth time, effort and – it would turn out – quite a bit of money. Best of all, this particular magic was open to all that had the determination to persevere and a good book on the subject. Harry felt quite confident he had sufficient perseverance and the best book of all.

Pushing away the fatigue brought on by his other training to the darkest, deepest recesses of his mind, Harry took to the books lessons and theory like a fish to water – and readily hoped that the discerning characteristic his transformation latched onto wasn't even remotely fish-like.

The meditative trances he was already indulging himself in were pointed to as a good way to truly get to know one's self, helping to determine and ease the next few stages towards initial transformation and the magical drills involved were not so very different to some of his other transfigurative and control-sharpening exercises.

He could do this. He would master this ability, like any other obstacle in his path.

It was power, ripe for the taking.

It was another step closer to freedom. Freedom from the threat of Voldemort and freedom from the manipulations of the likes of the Minister and his own esteemed Headmaster.

'

End Chapter 2

AN: Randomly inspired by cooking dinner, which felt odd. Still not promising this is going anywhere, but it's been fun writing so far. Thanks for all the reviews so far!

Constructive criticism is wanted, needed and awesome.

Pointers on story flow, characterization and dialogue are especially appreciated.

Please excuse any misspellings or grammatical mistakes, but don't be afraid to point them out.

Also, if I've accidentally written Harry when he's in the Marcus persona, or the opposite, do let me know so that I can fix it. I've been trying to describe him as Harry even when he is in the Marcus persona, because that is who he is, but then I get confused when it's Bill or Eliza actually thinking something about him.

Un-beta'd.