Harry Potter and the Order of the Hidden Flame

Chapter 2

The boy who would soon be revealed as none other than the one-and-only Harry Potter stared into the eyes of the girl in front of him. His heart rate was still elevated. It should have subsided by now. Were her eyes purple, or was it just the light?

Harry realized he heard screaming. Right next to his ear. There was a wrist gripped loosely in his fist, a wand dangling from the hand attached to that wrist. Threat neutralized. The wrist, which upon reflection was quite small and soft, was attached to an equally small and soft-looking girl. A screaming girl.

Harry released his grip as if it held a viper rather than a small girl's wand arm.

Observe.

He took in his environment - two girls, similar appearance, probably related. One my age, unarmed, one a few years younger, armed but unresisting. Shiny trunks on the rack above them. Fancy. Shiny robes too, high thread count. Rich girls. Pretty, too. Especially the older one. Indigo. That was the color of her eyes. Precise attention to detail had been drilled into him from the start.

Orient.

He had overreacted. The girl had shot a harmless jinx at him. He should have known that, but he had been lulled near to sleep by the girl's relaxed babbling, which seemed to bubble forth from her as merrily and ceaseless as a mountain brook. He was used to a certain element of chaos, of uncertainty, but this situation was something unforeseen and his preparation had been far too brief. His nerves were on edge.

Decide.

First, de-escalate, he told himself. Apologize. Try to speak like a normal human being. You're not giving a report, you're talking to girls your own age. You always wanted to meet girls your own age. Introduce yourself. Act normal. Was it precise attention to detail that was urging him to make a more accurate assessment of the indigo-eyed girl's finely tailored robes? What color were her sister's eyes again? Heartbeat.

Act.

He had delayed too long. The OODA loop, long a part of his training, relied on speed. The goal was to get multiple cycles off each heartbeat. He hadn't been this slow in years. Her hair was best described as golden, the way it shimmered with a metallic glitter. He wasn't sure what color eyes the younger one had. He was pretty sure they weren't brown.

This was bad. He was freezing up. He had been drilled on how to act, what to say, but was drawing a blank. Deer in the headlights. His training had prepared him for a variety of situations, but girls his age had the most rare, the only ones that could still inspire any anxiety. Heartbeat.

Two heartbeats, no action. He could already imagine sweat with a hint of blood in his mouth, anticipating the familiar aftertaste of the excruciating "training sessions" he faced as a deterrent from failure. Now or never. Forget the script. Improvise.

Unfortunately, as if reading that last word from his mind, the younger girl let out another formless stream of breathless chatter, but he caught the words 'Harry Potter' and 'Hogwarts robes.'

Harry normally enjoyed surprises during training - nothing worse the monotony of routine. He liked the challenge and thrill of improvising in difficult situations, pitting his skill and his will against any obstacles between him and his goal. He thrived on it.

The problem was, he had no skills with girls his own age. Limited skills with any remotely normal kids of any age or gender. Very limited information. He'd been yanked out of the middle of his training, the full course of which had been essentially set in stone as far as he'd ever been concerned. Surprises were built in, sure, but the long term plan never changed.

Until everything changed. The day his caretakers had pulled him out of a meditative retreats - the Shaolin monks were still irritated about that fiasco. Revealed his true identity, the identity of his birth, to him out of the blue. That he wasn't like his fellow trainees or his teachers. He'd always known that he could use what some called 'magic,' but he'd also been given explanations to explain what would have otherwise been inexplicable.

The path of every Mage along the path is unique; we can merely occasionally observe some of the territory, but never create a clear map for others to follow.

That was what he had been told, until long after he was tired of hearing it.

Until a week ago, when his mentor, the man he trusted above all others, his one constant in life, a fixed boulder in shifting sands, calmly told him it was all the truth - for all the other trainees in the Order. He, however, was different. Fo him it was a bold deception, an outright lie to keep him working hard when further progress was unlikely if not impossible.

Indeed, he had been working for years to master abilities that, for him, would have been comparatively effortless with a wand.

He was a god-damned Wand-Wielder. One of the freaking Covenant-Bound. He'd been training his whole life to enforce a secret he was never supposed to know. Now, due to circumstances outside of his - and admittedly, his mentor's - control, he was back in it, pulled back in by a ghost, a lurking shadow from his past he hadn't even known everyone had thought long dead.

And it was up to him to defeat him. He was used to having a solemn duty, but it was one he was supposed to be prepared for. Trained to the point of exhaustion for year after year as far back as he could remember for.

Instead, this. Wizards and witches, as they called themselves, and wands and Muggles and Purebloods and Dumbledores and Voldemorts. All gobbledegook to him. Which apparently was also a real language, which Goblins spoke. Goblins were also real. His mind was still spinning from his rapid briefings, the last of which had ended scant hours past.

His briefings always included an estimation of unknowns. The unknown in this briefing had been so enormous, so unfathomable, that it had focused purely on what was known. He was in uncharted waters here. Terra incognita.

Sleep hadn't been a priority during the Wand-Wielder crunch session, and he had dropped his guard. No, it's Wizard, not Wand-Wielder, he reminded himself. They didn't call themselves Wand-Wielders.

He quickly began damage control, fumbling for something appropriate to say. Nearly said his name was Harry Panther. Off to a great start. He trailed off into silence and continued holding the gaze of the older girl. He realized he had been staring at her for a while.

She just stared back, seemingly unperturbed next to her visibly flustered sister.

Could he leave? Would that seem strange? He had been cautioned not to make a bad impression. Repeatedly. He had mucked things up nicely, and in situations such as these a tactical retreat was sometimes the best course. Disengage, reassess.

He bit out an awkward apology. He was used to giving precise reports in rapid, laconic language. Detailed but unadorned with anything irrelevant. Maximizing information throughput. He tried to sound casual. Apologized again, made an excuse, prepared to flee.

The older girl interrupted. Her voice was high and clear, melodic and tinged with a cultured drawl. Daphne Greengrass. Sister, Astoria. Like in Queens? He'd heard these people often had weird names here. Old-fashioned. The elite unit of the Order that had trained him normally only accept the sons of members of the Order shortly after birth.

They were given new names, simple names, glorified call-signs. He was Panther. The other trainees had called him Pan. Their true names were kept from them until after their training was completed, and he had expected to be Pan for at least another half decade.

No, he had been Panther then. His training was cut short. Traditionally that only happened one way, and quite rarely in recent centuries. The training had become much safer, the healing techniques more effective, over the years.

He was no longer Panther. He was Harry James Potter. He liked the name, liked the way it rolled off his tongue when he'd practiced saying it in the mirror. I am Harry James Potter, a Wizard and a student at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

All still seemed rather odd, though. Really, who named a school after an unappealing growth on a mud-loving farm animal? Those four founders, with yet another set of odd names, must have had good senses of humor. Was it supposed to be a pun of 'hogwash,' too?

Daphne had invited him to stay and chat, in a lot of words. His briefings had told him to expect old-fashioned formality, but this was all a bit much. There weren't even any adults watching.

Well, no exit route anymore, Harry thought. He drew a deep controlled breath, dropped to a crouch in front of them instead of crossing to the other side of the wide compartment. He was unused to sitting on cushions and didn't want to introduce further confusion into his already chaotic world.

A squat was how he traditionally gave his reports. Low to the ground, minimize your profile. He felt exposed standing and speaking, something he'd have to change. One thing at a time, though. The girls didn't speak, waiting meekly, their alert and focused eyes the only indication of their hunger for answers.

Answers he mostly couldn't give, some because he didn't know them others because he was technically no longer a part of his unit, he was still bound by the oaths they all swore early in their training. He threw out the rehearsed script - it had been prepared for a larger audience and would sound stilted in this more intimate setting.

Harry had a feeling the older girl, Daphne, would pick up on that immediately. While her sister's eyes were wide with innocent interest bordering on awe, Daphne's eyes were narrowed, shrewd and perceptive. He doubted she missed much. He'd have to be careful. Best stick as close to the plan as possible, but surely a little deviation couldn't hurt much.

He finished the controlled release of the breath he'd taken and began his report.

"I was abducted, I guess you'd say, when I was still a baby. From my aunt and uncle. Easiest kidnapping they'd ever done, they told me, later. When I was older."

Harry suppressed a grimace. Speaking in this casual, wordy manner was difficult, made him sound unintelligent. It is what it is, he told himself, get on with it.

"Best kidnappers ever too. Had a cool childhood. The guy who arranged my kidnapping, kind of became my dad. I didn't know he wasn't my real dad until recently. Didn't know I was a wizard. Didn't even know my name was Harry Potter."

The pair of girl's eyebrows had been climbing steadily as he spoke, until he was surprised they didn't detach and start floating up to the ceiling. Yet they didn't talk, so he pressed on.

"We traveled a lot. Was all over. Education was a bit spotty but I learned the basics. My… da was outdoorsy. We did a lot of…, outdoorsy stuff. Hunting, fishing, camping?"

Harry realized he sounded way too tentative. This telling of his life was simply too outlandish in its artificial mundanity, when his own life had been one of constant training, mental and physical. Being reasonably honest about his actual life so-far would simply invite more questions.

Questions he wasn't allowed to answer, concerning topics Wand-Wielders were forbidden from even being aware of.

"We traveled a lot. Just about every continent, all around. For my da's… job. Never too long in one environment keeps you sharp, he said. Ahh. Sharp for business dealings, that is."

Harry realized that they had already promised not to pry, and that he should wrap up his turn at show and tell and let them have a go at it. He could fill in some of those holes in his knowledge.

That last thought's phrasing sent his mind wandering in an unfortunate. He forced his eyes not to stray downward. The eyes betray the mind. That had been an adage in his training. He kept his eyes locked on her indigo ones, and cleared his throat again.

"So, I found out right before the start of the summer. Da whisked me out of Nepal-"

Had he imagined it, or did the slightest expression of satisfaction flit across Daphne's face? Gone now, back to polite interest. He continued.

"Err, and brought me to London. We went to Diagon Alley, got me a wand from some creepy old dude and a stack of books twice as tall as me. Tried to cram three years of lessons in. Think I got all the basics, anyway. Not a fun summer, though…"

He trailed off, hoping one of them would hop in, but they seemed content to wait for more revelations.

"So, I guess I know a bit of magic now, but I'm still pretty clueless when it comes to Hogwarts. You- err, we- are supposed to be in Houses? I read their names, but I only remember Hufflepuff because it sounds so stupid."

He frowned quickly. The notion that these people, especially the rich ones, were sticklers for proper manners, had been thoroughly drilled into his skull.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, how rude of me. I didn't mean to offend you, if you are Huff-"

That seemed to spur both of them out of attentive silence. Apparently, even suggesting they might be Hufflepuffs did offend them. At least they seemed to agree it was a silly name. They didn't seem to think much of the people the named applied to either.

Now Astoria was off, though. Her sister seemed slightly exasperated, though she hid it well, but evidently there was no stopping the younger girl once turned on, given proper impetus. Like that pink bunny from the battery commercials he'd seen on American television.

He was reminded of the names of the house and their basic traits. Harry was trained to retain the key facts, to triangulate the truth from conflicting instances of biased testimony.

Gryffindors - brave and idealistic at their best, reckless and overzealous at worst.

Hufflepuffs - steadfast hard workers at their best, but their individuality was often overshadowed by their loyalty to the group.

Ravenclaws - studious and smart, but often aloof. Intellectuals, but often prickly loners unable to be part of a team.

And finally, Slytherins. The girls had both quickly and proudly claimed their membership that house, and quick to extol its virtues. Slytherins were ambitious, cunning realists. The flaws were harder to detect in their descriptions. They presented them as flaws in others - they misunderstood Slytherins, were jealous of Slytherins.

Harry suspected that the bad apples among the Slytherins were those who put the pursuit of power ahead of everything, even their own humanity.

Those were the kind of bad apples Harry knew. What his endless pursuit of mastery was meant to prepare him for. He looked forward to it. He had a stubborn streak a mile wide and had been castigated for his foolhardiness as often as he'd been praised for his daring.

Harry suspected that he might be a Gryffindor. He didn't really care about power or knowledge. All he'd ever wanted to do was his duty. To his mind, this meant fighting bad guys, and that sounded like something Gryffindors would do.

Judging by the sneer contorting Astoria's pretty face when she listed the many flaws of the Gryffindors, there was a fair amount of bad blood between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins. Perfect. Nothing got bad guys making mistakes like some good old-fashioned good guy-bad guy banter.

Harry had only one hesitation. He'd never shirk his duty, but he didn't want to see that same sneer mirrored on Daphne's face and directed at him.