Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 3 - Purpose

Over the next few days, Harry - or Azrael, as he is now known - settled in to life at the Manor. Dobby was extremely happy to be back with Azrael, and spent almost a day crying in happiness because he was bonded to the unusual wizard once again. Azrael spent most of his time in the training room. He had discovered, much to his dismay, that the muscle memory he had built up in his old world was gone. Still, he consoled himself with the knowledge that now he knew the moves, it would only be a matter of time until he could fight properly again. As it was, he spent at least four hours a day exhausting himself until he was satisfied that he could survive an ambush. It wasn't paranoia if there actually had been people out to get him, and those instincts would not be so easily shaken.

Once Azrael had accepted the oddities of this world and what it meant for him, he quickly settled into a routine. Running laps around the Manor in the morning and evening, two hours of physical training a day, both with Muggle martial arts and with spells, and lots of reading.

After the war, once Harry found it easier to isolate himself rather than overcome the fear his eyes caused, he found solace in books, much like Hermione had in her youth. Unlike her however, while he did enjoy reading factual books, especially about magic because it was his belief that the more he knew the better chance he had of winning whatever fight he got into, he also liked fiction. He most enjoyed Muggle classics, as they were generally set in a time different to his own, far removed from what he had lost.

When he was a child, he had never been able to read books. At first it was because there wasn't enough light in his cupboard to read them, and then it was because the Dursleys swamped him in chores so he didn't have time. Not to mention that if he ever got higher marks than Dudley then he was put in his cupboard without food. At Hogwarts Ron had never been motivated to learn and Hermione enjoyed being the cleverest, so he only usually only did enough to get the grades he wanted and left it at that. Now, finally, he was learning exactly why a lot of Ravenclaws could be seen reading at the dinner table. And the lunch table. And everywhere, really.

In the evenings, once he had to stop reading for fear of inducing a headache and after he'd had his run, he would spend time in the basement, which turned out to be a potions lab. Mostly he would brew healing potions, for broken bones and blood loss, even some skele-grow. Once he had stocked up his new infirmary, he took the time to make some of the more day-to-day concoctions - pepper up and instant hangover cure, for example. Not that he was supposed to be drinking, but he was technically an adult, so he could drink if he chose. Besides, who was going to tell him no? Dobby would look at him disapprovingly, but he would also make sure that the hangover cure was within reach in the morning. He understood why Azrael drank, after all. Even if he had died during what would have been Harry's seventh year, he still knew all of what happened during the war, somehow. Azrael didn't even bother questioning that, he just put it down to Fate. Sometimes it was nice to have someone to blame all the oddities of life on.

Speaking of Dobby, about a week after Azrael had arrived Dobby had looked exhausted. Azrael had to order Dobby to tell him what was wrong in the end, but finally Dobby caved. It turned out that the Manor was a bit big for Dobby to be cleaning on his own. Azrael cursed himself for not realizing it sooner and gave Dobby permission to hire or bond into Azrael's service any house-elf he wanted until he had all the help he needed. Dobby had been tearfully happy at that, but it took some reassuring to convince Dobby that while other house-elves would be in the Manor, it would always be Dobby Azrael called on, and Dobby who was his friend. Once Dobby understood that he wasn't being replaced, he was excited by the prospect of working with other house-elves again. House-elves need friends too, and Dobby hadn't acquired Azrael's antisocial habits.

Almost a month after Azrael and technically Dobby arrived in this world, and a little under a week until Azrael's appointment at the Manor with Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick, Azrael found himself wondering what he was going to do in this world. Go to Hogwarts, sure, because Fate had set it up and to be honest, what was the point of arguing with her? After that, though, what would his purpose be? In his old world, it had been to kill Voldemort, which he'd done but had also lost everything in the process. That wasn't to say that he wouldn't help kill Voldemort in this world, but he wasn't about to be a figurehead again. Not to mention that it would have to be Neville to strike the final blow. He might help kill Voldemort in this world, but it wasn't, wouldn't be, his purpose again.

So what would be his purpose? Getting decent scores on his O.W.L? He hadn't done a very good job of that the first time round. He sighed and gazed across the grounds. No, it wasn't big enough. He needed to do something big, something to help people, but not because he had to. Because he could, and because he was good at it. He wanted to have a choice. If he did something that caused his name to go down in the history books, he wanted it to be because he chose to. He didn't want to be famous for something that was never his choice. He already knew what that was like, and he didn't appreciate it.

What was he good at? Fighting, obviously, or he wouldn't be alive now. Flying too, they'd used brooms as a means to travel to and from raids, as it was less easily tracked than Floo, Portkey and Apparition. He was capable of pulling off some truly dangerous stunts on a broom now. He'd also learned how to feel magic, as a sort of hum in the back of his head. Whether the magic was from wards or the place itself, or highly magical creatures nearby, it didn't matter because he could still hear it humming a song of its own in his head, and if he paid enough attention to the song then he could identify the magic. The only reason he still used wandless magic detecting spells was because they were faster, and because he tended to get lost in a world of his own while feeling magic. Not a good thing if there actually was an attacker stalking you.

He'd managed to become quite the motivational speaker during the war, if only so people would be reminded of why it was important that they fight. There would have been a lot of desertions otherwise, especially on the days where there was no hope. In between convincing the vampires and werewolves not to fight with Voldemort and convincing the goblins to help them he had even learned to be a half-decent politician. Draco claimed that it was his Slytherin side showing through, and then waxed poetic about how Harry would be dead without that little bit of Slytherin brain. Azrael privately agreed, though he never admitted it to his blonde lieutenant.

Politics. Now there was a field Azrael knew relatively little about. What politics he did know revolved around other races, since the Wizengamot had been in Voldemort's pocket since the beginning and trying to gain allies there was suicide. Azrael thought back to the changes that had occurred after the Wizarding War. It had been magnificent, Azrael remembered. The feeling of change in the air, and for the Order, hope of a better future. Given the nature of wizards to sit by and ignore any changes, Azrael doubted that the same thing would happen again without a war to rip their world apart, but that didn't mean he couldn't try. If nothing else, it would be a hell of a challenge.

Without the offer of Wizengamot seats to dangle in front of the magical races, however, it would be harder to convince them to work with him and by extension, the Ministry. Not that he blamed them. Several lifetimes of oppression would not be forgotten easily. He'd have to be on good terms with a lot of races, and he'd have to know the customs of all of them. He grinned, and headed off to the library. Time to start brushing up on his Gobbledygook.

The goblins were probably the most influential magical race, since if they shut their doors and refused to trade the Wizarding economy would collapse. Azrael had worked closely with Goblins in his old world, their aims regarding Voldemort coinciding with his own. He'd learned all the main greetings in Gobbledygook and he'd also learned that they were far more attuned to Greater Magics than human Wizards.

The average goblin couldn't cast spells, but all goblins could sense the power of the earth, what wizards called ley lines. This meant they were also attuned to powers related to the earth. Or Powers, rather, as in the governing beings of the Earth, pure magic given form with a purpose. Powers like Death, Fate, Destiny and Luck. Not long after the war ended Harry had learned - or been allowed to learn, more accurately - that although Gringotts had been concerned with Voldemort's dominion over the Wizarding World, the main reason they had allied themselves with him was because they could feel Fate's magic working around him. Even then, they were not certain as to weather they did the right thing in helping him, until Fate's magic cleared from around him for just an instant, just long enough for the Goblins to see that he was also Master of Death.

Azrael idly wondered if they would be able to tell he was unusual now that he wasn't Master of Death. Fate had said that the eyes and the tattoos were symbols of his ability to call Fate and Death, respectively, so the goblins would probably know that something was off. What he wanted to know was if that would hinder or help him in his mission to campaign for equal rights.

Azrael gave a mental start at how much he sounded like Hermione about house-elves, and made a mental note to not force his opinions on other races. If house-elves wanted to stay enslaved, they could. He would just have to pass laws about abusing them.

That was how he spent the next week. Learning about the traditions and politics of various races, focusing mainly on the Wizengamot and the Goblins. He spent no small number of hours slogging through various books on the law of the Wizengamot, finding loopholes and thinking up strategies for various situations. He found that it was in many ways like fighting a war, except that there was no weapons, just words. He actually found it fun to plan for every situation, knowing that if he lost nobody would die. It was quite refreshing. Finally, though, the day to meet with Headmaster Dumbledore had arrived.

He'd had a complicated relationship with the old man. So much of the hardship in Harry's life had been his fault, the Dursleys, Sirius's death albeit indirectly, the hardships he had faced even inside the school. Yet, Dumbledore had lead the light for many years, and Azrael knew that Dumbledore had almost as hard a time leading as him. No matter the decisions Dumbledore had made regarding Harry, he did try to do what was right. Part of it was naiveté, believing the Dursleys would care for him, and part of it was the sacrifices he had been forced to make. Either way, after seeing first-hand how hard making decisions in the middle of a war could be, Azrael couldn't help but respect him, just a little.

It would be easier to dislike Dumbledore for what the Headmaster had put him through if Azrael couldn't understand and sometimes even agree with the decisions Dumbledore made. If he were in Dumbledore's place he probably would have placed Harry with the Dursleys as well. He would also have checked up on Harry to make sure the Dursleys weren't abusing him. Azrael just couldn't understand Dumbledore's never-ending well of belief in the better side of human nature. Azrael had lost faith in humanity when Cedric was killed, and the war stripped any remaining notions of honour and kindness overcoming greed and hatred. Teddy dying had not only ensured that any trace of forgiveness in himself was erased, but that he was also quite ruthless. That had only contributed to people's fear of him when the War ended.

Azrael's own pessimism regarding human nature aside, he did not hate Dumbledore. He did not even particularly dislike Dumbledore. Of course, it helped that Dumbledore had left him specific memories in his pensive, memories regarding Harry. It was clear that the memories depicted all of the Headmaster's perceived guilt towards Harry, how his actions had stolen the last Potter's childhood. It was painfully obvious that the man carried a boatload of guilt regarding him.

Azrael had prepared himself as much as he could to meet people that he had known in a different world, under a different name. His Occlumency shields were fully up, though he had carefully structured the outside of his mental shields to make it look like he was only taught a little actual Occlumency, and his naturally introverted state caused his shields to be more developed than was normal.

He had no doubt that the Headmaster and the Heads of the Houses had researched his history, as they did for all unusual students. The letter from Fate had said that he was going to Hogwarts to re-integrate with society after the attack that indirectly caused his eyes to be changed, and there was no way that they would be completely unaware of the history Fate set up for him. As Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot Dumbledore had the authority to pull any Auror records without justification if he wanted. Azrael had no doubt that he had already done so.

Of course, this meant that Azrael should expect Dumbledore to guess at the 'torture' he had endured that night. Dumbledore was clever enough to notice the discrepancy between the time the attack was reported and the time the Aurors arrived, and despite his belief that everyone deserved a second chance, Dumbledore was not stupid enough to deceive himself about Death Eater activities. Azrael just hoped he didn't try to do anything to 'help' him. Like Dobby, Dumbledore had a track record of hurting those he was trying to help.

Azrael sat in his study with several books on Arithmancy scattered around him, writing in a journal. This journal was not for recording events and feelings, however, but his notes on Arithmancy. During the war, he filled many journals with his notes on spells discovered, on strategies and wards, all spelled so only he could read them. Now those journals resided here, under lock and key in the library, and Azrael started a new one on Arithmancy.

Arithmancy had become his second goal. He'd never learned much about it but it had been invaluable in creating new spells during the war, and he had decided that he was going to learn to make and adjust spells the way Hermione had. It was a useful skill and based on maths, which Azrael found easy. It would be a while until he would know enough to start on his first goal, so Arithmancy would do until then.

At that moment Dobby popped in. "Visitors in the Floo room, Master Azrael." He said excitedly.

"Show them to the sitting room and tell them I'll be down in a minute." Azrael said, closing the journal gently and standing up. He was wearing Muggle clothes, a white dress shirt and black trousers not unlike the ones worn to school, with black shoes. His sleeves were rolled up to avoid getting ink stains on them, which exposed the part of his tattoo on his arm. He was calm and his eyes reflected that, flickering gently, like a candle. His hair, being wavy instead of gravity-defying now, tended to stay down if he brushed it enough, which he had. Once he made sure nothing else was out of place, he went to leave the room, but was stopped by Dobby.

"Master Azrael sir, Professor Dumbly sir said not to trouble you with going to the sitting room, that they would come to you." Dobby said tearfully, upset at the thought of failing Azrael.

"That's alright, Dobby. Do they know the way?" Azrael asked gently. Dobby nodded. "Professor Dumbly sir used point me spell."

Azrael smiled slightly, but it was a little stiff with annoyance. "Could you ask one of the other house-elves to guide them here please? And could you also bring up chairs for our guests?" Dobby nodded happily and popped away. Before long, five chairs appeared in the room. Azrael stared out of the window unseeingly.

What had made Dumbledore try to barge in like this? It was rude to invite yourself into someone else's home, and that was essentially what he'd done. Chances were, he either suspected Azrael of something or thought he was doing Azrael a favour. Azrael didn't think he'd done anything suspicious, so it was probably the latter.

A knock on the door jolted Azrael out of his thoughts. Calling out for them to come in, Azrael turned to face the door as it opened, admitting the people who had taught him for six years in a different world. He dismissed the house-elf, Tilly, with a kind smile, and met Dumbledore's twinkling gaze for the first time in years.

So, next chapter is going to be an interesting one. Sorry for stopping it here, but I've reached three thousand words. You'll just have to wait a little longer.

Thank you to everybody who has reviewed this story. Seriously, if it weren't for you, I couldn't be bothered.

Finally, if you love me, or the story, please review. Please. I'm begging here. Just two or three words, you can review even if you don't have an account. Tell me what you liked and what you didn't. Please?

Till next time, Shib. :)