More Than Surviving

by perpetualbluemoon

James Potter was not home on the evening of October 31st. Harry Potter grows up with a father who is determined to train him into a strong and capable adult. More than anything, he wants his son to survive. Harry struggles to become independent, while also trying to maintain a close relationship with his father, who he loves dearly - but he also wants to live, not just survive.

6. Chapter Six

A/N: Enjoy :)

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry and Draco stood across from each other, both silent, eyes locked. Neither boy moved, each watching the other carefully, sizing each other up. From the tension in the room, a bystander might assume that this was their first duel, as they were intensely focused – there was nothing casual about the way they faced each other.

In the blink of an eye the room exploded into a whirl of action and color. Spells erupted from their wands, each boy twisting and jumping to avoid the curses flying through the air. Chairs flew, and tables splintered as they were flung aside, both boys oblivious to the destruction they were inflicting upon the long-suffering furnishings of the classroom.

Harry leapt over a fallen cupboard, dodging a well-aimed curse from Draco, who was firing spells at Harry while hidden partially behind what was now a small pile of rubble. Harry, using his dittany wand, could not fire spells fast enough to truly hinder Draco, and Draco had an advantage with his little fort.

Harry continued dodging spells, his agile form flitting fluidly between the pieces of furniture. He returned fire less and less frequently, trying to coax Draco from his spot as his own stance began to falter. He was growing short of breath, the constant movement beginning to tire him.

"Accio!" Harry tried a spell he had only learned recently, pulling one of the chairs in front of Draco towards him, exposing the blonde.

Draco, with a smirk that was entirely too visible now that he was out in the open, fired a spell with a fine flourish of his wand, his stance relaxed and confident.

"Silencio!"

Harry's eyes widened comically as he was hit by Draco's silencing charm. His mouth opened to cast an equally nasty hex back, only to find that no sound emanated from his throat. In the last second before Draco could jinx him, Harry dove out of sight behind a table, thinking fast.

There were spells that he knew that didn't require spoken incantations, Harry thought. Many, though not all of the spells Harry knew wandlessly were also nonverbal, simply because wandless magic wasn't structured the way other types of magic were. Right now, that knowledge could save him his winning streak.

A spell came to mind just as a polished shoe appeared beside Harry, and before he could release his own spell, he heard Draco cast, "Stupefy."

When Harry awoke, his back was sore from lying on the floor of the classroom, and his glasses were digging uncomfortably into his head. Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes in confusion and trying to straighten his shirt. Harry looked around the room, worry pooling in his stomach.

The rubble that had decorated the room before was gone, the classroom now pristine and orderly. It took a moment for Harry to realize, but even his own shirt and hair were clean, the dust and dirt that normally covered him after a duel long gone.

Only when Harry stood, ready to rush from the room, did he see the small piece of parchment on the classroom floor, just beside where he had been laying.

Harry -

I'm really sorry I didn't wake you. I promise I would have, but it was only after my spell hit you that I realized that I don't know how to reverse it! I stayed here for some time, hoping you would wake up on your own, but it was getting late and I had to leave. I would have called a teacher, but I knew you didn't want them to know about our friendship.

In the end, I cleaned up the classroom, and I am leaving now. I'll stop by the library to see how long these spells usually last, and if I can't figure anything out, I'll get a teacher.

I'm really sorry...

I hope you wake up soon.

Draco

Harry stood there for a moment, unmoving. He held the page in his hand, blinking at it as he tried to decide what to make of it. He didn't want to be annoyed at Draco, but he was disappointed that Draco hadn't stayed in the room with him. It was scary to think that he had been lying on the floor of the classroom unprotected for the past... however long it had been. Harry frowned, and quickly cast a tempus charm.

He had missed Herbology entirely, and he was late to Charms. Harry groaned, leaning against a wall as he tried to think of a way to explain his late arrival to Flitwick.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry arrived at the second floor, bursting with curiosity. He was several minutes early, shifting his weight from side to side as he waited for Professor Snape to appear. He eyed the nondescript door a second time, marveling at the number of instances he had walked past it without a clue regarding what lay behind it.

Admittedly, he had never cared before about the contents of each and every classroom he passed. In fact, sometimes he wished he hadn't heard the giggles and whispers of students who thought privacy could be found in an empty classroom on an average afternoon. Now though... He wondered how many more rooms there were in the castle that he knew nothing about. Rooms that could offer him more than just privacy.

Harry was sure that any room that was easy to get to or highly sought after would be well-known amongst the student population, which made them hardly interesting to Harry. It was the benign-looking rooms that piqued Harry's interest now... Perhaps he would go exploring one day. It was likely that anything promising would probably be found in corridors that were hard to reach. Or, like the one he currently stood outside of, they might require some sort of password or authorization.

"Potter." The sound of Snape's voice roused Harry from his speculation, and he looked up to see Snape drawing nearer. "I was... Postponed by an urgent matter. We will have less time than I planned for, but we'll make do."

The professor turned to the door, drawing his wand with in one smooth motion. He placed his palm on the door, and muttered something under his breath. Harry waited, watching with interest.

"Potter," Snape spoke up suddenly. "Place your hand on the door for a moment."

Harry did as he was told. The plain black door was cool under his touch, and after a moment Professor Snape instructed him to remove it. With a light tap of the wand, the door swung open.

"I keyed you into this room," Professor Snape explained. "Since you aren't a member of staff, you don't have automatic access to the rooms that fall under this category. Now, however, you are free to come here whenever you like," the professor gave him a look. "I expect you to make full use of this privilege."

Harry nodded, consciously restraining himself from craning his neck to get a look at the room, as the professor was currently blocking his view. Instead, he cleared his mind and told himself to be patient, and in a moment the professor turned and strode into the room, allowing him his first view of the Brewery.

It was about as long as a regular classroom, but far wider. There were two rows of six stations, identical to one another, and along three of the walls there were deep cupboards bursting with ingredients. The last wall was an enormous blackboard, which was full of sketches, outlines and lists of ingredients.

"The board is intended for collaborations," Professor Snape illuminated, following Harry's gaze. "When a group works on one project, a spread of information like this makes it easier to spot new additions, and having all the details in one easily modifiable place is invaluable. Practically speaking, it is usually only used for projects that Professor Dumbledore asks the staff to work on, usually for the Hospital Wing but not always. I don't expect you to become involved in that, but should you take interest in it I suggest you speak to me before contributing."

"How could I possibly contribute?" Harry asked, looking confused.

"Admirable humility, Potter, but not all potions work requires genius. Even an amateur like yourself could help with such a project, provided they are careful and accurate in their work. Take a look over here," Snape pointed to a column of spiky handwriting on the board, labeled, To Be Tested.

"Crushed beetle eyes speed potion one three three beta four seven question mark," Harry read, not sure he understood what he was looking at. "Does that mean that we need to test whether crushed beetle eyes will speed up whatever potion one three three beta four seven is?"

"Precisely." Snape said dryly.

"How do I know which potion is potion one three three beta four seven?"

"In your spare time, Mr. Potter, you may browse the entries on the board. You'll find there a list of potions and their index numbers, something that ensures that projects do not get mixed up. Often, one potion will branch out into several test potions, so you'll often find that there are runes, letters or numerals to differentiate between them."

Harry nodded, and then took a few steps towards one of the stations. "Are these spoken for or can I use whichever I want?"

"Good question, Mr. Potter. The middle four stations are usually used for collaborations, so I suggest that you do not use them. The two beside them, in our direction, are used by myself and Madam Pomfrey, and on the far side the first station past the collaboratory ones is the one that Dumbledore uses," the professor paused, noting Harry's confused expression. "As a rule, you can brew at any station that isn't in use presently, but I suggest you settle in one of the stations at either end of the room, as those are the ones which are used less frequently by staff. Understood?"

"I think so, yes. So how can I use one of these?"

The stations each had two chairs, and a large marble counterspace for preparing ingredients, which sported an array of gleaming knives and a brass scale. Other equipment was stored in drawers beneath the counter, beside which were other drawers with containers for ingredients that were either personal property or that were prepared already for a potion. There were also pigeonholes, some of which held rolls of parchment.

The focal point of the stations, however, were the cauldrons. There were four pewter cauldrons; three large ones were arranged in the center of the station, with one large space for a fire beneath them. The fourth, a smaller cauldron, was set on the far corner of the countertop.

"Can you think of why the stations might be set up in this manner?" Professor Snape asked Harry. The professor leaned against the countertop as he spoke, clearly comfortable in this space. In fact, now that Harry came to think of it, he doubted that Snape felt this comfortable anywhere else.

"To brew several potions simultaneously." Harry answered immediately. He kept his arms firmly at his sides, but he was itching to begin, eyeing the cupboards full of ingredients longingly.

"Correct." The Professor looked pleased. "The three cauldrons before you can also be removed, so that a large batch of potion can be made in a bigger vessel."

Harry's eyes gleamed with interest. "What is the small cauldron for?"

Snape looked surprised at his question. "Certain elements require preparation," he said, "certainly that occurred to you?"

Harry frowned. "I see. I guess I supposed that it would be used for potions that require more precise brewing. Amortentia, for example, could be badly ruined and even become dangerous if it is brewed in a large amount."

"What made you ask then?"

"It's pewter," Harry shrugged. "Such volatile potions often require more neutral cauldrons, silver for example. Pewter could ruin a potion like that just as much as a larger cauldron could."

0o0o0o00o0o00o0o0o0o0

Harry -

I've been trying for some time now to launch an investigation into the staff at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore has insisted otherwise. As always, he is privy to more information than you or I are aware of, and I would not want to disrupt them. It would not be wise to cross such a powerful wizard.

Recently, however, I've become wary. In the past few weeks, you've been put in danger more than once, and that is not to my liking. There is very little that would make me cross Dumbledore, but your safety certainly does – for this, I am willing to take a risk.

I reached out to a friend of mine, a fellow auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, and we've put our heads together to try and investigate on a very minor scale. We do not plan a larger scale investigation into Hogwarts for now, but should our findings prove to be enough evidence to warrant such an investigation, then we will do so.

For now, I will tell you that our main suspect is none other than a man named Quirinus Quirrell, your defense professor. The irony does not escape me.

It would appear that this Quirrell is after something that we spoke about several weeks ago – an object hidden on the 3rd floor of the castle. As I mentioned to you before, it would appear that the object serves as a trap for the wizard, but once again, there must be forces we are not aware of at work. It is odd, if that is the case, that he has not yet made a move, and it seems strange that his attempts to attack you have been so weak and slight.

I think there is something that Dumbledore wants from him, but I can't imagine what that would be. If he were a weak wizard in possession of something valuable, I am certain Dumbledore would have taken it by force by now. If he is so dangerous, he would be capable enough to bypass whatever enchantments Dumbledore has placed around the object. I have yet to reach an understanding on the matter.

From my experience, dark wizards who have a clear target do not try such amateur tricks as Quirrell has thus far. It would appear that you are his secondary... assignment, perhaps. If the object is as protected as Dumbledore claims it is, then I worry that he will return his attentions to you with renewed vigor as he grows more frustrated in his other goal.

What I have said just now implies two things: the first, that Quirrell is working for someone. The second, which affects you, is that you will likely find yourself in situations that become more and more dangerous as the year progresses.

I have half a mind to take you out of Hogwarts. Either that, or hire a team of aurors to follow you everywhere you go.

For the time being, Kingsley has recommended that you stay in Hogwarts as you are presently until either we uncover more information about Quirrell, or something dangerous happens to you. I'm sure you can see why both scenarios are displeasing to me, but I must admit that withdrawing you now might be... rash.

I must urge you to take extra caution as you continue with your daily life at Hogwarts. Do not venture around the castle alone. Practice as much as you can with both wands, as well as wandlessly, and look up as many dueling spells as you can. Soon you'll be home for Christmas, and we can both breathe a sigh of relief.

Dad

Harry read his father's letter at breakfast, and he was glad he was sitting down, because his legs shook. He clenched his fist, trying to process what he had read, and he was breathing with difficulty. His heart was beating quickly, and his lips turned down, his mouth suddenly very dry.

"Are you okay?" It was Neville, who was looking at him with concern. The boys sat opposite each other, and they had been engaged in a pleasant conversation when the post arrived.

Harry didn't answer. He closed his eyes, taking a breath, trying to get a grip.

"Harry..."

A teacher. A teacher was trying to hurt him.

Harry felt a pain in his chest, like he had been punched. He felt terribly vulnerable, and he glanced at the Head Table worriedly. Thankfully, Quirrell wasn't there.

Harry suppressed a shudder.

"Should I call a teacher?" Neville's voice was worried.

"No," Harry spoke up finally. He spoke in a low voice, worried it would shake. "I'm - I'm okay."

"Are you sure? McGonagall is right over there, it's really not a big deal." Neville looked doubtful; his forehead furrowed with concern.

Harry cleared his mind, again taking a breath. He fingered his phoenix wand in its holster, and he forced himself to calm down. Freak out about this later, he told himself.

"I'm alright now," he said with certainty. "but thanks."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry made sure not to be alone for the rest of the day. It was tiring to have to be with people all the time, but at the same time Harry was thankful for their company. It wasn't only the slight feeling of security that he gained, but also the welcome distraction that his friends offered. He discussed classwork with Hermione as they ventured to the library together, he played a game of chess with Ron during break, and he even tried to teach Neville's toad a tune. While his final venture was significantly less successful than the ones before it, Harry found himself slowly growing calmer, and the anxiety that had filled him that morning gradually abated.

By the time Harry made his way to the Quidditch pitch for practice that evening, he was still bothered, more than he would like to admit, but his concerns were a lot milder in the effect they had on him. He wanted desperately to put the letter his father had sent out of his mind, and he used Quidditch for just that: he came early, helping Katie more than he would have out of the goodness of his heart. She was very pleased with him, and Harry found himself over-enthusiastic as he cheered her on.

"Go Katie! Katie is my queen! Katie is the best and she's on my team!" Harry yelled the ridiculous cheer over and over, and his throat began to feel sore after a short while, but he continued. He found Katie's blush to be mildly interesting, but he was too caught up in thinking about anything other than Quirrell to realize that there was anything other than Quidditch taking place. When the rest of the team finally arrived, he gave Katie a quick high five and the two sped to the ground as though nothing had happened. If you asked Harry, nothing did happen.

Practice that evening was intense, and Harry had already trained pretty hard that evening. Even so, he put all his effort into his plays, going over and over the motions. He caught the snitch and released it, caught it and released it, and he flew after bludgers only to dodge them when they flew at him. He practiced the same feint almost ten times in a row before Wood called to him -

"Harry!" A whistle blew. Harry pulled out of the dive and waited, the blood pounding in his ears, his breath coming short and fast. Across the pitch, Wood was looking at him worriedly.

"I appreciate your tenacity Harry, but you'll make yourself sick! Take a five-minute break and rejoin us, but this time, keep your head about you, alright?"

Harry nodded sheepishly before shooting towards the stands, doing a triple-loop before landing elegantly, sitting quickly on the nearest seat. Now that he was on solid land, he had to admit: his stomach felt queasy, and his muscles ached from the strain they had been subject to.

He thanked Merlin that he hadn't eaten that day as he stood and vomited over the railing, closing his eyes as his head spun.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry sat in the Brewery; eyes closed. The walk from the Great Hall was not a long one, but it was the first time he had been alone all day and it had made his heart beat worryingly fast.

It was time, Harry decided, for a calming draught. More of the potion he had been brewing as a stamina supplement would be in order as well. What he didn't want to do was return to the Hospital Wing, not now and not ever.

It was a silly thought. Of course, he would have to return to the Hospital Wing – he was tutored there by Connor, and he had no intentions of stopping his lessons with the older boy. He didn't have an aversion to the place, or even to Madam Pomfrey... He just didn't want to feel the way he had felt earlier that week. He didn't want to feel so helpless and out of control that he needed the healer's help, and he certainly didn't want to feel so vulnerable again.

He desperately wanted to feel calm and safe, and Harry was certain that brewing a potion himself was the easiest way to achieve that. He was sure Madam Pomfrey wouldn't give him an endless supply of calming draughts, and it was the only real solution he could think of.

Harry reached for the moonstone and began powdering it, the monotonous action soothing him as he remembered what Madam Pomfrey had said to him. The powder fell into a neat pile, and it grew steadily as Harry worked at it.

There are ways to prevent what happened today...

Harry scraped the powder into the cauldron, and began stirring gently. The potion was thick, and for a moment he was distracted as he dealt with it.

You don't need to wait until you crash to get help...

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"The incantation is Renervate," Harry said teasingly as Draco entered the room. Harry leaned back against a desk, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his friend faced him.

His friend. Somewhere along the way, Draco had become his friend.

"I know!" Draco smiled good-naturedly. "I looked it up after our duel, but you were gone by the time I got back."

"Aw, so smart," Harry couldn't help himself. "Knows how to open a book!"

"At least I was conscious to do that!" Draco shot back. "Mr. Smarty-pants here was drooling on the floor while I was in the library."

"I did not drool!"

"Did too!"

It was hard to tell which one of the boys moved first, but in a moment the room was alive with hexes and jinxes flying through the air, accompanied by curses and taunts of a different kind. Laughter rang out, the two boys relishing in the excitement and the challenge.

Too quickly the boys became serious, their conversation petering out as they grew short of breath, the air charged with competition as they took up shelter in the opposite ends of the classroom. Harry, armed this time with his phoenix wand, leisured behind a fallen cabinet as Draco slowly made his way out from behind a table, drawing closer and closer to Harry.

"Reducto!" Draco cried, and the cabinet in front of Harry splintered.

Harry, caught by surprise, quickly raised his shield charm, but it shattered almost immediately under Draco's next jinx. Harry cursed. Draco's shield charm was still significantly stronger than his.

"Petrificus totalus!" Harry yelled in desperation as Draco's lips formed another spell. Harry ducked behind a nearby table, sure that Draco would return fire immediately, only to hear a loud, thunk.

Harry poked his head above the table, eyeing the mess they had made of the room. The frames of several tables were thrown to one side, and smashed bits of wood covered the floor. Lying in the middle of a circle of dust was Draco, stiff as a board, arm still extended.

"Stupefy!" Harry cast the spell immediately. Though the boy was unconscious, Harry approached him cautiously. Once he had verified that Draco was really, truly out of it, Harry set to work restoring the classroom and cleaning himself off, though he left Draco dusty. It was only after a good five minutes that Harry woke Draco.

"You could have at least cleaned me up," Draco said grumpily as soon as he woke up.

"You're much more handsome like this," Harry laughed. "In all that dust, you kind of look like Moaning Myrtle."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"I don't understand," Hermione looked at Harry with sincere confusion. "I thought you mastered that spell already!"

They were in the Gryffindor common room, and Harry had just asked Hermione to help him. He shrugged, lowering his gaze as though embarrassed, though mentally he was kicking himself.

"I guess I only thought I got it. You don't have to help me, it's alright..." Harry bit his lip, hoping that Hermione would buy it. It wasn't the first time he had made this mistake, but she hadn't caught on that he was using two different wands thus far. Hopefully, his ruse would continue to go undetected.

"I'll help you," Hermione said quickly, taken aback by his strong reaction. "It's okay. It happens to me sometimes as well – I think I've got something, but really I haven't."

They got to work, and Harry was glad she hadn't figured him out. It was difficult enough to keep up with his father's expectations without the added strain of hiding his extra wand, and Harry felt himself overwhelmed at times, even without all the dangerous elements that worried him as well.

Harry found himself more and more thankful for classes like Herbology and Potions, where all the material had to be learned once and once only. It was a shame then, that Defense, which had once been another easy lesson, was now so stressful for him.

From the moment Harry arrived into the Defense classroom and until he reached his next class, Harry was on extra alert. His phoenix wand was in his hand comfortingly the entire time, and he had eyes only for Quirrell, watching the professor's every movement with trepidation. In fact, he was so intent on watching the man's every move that he had to re-read the material alone after each class, as his attention thoroughly diverted.

Harry dreaded the class. The man's stutter was prevalent as ever, and it irked Harry immensely. The man looked so innocent, so harmless... And there was no sign of anything sinister from Quirrell. Nothing. Not as much as a casual mention of you-know-who, and certainly no evil cackles or anything of the sort.

Harry didn't know if he should be worried or relieved. Quirrell was either the best actor he had ever seen, or his father was bonkers.

Neither sounded particularly comforting, and Harry continued to watch the man like a hawk. Not only in class, but also at mealtimes, and in the corridors. The most frightening was chancing upon the professor in the hallway, but Quirrell had never so much as glanced at him outside of the classroom, and Harry was beginning to think that he was being just a bit paranoid.

The man wanted to keep his job, didn't he?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Harry, do you mind staying a few minutes?" Madam Pomfrey called out to him from her room.

Harry had just finished his lesson with Connor, and he had planned to rush to the library to make the most of his free period. He sighed, lowering his bag from his shoulder and making turning, waiting for the healer to join him.

Madam Pomfrey closed the door of her office behind her as she left it, motioning to Harry to take a seat in the sitting area behind the desk and chairs.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a kind, calm voice.

"I'm alright," Harry said, not meeting her eyes. He felt awkward.

"Why didn't you come back to talk to me?" Madam Pomfrey asked. Her tone surprised Harry – it was neutral, not accusatory like he'd expected it to be.

Harry shrugged. "I thought about it, but I..."

"It takes a lot of courage to ask for help," the healer noted. "Maybe it was easier for you to come before because you were desperate."

Harry nodded, at loss for what to say. She was right, that much was clear, but he felt nervous, uncertain as to where this would lead.

"What are you worried about?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "What did you tell yourself that made you not want to come here?"

"Well..." Harry's mouth felt dry. "I guess I didn't want to turn it into a big deal. I really – I'm fine."

Madam Pomfrey didn't comment. She waited for him to go on, her expression unreadable, but Harry was certain she knew he was lying as much as he did.

"Okay maybe I'm not fine," Harry relented. "but coming to talk to you every week makes it very official... I'm not that disturbed."

"You don't have to be disturbed to have a chat with a healer," Madam Pomfrey said, almost sternly. "Perfectly healthy people have issues all the time, and it's entirely normal to discuss them with professionals. You don't have to be terminally ill to see a healer, and you don't have to be insane to speak with one either."

Harry didn't respond. He watched her warily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I have no interest in forcing you to come speak with me," the healer said in a gentler tone. "I just want you to be as healthy as you can be. You've said yourself that you aren't feeling okay, so why do you resist help? If you had a broken arm, would you tell me not to mend it?"

Harry still didn't answer, but his features softened somewhat. Madam Pomfrey could tell he was listening now.

"It can be very stressful and draining to try and deal with worry and anxiety all alone," Madam Pomfrey said softly. "And I know that's not the half of it. At the very least, you'll know that you aren't alone in dealing with your problems, and that in and of itself can be a great comfort."

"If I do come again," Harry began uncertainly. "What would it be like?"

"No different from what you've seen so far," Madam Pomfrey promised. "We'll talk, just like I've told you, and you can always choose what you want to share with me and what you don't. I don't want you to tell me anything that you aren't ready to reveal."

Harry nodded, a look of relief flitting across his face. "I have a free period at this time," he said, a small blush creeping up his face. "Should I stay after my lesson with Connor from now on?"

"I think that would be wise," Madam Pomfrey affirmed. "Do you have time for a chat now or are you rushing somewhere?"

Harry glanced at the door. "I... It's not as important," he folded his hands in his lap. "I can stay."

"Okay." Madam Pomfrey paused, waiting for him to settle. "From the little we've been able to speak, I've noticed that you tend to feel worried or anxious a lot of the time. How long have you been feeling this way?"

Harry looked at his hands. "A long time."

"Also before Hogwarts?" Madam Pomfrey asked gently.

"Yes," Harry said hesitantly. "But it's been a lot worse since I came here."

"What part of coming here was most difficult for you?" Madam Pomfrey prompted.

"The hardest – the hardest part –" Harry broke off, a lump rising in his throat. He took a deep breath and shook his head before refocusing. "The hardest part is being away from my father."

Madam Pomfrey nodded, waiting for Harry to compose himself. "Has it gotten any easier?"

Harry shook his head. "It was better in the beginning. I – I thought I would love it."

"What made you think that?"

"Because my father is so strict," Harry said quietly, guilt coloring his voice. "I thought I would like being away from him."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Hogwarts Express rumbled beneath him, and Harry listened to his friends' chatter beside him as he looked out the window. It was nearly nightfall, and they were nearly there - he was going home. Back to his father, back where he belonged, back where he was safe.

Harry let out a deep breath, smiling as it fogged up the glass. He drew a Christmas tree, and beside it, a bespectacled man and an equally charming little boy beside him.

It was winter break. Harry had never been away from home for so long before, and even though he had seen his father since term had started, he still missed him greatly.

Somewhere in the distance, a whistle blew. The train began to slow, and Harry turned to face the compartment again.

Hermione and Neville were both immersed in a game of Wizards' Chess, intently focused. So much so, that they hadn't realized how close they were to home.

"We're almost there!" Harry announced loudly. He stood, and began collecting items that were strewn around the compartment – his heavy winter cloak, a book he'd been reading on Potions, and a small vial of calming draught he'd taken to carrying with him wherever he went.

You never know when something might go wrong.

The train drew to a stop, and Hermione and Neville sat back in disappointment. They hadn't been able to finish their game after all. They stood and began collecting their things, discussing what they would have done if they could have done it had they not arrived when they did.

"I was going to go for your queen," Neville revealed. "And then for your bishop."

"That would be suicide!" Hermione asserted. "You would have been eaten before you managed it. My queen wasn't open for attack anyway."

"Well not immediately," Neville said, as though she was stupid for assuming such a thing. "I would have – hey! Oy Harry!"

Harry was at the door of the compartment, nearly out already. "Oh," Harry turned, a sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry. I didn't want to interrupt."

Hermione drew closer to him, smiling. "You wouldn't really leave without saying goodbye, would you?"

"Of course not," Harry lied, not meeting Neville's eyes as he moved to give her a hug.

"Bye mate," said Neville, clapping Harry on the bag. "I'll see you Christmas Eve?"

"Depends on Dad, really," Harry said with a shrug. "But I believe so."

A minute later, Harry hopped off the train. As he expected, his father was standing directly ahead of him, right beneath the wrought iron archway, a worried look on his face. Harry smiled to himself as he walked briskly towards his father, who caught side of him almost immediately.

"Dad!" Harry cried out in greeting as he reached his father, who pulled him into a tight hug. His father released him almost immediately, stepping back to look him over.

"You need a haircut," he observed seriously. A smile lit up his face, and he took his son's arm. "Let's go home."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Elky was beside herself with joy. "The young master is home!"

"Correct," Harry smiled. "Missed me?"

"Yes," Elky admitted, unembarrassed. "young master needs a haircut!"

Harry sighed. "Can't get anything past you, can I."

Harry took a seat on one of the stools in the kitchen as Elky fussed over him, leaning back contentedly. It was nice to be home; no crazy professors trying to kill him, no homework, no -

Harry sat up, an alarmed look on his face.

His father hadn't tested him yet. He hadn't asked a single question about schoolwork.

Anxiety bloomed in Harry's chest, but he forced himself to relax, clearing his mind and taking slow, deep breaths.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It was only the following day, after Harry had eaten and slept, that he returned to his father's office, like the old times. It was odd, standing there nervously as he had on many occasions before, looking down at the desk as he waited.

"Harry. Good, you are here." Harry's father entered the room, pausing several feet behind him, looking him over before coming to stand before him on the opposite side of the desk. "You've grown," he stated. "Levicorpus!"

Harry reacted immediately, his shield charm rising just in time. In such close quarters, it was quite a feat, though it certainly helped that he was using his phoenix wand. He cast a jinx back before dancing aside, ducking behind an armchair as his father stood in one spot, lazily firing curse after curse at Harry, who was seeing the study in a whole new light. It wasn't an office anymore; it was a battlefield. Every bookshelf was a hideout, every armchair or lamp was a sanctuary.

Harry returned fire, using every spell he could think of. To his chagrin, even a spell he hadn't used in months – the one to make clothes smell good – he used.

Never before had the carpet smelled quite so pleasant.

After several minutes, Harry was sure his father was toying with him. He still hadn't moved from his spot beside the desk, and he had already seen every spell in Harry's arsenal – and he knew it, too. Harry's father knew the curriculum better than the teachers at Hogwarts.

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled, dodging a nasty looking hex and sliding behind a statue of Gryffindor. "Locomotor Mortis!"

His father hardly reacted as he flicked the spells aside with his wand. He fired spell after spell at Harry, and he deflected the spells Harry sent as though they were a mere nuisance. Admittedly, Harry's father was a full-grown wizard and Harry only a child, but still.

Finally, as Harry crouched behind a bookshelf, his father's voice rang out. "Switch to your dittany wand." He didn't have to go on – Harry needed no warnings. His father would know if he didn't comply.

Harry switched the two as fast as he could, and after a moment of silence, more spells rang out.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry fell into his seat at dinner that evening, exhausted. His father had indeed tested him in every area: they dueled, of course, but he also quizzed him in things like Herbology and Defense. Even in Astronomy his father tested him... And that was not all. Just when he thought he was done, his father had lead him to the training room, and watched Harry perform a complete exercise routine.

As it were, Harry was pleased with himself. He had performed well in the duels – even wandlessly, which he was falling behind in, he managed to do okay, and the other duels were great - his practice with Draco was clearly paying off. Harry felt a pang in his chest as he realized that he wouldn't be able to see his friend until after the holidays – he wasn't like Neville, whom Harry could see whenever he liked.

Harry took another spoonful of soup, trying to eat quickly without attracting his father's notice. He really, really wanted to sink into a hot bath – he could tell that he would be sore the following day. It wasn't a full 24 hours since he had arrived home and he was already beat, but somehow, he wasn't surprised. That was his father – either you worked hard, or you worked hard.

"Harry."

Harry snapped to attention at the sound of his father's voice. His father had finished eating, and he focused now on Harry, eyes soft.

"You did well today, better than I expected. You are doing well in your classes, and your dueling is superb for your age. Even your physical exam was... Satisfactory. Would you like to say anything on the matter?"

Harry swallowed. "Yes, sir. I'm afraid that I haven't been exercising as much because I couldn't find a good time and place – I tried in the mornings next to the lake, but it's hard in winter, and especially alone – I - " Harry hung his head.

"I see." Harry's father's face was unreadable. "What can you tell me about dueling? You weren't fighting in corridors, were you?"

"I wasn't fighting," Harry said. He was unsure of how to continue.

"You didn't say anything about a dueling partner," His father went on. "Is there something I should know about?"

Harry stared at his plate, dread pooling in his stomach. "I um. I've been practicing dueling."

"With whom?" his father's voice was stern.

"I'm scared you'll be mad at me," Harry said in a small voice.

His father sighed. "I'll be mad at you if you don't tell me," he pointed out.

Harry took a deep breath. "Draco Malfoy."

There was a frigid silence. Then -

"How did this start?"

"On the train to Hogwarts," Harry began hesitantly. "He offered to be friends, and I – I said we couldn't because you wouldn't let." Harry peaked up at his father, who was looking at him, dumbfounded. "I told him we could be dueling partners, but that it would have to be a secret."

"If any of the students, or any of the teachers knew, I would know," his father surmised. "so, you've been training behind my back... how often?"

"Twice a week," Harry said in a low voice. "or once, if something big happened."

There was a moment of quiet, as his father thought it over.

"It's how I was able to fight the troll." Harry spoke up suddenly, desperation coloring his voice. "I wouldn't have known how to send spells rapid-fire if I hadn't tried it with Draco before."

His father looked up at him curiously. "I'll have to think about it," he said after a moment. "you're dismissed."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The following day was Christmas Eve, and Harry woke up bright and early. Elky had laid out a festive outfit for him on the bed, and he dressed slowly, limbs still heavy with sleep.

When he had finished, he drank a cup of hot chocolate which Elky had brought up to his room, and then he sat at his desk, penning a letter.

Draco -

My father found out last night about our duels. I tried to tell him that you've only helped me, that I was able to fight the troll only because of things I learned through practicing with you, but I don't know if I've managed to convince him.

I don't know what his final verdict will be. There's a chance that he'll let us continue dueling, as he didn't immediately shut it down. On the other hand, I've defied a direct order, and he might have us stop just to teach me a lesson.

So far, he hasn't told me to cut contact with you entirely, and for that I am grateful. I hope this letter finds you in peace, and I hope you will forgive me if it is the last I send. I have no way of knowing the final decision until it is made.

Fondest wishes,

Harry

Harry stood after completing his letter, and strode to the window where Hedwig was perched, her leg held out in anticipation of the letter she was about to deliver. Harry tied it to her absentmindedly. "Take it to Draco Malfoy," he told her softly. "At Malfoy Mannor."

Hedwig gave him a look, as though to say that she knew where to find Draco even before he told her, and she took off, spreading her white wings wide as she flew off into the crisp morning air.

Harry watched her go, wishing he could fly with her. Not for the first time, he wished he could be an animal. A snake, like Sage, or an owl, like Hedwig. Anything but a human with so many responsibilities and so many worries – and he was only eleven.

Harry looked down at his hands, recalling the conversation he had had with his father the night before, the one he had written to Draco about. On the one hand, he was relieved that he didn't have to hide anything from his father anymore, but on the other, he was worried. Worried more than ever before.

It was just... He really liked Draco. They were good friends, unexpectedly good friends, and Harry smiled when he thought about it. He found Draco's company invaluable. There was something in the way that they could train intensely and then joke lightly in the span of a few minutes that Harry liked very much, and the focused nature of the time they spent together was unlike his relationship with any other kid his age. He felt more grown up around Draco, more capable.

Besides, it was the one thing in his life that Harry felt had been entirely his own choice, nothing to do with his father, and that made it very close to his heart. He had become friends with Draco because he wanted to, not because anyone else wanted him to or expected him to.

Harry wrapped his arms around his stomach and closed his eyes, wishing with all his might that his father would let them him stay friends with Draco.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry sat in the entry hall, pretending to read his potions book, while he waited excitedly for Remus and Sirius to show up. It was their tradition for several years now that Remus and Sirius would come to the Potter Estate on Christmas Eve, to spend some time with James and Harry before the two set off to the Longbottoms.

There was a muffled knock, and then the door swung open, to reveal not one but two of Harry's favorite people in the word: Remus and Sirius had arrived together, both wrapped in cloaks and shawls. Harry abandoned his book and ran to the door, where Sirius caught him up in his arms and lifted him over his shoulder.

"Look what I've caught," Sirius said to Remus jokingly. "It looks like a Potter, but I'm not quite certain."

"Check its hair, that's what they always told me," Remus replied, eyes bright. "if it's black and messy then you are definitely right!"

Remus reached over, ruffling Harry's hair. "Yup, that's one messy Potter."

"Put me down!" Harry kicked his legs. "Put me down!"

Sirius shook his head. "What's the magic word?"

"Imperio!" Harry said in all seriousness. "Now let - "

Sirius put Harry down, looking him over interestedly. "I meant please," he elucidated. "Who taught you about unforgiveable curses?"

"Um, the library." Harry said, as though it were obvious. "And you guys, talking about all the Death Eaters that claimed to be Imperio-d so they were released of their charges."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Harry surveyed the scene before him, doing his best to restrain his giggles, though some escaped him against his will. They were at the Longbottoms – Augusta was drunk, and Alice and Harry's father were pretty close as well. Neville had fallen asleep in the middle of their game of Exploding Snap and all the cards had exploded, and his toad had found its way into the pudding.

All in all, the place was a wreck, but something about it was so... fun. Relaxing in a way. Harry had nothing to do and nowhere to be, and as he watched his father belt out Christmas carols with Frank, Harry sighed contentedly. It was late, even for Christmas Eve, and Harry smiled.

"So James," Alice called out to Harry's father in a slurred voice. "Is your kid doing okay at Hogwarts? I told ya – safest place in the world!"

"He's great, but it ain't because of the school," Harry's father retorted. "Some mighty funky stuff going on at Hogwarts."

"Like what?" Frank wanted to know. As the only adult in the room that was somewhat sober, he looked at James with a worried expression.

"You know," James waved a hand vaguely. "Plots, schemes, Dumbledore, Volde-"

"You-know-who," Frank cut him off.

"Precisely," James responded, nodding his head drunkenly. "he's at Hogwarts, and it's about to go down."

Harry, who had been watching the scene from the corner of the room, felt his heart suddenly begin to hammer in his chest.

He-who-must-not-be-named was at Hogwarts?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The following morning, Harry awoke in the Longbottom Mansion feeling worried. He didn't remember right away just what he was worried about, but when he did, his stomach sank.

His father had never told him anything about He-who-must-not-be-named being so near, so likely to attack. Harry bit his lip. Maybe it was just drunken stupidity, he told himself. People say things that are wrong or grossly exaggerated when they are drunk.

"Harry!" Neville appeared in the doorway, sticking his head inside the room. "Ah great, you're awake! Come on, let's go see our presents!"

Harry stood slowly, yawning as he stretched. He joined Neville in the hall, and the two padded towards the drawing room in their pajamas. It was early yet – Harry was sure none of the adults were awake yet, especially considering how much they drank.

When he arrived in the drawing room, Harry's jaw dropped. Beneath the enormous tree in the center of the room were two neat piles of presents. One of the elves, Harry assumed, had stuck a sign in the smaller pile that read Harry's name, and the other pile had Neville's.

The two boys rushed forward, falling on their knees beside the presents as they began tearing them open, their eyes wide. Harry noticed right away that he had more presents than ever before.

"I got books!" Harry announced, as he opened the package from his father. His breath caught as he carefully unwrapped them – two leather-bound tomes on Potions, their covers so faded that he couldn't make out their names. "Wow," Harry breathed.

Neville looked over at Harry, rolling his eyes. "Of course."

Harry gently opened the first book, gently turning the pages. The writing on the inside was less faded, but Harry realized immediately that the tome would be a difficult read, as more than half the text was in runes that he could not decipher without a codex. He frowned, wondering if his father was trying to hint to him something. His father wasn't usually the hinting type, but still...

Harry looked closer at the grainy pages, his eyes straining as he read the name of the first potion. He recoiled almost immediately. It was an Ageing potion, but not the childish, prank variety – it was a potion designed to make a person age very quickly, to the extent that anyone above the age of fifteen would die from consuming it. It was like one of those potions from the book he had retrieved from the restricted section, Harry realized. The type that would be harmless if it weren't so potent.

Harry shook his head as he closed the book, turning his attention to the other presents he had received, which were thankfully far more benign. Hermione had sent Harry a book on Quidditch. Ron had sent him some chocolate. Seamus and Dean had each sent Harry a postcard, which Harry wasn't sure what to make of. Funnily enough, even he had even gotten a present from Professor Snape – it made him laugh at first, but then he realized what it was – a very small container of acromantula venom, along with a note.

I collected this many years ago with your mother, the note read. Use it wisely.

Harry's jaw dropped. Snape knew his mother?

It wasn't that strange, Harry supposed. Although, if that was true, then likely Snape was also in school wish his father, and Remus, and Sirius, and that was just too weird to even think about.

Maybe they worked together, Harry thought. Surely aurors needed help from potions masters every now and again.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Later that evening, Harry stood in his father's office, waiting. His father was pouring over something, and Harry reminded himself to be patient, even as he was bursting with questions.

"Harry." His father spoke in an even tone as he looked Harry over. "I've asked you to come to my study, because I would like to give you one more present for Christmas."

Harry looked up in surprise. "You've already given me two books," Harry stated, confused. It wasn't like his father to give extra presents. In fact, it wasn't like his father to give presents at all. You got what you needed, and that was that.

"What I'd like to give you," his father went on, ignoring his son's surprise, "has been in our family for decades now. My father gave it to me when I was about your age, and I'm going to pass it on to you now."

Harry listened excitedly; eyes wide.

"I must have your promise that you will use it wisely," Harry's father spoke in a heavy tone. "it offers a protection unlike any other, if used correctly. Most importantly, as you have learned to appreciate, no one must know of it. For if they know of it, your advantage is lost. Understood?"

Harry nodded.

His father gave him one long look, and then opened the top drawer of his desk. He removed a velvet box about the size of a good book, and lifted the lid. Reaching into it, his father pulled out a shimmering fabric. He held it out to Harry, and Harry could see that it resembled a cloak, though it appeared to woven from water.

Harry took the cloak in his hand, and as the light cloth covered his hand, it disappeared. Harry yelped, dropping the cloak on the floor, and his hand reappeared, unblemished.

"It's an invisibility cloak," his father chuckled. "It doesn't bite."

"Thanks," Harry replied grumpily as he scooped it up, but he couldn't stay grumpy for long. The artefact was too fascinating. "I didn't know you had one of these!"

"What good would it do if you knew of it?" his father asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Touche," Harry muttered, wrapping the cloak around himself now. His entire body disappeared, his head floating in the air like a levitated skull. He was so enraptured by the artefact that he forgot entirely that he had wanted to speak to his father about anything.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0