Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & his world.

Chapter 10:

It was three weeks after Christmas, and Harry was browsing in Flourish & Blotts, the bookstore in Diagon Alley. Alvin Blotts seemed to have finally overcome his fear of him, even suggesting that Harry might like to vet any books about him before he stocked them. Harry was surprised and pleased. It would certainly help if people were not constantly told what a wicked and dangerous person he was. Freedom of opinion was all very well, but dangerous libels, and worse, spells put on unsuspecting readers, yes, he would very much like the opportunity to reduce the numbers of those books being sold.

Then and there, he was handed a thin children's book. He looked at it, interested. It purported to be a story of his travels when he had been overseas. He flipped through it, laughing occasionally at the totally imaginary adventures he was supposed to have had. After fifteen minutes, he handed it back. "Not a word of truth in it, but harmless. I especially liked the adventure with the murderous gang of trolls!"

And now Harry was ready to leave, again undecided whether to cautiously disapparate, or to leave as any other person would, hoping that no-one was waiting in ambush. There were no warning prickles of danger, but while he had learned to take notice of his feelings, he also knew that danger came sometimes without any warning whatsoever.

Finally, he silently disapparated from inside the bookshop, reappearing at the ice-cream shop for his favourite treat. Only five minutes afterward, he was joined by Ron and Mark. "We're on duty," Ron said. "The Ministry had word that you were out, and we've been sent to clean up the bodies!"

Harry laughed easily. "I'm hoping there won't be any. Word should have spread by now, maybe there'll never try again!" But both Ron and Mark noted that his back was to the wall, and his eyes were alert for danger. He asked, "Are you allowed to join me for an ice-cream?"

They looked at each other, and Mark said, "Why don't you join Harry here, and I'll watch from the corner."

So Ron sat down, and Harry asked about Ginny. "She seems really happy. David adores her." And then Ron looked carefully away from the face of his friend, and said casually, "She's going to have a baby."

There was a short pause, then Harry said perfectly calmly, "That was quick."

Ron answered, still not looking at Harry, "They did have a long engagement of course. I sometimes wondered if they'd ever get around to the actual wedding."

"I always knew they would in the end. David's a nice chap, I think she'll be very happy with him." and then he asked something that had been bothering him. "Is it common knowledge among the aurors that a stunner would kill me?"

Ron had heard about the killings in Hogsmeade, and its aftermath. "I've never heard it mentioned - but everyone at Hogwarts would have known about the Lollylegs Hex."

"Yes - I expect word has got around. If anyone asks, I just say that I've got a weak heart. I still want it kept quiet. Not many people can do a Death Curse, I don't want to add to my worries by having people trying to kill me with something like a Trip Jinx!"

Ron changed the subject. "How long are you planning on hanging around here?"

Harry stood up. "I've been here long enough now that they must know I'm here. It remains to be seen whether they'll try anything or not." His eyes were still warily searching his surroundings, checking the witches and wizards close for possible likely attackers. He nudged Ron, who had stood up with him. "See that wizard over there, on his own? I think I've seen him before. Do you know him?" Ron looked carefully at the wizard indicated, but said not.

Harry still stood, looking carefully all around him. "I'm going to walk along that long wall of Gringotts, and if nothing happens then, I'm going home. This is too nerve racking!" He grinned. "You know, I'm really quite hurt you're not wearing that shirt I gave you, I think it's just the thing for an auror on duty," and that was when the green streak of light appeared, aimed not at Harry, but at Ron.

Harry had heard the warning hiss of the incantation, but the direction took him by surprise, and he only just had time to lunge toward Ron and hit the spell to the ground. Harry was pale with the shock, and stared at his friend. "God, Ron, I'm sorry, I never thought they'd go for you!"

Mark was running to them, wand in hand. "Did you hear him disapparate?"

"No, he might still be here," said Ron, pulling himself together rather more quickly than Harry was managing.

The two aurors commanded the people who were close to stop and account for themselves. Harry still stood, pale-faced, but eyes everywhere as he waited. He had nearly lost his friend, and he blamed himself! He should not have let anyone come close to him when he knew he was probably still threatened. But why should anyone try and kill Ron? Was it a bad aim? Or did someone think that that was the best way to hurt Harry?

Or could it be a ploy to distract him so that he could be killed? It seemed that this might be the best guess, as a wizard stepped away from the rest of the crowd, and another death spell shot toward Harry. This time the death spell was returned to its originator, not coldly, as a necessary act, but viciously. This was the man who had nearly killed Ron! The effect was identical. The wizard whom Harry had indicated to Ron earlier, was dead.

Harry was not relaxed. He was still scanning the rest of the crowd, and even the area around, watching for suddenly apparating attackers, including John Dawlish! But the additional aurors who appeared were Alec McVeigh and Charles Mason. He had reason to distrust both these new arrivals. McVeigh, as head of department, had presumably organised the two attempts to take Harry when he had been just a teenager, as well as the more recent attempt not three months ago, and Mason had participated in the first of those attempts. So it was the coolly daunting Harry Potter who faced these senior aurors, rather than the more lively model he showed his friends.

He was not given a hard time. Mark and Ron were there to say exactly what happened, and Harry had committed no crime under wizarding law. After a brief statement, he was allowed to go. It was noticed, though, that even surrounded by aurors, he still had his back to the wall, and his eyes were never still. When he left, he silently disapparated from their midst, although this might have been more because of the waiting reporters and photographers than from fear of attack.

He had killed three times in the last few months. It seemed to have worked - the attacks stopped. Harry remained wary, however. He had been in danger too long to think that three deaths were going to make him safe forever. He was talking about it to Snape one day. "I don't know why they don't just use a gun. I don't reckon I could hit away a bullet, and there'd be less warning."

But Snape drawled in his sneering voice, "A gun? A muggle weapon? You really are showing your common roots."

Harry laughed at him. "Is that what it is? Simple snobbery?"

"A pure-blood wizard would not dream of using a muggle weapon."

Harry was looking at him, merriment on his face. "I got into a muggle fight last night - it was tremendous fun!"

Snape dropped his supercilious expression, and said affectionately, "Harry Potter, you're a barbarian!"

Harry had not forgotten the ancient wizard who had meddled with his mind. Dumbledore would not give him his name, although Harry was pretty sure he knew who it was. But he did continue to take Harry along to some of the social occasions that he attended, that were also attended by influential and senior witches and wizards. He began to know his way around this world.

One day, he found his prey. It was at a large evening function - many guests. Harry had been talking to John Perceval, when he spotted the ancient wizard talking to two witches, who looked just as ancient. "Who's that?" he asked Perceval, indicating the old wizard.

"Zachariah Dawlish," said Perceval.

"Ah," said Harry, "Do you know if he's any relation to John Dawlish, the auror?"

"I wouldn't know - but probably, I'd say."

Harry waited and watched for his opportunity. And then, when Dawlish was momentarily alone, he crossed the room to him. Dumbledore noticed and sprang to the alert. Harry was looking positively pantherish, but Dawlish had beaten him once, and Harry was only twenty-four - too young to take on a man like Dawlish.

Zachariah Dawlish could not believe his luck. The young fool was going to let him have another go. There was no time to get out his wand, which he had used for the initial persuasion on the previous occasion, but Dawlish was an excellent hypnotist, and like Dumbledore, was supremely confident that Harry would be under his control very quickly, even without magic.

He locked eyes with his prey, and Harry met his eyes - perfectly blandly at first, and then exerting his own will, so that it was Dawlish who could be manipulated as Harry chose. But Harry suddenly hated this, he was not going to meddle with anyone's mind, and he abruptly turned away, leaving Dawlish shaking his head and feeling dazed.

Harry glanced back at him, and reverted to his old schoolboys' trick. Zachariah Dawlish would suffer boils for the next couple of years. Dawlish was looking at him baffled, confused. Harry laughed in his face. "Now you can just wait and see what instructions I have left for you!"

Zachariah Dawlish gave him a sick look, and was off.

Dumbledore was at Harry's side. "Harry, are you all right? Why did you let him do it again?"

Harry grinned, "No, I did it to him. He's going to worry for years what I've told him to do!"

"What did you tell him to do, Harry?"

"Well, nothing actually - I decided I didn't approve of meddling with someone else's minds - so I gave him boils instead!"

Dumbledore gave a crack of laughter. "Still the schoolboy tricks, eh?"

But when they returned to Hogwarts, he wanted Harry to submit to another hypnotic examination - just to make sure that he really had won the encounter as Harry asserted. It really sounded too unlikely. But Harry refused and promised to search his own mind, as he'd been taught. But he did tell Dumbledore, in detail, what had occurred, and Dumbledore remembered the beaten look of Dawlish as he retreated and acknowledged that it really did sound as if Harry had won the encounter. He did not insist, and suspected that Harry would not have agreed this time in any case. And he knew for sure now, that he could not do it without Harry's cooperation.

**x**

Dumbledore continued to pass on to Harry some of his extensive knowledge of magic, gleaned from a lifetime of travel and experience. Harry's rearranged timetable gave him two hours on Tuesdays and two hours on Thursdays with Dumbledore, with the rest of those afternoons free to study. Harry was enthralled. He studied and listened and learned, both to Dumbledore's knowledge and to Dumbledore's philosophies.

Dumbledore learned something from Harry, too. He questioned him about that old link with Voldemort, trying to sort it into what he knew about such things. Harry gave him some information, but even after all these years, he was reluctant to say much. Dumbledore also questioned him about his magic, and didn't do much better. Harry simply didn't know how he was able to do the things he did.

He was able to able to put forward one theory for Dumbledore's consideration. The change in the way he did magic dated from when he had become sick again after appearing to be getting better. He was simply trying to make things easier for himself as he struggled to get to lessons while continually getting weaker. He even remembered what he thought was the first time - needing to go through a closed door with his hands full, and the door, instead, just opened for him.

Harry had no qualms of conscience about not doing as much work as the other teachers, as he still thought he was working only for bed and board. He had always been wealthy in the wizarding world, and like many a man born wealthy, he took it for granted, and never bothered counting Galleons. He was wrong about his pay. Dumbledore quietly paid his salary directly into Harry's vault at Gringotts, and he was also being paid, through Hermione, for his spell-breaking work, and he didn't know about that, either.

But Harry was earning his teacher's salary. He was still an extra in the school, filling in whenever wanted, but his work with study groups and remedial groups was raising the general standard of pass rates significantly. Dumbledore announced that the following year, his fourth year at the school, he was to be known as Professor Potter, a proposition that Harry found almost funny. He just couldn't imagine himself as a professor. The students often forgot to treat him as a professor, too. Most of the teachers had heard him being addressed as 'Harry' by the students now and then, and although Harry had worked quite hard to address the students formally and correctly, he still slipped sometimes..

He was earning his pay for his work at Hermione's office, too. What he did may have been easy for Harry Potter, but his patients were those people whom no-one else could help. Hermione was getting referrals from overseas now, and it was beginning to look like the weekly hour might be too little. Not that it took long for Harry to work his magic, but sometimes it took a while to shake off the grateful wizards and witches, many of whom had been suffering for decades.

**x**

Harry Potter knew how to enjoy himself. If life was going to be short, it should not be wasted. But sometimes Harry's ways of enjoying himself could be hazardous.

He never provoked muggle fights, but he was certainly guilty of putting himself in situations where they might occur. He still found such a challenge in a fist fight, that he found it hard to resist. Wizards, in general, scorned muggle fighting, regarding it as far beneath them. But, as Snape had said, Harry Potter really was a bit of a barbarian. He gained an immense satisfaction from extending himself without restraint.

Harry was lightning fast, and could deliver some pretty stinging blows, although he had never yet found the desire to really hurt. To him, his fights were purest enjoyment, and he didn't want them to end too soon. When, one Saturday evening, the man whom he was fighting seemed to be insufficient of a challenge, he was positively pleased when his enemies increased by two. He fought with a fierce grin on his face and contentment in his soul. And he spun and weaved and dodged - it was akin to the games of Quidditch that he used to enjoy. But that night he dodged right into a fist and was knocked out.

When he woke, he seemed to have a lot more sore places than when he had gone down. What concerned him more, he was in a muggle hospital and scheduled for a brain scan. So when opportunity permitted, he painfully got to his feet, picked up his possessions, (he kept his wand in a small kitbag on these excursions,) slipped behind a curtain, and disapparated.

It was habit that took him to his creeper, but he was in pain, and staggering rather. He changed his mind and signed himself in at the main gates. According to the records of the security guards, he hadn't been out, but they were accustomed to that with Harry and even agreed not to tell anyone that he was looking considerably the worse for wear.

He could have gone to the nurse, and had his bruises treated quickly and easily, but preferred to avoid a lecture, and, instead, cleaned himself up, and trusted to nature to heal him. But Sunday morning, he had to admit to himself that his black eye was not going to pass unnoticed. He was still hoping to avoid too much attention, so he skipped breakfast, and was intending to go as discreetly as he could to the hospital wing. Alas for his plans, when he stepped into the corridor, he ran straight into Professors McGonnagal and Flitwick.

Professor McGonnagal looked at him severely. "And what have you been up to, Mr. Potter?" she said, exactly as she would have done several years ago, when he had been a student.

But Harry wasn't a student any more, and since he was caught anyway, he was brazen, and grinned at her, "Playing with muggles, what else - and I had a glorious time!"

McGonnagal laughed, while Flitwick just looked at him in wonder. He never could fathom this brilliant young wizard.

Harry managed to avoid any other encounters until Madam Pomfrey had treated his bruises with her wonderfully effective violet ointment. When she found a couple of broken ribs, though, she found herself automatically reaching for her wand, and had to pull herself up short.

Harry noticed, and it occurred to him that this was yet another hazard of life. If he wound up at a wizard hospital, he would have to be very careful that no-one killed him with a healing spell.

He left the hospital, still with some pain from cracked ribs, but feeling much better, and with the black eye not nearly as conspicuous. Maybe it was worth the lecture. He wondered about brain scans. Did the brain scan of a wizard show differences to that of a muggle? Professor Dumbledore didn't know, and neither did Hermione when he asked her. Hermione, with her mediwizard contacts, promised to see if she could find out. It wasn't a matter of great moment, he was just curious.

It sometimes seemed that Harry Potter just couldn't keep out of trouble. Just about the time his ribs had healed, he came another cropper. He was playing on his broomstick. As usual, the only speed he seemed to understand was breakneck. Madam Pomfrey's attention had been drawn to his antics by one of her patients, and together they watched as Harry spun around and around in the air, before going into a steep dive toward the earth. The fifth year boy with her was looking for information, and said to her, "He's got a weak heart?" Madam Pomfrey didn't answer.

Harry was now zooming along the ground, weaving in and out of the trees, as he once had been able to do so effortlessly. Every now and then, he'd make a new attempt at this. He had overcome his handicap so successfully in normal activities, that he still thought that surely he could manage to overcome his broomstick's continual veer to the left. And as long as he concentrated very hard, and continually corrected himself, he wasn't doing too badly. Unfortunately, Hagrid called out to him, and Harry straightaway flew into a tree branch, knocking himself out.

So Madam Pomfrey, and the student, still watching, saw Hagrid gather him up in his arms, and she was at the door waiting for them as they arrived. He wasn't too bad, and she was unworried. It was only ten minutes before Harry blinked, stared at the ceiling for a minute, and said aloud, "I flew into a tree." He sat up in bed, lifted a hand to the lump on his forehead, and then rose rather shakily to his feet.

Madam Pomfrey said severely, "Lie down, Harry Potter. You're staying right here for at least the next hour!"

Harry smiled at her, and said meekly, "Yes, Poppy."

**x**

It was a warm Saturday in June. Harry Potter had been back in England for just three years. Students and staff were scattered around the grounds, many of them looking up when they saw him, waving greetings. But while he raised a hand in answer, he wanted to be alone today, and his quick stride carried him straight into the Dark Forest. No-one but Hagrid ever followed him there.

He didn't go far into the forest, just enough so that he could find solitude. He sat down on the grass, his back against the truck of a large tree, and stared into the distance.

Harry was feeling a sense of achievement. He had not done anything remarkable in these last three years - there would be no medals for this achievement. What he had managed to achieve was to stay alive. Life was not a minor thing to Harry Potter.

His enemy Cornelius Fudge was no longer Minister for Magic. He had been replaced by Amelia Bones, whom he trusted to be fair and reasonable. And Amelia Bones had given him permission to return a Death Curse to its originator. He had killed three times since then. And maybe what Dumbledore had said was true - that each time a person killed, he lost a part of himself. But Harry found that, with the killings, two before Christmas, one not long after, he had gained a lot of freedom. As he had long suspected, when retribution became likely, his surviving attackers lost interest in their game and left him alone.

Another thing that Harry had managed in these last three years, was to become a knowledgeable and competent teacher. He remembered how unprepared he had felt at the beginning. He was sure that Dumbledore only offered him the job in the first place, as a charitable act, but he had yearned for a life in the wizarding world that he loved, and had accepted the job anyway. But by now, he had confidence in his role, and felt that maybe he was even earning the salary that Dumbledore had finally told him was being paid. Next year, he was to be Professor Potter, a title which he still found slightly ludicrous.

He wasn't sure whether he should really be proud of his illegitimate child, Julia, but he most definitely was. He was quite sure that Julia was the most wonderful child in creation - beautiful, bright, charming. He visited her parents regularly, and was a favourite with not only the black-haired minx that was Julia, but with her parents, who were already finding that child a handful.

One of the most difficult things, though, that Harry had had to do, was simply to face people again, after making a spectacular fool of himself the previous October. He still burned with shame when he thought of that awful night, not only had he betrayed his terror of imprisonment, but he had sobbed in Ginny's arms - and in front of Severus Snape, Madam Pomfrey, Albus Dumbledore, and his best friends Ron and Hermione.

Harry Potter had entered a peaceful and contented phase of his life. He knew he still had enemies, he knew he could still be abruptly killed if exposed to even an innocuous spell, but he was feeling very content in the warmth of the June day.

The End.