Book Two

Being a continued exploration of the differences in Mr. Potter's life pursuant to his understanding Victorian flower language at age 11.

Harry Potter, all related characters, and the original Harry Potter narrative are properties of J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 16

Calm

Mid-March, Neville took a weekend to visit his Gran.

"She's arranged it all with Lockhart," he told Harry before he left. "She didn't like him at first, but I think he's growing on her."

"Good luck" Harry wished him. "And say 'hi' to your mum and dad for me."

Neville nodded.

True to their word, the Quidditch-loving students had gotten into another brawl after the Slytherin-Hufflepuff match (a solid win for Hufflepuff, whose Seeker, Cedric Diggory, had out-sought Draco after forty-two minutes of intense rain-soaked Quidditch fun), prompted by Draco taunting Ron.

"Missed the Snitch again, Weasley."

Ron glared at the scion of the Ancient and Most Honorable House Malfoy. "I wasn't supposed to catch it, Draco," he pointed out. "That was your job."

Draco punched him. If not for the friendly grin he was wearing at the time, he'd have ended up with at least twice as many broken bones. Harry had come out of that melee with a bloody nose, a black eye, and a bruised tibia - far better than his usual fare against Dudley, two years prior.

Ron finally managed to catch the Snitch against Ravenclaw, in the last Quidditch match of the year. There was a brawl regardless.

Dear Godfather and Legal Guardian Sirius,

Hogwarts has been almost trouble-free since Scion got specs and earmuffs. Come visit sometime! Hermione is getting bogged down in NEWTS material, but she's making up for it with Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and something called Fuuin technique that she got from Magical The Orient. The Magical Orient? The secret wizards living in China and Japan. Xing Charleson put her up to it, you remember him from when Dumbledore banished Francis.

Speaking of Neville, he's been spending large chunks of his family fortune on a certain somewhat sleazy High Obliviator. Lockhart's getting results, though; Neville says his parents can hold a conversation now, albeit a very repetitive one.

I asked Dumbledore about leaving the Dursleys to live happy mundane lives without me, and he got all evasive and defensive. Not sure if he's worried about your trustworthiness - he shouldn't be, you were mostly innocent - or if he wants to keep me with the Dursleys for some cryptic reason.

Hissy hissy hiss hiss,

Harry.

Dear overly formal Godson Harry,

I called Arthur Weasley to come raid my old family house, and I have to tell you, we are having an AMAZING time! I was sad at first - since I remember every day I spent here - but once we started wrecking sh- er, shabby old wizard heirlooms -

Harry grinned. From the tone of the letter, Sirius was going to be a very fun legal guardian.

- things got full-on EXCITING. I'm reclaiming my property and doing therapy, all in one!

Bad news, it'll probably take at least a full year of raids to get this place livable. I've got the kitchen almost ready, but the entry... let's just say I remember that dusty old hallway VERY well.

Whatever happens, I'll be looking out for you. That's what Godfathers are supposed to do, right? Well, that and make you offers you can't refuse. I'll get to work on Dumbledore. Stay sharp, and keep away from knife-wielding maniacs.

Padfoot

I mean, Sirius.

P.S. found some contraband in Dear Old Bat's cupboard. Saving some for when you're of age. This is REALLY good mind-altering magical chemical.

"And if you're being hunted by a deranged Dark wizard, what do you do?" Lupin inquired.

Harry raised his hand.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Er, turn into a rat and hide in the sewers?"

Lupin rolled his eyes. "No, Harry. We can see from experience that hiding in the sewers only gets you killed." He sighed. "Poor Peter. Yes, Blaise?"

"Use a mind-altering hex on him so he thinks you're his friend?"

Lupin considered that for a moment. "No," he decided, "Dark wizards tend to betray their closest friends." He sighed again. "Poor Peter. All alone. Hermione!"

"Contact the nearest authority figure, gather allies, and make a stand with backup mere minutes away from your location," she recited.

"Not bad, not bad," Lupin admitted. "But as we know, some Dark wizards will only strike when you're by yourself, vulnerable. What do you do then?"

Harry sank a little lower behind his desk.

"Draco!"

"Usurp his most valuable resources," Draco suggested. "Distract him with taunts, then crush the source of his Dark power in an instant."

"Very good!" Lupin commended him. "Ten points for Slytherin. Anyone else have a good plan?"

Ron raised his hand.

"Yes, Ron?"

"Set a series of simple traps to distract and delay your enemy, then Stun him without hesitation when the opportunity arises," Ron told them. "Spring-loaded pies with hot pepper topping are a favorite, but you can make do with a tripwire or overbalanced invisible rocks."

Lupin smiled. "Also good! Ten points for Gryffindor! Any questions?"

"Er," Pansy Parkinson asked querulously. "Are you a werewolf?"

Lupin sighed. "Only during the full moon, and as I'm sure you've all noticed I absent myself from the castle on those nights."

Pansy, and several other Slytherins of varying gender, shrieked girlishly.

Harry stared at the Slytherin seated to his left. "That... was the most unmanly thing I've ever seen you do," he said, disappointed.

Vincent loomed sheepishly.

"So, Greg," Harry opened, "how's things?"

Gregory Goyle quirked an eyebrow at him. "Things, including grammatical flexibility, are quite well, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Just wondering," he elaborated. "I mean, you haven't been to Hagrid's Tea Time for a few months, and we never talk anymore..."

"Quidditch is time-consuming," evaded Greg. "And maintaining my legal skills through the extensive cranial trauma you yourself have inflicted-"

"Sorry," Harry apologized. "It was a brawl, though. And you punched me in the nose!"

Greg clenched his teeth. "Never the less, I would prefer to have only limited engagements with pain and suffering."

Harry shrugged. "Into each life a little explosive potion must fall," he soliloquized.

Greg stopped walking. "Harry, much as I would prefer to remain impartial in this discussion, I have observed a disturbingly cavalier attitude in you of late." He caught Harry's gaze, and kept talking. "Most disturbingly towards incidents of physical injury and mortal peril. I cannot help but assume that you have suffered severe post-traumatic stress, and are endeavoring to minimize the cognitive aftershocks of consecutive near-death scenarios by convincing yourself that you have acquired a taste for such unnecessary danger."

Harry took a moment to parse that out. "So... you think I'm throwing myself into danger because I keep getting thrown into danger, and I decided to like it instead of going insane?"

Greg nodded.

"Huh," Harry replied. "Never thought of it that way. But I did promise Dobby that I wouldn't try to get myself killed..."

"Then I implore you, take action to preserve the integrity of your word."

Harry mentally translated that. "Right. No more whole-school brawls, and I'll try not to taunt any dragons."

Greg smiled at that. "An empty promise, as we are suffering a dearth of local hexapods."

"Local whats?"

"Hexapods. Creatures with six limbs. Dragons are traditionally depicted as four-legged, and additionally bear wings, thus fitting the description as most creatures do not."

"Er," Harry objected, remembering something from last Friday's teatime. "There's centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, though."

Greg's eyebrows rose in unison. "Indeed?" Harry wondered for a moment if Greg could do the one-eyebrow thing.

"Indeed," echoed Harry.

Greg smiled. "Then it seems I was mistaken. I shall see you in Potions, Harry."

"Right. Good talking to you."

The last day of term approached without much fuss, although Harry kept sending notes to Dumbledore, pestering him to let Harry leave the Dursleys. Iris was getting plenty of exercise, even though Dumbledore's replies didn't say much.

The rumour that Harry had stared down a Basilisk was quickly put to truth, as Harry offered to take anyone who wanted to go down into the Chamber to chat with Scionny. Scionny himself had learned to recognize about ten words in English. He couldn't speak it at all, yet. Cedric Diggory and Luna were the only students who took Harry up on his offer - aside from half of Gryffindor and very nearly all of Slytherin.

Final exams pulled around, and Harry was surprised by his progress. He managed to brew a rather effective Clarity Concoction of his own in Potions; Not quite as clear as Dumbledore's, but it managed to earn grudging approval from Snape. Transfiguration was as impossible as ever, of course. Harry was beginning to suspect that McGonagall was the Snape of Gryffindor.

"Final examination!" Lupin announced. "Complete this obstacle course. I'll be keeping my eyes on you, so don't worry - you probably won't die!"

Harry grinned weakly, then nodded to Greg.

"Neville, you'll be going last, and I think that's all I can say without spoiling the test."

Neville nodded.

Harry wound up having some trouble with the Grindylows, but the Boggart was still Neville with the Necronomicon. Harry turned it into Neville with a book of humorous limericks before it could read anything dangerous.

Harry had to change that to Neville making commentary on Wizarding culture before he could manage a laugh - apparently, Harry didn't know any good limericks.

Harry was called up to Dumbledore's office after the end-of-year feast. Gryffindor had won with seventy thousand points, Slytherin in a close second with sixty-three thousand and twelve.

"Waffles," Harry told the Gargoyle.

It blinked at him.

"Er, waffles? The food?" Harry repeated. "I was assured it was waffles."

Harry felt as though the Gargoyle was rolling its eyes at him. He couldn't really tell, though, as they were smooth undifferentiated stone. It stepped aside.

"Thanks, er, Gargoyle guardian," Harry told it as he entered the stairwell.

He thought he saw a hint of a rocky smile as the Gargoyle slid back into place.

Harry was unhappy. Not happy, was Harry.

"Why?"

Dumbledore smiled at him. It was a friendly smile, but uncomfortably condescending. "Because you must not die, Harry."

"Not a problem, I've got that evil scar thing going on," Harry reminded the old wizard.

Dumbledore sighed, closing his eyes in a moment of weariness. "Harry," he began, refocusing on Harry's eyes. "You must not rely on-"

"On the scar to keep me alive, right," Harry interrupted. "Greg talked it over with me last Tuesday. But-"

"Harry," Dumbledore said, overrunning Harry's line of thought, "Voldemort has returned, once, in your first year. I have learned much of his methods... he shall return again, perhaps many times."

Harry experienced a sensation which he could only describe as concentrated unfairness.

"However," continued Dumbledore, "if you defeat him again, and perhaps a fourth time, why-"

"We'll find all his evil soul fragments, destroy them, kill my scar, and save the world?"

Dumbledore smiled, a faint twinkling in his eyes. "Quite so!"

Harry tightened his Occlumency. He didn't think he'd be able to block out a Leglimencer as powerful as Dumbledore, but he did remember an association between twinkly eyes and mind-reading. "Seems like a lot of work for one small boy," he complained.

Dumbledore nodded. "It is, and I shall do everything I can to lighten your burdens. I believe you have already discovered the, shall we say, magic that friendship can bestow."

"Yes, Headmaster," Harry admitted. "My friends are all, well, amazing. And until the whole business with Scionny, I didn't think I really had anything amazing to contribute-" Harry sighed. "I mean, I know the Parseltongue is just part of the evil scar, but it's been useful."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, blinked, and continued listening.

"Er, I really like being useful. It makes me feel like my life is worth something, which," Harry swallowed, hesitating, until he remembered that Dumbledore had already seen all his memories, "well, it's a new feeling for me."

Tiny sparkling tears wormed their way down the creases in Dumbledore's face.

Harry took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. "So I'm wondering, sir, I'm wondering - why am I the one that has to fight Voldemort?"

Dumbledore inhaled, a stern expression on his aged brow.

"Oh, and how do we know if we've gotten all his soul-pieces?" Harry added.

Dumbledore winced. He inhaled again, preparing to speak.

"And, er, I know you said the Dursleys have that whole family blood magic protecting me... but I keep running into Voldemort here at Hogwarts anyway. Although I am glad he hasn't had minions yet."

Dumbledore smiled, nodding, and opened his mouth to reply.

"But Scionny counts, and he did suborn our Dementors, so I guess not having his old Death Eaters in the school is kind of moot."

Dumbledore put a lemon drop in his open mouth, closed it, and continued listening.

After a few seconds of surprised silence, Harry continued. "Er, do I also have to break his soul pieces myself, or can that be delegated?"

Dumbledore finished his lemon drop. Satisfied that Harry was done asking questions for the time being, the wrinkly wizard began to reply. "Let me begin, Harry," he began, "by telling you how absolutely valuable your life is. A value not dependent on your destiny, nor governed by your ties to Voldemort."

Harry nodded, a bit puzzled.

"I believe the time has come to tell you of the prophecy," Dumbledore told him.

Harry raised his left eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me that I'm the Chosen One, who will vanquish the Lord of Shadows, bringing a thousand years of prosperity to Magical Britain?"

Dumbledore smiled again, another twinkle in his eye. "No, Harry, I fear this prophecy is rather harsher. Listen closely..."

One shall be born with the power to slay the Dark Lord, born as the seventh month dies to those who have twice defied him.
The Dark Lord shall mark him as equal, but he shall have truths that the other knows not.
Thrice shall they clash, and thrice fall, yet only at the last shall fate be sealed.

"Which pretty much means I have to kill Voldemort. Again. Probably more than once."

Ron was staring. Specifically, he was staring at his Conspiracy Board, which had made a marvelous recovery from Peeves' post-Chamber antics. Ron had revealed that most - not all - of his question-mark junctions were actually stand-ins for secrets too sensitive to put down in writing.

Harry was fascinated by the changes the Board had gone through after Ron had been brought up to speed on Riddle's Diary.

Hermione sighed. "I do hope you get enough time to learn at least one of the Ancient Spells that Scionny has been guarding," she reminded him. "After all, Voldemort will have learned all of them."

"Right," Harry agreed, shivering. "So, er, does anyone have any ideas?"

"You could join the Death Eaters," suggested Luna, who had managed to get into the Gryffindor Common Room somehow and was hanging upside-down from the back of an overstuffed chair. "I don't think he'd expect that."

"Not happening, Luna," Harry admonished. "I don't want to eat Death."

"You already did, though," Neville reminded him. "With the Basilisk, and when you were a baby."

Harry nodded, blushing. "But how do we stop him now?"

"Do we even have to?" Ron asked. "I mean, he's been beaten, he can't come back without possessing somebody - and that makes them both dumber than usual." He leaned away from the Board, adjusting a few threads.

"Not to mention that awful two-faced head thing he does," added Hermione.

Harry shuddered again at the memory. "Well, that's-"

"Unless Malfoy's dad's been sending his goons on secret missions to wherever Voldemort's spirit is hiding, and has a secret plan to revive him with the body of a dragon and the power of Merlin himself," Ron cut in. "Because if that happens, Magical Britain is pretty much doomed."

Harry, along with everyone but Luna, stared at Ron for a few seconds. "Er," he managed, "is that likely?"

Ron consulted the conspiracy board. "Nah," he decided. "Unless Malfoy got Quirrell's memories before Quirrell lost them, his minions found Voldemort in the same place, Voldemort trusted them enough to not possess them for his own gain, and somebody made a ritual for reviving a mostly-dead wizard in a dragon's body."

Harry fervently hoped nobody had invented such a ritual.

"So probably it's going to be somebody else getting possessed, or taking orders from one of Voldemort's soul shards," Ron concluded.

"Or several of those at once," Neville appended.

"Or a swarm of Heliopaths," Luna added tangentially.

Harry turned to her. "Er, how did you even get in here?"

"Swordfish."

Dear irresponsible and mostly-absentee Godfather Sirius,

I had a chat with Dumbledore, who says the thing with the Dursleys is all about some Olde Magyck blood protections. Since he's Dumbledore, and apparently my legal guardian somehow, it looks like I'm stuck with my unpleasant, repressive and frequently violent Muggle relatives.

Glad to hear you're making good, happy memories. Maybe when your house is all shiny and habitable, we can re-negotiate with Dumbledore? Looking forward to adventures.

Ron, Hermione, Luna and Iris all say 'hi'. Draco says he'll punch you in the nose if you don't get a haircut, Neville says 'boo', which is downright terrifying if you know about Neville and Boggarts, and Fred and George say they want a rematch now that you're you again.

Stay odd,

Harry

"Right, well, see you next year," said Harry, shaking hands with the entire Weasley family. Ginny wouldn't look him in the eye for some reason, but she promised to write despite her apparent shyness.

Harry thought her mother might have nudged her to that end, but it didn't matter - Ginny was, as her House implied, brilliant at discussing strange and interesting topics, and Harry, as a Gryffindor, looked forward to the challenge of rousing intellectual discussion with one of the up and coming stars of Ravenclaw.

Luna had already left the station, but Harry expected some very confusing letters from her, as well.

"Father should be here somewhere," Draco muttered. "It's not like him to be late."

Vincent concurred. By looming.

"Right you are, Mr. Loom," Harry told him. "Have fun over the summer. Take care, too," he advised Draco and his bodyguards. "There's probably trouble brewing somewhere."

"That is highly probable," Greg replied. "Trouble, in various forms, is invariably fermenting and fomenting in some corner of the civilized world at nearly every waking moment."

Harry grinned at him. "Prattle on, Mr. Stalker."

"Prattle?" Greg asked, an affronted glint in his eyes.

"Er, babble? Talk a lot?"

"Pontificate."

Harry shrugged. "Whatever works."

Greg sighed. "I really must insist on proper -"

"There he is," Draco interrupted. "Come on."

Lucius Malfoy walked through the dispersing crowd, which parted at the approach of his six-and-a-half foot tall sinistral bodyguard, Mr. Crabbe Senior. The man at Lucius' right hand was walking slowly, completely failing to intimidate the intervening bystanders - Harry thought he was favoring his right leg, and also that this wiry bundle of muscle and scars must be none other than Goyle Senior.

"That's your dad, then?" Harry asked, gesturing towards the smaller of Lucius' subordinates.

Greg nodded. "Although it would appear that he has injured himself in the execution of his duties," he noted.

"Yeah, I thought I saw a limp," Harry confirmed. "Take care, Greg."

Greg fixed him with a serious stare. "And remember your promises, Fatechanger," he replied.

Harry was stunned for a moment. Fatechanger? Did Greg just give me a nickname? "Er," he stammered, "thanks, Greg. I will."

Mr. Stalker flashed a grim smile at him, then stalked off to the Malfoy and Minions Reunion.

Harry turned towards the exit, ready to meet the Dursleys for yet another awkward ride 'home'. At least I can return Aunt Petunia's book on Flower Language, he assuaged himself. Forgot about that last year, with all the visiting and such.

Dear somewhat insulting godson Harry;

I'll be at Number Four Privet Drive in about ten minutes. Make sure your uncle doesn't try to blast my fool head off with one of those shiny Muggle guns I keep seeing in the theatre.

Sirius

THUS ENDS BOOK TWO

-O-