CHAPTER SEVEN

Bitter Work

Harry had left the team in a bad spot, and he didn't even seem to care.

From a distance, Michael had watched as the entirety of their house turned their attention to his former best friend, at first trying to cajole him back onto the team with promises of glory and popularity, and when that obviously didn't work they turned against him, calling him all sorts of names both to his face and behind his back.

But Harry allowed it all to wash over him without a care.

It was a quality that Michael had always admired in Harry, how he truly didn't care about how other people saw him. It allowed him to move forward in life without any burden from his peers and gave him the ability to form opinions for himself. He and Michael would never have even become friends if Harry at lacked that quality, but that wasn't to say it was wholly good.

Now that he had gained a little distance from his old group of friends, Michael was able to see just how detached Harry was, how detached he had always been, both from the rest of the world, and from his own peers. Unless it directly affected him in some way, Harry didn't care enough to pay any attention to things that happened around him, and even if it did affect him, chances were he wouldn't be bothered to do anything about it.

Michael had seen it last year, how Harry had brushed aside the praise and condemnation that the House of the Wise showered him with in reaction to whatever he had done most recently, and how he looked right through people who seemed to think they were his friend. Unless they managed to somehow catch his attention, both individuals and groups weren't even worth acknowledging in his mind.

However, as cold as this detached quality was, Michael wished that he too possessed it.

Like his return to the wider Wizarding World, Michael had dreaded his return to the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, but unlike everything else whatever repercussions awaited him when he returned to the Hogwarts Quidditch Stadium was unrelated to Elissa Corner and was more than well earned on his part.

Michael had let the team down last term, as he had allowed all that had happened in the Forbidden Forest and with Robert to affect his performance in the air during the finals. Harry had been more than justified in calling him out on it, as he had more or less abandoned his team when they needed him most.

But much to his surprise, no one else seemed to hold it against him. In fact, they just seemed glad that he was alright.

Now, on the first Saturday of term after a lengthy week of classes, the six remaining players of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team stood in the centre of the pitch, watching the eleven Seeker hopefuls jostle each other around.

Together, Michael and the other players began to help Fiona guide the Seeker wannabes through their drills, and he could feel the team's collective stress begin to fade as more than one player showed promise. Harry was talented yes, but that didn't mean a replacement couldn't be found.

In the end, after taking the hopefuls through tests of speed, agility and catching ability, their new Seeker revealed themselves. It was a clear choice, as Cho Chang was not only the fastest flier of all the hopefuls but was the only one to catch the Snitch more than once.

After the other players were dismissed and try-outs were called to an end, Fiona took Cho to one side and began to give her all the details that would be necessary for a new player to know. Michael was about to take that as his cue to leave, but he was stopped by Eddie and Maria.

Eddie slung his arm around his shoulders. "How would you like to help us with a little errand, Mickey?"

Michael frowned. He hated having his name shortened. "I would, but the last time I helped you out with a little errand my brother ended up in prison." It was meant to be a joke but, judging by their pinched expressions, it was didn't come across that way.

Maria was the first to recover. "Don't worry, it's nothing stupid or dangerous." She assured him. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be taking part."

Michael smiled. "Just you? Not Eddie?"

"Nah, he has the self-preservation instincts of a Diricrawl."

"Hey!" Eddie protested.

Michael laughed. "All right then, what's the errand?"

"Nothing crazy." Maria promised. "Just a little Marauder welcome for our new Professors." Michael knew that they had a new Defence Professor, but he wasn't sure who else qualified as such. He said as much. "Snape." Maria explained. "With the Cup Final and exams, we never got the chance to give him a proper welcome."

Michael thought this sounded fun, but he needed to know something before he agreed. "The other Second Year Marauders. Are they joining in too?"

Eddie sighed. "I don't know what's going on with you lot, but the others all refused. Harry is a lot sharper with his words than he was last year, Anthony called us children and Terry didn't even stop to talk to us." He shook his head. "What the hell happened between you guys?"

Michael shrugged. "Azkaban happened." He wasn't entirely sure if that was the truth, as Harry had disappeared before then and Terry wasn't as clingy towards Anthony like he would have expected, but it was his best guess. Anyway, it didn't matter then, as those two words pretty much killed the entire conversation.

In the changing rooms, after almost everyone else had departed, Marcus held him back. "How was Quidditch camp this summer?" He asked Michael warmly. This would have been unusual if he hadn't been so friendly to Michael all week. "Today you were flying like you hadn't touched a broomstick in months."

"I didn't go. My parents needed me at home." Uncomfortable with lying, he couldn't stop himself from fiddling with his sweatshirt's drawstring. "After everything that happened with Robert."

Marcus' friendly expression tightened at the mere mention of his former best friend. "That's awful. I remember you saying how much you were looking forward to it." His smile came back stronger than ever. "Maybe I could help you practice? Get you back to fighting strength?"

Michael was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "That's okay. You're a Seventh Year now. You should be focusing on your N.E. ."

Marcus waved a hand. "That's months away. I can make time for you."

"You don't have to-"

"I insist-"

"I don't want you to!" Michael blurted out. Marcus looked hurt, but he just kept talking before he could start insisting again. "You've never cared about me before, and I didn't care, so why start now?" Breathing deeply, he glared up at the much larger boy, trying to ignore his rising embarrassment at blowing up like that.

Marcus took a moment to begin speaking, as though afraid Michael will begin shouting again. "I just wanted to show you how sorry I am. For ignoring you last year." He added when Michael looked like he was drawing a blank. "Robert was my best friend and all I could think about was how hurt I was, so I didn't even think about you until Harry reminded me."

Brushing aside the comment about Harry, Michael pointed out what was obvious to him. "Just because you're my brother's friend, doesn't mean you owe me anything."

To his surprise, Marcus agreed. "I know I don't. But I want to look out for you anyway." Before Michael could refuse, he quickly continued. "It's fairly common for an older Marauder to take a younger one under their wing, you know."

Michael frowned. None of the other Marauders had ever mentioned such a thing before. "You're making this up."

Marcus shook his head and put a hand over his heart. "Nope. Marauder's honour."

Michael couldn't stop the snort that escaped him. "So, that amounts to nothing." Marcus grinned.

Somehow, Michael got over himself and the two fell into an easy conversation as they made the journey back to Ravenclaw Tower. As they spoke about their various summers (which only made Michael feel even worse at how boring his was) they got around to discussing Michael's most pressing issue.

"A couple of months without a broomstick and my stamina and flexibility have both gone to Bedlam." He complained, rubbing the sore spot on his back. "It's going to take a while to get back into playing condition."

Marcus was quick to make his original offer again as they began to climb the spiral staircase. "I told you, I'm happy to help you get back into top form." He nodded his head as though he just thought of something. "I could even teach you the exercises Tonks and Richard taught me over the summer. They're both Auror Sentries now." He explained.

"Why would you ask them to teach you Auror training exercises?" Michael wondered. "Can it be translated into Quidditch?"

"Not really." Marcus considered as they reach the top of the staircase. "But it is good for overall fitness. Anthony has even been doing them with me in the Room of Requirement."

They had reached the bronze eagle knocker and waited for an amorous Fifth Year couple to solve the riddle, "This belongs to you, but everyone else uses it."

Michael blinked. "Anthony? Our Anthony?" He had known Anthony Goldstein since they were seven, so he was aware of how much he disdained physical activity.

"Yeah, he's really gotten into it. Harry promised he would join me last term, but he changed his mind when I asked a few days ago." He sounded annoyed about this.

The couple was so focused on each other, that they didn't seem to hear the eagle knocker repeat its riddle even louder a second time. "This belongs to you, but everyone else uses it."

Michael tried to reassure him. "I wouldn't take it personally. He's been giving everyone the cold shoulder recently."

Marcus sighed. "Times like these I wish Robert was still around."

Michael frowned. There was something off about the way he said that. "Just times like these. You don't actually believe he's guilty, do you?"

Marcus looked caught off guard. "You seriously bought his story?" He paused and then grimaced. "Sorry, that came out wrong."

The bronze eagle knocker was increasing in volume as no one answered it riddle, but now the couple were distracted by Michael and Marcus rather than each other. "This belongs to you, but everyone else uses it!"

"No, I think you said exactly what you meant." Michael spat. "Your Robert's best friend and even you're willing to think the worst of him, and we both know why."

Marcus' expression was pinched. "Michael, we don't have to-"

"It doesn't matter that both his parents aren't magical, or that he grew up in the Muggle world. No," Michael started to laugh, humourlessly, "all that matters is that he's part Corner."

"This belongs to you, but everyone else uses it!"

"My name!" Michael snapped, and the door swung open. Passing past the gobsmacked couple, Michael stormed into the common room, leaving Marcus to stare worriedly at his back.

It was only much later, as he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, that he began to regret blowing up at Marcus like that. He too had long given up on believing is brother's version of events, but to hear it being questioned out loud like that, by Robert's best friend no less, made him feel attacked.

Marcus hadn't deserved to be spoken to like that, especially as he was just trying to empathise with Michael. It was only because Michael had was so used to being defensive about his family from strangers, that he was taken off guard when he heard something negative from somebody he liked.

Back at Pendle's, he had blown up at Terry after the boy asked a probing question about his mother, so was it really surprising that he would keep his distance from Michael now that she was free and on the run?

Aside from his sister, the people who actually knew him carried no grudge against him for his surname, so he was beginning to think that their behaviour towards him had more to do with his treatment of them rather than his heritage.

No wonder he was so alone.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry was glad that he had gone back on his refusal of Flamel's offer to create his own training hall.

At first, Harry had thought it would be a waste of both time and effort as he had the Room of Requirement at his disposal, but unlike his brief stay over the summer, he was forced to share it with the other Marauders.

During the first week of the new term, he had only been halfway through his dodging exercises when Cedric had arrived with the Weasley twins in tow and Harry, distracted by the unexpected intrusion, ended up struck by half a dozen paintballs in quick succession. The projectiles had enough force behind them to send him careening from the thin ledge that he had been standing on.

Harry had been mortified as he had gone for weeks without falling from the ledge even when he had been hit, but now the older Marauders thought he was just a kid who was messing around.

Harry had continued his training efforts with diligence, eagerly showing off his continued growth for Flamel during his now routine Sunday visits. How he got in and out of the school without detection was still a mystery to Harry, but not one he concerned himself with solving. It worked in his favour, as his master had answered the letter that he had sent along with Argos not one hour after he had been splattered with paint, asking him to build the private training hall for him as soon as possible.

Flamel rose to the occasion brilliantly. He had arrived a day later, only making his presence known to Harry when he had completed his construction on Harry's unreasonable request, but in exchange, he had an unreasonable request of his own.

"I won't show you where it is unless you say it." Flamel was grinning with his arms folded proudly.

Harry sighed, frustrated. They were standing in the middle of a corridor on the sixth floor where he had bumped into his master, who had clearly been waiting for him. How he knew where to find Harry was anyone guess, but he didn't want anyone to see them together, because if more people knew of their acquaintance, then that meant there was a higher chance it would get back to Voldemort.

Harry didn't want his foe to know that he was receiving any kind of special training, because the next time they met, and he was certain that there would be a next time, he wanted Voldemort to continue to underestimate him due to his age. Harry wasn't too proud to admit that this miscalculation of his abilities since he was still a child was his greatest weapon.

Harry forced down the biting remark that he wanted to throw in Flamel's face. "You were right about the private training hall. You are always right. I am a fool for doubting your level of foresight." He said in a ground out monotone. "Happy?"

Flamel hummed. "I would have preferred a little more sincerity, but I think that's the best I'm going to get from you. Follow me." He began to lead Harry through the corridors, passing the Auror Cadet training hall and stopping a minute later in front of a portrait Rowena and Godric, exhibiting the latter's famous name offering.

"Here we are." Flamel tapped the painting's frame with his knuckle. "Your new home away from home."

Harry stared at him. "It's not exactly subtle, is it?" He squashed the urge to pinch his nose, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing him frustrated if this was just a wind-up. "It's literally around the corner from the Cadet training hall and it's hidden behind a very massive and very famous painting."

"You are very difficult to please, little Henry." Flamel sighed. "You didn't want anyone to know that you had your own place to train, so I needed to hide it in the shadow of another training hall. That way none of your teachers, even Albus, would be able to sense the magic you cast."

Harry hadn't known that Flamel and Voldemort's sensing abilities were so common, and he wasn't all too happy to find out either. Ignoring it for now, he instead said, "I was practicing all of last year with Quirrell. How did no one track us back then?"

"Your duplicitous teacher would have certainly placed protections over your location every time he trained with you. I would offer to do the same, but I don't think you will want me to come back here every single day."

Harry thought on it. "Well, that depends on whether you think I'm ready to start learning more magic."

Flamel smiled tersely. "That would be a no then." He turned to the portrait and said, "Resilience." The portrait swung open like a door and the two stepped inside.

For a single day's work, it wasn't as bad as Harry was expecting. In fact, it was much better as it was an exact copy of the Cadet's training hall just next door. To his left, there were self-repairing moving targets and to his right there was the same equipment that he had grown used to at Brightstone House. The only thing missing was a pool, but he had already told Flamel in his letter to not bother with making one, as he had already found a way to practice that he liked.

"Is it to your liking?" Flamel asked, already knowing full well that it was.

Harry had fallen into a routine by his second week back in school. Every day he would wake up an hour before breakfast even began, technically breaking curfew as he snuck out of Ravenclaw Tower in order to complete his physical training. On intervening days, he would go to either the hall Flamel had built for him, or the Room of Requirement.

Harry knew it was ridiculous to ask for a privacy and then return to the place you were seeking privacy from, but he felt much safer swimming in the Room of Requirement than he did anywhere else. Just the fact that he could simply wish the pool away should the worst happen, and he began to drown (despite having become a "passable swimmer" in Flamel's words) was enough to set him at ease during his early morning practices.

On the days that didn't start with a nice morning swim, Harry could be found utilising the hall that his master had constructed for him. On these mornings, Harry further refined the skills Flamel had told him were essential to every duellist, from dexterity and flexibility to speed and reflexes, he made sure to hone his body to the standard that was expected of him.

Returning to his dorm under the cover of his Invisibility Cloak, as to avoid detection from the students who were making their way to breakfast, Harry would prepare himself for the day all the while wishing that he could heal himself immediately after physical training was complete, but it was out of the question. His deliberately torn muscles needed time to begin healing themselves before he used magic to speed up the process.

He wasn't entirely without luxury though. He had asked the Automatons to serve him his meals in his dormitory, not wanting to waste time either on the journey down to the Great Hall or socialising with his peers. On days that he had no morning classes, Harry even permitted himself to enjoy a quick nap before he had to deal with the day ahead.

The last, and in his mind the most important, part of his training remained the Mana strengthening exercises. At the end of every day, after both classes and clubs, Harry would throw everything he had at the moving targets until he had nothing left to give, before dragging his exhausted body back to his dorm where he would lay in a hot bath as he proceeded to heal himself with both spells and potions.

Build a solid foundation, Harry reminded himself as he strained his body day after day, until he deems me ready to learn real magic.

However, every Sunday during his weekly check-up, Flamel would watch silently as Harry put himself through the paces, following all the exercises that he had taught him with strict diligence, but it was never enough for him. When Harry was finally finished, Flamel would simply shake his head and say, "You're not quite there yet, little Henry," and Harry would swallow his frustrations and focus them on the next week's training.

Harry's intense focus didn't end at his training but extended to his overall studies. He hadn't realised until now just how much time he had wasted with his friends last year. Now that he spent all his time alone, he was able to complete all if his homework during his free periods and even study ahead in all of his subjects in the few hours that he had allowed himself to have before his self-mandated bedtime.

Exhausting his brain as well as his body was a good thing, as it forced him to sleep through his nightmares rather than wake from them. There was only so much sleep a growing boy could miss after all.

Unlike September and October of his First Year, Harry was now leading his year group with near ease during classes, outstripping even Terry in his spell work. While his grimoire still remained stubbornly blank when it came to new spells, Harry had the Library Tower at his disposal, and he made full use of it.

It wasn't just the wand-based subjects that he was doing so well in either, as he had improved leaps and bounds in his weaker subjects as well. Potions and Runes no longer made him nervous, as he had grown confident in each field as he had used them in real world experiences several times over the last few months. When faced with capture, injury or even death in the face of failure, it was a little hard to worry about strict teachers overanalysing your technique while you worked.

However, much to his displeasure, it seemed as though he were the only one that was happy with his marked improvement. Rather than be impressed with his performance, teachers were voicing their concerns about his new drive, as though his continued development was something to be worried about. It became so common for teachers to hold him back after classes that Harry now had excuses ready made on his lips as he approached their desks.

"I'm just trying to become the best wizard I can be, Professor." He told McGonagall.

"Professor, you should know better than anyone that there's nothing wrong with a little hard work." He said to Sprout.

"You should mind your own business." He told Lupin coldly, before walking out of the room. Okay, he could have been more diplomatic with that last one.

As they reached the end of September, these little chats became common place, so much so that none of the other students even blinked when Professor Flitwick asked him to stay behind after class. This would be the third time that Flitwick had pulled aside since term began and it was really starting to get on Harry's nerves.

"I just don't like the fact that you're spending so much time alone." Flitwick seemed genuinely distressed at the idea. "Anthony and Terry are much the same this term, when last year you boys were inseparable." He paused, as though expecting Harry to weigh in here, but when he did not, he continued speaking. "Michael was isolating himself last term as well, but he is spending more time with the Quidditch team as of late. You should do the same."

Harry twitched with annoyance. He had already discussed this with his Head of House and what felt like half the school. He would not be having this discussion again.

"I'm not playing Quidditch, Professor." Harry said, firmly.

Flitwick sighed. "No, I've already given up on that. What I'm suggesting is that you replace Quidditch with another activity. Perhaps the school choir? Art club? Drama?"

Harry grimaced. He couldn't sing very well, he preferred to draw for himself and not for display and drama club was the joke of the school. The teachers made the student body sit through painfully awkward performances and tedious storytelling once a term, and the club members were shown their appreciation for it by days of relentless teasing. He wasn't all that concerned with what people thought of him, but that was pain he didn't need in his life.

"I'm already a member of the Potions, Languages, and Charms Club, and I've replaced Quidditch with Runes Club." Harry pointed out. "W.O.M.B.A.T students are supposed to join at least one club and I'm in four."

Flitwick sighed. "I was hoping that you would join a club that encourages a little more socialising among its members." He peered up at Harry as though he could see right through him. "I know other things may seem more important to you right now, especially after what you went through in June," Harry flinched as this was the first time a teacher acknowledged that something had happened last year, even though he had no idea what they actually knew, but Flitwick was kind enough to pretend he didn't see, "but I know that you will one day regret not spending this time with your friends while you had the chance."

Harry remained silent for a few moments, before asking, "Can I go now, Professor?" Flitwick dismissed him with another sigh.

Harry would have thought that would be the end of it, but of course he was proven wrong almost immediately.

As he was headed back to his dorm after leaving Flitwick's classroom, a bird made of parchment flew around the corridor and stopped right in front of him. It hovered there while Harry stared at it for a moment, before he walked off. The bird began to follow him, circling around his head as though he were a cartoon character, until he finally gave up on ignoring it.

Harry reached for his wand so he could begin to use his detection spells, but before he could even draw it, the origami bird began to unfold itself, as though it took the act of reaching for his wand as acceptance. Once the parchment was completely unfolded, it floated in front of his eyes, holding itself steady so that he could read the words that were intended for him:

Dear Mr Potter,

Your Head of House has informed me that you are currently dealing with personal and academic struggles that are outside of his capacity.

As such, drastic measures need to be taken in order to prevent any permanent damage to your academic future.

Please meet me in my office tomorrow morning at nine.

Yours most sincerely,

Headmaster Dumbledore

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Harry skipped training entirely the next day, wanting to be well rested for his meeting with Dumbledore.

He departed from Ravenclaw Tower at ten to nine, his mind awash with ideas of what this meeting could possibly be about. He had broken so many school rules on so many different occasions that he found it difficult to pinpoint which incident in particular would be the one to finally get him into trouble.

However, there was also the chance that this had less to do with breaking school rules than it did with breaking the law. While he wasn't exactly sure what the teachers actually knew, he knew that Dumbledore knew that he had killed Quirrell. If it were anyone else, Harry would suspect that he was about to become the victim of blackmail, but there was nothing that he could offer that Dumbledore did not already possess.

So really, he was at a total loss as to what this was all about.

Loitering around the griffin statue at the entrance to the Headmasters Tower, Harry waited until his watch was at a minute to nine before speaking out loud to the empty corridor. "I have an appointment with Headmaster Dumbledore at nine." As though waiting for these exact words, the griffin statue began moving upwards, revealing the rotating staircase underneath as it did.

Harry stepped on and allowed himself to be carried upwards as he double checked his clothes. Even though it was a Saturday, Harry had elected to wear his full school uniform for his meeting with the Headmaster, just in case he really was in trouble he wanted to make a good impression.

A good impression on someone who covered up the murder you committed for reasons still unknown, Harry scolded himself, One criminal trying to impress another through neatness. What a laugh.

When he reached the door Harry knocked firmly, and he heard a, "Come in!" Pushing open the door, Harry entered the Headmaster's office for the first time since June, although this time he came in through the correct route.

The office remained exactly as he remembered it, and Dumbledore himself was sitting behind his desk with the fingers of each hand interlocked, waiting for Harry's arrival. While his magenta robes gave off a casual vibe, his placement behind the desk instead of the chairs by the fireplace let Harry know that this was going to be a more official meeting than last time.

Well, as official as Dumbledore got. On his desk there was a sweet dish filled to the brim with yellow jelly babies.

"Mr Potter, if you would please." Dumbledore indicated the chair in front of his desk.

Harry sat in the offered chair and decided to speak first, his curiosity allowing nothing else. "The letter sounded serious, Headmaster." Harry began, doing his best to keep the nerves out of his voice. "I've been wondering, what could be so detrimental to my academic future that even my Head of House couldn't deal with it?"

Dumbledore smiled shamelessly, as though he had been caught doing something wrong but couldn't bring himself to care. "I may have exaggerated in my letter to you." He admitted, still smiling. "I needed to ensure that you would attend this meeting and not run away again. Would you like a jelly baby?" He shook the sweet dish at Harry.

Harry frowned, shaking his head. Dumbledore had said that in a light tone, but it wasn't enough to hide the dig that had been aimed squarely at him. It was as though Dumbledore felt as though he were owed an explanation as to why he had run away, when Harry thought the answer was plain as day.

Recognising that he was out of his depth in every regard when it came to Dumbledore, Harry decided to ask his questions without waiting for pretext, as he would get nowhere if he tried beating around the bush. "Flamel told me that you took care of everything that night," he said bluntly, "Why?"

Dumbledore's smile finally faded, and he leaned forward ever so slightly. "I will tell you exactly why, if you will tell me exactly what took place that night in June." Knowing that he didn't really have much choice, Harry explained to Dumbledore all that had taken place during his First Year, bar Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback and the Marauders.

Lord Dumbledore was an excellent listener, only ever interrupting to ask for more details on things that Harry had not even thought twice about, such as the timing and locations of each of his meetings with Quirrell or possible identifying details on members of the Silver Spears. The Headmaster seemed particularly distressed that a gathering of fledgling Dark Wizards had been formed right under his nose and Harry, when pressed, gave him Eliza Hawthorn's name.

When Harry got to the point where Voldemort revealed himself, Dumbledore actually stood up and began pacing around the room, just as he did when on the Marauder's Map.

"How did you escape?" Dumbledore asked, eyes on his feet while he walked. "How did you stop him?"

"My kindjal." Harry explained about Flitwick's findings on his mother's enchantment on his treasured blade and about his guess about the null reading he got on the Human-Presence-Revealing Spell when Voldemort had definitely been in the room.

Dumbledore's bushy white eyebrows shot right up when he heard that. "There was no reaction at all? Are you sure?" Something about this seemed to intrigue the Headmaster.

Harry shrugged. "Pretty sure. I mean, I did bet my life on it." He explained what that meant, when he revealed just how he killed Quirrell. "I guessed that if Voldemort wasn't human enough for the Human-Presence-Revealing Spell to work on him, then the enchantment on my kindjal wouldn't work on him either."

"That was quite the gamble to make." Dumbledore sounded neither approving nor disapproving, but Harry still took offence.

"Maybe for someone like you, but I don't have any Dark Lord killing spells in my arsenal," Harry said dryly, "so it was either that, or getting kidnapped by a seemingly immortal pest."

Dumbledore gave rueful little smile. "Point taken." He sighed. "I'm not sure what I expected, but Voldemort having been teaching at my school for a year was certainly not it."

"You didn't think he was still alive?"

"Oh no, I was certain of it. I just didn't expect him to be daring enough to commit his crimes underneath my very nose."

Dumbledore seemed like he was lost in thought as he continued his circuit of the room, and a more polite individual might have waited until he was ready to speak, but Harry didn't care about polite right now. "Your turn, Headmaster."

Dumbledore blinked, before remembering his promise. "Ah yes, of course. Where to begin?" He took his seat once again and waited for a few moments, before starting with, "Well, I suppose I should tell you that Horace Slughorn was definitely framed."

"What?!"

Dumbledore looked surprised. "I thought you knew. You mentioned your theories with the Daily Prophet and how someone, now obviously Voldemort, was benefitting from them. I thought you would have put the pieces together by now."

"No." Harry said, his voice faint. "No, I hadn't."

Dumbledore hummed noncommittally and continued to explain the use of the Imperius Curse on Slughorn, which could only have been cast by Voldemort, meaning that he had been behind the Silver Spears the entire time. Why he had wanted Harry to join was anyone's guess. As if this wasn't surprising enough already, Dumbledore had found out about this through his own spy, a double agent that Harry was already familiar with.

"Professor Snape is a Death Eater?"

"A spy on my behalf." Dumbledore corrected. "But I feel I must warn you Harry. While I trust him to conduct covert work on my behalf, I would not trust him with your life. Outside of this school, make sure you are never alone with him."

Harry nodded easily, as he wasn't exactly eager to spend time with the shady Potions Master anyway. "The reason why you've singled me out from any of the possible students that Professor Snape could harm in this school is because of the prophecy, isn't it?"

To his credit, Dumbledore managed to keep his face perfectly blank, but the infinitesimal twitch in his hands gave him away. "Prophecy?"

Harry was undeterred. "Voldemort already told me about it."

Dumbledore remained stoic, but when Harry remained stubbornly quiet, he sat back in his chair with a slight huff. "He came along and ruined everything, hasn't he?" He didn't elaborate on what that meant. "I do not know its exact wording, as it was given to Voldemort himself, and later relayed to me by one of my covert operatives."

Harry nodded. "One of the Spooks?"

"That is a derivative nickname. Believe me, they are much easier to work with when you call them by their official title." Harry nodded, even though the Auror's Enchiridion itself referred to the Auror's Covert Intelligence Division as Spooks.

Dumbledore continued. "I am still unaware as to how Voldemort identified you as his fated foe, but my operative believed it had something to do with your birth and how it aligned with the murder of your extended family. He targeted you and your parents from that moment onwards and never stopped until that Halloween night."

For a few minutes, the two remained seated in mutual silence, but it was broken by one of the portraits. "Albus, don't forget about your eleven o'clock meeting. Chief Warlock Maddox and Minister Bradshaw have each left their chambers."

"Right you are, Armando." Dumbledore turned to face Harry with renewed energy. "Before we part ways, we should discuss the official reason for our meeting." When Harry simply stared at him blankly, Dumbledore prompted. "Your newfound solitude."

Harry could not stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Why is everyone blowing this out of proportion? I would have thought you would be happy that I'm focusing on my improvement."

Dumbledore looked amused. "Really? How so?"

"I wouldn't have thought that you would have invited the Dementors of Azkaban for their warm atmosphere." Harry pointed out. "The world isn't safe anymore if it ever truly was. I'm focusing on keeping myself alive."

"Do you believe that I or my staff would allow you to come to any harm?"

Harry was incredulous. "Weren't you paying attention earlier? Voldemort was your employee for a year, and you didn't even realise it. You're not infallible, Professor, and even if you were, I'd still feel safer knowing I was able to protect myself."

"Well said." Harry was taken aback by his apparent agreement. "At this school, we teach our students to become fully independent sorcerers and it would be a disservice to prevent you from doing the same. Your teachers are merely worried about your lack of socialising, but I shall tell them that we have spoken about it, and that I see no harm being done." Harry nodded at him in thanks, and stood up in order to leave, but the Headmaster had one last thing to say.

"I believe that it goes without saying, but I must emphasise this just in case. Please do not speak of these matters to anyone that you do not already trust with your life."

Harry nodded. So, tell no one then.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Ever since Dumbledore had given his ruling to the other teachers about Harry's lack of a social life, things grew even more awkward with his professors. Perhaps they had been warned away from discussing anything personal with him, but he still caught them sending him even more worried looks than they had when term began.

No class was as awkward as Care of Magical Creatures though. It had been Harry's favourite class last year, as he and his friends had been able to get away with anything under Hagrid's watch, but things were much different this now. Not only were things more obviously awkward between the Second Year Ravenclaw boys, but Hagrid was going out of his way to ignore Harry unless he was forced to acknowledge him. As Harry's classwork and assignments were still getting Outstandings, that meant Hagrid only paid attention to him when calling his name for the class register.

The only class that rivalled Care of Magical Creatures in sheer discomfort was Defence Against the Dark Arts.

By the end of the month, Lupin had given up on calling Harry's name in class as he was committed to only giving one-word answers whenever he was called upon and ignoring his requests to stay behind. Harry knew that Lupin had attempted to give him detention through his Student Handbook, but Flitwick had pulled him aside and told him that he didn't have to go if he was uncomfortable.

Somehow, his Head of House seemed to be tangentially aware of his problem with Lupin, and Harry appreciated the support, even though he didn't understand why it was being given.

He became used to this new status quo, but that was about to change as the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of October turned out to be a practical one.

Lupin had not endeared himself with the Second Years, as he kept a strict adherence to the textbook, and this put him in bad contrast with Quirrell. Other years remembered the Defence Professor that they had before then, but he was the only one Harry's year group had to compare him with, and Lupin was not coming out of it looking very good.

Which was why the declaration of a practical lesson was enough to send Harry's class into a tizzy, as after a month, they had grown bored with the textbook exercises. The general excitement seemed to drop as Lupin revealed just what they would be working on today.

Lupin gestured to the large trunk in front of his desk. "A Boggart." He immediately seemed to sense the wary atmosphere and tried to be quick in assuring the students of both their comfort and safety. "You will each wait in the corridor outside, and I will call you in one at a time. While it is best to tackle Boggarts in groups, this isn't always possible, so you need to learn how to deal with one on your own."

No one seemed very excited with the idea of fighting a Boggart, but they seemed to share Harry's satisfaction that none of their peers would see what their greatest fear was.

Lining up in the corridor, the students were called in alphabetical order by surname, leaving Harry squarely in the last third of the class to fight the Boggart. He watched as some students entered looking terrified but emerged laughing, while others walked in with their heads held high and came out shaking.

Harry watched as Susan, Michael and Anthony all returned looking as though they had just been hit with a potent Nightmare Hex, while Terry walked out seemingly unaffected.

Then it was Harry's turn.

When Lupin called his name, he walked in the classroom and made sure to lock the door behind him. He wouldn't put it last Susan Bones to try and figure out what his worst fear was. Lupin raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing.

"Alright, Harry. The defence against a Boggart is fairly simple." Lupin began to teach, not seeming to realise just how surreal it was for Harry to have his primary school teacher talk about magic. "Laughter. You must turn the Boggart into something that will make you laugh."

Because the Boggart feeds on fear, Harry thought but kept to himself. He was no longer a little boy desperate for Lupin's approval. "How do I turn it into something funny?"

"Through the spell, Riddikulus." Lupin demonstrated the wand movement, and Harry mimicked both it and the incantation until he had it firmly memorised. After a minute, he asked, "Are you ready to begin?" When Harry nodded, he opened the trunk with a flick of his wand.

Harry had expected some kind of physical manifestation of his fear of drowning, or even an embodiment of the nightmares he had almost every night of Quirrell's final moments, but what emerged from that trunk was so much worse.

The sunlight streaming from the windows seemed to vanish as the Dementor rose from the depths of the trunk with a cloud of mist following after it, which dropped the room's temperature to near freezing. Harry stumbled back, his wand forgotten, as he was assaulted with the memories and sensations of everything he feared, all at once.

The drowning vision that the Wampus had constructed for him, the sensation of the Lethifold's tendrils wrapping around his throat, simultaneously suffocating and silencing him, and the sound of Quirrell's final breath and the image of the light leaving his eyes for good.

As the Dementor swooped down the aisle towards him, Harry's back hit the classroom door as a final, deeply buried memory was dredged up: The sound of his parent's voices, their words unintelligible, but their forced tones of comfort were unable to hide the fear they truly felt.

Then came the sounds of their screams.

There's nothing in the world but this, Harry accepted, as he slid down the door to the ground. Nothing but fear, guilt and pain, and the fear of more along the way.

Dimly, he heard the sounds of a struggle taking place in front of him, but he only looked up when he felt the effects of the Dementor's presence vanish. The classroom felt pleasantly warm against his clammy skin and the sun had made its return, illuminating Lupin's greying hair and wrinkles as he crouched in front of Harry.

"-hear me? Harry?" The calm tone Lupin was forcing was undone by the worried expression that he wore. "I need you to say something."

Harry raised his wandless hand. "Help me up." He told himself it was to make Lupin feel better, but really, he was just worried he would be unable to stand under his own strength.

Once he was standing on his own two feet, Lupin examined him for non-existent injuries. "I don't understand, you shouldn't have had such a bad reaction to a Dementor." He sounded distant, and Harry remembered that he sometimes like to think out loud. "Your life hasn't been the happiest, yes, but I went to great lengths to protect you from anything traumatising. Harry, could you tell me-?" Lupin blinked as he noticed Harry was not where he had left him. "Harry?"

But Harry had already left the room.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

It took much longer to recover from the Dementor attack the second time around.

Like the last time, he had tried warm baths and chocolate to help with his recovery, but the hopeless sensation that had been born in that classroom remained with him for weeks. Perhaps it was because the Boggart had gotten much closer to him then the real Dementors had managed, or maybe it was because the first attack had played a part in dredging up his worst memories from where they had been buried, but either way he was left in a bleak mood for the days to follow.

Harry had known that his experience with the Boggart would make its way around the school, as he had left the classroom a pale and shaky mess and kept walking, disregarding Lupin's order to line up with the rest of the class. He had expected the school's reaction to be bad, especially after he had dropped out of the Quidditch team, but it turned out to be rather tame.

Instead of being teased about his overreaction to the Boggart, he instead found himself on the end of several commiserating looks over the next fortnight, and it took him longer than he was proud of to figure out why. Everyone clearly thought that he had either seen a manifestation of Voldemort in that classroom or an image of his parent's bodies, and they were pitying him for it.

Perhaps his reputation as the Boy-Who-Lived actually meant something to them, but Harry didn't care for their empathy. It probably said a lot about him that he felt more comfortable with Myrose's cruel mocking than he did with Susan Bones' sudden silence. Harry had expected her to remain among the few that would go out of their way to irritate him, but she seemed too wrapped up in her own Boggart experience to pay any attention to his.

Still, in the end it was all so very easy to ignore. Harry did not care whether they hated him or pitied him, as it was all so meaningless that he ended up wondering why he had ever given any effort into caring what they had thought of him at all.

The one thing that seemed to make his dark mood disappear was work, so he threw himself into it with twice as much dedication as before. Any second not spent on improving himself was a second wasted, so whenever he was not in training, he became focused on his new side projects.

It didn't take long for him to place at least some kind of security over his private training hall, although he had been forced to ask for help in order to pull it off. Swallowing his pride, Harry made his way over to Anthony in the common room and asked if he could borrow his notes for Runes. He had expected a point-blank refusal, or even a demand to hang out together like last year, but Anthony had simply gone to his dorm to fetch said notes with nary a word.

If he wasn't so pleased with the ease of this, he would have been more concerned with his old friend's new attitude.

Within weeks, Harry managed to place two Runic Complexes over the entrance to his training hall. The first was the easier of the two, as it simply allowed him to know whenever someone entered the room, regardless of where he himself was. It was both useful in letting him know if his privacy had been invaded, and making him aware of when Flamel had arrived for his weekly check in.

The second was far more difficult, but equally as useful. Putting his secret training hall behind one of the most famous paintings in the school was just asking for trouble as far as Harry was concerned, so he took the time to make sure that no one would pay it any special attention at all. By the time he was finished, anyone who wasn't already aware of the training hall's existence would find both their eyes and attention drift from the painting as though it were the most mundane thing in the world.

However, once this project was completed Harry felt the pride and satisfaction in his work quickly fade, only to be replaced by the haunting images that the Dementor had brought to the front of his mind. Knowing that work kept his thoughts from straying, and that there was only so much training he could manage in one day, Harry made his way to Professor Flitwick's office in order to gain both approval and advice for his next project.

"You wish to expand your dormitory?" Flitwick sounded bewildered. "Why?"

Because I spend all my time in there and I'm starting feel a little claustrophobic, Harry thought. Out loud, he said, "I think it would be a good side project, a first foray in permanent enchantments." When Flitwick didn't look convinced, Harry added, "I've seen some older student's dorms, so I know it isn't uncommon."

"No, it isn't. I often give out this project for students who hope to take N.E.W.T Charms, a summer exercise after their Fifth Year. I would never give this task to a Second Year."

"But Professor, you're not giving me the task. I'm just asking for advice." The subtext in that statement was clear. Harry would be going ahead with or without his help. Sighing, Flitwick reluctantly gave his approval, and began to walk Harry, step by step, through the process.

By Halloween, Harry was forced to accept that it was beyond him. After two weeks of studying and practicing on broom cupboards, he was only able to make a very temporary expansion to his environment. The problem was his Anchor.

An Anchor was an object that had been engraved with the necessary Runic Complexes and held the enchantment that had been placed over a local environment. A Master Enchanter would be able to turn any mundane object into an Anchor, but most people simply used lumps of Goblin Silver or shards of Mermish Crystal as they were able to hold Mana with ease.

However, this ease did not seem to extend to Harry. Using an apple sized lump of Goblin Silver that he had purchased from Dervish and Banges, Harry had put down the correct Runic Complex and cast the necessary spell, but it had failed to work for him. So, with great reluctance, he returned to Hogsmeade to do what he should have done the first time around.

"Are you sure you'll be able to manage it this time around?" Mr Dervish asked, smirking. He had suggested a premade Room-Expansion Anchor a fortnight ago, but Harry had disregarded this advice as he thought the old man was trying to swindle more money from him. Well, now the joke was on him, as he had ruined his first Anchor (which had cost him more than this year's school shopping had) and was buying the premade Anchor anyway.

Harry handed over the twelve Galleons none too gently before storming out of the shop. He was in such a hurry that he didn't notice the person who had been about to enter until it was much too late.

"Watch it!" Eliza snapped at him, as her books went flying. Both she and Harry landed on the cobblestone road, and other pedestrians began to walk around them rather than help them up.

"Sorry," Harry muttered as he stood up and began to help her gather her newly purchased tomes, "I didn't see you there."

"Oh really? Here I was thinking you just enjoyed making my life miserable." Eliza snapped, snatching Elemental Binding Spells from his grip.

"What does that mean?"

Eliza had never been friendly towards him before, but he had never taken it personally, as she was a prat to everyone whose last name wasn't Diggory. Now however, as she glared at him as though Argos had gone to the bathroom in her morning pumpkin juice, it felt very personal.

"Dumbledore invited me to his office a few weeks back and started questioning me about the Silver Spears." Harry's eyes widened, and when she saw his reaction, she took a step towards him. She was only a few inches taller than he was, but it seemed as though she were looming over him. "You, Slughorn and Quirrell were the only ones to know, and as one is in prison and another is in the wind, I reckon it was you that grassed me up."

Harry really should have known that this would come back to bite him, and there was no way to explain his reasoning to Eliza, not without telling her everything else. Still, maybe there was a way he could use this for his own benefit.

"You can't do anything to me." Harry said, oozing with faux confidence. "You're an Auror Cadet and a Sentinel, and I'm just a Second Year."

"If you think that makes you safe-!"

Harry cut her off before she started thinking about methods to get back at him other than the one that he was about to present her with. "The only way you can really get back at me is through a duel."

Eliza stared at him for one long moment, before bursting out in laughter. She laughed so loudly and for so long that the other pedestrians began to look at her in concern. Finally, she calmed down enough to respond with a succinct, "No."

Harry smirked. "That scared, are you?"

All the humour left her face and she regarded him coldly. "You won't be able to bait me into fighting you, and it's insulting that you think you could." She shook her head at him. "I'm not going to duel you because it is in no way beneficial to me."

Harry knew that she had a point. Even as a Fifth Year, Eliza had managed to fight her way into the Sentinel's top ten, while Harry was a Second Year who had never taken part in an official duel. Still, he now felt the need to test himself against one of the strongest duellists in the school. He needed to know that everything he was doing was amounting to something.

"If I become a Sentinel, will you duel me then?"

Harry expected her to agree to his challenge, but she merely rolled her eyes and entered Dervish and Banges without another word, as though Harry was not even worth her time.

Her disregard of him only made Harry want to fight her even more, but there was someone else he needed to go through first.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Marcus Belby had clawed his way to the 24th Rank on the last Saturday of September.

Challengers had smelt blood in the water upon his ascension, as they assumed due to his non-existent duelling record and lack of Auror training (which put him in stark contrast with most of the other Sentinels who had at least one of those) he was vulnerable in comparison to the other Sentinels.

Challenges for his rank had been so numerous that they needed to be scheduled weeks in advance.

To the surprise of everyone, Marcus had fielded all challenges to his new position, and managed to hold on to his rank despite the odds against him. Now, almost two months later, challenges were few and far between as even the harshest critics had to admit that he was a formidable duellist. Only someone who was assured of their own strength would risk humiliation and injury by going up against him.

So, of course Harry made sure to challenge him in front of half the school.

He hadn't intended for it to go that way. On his way back from Hogsmeade, Harry had planned on asking Marcus to meet with him in the Marauder's Headquarters, but as he stepped into the Entrance Hall, he saw Marcus heading into the Great Hall with a few of his friends. Harry felt his feet move without any input from him, and his eyes zeroed in on Marcus' burly form as he made his approach. It was only as Marcus was sitting down at the Ravenclaw table, that he finally became aware of Harry's approach.

"Harry!" He sounded surprised at his sudden appearance. "I haven't seen you-"

"I'm challenging you for the Rank of the 24th Sentinel." Harry said firmly. "Do you accept?"

Harry vaguely noticed the sound around them dim, but he didn't care enough to remove his eyes from Marcus. He did see that the Seventh Years that were sitting around his old teammate looked stunned at his out of nowhere challenge, but Marcus just looked disappointed. Harry supposed that he was getting sick of all these challenges for his position.

There was such a long pause that Harry became certain that Marcus was about to refuse him. Before he could speak to convince him otherwise, Marcus sighed. "I've got Quidditch next Saturday, so I need to prepare for that. I'll duel you the Saturday after. Is that all right?"

Harry nodded, pleased with that. "Yes." He turned and walked right back out of the hall, ignoring the sudden rise in voices that he left in his wake.

Two weeks later, Harry sat in what was normally the Gryffindor changing room but had been temporarily refitted for his purposes. Ignoring the clock as it would only serve to increase his nerves, he pulled on his brand-new, school provided, duelling gear.

It was essentially the same as the black and form fitting Silver Spears uniform, aside from the sapphire lining that represented Ravenclaw House and the lack of a hood. As he double checked to make sure that his boots and light armour were all properly secured, Harry marvelled at how comfortable his new uniform was in comparison to the last. The Silver Spears gear had become too tight to wear during a duel, so he was glad the school went out of its way to provide all Sentinels and their challengers with brand-new uniforms.

Harry refastened his hip holster as he tried to keep what was at stake here out of mind, but he miserably failed. If he succeeded here today, he would be the youngest Sentinel in the school's history, breaking the last record which had been set by a Third Year way back in '38.

When the clock turned twelve, the doors to the changing room opened and, without pausing, Harry walked right out into the stadium. The pitch appeared as it always did during duels: The grass had been torn away to reveal the muddy, compact earth beneath, rocks of varying sizes had been strewn around the pitch to work as weapons or shields, and there was a body of water the size of a large pond to the left side of the pitch.

It was strange viewing it all from this angle.

Harry was focusing so hard on his surroundings in order to ignore the crowds' noise, as well as Lee's very distracting commentary. "Here we are folks, for the most interesting duel of the year so far. Seventh Year Marcus Belby has accepted the challenge for the rank of the 24th Sentinel from Second Year Harry Potter!" Lee paused in order to give the crowd a chance to let their cheers and jeers be heard before continuing. "This is the youngest challenger that we've had in decades, so I think we're all interested in what Harry can bring to bear."

Lee kept his voice upbeat, but Harry knew what he had to be thinking, what they all had to be thinking, as it was the exact thing that had been hissed at him in the corridors for days. That he was arrogant, and that they wanted to see him humbled. There was a reason that the crowd was so much larger than it usually was for a mid-November duel.

What was worse was that Harry couldn't help but think the same.

At first, he had been rather gung-ho about the entire thing, ignoring all the comments that had been aimed in his direction since his very public challenge, until the next day when Flamel had shown up for his weekly check in. To Harry's surprise, instead of being pleased with his apprentice's initiative, Flamel had been rather upset with him.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Harry asked, bewildered. "For me to test myself? Show how high I can go on the basics alone?"

"You've clearly misunderstood my intentions." Flamel sounded almost regretful, but Harry didn't know why. "I do not want you to begin to doubt my teaching methods should you fail."

"You think I'm going to lose?" Harry was more than a little surprised at how hurt that made him feel. Even though Flamel had told him more than once that he was not, in any way, a remarkable sorcerer, Harry still thought that his master had seen some kind of potential in him. "Should I lose, whose fault would that be? It's not like you actually taught me anything."

Harry turned away from him, and he returned back to his open textbook. Flamel took the silent dismissal for what it was and left without another word.

He didn't show up for next week's check in.

Now that he was standing in the centre of the arena, he kept his eyes focused on Marcus, even as Professor Hooch began to walk them through the rules of the duel. His opponent's uniform was identical to his own, except for the sapphire armband that had the Roman Numerals XXIV written on it, and Harry couldn't stop his eyes from repeatedly flickering towards it.

He was going to prove himself, Flamel, and the rest of the world wrong, even if he had to tear through Marcus to do it.

Once Hooch was finished speaking, and the two acknowledged their understanding and acceptance of the rules, she directed them to their starting positions at their respective edges of the pitch and walked towards her platform where she rose the Barrier that protected the spectators from any errant spells.

In the seconds before Hooch's signal, the air grew tense as the crowd quieted in anticipation. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but Marcus seemed just a focused as he was. At least his opponent was taking him seriously.

Hooch raised her wand and dropped it quickly. A flash of golden light went off and she shouted, "BEGIN!"

Harry and Marcus raised their wands at the exact same moment and shouted, "STUPEFY!" The two jets of red light screeched as they tore through the length of the stadium, skimming past each other in the centre of the pitch as they flew towards their respective targets.

Harry rolled out of the way, and saw Marcus do the same in the distance. Coming up on one knee, Harry cast three spells in quick succession, as his adversary did the same. "Expelliarmus! Carpe Noctem! Impedimenta!"

Harry watched as Marcus dodged the Disarming Charm, just as he had expected, but he hoped that the older boy would try to block his Nightmare Hex with the wrong shield.

Unfortunately for Harry, Marcus was either familiar with the spell, or he knew better than to block a curse he didn't recognise. However, Harry had sent out a third spell on the chance that his second would not work.

Marcus jumped to his left, out of the Nightmare Hex's path and away from the body of water, just as Harry thought he might. Hiding in the shadow of the second spell was Harry's Impediment Charm. As Marcus landed after his leaping dodge, he saw the spell about to strike him dead centre, but he was saved by the protections that he had put in place.

While Harry was busy casting his three Martial Spells, Marcus had taken the time to transfigure the half dozen rocks closest to him into large wolves. One of these conjured canines had leaped into the spell's path, saving its creator.

Narrowing his eyes at the wolves' approach, Harry twirled his wand in front of him. "Fumos!" The pitch was obscured by a cloud of dense smoke, and Harry got to work before Marcus could vanish it.

You're still fixated on the same tricks. Harry could almost hear Quirrell's scolding. That is why you will always lose.

Ignoring his traitorous subconscious, Harry was able to disillusion himself just before the smokescreen was vanished, and the crowd's momentary confusion was just as clear as Marcus'.

Harry knew that he would be unable to send any incapacitating spells at Marcus without first revealing his position and having the remaining wolf he kept near him leaping to his defence if, by some miracle, he didn't notice his attack. Having to do this the hard way, Harry silenced his movements and obscured his scent, leaving the four wolves who had been sent after him in confusion.

One by one, Harry tore through the wolves, quite literally. Using the Severing Charm, he was able to slice each canine into ribbons before the others could figure out where he was. Leaving the last one alive in order to hold his opponent's attention, Harry made his silent approach towards Marcus, but as it turned out that was exactly what he wanted.

When Harry finally got within ten feet of him, his Obscuring Spells all vanished, leaving him very much visible to both man and wolf. Both Harry and Marcus froze, the former because he did not expect to be forcefully revealed and the latter because he had been fooled by his "leave one alive" trick.

But the wolf didn't hesitate.

It leapt right at Harry's face, forcing him to react on instinct alone. "Depulso!" The Banishing Charm caught the wolf right in its underside, forcing him backwards at Marcus, which was very good for Harry as it also happened to block the Stunning Spell that Marcus had hidden in the wolf's leaping shadow. Marcus yelped as he was knocked over by a stunned, flying wolf.

Harry wanted to take advantage of this, but the wolf that he had left alive was running for his unprotected back. Harry waited until it pounced for him before rolling out of the way and snapping out, "Diffindo!" The wolf was torn in half, leaving its innards exposed to the open air.

Marcus was struggling to his feet, having managed to levitate the large wolf off himself. As he did so, he aimed another spell at Harry, clearly wanting to keep him occupied. "Stupefy!" The familiar jet of red light quickly closed the short, ten-foot distance.

Not allowing himself to be fazed by this, Harry raised his wand and cast, "Protego!" He was as surprised as anyone when his Stunning Spell was not only halted by this, but it was completely blocked.

Rejuvenated by this, Harry flicked his wand at the wolf's exposed intestines and called out, "Piertotum Locomotor!" The intestines came alive as Harry rolled out of the way of a second Stunning Spell. They shot towards Marcus who, in his shock, momentarily stopped firing spells at Harry, as the intestines wrapped around his limbs and lifted him into the air as they restrained him.

For the briefest of moments, Harry felt that victory was within his grasp, and he raised his wand at Marcus once more, but he should have known that it wouldn't be so easy.

A burst of flames erupted from the spot where Marcus' wand arm was pressed against his leg by the binding intestines, and Harry felt a chill go through him when he heard the older boy scream in agony as the flames burned him as well as his bindings.

But he didn't have time to dwell on it, as the length of fire was whipped towards Harry as Marcus landed in a heap upon the ground. Not having any kind of defence against fire, Harry sprinted for the pond while the fire gave chase, and Marcus groaned on the ground behind him.

Diving into the water just as the flames were about to reach him, Harry watched from the depths of the murky water as the fire lingered on the water's edge. After a few moments spent deliberating, he began to make for the surface, but that was when things went from bad to worse.

It took him a minute to realise it, but the water was beginning to encase him in a sphere. As he watched through the distorted liquid, he was levitated out if the pool in a giant ball of water. Harry struggled, trying to swim out it, even though he was now floating ten feet above the still dancing flames, but the water's never-ending circular current was holding him back. The only way Harry could escape was through non-verbal magic, but he had never been able to manage it.

He knew in that moment, as he watched the still grounded Marcus pointing his wand up at him, that he had already lost.

It was only after another minute had gone by, and the edges of his vision began to darken, that Marcus finally released the spell. The water was dumped on the ground, and Harry along with it. The flames were doused, and hot steam rose, obscuring his vision.

The last thing he saw through the haze was Marcus lying flat on his back, staring at the sky through his pained tears, and holding onto his burned leg.

This one mere injury was the culmination of all Harry's bitter work.

Author's Note

The chapter title, Bitter Work, comes from an episode of Avatar: The Last Airbender.

I want to say that Harry's arc in this chapter mimics Zuko's in that episode, but really, I just think it makes for a cool sounding title.