Harry decided that he could learn things from the duelling league, the worst-case scenario of which would be merely returning to Hogwarts with lessons for his Patronus Club to learn. As such, each morning that the duelling circuit ran duels, Harry could be found perched on a high stone seat, hair ruffling subtly in the wind while his grin eyes glowed with interest at the scene below him.

It was fascinating, Harry decided, sitting in his regular spot and looking down on the competing spellcasters, seeing how they used space and body language and movement.

More often than not, Sirius and Remus would find him in the stands nearer to midday and they would comment on the matches until Harry could be dragged away for lunch. And, y'know, write down his notes from the experience to add to his learning.

"That witch is weirdly fast with her wand," Sirius leaned over and muttered to him one day when the sun was particularly bright and intense. "She must have a prodigious mind – she's simplified her wand shapes."

From the other side of Sirius, Remus agreed more confidently than he had. "If will, wand and word are the most important components in spellcasting, then a strong and focused will can counter-balance shortcuts in wand and word at any point. Er, if you don't mind my adding, Mr Potter."

Harry bravely refrained from rolling his eyes. "Just Harry, please," he tried. "Just Harry—we're not in school anymore, and you are my father's friend."

Remus shut his mouth with a snap and blinked very fast.

There was a pause that was filled only by the commentator's explanatory monologue and the noise of the audience.

"Uh…Sirius?" Harry whispered after Remus settled weirdly into stillness, his eyes looking blankly at the arena kites above. "Did Re—Uh, what…Did I—?"

"That's between you and him," his godfather said unhelpfully. "Give him some time, kiddo. I…Oh! Will you look at that?!" Sirius was still easily distracted these days. "He's going to lose terribly, that guy – the one in purple, Harry. On the—yes, there. I don't know what he thinks he's doing! Check it out, Moony!"

Still off-balance, Remus drew himself out of his introspection just enough to squint at the wizard that Sirius was pointing at. "Oh, that?" He paused for a mere moment and then nodded once. "Huh. A fascinating duel, to be sure."

Remus bobbed his head thoughtfully a few more times and sank back into silence, leaving Harry and Sirius staring at Remus in anticipation.

"…?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

Sirius gestured something less polite.

"…Could you, perhaps, expand?" Harry tried, after his less vocal question had gone quiet over Remus' head.

Two blank blinks. "…Hrm?"

"The purple guy. Who looks like he sucks at duelling," Harry clarified. "You think he's interesting for some reason?"

"Mmmm? Oh!" Remus shook himself a little, weirdly wolf-like, and Harry watched as he visibly gathered his focus. "Right. Him. Yes, a fascinating wizard that one. Clearly experienced at duels, wouldn't you say?"

Harry and Sirius both swivelled their heads back towards the orchestra, in which a particularly short wizard of indeterminate age was efficiently losing himself his duel. From above his movements were clearly fluid, and he had the flexibly swaying body that Harry was beginning to associate with the better wizarding duellists. His spellcasting was fast and tight, and yet he was...Harry leaned further forward, eyes peeled.

"I can't figure out why he's doing so badly," Harry finally uttered. "I mean, he's good! Fluid body, good sense of space, his wand-tip movements are tight…"

Sirius was nodding his head beside him. Then, "Oh!" he exclaimed, leaving Harry squinting at the arena in frustration. Surely he had comparable combat experience to Sirius, he figured. Particularly considering that his experience was recent while his godfather's was what, ten years ago? What was it that Harry was missing?

"It's his spells," Sirius told him, unhelpfully, which left Harry to glance hopefully at Remus again to see what the ex-teacher would add.

Remus caught his eye and shrugged. "He's not trying to win, actually. See what you can notice."

Harry turned again.

As the crowd around him shouted and muttered and roared and Harry's stark shadow seemed to shiver on the stone in front of him as the wind caught his hair, as Sirius fiddled with something in his sleeve cuff and Remus returned to whatever sudden self-reflection had grabbed him and held his attention, Harry stared.

Slowly his vision narrowed from the duel, to the wizard. He watched the man's shoulders as they drifted in circular motions around his fixed spot, he saw the man's wand arm as it darted and bent and flicked off spells with shocking intensity, and then his vision narrowed in on the spell light that shot off at intermittent intervals from the wizard's darkly polished wand.

"It's in the spell-light," Harry finally muttered, triumph washing away the tight frustration in his chest. "Is he…he's experimenting with a, a style of spellcasting? A new style of duelling, maybe? His spell-lights are looking almost all the same colours, and most of them are pretty dim anyway. That's what's screwing up his rhythm! He's lost the initiative because he's not focusing on the duel; he's got his own aims!"

"Attaboy!" Sirius barked and clapped Harry on the back with slightly too much enthusiasm, as usual. "Now you've got it!"

Sirius elbowed Remus in the ribs, and the ex-teacher looked up and finally focused on Harry's curious face. "Oh, yes, quite right Mr P—Harry. He appears to be trialling some kind of fighting technique. This wizard is probably not a professional dueller, perhaps he's an auror or a hit-wizard; possibly he's just a researcher or scholar although I would venture a guess that his technique's a bit too polished for that. He's practising for a real fight, you see here. Have you noticed the benefits?"

Harry licked his lips. Now this was stuff he could use! "Uh…the spell light. If it all looks similar, then the opponent won't know what's coming?"

"Very good," Remus nodded approvingly, quite possibly forgetting that he wasn't Harry's teacher anymore. "He's trying to disguise his spells in a number of ways: silent casting of course, his wand movements are barely there, and if his spell lights can't be properly muted, then he's…hrm. I wonder if he's casting the colour-changing charm or if it's a side-effect of proper focus. It's quite remarkable what he's doing, either way."

"Could you explain a bit?" Harry cocked his head.

"Well," Remus leaned back in his seat and stretched his long legs out before him. "Spell light is generally accepted to be wasted energy. Like…hrm…Like how a muggle lightbulb is designed for light but also creates heat, a wizard's spell has a purpose but also a colour that bleeds out. Some wizards perfect their spell-mastery so well that their favourite spells are functionally perfect in casting, no wasted energy at all. A summoning charm, for example, that only summons without glowing silver. A warming charm that works without the red radiance. An engorgement that grows without green. But mastering each and every spell to that level sometimes isn't practical."

Harry drew himself out of memories of Professor Dumbledore waving his Elder wand with magnificent radiance and light.

"But the Headmaster…?"

"Oh, him?" Remus nodded. "I hesitate to say it, but he's playing the crowd. Most wizards don't bother with the efficiency of their casting but focus on their spellcasting power instead, and therefore don't know much about the theory of energy bleed. Headmaster Dumbledore is perfectly good at efficiency when he wants to be, but often uses his particularly intense wandlights to showcase his magical power. It's an influence thing, I think. Another perfectly good strategy, I should like to point out, particularly since Dumbledore has power to waste."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, gnawing at his lip. "Huh. So…you reckon this guy…?"

Remus nodded in the direction of the purple dueller who was about to lose his match. "…Appears to be attempting some kind of shortcut; it's been tried before, of course, but it looks like he's got his own spin. If you can't baffle your opponent with blank light, you blind them with bewilderment, I suppose."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. He could use that.

He made a mental note to add the thought to his notes, and continued watching the duels, all the while turning over the practicalities in his mind. No light. Wrong light. Blinding light. Anything to help him survive.

In between trips to the Duelling Arena, and his own studies, Harry kept himself busy with hobbies, and letter writing.

"The Good Young Master is taking it easy," Kreacher instructed firmly through his regular mirror-calls to Harry each morning.

"Yes, Kreacher," Harry agreed pleasantly. "I've limited my study like you told me to."

"The Young Master is working for less than four hours?" Kreacher demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as Harry gazed back at the mirror.

"I…yes," Harry acknowledged. "Crookshanks gets really grumpy at me if I stay in my library too long. So I've been going outside more than usual." He didn't mention how he'd been taking his German textbooks to the local cafes for language practice with the locals, but Kreacher didn't need to know that.

"And the Young Master's potions?" Kreacher interrogated sternly.

Harry winced. "I'm…I'm doing better than I was. I mean, I'm still taking the memory and clarity potions for my German practice, but I'm also taking the muscle relaxant and the Vitamix. Dobby insists. And I take weekends as rest days with no study potions at all."

"You is sleeping?"

"Oh, definitely. Both Crookshanks and Crow would come bite me if I didn't. But I'm getting really early nights and sleeping well, thanks to the muscle relaxants. I'm feeling better than I have been for ages. Honestly."

"Just as well," Kreacher nodded with a scowl. "The Good Young Master is having big plans and is needing to live long enough to do them."

"Of course," Harry meekly agreed.

"And your hobbies?"

Now, that was a more interesting question. A letter with Percy of all people, had pointed out that wizards needed to do physical things without stressing their brains out with too much thinking, so he'd bought himself a knitting book and begun trying to make a…long rectangle.

"I'm getting better at the knitting," Harry said brightly. "I mean, I don't really think I need to do it for mental health or whatever, like Percy and Hermione have mentioned. But I'm rather enjoying it, actually."

It was probably around the end of third-year, Harry decided, that Hermione had taken to knitting for a hobby instead of to free house-elves, last timeline. She'd probably found the rhythmic clicking of knitting needles relaxing too, which was why she'd kept it up as thing through her O.W.L and first N.E.W.T years, despite the busyness.

Kreacher nodded.

"I've hooked up with this lovely old witch who works at the Ministry," Harry added, "who keeps herself busy by her knitting when there're no people needing her help. She's been ever so helpful, and shown me all kinds of tricks I can use now. Unravelling spells, wool-changing charms…she even uses a wool-spinning charm, to spin the wool spool herself. She says it's better for the magic in the weave, apparently. Not that she's seen me attempt them, of course," Harry hastened to add. "They all think I'm stuck with the Trace and whatnot, but I've done them in my luggage compartments just fine."

His long dark blue rectangle was now seven feet long, and counting. He'd tried five different stitches, and gotten reasonably confident in all of them. Harry didn't know what he'd do with his rectangle eventually, but giving it to Kreacher might be a nice gesture. Soon it would be time for him to try to change wool colours, perhaps even stitch up a…bird design…on it? Black family crest? Slytherin-green finishing?

"The Naughty Young Master?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "He's doing much better than I've ever seen him before, actually. In both timelines," Harry felt compelled to add. The professional healing sessions that Sirius was forced to go to were making a big difference to both his weight, and his mental stability. "He hangs out with Remus, mostly. We…still don't get on brilliantly ourselves, Remus and I - all awkwardness still, I'm afraid - but Remus looks after Sirius just fine. He's got more patience than me, most days, so Sirius is always well looked after."

Once Kreacher was informed and reassured that he was looking after himself, Harry was forced to go outside to get some more sun. It was healthy, he was informed, and duly bullied by his house-elf until he agreed to go out.

He meandered down the Botschaftsstraße quietly, until he found a nice-looking café, right next to the German Post-Office he'd temporarily redirected his mail to.

It was the work of a moment to collect the latest letters, then claim a table in the sun at which he could sit to read and reply to them. He added the pile to what Crow had brought him earlier, and then yawned in the sun. It was warm, although the wind was pleasantly brisk, and Harry felt unusually at peace.

Crow, somewhat competitively, perched on his shoulder and stared with great distrust at the Post Office's owls.

Harry sipped at his iced gillywater, and tore open his first letter. After the end of last school-year, Percy and the twins were particularly pushy in discovering what Harry was doing with himself.

We hope you're sleeping lots, the twins wrote in their shared letter. Forge is practicing his human transfiguration on his arms quite obsessively. He wants to get the transformation in his limbs almost perfect before we take the animagus potion – which is fine, by the way. We snuck into Hogwarts last weekend to check it was undisturbed. We obviously didn't look at it, or anything, thus ruining the whole thing, but the Fidelius is still up and running, and the house-elves report that they've kept all the staff well away from the room that it's stored in.

However did you learn that spell, anyway? We guess there are benefits to pushing yourself towards collapse, if learning the bloody Fidelius is what you walk away with. Forge and myself have also been practising that, without Mum and Dad knowing, but we can't get the spell to stick at all. How long did it take you to learn?

A slightly different handwriting took over.

Gred's transfigurations are going alright too, although they're nothing in comparison to mine, of course.

Are you well? Sleeping enough? Getting enough good food? Warm enough?

Harry had the weirdest of realisations that the twins were, in fact, descended from Molly Weasley, and struggled for a moment with the weirdest sense of mental imbalance. The Twin-Terrors? Channelling their mother!? But the letter continued.

We hope you're wearing enough clothes over in Germany – I know it's supposed to be quite cold in winter, but what's the weather like in summer-time? Have you met any hot girls? Trialled any good beer? We wanted to send over some of Mum's best brownies, but Gred pointed out that it probably wouldn't be great for your health. The fact that your crow looked incredibly upset with us when we brought it out for mailing has nothing to do with our final decision not to send it, and we definitely did not quail in response to its very cutting judgement. Where did you find such a bird, anyway? It's a sight bloody better than our poor Errol, which really should be retired, we reckon.

Harry wondered why they'd not thought of that years earlier.

But never mind that! How's your godfather doing? And Professor Lupin? It's great to learn that he's doing alright after leaving from Hogwarts, though a real shame that he's not coming back. Are you getting special lessons from him while you're over there? Lucky thing. Then again, I hope you're not pushing yourself too hard, or we'll curse you when you get back to sleep for a month!

Percy was somewhat more circumspect in his enquiries as to Harry's health.

To Mr Harry Potter, he began rather formally,

I appreciate your correspondence &c., &c.

Congratulations on making it through to the end of the year. You've succeeded beyond what I thought possible – I had a quick conversation with Professor McGonagall about your grades before I left school, and she says there hasn't been a student with so many Outstandings in third-year for quite some time. You even beat out Miss Granger, I hear, which is quite the feat indeed.

It was indeed, even if Harry'd benefitted from two timelines to do it, and Hermione had given him quite the competitive look when their grades had come back.

You beat my old scores too, which I find quite impressive, so congratulations again. I hope you are taking advantage of the break from school to rest up somewhat. I myself only kept my time-turner through my O.W.L subjects: I really do not recommend you use it into your N.E.W.T years. But the benefits are obvious, and I just hope that you have been shoring up your body while you rest in the meantime.

I'd be delighted to share my old fourth-year notes with you when you return back from Germany. For some reason, Fred and George still remain uninterested in something that would save them lots of work, and thus they are free and available to any good home. (The notes, Percy added in a rare display of humour. Not my brothers, although you can have them if you can get them.) I have labelled the whole pile of notes with your name, and they are now simply waiting for your return from Europe.

As to my other news, I have indeed managed to find myself a Master of Law. Thank you very much for the recommendation to Mr Lloyd-Elliot. He is not, of course, my master, being significantly famous in the industry and having no time to guide a new apprentice like myself. But I have been taken in under one of the other lawyers in his office, a Mr Magnus O'Moore, who has generously paid my registration fees to the guild.

A recommendation from the famous Harry Potter himself seems to go a long way in the wizarding world. I am most grateful for the favour.

I am also being paid a wage already, having apparently displayed enough competence in filing and administration to be of actual, valuable use in the office. My own apprenticeship fees to Mr O'Moore then, will be taken out of my pay and I will not end up with any debt as first expected. As such, my mother is not too heart-broken about my failure to entire the Ministry, and our relationship will recover with time.

In response to your request, I have done some rapid research on the significance on name gifting and name changes, and have summarised the particulars on a second piece of parchment (see attached). The overview, however, is that there are usually only two occasions where names change, and they traditionally occur in only two significant rituals: a child's naming day – usually occurring within a week of birth and including a whole pomp and process depending on the family's traditions, and a witch's wedding day – which comes with even more rituals and processes, as she adopts the last name of her husband or occasionally adds it to her own.

The gifting of names as you mentioned to me is highly unusual and British records reveal the most recent recipient to be Albus Dumbledore, who adopted an additional two names after the death of Gellert Grindelwald. Ministry records reveal that he was called Albus Percival on his naming day (much like his younger brother who also has two given names: Aberforth Oswald), and the additional names of "Wulfric" and "Brian" were added to his signature in the late 1940s.

I highly recommend you accept the names offered to you – indeed, if offered, it is significantly impolite to decline the debt of gratitude – but you should do your best to accept them formally on some kind of significant date that comes with some extra ritual practices to strengthen the connection. Your upcoming fourteenth birthday, for example, would be an arithmetically significant date – twice seven, Harry realised with raised brows, before refocusing– with enough traditional celebrations to strengthen your connection to the names.

I remain, with all due diligence, at your service, and share my best birthday wishes to you on your upcoming birthday if I do not write to you again by then.

All the best,

Percy Weasley.

Dear Harry, Draco wrote,

I appreciate your correspondence &c., &c.

Great to hear from you! I loved Germany when we visited a few years ago. You have to visit the duelling arena, and there's a wonderful Quidditch store just off the Unmöglichentzückenstraße that you absolutely have to visit!

In fact, I'll add a list of the shops you must visit while you're over there. I visited a few years ago now, but I'm sure the quality remains the same.

France is more up my alley, I don't mind you knowing, but there's something refreshing about the German culture that I think you'll enjoy. Let me know how it goes over there! And our love to Cousin Sirius! Mother always claimed that she knew he was innocent. I'm glad you've come through for him.

Speaking of that, you are not Minister Fudge's favourite person right now. My father doesn't seem to be your biggest fan either, oddly enough, but he doesn't really like having to work with Minister Fudge either (don't tell anyone) so he's been bringing home some great stories of what Minister Fudge is complaining about these days.

It's all you, Harry, so I hope you're aware of your influence on the Ministry. You're the absolute Golden Child right now in Britain, and Can Do No Wrong, according to current reporting practices.

Minister Fudge, obviously enough, is apparently absolutely convinced that you'll be running for Minister as soon as you get out of Hogwarts and will handily snatch his job from him. With the way your reputation's going right now, you'd probably get it too, so perhaps he's not totally stupid to be panicking about it.

Honestly, you'd probably do a better job of it too, from what my father tells me, but I can't really see you interested working as the Minister. No one can convince Fudge of that though, and he's started quite the counter-rumour about your 'obnoxious' and 'grandstanding' ways.

The funniest thing is, of course, none of the papers will print any of that rot because the public loves you so much right now, so the only thing that's happening is that there are 'top secret' missives about you flying around the Ministry building. I don't even think that the staff believe them. They're all just humouring Fudge.

My father thinks it's hilarious, though I obviously can't tell him we're friends.

Draco's letter continued on in that chatty vein, with nothing much of import to impart. Harry made a note to himself to reply in kind, then moved on.

To Mr or Ms Mysterious, a loopy script scrawled in a poisonous emerald-green ink,

Your enigmatic hints have come through once again. Your points about Sirius Black have been accepted with delighted schadenfreude by the wizarding public, and your hints about Cornelius Fudge have been quite on the money. My readers love me, Mr Mysterious, and my articles are reaching a wider readership than ever before.

In the interests of our ongoing alliance: Do you have anything else you can share?

More dirt on Crouch? Hints as to who's being hired as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts this year? Dumbledore's encroaching senility?

Do you have any idea about the Ministry's big secret that they're planning for after the Quidditch World Cup? My sources can confirm that there's something going on, but not even I have caught anyone in the Ministry slipping up.

Any gossip about the star Quidditch players in the Quidditch Cup coming up? Can you predict who's going to win?

What can you give me, Mr or Ms Mysterious? And when will you be willing to meet face to face, or even just share your name?

Your ally, as ever,

Rite Skeeter

Dearest Harry, Hermione's letter began,

I am on the sunny shores of Sicily, and enjoying the splendid weather. How are you? Have you been doing much reading? I was as astonished as everybody when you told us that you were going to travel abroad to spend time with your recently redeemed godfather, and I do hope that he's treating you well.

I've done some research on post-incarceration syndrome, which I've attached behind this letter, and I wanted to let you know that in case he seems really down, or possibly swinging a bit bipolar, it's all part of his healing process. Azkaban, as I'm sure you're aware, is incredibly bad for mental health, and your godfather was in there for a long time, in the worst wing possible, from what Rita Skeeter reports. The research indicated that his emotions will have been deadened for so long that he probably can't manage them too well – basically, imagine him swinging from absolute rage to over-enthused joy with no in-between. Everything will be very intense for him, emotionally speaking, right now.

True. Sirius had been exactly like that when Harry had first run into him a year ago, but in the twelve months since he'd improved significantly. Although bless poor Hermione for trying.

Harry lowered his eyes again to the page.

Try and get him going outside, if you can, in places where there are plenty of people but not too many crowds.

I thought I'd also let you know that the Wizengamot is reported as still arguing over Mr Black's official reparations, just in case you can't get the Daily Prophet over there. They're being held back, apparently, by the fact that Mr Black isn't willing to recuperate in Britain. Minister Fudge claims that this is injuring Britain's international reputation. He wants to hold out on giving Mr Black anything until he comes back to England and promises to be say good things to the media about Ministry processes, according to the Daily Prophet reporters.

Which is stupid, of course, because it's also been widely reported how many people you spoke to in the Ministry to try and get your godfather a trial, and how all of them turned you and your lawyer down. So the other half of the Wizengamot is reportedly hoping to pay out a generous sum in some kind of pre-emptive attempt to bribe your godfather back home.

It all seems terribly petty to me, after what they did to him, and whatever the two of you are doing together, I hope you are getting on well.

(He should hold out for much more, by the way, my father recommends, although of course he speaks from a muggle perspective. Minister Fudge's position is going to look worse and worse over time as Mr Black refuses to return to Britain, so he should definitely hold out for double the current money offered, and a public apology in the papers, or so my father thinks. He's the kind of man who keeps up with these dramas in the papers, so those are my best recommendations.)

Neville sent a letter. Nothing special, just chatting gossip about letters from schoolmates and his greenhouses and rumours about the next Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Harry made a mental note not to hint too much about what he expected from the year in his later reply; he couldn't go aroudn sounding like he knew too much, after all, even if it was Nev.

Cedric had sent him a short note about the Patronus Club, which had Harry distracted by plans for a bit. Sumire gossiped about her new job. Benny told Harry all about his mum's latest work drama, which rather surprised Harry as he'd only written to Benny's mother once. But perhaps Benny was the type of kid who overshared things. It seemed in character actually, now that Harry thought about it.

Luna wrote: about her father's garden, and the flowering and fruiting of her Dirigible Plum tree. She told him what electives she'd be taking in third-year: Runes and Arithmancy, to Harry's lack of surprise. They were a particularly Ravenclaw choice, Harry knew, and he hoped she'd enjoy them. She described in sombre detail the sad passing of her adopted pet puffskein, and how she had buried it near the ward boundary around her house and burnt some sage in honour of its life.

Luna also sent over a copy of the latest Quibbler issue, which mainly talked about the Sour-Faced Dutch Knarl – some rare kind of offshoot of the usual hedgehog-like animal, although a delightfully scathing article on the second page suggested that Minister Fudge was under the Imperius. Fudge had to be, the article claimed, for him to have ignored all the evidence for Sirius Black's innocence, far beyond what good sense would have allowed him to do. The only alternative was apparently the acknowledging that Fudge was actually a mere puppet-golem, controlled by some hidden splinter group that was ensconced within the Department of Mysteries.

Harry had it framed, by a little shop near the busiest point in the Unmöglichentzückenstraße, and gifted it to Sirius to hang in his bedroom.

Sirius loved it. Remus seemed to as well, although he was still stiff and awkward with Harry, apparently limiting their interactions to randomly informative facts and steering shy of any informal interaction.

By the time Harry had finished his gillywater, Harry had finished reading his letters from Ron – about the tickets to the Quidditch World Cup, from Neville – which explained about his grandmother's terrifying book club of intimidating dowagers, and the ex-Hufflepuff Sumire – who had gotten her dream position and thanked Harry for his reference letter and would now be far too busy to write for a few months.

But Harry had an empty schedule, and nothing much to do in the way of goals or deadlines, so Harry decided to stay sitting in the sun for another half hour or so, and put off his responses until tomorrow.