"Bloody fucking hell!" Harry growled, slowly opening his eyes.

Harry had a headache. He was, in all likelihood, still exhausted - but he'd never admit that to himself. If he was being honest, he was absolutely certain that Madame Pomfrey would not like the idea of him standing in front of his mirror. And yet he couldn't sleep, despite the darkness permeating throughout his room. His thoughts bothered him. His sleep had been restless as he pondered the last words spoken by Albus Dumbledore.

'Dumbledore, the man of second chances, would kill on my behalf.' He wasn't sure how to feel about that. It was, of course, some incredible dedication and caring. And yet, he didn't want anyone to kill for him. He didn't want anyone to kill at all, but that was the unfortunate reality of war - and his life.

He had, obviously, been exposed to death. At a tender 11 years old, he had killed. It was a different experience, because then he had just been a frightened boy out of his depth in the world of magic.

'Hell, I'm still just a frightened boy, with a slightly deeper voice.' He thought to himself with little mirth. He had killed Quirrell but hadn't truly understood what taking another life had meant. He hadn't meant to do it. He didn't really count the Basilisk as a kill, but at 12 years old, he had no problem plunging the blood soaked fang into the diary to rid the world of a young Tom Riddle.

'In my defense though, it was a memory that could still do magic!' Harry thought to himself, looking for any excuse. In his third year, at a mere 13 years of age, he would've killed Sirius if the truth hadn't come out. He had likely redeemed himself by saving Peter's life, even though now he truly regretted it. 'Everything is like...a puzzle. There are so many pieces that may or may not fit. Or pieces that used to fit, that no longer do. This isn't helping my headache.'

During his fourth year, he hadn't killed anyone, but he had been the cause of Cedric being murdered in front of his eyes. In the Muggle world, they likely could've made a case of him being an accessory to murder. He should've simply taken the trophy and Cedric may still be alive today. It had never occurred to him that he was not the only one tricked into making an awful mistake during that Third Task. Everything had been orchestrated nearly perfectly in an attempt to revive the Dark Lord, preferably with the blood of the one that had escaped him.

Just recently, he had gotten his Godfather killed because he was too stupid to stay away from an obvious trap. Worse, he could've gotten all of his closest friends killed as well. It was weird to think of killing as casually as he was, but he believed that he was perhaps desensitized from the frequency of it. He was used to death being around him at all times. At some point in his life, it had become to norm. Death, abuse, hatred of him for reasons he did not understand, the ridicule from "family" and "friends" - Harry realized that he was used to it all.

'I'm a bloody menace to society.' Harry thought as he rubbed his temples in an attempt to alleviate some of the pounding in his head. He lay in the bed a bit longer, still not trusting himself to stand, and surprised that he had managed to do it yesterday. Madame Pomfrey had told him that he needed to be careful with his movements. A great deal of the damage that he took had been caused by "Dark Magic", which only made the healing process more difficult as the curses had a way of burrowing deep and interfering with the healing spells.

'Maybe the headache is from all of the information that she tossed at me.' Harry pondered. The MediWitch had tried to overload him with potions and guidelines for his recovery. She knew, it seemed, that he was not likely to listen to every single bit of information that she gave him. She made sure to make him repeat him his dosages to her until he could recite them verbatim. She had gone so far as to give him a wrap to go around his wrist that held 2 days worth of the 4 potions that he was on, albeit in a shrunken form. The brilliance was that he could be mobile and still recover. The nurse wanted to him mingle with his friends, but her heart hadn't been in enforcing it. He simply wasn't ready, mentally that is.

'At least I'm not dead!' Harry thought with a grin. It had been explained to him that his "death" had been a way to reboot his body and his magic. Outside of the physical pain and the curses that still lingered within him, he was feeling lighter. Madame Pomfrey had eluded that he would possibly see some changes in his body now that there wasn't such a drain on his magic. Nothing drastic, primarily due to the malnourishment he had endured at the Dursley's.

Her solution was to give him some nutrient based potions, which were usually incredibly illegal and volatile when reacting to the magic of most people. She had explained to him that since his magic was new, for all intents and purposes, that she could introduce it to his bloodstream slowly. If only for the summer, but it would help him along the way to recovery. Because she said it, he trusted and believed her, but had no idea of how the process would actually work. He had decided to take a wait and see approach, and there was really no need to get excited over something that might not work.

It was time for him to try to stand up without anger infusing his muscles. He needed to help himself to recover. Madame Pomfrey had cautioned him not to overexert himself, but he was 15, and destined to kill or die trying, and he figured he could take some risks. After all, it would be ironic to die from injuries not sustained by the Dark Lord he was destined to fight.

"Harry, you probably shouldn't be standing right now." a familiar voice spoke behind, startling him thoroughly. He hadn't even heard her come in.

"How did you know that I was awake Hermione?" Harry asked, biting down the instinct to run from her presence.

"I haven't slept well in the past few days. Besides, I was...am worried about you," Hermione spoke. Harry, still with his back to her, wouldn't notice her wipe a tear away. "Madame Pomfrey left a few more potions for you. She seemed to know that you'd attempt walking anyway. Now that I know you're alive, I'm going to try to get some sleep."

"Hermione," Harry started, suddenly unsure of the words he wanted to say. "T-thank you." He felt her smile from behind him.

"What are best friends for Harry? Do me a favor, don't scare me like that ever again." The young woman responded. A tired grin came to Harry's face at her statement, causing him to turn around, only to catch the door closing behind his bestfriend.

It took him the better part of what was likely 15 minutes to cross the room, but he was finally able to look at the vials that Pomfrey had left for him; there were 3 total, and there was a note attached to one of the bottles.

Mr. Potter, I did not tell you to stand. Yet, since I am aware of how stubborn you can be, I have had Severus prepare some potions for you that should aid your recovery. The silver potion is an Anti-Inflammatory potion, drink it all in one go and it should help with the general aches and pains, as well as take care of any residual effects of the curses. The red potion, of course, is a Pepper-Up Potion. The most important thing for you to do now is reacquaint yourself with your magic, and you'll need energy to do that.

The final potion is for your continued use. All you need is three drops per day. You must tell no one of this potion, and you must use it wisely.

Madame Pomfrey

Frowning at the cryptic message in the last bit of the note, Harry immediately downed the Pepper-Up Potion, followed by the Anti-Inflammatory remedy. Outside of a quick grimace from the awful taste, Harry had no visual reaction to the use of the potions. Out of habit, he found himself something to lean against as they immediately began to work their magic on him. He could vividly remember the very first time he took an Anti-Inflammatory potion and how it had knocked him on his arse. In his current state, he could do without a repeat of that.

A half hour later saw a showered and nearly dressed Harry Potter attempting to bend his sore and stiff knee to get into a pair of jeans. The potions had helped, yes, but they weren't meant to be an immediate cure, as it was up to his magic and his body to heal the rest of his ailments. What he needed now was food, more than anything. Hopefully, no one else was awake. From a quick peek at the blinds covering his magical window, he could see that it was still dark outside, maybe just the wee hours of the morning.

Once in the kitchen, a journey that became easier with every step that he took, he reveled in the silence of the kitchen. He made himself a sandwich, a simple one really, and took a satisfying bite as he leaned against the countertop. He immediately resisted the urge to vomit, his body dissatisfied with the meal after so much time on medicine, and simple fluids. He forced himself to finish. He had to continue living. He could not take a break just because his body wasn't ready. Mentally, he still had much to consider, to ponder and to decide upon.

First on his list of things was simply getting trained, or training himself. While he may be good by the standards of a Hogwarts student, he knew that the enemies after him were leagues better. Sirius, said by some to be ferocious dueler, had been defeated by Bellatrix after all. Dumbledore, too, had merely fought Voldemort to a draw. Though, there was the prophecy to consider there. Instead of school work, this was the life he had to live.

Then, came the question of if he failed. He was under no qualms about the gap between himself and Voldemort. The man was powerful, and was only getting stronger every single day. On top of that, he had decades of experience in powerful forms of magic, and Harry felt woefully inadequate. He wasn't afraid to die, not particularly anyway. But he was afraid for his friends and the people he considered his family should he fall in battle. He knew they wouldn't survive long, no matter how hard they fought. If he was the key to the entire war against Voldemort, he could not afford to die. And yet, how could he live in the face of the monstrous power that was Voldemort?

What happened if he won? That was a question that he rarely pondered. For the longest time, it had seemed as if Voldemort simply held a grudge. Now, after that meeting with the headmaster, Harry knew that it ran much deeper than that. Voldemort would do anything to destroy the Boy-Who-Lived and all of those he held dear. If he won, and it was an enormous if, what would his life be like then? He was already scorned and loved for simply not dying when so many others had. If he killed Voldemort, what would change? He had no illusions of grandeur. He simply wanted peace and quiet. He had a feeling, though, that that would never be the case for him. As a kid, living with his aunt and uncle, he had never had visions of his future, only his immediate present. He had simply wished for love and affection, to speak with his parents, and to mean something to someone. An escape to the wizarding world was just what the doctor had ordered, originally. And now, his life was even worse here.

"What did I do to deserve this life?" He pondered, absorbed in the dust particles that seemed to float in the air. Fate seemed to play a cruel game with him. He could run away. He should run away. And yet, he couldn't just leave his friends.

"Ron… the Weasley's, Remus, Hagrid, Hermione…" Harry thought. Fate has presented him a life and then gave him many reasons to not run away. If he thought about it, he'd certainly realize that his life was better in the magical world, mostly because he wasn't always alone. True, Ron and Hermione would never know some of the things that he had to go through, but they suffered through some of the same challenges as he did. For that alone, he could not simply leave them to a disastrous fate. Which meant that he needed to be better, to be stronger, so that he could protect the friends that gave him a reason to want to live.

He had never taken a truly active step in his Hogwarts education, but even he knew that the spells and techniques needed to defeat Voldemort would not be taught in the halls of Hogwarts. This was especially the case if there was another teacher like Umbridge. He needed more. He wanted to live, but he needed to live even more.

'I wonder if the Black Library has anything that could help me?' Harry thought as he looked at his surroundings. If the house was any indication, he was certain that they had some nice spells for him to learn and to put to use. With that simple realization, he made his way to the library, gaining strength with every step that he took, his mission invigorating.

A couple of hours later would find him shifting through a pile of books that held truly interesting spells. The problem was, many of the theories and ideas was above his current knowledge. He wondered, briefly, if it was because he had truly neglected his studies at Hogwarts, or if it was because they were advanced topics. One such passage read as:

For many witches and wizards, magic is an innate defensive mechanism. That is, for the vast majority of the magic folk, their magic will act as a deterrent against most forms of bodily harm. For example, a magic user can fall from heights, and suffered little more than a sharp bite of pain. Inherently, there magic reached out to their surroundings and provided a sort of protection. That is not to say that a magic user can jump off a broom several hundred feet in the air and survive that fall. Indeed, it is almost to say that a magic user can usually walk away from most simple accidents.

As magic users age and mature, they can learn to hone this instinct and use it in battle as a means of protecting themselves further. However, the concept of gathering one's magic is a rare, and often considered lost, art. Many witches and wizards do not bother with the idea of gathering their magic, and using it in battle. The simple fact is, many magic users live a peaceful life and rarely have to defend themselves against an attack.

The book had gone one to discuss the pros and cons of gathering magic, and how it could be helpful in everyday life as well, and not just in a battle. And yet, just the phrase itself was baffling to Harry.

'What the bloody hell does it mean to gather your magic? How is someone supposed to feel their magic!?' Harry thought furiously, throwing the book against the wall, not caring about the sound that it created. The house was still asleep. He must've woken up in the wee hours of the morning for there to be no one coming and going. Almost as a direct result of the sound he created, he heard hurried footsteps from down the hall. Bracing himself for a tongue lashing from Mrs Weasley, he was surprised to find that none other than Remus Lupin peaked into the room.

"What are you doing- oh, Harry. I didn't expect you to be awake, least of all walking around." Remus stated, snuffing the light from his wand.

"Yeah, I was a bit restless." Harry replied, keeping his eyes on the lamp that was lit on the table beside him. He was still wrapped up in his thoughts, and didn't hear the response from his ex-Professor. He did, however, hear the follow-up question.

"What's wrong Harry?" Remus asked.

It was a loaded question. Harry knew that he could simply blame the aftermath of the battle, but these had been thoughts that seemed to permeate throughout his very being. Remus, while an adult, was a trusted adult and always seemed to see him as an equal and not a child. On the other hand, he was still loyal to Dumbledore, and as a result, Harry did not know how his answer would affect the man.

"Remus," Harry started, instantly capturing the man's attention. Harry never called by his proper name. "Can I trust you?" Harry asked, looking into the werewolf's eyes and seeing the bewilderment.

"Of course Harry! I would do anything for you." Remus replied, earnestly. Harry took a few moments to ponder this response and to gather his thoughts before completely unleashing and baring his frustrations.

"I've always felt as if I were a step behind everyone. And, with everyone looking at me to be this great sorcerer, I don't feel like I measure up. I feel like I missed an orientation for "Wizarding 101". There are so many things that I just don't seem to know how to do, or understand, and yet it appears to be basic information for the next student." Harry vented. It had been a question on his mind for quite some time.

For example, when it came to potions, he couldn't seem to grasp the basic concept of why certain potions had certain ingredients or why it was so important to slice, chop, or grind that ingredient just so. There seemed to be some big secret that he had never been let in on. He watched as Remus nodded his head in understanding, but was still slightly afraid that the man would laugh at him.

"Most wizards, at least the way it was for my upbringing before I was bit, were tutored at home in the basics of magic. They received low-level lectures on the differences between charms and curses, and what could be blocked by what, what to do in certain situations with certain spells. Some families, especially Purebloods, hired tutors for their children. My father was really good at charms and defensive spells and the manipulation of those spells. His example was always the stunning spell. Sometimes it was better to knock someone out. Other times, he would say, it was better to knock them out of the fight, but not unconscious." Remus replied, looking pensive. These memories of his childhood seemed to be harsh on him.

"What? How does that make sense?" Harry asked bewildered.

"Well, first, you'd have to understand that some spells can be countered without a wand. I hear that you can throw off the Imperius curse, do you do that with a wand?" Remus asked. He watched as Harry shook his head to confirm. "Exactly. Most spells that are used to affect the body can be countered mentally. Take Immobulus. It's used to slow you down, yes. However, if you are of strong mind, and you really want to get free, the spell wouldn't truly stop you for long. Likewise, if a much weaker witch or wizard casts the spell it may not even truly affect you. Your magic and your mind will protect you to a certain extent all on its own. It's up to you, then, foster that connection with your magic."

"Wow. Why don't they teach this in school?" Harry asked. How useful would this have been in all of their fights and adventures?

"Well, it's advanced magic. Independent research can be used to find out more about it, but Hogwarts doesn't truly have a class set aside for the mind arts. They do a general education, and leave the rest for the student to pursue at their own whims." Remus replied, as if it made all the sense in the world. Harry on the other hand was thinking of himself and other people in his position such as the Muggleborns, who likely hadn't had such an introduction to the magical world. Well, not that he knew off. Hermione seemed to know a bit of everything, and he had never seen any of the other Muggleborns that he knew struggle with the basic concepts.

"Well, can you teach me?" Harry asked. He hadn't even thought of the question, but it was almost second nature to want to know the answer to the question. The worst that Remus could say to him was no. At most, Harry figured he could learn a bit more about magic from an expert, and then try to apply it to his individual study.

"Of course Harry. I seem to have a bit of time on my hands now that… well, nevermind that. Of course I can teach you. Where do you want to start? What do you want to learn? I'm no expert by any means, but I was the nerd of the Marauders, so I have a pretty good understanding of most things. Actually, I'm still a nerd, but we'll just keep that between the two of us." Remus replied, with a smile that Harry shared, albeit halfheartedly.

"I want to learn anything that can help me in a fight." Harry responded in a serious manner, Remus raised his eyebrows at the request.

"That's a broad topic Harry." Remus replied.

"Well," Harry started, embarrassed that he had been speaking without truly thinking of what he needed and what we wanted. "Let's start at the beginning, with things that I am supposed to know, and we can branch off from there. I'm willing to learn whatever it is you wish to teach me." Harry replied earnestly. Remus seemed to think of this as an acceptable response and instantly became more comfortable, taking a seat in one of the chairs near Harry.

"One of the things that we're going to work on first, before we truly cast magic at one another is helping you understand the basics. You have a grasp on magic like none other, without truly understanding all of the basics and why things works. You remind me of James and Sirius in that; they were always foregoing the manual for a bit of hands-on experience."

"Ok, where do we start then?" Harry asked. Curious to see how he could use this to his advantage. If Remus was right, and Harry was sure that he was, this could save a lot of time in his understanding of duels. You didn't have to be exceedingly powerful to win a duel. Quick thinking, and careful understanding of how spells worked, and how they're countered could be monumental in saving his life.

"And, how do you become familiar with your magic? Is it just a simple case of using it a lot, or is there something more? And how the hell does one gather their magic?" Harry asked the questions rapid-fire. Some if it seemed simple enough, but that meant nothing in the world of magic.

"It's definitely important how often you use it, and then more so in how you use it. You can use a spell every day and still not develop a relationship, for lack of better words, for your magic. I'm no expert in the matter, but I've noticed that the more I use a spell, I seem to have an affinity for it. Your Patronus Charm, for example, is probably the most powerful that I have ever seen, including Dumbledore's. You've had to use it so much and in so many desperate situations, and practice it so hard, that when you cast it, Dementors literally can't stand to face it. I wouldn't be shocked if one day they began to fear you." Remus responded, motioning Harry to follow him. His scrunched face was a proof that he had placed a lot of thought into his answer. Harry had never thought of magic that way, though it did makes sense that the more you used something, the better at using it you would become.

As they entered one of the barely used rooms in the home, Harry watched quietly as Remus began to conjure cushions and place them strategically around the floor. Harry gave him a look of appreciation.

"I guess this is for when I hit the floor?" Harry asked. "You're so considerate." He continued, sarcastically.

"I could not provide safe learning for you. It would be a very Madaurer-ish thing for me to do, don't you think." Remus responded with a rare smile. Harry could only concede to his point, after all it did make sense.

"What are we starting with?" Harry asked.

"Probably just a bit of lecture before I can actually start casting magic at you. If you forget anything, remember that the spells that have to stop a function of your body are typically directed at your brain. Therefore, you can overwhelm those spells just by being in control of your brain. Occlumency helps a lot here if you hadn't noticed. It helps when you have a firm understanding of your mind."

"Got it." Harry spoke, eager to begin.

"How do you hold your wand?" Remus asked, beckoning Harry to pull out his wand. "Most people hold their wand too rigidly and so they shake with their spell casting. Others don't hold their wand tight enough and so it is easily torn from their grasp. Put your thumb there, your index finger there, and allow the rest of your fingers to naturally fall into position. This is going to feel weird, but it's the best way to cast spells. Now put your wand away." Harry obliged the man and listened on as Remus began to explain why it was important to hold your wand in such a manner. Not only was your body more naturally relaxed, but one would have far more control over their wand and the spells that were cast. Remus further went on to even show Harry the stark differences between holding the wand too tightly and holding it too loosely. By sending out multiple spells at the targets he had created, Remus was able to show Harry the difference in his aiming.

"If you're in danger, drawing your wand and sending a spell should all be in one motion. You'd need to be fast on the draw and fast on the spell as well. What's the best defense for a spell?" Remus asked.

"To move." Harry replied quickly. The answer was obvious. Just a few short days ago, his instincts and ability to move had saved his life several times.

"Good. Now, all spells can't be blocked or countered with the same defensive spells, so we are certainly going to cover a wide range of spells that will allow you to adjust accordingly. Protego is usually good for simpler spells, but it uses magical energy. What you will notice more proficient wizards and witches do is a technique called parrying. What it does is that it focuses just a bit of magical energy at the tip of the wand and then use that energy coupled with the magic of the spell to send it elsewhere." Remus stated. Harry stared at him, silently, hoping that the string of sentences would begin to make sense to him eventually.

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused at this point.

"Hit me." Remus stated. Harry hesitated but drew his wand and readied himself with a spell.

"Stupefy!" Harry said. It was a fairly basic spell, and easy for Remus to block or for Harry to counter. What Harry did not expect was for Remus to simply stand there as the spell sped towards him. Further, he did not expect the werewolf to seemingly slap the spell harmlessly into the wall to his left.

"What I did was time it perfectly, get the magic just right, and then deflect the spell elsewhere. It's not a simple matter and not easy to master, and some avoid it completely. However, it is very helpful when you're in a duel, aren't sure of the spell being cast at you and you don't know the shield necessary. Obviously, you cannot do this with an Unforgivable. Those, you want to avoid at all cost." Remus replied.

"Why isn't this taught?" Harry asked, thinking over the requirements of the defensive technique.

"Well, everyone can't keep their focus. Duels would be over so much faster if everyone thought themselves capable of parrying. It the timing and the amount of magic at the tip of the wand have to be perfect. Not almost, not sort of, but perfect. It takes a lot of humiliating moments before some people can learn to do this. This is something that we will work on constantly. It is extremely advanced, like professional dueling level, but with your instincts, I am sure that you can pick it up quickly." Remus said, adding the last part after seeing the disappointed look on Harry's face.

"Wait, how did I just do magic and not receive an owl from the Ministry?" Harry asked aloud. Remus could only shrug, as apparently, he did not know the answer either.

"Let's just take advantage of the good fortune and get started," The older man responded. He turned the attention to the targets that were at the far end of the wall. "What I want you to do, every single day, for at least 15 minutes, is practice at hitting the targets. Once we are certain you can hit the targets consistently while, stationary, we will toss in a few more tricks to get you up to speed."

"I can do that." Harry replied.

"Today, we are going to start with some of the spells that you know, I want to see your repertoire so that I can see how you are casting them and your accuracy with them. I don't want to see just your offensive spells, but every single spell that you know. I want you to cast each spell only once, but try your very best. What I will do from my side is some recording so that we can figure some things out." Remus stated, moving out of the way to give Harry room.

Harry nodded his understanding, and took the spot that Remus indicated, eager to get started. He started with one of the first spells that he learned, the Levitation charm, easily lifting all of the non-living materials in the room. For the next 20 minutes or so, he found himself in a rhythm as he cast all of the spells that he knew. He had decided to go in order by subject, starting with Charms, then proceeding to Transfiguration, and ending with Defense Against the Dark Arts.

In his zone, he didn't notice the magical device that Remus has conjured to record the information. Blissfully unaware, he placed himself in a zone where the only thing he saw was his target, depending on the spell.

Nymphadora Tonks, youngest Auror in Great Britain's Ministry of Magic, entered Number 12 Grimmauld Place after an exhausting shift. She hated the night shift, truly. Some of the most horrid and awful things happened in the night, and with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named return from the dead, it seemed as if those incidents had quadrupled in occurrence. There were nearly nightly raids, and villages ransacked all over the isle. In most cases, they didn't hear about some of these attacks until after the fact, when there was nothing to recover but bodies from destroyed homes. The Deatheaters were quick and brutally efficient. They seemed to know that there was a standard of at least a 15 minute response time from the Aurors and other Ministry personnel. The closest that a team of Aurors came to actually witnessing one of the raids was when they apparated on the seen just as the Dark Mark was shot into the sky.

What was worse was that the Deatheaters were very good at covering their tracks, and their approach. There were simply too many people to protect and not enough people to do the actual protecting. There hadn't been any Auror losses, yet, but it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. Tonks, personally, feared an ambush.

'Merlin knows some of us are poorly trained as it is.' Tonks thought morbidly, cringing at some of the latest recruits from the Auror Academy. Despite being the youngest Auror on the force, Tonks was usually handpicked for many missions. Her ability as a metamorphmagus was unrivaled when it came to infiltrating enemy camps and doing detective work. And yet, there was not much she could do if the Ministry couldn't even detect the Deatheaters as they attacked.

After a shift like that, with some of the bodies that she had seen, she wanted nothing more than a few shots of Firewhiskey and some sleep, likely in that very order. It was to her surprise then when she entered Grimmauld Place to find a heavy presence of magic in the air, as if the very air she breathed was saturated with it. It had an actual weight to it. Most witches and wizards could sense magic to an extent, but there was few that were sensitive to it. As she had to be because she was a metamorphmagus, she was more adept at sensing powerful magics being used around her. Following her senses, she entered further into the home and up the stairs.

She found Remus Lupin with his eyes locked on a device that she recognized from her Auror training school. It had some weird, funky, name but she knew that The Machine (as the Auror types called it) was used to measure their magical ability. That is, their teachers, and commanding officers, were able to test the Auror Cadets as they progressed through the program. Anyone that was not up to par, would likely have to repeat courses. Anyone that saw a significant drop in their scores could be quietly reevaluated and shifted out of the program.

The scoring was simple, and yet complex. The spell that she noticed Remus using was not exactly measuring Harry in his entirety, but rather his connection to his magic. From the seminars that she was forced to attend, Tonks knew that wizards of a certain power level and magical potency were accepted as Aurors. Any of those that did not make the actual cut to be an Auror were usually regulated to the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, or Walkers if one used their lingo. A step below the Aurors, they did the more basic of the crime-fighting. From the Auror division, a witch or wizard could go under extensive training to become a Hit Wizard. Hit Wizards were known to be the most dangerous of the group, mostly because they had a "curse once, curses again and then ask questions approach". They usually weren't sent out unless there was concrete evidence that a Dark Wizard was holed up somewhere and believed to be dangerous. They specialized in destroying the scene and letting others clean up after them.

"Nymphadora, came to watch?" Remus spoke to her with his back still turned to her. She would never get over his keen sense of smell. No matter which form she was in, the man could find her no matter what. As an Auror, it irked her that the man could essentially render her useless on a mission. It probably didn't help that she tried to spend as much time around him as possible, so that he had no other choice but to remember her scent.

"Wolfie, I told you not to call me that." Tonks responded in a way that was nearly second nature.

"As long as you think you can call me that, I will call you by your proper name. I like it." The man responded. Tonks chose to ignore the comment with a slight grin.

"How is he doing?" She asked instead. She and Remus had discussed, over a bottle of Firewhiskey, the possibility of helping with Harry with his magic. Before becoming a member of the Order, she had heard wild rumors and accusations about some of his exploits. Of course, she had attributed these to an incredible streak of luck on his behalf. True, being the Boy-Who-Lived made it seem as fighting Basilisk and winning deadly tournaments was something that he simply did. He was Harry Potter and therefore it was expected of him. Joining the Order had only added more to those rumors, as she had been able to find credible sources for all of the rumors.

And just recently, she had managed to see the aftermath of a true battle with him. From the evidence gathered, there had to have been four wizards total, adults from the scans done at the scene. From the battle itself and the sheer amount of damage done, Harry seemed to have been able to hold his own for a bit. She had seen tapes of some of his Quidditch matches and had been awed by his flying ability, instincts and sheer skill on the pitch. She knew, immediately how some of those things could have been converted to a duel. What Harry really needed then was proper training.

It was strange in a way how no one had thought to train the one person that trouble always seemed to find. At least then, the kid would know how to respond to some of the situations. As an Auror she knew the vast difference between the skill sets of the various members of society, which is why there were upper and lower levels in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She and Remus, who was convinced that Harry was likely to be powerful, had wanted to expand his repertoire and simply teach him some tricks they had picked up. Some of the members of the Order weren't likely to approve, but the best way to protect Harry was to help him learn to protect himself.

"Honestly?," Remus responded after a long hesitation. "He sucks when his life isn't on the line."

"Well, let's see what we can do about that." Tonks responded, watching as Harry continued to cast spells at the targets.