Harry woke up the next morning, refreshed and relaxed. Working through his foggy memory, he managed to still feel the imprint of phoenix's song. Fawkes was always saving his hide one way or another.

'I wonder what type of treats a phoenix eats.' Harry thought with a small grin. His joy was short founded as he caught sight of the letters that he had haphazardly throw around the room. His anger flickered to life immediately, causing a brief breeze to whip through the room, not doing much to help neatness of his room. With a sigh, he forced himself out of his bed and into the training room. He'd showered after his workout.

Remus had been helpful in pointing out that while Harry was no longer just skin and bones, he was still extremely thin for his age. He had gained a bit in height, yet still nowhere near his towering red-haired friend. Remus had drilled into Harry the importance of keeping fit, as he had seen all too often the danger that magic users faced because they didn't know how to move.

"You have to eat Harry." Harry muttered under his breath, mimicking the last surviving Marauder. Deep down, he know the man was right though. He needed to eat, and then build his strength up again. He had seen the concern in Hermione's eyes last night, and the questions that she must've had. For once, the Ministry had done some good, even it had only been with the distraction of his bestfriend.

After a hurriedly made breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, Harry made his way to his new favorite room in the house. After their initial meeting there, Remus and Tonks had managed to charm the room. Between the two of them, they had easily cushioned the floors and the walls of the room. Remus had made it a concerted effort of his to charm the targets that Harry used often, whereas Tonks had focused on the charms to repair the room from all of the damage that was expected. While the mornings were usually left for Harry to do his own practicing, he had made an effort to try to stick to some sort of training regimen.

Firstly, he focused on his aim. He hadn't realized how big of a difference holding his wand made until he had tried to revert to his old way of doing things. The change was drastic. Where he could normally hit the target 8 out of 10 times, they barely counted as actual hits, and had not been where he had actually been aiming. With Remus's method, not only had he been able to hit the target itself 10 out of 10 times, he managed to hit the bullseye an impressive 7 out of 10 times. According to Tonks that was better than most Auror trainees. His effort, in such a short amount of time, had been impressive.

He knew that he was behind most other students in terms of knowledge. He simply didn't know that many spells outright. He had learned the hard way that dueling was far more than just slinging spells around. Once he had gotten a stronger grasp on the spells that he did know, he had begun to go back and learn some of the other spells that were in his earlier books. With the right application, they could be great distractions to slip in with other, more powerful, spells. In a friendly duel, he could use them in various ways.

Remus had been teaching him to cast silently, especially since it was a lesson that would be used heavily in their 6th year. It seemed most wizards were adept at it, if not completely efficient in its use with all of their spells. He usually tried those out towards the end of his morning workouts, as a way to continue to remember how the spell felt when he cast it.

Today, though, he wanted to try something that he had thought of only briefly. He recalled when he and Dudley had been attacked by the Dementors. He had lost his wand, but had made it light up despite not touching it. He had seen Dumbledore light candles without a wand, and wanted to know if there were any spells at all that he could do. First and foremost, he wanted to be able to summon his wand to himself. Not only would it be mildly impressive, but he reckoned that it could and would be a tide changer in a duel. Wizards and witches tended to relax when you didn't have your wand on you. They were hopelessly naïve in some aspects, most of them anyway.

Sitting his wand on a chair roughly five feet from his person, he tried to remember what he had been feeling a year ago. He recalled the desperation, and the panic that clicked in, and considered that it would be tough for him to recreate those same emotions without any danger nearby. He would just go for it.

"Accio!" He shouted. To his surprise, not a single thing happened. The wand didn't even move. He cast another four times before the wand twitched in his direction a little bit. The Summoning Charm was 4th year spell, and he barely had the 1st year spells perfected. But he was ambitious and would not give up until he could summon his wand no matter what.

It took a sweat drenched 30 minutes before he felt the wood slap into his hand. He was so startled that he almost dropped the wand.

'It worked!' Harry thought with glee. He cast the spell a few more times, but for the moment his limit seemed to be around 10 or 12 feet. He would increase that slowly with practice.

For the next 30 minutes that he allotted himself, he focused on the physical aspect of his morning workout. An assortment of body weight exercises left his arms and legs feeling fairly weak, but he persevered. When he had first started, it had been simply embarrassing, but he was proud of the strides that he had taken so far. Struggling to stand, he made his way out of the room and into the shower attached to his bedroom. Despite having been in there for nearly a week, he still hadn't looked in the closet or the desk drawers. Sometime since he had been dropped off there, his trunk had been brought along with Hedwig's cage. It sat at the foot of his bed, and was the only thing in the room that he had any claim to. Everything else, he had found out, belonged to Sirius.

He had had good intentions of looking through some of the things to see what, if anything, he could use. Instead, he made a conscious effort to avoid the room itself, only coming in to sleep and shower. He kept the room itself because it was out of the way, and surprisingly difficult to find if you didn't know where to look. There had been a few instances where he simply walked past the door, almost as if it didn't exist.

The simple fact of the matter was that he was not ready for what, if anything, he would find in his Godfather's room. Eventually, he would have to tackle it, though he didn't mean to allow it to happen any sooner than he had to. Some things he could wait for.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Remus sat back with a sigh, having just watched the battle that Harry had, for all intents and purposes, died in. Dumbledore and Alastor awaited him in silence, both having already seen it several times. It, quite frankly, shook Remus to his core, to see the son of his best friend have to fight for his life. Even more, to see the son of his best friend lose his life in the fight. Well, technically anyway. He was still unsure of what had transpired when Albus had brought the young man to headquarters. The sheer amount of magic flowing through the place that night had left him bewildered and in a drunken stupor. It had been strange to him at the time, that the magic of the air had called to the werewolf in him, making him have to fight just to maintain control of his human form.

"Shit." He muttered softly, aware that Dumbledore likely heard him anyway.

"My thoughts exactly lad. A fight most adults woulda never dreamt of, and fought by a 15 year old kid!" Moody exclaimed.

"Now, now Alastor, I believe that even one such as yourself can agree that Harry is no longer a mere boy." Albus chipped in with a chuckle.

"I knew he could be powerful, but with the wrong influence, he could become a menace. Did you see some of the spells that he threw around?" Remus asked. He immediately regretted his choice of words. He knew, deep down, that Harry could never be a menace to anyone but his enemies.

"Yes, that is worrying certainly, but I have every faith that Harry is far too rich in character to ever succumb to the thirst of power." Dumbledore replied.

"If I'm not mistaken, I think you told me that you thought the same thing about Riddle at one point or another." Moody cut in sharply. Dumbledore took a moment before responding.

"I am a man of many faults, incomplete notions, and mistakes. One thing that I am absolutely certain of is that Harry Potter is no Tom Riddle. Their choices, and their reactions to the struggles in their life dictate who they are."

"I hear ya Albus, I do. But all it takes is a single moment. One fucked situation before a person can't recognize who the hell they are, or the shitty life that they are living!" Moody snapped.

"Do you believe Harry to be such a person, Alastor?" Dumbledore asked, quietly.

"Bloody hell Albus, I don't even know anymore. He's the second person that I know of that has come back from the flaming dead. I didn't get to where I am, or live as long as I have by acceptin' coincidences. Maybe we should be careful what we teach him, or what we expose him to, just in case. I'd hate to be training the next fucking Dark Lord."

"Remus, Alastor. Harry has too much to live for. He could've ran, we saw that. Instead, he continued fighting. He could have run in the graveyard, but he fought instead. He could've have caved in for the Tournament, that he never should have been a part of, and yet he won. He could've left Cedric's body, or left Sirius, or ignored the dangers of the Sorcerer's Stone, and he did not. He ran towards it. That is who he is, that is why I have to utmost faith in him. And that is why I would lay my life down for his, that is why I would do everything in my power to protect his life. It is the least that I can do for James and for Lily. Harry is strong, and we have to be even stronger for him." Dumbledore spoke, having stood somewhere in his speech to pace the room.

It was silent, as every wizard present reflected on the young man that they knew, and the horrors of his life. They had seen adults crumble in the face of what he had fought through, time and time again. Perhaps, it was as simple as believing in the good nature of the young man.

"I believe that he has some training scheduled today. Albus, maybe you should take the lead on this one. I think you may be able to offer him some perspective." Remus spoke up after a period of silence.

"That I can, Remus."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry flitted between the trees, trying his best to lighten his footfalls as he navigated the town around him. He goal was to simply get the the house in the center, but with the caveat that he could not be seen or detected. He had been forbidden the use of his Invisibility cloak, and could only use his wand. If he was detected, it would be five more laps around the town itself. That was not something that he was interested in doing. The town was not exactly small.

Though it was a test, and a safe one at that, he did not relish the idea of more running, though that was one of the lightest punishments that he had seen so far. He had been miffed when Remus, and by extension Dumbledore, had tossed him a Portkey with no explanations. Apparently, this was another test that they had concocted. Truthfully, Harry could see the benefits of learning to not be seen, but it didn't help that he had limited knowledge on what to avoid. It also didn't help that he was famous.

'Damn scar.' He thought with an inward sigh. His eyes darted left and right. He was still on the fringes on the small town, and so far hadn't seen any sign of life. He knew that it would not be as simple as walking through the town. With his luck, even on a controlled test, he would likely walk right into Voldemort. That was one fight that he wanted to avoid at all cost.

The hairs on the back of his neck bristled, seeming to sense the approach of something near him. He froze, trying to will his breathing into absolute silence, while fighting the primal urge to bolt from his position.

'I wonder if it would count if I knocked out whatever it is before it can raise an alarm.' Harry thought with a smirk, slipping his wand into his hand with as little movement as he could manage. It wasn't easy, but once he felt the comforting and familiar weight of his Holly wand, he calmed a bit. Of course, that was when all hell broke loose.

He had only the briefest second for something crashed noisily through the bushes nearest him. That split second was all that he needed to roll out of the way and point his wand at the beast. It took three silent stunners before it went down in a heap, still breathing heavily. It didn't necessarily look large, but whatever the beast was, Harry was happy that he had gotten it down before he had been caught. It seemed that the animal was made of sheer muscle, and razor sharp teeth. It was probably the size of a large dog, but with a much larger head, and teeth that were several inches long. It had a black, and powerful legs that let him know that he would have never outrun it.

He snuck a bit farther in, straining his senses for any information his surroundings could give him. His brief encounter with the beast has taken but a few quick seconds; even still he felt that the pounding of his heart was enough to wake even Ron. With a shake of his shaggy head, he made quick work of the rest of the journey, managing to stumble upon Dumbledore and Remus having a pot of tea.

"Good job Harry. That animal was never part of the test, but we do appreciate you being on your guard." Dumbledore spoke, silently conjuring another chair for the boy.

"Bloody hell, even my tests are real.' Harry muttered, ignoring the smiling faces of the adults. "So, what was the point of this?" Harry asked.

"Well, Harry, we never know what to expect. I think your trials this summer were an indication of that. Because you were on your guard today, you were able to protect yourself from the beast that sought a quick snack. What if we had told you that there was no one here to be a threat to you. Would your mindset have been the same? Would you have taken the same precautions?" Dumbledore responded. They were fair questions.

"Well, I guess for a normal person, no. For me, I've been fighting my entire life, I'm always on edge. I'm nearly as bad as Moody." Harry responded with a grim smile. Jokes were fine, but the truth still rang in the silence of the small room they were in. The tension of the silence was broken by Remus standing and excusing himself, stating some urgent errands that he needed to run.

"Ahh, Harry, for the rest of the afternoon, you are with me." Dumbledore spoke before drawing his wand and motioning the Boy-Who-Lived to follow him.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

In the small village of Weston Patrick, a mere 2 hours from the heart of London, a tall, thin figure stood at the entrance of the town. With fewer than a hundred inhabitant, all descendants of the same ancestors that had founded the village, the village mostly kept to itself. They set their own schedule and lived life the way that they always knew it. That's not to say that there was no technology there, but they felt comfort living in the embrace of their ancestors. They rarely received visitors, outside of tourist looking to take a look at St. Lawrence's Church. Today, that would change.

Shrouded in all black, and silent, the figure was invisible to the townsfolk. Pale, long-fingered hands removed the hood covering the face of Lord Voldemort as he continued to survey the quiet village.

"Come Wormtail, you have your orders. Let us greet these Muggles." Voldemort spoke in a near whisper. Even if one had looked for the second, they wouldn't have found the man that he spoke to. The short round man had prostrated himself to the Dark Lord, blending in the the dark asphalt of the road. With a murmur, he stood and followed the menacing figure. Voldemort paid him no mind. He was focused on something completely different; having some fun.

It was a small town, nothing grand or usually worthwhile of his attention, but one perfectly suited for an experiment of his. A small wave of his hand sent his cloak to Wormtail for safekeeping. Wand drawn, he began to chant a spell that he called Venom of the Cobra.

"Mortis dominus donaverit ventum. Venae perennis aera intus in auribus meis." Voldemort breathed, repeating himself faster and faster, still no more than a whisper. As he felt the magic pulsate in the air around him, he twirled his wand in a counter-clockwise circle above his head before a strong slash downward to the ground. Immediately, a dark substance began to flow out from his wand. Thick, yet light enough to be carried on the winds of magic, it billowed away from the sorcerer. With a life of its own it sought its way into the village, slowly attacking the unassuming inhabitants.

One man, with a wild and anxious look in his eyes, crashed through the front doors of his home in a desperate attempt to flee. The black mist sought him out with ruthless abandon; entering through his nostrils, bodily lifting him off the ground. Blood pooled out of every crevice of his body as the curse extracted every bit of his life force. When it was done, his skin was already in a state of decay, baring staying attached to his bones. It was a brutal sight that did nothing but freeze the other citizens in their footsteps. Visions worse than their nightmares lay scattered around them. It was brief and extremely deadly. Within the hour, every inhabitant in the village of Weston Patrick had died.

Lord Voldemort studied his work with a critical eye. Every detail, from the symptoms, to the approximated time of death as recorded by Wormtail. Voldemort took the time to get close to the bodies, and take stock of their condition. Several quiet minutes later saw the Dark Lord reviewing the notes that Wormtail had written, his brilliant mind calculating.

"My Lord, what are we to do with the bodies, this can't stay a secret forever?" Wormtail asked, daringly. Voldemort merely smirked.

"Now, why would I waste such precious resources Wormtail. After all, everything has its use," Voldemort replied, twirling his wand once more in anticipation for his next act. "Everything has its use."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The Ministry of Magic's Magical Law Enforcement Department could not be everywhere in the community. Certainly, there were detection wards and regular, if inadequate, patrols on the highly populated areas. And yet, on the whole, the magical community of Great Britain was not fully protected. The idea was that most witches and wizards would be upstanding pillars of the community and learn to live in harmony with their fellow magic users. Magic-folk, some of them anyway, were ambitious and ready to make changes in ways that they thought certain groups of people would appreciate. Every once in a while, there would actually be a witch or wizard that garnered enough support to the point where it frightened the Ministry.

Wizards of the caliber of Grindewald, who had been both magically powerful and extremely intelligent threatened the very fabric of peace that the Ministry sought to uphold. It wasn't so much that those types of wizards were evil or dark but that their sense of government did not include the actual Ministry itself. Some wizards, though, did not even manage to make headlines before they were quietly retired. As it was, whenever a threat such as a credible Dark Lord arose, the Ministry took notice, and acted accordingly.

Many years ago, before the fall of the Longbottoms and the Potters, the Ministry of Magic had sent a team of its best Hit Wizards after a self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort, with a lone, low level, wizard to act as the scribe of what was sure to have been an easy victory. The Hit Wizards were lax; they had been on many such missions before that had never went awry. They were confident, almost cockily so.

It had been a massacre.

The scribe was the only one that Voldemort had left alive. Of a team of 7 top-tier Class B mages in the team, none lived to drink the celebratory wine that they had in the official headquarters. Seeing the images live and having a recorded version of them, the scribe killed himself, leaving a note that stated that he did not want to live in a world where a monster such as Voldemort existed.

It had only been the beginning.

Having seized the attention of the Ministry, Voldemort had gained ground quickly. He had turned a well-hidden uprising into an unsafe period for witches and wizards to live in. He recruited heavily while tearing a serious hole in the defenses of the Ministry. It was only through the actions of Albus Dumbledore and his allies, that Ministry hadn't fallen at the time. No one knew who to trust, as Voldemort's web of spies and deceit spread discord amongst the closest of family members.

Harry Potter was so heavily celebrated largely due to the fact that there was a tangible peace in the air once Voldemort fell to him. The magical community went from cowering in fear to celebrating in the streets as the news crossed the globe. Even countries as far as the United States felt the presence of Lord Voldemort. Harry Potter, and by extension his parents, were heroes.

And then Voldemort returned. There had been, in his absence, copy cats; wizards that would shoot an awful version of the Dark Mark into the sky after a crime, or even worse, the wizards that wanted to step into the void that Voldemort had left in order to elevate themselves into a position of power. With Voldemort, one never knew who to trust. With claims and allegations coming from every which way, the Ministry had been hard-pressed to properly function. It hadn't been helpful that the Minister and certain high-level ministry employees only wanted to line their Gringotts accounts.

His return was ignored, largely to the fact that the Ministry itself, and the people that it had in charge had adamantly declined the claims of a 14-year-old Hogwarts student, despite those same claims being backed up by the immensely accomplished Albus Dumbledore. In his previous reign Voldemort had never managed to step foot within the Ministry, at least to their knowledge.

Not too long ago, he stood, battling, impressive despite his dark presence. To have caught him and his followers there, in the heart of the Ministry, for all intents and purposes was a powerful moment. With such a bold move, Voldemort launched himself back into the subconscious of the wizarding population as a menace. A powerful menace that few could hope to survive should they ever cross wands.

Instead of listening to Albus Dumbledore years ago, when he cautioned that Voldemort was not truly defeated, the Ministry, and its leaders, were lax. Instead of preparing for a future possibility of another witch or wizard ascending to the level of Voldemort, the Ministry had bickered about nonsensical issues among the magic folk for a more than a decade.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood in a now abandoned field, eyeing the eerily quiet town of Weston Patrick. An incredible surge in the amount of magic in the area had called for attention. The first person on scene, a scout with a device that measured the level of the emitted magic in the air, had immediately called for an Auror team. He, a Darious Noordyke, had detected the presence of a 'S' class sorcerer, specifically. After the call went through, there were no less than 30 Ministry personnel on scene working to discover the cause.

They found nothing.

If it hadn't been for the fact that some appliances had still been on, and that some meals had been left uneaten, one would have thought that the inhabitants had abandoned the town. After all, they were Muggles, and no one understood them anyway. No, it was for that very reason that Kingsley found himself observing his colleagues. What scared him was not the fact that there was a strong saturation of magic in the atmosphere, but that there was no evidence of said magic. Most spells, the common ones at least, left tell-tale marks of their existence. The Cruciatus curse, for example, was one that demonstrated itself in hard rattling of the body. Precisely, the Cruciatus curse was still felt for days even after the strongest of pain medications were administered. Though it was possible to mitigate the results a bit, the following actions were still a blur.

He hadn't even remembered arriving on scene. He had received the call and apparated to the given coordinates, thereby boosting the sheer numbers of individuals on site. He knew, from experience however, that having more people did not mean that more things were being done.

Despite that, everything in his body was warning him that the disappearance of these muggles would be a bad omen. He needed to alert Dumbledore as soon as possible. It smelled strongly of Voldemort.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry sat down, exhausted, and slightly bruised. A few hours under Dumbledore's tutelage, and he realized just how much further he had to go before he would be able to hold a candle to the Deatheaters, let alone Voldemort. Dumbledore had started with a simple duel, but the caveat was that Harry had not been allowed to say his spells aloud. He hadn't even been a threat to his headmaster. At most, he had made Dumbledore shift in his position, but the Headmaster had stood there, the waves of Harry's magic breaking upon his stout defenses.

'This is the man that Voldemort fought to a draw!' Harry thought, idly looking at his wand. Though Dumbledore had been nice about it, Harry had no reservations that the Headmaster could wipe the floor with him immediately, with barely a pause. The most embarrassing part was that Dumbledore had restricted himself basic household spells! Harry could still feel the not-so-gentle slap of the spatula on the back of his head.

After the "duel", the moved on to some practical training with silent magic, with Dumbledore doing most of the talking and Harry paying attention like never before. Within minutes of applying said tips, Harry was able to increase his silent repertoire dramatically. Though they still lacked the power of his verbal spells, Dumbledore had assured him that with practice and confidence, the difference would not be noticeable.

Then they moved into the basics of conjuration.

Though a NEWT level skill, Dumbledore had reasoned that Harry could use the added knowledge. From Dumbledore, Harry had learned that the beginning stages of conjuration were already taught at Hogwarts, namely spells such as Augementi and Avis. Other spells were simple forms of conjuration, but the field itself was flexible within reason. The most important part, was the intent of the spell. It wasn't as simple as waving your wand and hoping for something to come. Through sheer intent, one could create many things from magic. Dumbledore had reiterated that the words that were commonly used for spells, were simply not necessary. He had used the duel between himself and Voldemort as an example of what accomplished magic users could do when they had the proper training.

And still, Harry felt overwhelmed. He had no idea how he was supposed to master these techniques, let alone survive an encounter with a man that had mastered them and did them as easily as breathing.

"Professor," Harry found himself speaking. "How can I beat him? He's so strong."

"Harry, it will not be easy. I will admit that when it comes to sheer magical power, Voldemort is likely my superior." Dumbledore responded. Harry was floored. Voldemort was more powerful than Dumbledore!

"But sir, you beat him in at the Ministry. H-how can this be true?" Harry asked, slightly panicked.

"Ah yes. I beat him in a duel. Do you think a fight truly shows who is more powerful? Wait, before you answer that, consider that a magical duel is not the same as say a wrestling match. Would you expect to beat any of your professors in a duel?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry simply shook his head. He had seen some of the things that the professors could do, and had no misconceptions that he could defeat them.

"You are both right and wrong. I think you could take a few of them in a duel. Dueling is not necessarily about magical strength, or even magical talent. All it takes is a single spell, a miscalculation, or a moment where lack of experience holds you back. What do you think helps in a duel?" Dumbledore asked. His style of teaching was more discussion that giving commands and hoping that the student could interpret it correctly.

"Er, I would say knowledge of spells? And, perhaps reflexes if you get caught off guard and need to move out of the way. I, honestly, don't know professor. Haven't been in too many duels before today. Honestly, I don't even know much about magic itself, I just do things and make things happen. Hermione is the thinker." Harry replied, getting slightly flustered. He really didn't know much about magic, and its application.

"Ah, my apologies for the assumptions. Let us discuss magic, as you were supposed to have it explained to you. I had left a rather thick letter with the Dursley's once I had dropped you off. Did Petunia not share this with you?" Dumbledore asked.

"I knew nothing of the magical world until my Hogwarts letter came." Harry replied. Had he been looking, he might've caught the broken expression on the headmaster's face, or the way he seemed to age significantly.

"Magic is everywhere Harry. There is no algorithm to calculate the quantity of it, or any tool capable of measuring the depth of it. It simply is. What we can measure though, a rough estimate mind you, is how much magic is within a certain individual. A test is done on every child that the Ministry has record of. This is not a fail safe, but it allows the Ministry to keep an eye on general power levels of the citizens. Now, the reason that this is a rough estimate is because magic goes through so many changes. Some parents opt to suppress the magical talents of their child to control the volatility of accidental magic. At a certain age, usually when they receive a wand, such suppressions are removed as the wand acts as a conduit of sorts. Following me so far?" Dumbledore paused.

"Yes sir."

"Some young children simply have to grow into their potential. Depending on their environment, their instinctive magic will respond accordingly. There are some witches and wizards that are simply more powerful, or have more magic accessible to them. It does not seem to have a huge bearing on parentage. Quite a few muggleborn students are, in fact, more powerful than their pureblood counterparts. Indeed, some research has pointed to the idea that Purebloods were and are actually getting weaker as a result of trying to keep their blood status pure. That's a topic for another time though. The point is, Harry, if you were to have a child, we could not completely predict how powerful the child may be. There is generally a range of power levels, but there are instances where two powerful purebloods create a Squib."

"But sir, what does this have to do with my fighting Voldemort?" Harry asked. As fascinating as the information was, it wasn't helping him to fight, or learn to fight.

"Plenty. You think that you are not strong enough, but you are far more powerful than you give yourself credit for. Your case, and where you doubt yourself is in the actual application of your talents. Voldemort is an S-Class Sorcerer, do you know what that means?"

"No." Harry replied simply.

"Great, that means more lecture for you. In general there are five distinct ranges of magic users. Those that are of the D-class, are not very powerful at all. In the muggle world, it would be akin to someone without any sort of formal education. Not that they are incapable, but they have limited resources available to them that allows for them to be successful, to an extent. A C-class magic user is usually the lower end of the general population. They, if you will forgive me, are likely what a great deal of Ministry workers are. Usually, on the practical side of magic, they are capable but not overwhelmingly powerful. A B-class magic user is the lowest level that we allow to teach at Hogwarts. They have to be able to demonstrate any and all spells within their curriculum, as well as fix any mistakes from them. These witches and wizards usually specialize in a few areas once their general schooling has ended. Following?" Dumbledore spoke. Harry, meanwhile, was trying to categorize some of the people that he knew, ashamed of himself for even having the thought.

"I think so, I may have questions at a later time though." Harry spoke, thoroughly confused by the entire concept.

"Excellent. A B-class wizard would likely constitute for the majority of the Auror Corps, and a great deal of the DMLE. An A-class wizard usually end up being teachers of very specific specialty. Remember though, that it does not necessarily take a great level of magic to master a certain class of , finally, there are S-class magi. Those simply have a greater level of magic at their beck and call. I think that's simple enough." Dumbledore spoke.

"So, do you have any, well, examples of these classes? It sounds like the Ministry is still trying to control and monitor people." Came the response.

"Indeed, in some circles, it does appear to be that way," Dumbledore spoke, stroking his long beard. "But it really helps educators specifically tailor a plan to a specific student. Some students manage to be a great combination of power and academic ambition. Others tend to fall on either side of that spectrum. The Ministry did adopt it as a means to monitor the population, and keep an eye on those that they deemed could pose a threat. Before my accomplishments, I was heavily watched I am sure." Dumbledore spoke, shrugging with the last statement.

"To answer your original question though, I am an S-class, I believe that your parents and their friends were all high B-class, or low A-class. They had a great grasp on magic, and were relatively great in all of their classes. Fletcher, who I believe you have met, is a C-class wizard. McGonagall is a solid A-class. The Weasleys, Molly and Arthur mind you, generally fair on the B-class side of things. I will not tell you about individual students though, that is still private knowledge until they are adults."

"What am I then?" Harry asked, truthfully fearing the answer. What if he were a D-class, having to fight an S-class wizard such as Voldemort? He nearly shivered at the thought.

"Well, you were an anomaly. When first tested, you were projected to be an A-class wizard. However, after recent events, we had you retested after the fight near Privet Drive. Your magic has, well grown. We are still unsure as to the cause, having never tested someone that has survived a Killing Curse, let alone twice." Dumbledore spoke with a chuckle. Harry had to grin sheepishly at him.

"I never feel like I am strong enough." Harry muttered.

"Power isn't everything Harry. Yes, in some cases it does make a difference, but it is not absolute. As I stated, Voldemort is likely more powerful than myself. And yet, I have nearly have a century more knowledge than he does. He's likely faster, but I know more techniques. He uses his anger to power increase the damage of his spells, but with the connection that I have with my magic, I am more precise in my casting. You see, some people use too much magic in their spells, and forces them into being. I have learned to not waste magic, and I know what to use and when to use it, and more importantly how to use it." Dumbledore spoke, seemingly angry that Harry would think so little of himself.

"But -" Harry started to respond, only to be cut off by the harsh voice of his Headmaster.

"Stop! You have more love in your heart than any other wizard that I have ever met. That love is the key to your strength, and it allows you to be more and to be stronger. Alas, it is not something that I can simply define for you. It must be something that you come to understand on your own, and for yourself. That being said, I will not allow you to tarnish the memory of your parents and their sacrifice for you. That is all that I will say on this matter." Dumbledore spoke, his eyes flashing, nearly striking fear in Harry.

"I'm sorry sir." Came the short response from the Boy-Who-Lived. His heart wanted him to speak out against the Dursley's and nearly everyone he had met before coming to Hogwarts, and how they had not had the highest opinion of his skills and abilities. He withheld, though, despite recent events, he was quite used to only having himself to rely on. He was unused to people generally caring about him and his wellbeing. In some cases, it even frightened him. The Dursley's had certainly done a number on him.

"Do not be sorry Harry. Just remember that there are some people that really do care about you." Dumbledore responded, his visage returning once more to the affable Headmaster that Harry knew and loved. "Now, I believe that we are finished for today. It would not due to exhaust you before your trial." Dumbledore spoke.

"Yes, and Sirius' Will." Harry responded his smile fading quickly.

"Be strong my boy. All will work out in the end. Let's get you home and cleaned up. You have a big day ahead of you, and you must need rest." The wizened wizard spoke. "And Harry, do not let the conversation that we had, disturb the good that you know to exist in people. The most powerful, and the least powerful of witches and wizards can do the most good without ever raising their wand or uttering an incantation. Magical or not, the good in people rests in their heart, and not the might of their magic."