Over the next two years, Harry spent most of his waking hours in study. Between schoolwork, magic lessons, and learning physics and French on his own - though with the occasional assistance of his mentor - the time had simply flown by for him.

Harry had become fluent in French, finding the language rather easy to pick up, and he kept his grades up to all A's with the occasional B. He was certainly not yet an expert in physics or magical theory, though Eamon did often lay praise on him for his quick learning.

It was now late in the night before his eleventh birthday, and Eamon had warned him that something was going to happen. However, he hadn't gone into specifics, merely excused Harry from his studies for the day - which was a first from the strict man.

Regardless of his mentor's excuse, Harry had no intention skipping his day's work. He enjoyed receiving praise from his mentor, and he worked hard to make the man proud.

Harry sighed as he rolled over in his bed yet again. He had been trying to sleep for some time but found it impossible to clear his mind, too excited by whatever was going to happen tomorrow. He sighed again, and sat up in his bed. He threw his legs over the side, stretched, then rubbed his eyes. With a click of his fingers on his left hand, a whispered incantation of "lumos," and a nearly painful exertion of will, he conjured a small ball of dim white light near the ceiling of his room. It wavered for a moment, nearly going out, before it stabilized.

His room! Shortly after he apprenticed himself to Eamon, his mentor had used magic to make his relatives forget their hatred of him and treat him closer to the way they treated Dudley. There was still rather blatant favoritism, but at least Harry was no longer treated as a servant slash punching bag. This change alone was enough to make Harry feel eternally indebted to the sorcerer with the dark purple eyes.

Harry stood, and stretched again. He then shuffled over to the light switch, flicked on the electric light of the room, then dispelled the magical light he had summoned only moments before. He yawned, then trudged over to the beat up desk beside his window, where he took a seat in front of a beat up copy of an old high school intro to physics textbook.

Eamon had recommended this book to Harry, and had all but ordered Harry to understand the first half of the textbook before he returned to school this year. It was Harry's hope that he could finish the entire textbook by that time, though this textbook was proving itself to be too dense for him to manage that goal.

Harry's mentor had even requested that Harry write a short essay detailing how the light charm worked according to his combined knowledge of mundane and magical sciences, which was what Harry was planning to work on now.

Harry had made significant progress in his ability to remember information over the last two years, but he still didn't trust his memory to be perfect. As such, he pulled out his notes on magical theory and flipped his textbook over to the section on light. He quickly read through them to make sure he remembered correctly, then put them to the side.

He pulled out two blank pieces of paper and wrote some relevant notes on one of them. "Magical energy can transform into any other form of energy with near perfect efficiency, depending on the skill of the caster." "Light is a wave, wavelength determines color. Brightness depends on number of photons. Wavelength depends on energy per photon." "Can lumos create X-rays?" And various other notes.

Finally, he got to work on the essay itself, writing on the other sheet of paper. He quickly filled both sides of the sheet and grabbed another. Before long, he noticed that the sun was rising, and took a break. He stood in front of the window to bask in the warmth and ambient mana of the early morning sunlight.

Harry wasn't sure how long he had been sunbathing for, but the sun had fully risen above the horizon when a loud knock sounded from the front door of his uncle's house. Thinking this might be the vague event that Eamon had warned him of, Harry quickly changed into his clothes, tripping over his pant leg and slamming into the ground with a painful thud. He groaned and pulled his pants on properly as a second knock, no quieter than the first, sounded.

Annoyed by the loud sounds that had awoken him, Vernon answered the door with a loud outburst - but quickly feel silent. Hesitantly, not wanting to further irritate his uncle, Harry opened his door and glanced into the hallway. He was beyond thankful to see nobody, and so he crept to the stairs.

There, he was greeted by the sight of his uncle frozen in place at the door, clearly the result of magic. Harry was unsure whether to be relieved or worried about that development, knowing his uncle's distrust and disdain for all things magical. A further look showed an elderly woman poking about in the living room, likely a mage.

Harry tried to turn on his mage sight to get a look at her, but between his excitement and his lack of sleep, he couldn't focus well enough to succeed. So he resorted to a different tactic: he sat down on the bottom stair and affected a calm demeanor, as if he'd been there the entire time. As calmly as he could manage, he called out, "Who are you?"

The woman flinched, then stood up straight and stiff. She turned rapidly to face Harry. Harry saw that her grey hair still had some tenacious streaks of black. She had light blue eyes, clouded grey, and many lines traced deep canyons in the lightly tanned skin of her face. She wasn't a skinny woman, nor was she overly large like his uncle.

"Harry Potter?" She asked in a prim aristocratic English accent that sounded somehow tight, as soon as she laid eyes on him - eyes that seemed to recognize him. Harry decided to amuse himself as a distraction from that unsettling oddity, and so he began to perform his best Eamon impression.

"You don't look like a Harry," he accused with a raised eyebrow. "As this is my home you've broken into, I believe you should answer me first."

She certainly wasn't pleased by his lack of an answer if the thinning of her lips was any indication. However, after a quiet huff, she responded. "Very well. I am Minerva McGonagall, a professor at a private boarding school which one Mr. Harry Potter is invited to attend. Am I correct in assuming that you are he?"

With a smile, Harry jumped up from his seat and gave a theatrical bow. "That is indeed who I am." As he righted himself, he asked, "What school is this for, and why should I attend?"

McGonagall had thoroughly lost her composure and looked almost as angry as his uncle at his worst. Deciding that perhaps his Eamon impression was too good, Harry started acting normally.

"My apologies, I was copying the general behavior of one of my tutors for my own amusement. However, my question was serious. Please, I would like to hear your sales pitch."

At Harry's apology, McGonagall calmed down visibly, and started to speak. "I represent Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Yes, magic is real, and you are, in fact, a wizard."

"Sorcerer," Harry mumbled.

She didn't even notice Harry's interruption, thankfully. "We are the foremost institution in all of Britain for the learning of magic, and one of the top three in all of Europe. If you want an education in magic, there's no finer choice than Hogwarts, I assure you."

Harry could barely contain a derisive snort. A formal school would almost certainly be awful compared to his apprenticeship with Eamon. If Eamon hadn't suggested that Harry take his first opportunity to dive into the magical world, Harry would probably have turned her down.

As it was, Harry didn't want to give in too easily. "Am I correct in understanding that the finest school in all of Britain would have a tuition to match?" He asked coolly, feeling triumphant at her flinch.

"Well, that is the case, normally. However, your father paid your tuition for you mere days after your birth. He and your mother both attended, and were two of the best students I taught there."

Harry hummed. "And how does that bode for my employment chances after I graduate? Compared to, say, having a single master teach me everything he knows?"

McGonagall snorted with disdain. "There is no single master of all the subjects you need to know. Such a man would be an archmage, and there hasn't been one recorded since Merlin."

'Really?' Harry thought to himself, vowing to ask Eamon his opinion on that statement.

McGonagall continued. "And Hogwarts is taught exclusively by people with registered Masteries of the appropriate subject with the government of magical Britain, which is more than can be said for most other schools. Our students are first choice hires for most large employers in our world. I assure you, Hogwarts is the best school in Britain, and, unless you want to learn a foreign language, the best in Europe."

"Je parle déjà français," Harry replied. "But I agree with your points. Very well, I accept."

McGonagall blinked a couple times. Harry smiled brightly at her. "So, I assume I will need supplies. Do you have a list, and the location I purchase them?"

She shook her head. "Right, yes. I can take you there."

The shopping went quickly enough, though for Harry, it was too quick. He hadn't had enough time to absorb the wonder of magical society, something Eamon had refused to introduce Harry to. When Harry was mobbed by the zealous citizenry of Magical Britain in Diagon Alley, he realized why.

Honestly, he was unsure whether to thank or condemn his mentor for his lack of warning about Harry's celebrity status. Harry detested when people paid attention to him, though thankfully he had improved on that since getting noticed no longer led to abuse from his relatives.

Sighing, he decided that Eamon had done what he believed was best for Harry, and decided to put his thoughts on the matter aside. He was waiting for Eamon to show up at their scheduled lesson time, and had showed up early due to his excitement. He hadn't thought that Eamon wouldn't be waiting for him.

Finally, Harry saw Eamon appear at the main entrance of the library. Eamon stopped to talk to the librarian, who blushed gently and giggled before Eamon left her and walked towards Harry. He didn't seem at all surprised that Harry was there waiting for him, if his slight smirk was any indication.

"Did you enjoy your visit into the larger magical world, Harry?" Eamon asked as he waved his hand to erect a distracting barrier around the table.

"Well, the magic was amazing. The people..." Harry trailed off into silence. Eamon took off his suit vest and placed it on the back of the chair he had sat in.

"Didn't enjoy being famous, eh?" Eamon chuckled lightly. "Don't take it personally, they just think you're responsible for ending a decade long civil war."

"I what?!?" Harry nearly shouted, his eyes wide, as he abruptly stood up, toppling his chair.

Eamon narrowed his eyes. "I know that you're surprised and excited but I would thank you not to raise your voice at me," he growled. He took a deep breath and let it go. Harry's chair leapt back up to the position it had been in before, then Eamon spoke again in his normal light-hearted manner. "Please take your seat and I will explain."

Harry meekly said, "Sorry," as he sheepishly sat back down and scooted his chair forward. He positioned himself and began to listen attentively as Eamon spoke.

"Back in the late 60's, a small group of bigots began a disorganized terror campaign against munds and mages who had no magical ancestry. It was quickly revealed to be no normal terror group, as the ringleader was identified to be an aspiring Dark Lord who called himself 'Lord Voldemort.'

"Voldemort wanted to seize the country of Britain and he recruited followers on a platform of hatred against munds and their magical children. As he gained more followers and sympathizers, the terror campaign ramped up, until it eventually broke out into an all out civil war in the early 70's.

"In addition to the government's efforts against the terror group, known as the 'Death Eaters,' several vigilante groups rose up to resist the hostile takeover of this country. Your parents were a member of one of these vigilante groups, and managed to brass off Voldemort several times.

"Eventually, your parents became target number one for him and they went into hiding. It didn't help, however, as it took Voldemort less than a year to locate them. As he was so angry at your parents, he decided to attack them personally, and broke into the house you lived in on Halloween of 1981. He killed them, and destroyed the house. Despite this, you survived, albeit with an oddly shaped scar.

"After that night, Voldemort didn't resurface. His Death Eaters disbanded after a couple of ill planned and poorly executed attacks resulted in the capture a large portion of the leaders. The attacks stopped, and the magical community began to lick its wounds. It is assumed that Voldemort is dead, since he is not the type to give up. As you were the only survivor, it is further assumed that it was something you did or something about you in particular that stopped the civil war."

Harry sat in stunned silence for a minute. "Uh... So, I'm a celebrity slash hero? What even for? What can a baby do against a man like that? Clearly, it was something my parents did."

Eamon snorted in amusement. "Never accuse mages of having common sense, Harry."

"I see." Harry paused a moment, and desperate to change the subject away from his parents' deaths, he latched onto the first thought that popped into his mind. "What's an archmage? The professor, McGonagall, said something about them."

Eamon grinned. "I was wondering how long it would take you to hear that term in the wider magical world. Simply put, an archmage is a powerful mage who has gained true mastery over multiple branches of magic. There's a lot more to it, but that's a good enough explanation for now."

"What about you? When I suggested apprenticing myself to a single master, she said that no such master exists. Are you a master of multiple branches?"

"I am a licensed Master of three branches of magic by the Greek Magical Government. I applied for those to be recognized by the ICW and so every member state of the ICW has to recognize that I am a master of Transfiguration, Combat Magics, and Care of Magical Creatures.

"That is not enough to qualify me as an archmage, but then I don't want to be known to the wider world. I could certainly qualify for Charms, Mind Magics, Healing Magic, and Divination if I so wanted, and likely for Potions, Spellcrafting, and Ancient Runes. Gaining a Mastery in seven branches would have me examined as an archmage, which I'm not interested in. Gaining a Mastery in three branches is already too uncommon for my tastes."

Harry nodded, a confused look on his face. "Okay, so I have several questions. Firstly, you're Greek?"

Eamon chuckled for a moment, while shaking his head slowly. "I'm not Greek by blood or birth, but I did spend quite a long time in Greece studying the deepest secrets of Divination. I chose to become a legal citizen of Greece, as I loved the place."

"Ah. Second question, what's Divination?"

Eamon turned uncharacteristically serious as Harry asked this question, then replied with a dark tone in his voice. "It's the school of magic that concerns itself with far-seeing, seeing different places in space and time. And I want you to swear to me, right now, that you will never study Divination, for any reason."

"Uh, I guess so? Why not?"

Eamon leaned forward with something weighing heavily in his dark purple eyes - what was in the man's expression? - and with some unclear emotion clouding his voice, he explained, "Divination is a dangerous branch of magic, Harry. There's always a price to pay for the knowledge that Divination gives you. Now, please, swear you won't study Divination."

Harry thought intently for a moment, then hesitantly replied. "Alright, if you think it's best, then yes, I do swear not to study Divination, unless absolutely necessary."

Eamon frowned, but replied, "An acceptable compromise for now, I suppose. Any other questions?" He leaned back in his seat and whatever fugue he had been in passed away as he returned to his normal mannerisms.

"What's the icy thing you mentioned earlier?"

"Icy thing? Oh, ICW. It's the official acronym for the International Confederation of Wizards. It basically rules over all international affairs of the magical societies of Europe."

"I see. I suppose that makes sense."

"Although, Britain's relationship with the ICW is rather... tumultuous, at times. Britain only does the bare minimum to remain a member and follows only the ICW laws they absolutely have to. It would be almost entertaining to watch this international pissing contest if I hadn't chosen to live in Britain for the time being." Eamon said with a slight smirk and a chuckle.

At this point, Harry was left speechless. He stared at the table, his nose screwed up as he concentrated on processing all Eamon had just told him. It took him a minute, but finally he was sure he understood. He looked up at Eamon, who was looking off to his left, staring vacantly at something that Harry couldn't see. "Um, Eamon?" He asked cautiously.

When Eamon didn't respond, Harry reached out and grabbed the man's arm. Eamon flinched and yanked his arm out of Harry's grasp, jerking back as if Harry had attacked him. He looked around warily before calming down with a few deep breaths.

"Eamon? Are you alright?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Hm? Yes, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. What was it you wanted?" Eamon asked, trying to look like his normal carefree self, but not quite succeeding.

"What happened?"

Eamon shook his head. "Our session is over for today. Any last questions before we part?"

"If I go to Hogwarts, how will that affect my apprenticeship?"

"Ah, thank you for that reminder. I plan to apply to join the staff, and so we will continue our sessions there if I succeed. Otherwise, I will find another solution." Eamon shook his head. "Speaking of applying to Hogwarts, I will likely not be able to come to our remaining sessions this summer. I will send you a letter when I know for sure."

"Of course, thanks for the warning, Eamon," Harry replied gratefully, as Eamon stood and put his suit vest back on. The man went back to speak to the librarian again, whose bright smile indicated that she was very happy to speak to Eamon, and Harry packed up his things.

True to Eamon's word, he did send Harry a letter that Harry found on his pillow on the tenth of August.

To my apprentice:

I have successfully gained a position working at Hogwarts. On the morning following your first night in the castle, I will approach you with the times for which our sessions will be scheduled. You may invite a friend to join us if you so choose. Study and memorize your textbooks for Hogwarts before you arrive here, at least to the best of your ability.

Magic guide you,

Eamon Dáskalos

A/N: I fought against major writer's block trying to get this chapter complete. In so doing, I noticed that I had made an error in the first chapter, describing Eamon as having both light purple and dark purple eyes. It's dark purple, hex code #35005B for those who want what I'm specifics. Also, I recently adopted both a baby ball python and a two month old kitten. I'd say it's fun but this kitten is wearing me out.