A/N: Well, this is not really an update, but it is something of equal, if not greater, importance:
Thank you everyone who reviewed! You are making me feel like I'm doing something that's worth attention.
And most important: Thanks to my beta reader Kate!

Chapter 4: Wilkie Twycross

Harry practised. His muscles ached from the physical training, but he was determined and the more he managed to change at will, the more fascinating his skill seemed to him.

Dumbledore was quite right with the estimation of his abilities. By now - about a week after he started - Harry could freely change the length of his hair from below waist to nought, make it straight, wavy, curly (he didn't dare risk dreadlocks) and his colours ranged from his original ebony to a Weasley red and he reached brighter shades every day. He didn't manage to get blonde yet, though he wasn't sure whether he wanted to know what would he look like if he was blonde... He also practised with skin, comparably successfully. Once he tried to change his nose. It obediently grew into a large hooked monstrosity, but then he, with utter abhorrence realised it flatly refused to change back. It took him about an hour to look like himself and he didn't try it again since. He wasn't keen on repeating the experience.

One thing he found out rather quickly was that no matter how much he concentrated, he was unable to change anything about his scar. Dumbledore repeated himself yet again, saying that the scar is a great enigma, and nobody really knows anything about it and he shouldn't worry; he ought to focus on other parts of his body. And so Harry did, though with all his other tasks he found it extremely demanding.

Most of his energy was undoubtedly consumed by the Occlumency lessons. After Snape told him repeatedly that he sucked at anything that touched the subject of controlling his mind he thought that it was going to be painful. Somehow, strangely, the lessons had been a roaring success. Maybe it was because Fawkes chose a completely different approach. He simply entered Harry's mind and started showing him around, explaining what was what, how to discern it, understand it and use it. During two sessions with the phoenix Harry came to know more about his mind than he had ever before. And knowing his weapons was the first step in learning to use them - something that the slimy ulcer of a Potions master never thought of.

That was another strange thing... Snape. Harry had been sure he won't be able to get the man off his mind, that he would spend his every free while plotting revenge, manufacturing severe ways of wiping the man off the face of Earth... Maybe it was his lack of free whiles, but he didn't spend time hating Snape. Dumbledore's presence somehow distorted all his feelings about the murder... it was hard to plot revenge for the person he conversed with daily. And so the painful, sharp, pointed feeling he had about his former teacher the last day of term reduced into a platonic loathing the weaker, the longer he didn't get to see his sneering face. Which continually abandoned even his dreams.

The eight Occlumency lesson with Fawkes started as all before. The phoenix had Harry come over what he had already learned, clear his mind and create a shield that was surprisingly (according to Fawkes) strong enough to avert the attack of an advanced Legilimens.

'It seems you have a natural talent for this...'

Harry laughed.

'Hardly. I have never exposed any with Snape teaching me.'

'Then he couldn't have been a good Occlumency teacher,' Fawkes stated flatly and abandoned his golden perch to get hold of a box of chocolate muesli McGonagall had stashed in a wooden cabinet in the back of the office.

"He wasn't a good teacher generally. And you should respect the Headmistress's privacy lest she won't let us use her office again," Harry said surly. The phoenix preached about manners, but this was a subject it always seemed to turn a blind eye to.

'You are wrong. Severus was an extraordinary teacher, both in Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. And Minerva knows I cherish her secret snack; she even put it into a place I can easily retrieve it from. A good girl.'

Harry's scowl yet deepened. Fawkes chirped, which was his idea of a scoff.

'Be a little objective, Harry. Severus is a clever man, and a courageous fighter.'

"And the reason why everyone who ever tried to protect me is dead. I don't feel like praising him. Not now. Not ever. And I would rather avoid this subject in the future if you don't mind." Was it his imagination or did the phoenix look at him with pity?

'You ought to be more open-minded.'

"Am I not currently trying to close my mind?" he shot back and felt his concentration evaporate. The lesson was doomed and both participants knew it. Harry lay back in the fluffy armchair he transfigured from a straight-backed chair and made himself comfortable. Fawkes capsized the box and dragged the corn all over the Headmistress's desk. Genius maybe, but he still was a bird.

'Don't complain. If I was human you couldn't have my feather in your wand.'

"Yea, I know- wait! Does that mean..." Harry gave the phoenix a curious glance. Of course, the wand chose the wizard, but... was it possible that his wand had had such a significant assistance with the choice? Fawkes merrily tweeted and continued pecking off the mess he created.

'Dumbledore did have one, too. He was such a skilled boy, haven't seen any like him since Merlin.'

"And Merlin?" Harry asked. Surely the phoenix couldn't have been such a great and such a long-time manipulator...

'Yes, of course. Most of my charge's have become well-known, though you didn't even need that.' It was. Maybe it was easier when you burnt every few decades, it was said that fire purged the soul off sins. However, he knew about at least one more person who received such attention and it was a mystery to him why, as he seemed to be exactly the sort that Fawkes plotted against.

"But that means that Voldemort..."

'Ah, yes. A very powerful young man - sultana, Harry? I don't like them too much... No? As you wish - not quite as skilled as Albus, but he had what it took. I wanted him to take care of the next Dark Lord after Grindelwald - that one was Albus's. I couldn't know it would turn out like that.'

"No one could," Harry sighed. Anyway, it was rather ironic that Fawkes had expected Voldemort to exterminate himself. "What about Ollivander?"

'Crafty. We made a deal. A long time ago. He didn't like flying.'

"Is that important?" Harry asked. He never thought of that before, though Fawkes sometimes joined him when he flew (he had been allowed to practise Quidditch as a part of physical training).

'Not necessarily...' admitted the phoenix, but it was more than clear that he wouldn't like to put up with person who spends all of their life with feet on the ground. 'The three of you - Harry Potter, Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore - were all excellent Quidditch players.'

"Dumbledore played Quidditch?" Harry tried to imagine the tall old wizard clutching a Beater's bat and chasing after a Bludger, silver hair streaking through the air like a comet's tail. It didn't look too believably... though it was true that Dumbledore flew on a broomstick the night he was murdered, after having been poisoned and overall exhausted, and held himself exceptionally well. That night was too hectic for Harry to give it a thought then.

'Of course. He made the house-team in his first year... Made himself noticed.'

"But I was the youngest player in..."

'Century. Almost exactly,' Fawkes filled in. Yes, of course. But having been raised in the Muggle world it was hard to think of your Professor as a person who played Quidditch hundred years ago... creepy.

"I never knew... He didn't flaunt it too much, did he? So that's why he let me play?"

'Yes. I had to peck him a bit about it, reminding him of a certain eleven-year-old blue-eyed midget... How quickly the world changes. You could have been his Great Great Great Grandson..'

'God save us,' Harry shivered mockingly.

'Oh, well, he never was much of a family man...'

"Have you ever left him alone long enough for a date?" Harry asked scathingly, having a very good idea why Dumbledore wasn't spending his time sitting in a cosy living-room, surrounded by a crowd of little children. It would have suited him significantly better than a broomstick.

Fawkes didn't answer, but threw a glare in Harry's direction and let him know what a hangover felt like. The boy promised himself never to consume enough alcohol to get drunk.

'You won't have lessons tomorrow. After the warm-up make yourself presentable and come here at eight. Don't be late. You can go now.' Harry stood up, gave the phoenix a mocking bow and exited the room.

'No lessons tomorrow? Why... Darn. That's what I got for hoping I was through the worst.'

popopopopo

"Ah, Mr Potter. Finally," said a cheerful feminine voice as Harry entered the Head's office, five minutes to eight.

"Good morning, Professor," he replied politely, lifting an eyebrow in Fawkes's direction. He was on time. And he was polite. There was no reason for the phoenix to glower like it did. McGonagall, who stood to leave as she usually did when Harry entered (though he had no idea what made her wait for him every time), didn't miss the exchange.

"Don't worry, Mr Potter, he makes the sour face because he won't be going with you." Harry allowed himself a small chuckle, but Fawkes was sulking and didn't bother thinking up a disciplinary.

"He's afraid of letting me out of his grasp..." Then the Headmistress's statement finally got into his brain. "I am - I mean - where are we going, Professor?" McGonagall looked at him questioningly while she put a dark-green travelling cloak off the rack next to the door.

"You haven't been informed?"

Harry shook his head. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was one of the things she had added after occupying the office.

"I'm afraid we don't have time for an explanation. I will inform you along the way. Follow me, Potter."

Harry sneered at Fawkes, waved him goodbye, and rushed after the woman. As he half-expected, she lead him out of the castle. There she waited for him to catch up and walk by her side, so she could talk to him. But it was Harry who spoke first.

"Professor, what's the day today?"

She looked at him, shocked.

"You don't know?"

He shrugged.

"I didn't really have to follow the calendar."

"It's Wednesday." That wasn't really helpful.

"And the date?" If McGonagall looked shocked before, then now she was thunderstruck. He wondered if it never happened to her that she lost count of days... on the other hand, she probably never was isolated from the world by a ghost and a bird for the purpose of training from down to dusk.

They treaded the same path as the carriages rode. It was a hot day. Harry, wearing jeans and T-shirt, felt tempted to jump into the lake and couldn't grasp how McGonagall lived in the cloak. The only thing that made the weather bearable was occasional breeze. It ruffled his hair and cooled his overheated body.

"It is the seventh of August."

"It's already August?" Harry gasped. He had missed... half of the holiday. His last month as underage wizard. His birthday. How could he not notice?

'Because I didn't get any cards or presents,' he thought, suddenly feeling lonely for the entire past month. He didn't expect much, but at least a mention that they thought about him...

"Yes, Potter, it is already August. And now, if you let me get to the point; I am taking you to the Ministry of Magic and hand you over to Arthur Weasley. Professor Dumbledore warned me to not let you escape and though I am not sure what he meant, I hope you wouldn't try to do something foolish."

Harry gaped at her. The witch watched the lane as though to not step into something nasty and paid him absolutely no attention.

"I don't have a clue..." he said truthfully. McGonagall obviously didn't care, putting the matter aside as something that was just between Dumbledore and Harry. She walked in hurry, as though trying to finish the trip as soon as possible and return back to her cool office.

"Why are you taking me to the Ministry?" Maybe he was going to spend some time at the Burrow with the Weasleys. Or in the Grimmauld place... That wouldn't be as nice, but still an improvement...

"You are going to take your Apparition test; Professor Dumbledore somehow managed to arrange a special term for you. You ought to be grateful." She sighed. "Although I understand that it is pressing for you to have received your licence at your earliest convenience."

There went all his hopes once again. It puzzled even himself how he was still possible to think so positively, optimistically. He walked in silence until they reached the large gate. One of the stony boars gave them an inquisitive glance, but quickly went back to heating up in the sun. They were not more interesting than a random fly. Harry had never before noticed the statues move; either it was something new, or even they lowered their attention during holiday.

McGonagall, unconcerned, pushed the metallic wing open and stepped through it, out of the line of Hogwarts campus. Harry followed, feeling a gentle tickling as he crossed the wards.

Behind the two of them, the gate fell back and locked by itself. McGonagall finally lifted her gaze from the grass and for a fleeting moment it seemed to Harry that she looked troubled. She scowled at him and speedily gripped his wrist.

"Don't dawdle, Potter! Ready?" He looked up at her, intending to inquire what was she talking about, but she mistook the look for a confirmation.

The sensation wasn't nearly as nauseating as when he Side-Along-Apparated with Dumbledore; probably because he had come through the training in the meanwhile or simply because he became used to it. When he was finally sure all of his organs were in the right places and his skin properly covered his entire body, he opened his eyes. He stood in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. McGonagall still clutched his wrist firmly - he felt his hand going numb - and dragged him away from the place where they landed. A second later Harry had a very good idea why. With a loud pop a tall but hunched wizard appeared on the spot he had just abandoned.

"Oh, pardon, very sorry, Madam, sir..." He motioned to bow, which looked positively ridiculous with his built, and rushed away, getting lost among the bustling crowd of journalists.

Harry glanced up at McGonagall, who was frowning after the man in rather macabre fashion.

"Uh, Professor, could you please let go now..." She finally remembered he was there and immediately released his hand.

"Sorry, Potter." She threw one last glare of utter abhorrence towards the crowd, muttering something that sounded a lot like 'imbecile brute giving another public self-praise'. Harry was thunder-struck to hear the strict teacher speaking like this, but would rather charm his tongue to jelly than inquire about it.

"Come." She gestured to the desk near to the Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had been skilfully repaired, though coming closer Harry noticed that the yellow metal it had been patched up with didn't look that much like gold... Maybe the Ministry missed the Malfoys' financial support.

A young witch in a peacock blue robes - whom Harry considered quite pretty until she looked up from the book she was reading and he saw her face - stood up when she saw them approaching and waved them to step to the side of her desk. She held a golden rod, the same as the wizard he had encountered last time, and very much like two years ago Harry's front and back were scanned. In the next few seconds McGonagall patiently (though with her mouth thinning each passing moment) endured the same process while the brass like wand-weighing instrument buzzed, examining Harry's wand. He felt slightly nervous without it in his possession, but it was nothing to what McGonagall looked when it was her turn.

The Security witch skimmed the narrow strip of parchment the instrument produced and handed it over to them. The anxious Headmistress read it and nodded, handing it over to Harry.

Eleven inches, phoenix-feather, 6; Eleven and a quarter inches, dragon-heartstring, 65;

He nodded as well.

"Have a nice stay," wheezed the blue-clad witch and waved them off. Harry completely understood and appreciated that she wasn't saying more than one sentence. Apart from the voice being a lot like Umbrige's was, she sounded like her throat was badly sore. He tried to smile at her and must have succeeded, because she beamed at him. He was glad to be leaving, because the moment he turned away his face bore a terrified expression.

He tried to erase the image from his mind as McGonagall steered him to the stairs. He had expected them to use a lift, but when she halted only two floors under the Atrium he admitted that the wait and squash wouldn't have been worth it. A sign on the wall read:

Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation
Floo Network Authority
Broom Regulatory Control
Portkey Office
Apparition Test Centre

It was complete with arrows, indicating where were they supposed to go, though it turned out unnecessary, at least for himself, because that very moment a rushed and dishevelled Arthur Weasley ran up to them.

"Good morning, Arthur; take him, please, I have some business elsewhere and don't forget what Albus said." McGonagall didn't give the scatterbrained red-haired wizard enough time to even say 'Morning' back to her and virtually ran off.

"Mind you, the woman has stamina..." mumbled Mr Weasley and flashed Harry a bright smile. "Merlin, is good to see you again, boy! You've grown up, Molly will-" he hushed, as though he just remembered. Then he gave Harry a half-sad, half-scared look. "Never mind that... How have you been? Ginny has been asking about you." Harry shook the wizard's hand and let him lead the way down the windowless, absurdly sun-lit corridor.

'Ginny... I should have though more about her... But then, would it make her feel better if she received more letters from me?' Harry doubted that. He had once decided to distance himself from Ginny. She had taken it amazingly and he loved her all the more for it, but it would be unfair to keep reminding himself to her. He didn't want to cause her more pain than he already did.

"I'm fine. Can't complain," he replied absently.

"That's splendid, Harry. I am so relieved, Molly had been worried about you." They stopped in front of a slightly ajar door. "You are a bit early... Well, Wilkie will be glad. He's come here today only because of you... Go on in."

Harry pushed the door open and it revealed what looked like a small empty gym. There were hoops on the floor, the same they had been using in the training and in the corner sat cross-legged a familiar tiny wizard. Upon Harry's entrance he hastily stood up, without the assistance of his hands, which he used to clutch a large orange envelope.

"Ah, Mr Potter, let us get started if you don't mind," he said merrily. If he was hiding impatience, Harry didn't recognise it.

"Good morning, Mr Twycross," he said, remembering all the 'greet, greet' Fawkes had been drumming into his brain every time he got a chance to. The small wizard brightened yet more; probably wasn't used to get much mannerly treatment.

"Good morning to you, too. Now if you would please stand here in this hoop - or do you have some questions before we start?" Harry shook his head, being led to one of the circles on the floor by his elbow.

"Excellent! Don't forget: Destination, Determination, Deliberation! So, Apparate for me to this marking, please." He pointed to another hoop - the closest one to where he was standing. Harry concentrated. It had been long since he last Apparated; he could do it without troubles then, even though he didn't like it much, but if he was able to get into it without practise, not having been forewarned - that was a different question. He blinked.

When he looked up again, drawing a long and rejuvenating breath, he stood exactly where he was supposed to. Wilkie Twycross appreciatively nodded.

"Very clear. Now to this one, please." He pointed to a hoop in the far corner of the room. While Harry squeezed himself through the imaginary rubber tube, the wizard marked something on a parchment he retrieved from the envelope. Once again, he had successfully reached his destination. Wilkie smiled at him encouragingly.

"Outstanding! Now that would be for the accuracy; we have yet to test you for a longer distance - have you ever Apparated far way?"

"Only Side-Along," Harry replied, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach. What did Dumbledore laid him in again? He completely disregarded the fact that so far he showed no troubles whatsoever. In fact, it seemed easier to him than ever before.

"That is fine. Don't be nervous, I will be there - the worst that can happen is splinching."

'Well, that does not calm me a bit.' Harry now felt inclined to simply homicide the butterflies. He got a glimpse of Mr Weasley, still standing in the doorway, watching and milling the rims of his long wavy sleeves in his hands.

Twycross patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"No worry, no worry, I do have a Healer Diploma and a special course for treating splinching. You are in adept hands." Knowing this did ease Harry's mind a bit. Nevertheless, he started wishing it would be over, not really caring if he passes or fails, though he would distinctly prefer a pass.

"So, I suppose you have been to Diagon Alley-" Wilkie cast a questioning glance at Harry, receiving a confirm. "Well then, how about we meet in the Leaky Cauldron in ten seconds?" He Disapparated.

Harry looked uneasily at Mr Weasley. He didn't know what he looked for, maybe just wished to see a friendly face, or hear a few words of encouragement and trust. Mr Weasley clutched his fists, white-knuckled, staring at Harry with anticipation.

"Good luck, Harry."

That was all that it took.

popopopopo

He must have been holding his breath, because he felt a burning need for air when he had the ground under his feet. He breathed in and started choking immediately. He heard fast steps, a pair of shoes impacting with wooden floor, aiming to him.

"Mr Potter, are you all right?" yelled Twycross's voice, filled with fear. Harry looked up and spotted the small man just as he halted next to him.

"Yeah- Yes- I'm- fine-" he managed between chokes.

"Vulnus Revelo!" Wilkie said, pointing his wand at Harry. Apparently he only ensured what he was already told, because he laughed with relief and patted Harry's back. It did help a bit; the choking gradually subsided.

"It seems you have only inhaled something; completely unrelated to Apparition! Oi! I think I need a small refreshment..." He looked around and spotted Tom, wiping a table off some spilled drink of rather ugly pink colour and set out towards him.

With a crack that threatened to send Harry into another choking fit, Mr Weasley materialised just behind him.

"Harry? Are you whole? How did it go-" Harry turned around to assure the man he was complete and didn't miss any body-part, which should have been clear to him, as there was obviously none left at the Ministry.

"Fine, Mr Weasley," he replied calmly, being pulled into a short but fierce hug. Still, it felt nice to know that someone cared about him to the point of getting worried about his Apparition test.

"At least so it seemed to me."

"You have a nosebleed, Harry," whispered Mr Weasley, checking on Wilkie, who was buying a glass of pumpkin juice. "You won't fail, but they would take a few points and-" the wizard smiled, "-it doesn't sound as cool as telling you were perfect. Don't worry, I won't tell a soul." He gave Harry a wink and let him wipe his face. The amount of blood was minimal; in fact, it was hardly enough to call a 'nosebleed' and had stopped sooner than he got to treat it.

Meanwhile Twycross returned, scribbling something on his parchment.

"Ah, Arthur! You didn't have to check on us. Anyway, could you two gents now return to my office, please? I will show you all the documents there."

Harry sighed, closed his eyes, inhaled and Disapparated.