The days following Halloween were some of the most awkward he'd ever experienced. For the first time in his life, Harry had genuinely been coping with the day as a whole – the laughter and excitement within the school hadn't gotten to him the same way that it had for the last two years, and he thanked his lucky stars that someone had been there for him.

The whole two months at Hogwarts so far had, frankly, been some of the most enjoyable he'd ever had. There were no taunts in the corridors, and Draco had learned to keep his impudent mouth shut after the last year – there was no haunting voice whispering through the walls, and he was able to just be Harry.

Enjoying his time with his friends and being able to focus on his schoolwork properly for the first time his first year was freeing, and it was made all the better with the presence of Remus and Andromeda, two people who he visited almost daily and loved even more for their quiet presence in his life.

His friends had been simply brilliant. He had loved their foray into Hogsmeade, strange as it had been with Remus and all of the other professors hovering over and monitoring them all so closely. From what he'd heard over the last two years, students were generally allowed quite a lot of freedom on Hogsmeade trips.

He'd figured it had something to do with the Dementors drifting about in sky above the clouds, no doubt only held at bay by the large presence of Aurors. He'd spotted them almost instantly, standing there in their crimson robes, and looking as fierce and tough as ever.

Part of him, that tiny part of him that, during the Christmas of his first year, had wondered what it would have been like to be a Curse Breaker, wondered at the possibilities of a career as an Auror; chasing down criminals, late-night stakeouts, and tense firefights. It could never be so, for, upon his fourteenth birthday, he would begin to handle the simplest of his duties as the future Lord of House Potter; mostly small articles of estate management and charity work – something that, in another life, his father would have tutored him in, and upon his sixteenth, he would ascend to the title and all the responsibility that came with it.

The Lord Potter, a boy of sixteen with only his OWLs under his belt. It was hardly the reassurance he needed.

Hogsmeade had been pleasant for another reason as well. For two years, he'd watched Hermione gaze longingly at Hogsmeade through the windows of Gryffindor Tower's Common Room on quiet Saturdays when the majority of the school ventured there. The pointed roofs and bright lights were just visible over the tops of the pine trees that surrounded the town, and in the dark winter months, it had looked magical, with its orange glow amongst the white snow on the window, and the dark skies.

On their eventual trip, it had barely been able to take his eyes off of her. He had thought her pretty before, but barely had the words for how she had looked, wrapped up against the cold and smiling excitedly as they wandered from store to store. He just hoped he hadn't made himself look a fool.

It had been nice though, and he'd particularly enjoyed how, in the days since, Hermione had gotten into the habit of hooking her arm through his own. Each time, a tingle would skitter along his spine, and his skin would dance with his magic – his hairs would stand on end, and it would be all he could do to prolong their contact.

Quite frankly, he was the luckiest wizard in the castle.

And so, when he'd seen how, on the thirty-first, Hermione had gone out of her way in her attempts to distract him, despite his growing sour mood in the week leading up to it, she had steadfastly remained at his side. It had been nice, different.

He was so used to being on his own, though he knew that was entirely his doing – it had become a habit over the years, and he dealt with his grief and pain the only way he knew how: By keeping it to himself – it was nice to have someone there, even if they weren't saying anything.

Their time in the Library had been wonderful, and he'd barely been able to pretend to look like he was reading whenever Hermione glanced at him. How could he not have looked at her? The sunlight from the window had made her hair glow with golden highlights, and her eyes had seemed brighter than ever before.

He'd very nearly told Cai to piss off when he'd turned up and flashed that smile of his. The urge flashed through him, white hot in its intensity, and he was only just able to crush it before it slipped past his lips. He liked to think that he wasn't the jealous sort – he had lived and incredibly blessed life, all things considered. Arcturus, Sirius, Remus, Andromeda, his friends, and the rest of his family were always there for him. In truth, the only thing that he would wish for would have been to have his parents back, but then, there was little doubt in his mind that every other orphan of Voldemort's Blood War wouldn't ask for the same.

It felt stupid, to miss people he didn't know and couldn't remember. People had died, fighting for what they believed in, and yet, each Halloween, he locked himself away and moped about, wishing for two people out of the countless thousands.

To see his parents, to have known them, had been the only thing he'd truly wished for in his life. He knew of them but didn't know them himself. Of course, there were always the familiar twangs of discomfort in his chest when he saw families at the Platform, or in Diagon, or in any number of places he'd visited over the years, but never jealousy.

So, when it had reared its ugly head when Cai Griffin, a boy a few years his senior, had flashed Hermione with those smiles, and spoken kindly to her – despite the unfortunate misunderstanding at the start of the conversation – he'd damn near nearly drawn his wand and hexed the boy out of the room.

It had left a sour taste in his mouth since – he'd spoken to Sirius about it, in a careful, roundabout way, and Padfoot had just chuckled merrily and smiled through the mirror. As expected, he hadn't been useful at all.

In truth, Harry lay a large portion of the blame over his stupid idea to take Hermione to his rock at the feet of his need to, in some way, out-do the older boy. It had been the perfect place, in his head, and after declaring his intentions to Luna and her friend, he'd privately revelled in the thought of Hermione in one of his cloaks. She had looked, simply, amazing, with her loose hair billowing about her shoulders, and the fur pelt tickling her jaw.

When they'd arrived at the rock, with Clara keeping a careful eye on the two of them, and the Dementors that had been floating in the distance, he'd intended only to enjoy the view with her, and maybe hold her hand.

He hadn't meant to sob into her shoulder like a child.

It had been humiliating.

It had also been one of the most liberating experiences of his life, and he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around that particular paradox. He wasn't sure what it had been that had triggered it – perhaps her quiet question, and the slow, startling realisation that he truly didn't know his parents.

He knew fragments, anecdotes, bits and pieces from one source or another, but he didn't know them as people. He had no stories of his own. He couldn't remember falling asleep with his father on the sofa, though he knew it had happened – he had the photographs, after all.

Still, remembering just what he had gained and lost in the same stroke with the Mirror of Erised had left him feeling strangely raw, laid bare to the girl he had taken to that cliff to impress. It had taken him as much by surprise as it had no doubt taken her. She had held him as he cried and held his hand just as fiercely as she ever did. In light of all of that, his original jealousy was petty and childish.

They'd returned to the school afterwards, and no-one had been the wiser to their little private adventure, though he was sure his eyes were bloodshot, and his face had been splotchy. He'd retreated straight up to his bedroom, a fierce hug and a whispered thank you had been all he could offer Hermione.

He'd been so embarrassed the following day, sitting in class with his head down and glaring a hole into the parchment as he scribbled down notes furiously. He'd paid Snape no mind as he hovered and criticised his brewing, Professor Grant had thankfully left him out of his discussions, as had Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. Hermione had noticed.

She'd offered quiet words, whispers that he had nothing to be embarrassed about, and that she was glad he'd opened up to her, but still, it rankled. How could he be the boy he was supposed to be, the man, the future Lord if he got upset and bawled his eyes out on the shoulder of a pretty girl? There were more important things to worry about, and plenty of people out there with much more of a right to a sniffle than he.

He scowled as he kicked a pebble with the toe of his boot.

Harry knew he was being stupid – he did! Likely he would have been completely fine having his little outburst in front of Daphne, or even Tracey, but it was the fact it had been Hermione of all people. Merlin, why did it have to have been Hermione?

He let out another sigh, glaring at the building ahead of him – it was the same as it had been the year before, and loomed in front of him just as ominously as ever. This building, for all that he'd enjoyed the Duelling Club the previous year, had been where the ridicule had really taken off; the judgemental looks and the quiet bullying his friends had been subjected to, all because he was a Parselmouth.

Thankfully, it was an optional club this year – duelling did little to protect one from a Dementor, the ominous bastards that circled the skies above Hogwarts wouldn't be phased by a Reducto or a Bombarda. He'd asked Remus and checked.

With it being optional, he was sure there were going to be fewer students. As fun as it had been amidst all of the awfulness that had made up second year, if there was something he'd learned in his time at Hogwarts, it was that if something were to be made optional, most would pass on it. Never doubt a Wizard's capacity to be lazy.

His friends would all be there, and he'd heard a good number of Gryffindor were excited to attend too. It would be nice to have a little spar, though he doubted he'd have as much fun as he had with Felix – he frowned, briefly, at the thought of the man. He missed the way he taught, and his constant, reassuring presence at his shoulder.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the cavernous space, shrugging out of his cloak and passing it to Dobby, who appeared instantly and disappeared just as quickly. The cool air hit his back first, having briefly hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to change before making his way here.

There were fewer better feelings than stripping that uniform off and getting into something comfortable and light – and he'd need something light if he was going to spend the next few hours duelling people.

His left hand drifted to his right forearm and ghosted over the wand holster and the wand it held within. His mind reassured, he wandered over to the large assembly in the middle of the hall, noting the familiar faces and smattering of House colours, though most were rather clearly red. He remained at the back, quiet and out of the way as he smiled briefly at Sirius, who was addressing everyone from atop the closest platform, Remus at his side.

Behind the two of them were a dozen other members of the staff – he eyed both Professors McGonagall and Cantrill among them, as well as the three other Defence professors. There were also three others that caught his eye; the first, the woman, had long, silver hair arranged in braids all around her head, and her silver eyes peered at the students before her with an unusual intensity.

The second was a tall man, tall and lithe beneath his layers and layers of fur clothing. A long, pointed brown beard stretched from his chin to the middle of his chest, and upon his shaved, bald head, were a number of runic symbols from the Norse alphabet.

The last was a man of about the same height as Sirius, though maybe an inch taller. He was broad, and his skin looked weatherworn and beaten – it was a man that was used to being outdoors. He wore a dark leather doublet, and on either side of his head were a number of dark tattoos, and a cap of short brown hair on the top.

Like the previous man, he had a pointed brown beard, though his was much shorter, and behind it, his lips twitched as he gazed at the crowd. His eyes were wide, and startlingly blue – his head slowly moved side to side, flashing a grin of pearly white teeth whenever he caught the eye of a curious student.

Harry had seen all three in the Great Hall since the start of the year – the woman with the silver hair, and the man with the shorter beard always sat together, talking quietly among themselves at the same table as Professor Morris, the original Warding professor for the NEWT students. The tall man sat with the Divination professors.

"Everyone will be split into groups. Last year was all about learning to protect yourself – this year, we'll focus on introducing you to actual duelling." Sirius was saying, clapping his hands. "I'm grateful to have been invited back, apparently you lot tolerated me enough that Headmaster Dumbledore thought you might like to see me again." He grinned, a rumbling of laughter answering him.

"With me are a number of professors, of course, so we can't have too much fun. Now, why don't we get sorted and get on with this?" Sirius winked, hopping down from the platform. "Separate into groups of, oh, let's say twenty and we'll see how things go from there, shall we?"

Harry stepped back as the crowd surged around him, students from all years hurrying to join up with their friends, and those on their own hoping to see at least one familiar face. His eyes swept the crowd and landed on the familiar forms of his friends, already surrounded by a gaggle of other students.

He made his way over to them, the corners of his mouth twitching when Neville spotted him and waved him over excitedly – Hermione smiled at him and tucked her hair behind her ear, though he found himself dropping his gaze quickly. He couldn't even properly look her in the eye, and the longer it went on, the more frustrating he was finding the whole thing.

There were others in the group beside his friends – there was Hannah Abbott and Earnest Macmillan, Eirene Taylor and Blaise Zabini, Susan, and her friend Isao, and also the older, radiant Celeste Earhart, the Ravenclaw Quidditch Keeper, and a sixth year; she was also a Veela.

Thankfully, she had some control over her allure. He had no desire to become a mindless, gibbering moron in front of anyone.

In no time at all, there were twenty students in their little group, and he was pleased to see Cedric Diggory among them – he remembered the duel from last year and how quickly he'd been left sprawled on the platform; Felix would've beaten him bloody for that.

"Alright children, gather around, you've got me this year!" Sirius called, wandering over to them with all the charm he could muster. He heard Celeste sigh dreamily as she fanned herself. Harry rolled his eyes from his position behind her and heard the quiet snickers of Neville. "So, who here's duelled before? Properly, I mean."

A few hands went up, and Harry hesitantly lifted his own – he wasn't entirely sure if Felix's way of teaching him spells technically constituted a duel, but if it got him on the platform quicker, he'd take it.

"Alright – you, my dear." Sirius said, pointing a finger at Celeste, who hurried forward. "And you – what's your name, lad?"

"Apollo Fiz, Lord Black – of House Bartlet." Apollo said, bowing politely with a hand clasped to his chest.

"And your name?" Sirius asked, glancing at the blonde Veela.

"Celeste, of House Earhart, Lord Black." She curtsied demurely. Sirius nodded once and gestured toward the platform. The two Ravenclaws hurried to either end, taking the steps two at a time, and Harry smiled slightly as the familiar barrier sprung up around the platform protectively.

"I want to see what the two of you can do – on my mark, you shall both salute one another, bow, and take up your positions." Sirius instructed, his arms folded and his eyes hard – Harry rarely saw him like this; calculating, in command, coiled, ready to leap into action at any given moment.

"Salute!" Sirius called. "Bow!"

Apollo and Celeste fell into their positions quickly, their wands levelled at one another confidently. Beside him, Neville leaned into him. "Who do you have your money on?"

"Not a clue." He whispered back, his eyes darting between the young witch and wizard. "She's a Veela, so she's a Fire Elemental. I don't know much about Apollo besides being a nightmare to play against in Quidditch."

"Wood still running you all ragged?"

"Had us up at five this morning for an early practice with the match coming up this weekend." He sighed. "Nearly missed breakfast."

"Begin!" Sirius declared.

The first spell came from Celeste – the witch was a year older than Apollo, and immediately went on the offensive. He didn't hear the spell, but a brilliant, golden spell hurtled across the platform, only to be batted away by Apollo's quick Protego.

Apollo wasted no time retaliating, casting two powerful Reducto's that forced Celeste to side-step, her blonde hair whipping about her face. Apollo followed up on his attacks, a trio of quick, blazing spells hurtling toward her, though she deflected each of them into the barrier surrounding them.

Harry watched the back and forth between them carefully, watching what spells they used, and when. His lips mouthed the words of both competitors silently as his right hand, tucked beneath his left bicep and pinned against his ribs, attempted to mimic the wand movements.

He winced as a particularly powerful wall of flame sprang into existence between the two opponents, the angry tongues stretching high and obscuring any vision. After that, it became a game of who got lucky first.

The flames remained, and every couple of seconds, a spell would hurtle through them from either direction; a desperate attempt to deal a glancing blow with their vision obscured. Personally, Harry thought that spell only useful when in an area that gave you the opportunity to move more freely – on a duelling platform, it hindered the caster as much as the opponent.

A cheer went up as Apollo caught a spell in the shoulder that sent him spinning through the air and crashing into the barrier. The wall of flame disappeared immediately with a flick of Celeste's wand as she approached the downed wizard, who was groaning as he pushed himself to his knees.

"I yield." He panted, his hands on his thighs and sweat trickling down the side of his face. His curly hair was matted and damp. Celeste beamed, and a slither of her allure swept over the gathered audience – though only a few showed any reaction to it, and most were all in the front row. Harry, who was in the third, rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as the faintest whisper of it brushed against his mind.

Celeste caught herself quickly, and as rapidly as the uncomfortable feeling was there, it was gone. She knelt to help her Housemate to his feet and offered quiet words that he couldn't hear over the clapping of the group.

"Very good – head on over to Professor Lupin, and he'll walk you through some things you got right, and other things you didn't." Sirius said, stepping up to the front of the group once more. Both Ravenclaws nodded and hurried off to the side. "Any volunteers for the next round? No? Alright then, Greengrass, Longbottom, you're both up."

"Shit!" Neville cursed beside him. "She's going to eviscerate me." He added with a moan, and Harry fought the urge to chuckle.

"Show her what you're made of, Neville." He said instead, slapping his best friend on the shoulder. "Try to last more than a few seconds."

"Piss off, Potter." Neville muttered, stomping toward the stairs.

Harry chuckled to himself as he watched Neville go through the motions across from Daphne under Sirius's instruction, and moments later, the two had begun their duel.

Harry watched the two of them go back and forth viciously – Harry knew Neville was very direct in the way he duelled; he relied on brute strength and overwhelming force, while Daphne wasn't afraid of using a little misdirection.

It was like night and day, watching the two fight.

Neville was a powerful wizard, and personally, Harry couldn't wait to see what he could do when he was older – his wand-work was tight, and the magic radiating off of him was wild and dangerous. Daphne's magic, in comparison, was cool as ice and focused.

Neville batted another spell aside and approached a pace, ducking under Daphne's follow-up, and sending a pair of spells at her feet, which she barely hopped out of the way of; her hair, which was tied back in a series of dark braids, whipped over her shoulder.

"Looking forward to your duel?" Sirius asked, appearing at his side suddenly. Harry glanced at him, noting the way his eyes watched his two friends carefully; his arms were crossed, but his wand was clutched tightly in his right hand.

"Tell me who I'm fighting, and I'll tell you if I'm looking forward to it or not." He answered, arching an eyebrow, and turning back to look at the fight.

"That depends entirely on if you're going to take this seriously this year."

Harry scowled. "I took it seriously last year."

"We both know that if you'd have taken it seriously, there isn't a student in your year that could have beaten you." Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes briefly. "Your duel with the Malfoy boy showed that quite clearly."

"It wouldn't have been fair." He huffed, frowning. "What good is winning if it's done dishonourably?"

"Dis-" Sirius began, snapping his head to glance at him. He paused only long enough to wave his hand and Remus appeared. "Keep an eye on the duel." Remus nodded without a word, while Sirius led him to the side of the room, far away from the rest of the group and any listening ears.

Sirius levelled a stare at him, his lips pressed tightly together and the space between his brows creased as he frowned at Harry. He suddenly felt a little boy all over again.

"Your father was my best friend." Sirius began, slowly. "From the moment you were placed in my hands, everything I've done, I've done to protect you. You're all the world has left of James and Lily – you're the last of your family, and I'll go to the grave fighting to protect their son; my son."

Harry felt his bottom lip tremble as a sharp, stinging sensation tickled the back of his throat. "Sirius, I-"

Sirius held up a hand, cutting him off. "I'm not done." He snapped before pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. "Wizards and witches are killed every day. Our world is a hard one, a dangerous one. Look at what happened to Arcturus, Harry – I'll not have that happen to you. Do you think that if Arcturus were able to fight back, that he'd have fought fairly? Honourably?"

He shook his head and glanced at his boots. "He'd have used every dirty trick he could."

"That's right, and he'd have taken as many as he could with him." Sirius agreed, placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry lifted his head as Sirius gave him a gentle squeeze. "You are a Potter, the last Potter. If someone comes after you, and I'm not there to protect you, and Clara or Dobby can't get to you, I need to know that you'll do anything to keep yourself safe until I get there, is that understood?"

Harry nodded and licked his lips nervously before Sirius pulled him into a sudden, tight embrace, one hand at the base of his skull, his fingers threaded through his thick hair.

"There are dangerous people out there, Harry. Don't get in the habit of playing by someone else's rules, okay? When you step on that platform today, I need you to be that same boy I see sparring with Felix at Arpton."

Harry nodded against Sirius's doublet and wrapped his arms tightly around Sirius, squeezing for all he was worth. "I'll try."

"That's all I ask." Sirius murmured into his hair, and Harry's eyes closed at the feeling of the gentle kiss to his crown.

"Isn't all of this the opposite of what you were telling me at the start of summer, though?" He asked, blowing out a breath of air through his nose.

"It is, but things are different – there's Dementors around the school for a reason, Harry; not that I agree with their placement, mind you. I just want you to be safe."

Harry frowned, pressing his lips together tightly. "Does it have anything to do with Fenrir Greyback? And all those Aurors that got killed just before I came back? I saw the article about them in the Prophet."

Sirius leaned back, a sharp look in his eye. "Where did you hear that name?" He demanded, cupping either side of his face.

He shrugged. "Ron Weasley said he overheard his dad talking about him. Is that why the Dementors are here?"

"You don't need to worry why the Dementors are here, do you hear me? The only thing you should be asking yourself is how you're doing on that last essay, who the prettiest witch is, and how to win in your duel." Sirius said, pulling Harry back against his chest. "And I meant what I said, pup – if you're ever in trouble, I'll always be there to rescue you, okay? You're never alone."

Harry gave Sirius another squeeze before pulling back, quickly clearing his throat and sniffing quietly. "You, uh – well, I – you've no idea how much I needed to hear that last bit after this weekend and, well, I understand, about the other stuff, I mean."

"Sunday was tough on all of us. Did you spend it with Clara again? Can't imagine she was too excited about staying in your room without kicking up a fuss over something."

"No, I, uh – I spent the day with Hermione, actually." He admitted, sheepishly.

"Ah, this is that whole jealousy thing again, right?"

"Kind of – I did something dumb."

"Am I about to be proud and have to ground you, or angry and ground you?" Sirius asked, cocking an eyebrow, and folding his arms.

"Both?" Harry offered with a wince. "Anyway, what I did – or didn't – do aren't important. What is important is that, well, I might have cried like a baby onto her shoulder."

"And?" Sirius frowned, cocking his head to the side.

"And it was embarrassing." Harry hissed, darting a glance over his shoulder at the crowd where he saw Hermione, who was currently cheering on Tracey in her own duel, who was facing off against Hannah Abbott.

"You're thirteen – every other sentence out of your mouth is going to be embarrassing; that's called puberty. I went through it, Remus definitely went through it, and so did your father. What did you cry about?"

"My parents." He muttered, kicking the flagstone floor with the toe of his boot. "It just kind of… happened."

"These things happen." Sirius said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and beginning the slow walk back to the group. "You're supposed to begin making your way through the fine ladies of Hogwarts – and if you mention to Amelia that I said that; I'll deny it. Look, what I'm trying to say, in my own roundabout way, is that there are things that you'll never do, because of the boy you are, and the man you'll one day be; there are true horrors and tragedies in your life, Harry, and you've no idea my regret for my part in them."

"You've not done anything wrong!" Harry said, quickly, as he came to a halt. His eyes darted to the much thinner group of students only a few metres away. "You've given me everything – bollocks, you put your entire bloody life on hold until I left for Hogwarts!"

"And who was it that first took you to Arpton? Who pretended to be the Secret Keeper for your parents? Who was the one that suggested the rat?"

"None of that was your fault – besides, I wouldn't have Clara if we hadn't gone to Arpton. What's a few nightmares compared to that?"

Sirius huffed and tightened his arm around his neck, drawing him closer. "You're much too forgiving – that's your mother in you, you know."

Harry smiled, despite himself. "Probably."

"Alright, come on – just remember what I've said, and pull your head out your arse, alright?"

"You first." Harry grinned cheekily, ducking out of Sirius's grip, and re-joining the crowd of students, each of them far too focused on Hermione and Susan's duel; it was pretty evenly matched at first glance.

Hermione advanced a pace, flinging her arm out and sending a cerulean-coloured spell hurtling toward the Hufflepuff, who side-stepped and shot a pair of silver spells in retaliation. Hermione deflected the first, and ducked under the second, firing her next spell low, and her follow-up high.

Susan fell for the trap and caught Hermione's spell in her gut as she hopped over the first. Harry winced as she was thrown back against the shield around the platform, the deep, gasping wheeze confirming she'd had the wind thoroughly knocked out of her.

The shield dropped quickly, and Sirius hurried up the steps and helped Susan to her feet, who nodded at both Sirius and Hermione, accepting her defeat gracefully. He watched as Hermione hurried down her own stairs and rushed to stand with the others – Daphne looked a little worse for wear, as did Neville; he'd have to find out the victor later.

"Mister Diggory, take your position, please." Remus called, and the remaining Hufflepuffs cheered and hollered as Cedric smiled bashfully and hurried up the stairs two at a time.

"Mister Potter, you'll be facing him." Sirius called from where he was helping Susan sit down next to Daphne.

Murmurs broke out around him.

"Potter against Diggory? He trounced him last time – Potter won't stand a chance!"

"My money's on Diggory!"

"Rematch of the year!" Someone chuckled, and Harry felt his jaw clench and twitch.

He wasted no time, hurrying up the steps of the platform and flicking his wand into his waiting hand. In truth, the moment he'd caught sight of Cedric, he'd wanted another shot at him – he'd learned more spells and practiced the ones he already knew over the summer and felt reasonably confident about his chances.

"Go Harry!" Hermione called; her cry being followed up by the rest of his friends. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned at them.

"You can do it, Potter!" Neville bellowed, and Harry found himself blushing a little at the ruckus. It was nice hearing it after the initial comments, though.

He focused his gaze back on Cedric across from him – he was taller than him by a head, and he knew from their games against Hufflepuff, he was extremely athletic. It was going to be tough, no matter what he came up with.

The two of them saluted simultaneously and bowed as one before retreating to either end of the platform and dropping into their ready positions. Around them, the silvery-white shield sprang into place, shimmering in the corners of his eye. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and his fingers flexed on the Vinewood handle of his wand – his magic danced just beneath the surface of his skin, excited, ready.

"Begin!" Remus called, and immediately, Harry's vision narrowed on the boy across from him. His magic rushed to answer his call, and he snapped a Reducto off immediately, quickly followed by a Bombarda, the two spells hurtling across the platform.

Cedric side-stepped the two of them, shooting a spell of his own at Harry. His eyes widened, and he barely managed to duck under it in time; it splashed against the shield behind him and sent him stumbling forward, gritting his teeth as his arms flailed in an attempt to keep himself upright.

Harry growled to himself, hissing a Deprimo and flicking his wand – the movement wasn't quite right, and he cursed under his breath as Cedric battled it aside with a Custodi like it was nothing. A trio of angry, crimson Stupefies were sent in return. Harry managed to defend against all three, the last sending him stumbling to the side, and his momentary joy turned to ash in his mouth as a fourth spell, a weak numbing one, caught him in the thigh and sent him sprawling to the platform.

He slammed his fist into the wood in frustration, his leg limp from the impact and slowly got back to his feet – Cedric had at least allowed him the chance to get back up, as precarious as it felt, hobbling around with a bum leg.

Harry's Protego was able to protect him from the next four spells Cedric threw at him, sending him stumbling back until his back was flush with the shield; he was beaten, that much was for sure, but he'd be damned if he was going to lose so soundly.

A brilliant flash of light detonated a metre in front of him, and Harry threw his head to the side on reflex, slamming his eyes closed. A moment later, the light disappeared, and his eyes opened only long enough to recognise the crimson Stupefy before it slammed, painfully, into his chest.

He didn't know how long it took for him to be brought back around, but when he did, he tried not to scowl up at the ceiling, and the dark silhouetted faces hovering around the edges of his vision. The warm light high above made the backs of his eyes ache, and he resisted the urge to hiss and squirm under its intensity.

"Alright, he's back with us – up you get, Harry." Sirius said, hoisting him up into a sitting position. His head spun for a moment, and he violently crushed the instinct to throw up as his stomach roiled.

Harry shifted his legs, bringing his right knee up to his chest and tucking his left ankle behind it as he rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Gods, what was I hit with?" He moaned, sighing as he gently pressed his forehead to his knee. It felt solid, reassuring, and decidedly still.

"Stupefy." Hermione's voice offered – he figured that was her hand gently rubbing circles on his back. "You might feel out of it for a few minutes."

"I feel like I've been hit by a Giant." He murmured, closing his eyes, and basking in the relief that it brought.

"It'll do that, I'm afraid." Sirius sighed, patting his shoulder enough that his eyes were forced open again, if only so he could shoot an arm out to steady himself. "You held back again."

"I did?" He grunted, feeling his forehead crease as he frowned. "I didn't think I was."

"Well, that's what happened." Sirius said. "Come on, you can wait over here until we're done. Get your bearings back."

Harry allowed Sirius to man-handle him to his feet and lead him to a bench along the wall of the large room. The bench itself was wooden, with a soft cushion on the top; it was far enough away from the wall that he could lean back against it without sitting up ramrod straight. He felt people settle either side of him.

He glanced to his right, and saw Daphne and Neville, both looking pale and worse for wear – absently, Harry noticed Daphne's uniform had a cut on her shoulder, the visible skin beneath looked pink. Neville's doing in their duel, no doubt.

Hermione and Tracey were on his left; Tracey looked just as tired but looked mostly like she always did – no doubt her duel hadn't been as trying as Neville and Daphne's. Hermione looked the most put-together out of them all, with nary a hair out of place, though her cheeks were a little pink and flush.

Sirius left them to it and made his way back to the rest of the students.

"How long was I out?" He asked, leaning against the stone bricks behind him. They were cool.

"Only for a few minutes. Only two or three duels left to go before we go and get some food." Tracey offered. "You lasted longer than you had any right to, Harry."

"I lost."

"You did, but that was always what was going to happen." Daphne shrugged. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Harry – Cedric's years ahead of us, of course he was going to win. The only thing that told you otherwise was your ego." She huffed, levelling him with a look.

"I don't have an ego!" He said quickly, scowling at his friend and folding his arms across his chest as he turned to stare at the platform.

Neville snorted to his side, and Harry snapped his eyes to him, glaring. "What?" Neville asked, holding up both of his hands. "Gran says everyone has an ego."

"Yeah, well I don't." He hissed, sweeping his gaze across each of his friends.

"It's alright, if you want to be moody and pout about it, we'll let you, but I'm not sitting here and listening to it. Frankly, I'm tired, sore, and hungry." Tracey huffed, getting to her feet quickly and walking back to the rest of the students huddled around the platform. Daphne and Neville followed, though the boy offered a pat on the shoulder as he got to his feet.

"What did you think was going to happen, Harry?" Hermione asked, quietly, both her knees bouncing, and her hands tucked under her thighs.

"I don't know!" He snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I don't mind losing, but that… that was just embarrassing."

"Oh."

"What does that mean?"

"What do you mean, what does it mean? It means 'oh'."

"That's not what it sounded like."

"Does it have to sound like anything?"

"It usually does, so what does it mean?"

"It means that I know why you've been avoiding me since the weekend. You've been embarrassed. Which is stupid, by the way – I've been thinking it was something I did! Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Harry was quiet, his jaw jutting out stubbornly as he glared at the floor. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Hermione huffed, and he didn't need to look at her to know she'd rolled her eyes. "I don't? Okay then. Well, if it's any consolation to your wounded, masculine pride, I thought what I saw on that cliff was incredibly brave – endearing, even."

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? Why I-" He stopped himself, and breathed out through his nose angrily, turning his head away. "And now this."

"You lost a duel, Harry – it's not the end of the world. Daphne lost hers, and you don't see her being mardy about it; and before you say anything, that's what you're being right now. This isn't the Harry Potter I know." She said, holding up a hand as he turned to retort. He snapped his mouth closed with a click and shifted on the bench.

"It's just-"

"I can imagine; but don't lash out because you're having a strop." Hermione said, getting to her feet and brushing down her skirt. She turned to face him; her hands clasped before her as she looked down at him – he winced against the floating chandeliers in the ceiling. "Now, I'm going to join the others, and when this is over, I quite expect you to have gotten over this."

"Fine." He muttered, nodding shortly. He watched her leave and scowled to himself. He wasn't pouting because of anything she'd said – Merlin, he wasn't even pouting!

He was pissed.

In truth, he'd thought he had a chance against Cedric – he'd heard what the people around him had muttered to one another after his name had been called, and he'd wanted to prove them wrong. He had wanted to show them what he could do, and, instead, he'd been laid out on his arse and Cedric hadn't even broken a sweat.

What good was all the training that he'd done over the years if he had nothing to show for it? What good was the training Felix had given him if he'd not been able to defend against a few stunning spells against someone only a few years older than himself? What good was it, knowing what he did if, the next time he got caught in an ambush, he ended up just like-

The smell of spell-fire, the screams of the wounded, the ringing in his ears, the warm spray of blood on his face, and the rancid stench of death. An eye, empty and staring at him lifelessly.

He breathed in sharply, his teeth grinding together as his fists clenched – further down the wall, an unoccupied bench imploded. He paid it no mind and stared at the flagstone floor. His magic ran along his skin, his nerve-endings dancing with the energy that coursed through him; it swirled and contorted beneath the surface, its nebulous form straining at the chains he held it under.

Harry would never be that helpless, never go down as easily as he had against Cedric – he was a Potter, a fighter. His parents had fought until the bitter end, and if it came down to it, he'd fight hard enough for both of them; he'd never be so helpless, so incompetent as he had been against Diggor-

"Harry." Remus murmured, gripping his shoulder, and shaking him lightly. His other hand cupped his cheek, and Harry found his eyes meeting the amber ones of his favourite Werewolf. "Come back to us, Harry."

"Moony?" He asked, blinking as he looked over his shoulder at the rest of the room – most of the room was empty, with only a handful of students left, all meandering out of the door. His friends lingered on the far side of the room, glancing at him uncertainly as they looked at one another and back to him.

"Back with us, I see." Remus smiled, offering him a piece of chocolate, which he took thankfully. He breathed out through his nose as it began to melt on his tongue – Honeydukes. "Had us a little worried for a minute there; what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it." He muttered, dropping the man's gaze.

"I'm afraid you might need to – you totalled a bench, you see."

"I think I heard it." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Can I just go to bed? I'm tired, and I just-"

Remus nodded sympathetically and patted his arm gently. "Alright then, come on, lets get your cloak and I'll have Neville and Hermione-"

"No, I… I want to be alone." He murmured, getting to his feet. "I-" He said, the words catching in his throat. "I've just been a bit of an idiot, but-"

"I understand – more than you probably realise."

Harry nodded, silently, and was just about to call for Dobby when Sirius appeared before him, his face stormy. He looked every inch the Lord of House Black. "Harry's not leaving just yet – he has one more duel."

"One more – Sirius, everyone's gone." Remus answered him, sweeping an arm at the empty room. "Who's he going to duel? Besides, don't you think, if you find someone for him to duel in the first place, that it'd be better suited for when he's in a better frame of mind?"

"He won't be duelling a student. He's duelling me." Sirius said, simply. "Harry – duelling platform, now."

Harry's legs moved on reflex – there were very few times Sirius used that tone of voice with him; in fact, he could count exactly how many on a single hand. His wand, it seemed, had been placed in the holster on his forearm, for when he flicked his wrist, it slapped into his palm.

He looked around the room wearily; Neville, Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey were lingering, all confused and slowly moving toward the platform, and Sirius hopped up onto the platform from the floor, bypassing the stairs completely.

With a flick of his wrist, the shield sprang up around them, and Sirius looked at him, his grey eyes hard and unyielding.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, spreading his arms. "Isn't it bad enough you had me get trounced by Diggory in front of everyone? Do you really need to lay me out yourself?"

"I'm not going to fight back – you're going to get whatever it is off your chest, and then you're going to have a hard think about what I said to you earlier." Sirius said, voice even.

"I listened to what you said – you think I meant to hold back?" Harry snapped, glaring at the man across from him. "And what? You're going to just stand there and take it?"

Sirius shrugged. "You won't hit me – that much, I can promise you."

Harry huffed and through his arms in the air and turned around. "I'm not doing this – it's stupid, and a-"

He was cut off as a spell slammed into his shoulder from behind. A Stinging Hex, no harder than a punch that made him stumble a step. On instinct, Harry spun with the blow and fired a pair of spells, one low, and one high in return.

Only when he realised he'd shot the spells at Sirius did he take a moment to realise just what he'd done. Sirius batted them aside, his eyes remaining entirely fixed on him the entire time. "Sirius, I'm not doing this."

"Of course you are." Sirius said, his fingers flexing on the handle of his wand. "Because the only way you get out of here, is by me letting you out."

"I'm not in the mood, Sirius."

"Really? Because you seem to be in a fairly pouty one this evening." Sirius replied, shrugging his shoulders easily.

"Yeah, well, it's been a pretty shit week, alright?" Harry snapped, his magic roiling under the surface once again. He rubbed his hand against his forehead as he winced, his magic rose up, straining his magic to its limit.

"We all have them, Harry. You didn't listen to me before, but you're definitely going to listen to me now."

"Let me out." Harry growled, against his better judgement.

"Only if you make me."

Harry stomped forward, his wand jabbing forward as spell-fire shot from the tip in brilliant lances of colour. There was no technique or timing – he just wanted Sirius to shut his mouth.

His lips curled into a snarl as Sirius batted each one aside, and Harry drew more consciously on the power coursing through his veins; he didn't care what spell he threw; he was determined to prove to Sirius, and to himself, that he could make the older man shut up.

Sirius smacked each spell aside like it was nothing, his Protegos sending them careening off in every direction, splashing against the shimmering silver shield all around them. One spell, Eviulsis, which zipped toward Sirius with frightening alacrity, made the entire room tremble viciously as it collided with the shield, washing over the impact area with a wave of purple-white light.

"Come on, Harry – you can do better than that!"

Harry clenched his teeth together, his jaw spasming as his hand tightened around the handle of his wand. His extremities tingled with barely contained magic, and he tossed another spell at Sirius; the Diffindo hurtling toward his Godfather and leaving the tell-tale stench of burned ozone in its wake.

In an instant, he was no longer on the platform with Sirius – he was on that cobbled road, surrounded by fallen guards and bandits on both sides. He blinked the sting of the smoke from his eyes and stumbled forward a step, coughing, and barely keeping himself from gagging as his foot crushed a House Guard's spilled intestine with a sickening squelch.

He looked up, beyond the small field of corpses, for not a single one moved, and felt the blood drain from his face at the sight of Quirrell, the purple-robed man sneering at him, his wand in his hand and pointed at the floor, as if he were no threat at all.

Harry's rage exploded, and his magic roared its answer – trails of pure, visible magic danced along his skin as he jabbed his wand at the man, a cyan lance of magic screamed across the distance separating the two of them, Quirrell batted it aside, sending it careening into a nearby tree. It exploded into a thousand shards of splintered wood before toppling over with enough force to rock the very ground beneath his feet.

Quirrell laughed, though there was no humour to it.

"Shut up!" Harry yelled, his chest felt tight, and constricted. The memory of Quirrell's cold skin against his throat bubbled up in his mind. "Fight back!" He screamed, throwing another curse, this one detonating at Quirrell's feet, though he didn't look like he'd so much as stumbled.

Another spell left the tip of his wand, this one a sickening yellow. It screamed towards Quirrell, and the wizard batted that one aside too. Quirrell laughed.

"I can fight you!" Harry bellowed, his magic roaring to the surface again. "Don't you take me for a threat, you coward? Fight me!" An angry crimson lance sped across the distance between the two of them, and Harry took the opportunity to sprint forward, his legs pumping as he rushed to close the distance.

Quirrell slapped the spell aside and finally levelled his wand at Harry, the evil, malevolent glint in his eye coupled with that self-satisfied smile bringing him to a screeching halt as he tried to bring his wand up in front of him.

He wasn't sure what spell had left Quirrell's wand, but whatever it was, blew him cleanly off of his feet, sending him head-over-heel through the air until he landed in a heap. He'd expected to feel the crunching of his bones, or at least the solidness of the cobblestone beneath him, perhaps even the wetness of all of the blood that had been pooled all around him, but instead, he felt the softness of wood.

Gone was the smell of burned ozone, and the stench of death. Instead, in its place, was the earthy smell of varnished wood, and a cold, cool, crispness that was unique to the Scottish Highlands. He opened his eyes with a wince and was greeted with the familiar sight of the ceiling of the duelling club's building.

He groaned as he rolled onto his side, forcing his screaming muscles into pushing his arms and knees beneath him as he glanced about. He was no longer on that cobbled road; he was on the duelling platform, a sweating Sirius on his knees across from him, panting heavily with his hands on his thighs. He vaguely recognised Sirius's wand, laying on the platform before him, the tip smoking lightly.

A pair of hands appeared before him, and he struggled to focus his eyes on the face that appeared before him – it was Hermione, he realised, after a moment. He blinked slowly and fell backwards, exhausted, only her hands, gripping his biceps through his damp tunic kept him from falling on his back.

Other faces appeared around him – he recognised Neville, Daphne, and Tracey, but there were others, too; Susan was there, Apollo Fiz, from Ravenclaw, and the pretty Veela, Celeste – he recognised the twins, Fred and George, and the straight blonde hair of Hannah Abbott next to the dark hair of Lilith Kullens.

"Merlin's hairy bollocks, Harry!" Fred whispered, or was that George? It was hard to tell, the way the world would drop in and out of focus.

"Damn near brought the building down!" The other one, whoever it really was, said.

"You alright Potter?" Apollo asked, a kind look on his face. Harry nodded, confused as he panted. He looked at Hermione, who was looking at him with a strange expression, her eyes wide.

"Come on, get him on his feet." Someone else said – the voice was familiar, kind, and charismatic. Cedric's face appeared before him, and before he knew it, the older Hufflepuff was lifting him, one arm draped over his shoulder as he brought Harry to his feet.

His stomach rolled, and Harry had a hard time keeping whatever was left in his stomach actually inside him, and not over the shoes of everyone around him. He looked to Sirius, who had gotten to his feet, and looked to be much better than he had been only a few seconds before. Remus was at his side, his wand waving back and forth as he performed some spell or another.

Harry let his arm return to his side as he stumbled out of Cedric's grip. His legs felt weak, like they were made of nothing but jelly – he needed to get to Sirius first, however – he could rest his legs after.

It took more concentration than he thought he could muster, and the part of his chest that had been struck by Quirrell's spell was still sore, a dull ache in the back of his mind. Behind him, only separated by a few paces at most, were the rest of the students, the ones whose names and faces had come to him in the brief time they'd been huddled around him.

When he finally closed the gap between himself and Sirius, he felt his legs give out. He'd expected to end up on the mat of the platform again and was surprised to feel his Godfather's arms catch him around his chest. He closed his eyes, their lead weight finally overcoming what little reserves he had left.

"I've got you, pup." He heard Sirius murmur as he eased the two of them down to the mat. "You're only tired. Sleep – I've got you."