The Boy Who Lived

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Two:

As planned, Hermione arrives that evening. She's escorted by Professor McGonagall, who is dressed down in a long skirt, a cream-coloured blouse, and a lightweight over-robe. There's something oddly incongruous about the sight of the Deputy Headmistress in casual wear - particularly with her hair in a braid, rather than her usual, austere bun - but Harry tries not to let his consternation show.

"Hermione!" Liam exclaims. He doesn't even seem to notice Professor McGonagall, more intent on reuniting with his best friend. Hermione, in turn, doesn't seem to notice any of the other Potters present, more intent on suffocating Liam by means of an uncomfortable looking hug. Liam returns it tenfold though, and all the while, they're both talking a mile a minute - answering questions, asking them, generally ignoring the rest of the world - and everyone else looks on, bewildered, bemused, beleaguered.

"Hello, Professor," Harry addresses the Deputy Headmistress, "May I show you to the parlour?"

"Thank you Mr Potter, but that won't be necessary," Professor McGonagall replies. She offers him one of her rare, fleeting smiles, and explains, "I won't be staying."

"You won't?" James Potter questions, diverted from his observation of Liam and Hermione's reunion. Lily is, too, gazing expectantly at her former Head of House, and they're both disappointed by Professor McGonagall's revelation.

"Quite," McGonagall confirms, "I've a few more errands to run tonight, and they are unfortunately time-sensitive."

"That's a shame," Lily says, "We were looking forward to catching up with you properly. It's been too long."

"That it has," Professor McGonagall agrees, "Perhaps we can organise something for later in the summer?"

"We'll hold you to that, Minerva," James answers lightly.

Professor McGonagall nods her acknowledgement. "I'll expect your owl, then."

The Deputy Headmistress doesn't linger. She reminds Hermione to behave herself, bids farewell to everyone, and then departs via the floo to locations unknown.

"Well, Hermione, welcome to Potter Manor," Lily addresses Liam's friend.

"Thank you for having me," Hermione answers. "I'm sorry to impose."

"It's not an imposition at all, honey," Lily answers. She bats away the very notion with a flippant wave of her hand, "Now, we've set you up in the room next to Liam's. I'm sure my boys will show you the way?"

Their mother looks expectantly between them, but as Liam nods his confirmation, Harry shakes his head. He doesn't feel particularly bad about it - Hermione Granger is not his friend, after all - but his mother's resulting disapproval grates.

"I actually have to go," he reminds her, "I've got a lesson with Sifu Qiang in half an hour."

"Ah, I forgot," Lily acknowledges, chagrined, "I'm sorry, Harry. Will you be home for dinner?"

"No," harry denies, "But you don't need to worry about that. I've already asked Dancer to set aside some leftovers for me."

"How are you getting there?" James queries.

"I was going to walk from the cottage."

Neither of them seem pleased by the prospect. Sifu Qiang's gym is only a 10 minute walk from Holly Cottage, in Edinburgh, and Harry's been making the walk - accompanied only by Liam - since he was 11. He's walked it alone, too - when Liam's missed a class for whatever reason - but Voldemort's return has changed things immensely.

Evidently, a babysitter outside of the property line of Potter Manor is just another in a long line of them.

"I might accompany you, if you don't mind," James determines. It's not a request.

Harry acquiesces with a roll of his eyes. It's not as though he has much of a choice. "All right. Can we go, then?"

"Look after yourself," Lily bids.

"I will," Harry answers. He retrieves his backpack from beside the fireplace, and addresses the family's houseguest, "Granger. Good to see you."

"Likewise," Hermione politely replies, "Enjoy your class."

Harry nods briefly. "I always do."

-!- -#-

Sifu Qiang is over a hundred years old, though he doesn't look it. His hair is still mostly black, his skin lined with very few wrinkles, his posture unbowed with age. He's a wizard, once a member of the Imperial Court of China, and he's spent most of his life dedicated to the study of Martial Arts.

Harry's been attending lessons with him for nine years. Liam has too, if a little more reluctantly than his twin, and together, they've learned Tae-Kwan-Do, Karate, and Brazilian Ju Jitsu. They're not experts by any means, but the training has been useful in recent years, and neither of them can deny it.

They've learned other things, too - Sifu Qiang teaches more than just how to defend one's self - and in some respects, the man's training centre is as familiar to Harry as his own home. He's spent enough time there, anyway.

The lessons themselves had come about as the result of an attempted kidnapping shortly after Harry and Liam's sixth birthday. It had been thwarted, but their emergency port-keys had been rendered useless by temporary, hastily constructed wards, and it had only been Remus' and Sirius' quick reflexes that had freed Harry and Liam from their would-be kidnappers.

Afterwards, their parents had determined that it would be beneficial for both boys to be able to defend themselves from other attempts from anyone who would seek to do them harm. They'd been enrolled in Sifu Qiang's youth classes shortly thereafter, and they'd maintained the lessons ever since.

"It hasn't changed much, has it?" James observes. He studies the reception area, gaze simultaneously wary and curious, and offers a polite smile to the teenager behind the counter.

"Guess not," Harry replies. He steps passed him, and Su Lee's acknowledging grin is bright. "Hi, Harry. You here for another class? Or have you come to help me with my Ancient Runes project?"

"Hello, Su," Harry acknowledges, "I've got a session with Sifu Qiang this time. I can sort something out for the Runes project though, if you'd like?"

"Yes, I'd like," Su nods emphatically, "Classic Greek is going to be the death of me."

"So dramatic," Harry teases his housemate. She pulls a face, but she signs him in, and explains that Sifu Qiang - her Great-Grandfather - is still in another class, but it ought to be finished in a few minutes. "That's fine. I still have to get changed, anyway."

Su nods her acknowledgement, and Harry excuses himself to do just that. He stops by his father, first, who lingers near the entrance.

"Friend of yours?" James asks. There's a suggestive arch to his eyebrows that makes Harry roll his eyes.

"Housemate," Harry explains, "We're friends."

Hogwarts offers an (optional) fast-track elective program to students not enrolled in Wizarding Studies. It offers students the opportunity to begin their electives in First Year, rather than Third, and it's the reason why Harry and Su, despite their age and year level, are currently slogging through NEWT level projects for Ancient Runes and Arithmency. It's also the reason they'd become friends in the first place, but these days, a lot of people conveniently forget that they've been close since the age of 11.

"Right," James replies. He sounds dubious, but Harry knows better than to argue the point further. James Potter might have grown out of pranking, but he's still a Marauder, and one of his favourite pastimes involves riling up his sons.

"Are you hanging around, or…"

"No," James replies, "I'll leave you to it, but I'll meet you here afterwards. Nine o'clock?"

"Nine o'clock," Harry confirms.

"All right," James nods a brief acknowledgement, "I'll be off, then. Take care of yourself, don't get hurt. Stay safe."

He sighs impatiently. "I'll be fine, Dad."

His father looks hardly convinced, but he leaves regardless, and Harry continues to the change rooms. He returns to the foyer a few minutes later, dressed in his gi, and props himself against the front counter. He and Su talk - about their summers thus far, their plans for the weeks ahead, their thoughts on the homework they share - until Sifu Qiang's current class is dismissed.

"Time to get my arse kicked, I guess," Harry observes.

"Have fun," Su acknowledges. SHe's soon inundated with students, and Harry excuses himself to the training room. He bows at the entrance, and then again when Sifu Qiang meets his eyes. Sifu Qiang returns it with a bow of his own, and gestures him onto the mat once all of the formalities have been observed.

"Your brother," Sifu Qiang starts, "Does he speak the truth? Has that creature returned?"

Sifu Qiang spits out the word 'creature' like it tastes foul on his tongue. It's an apt term though - in reference to Voldemort, that is - and Sifu Qiang's disgust is gratifying. ,

"I believe him," Harry answers, "Our parents do, too. And Dumbledore, for what it's worth."

According to Su, her great-grandfather doesn't care much for the headmaster, or for the high esteem most of the British population regard him with. They're of an age - or close enough that the age difference is inconsequential - and moreover, China wasn't impacted by Grindelwald as most of Europe was. As such, he and his people weren't 'saved' by Albus Dumbledore, and subsequently, he's just another wizard to Sifu Qiang, and one with too much authority at that.

Harry's teacher nods thoughtfully. "You and your brother must prepare, then. Where is William?"

"He couldn't make it tonight."

"He must come every lesson," Sifu insists, "Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, every week. You will tell him, and I will send a letter."

Harry bows. "Yes, Sifu."

The lesson that follows is unlike any other Harry has ever had with Sifu Qiang. His teacher is as patient as ever, but the lesson itself is less about self defence, and more about doing the most damage - targeted towards disabling an opponent - in the least amount of time possible. His sparring partner is an enchanted sparring dummy, mercifully, but by 8:30, Harry's consternation is as apparent as his exhaustion.

"That creature and his servants will not go soft on you or your brother because you are young," Sifu Qiang reminds him, "They will laugh as they torture you, they will not feel regret for killing you or your family. Would you show them compassion?"

It's not the first time he's heard a lecture along those lines. His father and Sirius - former hitwizards, and veterans of the last war - have both reiterated it multiple times since they'd started up the training sessions in magical combat. Hearing it from Sifu Qiang doesn't make it any easier to swallow, though.

"Wouldn't it be sinking to their level?"

"Would you enjoy their suffering?"

"No," Harry denies. It's something he knows with every fibre of his being.

Sifu Qiang nods. He is unsurprised. "Perhaps you should meditate on this."

Sifu Qiang's cure for all conflicts of the mind, heart, and spirit is meditation. Although it had not been easy, he'd helped Harry and Liam get a handle on it as children, ensured they meditated regularly in order to maintain order of their respective minds and hearts, and monitored their progress in Occluamency to further ensure their mental and emotional clarity, defences, and wellbeing.

Although he's not convinced meditation will help with this particular concern, Harry doesn't protest. Instead, he spends the next half hour ruminating over his lesson, analysing his reservations, recognising, understanding, and accepting them, and then trying to let them go. He's not come to any sort of conclusion by the time nine o'clock rolls around - that will probably require a lot more soul-searching - but for now, his father is waiting for him, and Sifu Qiang needs to close up shop.

"Remember to tell William," Sifu Qiang says, "Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. Every week. And do not forget to meditate."

"I'll remember," Harry assures him. "Thank you, Sifu."

He accepts the letter Sifu Qiang offers him, bows towards the front of the room, and then towards his teacher, and then returns to the foyer to sign out. Su is still there, daydreaming behind the counter. She has their fifth year Charms textbook in front of her, a journal and a self-inking quill as well, but it seems she'd stopped studying - pre-reading? - a while ago.

Meanwhile, Harry's father is seated in one of the chairs bordering the foyer, scowling his way through that day's edition of the 'Daily Prophet'. There's a picture of Cornelius Fudge on the front page, and presumably, it's another article reassuring the public that Voldemort hasn't returned, that anyone who says otherwise is a delusional and/or attention-seeking liar, and there is nothing at all to worry about.

"Oh, hey," Su greets him, "How'd it go?"

"It was… Different," Harry replies, "How's the studying going?"

"It's going," Su replies on an exhale, "You're still going to help me with Ancient Runes?"

"Of course," Harry confirms genially, "I'll send you an owl?"

"I'll be waiting. And thanks, I really appreciate it," su acknowledges. She proceeds with signing him out, and then starts packing up her things. Harry's lesson was the last scheduled for the evening, and with his departure, Su and her great-grandfather can lock up and head home.

As his friend prepares to leave, Harry excuses himself to the changing rooms, where he returns to his jeans and T-shirt. It doesn't take him long, and he steps into the foyer in time to see his father and Sifu Qiang shake hands. Neither of them are smiling, their expressions instead solemn, and although Harry doesn't ask about the exchange, he's curious.

"Are you ready to go?" James asks.

Harry nods. He waves at Su, offers Sifu Qiang another bow, and then leaves with his father.

It's summer in Britain, so despite the time, the sun's barely set over Edinburgh, and the walk to Holly Cottage is unremarkable. It's warm though - warm for Scotland, anyway - and Harry's mind is on the shower and the food awaiting him at home. He broods over his lesson, too - over Sifu Qiang's expectations of him, in particular - and he's so lost in thought that he's surprised when they arrive at their destination.

"You remember the security phrase?" James asks.

Harry sighs, long-suffering. "Yes, Dad. You'll apparate home?"

James nods. "After I put out the fire here, yes."

"See you there, then." He retrieves a pinch of floo powder from the ceramic pot on the mantle, drops it into the merrily crackling fire, and steps into the resulting flames. "Potter Manor; Welsh Black."

And then, in a whirl of emerald flames, Harry disappears from Holly Cottage.