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 Seven:

"Is everything all right, Harry?"

Harry glances up from his Arithmency journal, chagrined. He's supposed to be working on the summer project Professor Vector had assigned everyone in the Arithmency class Harry and Su share, but he's distracted by thoughts of dinner on Wednesday night, by the prospect of an unanticipated, unhappy future with Daphne Greengrass, and his tutor's well-articulated explanations have gone in one ear and out the other.

"Sorry, Su. I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind."

"I gathered," Su answers wryly, "Did you want to talk about it?"

"Thanks, but I don't think I can. I'm sorry to waste your time."

"We all have bad days," she shrugs, "You took a lot of notes though, so I don't think it's a complete wash. You'll just have to let me know on Thursday if you have any questions. How's your Ancient Runes project coming along?"

"It's coming along a lot better than Arithmency," Harry replies, and neither of them are surprised by the fact. Ancient Runes is one of his favourite subjects, is a field he wants to pursue beyond NEWT level, but he can't say the same for Arithmency. Su, however, is the complete opposite. Arithmency comes naturally to her where Ancient Runes is a challenge, and as such, they make ideal study partners. "How is yours?"

Su pulls a face. "I'm really struggling with it, actually, so I'm thinking I might switch alphabets. I figure I might have a better affinity with Archaic Chinese. Thoughts?"

"I don't know. It's possible, I suppose. Maybe you should write to Professor Babbling; See what she thinks?"

Su, who doesn't relish the thought of contacting a teacher during their holiday despite Professor Babbling's assurance their questions are welcome, is noncommittal. "Maybe."

In silence, they pack up their study materials, and at the other end of the table, Liam and Hermione follow suit. They're in the break room of Sifu Qiang's dojo, and they've spent the last two hours working on their summer assignments. It's become something of a routine in the last couple of weeks, and Harry's grasp on Applied Arithmency has improved exponentially. He's still yet to develop a (theoretical) spell, as Professor Vector had assigned them for the Summer, but he's far more comfortable with the concept than he had been at the start of the holidays, and he has Su to thank for it.

"I'm sorry I haven't been much help," he says.

"It's not your fault," Su assures, "I just haven't resonated with Classic Greek. I should have taken Professor Babbling's warnings more seriously."

"No use beating yourself up about it now. Are you joining us in class today?"

Su grimaces. "Unfortunately not. My brother got in an argument with a couple of the students from the DMLE yesterday, so he's not allowed to work the counter anymore."

"Which means you have to instead," Harry surmises, and Su nods her confirmation, expression resigned. "At least you don't have to carve runes into blocks of wood for hours on end?"

"This is true," Sue concurs, "I don't know how you do it."

Harry's smile is rueful. "Neither do I, sometimes."

They walk as they talk, and meet Liam and Hermione by the break room door. Su excuses herself to the front desk, Hermione follows, and Liam and Harry wordlessly make their way to the change rooms.

"Are you all right?"

In truth, Harry's not all right in the slightest, but he has no interest in talking about it with anyone; Least of all the twin brother who already has enough to worry about without adding Harry's issues to his plate, as well. Besides, in the face of Voldemort, Death Eaters, and a Ministry of Magic determined to bury its proverbial head in the proverbial sand, is a betrothal contract really worth losing sleep over?

Harry's been trying to convince himself since Sunday that it's not, but thus far, he's not been successful. Instead, he reminds himself of the exit clauses he'd insisted upon, and mostly, it helps.

"I'm fine," Harry repeats crisply. He's lost track of how often he's been asked about his wellbeing throughout the afternoon, and he silently apologises for all of the times he's asked Liam the very same thing. He'll never hover again - It's rather tiresome.

"Why don't I believe you?"

Harry's resulting glare is deadpan, but as they exit the change rooms and enter Sifu Qiang's training room proper, he doesn't get a chance to answer.

"Shoes off," Sifu Qiang instructs them. It's a familiar directive. "And bring your wands. Today, I will start teaching you to combine magic and physical combat."

Harry and Liam glance at each other, bemused. It's nearly the end of July - they'll be back at Hogwarts in five weeks - and it seems a strange time to introduce a concept they'll likely struggle with. Neither Harry nor Liam question their teacher, however, and neither do they dawdle. They've a lesson to start, and Qiang Sensei doesn't care for people who waste his time.

"Something tells me this will hurt," Liam says fatalistically. Harry grimaces his agreement, but nonetheless, they step onto the sparring mats, bow, and approach their waiting teacher.

"It will," Sifu Qiang confirms. As they proceed with the bows that will start their lesson, and the usual round of warmups that follow, Harry acknowledges to himself that he's not looking forward to it. He knows better than to complain, however.

-!- -#-

By the time Harry and Liam shuffle wearily out of the changing rooms, James has arrived. He's entertaining Hermione and Su with a story from his time as a Gringotts Curse Breaker, and the two witches are enthralled by the telling.

Harry and Liam wait for him to draw the story to a close - they've heard it before, and don't particularly feel the need to do so again - and then confirm with Su their plans to meet up again for another study session.

"Ready to go?" James asks.

"Yes," Harry nods, "have a good night, Su."

"You too," Su replies.

The three Potters and one Granger leave the dojo, and begin the walk to Holly Cottage in the fading light over Edinburgh. Hermione peppers James with questions about his career as a Hit-Wizard during the war, as a Journeyman Curse-Breaker and Enchanter in the years afterwards, about his time as an active member of the Ministry of Magic's Wizengamot. Harry and Liam trudge mindlessly behind them, but because of their houseguest's interrogation of James, it isn't until they're in the front parlour of Holly Cottage that they learn they're not heading directly to Potter Manor.

"Where are we going?" Harry asks. There's a moment of unadulterated panic wherein he's utterly certain he's about to meet with the House of Greengrass earlier than anticipated, but reason sets in quickly. Their parents would at least expect them to freshen up and dress the part, but the unpleasant spike of adrenaline leaves Harry anxious and shakier than he'd care to admit.

"There's an Order meeting tonight," James explains, and Harry frowns, perturbed. He'd been aware, abstractly, that his parents had been attending meetings when Harry and Liam had been attending classes with Sifu Qiang, and he'd grown familiar with the routine. He'd also grown familiar with the fact that none of them - Harry, Liam, Hermione - were required to visit the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters alongside James and Lily, and as such, the change in routine leaves him flatfooted.

"Why are we going?" Harry asks, "Has something happened?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Harry. Since we have no idea what's going on, though, Lily and I would prefer if you three stay close by - just in case."

Unable to argue with logic like that, Harry accepts the folded piece of parchment James offers him, and reads the secret written within. Liam reads it next, followed by Hermione, before the parchment is burned down to ashes in the fireplace.

"Fidelius Charm," Liam observes, and frowns dubiously, "Really? They honestly trust it after last time?"

James smile is mirthless. "A number of us shared our reservations, but they were dismissed."

"Of course they were," Harry mutters cynically.

"Anyway, what's the floo address?" Liam changes the subject. Liam and Harry have witnessed it enough to know better than to let their father (or mother) get caught up in the memories of what they'd lost to Peter Pettigrew's betrayal.

"The address is 'Black Townhouse'," James answers, "The password is 'Snickers'."

Without any further questions, Liam takes the offered floo powder, and takes the network to Sirius' childhood home. Hermione follows suit, Harry a moment later, and he exits into a dimly lit, crowded kitchen. Liam and Hermione stand beside Lily, under the scrutiny of the gathered members of the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry joins them, awkward as the attention falls on him.

"Is your dad behind you?" Lily asks.

"He should be," Harry replies, I imagine he's locking the place up."

Indeed, James arrives a few moments later, clears himself of any accumulated soot, and approaches Lily and the three teens in a few quick, loping steps. Remus and Sirius join them too, and a parade of Order of the Phoenix members pass by to introduce themselves to Hermione, Harry, and Liam - mostly Liam, whose fame precedes him - and Harry's just about done with this nonsense.

What do you think of the place?" Sirius asks. He'd noticed Harry's irritation.

"I haven't seen much, but it's… It's something."

"That's one way of putting it," Sirius acknowledges with a brief, sharp laugh. There's nothing mirthful about it. "After my mother died - may she rot in hell - I should have done something with it, but I didn't want to step foot inside it for a second, never mind long enough to figure out what, so it's just been gathering dust since then. In hindsight, I wish I'd burned it to the ground."

"The Order won't need it forever," Harry reasons, "You can always get rid of it later."

Sirius nods his concession. "That's true."

Harry's attention is diverted by the appearance of Bill Weasley. He's accompanied by both of his parents, but he makes a beeline for the Potters, a bright smile on his face.

Bill is older than Harry remembers, his hair grown long, and one of his ears pierced with a small gold, fanged earring. He's dressed in non-magical casual - jeans, a plain V-neck shirt, boots and a leather jacket - and there's a confidence about him that Harry doesn't recognise.

Something that comes with age, or a Mastery of Ancient Runes, or both.

Harry doesn't waste time wondering about it, anyway.

"Bill!" Liam greets him delightedly. He clobbers the eldest Weasley in a hug that the redhead wholeheartedly returns. "I didn't know you were back in England. When did you arrive?"

"The beginning of the month," Bill answers. He tugs Harry into a hug with little effort, and Harry returns it without complaint, "I'd have stopped by, but when I haven't been at work, or sorting out the wards on the Burrow, I've been here, clearing the place out of all its curses and whatnot. I've hardly had time to breathe, never mind catch up with anyone, so it's good to see you. Gods, you two have gotten tall!"

The last time Bill had seen them, Harry and Liam had been a few weeks shy of their 11th birthday. They were weeks away from their First Year at Hogwarts, and Bill had just completed an Ancient Runes apprenticeship with their dad. He'd also just signed on to complete his journeyman qualifications with Gringotts, and a lot had changed since then, for all three of them.

"And you must be Hermione," Bill addresses the girl in question, "It's nice to meet you. My brothers and sister speak very highly of you."

"I find that hard to believe, the amount of times I argue with Ron and the twins."

"What can I say?" Bill shrugs, "We were raised to respect strong-willed women."

Hermione blushes to the roots of her hair and flounders for something to say, and Liam smiles fondly at the sight. Harry doesn't roll his eyes, instead casts his gaze over the room and takes stock of the figures therein, but he only returns his attention to the conversation when Liam moves the subject away from Hermione.

"Have you got any cool stories to tell? Dad's just about exhausted his supply."

"I resent that," James interjects mildly. There's a fond smile on his face though, and it's abundantly obvious that he really, truly doesn't.

"Of course I've got stories," Bill confirms, "And the way your dad tells it, you two have some of your own to share, as well."

"Trade you?" Harry suggests.

"That sounds like a plan," Bill acquiesces. He glances to where the other members of the Order of the Phoenix have begun to congregate around a scarred, weathered dining table, "I'll write, sort something out. I think you lot will have to head upstairs though. No students allowed in meetings."

"So we've heard," Liam intones dully. He's still not over the ruling, or his parents' agreement with it, and he has no qualms about making his displeasure known.

"Cheer up," Bill says, unfazed. Harry wouldn't be surprised to learn he's been subject to similar complaints from his own siblings. Even then, there's something implacable about Bill, and Harry can't imagine he's easily bothered by much. "Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny are upstairs.

That gets Liam and Hermione moving. They're eager to see Ron, though Harry can't say he shares the sentiment. He's rather decent friends with Fred and George though, more so since he'd entered into a business partnership with them, and Harry moves to search for the pair without complaint.

"Be careful," Sirius warns them before they exit the basement, "The place hasn't been completely cleared, so be on your guard."

"We will," Liam replies. He's already got one foot out the basement door, weary of the scrutiny from the other adults in the room, and looking forward to seeing his friends besides, "Have fun."

"We'll try," Lily replies glibly.

And before anything more can be said, the teenagers retreat upstairs. The kitchen door clicks shut behind them, the locks engage, and the three are left to their own devices in a house that has seen far better days.

"Where to, do you think?" Liam asks.

"I'm going upstairs," Harry replies, "I figure Fred and George will try get as much distance between themselves and the adults as possible."

"Sounds likely," Liam concedes. "Want to take the lead?"

Harry's responding glare is deadpan, but he doesn't refuse the offer, such as it is. He doesn't trust Hermione to keep her head if they're beset upon by something, and he'd rather not give Liam the opportunity to employ his hero complex.

With that in mind, he treads carefully along the main hallway, floorboards darkly polished and covered by a faded green runner that has worn thin with age, until he comes across a staircase at the end of the hall. With Liam and Hermione behind him, he traverses the staircase quickly, carefully avoids glancing at the mounted house elf heads to his left, and sighs a breath of relief when the first bedroom they encounter is occupied by the four Weasleys they'd been searching for.

As creepy as Sirius' childhood home is, Harry hadn't been looking forward to searching the rest of the place for his gregarious business partners.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Fred greets them.

"Mates," Harry returns. He acknowledges Ron and Ginny with a nod, distant but polite, and makes himself comfortable beside George. Near the doorway, Ron, Ginny, Liam, and Hermione are engrossed in their reunion, and Harry tries not to hover. "How are you sods? Staying out of trouble?"

"Never," George replies,goodnatured, "And you?"

Harry wryly considers the grounding he and Liam have just received, and answers, "Hardly."

They chat then, about their respective holidays, about the Weasleys' recent relocation to Grimmauld Place, about Bill's return to England, and the progression of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. They talk about the Order of the Phoenix, too - inevitable, really, given their location - and Harry learns that the twins are chomping at the bit to be involved, that they've developed a product to glean information from the meetings, that the organisation's main objective, at present, is to protect something, somewhere, without attracting any unwanted attention. There are other missions, too, of course - James Potter has certainly confirmed as much - but the youngest Weasleys aren't aware of or interested in a lot of the details, and Harry doesn't bother enlightening them.

"Have you heard anything about Voldemort or the Death Eaters?"

"Not really," Fred replies. He barely winces at the name, and Harry considers it progress, "They seem to be laying low for now."

"Makes me a bit nervous, too be honest," George opines, "At least if they're in the open, we know what they're doing, you know?"

Harry nods his acknowledgement. He can't deny that the suspense has been something of a strain, but recently, he's had other things to occupy his attention. Not completely, of course - the threat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters is never far from Harry's mind - but enough that he hasn't spent as much of his time wondering (and dreading) where Voldemort would strike, not to mention when he would do so.

Harry has no memories of the war that had dominated his parents' youth, and only the fragments of a memory of Samhain, 1981. As soon as he and Liam were old enough to understand the significance, however, their parents had not sugarcoated the reality of Voldemort's first reign of terror, the magnitude of lives lost, families destroyed, atrocities committed. They hadn't idealised their participation, hadn't turned the war and their actions therein into some grande, glorious adventure, had instead turned October 31st into a memorial for the fallen, and Harry has never forgotten their recollections, their grief, their regret and shame and tears.

As such, he knows that this time around will be just as terrible as the stories - if not more so - and so Harry relishes in the fragile peace, and dreads the day it dies.

Admittedly, there's a part of him that thirsts for action, for revenge, for blood. Voldemort had taken a lot from his family, had harmed his brother in more ways than Harry is probably even aware of, and the ache for retribution runs deep. More than that, though, is the fear of losing - his life, his family, everything - and the thought of taking his loved ones - leaving for greener pastures - is one Harry has considered often.

He'll never admit that, though, and neither would he ever act on it. His family has lost too much to Voldemort to let him chase them out of their homeland, and they're too stubborn - or too proud, rather - besides. Moreover, it would seem a lot like letting Voldemort win, and Harry isn't sure he could live with himself if he let that happen. Not without a fight, anyway.