Stand Tall - The Rise of Harry Potter

Chapter 2

Earned, Not Given


Harry arrived back in his room at Number 4 Privet Drive with his head spinning. Voldemort was back - or at least, he was going to be. Not only that, but for the first time in his wizarding life, someone had warned him ahead of time of the danger that faced him. No secrets, no protecting him from the truth - no hiding. Harry had thought that he wanted this - to be told, to be included. But now that it had actually happened - now that he knew what awaited him, he wasn't nearly as sure. He was frightened. Terrified, even.

The most powerful dark wizard in centuries wanted him dead, and would be coming to make true on that sooner than Harry really wanted to think about. He was used to himself, Ron and Hermione flying by the seat of their pants - he was used to simply reacting to the things that were happening in front of him. He never really had time to be scared of facing the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. The thing had Ginny Weasley, and Harry was standing in front of it with a sword and a ragged old hat before second thoughts had really become an issue. Now, he had all the time in the world to contemplate what he would do.

To think about, a small part of him whispered quietly, how he would escape from all of this madness.

Except he didn't think he would ever get to escape. If Voldemort wanted him that badly he would follow wherever Harry went - he had just spent a good while hiding in Albania after all. Moreover, Harry got the distinct impression that Dumbledore would stop him from leaving if he ever tried, even if he couldn't pinpoint why. So what was left for him to do? He couldn't run, and he didn't stand a chance against Voldemort. He was, more than he had ever been, trapped with no way to escape what seemed to be his fate.

He fumbled the miniature briefcase Lupin had given him in his pocket anxiously. The instruction to open it alone, with your wand and the password that you know meant next to nothing in reality, but it still managed to give him some strange comfort. Sirius and his former professor had a reason for telling him these things now - there was a plan. He hoped there was anyway.

Vernon and Petunia had hit the hay a good hour ago, and Dudley never bothered him in the room any more - now was as good a time as any. He fumbled under his pillow for his holly and phoenix feather wand, and tapped the oddly worn toy briefcase lightly.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The phrase meant so much more now that he knew who had come up with it, and as the final word reverently left his lips, the briefcase vibrated heavily in his hands before expanding enormously in size, and Harry kicked himself for not recognising the obvious shrinking charm. The 'toy' had become a deep red full sized briefcase, much like the one the Chancellor of the Exchequer used to announce a new budget in muggle politics - albeit a battered and worn version.

Harry stopped dead in the silence of Number 4. The trunk enlarging had made no noise, but the idea of being caught with something magical here heightened his paranoia immeasurably. Vernon's snores echoed noisily through the house, but no other sounds could be heard - Dudley had evidently gone to bed, and Petunia was somehow managing to sleep next to the human jackhammer that was her husband.

He gave it another moment, just to be sure, before approaching the case slowly. He still had to make sure he wasn't heard - Dudley picking up on what he was doing was equally disastrous for Harry's summer. The zip was stiff at first, but it gave way easily enough, paving the way for the smell of of dust and old leather that emerged. It was oddly reminiscent of the less traveled sections Hogwarts library, which Harry supposed was fitting, as the first thing he removed was a bundle of thick leather tomes, tied together by two pieces of lightly frayed twine.

Attached, was a note written on yellowed parchment, in a script that Harry had already come to recognise on sight.

Hey Kid,

I would much rather be able to do this in person, but it's going to be a while before that's possible. I'm certain your head must be absolutely spinning by now, wondering exactly why we would tell you everything about this now. In short, it's because we believe in you. I believe in you. You're a powerful wizard Harry - your patronus in the forest proved that beyond all doubt - I couldn't have cast that, even in my prime. You are intelligent, resourceful, and if your stories of everything that has happened at Hogwarts so far are even remotely true, you are brave beyond your years.

I believe that you can handle knowing this - regardless of whether Dumbledore agrees. Remus thinks the same.

I can't imagine how you feel right now, but know that we have your back. Me, Remus and anyone else we think we can trust enough to rope into this madness will be with you every step of the way.

This case is just the first small step of that. Moony was always far more academically inclined than any of us back in the day, so I had him put together a list of 'essentials' for you and acquire them with my family's money. The most important weapon you can arm yourself with is knowledge Harry. Knowledge and skill. It's going to take work - a lot of it in fact, but as I've said, you have the smarts and you more than have the power. You've used those gifts to keep yourself alive when the shit hits the fan (muggles have the best expressions), but now you've got the time to prepare, so use those gifts to do so.

James and Lily were brilliant wizards Harry - but they didn't get that way on their natural talent alone. James studied his arse off, despite the marauders' extra-curricular interests. Thanks to that, his skills with transfiguration were quite frankly ridiculous, and he could more than dance with Voldemort's best. Lily was if anything even more studious. She brought potion's knowledge that could match Snape's before he took his mastery in the subject, and a cleverness with charms that made Flitwick so giddy, there were several occasions I thought he might explode.

You're not your parents Harry, and it's unfair that everybody seems to immediately compare you to them just because they're not here anymore, but that doesn't mean you don't have things to learn from them. Can you honestly say that you've worked hard at Hogwarts - I know you love it there, but have you really pushed yourself to be the best that you can be and learn everything it has to teach?

That's your first step Harry. Life is short, and with Voldemort moving again there's no telling what can happen, so make the most of all the time that you've got. Work hard, and for the love of Merlin Harry, play hard too. Forget what your parents were good at, but take their example and become amazing at the things you would like to be good at.

This Boy-Who-Lived thing is never going to go away, so stop hiding. Instead, become known for something that you can be proud of.

Me and Remus have tried to find useful things that cover most of the areas of magic that you might want to start with, and we've thrown in a healthy stock of potions materials and other assorted goodies to boot. Yes, you should work on your potions. Snape makes it miserable, but it's a really important skill, so at least get somewhat good at it.

Other people can help you find the way Harry - I'll do everything in my power to see you right - but if you truly want to be free from all of the bullshit, it's time for you to stand tall and walk that path yourself.

Love you kid, more than you realise.

Padfoot.

A significant portion of Harry wanted to tantrum, even if he knew it was stupid to. He was angry, and for the briefest of moments as he read, had seriously considered letting Sirius know just how much.

But he didn't.

He had known the man, realistically, for a month or so. Really, he had no right to be lecturing Harry about anything. And yet any anger he felt seemed to disappear into nothing like sand through a sieve. Really, it boiled down to the fact that in just a month, Sirius had nailed him down to a tee. His Godfather's implication that he didn't work hard enough was right on the money. He didn't.

He wasn't quite sure why either. He got into trouble if he got higher grades than Dudley at muggle primary school - but he didn't go there any more. Sure, Ron ]might be a touch disgruntled, but the Weasley wasn't so petty that he'd be that jealous. They were best friends after all. He loved Hogwarts, he loved learning about magic, and he certainly loved performing it - so why wasn't he working as hard as he could.

Sirius had cracked that too. It had taken the man actually writing it, but Harry could see it as the truth. He didn't want to stand out any more than he already did. He hated the fame that he had inadvertently acquired, and he hated what it represented. He had lost everything and was called the Boy-Who-Lived for it. So subconsciously Harry had tried to slip into the background. He only really spoke to Ron and Hermione, and he put in the bare minimum effort required to get a pass so he wouldn't be noteworthy.

It was a ridiculous attitude - he would always be the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry couldn't change that no matter how much he tried, so why let it hamstring him. Why let it inconvenience him any more than it already did?

His Godfather was right. About all of it. His problems weren't going away, no matter how badly he wanted them to. The only thing he could control was how he dealt with them.

Harry wanted freedom. Freedom from the Dursleys, from Voldemort, from anything that was holding him back from making his own choices in life. Wanting, he realised, was what children did.

It was high time he earned it.


Sirius hadn't been lying when he said they had tried to cover all bases. Lupin had provided him with a veritable library of books in the trunk, and Harry had pulled several more piles of books from the trunk that had apparently been magically enlarged on the inside. The werewolf had organised them by rough subject - the first he had pulled out had been a small set of potions manuals - as well as added small notes to guide Harry with how he should go about actually starting to study them.

It was an interesting feeling. For once, things were being explained to him. Not just Voldemort of course, but in his notes, Lupin had made sure to include reasons why each area of study was important - both to him as someone being targeted by Voldemort, but also as someone who knew nothing of the magical world outside of Hogwarts.

He had always known potions were useful - how could he not after Snape's opening day speech? But he had no idea they were as vital to daily wizarding life as they were, and just how many professions used potions on a regular basis. For example, Aurors used potions to breathe underwater during any investigation that required it; and curse breakers used the same because wards that locked and flooded the room an intruder was in were a common defense. It gave his sallow-faced and spiteful professor's area of expertise a whole new shine of importance.

It put things in perspective for him a great deal. Transfiguration for example, a very theory heavy subject, had always been interesting to him on an academic level. Practically however, he had never given it a great deal of relevance to reality because of the amount of theory, and the specific nature of the spells that they learned in class. Reading his former defense professor wax lyrical about how James Potter used transfiguration to incredible effect when he dueled and the nature of what he was capable of after mastering the discipline, motivated him more than anything Professor McGonagall had ever demonstrated or said.

Besides maybe that first day in class when she had leapt of her desk in cat form and changed into their stern professor to give them a shock of course. Idly, Harry wondered if that was the reason she had done it - to give them all a glimpse of what her area of magical expertise could do when mastered.

Lupin's notes finally began to give him an insight into how the magical world beyond Hogwarts worked, and how his studies related, and Harry found that finally having a reason why he needed to know the things he was being asked to learn was incredibly motivating. Not quite as much as the thought that any of the knowledge he picked up between now and when Voldemort finally caught up to him could be the piece that saved his life of course, but it definitely helped.

So Harry did the only thing he really could. He decided to throw himself at the gauntlet Sirius had laid down for him. Sitting around stressing wasn't going to get him anywhere, and neither was blind panic - those things had never been who they were, and Harry wasn't going to let them become that just because the challenges he faced had gotten bigger. He decided to use his current school homework as a basis, work through what he had to do, and then build on that knowledge with what Remus had given him. Any piece of knowledge could be important, and knowing that he opted to resist the temptation to focus on Defense above everything else.

Everybody had their own expectations for the Boy-Who-Lived. It was time that he found out what he could do.

When he really put his mind to it, when he focused and worked as hard as he could - just what was Harry Potter made of?


Alastor Moody sat alone, nursing a whisky, lit by nothing but a magically sustained log fire.

The hardened ex-auror examined the gently curving, reflective surface that was a focal point of his front room with great consternation. It was a foe glass. On it's surface, he could see his own reflection with a group of distorted shadowy figures milling around behind him that were not really present. This was a banned magical artifact - he only had thanks to the years of hard service and sacrifice that he had provided to the Ministry hunting and catching dark wizards. A foe glass displayed one's enemies besides their reflection - the closer they were, the closer Moody was to danger from them.

He smiled grimly and stood, grasping his walking stick firmly. Two of the figures had their grimy hands upon the shoulder of his reflection.

Grim smile turned to snarl as he felt his entire ward system connected to his abode collapse around him - somebody already must be inside to have done that, meaning he wasn't nearly as defensible as he had thought. Moody knew full well he was by himself, and in some ways that suited him as he moved his wand around him with short, precise movements. That was just fine, as it meant he could activate the more deadly single use runes in place around him entirely separate from the building's actual ward scheme.

They might have disabled his ward scheme, but they had another thing coming if they thought getting to him would be easy.

Footsteps caused his magical eye to swivel wildly towards his front door, spying his intruder through the solid walls of his home. His eyes widened fractionally as he realised who it was that had come for him with his wand drawn and what it meant. But, before he could react, a fierce reductor curse turned his door to chunks of wood which were immediately frozen and suspended in mid-air, before being launched at him at speed.

Moody was already reacting however, raising his walking stick and pushing it to the floor, turning the shards to sawdust that seemed to land everywhere but Moody's person.

"Alastar Moody, how are you old chum." The man, dressed in a ragged lilac suit complimented with all too wild eyes. "Did you miss me while I was away?" He finished with a manic smile, wand pointed right at the old auror.

"Barty Crouch Jr. - I have no idea how you managed to escape but it's going to be a pleasure putting you in the ground." Moody snarled, already beginning the motions to cast with his staff. Two spells pulsed from the top - a pair of particularly vicious cutters Moody had picked up from a perp several decades ago - favourites of his when not on official ministry business and he could afford to play dirty.

Crouch dodged the first, and knocked the second away with a slash of his wand - beginning to get in the motions of the duel, crazed smile affixed to his face. It faltered however, as a pair of obnoxiously large iron arrows seemed to phase out of the wall itself, and launch at him at speed. That, combined with several flashes of spellfire that Moody fired to press his advantage, forced to to roll to the left wildly, summoning a table in front of him as he came to a stop to meet some particularly dark curses that Moody knew Crouch had been fond of using during his death eater days.

A piercing curse followed, and Crouch was forced on the move again as it punctured a hole in the wooden table like a muggle gunshot. Crouch managed to return fire as he did so however, wand moving at a remarkable rate as he chose spells that flowed into each other's movements. It was an advanced dueling technique, spell chaining, and Moody couldn't help but remember that the first time he had taken down Barty Crouch jr. it was by cursing him in the back as he tried to flee a courtroom.

During his death eater days however, Crouch had been a ferocious duelist, a close to a match for the former auror. A decade had passed since then, and Moody would have been lying if he wasn't feeling it.

He tweaked his staff again unleashing some of his nastier single use wards that were built into his home - more arrows, some stored elemental spells and other assorted nastiness kept Crouch on the back foot, giving him a moment to begin animating his furniture to attack. The couch morphed into a tiger before him and bounded after the escaped death eater with low growl, when his eye caught a flash of movement all too close to him - a rat!

The rodent leapt at him and Moody had a fraction of a moment to wonder what Crouch's game was, before that rat became a stout, chubby wizard that already had his wand raised into a banisher that caught the ex-auror completely flat footed and sent him flying through his living room wall in a burst of rubble and debris.

Moody knew immediately he was dead. Constant vigilance was his motto, and he had been caught out by Peter fucking Pettigrew of all the no good traitorous bastards. Quite frankly, he deserved the death he knew was coming.

"Can't you do anything right, Pettigrew? We were supposed to do this quietly, you imbecile." Crouch spat fuzzily, as Moody struggled in vain to to regain his senses enough to do something in the time he had.

"Yeah, because a full scale duel with Mad-Eye bloody Moody wasn't going to attract any attention." Pettigrew shot back. Even in his state, Moody could pick up the quiver in his voice as he was speaking to Crouch.

"I'm going to kill you Pettigrew. Not today, not soon, but make no mistake. Our master doesn't need failures, or traitors - and you are both." They were over him now, and suddenly Moody could no longer move - a body bind. Horrified realisation began to sweep over him as he understood finally what was happening. "Anyways, night night Mad-Eye, it was a pleasure - stupefy!"

Death? No Alastor Moody had never been that lucky.

Darkness took him.