Chapter 2 – Learning

A History of Defense Against the Dark Arts Education was possibly the most boring book ever. Of the sixteen he'd gotten from Flourish and Blotts, it quite definitely was.

It was important, though. He figured it would be handy to know how His Nastiness had been taught DADA when he was at school, especially since the way he himself had learned (with six different professors, all but one of which had tried to harm or kill him) was anything but traditional. And he was learning things from it that he knew would be useful.

It was just so badly written. And boring.

Giving up for the evening, he set the book and his notes aside and headed to the kitchen to fix dinner. Through experimentation with several cookbooks and prepackaged foods and an excruciating process of trial and error over the last two months, he'd finally figured out how to make a meal for one that was worth eating. Thank Merlin.

He set some water to boil for pasta and got the sauce he'd made two days ago out of the cold box. It wasn't spectacular, but it was definitely edible. The Quick Boil setting on his magical stovetop meant it only took a few seconds for the water to start rolling, and he dropped in a handful of fettuccine.

Leaning against the counter, he reflected for the hundredth time that he loved this house. It was about fifteen miles out of a tiny village called Ettensby, which he was fairly certain no one who didn't live there had ever heard of. With only four rooms (a standard two-up two-down—kitchen, sitting room, bedroom, and a spare room he was turning into a study) plus the loo, it was fairly tiny. All the door hinges squeaked, the front garden was a complete mess, and the water only ran hot if you asked it 'pretty please' first. There were doxies in the attic, the fourth stair tried to trip him every time he passed it, and there was a hole in the wall that refused all manner of repairing spell. Buying it had barely made a dent in his pile of galleons, which he'd deposited in a brand new Gringott's vault.

In short, it was a heap. But it was his heap and he loved it. He'd even sent the realtor a nice bunch of lovely blue daisies for finding him the perfect place.

He tried to focus only on his food as he ate, but it wasn't working. He always kept his mind occupied as much as possible so he wouldn't think about things too much, but sometimes the thoughts crept in.

He'd known when he first decided he was going back in time that his life would be different. He'd known he wouldn't be able to forge the same relationships he'd had the first time around. But he didn't count on ending up twenty-one years older than all his friends. He'd probably never get to speak to Ron or Hermione or Ginny again, and even if he did it would be a vastly different dynamic.

Maybe in a few years he could look up Remus Lupin, or even Shacklebolt. Maybe. For now, he'd essentially lost everyone he ever knew.

This was no good. He couldn't sit around brooding. Once he finished with Britain's most boring book, he'd leave. He wasn't sure where he'd go yet, but it was time for him to get out and find some people who could help him.

XXX

"Get up! You call yourself a wizard? You are nothing but an insignificant, helpless, hopeless, little mealworm!"

Harry was beginning to regret this. Or the translation spell, at least. Without it, he wouldn't have to hear all about how worthless he was and could just listen to the man rage in Mandarin while he knocked Harry's arse from here to Sunday.

Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet and brandished his wand. He knew he was getting better. He must be, since it had taken Master Phan four hours to reduce him to this state, rather than the original thirty seconds.

He knew it, but he couldn't feel it. In fact, about all he could feel at that point was the throbbing in his right leg, which was threatening to crumple under him again.

Wanting nothing other than for this duel to be over, he dodged Master Phan's Bone Shattering Hex and hit him with Somnulus.

As soon as the Master fell into a sleeping heap on the floor, Harry summoned his wand and bound him. Only after healing his own injuries did he revive him.

"Very-" he huffed, "very good, Mr. Sage. Now unbind me."

He did so and returned the Master's wand.

"What now?" he asked.

"Now? Now you go away. I have nothing left to teach you."

Harry blinked at him for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I have taught you everything I know, and you have learned it well. Besides, I don't think this body can take any more of your abuse. I am over ninety, you know."

"But, but I…"

"We've been at this every day for five months, Mr. Sage. Frankly, you've progressed further than any of my previous students, even after years of study. I shouldn't be surprised by this—you've an extraordinary amount of raw power."

"Really?" Harry asked, but Master Phan continued without acknowledging him.

"Speaking of which, since you're so insistent on learning everything under the sun, I believe you would benefit from the tutelage of an old acquaintance of mine. Mr. Kabbali is rather proficient in wandless and nonverbal magic, and I'm sure you could convince him to take you on. If he is…resistant, you may put his ego in its place by reminding him of my assistance in a matter involving a basilisk, enchanted gold dust, and his eldest daughter. Now go! Off with you!"

"Erm, thanks, Master Phan. I really appreciate all your help."

"Nonsense. I may actually retire on the fee you've paid me. I'm getting too old for this gou shi," he mumbled as he wandered off. Harry supposed he was glad he'd got out of range of the translation spell for that last bit.

XXX

Harry was enjoying a quiet stroll through Professor Kabbali's rather extensive garden when he thought he heard a noise behind him.

The next thing he knew, he was kneeling over a bound and silenced twelve-year-old Simran with his wand pressing into her neck.

He sprang back and released her. "Sweet Merlin! You know better than to sneak up on people like that!"

She giggled. "Yes, I do. Still, it's fun to see you go all defensive."

"Fun!" he sputtered, "I could have killed you—you know that, right?"

"So you keep saying, Cam, but all you've done so far is bind me or stun me. I'm fine! Stop worrying," Simran said, rolling her eyes.

She was right, but he was still concerned. He tried to cover it with a stern tone. "Whatever. Care to tell me what was so important you decided to risk your life? Your father would seal me in concrete if I ever hurt you, however much it may be your own fault."

She beamed at him and held out a small package. "I just came to wish you a happy birthday!"

"A—what?" Sweet Merlin, he'd completely forgotten. "I, uh, didn't think you knew."

"Papa told me. It was in the contract you filled out, I think," she explained and held the package out again.

After she left, he sat in the grass holding the little ivory Buddha statue. She'd charmed it to wink at him and he couldn't help but grin. It was good to know that there were still people who cared about him, even if he didn't have his old friends. He missed them terribly—so much that it hurt sometimes.

But he reminded himself that he was doing this for them. He was doing this so Hermione would live, so they could all live in a world without the Evil Prat hanging over them.

They'd just be doing it without him. Well, mostly. Young Harry would still be there. He supposed in a way, he was doing this for him, too, for his young self. If everything went well, maybe he'd have a chance to spend his school years being a relatively normal boy, instead of battling evil at every turn.

Speaking of Young Harry, he figured it was high time he stopped thinking of it like that—of himself as the real Harry and the other as Young Harry. The boy who would be born in a little over two years was the real Harry. Because now he was Cameron Sage, and it was past time for him to be thinking of himself that way.

He'd been surprised by his birthday today. He still thought of July 31st as his birthday and February 2nd as Cameron Sage's. He knew he couldn't go on like that—it was time to leave 'Harry' behind and embrace his new identity, to really become Cameron Sage.

XXX

He collapsed onto the sofa, so glad to finally be able to come home every night. He'd missed his house. After two months with Professor Kabbali and a brief stint in the Australian outback with a bloke who refused to tell Cameron his name, he was more than ready start studying for his DADA Mastery at the University of Edinburgh.

His choice had nothing to do with the fact that it was close enough to Apparate to every day. Well all right, maybe a bit, but it was still one of the oldest and most prestigious universities around.

He was lucky to be accepted at all, and it took quite a bit of cajoling to convince them to let him start in the summer term rather than waiting until September. He'd spent a lot of time and energy figuring out how to get close to Regulus Black, and finally decided (after seeing his appalling mark for his Defense OWL at the Department of Records) that he'd somehow become his tutor.

The first step was to start his Master's studies. After all, what self-respecting parent would hire someone without some professional experience to teach their kid? It usually took about six years to earn the title of Master, but he hoped that after a year he'd be able to place an advert offering his tutoring services somewhere Orion and Walburga Balck would see it and, wanting their son to do well on his NEWT, hire him for the summer before Regulus' seventh year.

He was hoping he'd be able to do this without ever encountering Sirius. It shouldn't be too difficult, seeing as he'd been disowned and all. Either way, it was necessary. He knew that Regulus would die retrieving the locket from the cave and Kreacher would bring it back to Grimmauld place. He had to have some way of knowing exactly when Regulus went to the cave and getting the locket from his insane house elf.

He eschewed both the glass of whiskey he desperately wanted and the essay on the effects of a Patronus on lethifolds that was due in three days for his daily exercise regimen. Ever since his four weeks in Australia for what Mr. Mustache (as Cameron had taken to calling him, what with his refusal to introduce himself and the bushy, blond caterpillar perched on his upper lip) called 'survival training', he'd appreciated how important it was to be in good shape. There might actually be times when you needed to be able to run ten miles and still be standing at the end or lift a hundred pounds of debris off someone or defend yourself in a magic-dampening field.

He'd come to cherish his daily exercise. He was finding that ever since his classmate, Oswald Cucurbita, had started flirting with him he had rather a lot of excess energy. He was totally surprised by this—after all, he always thought he'd liked girls. But there was no denying the effect Oz had on his body when he leaned in close. At first, Cameron was horrified with himself, but after over two months of nearly constant arousal, he thought he was dealing with it rather well. Psychologically speaking, at least.

It wasn't that he wanted a relationship. That was the last thing he needed right now. But he was getting to the point where he'd give his right arm to just get laid already, and he resolved that the next time Oz commented on his arse he was going to ask him to go for a drink.