Chapter 18

The Power He Knows Not

Harry had managed to learn basic swimming in a few days and was quite pleased with his progress. Given that Sherlock, Emrys and John spent more time arguing amongst themselves on the best way to teach him rather than actually teaching him, he thought he was doing just fine. Most of the real lessons had come from Arthur. Mycroft had looked in a couple of times – it was his house, after all.

His sessions on wandless magic were much better. According to Emrys, Harry had a natural affinity for magic, and his magical core was really strong – plus, his innate talent had been enhanced by the Holmes bond. Unsurprisingly, Mycroft was the best teacher amongst them, and John and Arthur queued up to learn a few tricks as well.

His Occlumency lessons, on the other hand, were an unmitigated disaster. Harry simply could not 'empty his mind' as the Holmes brothers kept telling him. After one particularly gruelling session, when Harry was nearly in tears and Mycroft, who had been instructing him, remarked, "Harry, you need to empty your mind. Unless you do that, we cannot progress. Are you unable to do so?"

Harry bowed his head, ashamed to have tears running down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I don't know how to do that."

Alarmed at the child's distress, Mycroft knelt before the boy and peered at his face. "What's wrong?" he asked, cupping Harry's face gently.

"I don't know how to empty my mind," Harry cried. "I'm sorry. It's been three days and Daddy and Uncle Emrys and you keep telling me to do that and I don't know how and I…"

Mycroft pulled the boy into a hug and stroked his back, reminded of a similar incident twenty years ago when he had the same conversation with a child Sherlock.

"There is no need for you to apologise, nephew mine," he said quietly. "It is our fault for not explaining things properly. Sherlock had the same problem when he was learning Occlumency."

Harry blinked, unable to believe that his brilliant father could ever have difficulty learning something. "He did? Really?"

Mycroft laughed. "Ah, don't tell Sherlock I told you that."

"Don't tell me what?" Sherlock asked from the doorway. He strode in, furious. "What did you do to Harry? Why is he crying?" he demanded angrily.

"I don't know how to empty my mind," Harry said in a small voice.

Sherlock stared at him. "Is that all?"

Mycroft stood up and turned to Sherlock. "We should have explained it to him before we started," he said firmly. "Harry cannot learn if we do not give him proper explanations and instructions."

"Yes, of course," Sherlock said absently, still staring at Harry. "Is that really what upset you, Harry? Such a small thing?"

Harry flushed and looked up at the detective. "I didn't want to let you down."

Sherlock's mouth dropped open in shock. "How on earth did you come to that moronic conclusion?" he demanded. "You are a child, Harry, no matter how powerful you are. You cannot possibly expect to master Occlumency in three days! It takes years for average wizards – and even with your exceptional talents, it will still take several months."

Harry blinked. "You are not disappointed with me?" he asked quietly.

"Why would I be? You have done nothing wrong. Mycroft is right, much as I hate to admit it. We should have told you how to empty your mind instead of issuing vague instructions," Sherlock told him, and then turned to Mycroft. "Explain it to him like you did to me when I had the same problem."

Harry giggled suddenly and Mycroft smiled. Sherlock stared them, perplexed.

"Your son finds it difficult to believe that his clever father ever had trouble with Occlumency, little brother," Mycroft told him.

Two red spots appeared on Sherlock's pale cheeks. "Never mind," he said. "Go away, Mycroft. I'll teach Harry myself, after all."

That drew a fond laugh from Mycroft. He ruffled Harry's hair, then did the same to Sherlock and bid them farewell.

"I am far from infallible, Harry," Sherlock said quietly, when the door closed behind Mycroft. "And I am not disappointed in you. Quite the contrary."

Harry beamed at him.

"Come on, then," the detective said. "I'll explain properly this time."

Harry returned to Hogwarts after a week with several changes. Emrys had healed his eyes, so his glasses were gone. Sherlock, claiming that he was fed up with Harry's unruly hair, had taken him to a fancy hair-stylist and gotten him a makeover. The new hairstyle complemented his bone structure and highlighted his emerald eyes no longer hidden behind glasses. Mycroft had also given him a gold ring with the Holmes insignia, which he now wore on the little finger of his left hand. His posture, too, had been changing little by little since Sherlock had taken him in – thanks to all the physical training and exercises John and Arthur put him through, and his magical aura had become much stronger, thanks to the Holmes brothers. Most of all, having a family that adored him so had boosted his self-esteem and self-confidence. He walked straight now, with his chin up and eyes ahead, while Victoria perched on his shoulder. With all these things taken together, when Harry entered the Great Hall at breakfast with Mycroft standing behind him and Sherlock, John, Emrys and Arthur flanking him, he looked like a proper young lord of the noble Holmes lineage. So much so that no one recognised him. Well, almost no one.

Excited whispers broke through the Great Hall, debating his identity. Hermione, perhaps the only one who had recognised him on sight, walked up to him and gave him a hug.

"Welcome back, Harry," she said, smiling. "How are you feeling now?"

"Much better," Harry replied. "Thanks, Hermione. It's good to be back."

The mutterings intensified. Did she say 'Harry'? Merlin's beard, that's Potter..?! How'd he get so good-looking? Some of the words floated to Harry's ears and he blushed. Mycroft's hand on his shoulder squeezed gently.

Dumbledore looked quite shocked at Harry's new appearance, and Snape was staring at him with a strangely wistful look on his face – no doubt remembering Lily Potter. Sirius and Remus practically ran to them and hugged Harry.

"You are certainly your mother's son," Remus whispered softly.

"I never realised what a beautiful child my godson was," Sirius remarked. "We must get you a new wardrobe, Harry!"

Sherlock smirked and Harry blushed shyly.

Ron came up next and clapped him on the back. "Welcome back, mate," he said. "Merlin's hairy balls, I almost didn't recognise you!"

Emrys choked and Arthur laughed.

"Language, Ron," Hermione scolded.

Ron ignored her and eyed Harry dubiously. "But why do you look like a stuck-up prick?" he demanded.

Harry flushed. "Is it weird?"

"Yeah, definitely," Ron muttered while Hermione said at the same time, "No way, you look amazing!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to Ron. He's just jealous because you look so good."

Hagrid approached them, picked up Harry and enveloped him in a crushing hug. "'Tis good to have yeh back, 'Arry. Yeh look jus' like Lily used to – if yer hair was red, yeh'd be 'er twin brother!"

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said.

Dumbledore stood up and held up his hand. The room fell silent slowly. Sirius, Remus and Hagrid returned to the staff table. Ron and Hermione, however, stood with Harry.

"Welcome back, Mr Potter-Holmes," Dumbledore announced. "We are glad to see you recovered. If you would take your place at the Gryffindor table along with your friends, I would like to have a word with your guardians."

Harry looked up at Sherlock, who nodded and hugged him.

"Take care, son," Sherlock said, kissing his brow.

Mycroft, Emrys, John and Arthur did the same.

Flushed with happiness and embarrassment in equal measures, Harry headed to the Gryffindor table with Ron and Hermione.

"What was that demonstration all about?" Ron whispered as soon as they were seated. "Aren't they fairly reserved in general? Why were they suddenly behaving like my mum?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Did Dumbledore do something again?" she asked Harry.

"He's sending Sirius and Remus away," Harry said quietly.

"What?! Why?" Ron cried.

Hermione shushed him. She nodded thoughtfully, rubbing her chin. "So that's why the public display of affection…to reiterate that the Holmes family stands with you – and a warning to those that would seek to harm you."

Harry nodded absently as his eyes followed his family being led out by Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape. Sirius and Remus joined them. As soon as they left, the Great Hall burst into noisy conversations. Half of Gryffindor House descended upon Harry, clamouring for information.

Oliver Wood pushed everyone away from Harry. "Tell me we have our Seeker back for the final," he demanded, his nose almost touching Harry's.

"You do," Harry replied, grinning. "And I'm back with a Firebolt."

"The one Sirius gave you for Christmas?" Ron asked. "Wicked!"

Oliver looked ready to kiss Harry. "Practice, today, 6 PM," he gasped, and rushed away, presumably to book the field for practice.

"Must be nice, being doted upon by the Holmes family. Did you play your poor, pitiable, orphaned-boy card, Potter?" came a snide voice that could only belong to one person in the school.

Harry smirked, looking just like Sherlock for a second. "Why, Malfoy, are you jealous?"

Malfoy spluttered in rage. "Do you even know anything about pureblood pride, you filthy half-blood?!"

Harry smiled tightly and stood up, his eyes glowing. Victoria trilled and spread her wings, her beautiful plumage drawing quite a few exclamations of awe.

Malfoy's eyes widened. "That's a war phoenix."

"Yes," Harry said.

"Yours?" Malfoy asked.

Victoria let out an indignant sound and bit Harry's ear. Harry laughed affectionately and stroked her soft feathers. "Yes, yes, I know," he told her. He turned to Malfoy and said, "She says I'm her wizard." He stepped forward and grabbed Malfoy's hand. "Come with me. We clearly need to talk."

Dumbfounded, Malfoy could only follow as Harry led him by the hand to an empty classroom. Ron, Hermione, Crabbe and Goyle followed hastily.

"What exactly is your problem with the Holmes family taking me in?" Harry asked quietly when the six of them filed into the empty room and closed the door behind them.

Draco sneered at him. "The Holmes family has stayed out of magical affairs for centuries, even though they are direct descendants of…"

"…Merlin and Vernet," Harry finished. "Yes, I know."

"And now, suddenly, because of you, they are back, and throwing their weight about everywhere, disrupting Ministry affairs, causing trouble…" Draco glared at Harry. "Why did Sherlock Holmes adopt you? He had abandoned the magical world when he left Beauxbatons and was living as a muggle."

Harry sighed. "My aunt's family beat me nearly to death and dumped me in an alley in London, thinking I had died. Some people from Dad's homeless network saw it happen and informed him. He turned up with John, and they saved my life. Sherlock – Dad – used Force majeure magica."

Draco and Hermione gasped, while the others looked blank.

"Consequently, my magic recognised him as my guardian. Uncle Mycroft took us to his house, and I recuperated there. He threw my aunt and uncle into jail. Uncle Emrys visited soon after. I had nowhere else to go, and Sherlock took me in since we were already magically bonded. Then we realised that Sirius – my Godfather – has been imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years on false charges. They investigated and gathered evidence and got him released. Many things have happened since then, and before I knew it, we were already a family. At Christmas, they made me the official heir of the Holmes family and granted me the use of their name." Harry looked down, blinking rapidly. "You have no idea how lucky you are, Malfoy – to have parents that love you unconditionally. The only memory I have of my parents is Voldemort killing them. I was brought up by relatives who hated magic and told me I was an unnatural freak on a daily basis. I was punished if I even uttered the word 'magic'. But still, I am really thankful that they almost killed me, because it brought me to the Holmes family, and I have never been happier in my life."

Ron and Hermione scrubbed at their eyes, and Draco was impossibly pale.

"You were nearly killed by…muggles?" he whispered. "Your mother's relatives…?"

Harry shrugged. "Honestly, I'm surprised it took them so long. It had to happen sooner or later. They never wanted me, after all. Dumbledore dropped me on their doorstep with nothing but a letter the day my parents died."

Draco stared. "And you still support Dumbledore?"

Harry shrugged again. "He did what he thought was best. Everyone makes mistakes. Besides, we need him now more than ever. Voldemort has returned – I am sure you know that by now, don't you? That is why I was sick."

Draco, Crabbe and Goyle nodded slowly. "The Dark Lord summoned our parents and tortured them for not finding him sooner."

"I know," Harry said softly. "I saw it all."

"Will you still stand with Dumbledore and fight to save muggles? Even though they nearly killed you?" Draco demanded.

Harry sighed. "Malfoy – Draco – look, it's just my relatives who were like that. There are plenty of really nice muggles out there. Hermione's parents, the people that work with Sherlock – it is unfair to dismiss an entire population as bad just for a few evil ones, isn't it? Voldemort himself is a half-blood, did you know? His father was a muggle."

The three Slytherins stared at him open-mouthed.

"Is that true?" Draco asked urgently.

Harry smirked. "My father is the best detective out there, you know. Voldemort used to be Tom Marvolo Riddle. His mother was of the Gaunt family – the last of Slytherin's descendants, and his father was a handsome muggle she fell for. She died in childbirth and he was sent to a muggle orphanage. He lived there until he came to Hogwarts, and went back there every summer until he graduated."

"We have to tell Professor Snape," Goyle said.

"He already knows," Harry told them.

"But he's a Death Eater, too!" Crabbe exclaimed.

"Shut up, you idiot," Draco hissed.

"He isn't anymore," Harry said quietly. "I broke his Dark Mark."

Draco's eyes shone with hope. "How?" he demanded. "How did you do that?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. "I hissed at the snake and Victoria bit off its head."

"It is a matter of whose command is more powerful," Hermione interrupted. "Don't be so modest, Harry."

"Do you mean to say that Potter is a more powerful Parselmouth than the Dark Lord?" Crabbe asked Hermione.

"Isn't that already clear?" Ron replied instead. "Harry's been kicking Voldemort's ass pretty much every time he attacks Harry."

"So you can break anyone's Dark Mark?" Goyle asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Probably. Uncle Mycroft thinks so, but I've been forbidden to act unless Dad or Uncle Emrys are present."

"They are very protective of you," Draco observed.

Harry nodded, blushing a little. Hermione glared at Malfoy. "Would your parents let you do something dangerous without supervision?" she challenged.

Draco shrugged elegantly. "Touché, Granger." He turned to Harry. "If – hypothetically – certain Death Eaters wished to defect…would you be willing to break their Dark Marks?"

"I don't mind," Harry said. "But you'll have to ask them to speak to Uncle Mycroft first."

Draco's eyes widened. "Lord Holmes himself? Not your adoptive father?"

Harry laughed. "Do people actually call him that?"

Draco huffed indignantly. "Of course, we do. It is his proper title."

"He's a peer in the muggle world, too, Harry – didn't you know?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "I know he's important because of his work…I didn't know he had a title as well."

"He likes being in the shadows," Hermione said. "Sherlock said that he has no ambition and no energy and that he will not even go out of his way to verify his own solution, and would rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself right."

Harry laughed heartily. "Uncle Mycroft says he lives in a wold of goldfish."

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "For someone with a mind like his, that would be true."

"But he's the most overprotective of them all, isn't he?" Ron said.

"Only if someone he cares about is harmed. Otherwise, he's the most rational of the lot," Harry told him. He turned to Draco. "Look here, Malfoy – I don't know why you've been so angry about the Holmes family taking me in, but whether you like it or not, I am a Holmes now, and I intend to remain so. If you really want to get away from Voldemort, I will do my best to help you. We've never been friends, but even I can see that you are clever, resourceful and talented, and it'd be a waste if you went to that evil snake-face."

"I wanted to be your friend when we met at the shop and the train. You turned me down," Draco said, his ears turning red.

Harry blinked. "Were you? But that was a lousy way to go about it, insulting everything within sight."

"I didn't know how else to talk, alright?" Draco yelled, his face flushed.

"Oh," Harry said, taken aback. "In that case, I'm sorry." He held out his hand. "Care to try again?"

Draco gaped at him for a moment, then shook his hand solemnly. "Don't expect me to trust you immediately," he warned.

Harry laughed. "Of course. I'm not that naïve. It takes time – but we can at least try, right?"

Draco nodded, his eyes serious. "As a token of appreciation, I will tell you something I overheard. There is a prophecy about the Dark Lord and you."

"The one which talks about how I have the power to defeat him? Yeah, I know that one," Harry said. "Thanks, though."

"Do you have the power to kill the Dark Lord?" Crabbe asked bluntly.

Harry's eyes glowed and everyone took a step back. "Yes," he said simply, thinking of his Christmas night in Scotland. "I do now." He smiled softly. "And it is a power Voldemort will never know or understand."