Professor Neara smiled kindly at him as he walked into the Ancient Runes class. Harry made to set his things inside her office, per instruction.

"Hullo, Professor," he greeted, returning the smile. "It looks like I'm a little early."

He looked around the classroom. The desks were wooden and arranged into a semi-circle, facing a raised platform where the professor's desk stood, flanked by tall bookshelves filled with dusty tomes and scrolls. A chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling. Off to the side was an entrance that led into her office.

"Indeed you are." Neara lifted her wand and, with a flick, shifted all the desks to the left side into her office. A shimmering, magical barrier formed in the middle and another wave of her wand about doubled the size of the classroom. Her smile had faded.

"I hope you don't make too much of a name for yourself today."

Harry tensed. "What do you mean, ma'am?"

"These boys and girls won't trust you," she mused. "If you upset them, I imagine this'll be the first and last you see of this Duelling Club. The house rivalries are very intense here at Hogwarts. I apologise."

"I don't plan on that, Professor Neara," said Harry confidently.

She nodded. Without another word, she moved to cast protections around many of the trinkets that lay around her classroom. The ease was something to be admired, and it reinforced a certain impression Harry had begun forming of his Ancient Runes teacher.

The first lecture he'd had with her was interesting. She was much more like a Professor in his own time – taking the time to exchange pleasantries with students, and spending much more of the class time lecturing and demonstrating. And now, Harry was pretty sure that she was a wealth of magical knowledge. The practised ease with which she cast obscure protection charms and that strange barrier certainly made it seem so, and that was barring the fact that she, the Ancient Runes teacher, sponsored a club dedicated to the practice of martial magic. She looked the part, too: tall and slender, with blue eyes and dark hair that cascaded down to her shoulders.

Eventually, the club began to pour in. Mostly they were students adorned in Gryffindor robes, but he caught sight of a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in the mix. All the club lined up at the front of the class while a Gryffindor girl was busy setting up a desk by Neara's office. Jules was one of the last to walk in, and he made towards Harry when he did.

"Glad you could make it," he grinned. Harry looked around and took note of the wary looks he was being shot.

"New members," called the same brunette girl at the desk. She was eyeing him. "Come and sign your names here."

"Harry, right?" she asked as he grabbed the quill, flashing a beautiful smile. He took note of her Gryffindor robes and the fact she displayed no sign of suspicion. "It's my pleasure to meet you."

Harry Evans, he signed his name. A tall bundle of Ravenclaw robes had walked up beside him in the meantime, and he blinked in surprise when she looked and gave the Gryffindor girl a bashful stare.

"Hi, Irene," Myrtle said quietly, writing her name. "I-I hope you don't mind…"

"Myrtle," Irene said softly, lowering her voice. "Are you sure? I don't want you to get hurt like last-"

"I won't get hurt!" she interrupted. "I've worked hard. I've gotten better." Harry felt a surge of anger flow through him. Have you gotten to her already, Riddle?

Irene held her hands up in resignation. "If you say so," she murmured.

Sparks shot from her wand and Irene used a Sonorous to amplify her voice to the rest of the club. "Welcome!" she called. "Those of you who are returning, I'm glad to have you back. Newcomers, line up past the barrier: we'll pair you up for your first fight!"

I wonder if Aspen wood just naturally thrums.

The club's members eagerly chatted with one another, while Irene herded him, Myrtle, and a few others to a spot just for newcomers.

"Oi!" shouted a voice to his left. "What's the snake doing here?!" Murmurs of agreement broke among the crowd.

"Professor Dumbledore thought I should be involved here at Hogwarts to help my 'transition into a new world,'" Harry smiled blandly. "My lot don't like me either." His eyes swept the crowd: there seemed to be quite an assortment of different people. Some looked standoffish, a few had their noses dug in duelling manuals and most were chatting with their friends.

Some of the more gullible members of the crowd bought his explanation, but jeers came from some of the older Gryffindors. "Sure," one of them snorted – Relio, from Binn's History class, Harry noted.

Neara came to his rescue. "Mr Evans is just like any other newcomer," she said sternly. "If he is troublesome to your operations, take it up with Ms Corinth or Mr Potter when he gets here."

Grumbles rang out, but Irene stepped forward and silenced the club. "Charlus can't be with us today, so we can get started. Newcomers, gauge about three metres between you and your opponent. On my mark, you will take three steps forward, bow, take three steps back, and begin."

Harry didn't know why, but a nasty feeling crawled up his spine when Irene demonstrated the bow Voldemort taught him in the Graveyard over a year ago. "If you attack early, without honour, you will be kicked out and never allowed to attend another meeting again. Please refrain from interfering in duels not your own. Evans and Warren, you'll go first."

Relio stepped forward and shot Harry a snide look while he stood in front of Myrtle. He was one of the ones with his nose in a manual. "No dark magic, either" he proclaimed loudly. "Nothing gets by me, so don't even think about whatever tricks you've got brewing in your head, Evans," he waved it around. He caught a glimpse of the title: The Dark Curses Compendium and How to Spot Them.

It took all of Harry's willpower to not banish the snob from the classroom with a broken nose – he had a long, uneven face and thin lips. It took even more willpower to look at the scared visage of Myrtle in front of him – who he now had to duel. If she loses this handily, there's no way they will let her back in.

"Begin!" shouted Irene. Harry took the three steps, as did Myrtle, and that uneasy feeling crawled up his spine when they did the bow. I hate it, he decided. "Good luck," he said to the girl, who smiled a little in turn.

Three cutting curses sailed Harry's way that he deflected right back. His Aspen wand launched a mix of legitimate stunning spells and sparks that Myrtle seemed to have trouble distinguishing between, though her hasty Protego held strong.

"Petrofractum," he hissed at the ground. Three stone slabs sailed out towards Myrtle that she vanished, but Harry's speed did him well – birds, arrows, and more stone slabs were launched the Ravenclaw girl's way.

"REDUCTO!" she yelled. The objects all exploded, and Harry summoned the debris, banishing it into her face.

That was the most powerful reductor I've ever seen, Harry thought to himself. She's better than Hermione was. Merlin.

"Incendio, Stupefy, Avis, Stupefy!"

Myrtle wasn't troubling Harry, but he wanted to try and maintain the impression that he was being challenged. "Nova!" he cast. Bright bursts of light shot out of his wand that exploded against her protego, which stood unwavering.

Harry narrowed his eyes a little. She's not practised, but her spells are extremely powerful. I wonder what she could do with some training and a bigger repertoire…

"Mimblewimble," Myrtle hissed. Harry conjured a smokescreen and banished the spell back at her – it landed, her tongue twisted, and she could no longer cast. "Incarcerous," he said calmly, and ropes bound his opponent. "Yield," he demanded. A wave of his wand cancelled the tongue-tying charm.

Myrtle gazed up at him with a strange, smouldering look. Was it reverence? The gleam in her eye promised further questioning. He had expected her to be upset over the quick loss… he certainly would have been. "I yield," she said, deathly calm. Too calm.

She can tell I held back. The answer came to him. So can they.

No one said anything as Harry made his way into the crowd of returning members. Jules looked excitedly at him. "That was brilliant, mate," he whispered. "It's like you use more Transfiguration than curses."

Harry shrugged. "It's my style." He resisted the urge to glare when he saw Relio approach, pushing through people to get to Jules and him.

"Bugger off, John," Lockhart grumbled, but he ignored him. "Where did you learn of Petrofractum?" Relio demanded. "That's a N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration."

"What's a N.E.W.T. level?" asked Harry dumbly.

John Relio – his new number one fan – glared at him hatefully. Harry hid a smirk behind his hand. "Well?" he prodded. "Are you going to explain it to me?"

Relio sniffed and walked away. Jules explained the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations, which Harry only half-listened to. Once the other newcomers were done duelling, it was Myrtle who nudged Harry's shoulder.

"How did you do it?" she whispered.

"Which part?"

"The smokescreen. Did you transfigure it, like with the debris?"

"No, it's a separate spell," said Harry. "A simple Finite would've dispelled it." But not the debris. It was why Harry preferred Transfiguration in his fights – it made his moves hard to predict, though it came at the expense of his opponent's responses being equally hard to gauge.

"Irene says I still did good enough to be part of the club this year," she murmured. "But she's too nice to tell me the truth. I want to know what you think."

"You want to know how you can get better?" asked Harry. He knew the feeling. "What you did wrong?"

"Yes."

Harry said nothing as a redheaded boy squared up to Jules. "Let's see what you've got this time, Lockhart," he said gruffly.

"Try me, Weasley," he grumbled.

Fuck me… Harry resisted the urge to stare at who had to be Septimus Weasley in front of him. He looks so much like Ron.

"Watch their duel," Harry instructed Myrtle. "Tell me what you see." She seemed to hesitate but acquiesced to his request.

Jules and Septimus both began launching spells at each other: fast, hard-hitting, and draining. Weasley was clumsier than Lockhart but made up for it with the intensity of his repertoire. Jules' dirty blonde hair looked a mess when strong Aguamenti soaked it and his face.

"Bombarda!" shouted Jules, jerking his wand towards Septimus. The redhead leapt out of the boy, landing a stunner on Jules' chest and sending him falling to the ground.

Silence stretched between Harry and Myrtle. She shifted. "Trading spells that close can't be any good."

"True enough. That kind of close-quarters duelling is for the professionals – the ones who really know what they're doing."

"And you know what you're doing, Evans?" Irene's voice sounded behind him. "Maybe you'd fancy a go." Most people were finishing their first rounds – Jules and Weasley got done a little early - and were watching their conversation with interest.

Neara's warning sounded in his head, and his heart pounded in his chest. Don't make too much of a name for yourself, today.

"Charlus isn't here for me to spar with," she said lightly. "It'd be nice to go against someone who could stand a chance. Maybe."

Now she was taunting him. I'll let her win, Harry decided. If she isn't already better than me…

Before he knew it, half the club was standing around to watch their duel. Harry bowed, and so did she. Three steps back… click, clack, click, clack…

"Tenebrae," the foreign spell shrouded the area in darkness, and Harry's vision went blurry. He held up a Protego that stood firm against a barrage of stunners and cutting curses. Dropping the shield, Harry rolled out of the way of a blast of icy wind, and he found himself on the defensive in the face of one vicious curse after another.

The Aspen wand jerked unexpectedly in the direction of the recently-rennervated Jules, and Harry was nearly cost the duel when a stunner barely missed his head.

What the fuck?!

"Viridis Erupto!" he bellowed, forcefully gaining control of his wand. The darkness had dispersed completely. Plants and vines grew out of the ground. Irene attempted to dispel them but quickly gave up when her Diffindo failed to even make a dent.

"Accio," Harry jolted his wand towards Irene's. It tugged a little, but it gave Harry the time he needed to go on the offence – two reductors sailed towards Irene who was mounting a hasty defence.

Irene swished her wand towards the ceiling, rattling the chandelier, and Harry's nerves steeled. Is she insane? His distraction was her advantage – more darkness shrouded his vision, and the same blasted spell put him back on defence.

I don't care how bloody good she is. I shouldn't be struggling like this.

"Bombarda maxima!"

"Diffindo!"

"Ventus!"

Harry conjured multiple smokescreens of his own, darker than Irene's mist, and pointed his wand at the chandelier. His voice was a faint whisper. "Insuflare."

It began to shake and fire bright balls of light at Irene. Unbeknownst to her, they were harmless, but her time was wasted dispelling them. "Impetus," Harry intoned, and a wind blast caused Irene to stumble. Before he could keep casting, he felt his wand sail forcefully out of his hand.

He blinked, staring confusedly at Irene. She stopped casting and turned to glare at the crowd. An uncomfortable, anticlimactic silence rang through the room. Neara had stepped forward, too.

"Which one of you twits," hissed the Gryffindor girl, "doesn't understand the part about not interfering in other people's duels?"

The guilty look on John Relio's face said it all. Murmurs broke out among the crowd, and Jules went around asking people something.

"Oh, for fucks sake," she groaned. A slash of her wand sent Harry's wand sailing out of the boy's pockets and into her hands.

"Sorry about that," she bemoaned, handing his wand back. "It was such a good fight, too."

"Did you scrougify it?" Harry asked jokingly, and Corinth smirked. "My apologies," she said, waving her wand and doing just that. Relio was beet red.

"You should kick him out!" Jules shouted indignantly. Weasley murmured agreement along with many others. The split appeared to be half and half between those who agreed and those who did not.

"Animation is a dark art," Relio tried to sound calm, but his embarrassment had gone beyond his control.

"Then you should consider dropping DADA and Transfiguration before next week, Relio," snapped Neara – Harry had forgotten she was still there. "Step out of the classroom. We will be having a word now."

It took a moment for everyone to get back to business, but Harry slipped back into the crowd and did his best to appear unassuming. No one else despised his guts just yet, he hoped.

"Anyway," said Myrtle as more spells and sparks flew across the room – after some obligatory snickering about Relio's humiliation, of course – "I wanted to ask you something,"

Harry motioned for her to speak.

"Could you…" she chewed her lip. "Could you teach me? It's just – some of the Slytherins have been giving me trouble, and I thought that if I learned to fight…."

Harry remained silent. "I mean, not all of them, you're obviously alright," she corrected. "But Professor Dire thinks that I should branch out, and Dumbledore told me to try and befriend you and make you feel welcomed- "her hand clamped her mouth shut.

"You weren't supposed to say that, were you?" asked Harry dryly. The tall girl was bright red.

"No," she squeaked.

He pretended to think on it, drumming his fingers on his thigh. "Meet me by the second-floor girl's bathroom after Neara's class next week."

Before Myrtle could respond, he continued. "As a first lesson, try and dispel that smokescreen spell I used."

"Fumus Conjuro," Harry dipped his wand straight onto the ground. In haste, he cast a disillusionment on himself before Myrtle could dispel the smokescreen.

That was way too melodramatic, but I need to get the fuck out of here.

"Who isn't spying on me?" Harry murmured frustratedly to himself as he walked out of the classroom. He froze when he heard the voices of both Neara and Relio.

"… this is so unlike you, John," he heard her say frustratedly. "Has Mr Evans been giving you any trouble?"

"No, it's just-"

"Then there's no reason for you to be this hostile!" she snapped. Relio tried to stumble out some excuse about dark magic usage, but it was all Harry needed to hear to confirm his other suspicion.

Heh. So Myrtle is Dumbledore's plant, and Relio is either just a prick or a plant from Riddle…

Harry looked back at the red-faced John and the stern Ancient Runes Professor.

I suppose if I knew nothing about Riddle, I wouldn't suspect a thing.

Still, Harry thought sarcastically, looking back at the dirty blonde boy. You can do better than that, Emily.


Two hours past dinner, Harry crept around the fourth floor. His disillusionment wasn't terrible, but the amount of magic he'd cast in the day made it much harder to maintain than usual. The corridor he was walking down was dimly lit and lined with glowing orbs that hovered at even intervals across the ceiling. The occasional alcove housed a statue of one famous wizard or another, but Harry only stopped to look when he saw the mirror at the end of the hallway.

It was a monstrous thing, taking up the entire wall it hung on. Its frame was wrought from gleaming silver, and the runes carved into the glass were unmistakably Elder Futhark. Harry stepped forward to trace his wand along a barely visible crack in the middle of the mirror.

"Silentium Invenio."

In silence, I find, he translated in his head. The crack grew and grew without any noise, and the mirror shined so bright Harry had to shield his eyes. A creek signalled that the mirror – really, a door – had opened. He stepped through.

"Thanks, Fred," he murmured. The passage was as spacious as he remembered, and it was a perfect place to work until he figured out how to approach the Room of Requirement. Lanterns lined the ceiling above him.

Harry pulled his broom from his magically shrunk school bag and set it down on the ground.

"Up!" he commanded. In agonisingly slow fashion, the ancient broom rose into his hands. Harry cringed.

It's way too fragile. His fingers ran across the rough handle – most of the designs had faded over time and it did look more like a muggle cleaning device as opposed to a flying one. He traced the shape of a dragon near its bristles.

Harry drew his wand. "Divisio." A shaving of wood was cut from the broom, which rattled, to Harry's tension. "Divisio," he said again, and another layer was peeled.

The enchantments… they had been woven into the patterns drawn on the broom. He'd have to recarve them from scratch if they were to be functional again – he also would've liked to replace the wood. Which meant he should go back to the broom shack and try to find an exact copy of the same broom. Not for the first time, Harry bemoaned his lack of an ability to be thorough.

Or…

Harry summoned his quill and parchment and used the wall to write.

Mr Orson,

I have a simple ask. I've recently acquired an old broom – the Oakshaft 79, and I was wondering if you could get your hands on a copy of the schematics? It's for a project in Ancient Runes. If you are so kind, I'd appreciate it if you could deliver them to our mutual acquaintance.

Also, I have nothing on your old man. He seems quite suspicious of me, though.

Sincerely,

You-Know-Who.

Harry creased the letter and conjured an envelope to hold it in. Slughorn would make sure Orson would get the letter, he lacked no confidence on that front. His train of thought was interrupted when a familiar hiss rang throughout the room. For a moment, he thought he had been found, but his snakes could always sense where he was.

"Hello, Padfoot," Harry greeted. His spy slithered up his arm. "You are early. Did something happen?"

"No," the snake flicked its tongue. "But the old man was asking about you."

Nerves buzzed within him. "Who?"

"The Headmaster, Sspeaker. He said he was going to observe your Transfiguration class tomorrow. He says Hogwarts should be proud to receive magical talent like your own."

The snake's boast came with a puffing of its head and flick of its tongue, but Harry's mind was elsewhere. "What does he know?"

"I believe someone informed him of your duelling performance, Sspeaker."

Of course. Harry had been told repeatedly that the Headmaster had an impressive network – this should've been expected. He has no reason to suspect anything, not yet…

Currying the man's favour wouldn't be too difficult. Not if so many students had done it before.

"Tell Prongs to speed up his search for the Basilisk." Padfoot hissed, scandalised at Harry's improper address of Slytherin's monster. "Keep me in the loop, Padfoot."

Once the snake left, Harry looked past the little passageway he was working in and towards the windowsill at the end. A flick of his wand cracked it open, and he felt a chilly night breeze wash over him. Harry strolled over to it, inhaling sharply. This was awfully reckless.

He vaulted over the sill and found himself sliding down a rocky path that uncomfortably grated against his back. The path took him through a number of different sights: Ravenclaw Tower in the distance and the Quidditch Pitch to the side. He didn't know how long he slid for, but it was a long, tense while. His eyes swept the starry sky, whose half-moon shone bright enough that he didn't need a lighting charm.

He picked himself up from the grass clearing he landed in and looked out at the village of Hogsmeade in front of him. The disillusionment began to wane.

I've been casting too much magic today.

Its narrow, winding streets were flanked by crookedly constructed shops and buildings. He recognised some things – the ugly boar on the door of the Hog's Head and the worn, rustic look of The Three Broomsticks. But most of it was unfamiliar.

The cold breeze kicked up, and Harry regretted not having brought a jacket.

"I envy your disappearing act," the low rumble of Arcturus Black sounded to his left. For a moment, Harry thought a cruel trick had been played on him, and he'd been caught, but another rustling of bushes signalled him to go prone.

Harry was too magically spent to cast another disillusionment, but a fourth-year silencing spell covered any sounds he'd make. He hoped it would be enough.

"I would envy it too," the lazy drawl of a boy roughly Harry's height came into view. "You didn't come here to talk shop, though."

It's Charlus. Harry's heart pounded in his throat, and his breath hitched. And he has the cloak, too. His hair was sleek and brown, and his robes were pristine. His face resembled Harry's own—less aristocratic and more rugged. A scar lined his left brow.

"We have all the time we need," Arcturus said dryly. "My grandfather once told me that he'd never met a patient Potter in his life. Guess it runs in the family."

Charlus gave a cocky grin. "We don't like mincing words. Not with your lot."

"Maybe not," Arcturus mused, scratching his chin, eyes gleaming. "But then again, you play your own games. Don't you, Charlus?"

Curiosity prickled at Harry. Is he talking about the story with Riddle?

"I have nothing to hide," his grandfather said. "Here's your payment."

The jingling of coins sounded over the howling winds. "Excellent. You will meet my father?"

"Yes," Charlus agreed flatly. "But the whole thing's off if I don't get the book."

"So prickly," Arcturus said amusedly. "I will make sure you get it. I must ask, Charlus," the Black Heir mused, "what would push a good little Gryffindor like you into the hands of the evil Dark Arts? Did Riddle step on your toes?"

"You don't seriously believe that rumour, do you?"

"Subtlety is not your speciality, Potter."

Charlus' gaze was intense and scrutinising. Black levelled him with a stoic stare of his own.

"You aren't in league with her, are you?"

Arcturus sighed as though he were dealing with a child. "Of course, I'm not. Even if I wished to be, my family would have my hide."

Charlus scrunched his nose. "Do you want to be?"

Black clapped his hands slowly. "Witty!" he applauded. "Tell me what it is, Potter. I've helped you once – who says I can't again?"

It was strange to Harry, seeing Charlus suddenly gain such a snarky, winning smile on his face as though a bright idea had just come to him. "If you won't have my hide for what I'm about to tell you, I'll consider."

"Stop mincing words, Potter," Arcturus' lips twitched.

"I'm taking Dorea to Slughorn's party next week."

Silence rang between both students. The wind cared nought and kept howling – Charlus' hair looked ten times less neat than it first did.

"What happened to the Corinth girl?" Arcturus didn't sound perturbed, but he was definitely on edge.

"Irene?" Charlus asked dumbly. "I've never thought of her like that."

He smirked. "She certainly does."

"Stop deflecting," his grandfather grumbled, though he was blushing. "You aren't going to hex me?"

A stinging hex shot out of Arcturus' wand and landed on Charlus' cheek. "Thanks for reminding me. Now, why are you asking my family for books on the Dark Arts?"

"Nothing gets past you does it," he murmured, scratching the red spot on his cheek. "My father's planning something big at the next Wizengamot meeting. All he told me is that I need the book to help get some bigshot to vote with him."

"I always took your father to be more of a fighter than a schemer," mused Arcturus. Then he paused. "What does he want?"

Charlus' silence was deafening.

"Very clever," Black whispered. "Between my family's feud with Rosier and Malfoy trying to butt in, your father wants to swoop in and force through whatever it is he wants. Bravo."

His grandfather looked uneasy. "That kind of stuff usually isn't his forte, but he has his moments."

"What does he want?" Black asked again. When Charlus stilled once more, Arcturus began to step away. "You have made a vow. How curious."

Potter's face hardened, and he twirled his wand between his fingers. "You'll be making a vow too, Black. I can't have this getting out. You understand."

He looked amused. "Not the first time we have made such an arrangement."

So Charlus is good enough to think he can force Arcturus Black, of all people, into a vow.

Harry's mind raced as the two pureblood heirs went through the motions of a magical vow. It wasn't an Unbreakable Vow – those needed an officiator – but the consequences of violating regular vows promised worlds of hurt as it was.

"Toujours pur," Arcturus nodded respectfully. "Good day, Charlus. One thing," he said, making the boy pause his walk away.

"Hurt Dorea and you can consider this temporary alliance of ours over. Understood?"

Potter dipped his head respectfully. "Understood, Heir Black."

"Now piss off."

Harry rolled out further from the grass and closer to Hogsmeade's opening road. He didn't catch any glimpses of Charlus putting the cloak on – not that he needed to. If only I could have it, he thought wistfully. But no. It belonged to his grandfather, rightly so.

I wonder what Charlus' dad wants. Harry figured it was something that would piss off the rich pureblood types like Malfoy and Rosier. But Arcturus was the real enigma – no signs of rabid devotion to blood purity, but little true sympathy for Charlus either. Given that he was next in line, it was easy to deduce that the boy had big political ambitions.

Harry made his way behind the Hog's Head, which was dead silent at this hour of the night and closed his eyes. He took three deep breaths and pulled out his rebellious Aspen wand.

Harry winced. He had not intended to be so magically spent when he did this, but he was beyond caring about convenience. He traced an L-shape with his wand and swished it three times.

"Oblivisecur!"

He jolted and seized a visible tendril of mist that was sailing out of his leg. A ringing sounded in his ears as he tried to force it down. "Fuck!"

Get out. Harry's trembling hand dropped the wand, and Harry collapsed against the back of the pub. The night's air felt that much cooler and his eyes began to droop.

No… at least it worked. Fuck you, Ollivander. The tracking charm was gone. The man would know, but Harry didn't care.

Finding the counter had also been a pain in the arse. The only reason Harry now knew it was thanks to Slughorn, which, in turn, he owed him a "favour" for. Probably going to the party.

Struggling to lift himself off the wall, Harry grasped his wand and let out a shaky breath. He jolted again when the sound of another voice sent his heart flying out of his chest.

"A crude solution, but you are not at fault for employing it. I find that tracker particularly unpleasant."

Is there a party going on that I don't know about? Why is everyone bloody here?

Harry looked up to see a tall figure approach through the darkness.

"I daresay none have escaped Hogwarts' bounds so swiftly."

The soft moonlight made Albus Dumbledore's hair and beard look like a stream of liquid gold.

"I don't think anyone's been caught this quickly either," Harry muttered, avoiding Dumbledore's gaze and fidgeting with his wand.

"Perhaps," he rumbled. Dumbledore's younger face and even taller figure gave him a more intimidating look. The man's robes were not so eccentric, he noticed, and there was a steely look about him. One eyebrow was raised.

"I must inquire what has led to you skulking around these corners at this hour of the night, my boy."

What was he supposed to say? That he was trying to find another entrance to the fabled Chamber of Secrets? That he was trying to find an Acromantula that Hagrid probably owned and to warn it to stay away from Hogwarts?

"I was just taking a walk to clear my mind, Professor."

"A curious time for a stroll," Dumbledore stroked his beard – not as silver as he knew it to be. "As was I," he said after a moment's silence.

Harry didn't know if it was sleep deprivation or magical exhaustion that was getting to him. He paused, much like Dumbledore had.

"Does that mean you get detention too, Professor?"

Dumbledore actually laughed. "I understand that you are new, but at Hogwarts, we place great value on the security of all our students," he stressed. "You will serve detention with me twice a week for the next two months, and you are to work with Professor Beery in the Greenhouses every Friday for the next month."

How suspicious Harry must have looked. To have been caught sneaking off school grounds barely into term – removing a tracking charm, no less. Not to mention all the other holes in his identity. How Dumbledore didn't just take Harry to the ministry then and there, he didn't know.

But how suspicious did the transfiguration professor appear himself? Harry was behind a downtrodden pub in the middle of the night being relatively quiet. A chill ran down his spine when Harry realised that if Dumbledore was able to sneak that slip into his pocket so easily, it was probably just as easy for the man to have him tracked somehow.

"I wasn't the only one sneaking about, Professor!" Harry did his best to sound a little indignant, and Dumbledore nodded along, and Harry felt that he was being toyed with. Another realisation dawned on him: students sneaking around must've been a lot more common in this time. Which meant that Professors were more prepared for it than he was used to.

"I wouldn't know," the old-ish man laughed again, and Harry shifted uneasily. "I found you by mistake, Harry. I was only going to visit my brother."

Aberforth. So I wasn't caught because I was purely incompetent… maybe just a little.

Where was the Dumbledore who believed in equity and fairness: in reasonable punishments and consequences?

"I do not want you to feel this is unjust," Dumbledore said seriously. "I am tempted to offer you another out, if you will." Was this the real purpose of the man seeking him out?

Harry remained sceptical. "What may that be, sir?"

Dumbledore gave him a thin smile, as the man dropped all formal pretences.

"You tell me who you are, where you're from, and what your business is at my school."


A/N: Thanks to Gladiusx for giving this chapter a once-over before it went out! Thanks for reading, everyone.

I'm a sucker for…

There really should be more of this pairing - thanks for the enjoyment.

It was a totally…

Thank you! I'm excited to keep pushing it forward.

Incredible!

Thanks all.