Cheers broke out across the Great Hall, particularly from Hufflepuff, as Cedric Diggory entered for breakfast. The previous day he had finished in the top five of Britain's thirteen and fourteen year-old dueling circuit and secured not only a spot in the fifteen and sixteen bracket but his place in the thirteen and fourteen European Dueling Championship. Hogwarts students, not typically known for their dueling prowess, usually lost out to the smaller private magical universities which placed a heavier emphasis on dueling.

"The Hero of Hufflepuff," somebody proclaimed. Owls were already delivering their packages, with Cedric's face on the front page of every Daily Prophet. Harry clapped politely along with everyone else. In two years Harry planned to enter the circuit like Cedric did and go even further. Cedric's success was good motivation. He looked down Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet. In two years, that would be him.

From the head table, Dumbledore clapped as loud as any of the Hufflepuffs. Cedric looked at him and grinned, pumping a fist into the air. Dumbledore was proud whenever his students achieved success outside of Hogwarts. Cedric's last duel had been especially impressive, eliminating Kendra Lasis of London Magical Institute, who had made it to the European Championships the previous year at thirteen.

As Cedric sat down Dumbledore took a look at Harry, who had made his intentions very clear to enter the circuit when he hit thirteen. To be honest, he could probably perform quite admirably at eleven. He was looking at Cedric's picture on the Prophet and Dumbledore knew exactly what he was thinking. Quirrell entered the hall from the back entrance, and it took everything in Dumbledore's power to act normal. The Department of Defense's final analysis was due in two hours, but the situation was looking dire.

Later that day Dumbledore called Harry to his office. "What is it Grandfather? I'm supposed to have Defense class right now."

Amelia's warning had come in a bare thirty minutes earlier, and there was no way Dumbledore was allowing Harry to be anywhere near Quirrell. It physically pained him to allow somebody sharing a body with Voldemort's shade to be anywhere near his teachers, but Amelia was correct in her analysis. The risk of collateral damage at Hogwarts was too high.

Quirrell's office had been raided at night, when Quirrell went home to his house. He had been sloppy and hid written detailed instructions for the Chinese ritual that melded Voldemort to his body as well as who participated in the ritual in a lockbox hidden behind an illusory section of wall.

"Sit down. I wanted to talk to you about your troll escapades two nights ago."

Harry grimaced. "Can you talk to McGonagall for me, please? Ten detentions is completely unfair."

"Quiet down," Dumbledore told his charge. "As I said, I wished to talk to you." Harry sat silently. "Your actions were very brave and did in fact result in saving Mrs. Granger from potential death. But that doesn't make them any less ill-advised."

Harry was confused now. "So you're saying I should have left the troll alone? Hermione was in trouble."

"But you had no idea of this when you set out alone in the castle with Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said. "Again, that your careless actions by a stroke of fate proved to be the correct ones makes them no less careless. If you gamble everything and win, should you gamble everything again?"

Harry thought about that. "No, but this wasn't gambling."

"It wasn't," Dumbledore agreed. "But the analogy still stands. You need to remember you are not immortal and can in fact lose."

"I know I could have lost," Harry said a tad sullenly.

"But you don't truly believe it," Dumbledore said. "And I would like to talk to you about the attention you are receiving as well."

"That's not my fault!" Harry said. "You're being unfair." Now he was really sulky.

Fawkes trilled in laughter. "I am not insinuating that," Dumbledore assured Harry. "I simply wish to caution you against letting praise go to your head. Keep a realistic view of your abilities."

"I know what I can't do," Harry insisted. "I'm fine."

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth and offered another to Harry, who gladly accepted sugar. "Harry, my dear boy. I have raised you since you were one. I know you will become a great wizard, and receive praise from all around you."

"As great as you?"

"You can certainly try," Dumbledore teased. "But yes. When I was just a few years older than you I forgot who I was in my pride and inflated ego. I made mistakes."

"What mistakes?" Harry asked curiously.

Dumbledore thought of the manifesto he could never bring himself to destroy, hidden in that very room by the strongest wards he could create. Someday he would tell Harry about his great shame. When Harry was older. "Stories for another day," he said instead. "Do you understand what I am saying now?"

Harry didn't look particularly happy, but he nodded his head. "I'll be more careful."

Dumbledore was satisfied for the moment. "Good. Right now, I want to give you a lesson."

Harry looked delighted. "Really? It's been so long."

Dumbledore sighed. "When you were a baby, I thought maybe I could pass on a few of my responsibilities but the time never felt right."

"Oh. I understand." Dumbledore could tell Harry was just saying that, he didn't really comprehend.

Dumbledore led Harry to the room adjacent to his desk, which was heavily warded with protective magic. The door on the far side connected the office to Harry's personal room. "Elemental magic is highly temperamental. Hogwarts hardly touches on it because of this. With the slightly dark orientation of your magic some of its more destructive forms should come easier to you than it did to me."

Harry was paying close attention. This was far more interesting than any of his classes. "Weather oriented elemental magic can have unforeseen destructive effects on weather patterns," Dumbledore continued, "and should be avoided."

"Fine," Harry said. Calling down thunderbolts certainly seemed like a proper epic time but if Dumbledore said it could mess up the weather then maybe he was right. It wasn't as if he could hide practicing it anyways.

"But other forms of elemental magic based around the Earth, water, or especially for you, fire can be powerful spells." Dumbledore was above all a born teacher. He had a way of captivating audiences with his powerful aura, friendly manner, and of course demonstrations. "Elemental fire spells differ from more basic magic such as bluebell flames because they cast flames reinforced by magic. The ultimate and most destructive form of fire magic is fiendfyre, which you will not attempt for years."

With a downwards flick and then jab forwards, almost lunge, he said "inferio speraris!" in a powerful voice. His magic flared and a spear made of fire shot out from his wand at great speed and dissipated against the brick walls. No damage was visible.

"Doesn't seem more powerful," Harry said, inspecting where the spear of fire impacted the wall. "It's not even hot."

"Hogwarts was protected against the elements by the Founders," Dumbledore explained. "It will take more than a magical fire or thunderbolt to damage her."

"Oh." As always when in the castle, Harry could feel the magic permeated in the walls. Of course there were protections against elemental magic in there. "I should have thought of that."

"Normally, elemental fire can melt even stone and punch through shields," Dumbledore said. "Significant power I should think, even for a child with an insatiable hunger for more advanced magic." Harry had the grace to look just the slightest embarrassed. "Do you remember how I did it?"

Harry nodded and turned towards the blank wall. With the same flick and aggressive jab, he said "inferio speraris," trying to make his voice deeper like his grandfather did. And fire did come out, but not in the distinctive shape of a spear. Instead it came out in a blast that nearly knocked Harry off his feet and spread across half the room. Or it would have, if Dumbledore hadn't been prepared and sucked all the fire into a ball on the point of his wand. When it was all safely contained he let it dissipate harmlessly against the wall.

Harry took several seconds to recover from the near disastrous experience. "What happened?"

"I am not teaching you this spell for the purpose of giving you the methods to kill a man," Dumbledore said. "But because it requires the heavy control to properly wield elemental magic. It was only half a lie. He was teaching Harry this for both reasons.

Harry hadn't even considered the possibility he was attempting potentially lethal magic. "I hope this is a sufficient lesson in why practicing elemental magic alone would be a poor decision."

Despite the fact that even Harry could admit safety measures were prudent here, he clenched his jaw. Dumbledore, Sirius, McGonagall, Flitwick, they all told him to learn faster, faster but got upset when he didn't go at their exact pace. "Fine."

"I didn't raise you for you to blow your face off attempting magic beyond your capabilities Harry. Try again. This time focus on the feel of the magic as you release it. That is the key to control."

At the end of nearly two hours, Harry couldn't create a spear, but at least his fire was all concentrated in the same direction. Exhausted, Harry headed to the Great Hall after he was dismissed for an early dinner.

The tables were mostly empty when he sat down. No Gryffindor from Harry's year was present. On normal, non feast days, the house elves sending up the first meals before most people preferred to take their evening meal. Harry loaded his plate up with the meager options available. Some of favorites hadn't been sent from the kitchen yet.

As Harry was eating, the rest of the meal appeared on the tables and the rest of the students appeared in waves. "Where have you been?" Hermione asked as she sat down. "You never came back from your meeting with Dumbledore."

"I was hungry," Harry said. "He was teaching me elemental magic."

Hermione dropped her fork in shock. Several people nearby tried to subtly tune their ears into the conversation.

"Of course he was," Ron muttered. Harry had learned that as the youngest of six sons had a jealous streak that came out sometimes.

"That's sooo unfair," Hermione said. "Why is it that you get special attention?"

Harry shrugged as he finished up his plate. "I don't know. Grandfather's just like that sometimes."

"You absolutely have to teach me," Hermione said. She was an ambitious witch that like Harry was learning magic as fast as she could.

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't. I barely know any, and it's dangerous. I would have hurt myself if Grandfather wasn't there."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Hogwarts can't claim to be a fair institution if one of its students has access to vastly superior resources."

"That's true," Harry said. "I can take you to talk to Grandfather sometime about it."

That took Hermione aback. "No, I'm ok. You're a special case. It's just the principle of it is all."

Harry stayed and talked to his two friends for almost an hour before he had to go to detention. Unlike most teachers, McGonagall gave detentions in the early evening because she preferred to have working time without needing to supervise students afterwards.

She was using Harry to catch up on grading. He was given answer keys and a stacks of tests while she worked on the written portions.

Like the previous day, Harry felt his anger building as the evening wore on. It wasn't fair that he should be punished for stopping the troll, and it wasn't fair that Ron shouldn't have any punishment. He was glad Ron had no punishment, but that didn't mean it was fair.

But Harry knew that anger wouldn't help him so he kept a calm exterior, clenching his left hand below the desk. McGonagall didn't say anything so neither did he.

It was nearly an hour in when McGonagall finally broke the sound of quills scratching. "I trust Quidditch is going well."

Harry took a moment to stretch his arms. "Wood says that my flying skill is better than the other Seekers but I need time to develop a better tactical understanding of the game. So he's keeping our game plans simple right now."

"Good. With the talent we have been accumulating over the past few years I expect the Quidditch Cup in my office at the end of the year." Wood had been saying the same thing.

"The friendly against Orwood Blue is in two weeks." Orwood Academy of Mystical Arts was one of magical Britain's six private schools.

"I know that Mr. Potter," McGonagall said.

"Slytherin's friendly against the basilisks from London Institute is in four days."

"I know that as well."

"Can I have the evening off to watch? Everyone else from the other three teams will be there," Harry asked hopefully. Wood had lamented that Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were scheduled for the away friendlies that year. Home friendly matches gave the other teams a chance to observe. The only consultation was that their biggest rivals were also playing at Hogwarts.

McGonagall also stopped grading for a moment. "Very well, I won't have it said I sabotaged my own team. You will make up the detention afterwards."

"Thank you." Inside, Harry was upset the detention would be made up but again he was careful not to show this.

Thirty minutes later Harry finished his stack and was dismissed to enjoy the rest of his evening. What Harry really wanted to do with his evening was work on his fire magic, but Dumbledore had been more right than he liked. It was too dangerous for him alone. Instead he found Hermione in the library and wrote his essay on the uses of hornwood slug skins.

Line Break

Voldemort was fuming. The barely competent Quirrell hadn't realized it, but they were being watched. After months of having a turban in his face during the waking hours he had learned how to see without eyes, even in his greatly weakened state. There was suddenly double the amount of adult auras at Hogwarts, and ever so subtle legilimency revealed Aurors in the castle. He could sense listening runes all around him.

Quirrell had bumbled hard on All Hallow's Eve. He had a limited window in which the Sorcerer's Stone was vulnerable. Since the Stone had to remain accessible the obstacles placed in the path were more nuances intended to delay an intruder while the alarms went off and the authorities could arrive. The real obstacle was something Dumbledore was planning with the Mirror of Erised. But whatever it was was evidently taking longer than anticipated because the mirror was still in a classroom in an abandoned wing of the castle. For a window of time, the Stone was vulnerable.

But Severus had been sent to intercept Quirrell as he headed to the third door corridor. Voldemort's former follower had unwittingly prevented his Master's return.

Voldemort took control of Quirrell's body after he Apparated to his house in Devonshire. The man had panicked and fought the first time, but after Voldemort tormented him with nightmares for a week he stopped resisting. Voldemort got the distinct impression that Quirrell was thoroughly regretting his decisions. It didn't matter. With the developing situation, he wouldn't survive more than a day or two.

Voldemort could feel three adult auras stationed around the house. No doubt the hammer would fall within a day or two. He considered his options.

He could make a mad dash for the Stone, try to make it before he is caught. That was the obvious choice, and therefore most likely to have been considered by his enemies. Or he could do something unexpected and kill Harry Potter.

The boy was being trained by Dumbledore personally, that much was clear. In time he would no doubt be formidable, at the moment he was still a child. As with the Stone, a window of opportunity was open. His horcruxes would ensure another opportunity to regain his body. The boy prophesied to be his doom had to die.

Set in his course, Voldemort settled down to await his opponents revealing their move.

The Hitwizards from the ICC arrived precisely five minutes from two in the morning. Three squads of three replaced the British Aurors stationed around the perimeter of the wards. Four other squads took up additional pre-planned positions behind the heavy bush that grew in the forests that surrounded the modest estate on three sides. Four more Hitwizards invisible on broomsticks flew high above to watch for escape through the meadow to the north. Magical contacts gave them enhanced vision to ensure they could see in the dark from one hundred fifty meters in the air. Twenty-five of the best men and women the ICC could call upon under the command of Egyptian Ahmed Al-Katib waiting for their "special guest."

Dumbledore Apparated to the spot where Ahmed was setting up his post of operations. Every member of the operation, including Dumbledore, had a rune in their ear that functioned like a muggle walkie-talkie. He could hear the squad leaders finish calling in.

"Squad six, green."

"Squad seven, green."

"Squad eight, green."

"Dumbledore," Ahmed greeted. He had served over the entire globe for twenty years and through the use of language charms could fluently speak nineteen languages. "The final call is yours."

Like all wizarding residences, Quirrell's property had anti-Apparating wards. While it meant they couldn't Apparate any closer to the house and were forced to cross the wide open spaces directly surrounding the house, it also meant that Voldemort couldn't Apparate out. He was surrounded and stranded.

That was, until the wards suddenly fell. Dumbledore immediately felt it, as well as Ahmed and half his team. Voices talked over the runes.

"What the?"

"What happened?"

"He escaped!"

Dumbledore's blood ran cold. "Hogwarts!" he barked. "Staff entrance point!" He Apparated back to Hogwarts.

In the Gryffindor dorm, Harry awoke suddenly. At first he didn't know why and figured it was a nightmare he forgot. But then he realized something was wrong. The magic of Hogwarts was upset. Harry closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment. Suddenly they flew open again. Somebody at Hogwarts had been killed!

Grabbing his wand, Harry cautiously crept downstairs to the common room. Peering around, nothing seemed amiss so he opened the portrait of the Fat Lady. To his shock, two wizards in military robes and the emblem of the ICC were standing outside.

"What are you doing here?" asked the man to the right. He had an Irish accent and was nearly as surprised to see Harry as Harry was to see him.

"You need to go back to bed right now." The woman on the left had a heavy American accent.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, growing ever more afraid. Something was seriously wrong.

"You need to go inside," the American woman said, pushing Harry back into the portal leading to the common room.

"What's happening? What is going on?"

Dumbledore appeared at the staff entrance to Hogwarts, a sphere three meters in diameter in the staff tower where the anti-Apparation wards could be turned off by a current member of the staff. The two Hitwizards stationed there for the night were dead. One had no marks, a sign of the killing curse, while the other had been cut nearly in two. The rune was abuzz with chatter as the teams in Devonshire popped in behind Dumbledore.

"All teams, converge on the third floor."

"Negative to that sir, no sign of him here yet."

"Negative to Gryyfindor. Handling a disturbance with a student right now."

"Negative to Ravenclaw."

"Negative to Hufflepuff."

"Negative to Slytherin."

Dumbledore was wearing something he hadn't set eyes on in ten years and had hoped would never need again; his military robes. Shorter and close fitting, they did interfere with movements like normal robes and were enchanted to resist all but the strongest and darkest of magic.

He felt through the magic of Hogwarts, trying to find the direction of the disturbance echoing through the castle as he hurled through the castle at the speed of a man a quarter his age.

"Teams One through Three, search the staff tower. Four, reinforce Gryffindor watch. Five, Ravenclaw. Six, Hufflepuff. Seven, Slytherin. Eight, third floor. No student casualties allowed!"

Voldemort cursed his wardrobe as he sprinted for the portrait of the Fat Lady. Quirrell owned no combat robes so Voldemort had cut a normal pair at the shins. They didn't hinder his movements much, but they still flapped behind him and got in-between his legs. No matter, it would make no difference in the end.

Harry was reluctantly climbing back into the common room when Quirrell appeared at the end of the corridor, running as fast as he could.

"Gryffindor!" the woman yelled. "He's here!"

Quirrell's face contorted with rage and to Harry's shock he yelled "Avada Kedavra!" He barely ducked in time for the dreaded green curse to sail over his head into the empty common room.

The Hitwizards responded efficiently, one shooting high and the other aiming low. Quirrell deflected one spell and jumped over the other. He wordlessly closed the Fat Lady before Harry could climb back inside and locked it in place with a sticking charm.

The man conjured a whip of fire and lashed it at Quirrell while the woman cast several shields in front of Harry. Quirrell somehow caught the end of the whip on the tip of his wand and flicked it upwards. The man, his wand still connected to the other end of the whip, was flung into the ceiling with a sickening crunch and fell responseless to the ground. His hair was matted with blood.

A nasty looking sickly yellow spell was absorbed by the woman's robes as she went back on the offensive. "Man down," she said. "I repeat, man down."

Harry was huddled between the wall and the shield charms with no clue what was happening but surprisingly still in possession of his wits. His heart was pounding, his hands were shaking, spells were flashing, and portraits were screaming, but all of this felt muted. His mind was on his limited dueling training, looking for an opportunity to make some difference in the fight.

The woman sent a swarm of daggers at Quirrell, who calmly transfigured them into water, condensed it into a sphere, and sent the sphere at the woman's head. The woman attempted to banish it away, but the water surrounded her head. Unable to breath or move the water, eventually the woman would drown. Quirrell wasn't waiting that long.

As the professor drew his wand back for the killing curse, Harry remembered Sirius's advice that "indirect attacks can work best," and acted quickly. Peeking around the still active shields, Harry pointed his wand at the ground near Quirrell's feet and said "Bombarda." He had yet to manage much power in his blasting curse but it was enough to knock Quirrell off his feet. The enchanted stones of Hogwarts suffered no damage.

The woman took the opportunity to prevent her impending watery death as Quirrell rose back to his feet. Three more wizards in combat robes rounded the corridor at the end of the corridor, already shooting an assortment of red, blue, and orange spells. Quirrell filled the corridor with black smoke until Harry could barely see his nose. One of the spells shot from the other end of the corridor splashed against his protective shields but did not penetrate.

Although Harry couldn't see, he could still sense Quirrell's twisted dark aura. Pointing his wand at where he could feel it, Harry wished for the best and cast a severing curse. Abruptly he couldn't feel the American woman or one of the newcomers anymore. One died with a scream, the other silently. A spell hit Harry's ankle and he hit the floor with a scream. Heel bone stuck out through his skin.

The smoke was whisked away to reveal Dumbledore with perhaps a dozen Hitwizards behind him, more coming in. Harry saw his severing curse had indeed hit, cutting off Quirrell's left hand. He had cauterized the stump to stem the bleeding.

"What have you done to yourself Voldemort? You are weakened and facing impossible odds." Dumbledore said as an Arab looking man stepped forward to his side.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. This wasn't Voldemort, this was an insane Professor Quirrell.

Quirrell laughed. "Even in another's body, I am still a match for you old man. Your time is over."

"Not yet," Dumbledore said. Suddenly Harry understood. Voldemort had possessed Quirrell.

As two dozen wands cast simultaneous spells in his direction, Voldemort ignored them all and turned towards Harry.

Time slowed down as Voldemort lunged at Harry, the tip of his wand glowing green. In desperation, Harry reached for Voldemort's remaining wrist, trying to turn his wand before the spell could go off at point blank range. All stared in wonder and horror as his wrist turned to black ash and his wand clattered to the floor. Voldemort recoiled from Harry in shock and Dumbledore's curse decapitated him.

A shade, with a vaguely reptilian face very different from Quirrell erupted from the body with a scream. It flew directly towards Harry. The last thing Harry remembered as he blacked out was the agony in his ankle.

Dumbledore rushed towards Harry while a Hitwizard with a red cross next to the ICC emblem, a dual trained fighter and medic, ran out of the crowd as well.

Ahmed was the last person to step forward as the medic checked Harry's vitals. "I have failed my command."

The medic finished his initial checks. "His vitals appear stable," he concluded. "But he needs attention at a proper medical facility."

"You failed nothing," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort knew we were coming and surprised us. Ultimately, he failed."

"Sir," Ahmed said hesitantly. "What was that at the end?"

"I'm afraid I don't entirely know," Dumbledore said. "But I do know that Voldemort didn't die eleven years ago and he didn't die tonight. He isn't truly alive, but neither is he dead."

"So it isn't over?"

"It's over for tonight," Dumbledore said. "For now I must get Harry to a hospital and I believe you have families to write.

Line Break

"Damn it all, how could this happen Albus?" Fudge demanded. "How could a dead Dark Lord be teaching our youth in the very same building as you?"

"I don't believe I have ever said that Voldemort is dead," Dumbledore corrected.

Fudge shuddered. "Please, don't voice that infernal name."

"You will likely be hearing it more often in the future," Dumbledore said. "Years ago, I found evidence Voldemort had been in Spain and later Czechoslovakia but lost his trail there. It seems he was in Romania where Quirinus encountered him. I, and later young Harry, sensed something was wrong but he passed both my questioning and an inspection by your own Ministry. I suspect Voldemort was using subtle legilimency to keep questions away from sensitive topics."

"I told you not to say that blasted name!" Fudge pointed a finger at Dumbledore. "And don't you dare insinuate that part of this is my fault."

"I'm not," Dumbledore said placatingly. "Only remembering you that Voldemort is a clever man."

"So this report is true?" Fudge said pointing to Ahmed Al-Katib's official report. "You-Know-Who is alive? After you killed him for a second time."

"Voldemort isn't alive, any more than he is dead," Dumbledore explained. "Somehow he has locked his soul in a limbo in between. But he has neither his own body nor command of his full powers."

"How could he regain his body?" Fudge asked sharply.

"I do not know. I have told you the extent of my knowledge."

"So there is no way?"

"That I am aware of."

Cornelius Fudge was a man who was adept at hearing what he wanted to hear. "So he's trapped himself in a powerless state."

"Four elite Hitwizards are dead and another comatose while a student of Hogwarts lies unconscious," Dumbledore reminded the Minister. "That's not quite powerless."

Fudge frowned. "Yes, that matter needs attention. Can you vouch for the safety of Hogwarts any longer?"

"The students were protected during the entire operation," Dumbledore said. "Harry was only caught in the crossfire because he left dorms after curfew. Extra screening against any form of possession will be added into the application process of any potential staff. Current members will be screened too, though I expect no issues. Hogwarts is secure."

"Very well Albus. I want classes to resume as soon as possible. And the official story has been drafted up."

"Official story?" Dumbledore asked. "Lying to the public about this could have serious consequences."

Fudge waved his concerns away.

"I'll tell you what will have serious consequences; admitting to the public that a Dark Lord was teaching their children for over two months. Can you imagine? Hogwarts would be shut down."

"We have no proof that Voldemort ever taught a class," Dumbledore corrected. "It appears that the vast majority of the time, Quirinis was in control of his own body, and he never deviated from standard material."

"You think the parents will care?" Fudge asked. "They won't, so here's the official story. Quirrell's mind was addled by a spell misfire. You asked the Aurors to investigate and we they recommended taking him into custody we moved to do so. He went rogue during the operation and managed to Apparate to Hogwarts, where you unfortunately were forced to kill him for the safety of your students. Harry Potter heard a commotion and wandered into the middle of the fight. He'll be receiving an Order of Merlin Second Class for his actions. Say, why was he in the corridor anyways?"

"We don't know. The two Hitwizards stationed to guard the Gryffindor dorms are either dead or unlikely to awaken from a coma and Harry himself has yet to regain consciousness."

"When do the healers think he'll wake up? I'd like to talk to him myself," Fudge said.

"I don't think that would be wise so soon," Dumbledore said. "He just survived a traumatic experience and will need time to emotionally recover."

"Oh I don't want to interrogate him," Fudge reassured Dumbledore. "That's the job of the ICC and the Aurors. I just want to commend him for his bravery, wish him a speedy recovery."

Fudge was an experienced politician. No doubt he wanted Harry to talk to somebody that the Minister personally dropped by to check on him, giving Fudge a PR boost. But there was no harm in blocking a short conversation, nor a reason to deny it. "Very well. I shall inform your office when Harry is capable of seeing visitors."

"Good. Very good. And remember." Fudge tapped one of the papers on his desk. "This is all that gets out. The details are classified because they contain black magic. This is all the public needs to know."

Line Break

Sirius treasured his great sleeps right after he got off duty. Aurors were on duty for three, occasionally four, days at a time with flexible and sometimes scarce sleeping hours. So the first think he did once home again was sleep, sometimes for eighteen hours straight.

As Sirius stretched during his process of waking up, an owl hooted in his face. With a cry of surprise his eyes shot open and he jumped a foot away from the intruder.

The owl was bigger than most, a magnificent deep brown specimen. It had a letter with the Hogwarts seal in its beak.

Sirius grabbed the letter and the owl flew out the room while Sirius broke the wax. Seconds later he was hastily fumbling for his clothes before running to the Floo.

When Harry woke up, he didn't know where he was. "Oh thank Merlin," a voice to his right said.

"Thank the wonderful healers of St. Mungo's where you're at it," another voice to his left said. Both were familiar.

Sirius sat to one side of his bed, Dumbledore on the other. The walls were a sterile white and two more beds were to the right. A door was to the left.

"Where am I?"

"St. Mungo's," Dumbledore answered. "Adolf Cron's Ward of Dark Magic to be exact."

"Dark magic?" Harry said, alarmed. "Am I… infected or something?"

Sirius shook his head. "Two healers cleared you. You're fine."

Harry stretched his arms. "What happened? I remember waking up because Hogwarts was reeling from murders, and when I went outside Quirrell started attacking only he was Voldemort? And then he killed people and I cut off his hand and he hit my ankle. My ankle!" He pushed off the sheets to view his ankle. Everything looked and felt fine.

"Your ankle was an easy fix," Sirius assured him. "It shouldn't pain you."

"Well that's good. And then when I touched Voldemort-Quirrell his hand disintegrated and then somebody took his head off and I passed out."

"I can explain much," Dumbledore said. "Later you will need to explain in greater detail to somebody from Law Enforcement and the ICC."

"Why?"

Sirius took over here. "Because we have undeniable proof that… Voldemort isn't completely dead." He still hated saying that name. "We want to hunt him down."

"Harry, I have not been entirely truthful when I explained why you got early magic lessons," Dumbledore said. "My great concern was not Death Eaters but Voldemort himself. Before he was a Dark Lord, Voldemort was a powerful and ambitious student at Hogwarts named Tom Riddle. I knew Tom Riddle as well as any staff really did, in fact I was the one to inform him he was a wizard. I did not believe he would not have contingencies for death."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I believe he found a way to cheat death. I found evidence he escaped to the mainland but lost track of him. It appears he was in Romania when Quirrell went on vacation. Quirrell performed a ritual that allowed Voldemort's soul to use his body."

"So that's what was wrong with his magic! I was feeling Voldemort!"

"Yes. And to my great shame while I felt something was wrong I allowed Quirrell to remain at his post for two months. There was no precedent for a partially possessed teacher at Hogwarts."

"What was he doing at Hogwarts?"

"There is an artifact stored at Hogwarts that may allow him to recover most or all of his power." This was the first both Sirius and Harry had heard of this. "The troll was a distraction in a plan to steal this artifact. Luckily, Severus found Quirrell partway through the attempt and an investigation was opened. I was at Quirrell's house with a team of Hitwizards when he suddenly made a break for Hogwarts. Luckily, Hitwizards had been stationed in the castle as a precaution."

"Is this artifact stored near the Gryffindor dorms?" Sirius asked.

Harry snapped his fingers as he figured it out. "The forbidden third floor corridor."

"What forbidden corridor? There's nothing forbidden on the third floor."

"It was made off limits this year," Harry explained.

"I cannot comment on this," Dumbledore said evenly. Both Harry and Sirius got the point.

"That's several floors below Gryffindor," Sirius said. "Why was Voldemort there?"

"My working theory is that Harry was the target," Dumbledore said. "The Fat Lady was charmed shut and required several minutes to open. Voldemort targeted Harry despite knowing it would mean Quirrell's death."

"Why me? Why does Voldemort want me dead so bad?"

"It's time he knows," Sirius said. "An attempt was just made on his life "

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. I had hoped to give him longer but it appears not all situations are in my control."

"Know what? What did you hide from me?" Harry demanded.

"When Severus was still a Death Eater, he overheard part of a prophecy. The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord would be born as the seventh month dies to parents who had thrice defied him. There was more, but he was unable to hear it. Voldemort was a man who put great stock in obscure magic like prophecies."

"Prophecies aren't obscure," Harry said. "Divination is taught at Hogwarts."

"Divination rarely yields results. True prophecies are rarer and more accurate. But even a true prophecy is more likely to be self-prophetic than occur naturally."

"Huh?"

"Many prophecies happen because somebody believes it's true and fulfills them," Sirius said.

"If Voldemort hadn't tried to kill you, he wouldn't have died," Dumbledore said. "And you wouldn't have power over him."

"He disintegrated where I touched him," Harry recalled.

"Do you remember my theory about your mother's sacrifice?" Harry nodded. "That protection is in you still. Voldemort has defiled himself with hate and death. He cannot stand the touch of one marker by love."

"That's… kinda weird. So you've trained me to kill Voldemort?"

Sirius leaned forward. "Harry, if somebody else, anybody else can kill Voldemort for good, that's what I'd want. I don't want you to see him ever again."

"Neither of us do," Dumbledore said. "For all we know, the prophecy has already been fulfilled in its entirety. But Volemort obviously doesn't think so and wants to kill you specifically. So we will train you."

Harry didn't show much of the fear that the two adults expected from a first year. "Does this mean I don't need to go to classes anymore?"

"I have thought about this, Dumbledore said. "You are still required to attend two classes a day to interact with your peers. You may choose a third to practice what you wish. But, every spell you attempt must be approved by me."

It was less than he wanted, but more than he had. "Can I get more lessons with you?"

"In addition to your weekly occlumency lessons with Snape, you will have dueling lesson with McGonagall and Flitwick once weekly each if possible. Both are experienced." Sirius growled a little at the mention of Snape delving into Harry's mind but held his tongue. "I will make time when possible."

"Ok. That's a lot."

"Harry, I promised you would live to become a man after your parents died. I'm sorry it has come to this, but I mean to keep that promise."

"I'm not complaining," Harry said. "I want to learn more."

"Just take things slow right now," Sirius said. "Watching somebody die in front of you is a traumatic experience for most. Tell me if you ever want to talk."

"I will make myself available if needed as well," Dumbledore promised as he rose. "Right now, I need to find a replacement for Quirrell. Oh, and one last thing, Harry."

"What?"

"You receive the Order of Merlin, Second Class tomorrow."

Line Break

Harry and Hermione were alone in an old classroom. When Hogwarts had been founded, it was the only magical school in Britain, then England and Scotland before the union. As the six smaller schools eventually opened up, Hogwarts's student population dwindled and large parts of the castle were rendered obsolete.

"Aqua erupto!" Harry said grandly. A tiny trickle of water came out of his wand.

In the weeks since the whole Voldemort incident, several things had subtly changed. Even though most details were either hidden or given out as half truths, there was still enough for the students of Hogwarts, even the N.E.W.T students, to treat Harry with a generous amount of respect.

The other was that slowly Hermione started replacing Ron as his closest friend. Harry had a reinvigorated drive after his encounter with Voldemort and Hermione was the person who came the closest to matching him. When Harry went off to practice advanced magic, Hermione would follow him. Occasionally she succeeded in casting magic far above her level, most of the time she failed, every time she tried. Ron started finding things to do with Dean, or Seamus. It wasn't an intentional split, and the trio was still friendly. They just weren't always compatible.

"It's still more than I got," Hermione said. She checked her watch, a gift from her muggle parents. "And it's late. We need to head back if we want to make curfew."

"I'm going to stay a few minutes. Push it like always."

"Someday you're going to get caught, and Dumbledore can't help you then."

"Only if they run faster than me," Harry said with a cheeky grin.

Hermione shook her head. "Boys."

The smile fell off of Harry's face as she left. He only stayed for another few minutes, making no measurable progress. His knuckles ached from punching the doorway as he walked back.

Line Break

Sirius had to admit, Harry was thinking of everything. His latest letter inquired about the best place to buy some weights and recommendations for exercises to put on some muscle. The conveniences of magic made most wizards physically lazy, but as an Auror Sirius was subject to annual physical tests. He couldn't complain much; it made picking up girls easier.

Sirius picked up a quill and started writing down some basics.

Line Break

Harry seriously considered going back to sleep when his alarm charm went off. Outside, the fall night hadn't yet relinquished its hold on the Earth to the sun and a light early snow was falling. But the memory of Quirrell's face as Voldemort lunged forward to kill him got him up.

He put on his warmer robes and, as he walked out of the castle, several warming charms. It was six o'clock in the morning, well before most awoke and just after curfew ended.

Harry jogged through the snowflakes down to the shore of the Black Lake and there stopped for a breather. This was only his second such run and he didn't have very good stamina yet.

To distract himself from the cold and the ache in his legs, he thought about Voldemort. His jaw would always start to hurt whenever he thought long about the Dark Lord; Harry eventually realized it was anger.

Harry used that anger to fuel his motivation for early morning exercises. After breakfast he planned on skipping Charms that morning and use the weights Sirius had sent. A push for every upper pull, a lower hinge for every squat. He found the physical labor worked the anger out and replaced it with a satisfying ache throughout his body.

The anger came from the fact that the madman who killed his parents had avoided death in return and was now gunning for him. Neville had turned to fear after his parents were tortured. Harry didn't intend to follow his example.

Harry didn't care what Grandfather or Sirius said. When somebody killed Voldemort for the final time, he would be the one to do it.

Alright guys, didn't think I'd be posting for awhile but here we are.

I just want to clarify a few things that were brought to my attention about the chapter with Harry's money. One, I accidentally said 213 when I should have said 213,000. Second, I would like to clarify that like a normal bank, Gringotts doesn't keep all your deposited money on hand. Most of it is used for loans or investments. The artifacts and whatnot stored at Gringotts are kept in the vault, but not all of the straight money is. So while the Potter accounts have over a half a billions galleons in it, not all those gold coins are stored in the vault.

Also, did you like how I handled the Quirrell situation and Harry's reaction? A normal kid would be a little more traumatized, but Harry isn't exactly a normal kid. Till next time.