CHAPTER 4

11 July 1992 - Training Room, Potter Manor - 9:18AM

Jim collapsed tiredly against the floor, struggling not to wheeze from exertion. The three animated dummies he'd been fighting for the past hour retreated against the wall, becoming inert until he would have need of them again. Groaning from pain, he slowly made his way over to the rest station, where Gia had kindly set out bottles of ice-cold water, towels, and healing potions for him to utilize.

Internally thanking the elf's thoughtfulness, the Potter Heir eagerly gulped down two bottles of water, toweled off his face and shoulders, and swallowed down some pain-relief potion, sighing in relief when he felt it take effect. Sitting down on the bench, Jim uncapped and drank slowly from another bottle of water, taking to rubbing the cold bottle over his face to further cool off. With tired eyes, he took in the state of his makeshift gym.

It was a large fifty-by-fifty room right next to his bedroom, part of the four room-wing that comprised the Heir's Suite in Potter Manor. The eastern wall featured a massive bay window that allowed the sun to pour in unfiltered. The opposite wall was filled with multiple training dummies enchanted specifically for physical combat, like Taekwondo, kickboxing, jujutsu, and karate. The northern wall featured multiple sets of free weights, jump ropes, exercise balls, pull up frame and bar, a training bench, and a massive leather punching bag he'd be using later in the day. The opposite wall bore a massive darts board, with multiple small throwing knives already embedded in it (though many were off-center). A set of multiple additional knives framed the board, a few Jim had cajoled Gia (who doted on him) to charm into being… sharper. Magical orbs hanging from the ceiling provided illumination when it grew dark, preventing the room from becoming too gloomy and despondent.

'As if that would help any,' he thought ruefully, mouth twisted.

The Boy-Who-Lived had practically begged his father to agree to his gym room, after the older Potter had practically refused to get him any Occlumency and magical training.

'You're not ready' he'd said, having the temerity to look sorry all the while damning his own son to defeat. Jim snorted disdainfully. Not even after he had painstakingly explained to him just how Quirrell - who had actually been the Dark Lord's puppet - had violated his mind for months, reading his innermost thoughts while he'd been completely unaware. Then, the madman had psychically tricked him and his friends into a terrible trap that should have gotten them all killed.

And would have, if not for his brother risking his own life to overcome Quirrell. The same brother who Jim had spurned, maligned, and tried to humiliate, had ultimately come to his rescue (though Neville and Hermione had been his intended). Through a rather clever means of wit, magical ability, and sheer dumb luck, Harry had defeated the Dark Lord, succeeded where Jim had utterly failed. The-Boy-Who-Lived had failed in performing his duty, duty, he'd discovered, was prophetically destined to do.

The acrid taste of bitter irony lingered very heavily on his mind.

The mention of the dreaded p-word had caused Lord Potter to become even more obstinate in his refusal to provide Occlumency and necessary magical training. In fact, the two Potters had devolved into one of their first ever screaming match, with Jim having the final word: "Well if you aren't willing to make sure I can do my bloody Boy-Who-Lived job, I'll make damn sure to die properly when the Dark Lord finally finishes me off!"

Two days later, James had begrudgingly agreed to tell him the entire Sybil Trelawney prophecy, making Jim swear a Secrecy Oath to ensure that he wouldn't freely speak of it to anyone or have it pulled so easily from his mind. James had also agreed to physical training and converted the room adjacent to Jim's bedroom as the boy's own personal training room. Twice a week, Lord Potter would provide some magical tactical training, reviewing basic offense and defense spells with help of the enchanted training dummies. To Jim's shock, the man had even contacted a squib who owned a dojang - a Taekwondo training center - in London to come by twice a week to facilitate additional training. It seemed Jim's heated threats had shaken James to his core and forced the man into some useful action, though he still treated his heir like glass.

'But I still need to learn Occlumency,' thought Jim. Physical combat was good, but it wouldn't be enough to put off the Dark Lord should he attack him or his friends again. And Jim knew in his heart of hearts that the evil wizard would no doubt make another attempt on his mind and his life. He knew that Harry was already well-trained in Occlumency (Quirrell had practically gloated about it when he kidnapped them), and per his conversation with Harry in the Hospital Wing, Lily not only approved, but actively encouraged it.

Jim quickly blinked away thoughts of his mother. She'd been uncommonly kind to him once he'd awoken from his coma, asking him repeatedly if he was alright and making sure he was comfortable and generally well-accommodated while he and Harry finished recuperating in the Hospital Wing. She'd even hinted that he was free to send her a letter if he was ever so inclined, the hopefulness not hard to miss in her tone.

Jim hadn't completely written off the possibility.

For once, he imagined his (somewhat) estranged mother would make for much better adult company than his father, and would probably be willing to provide him with the resources he needed to learn Occlumency. Jim now knew the hard truth, and he also knew he'd need every available tool in his arsenal if he had any hope of defeating the Dark Lord.

With a sigh, he placed his water bottle down and adjusted his black sweat pants and gray tank top. He made his way over to the leather punching bag, reaching over to grab the tape he kept propped on the wall. Diligently wrapping a piece around each hand, he went through a series of stretches before he began his first set of reps hitting the bag.

Naturally his thoughts wandered in time with the rhythmic thumping of his punches and kicks. Ron had sent him four letters and he hadn't responded to a single one, too consumed by his own guilt and inadequacies to formulate a decent enough response for his best friend. His weakness had endangered his best friend's life, and he was surprised that Ron still wanted anything to do with him.

He deserved better.

Much better.

Better than being put into danger just for being the Boy Who Lived's friend.

Better than a self-entitled jerk who pushed everyone away with his childish actions.

Better than a gussied-up poster boy who was dragged to society events and having children's adventure books written about him.

Better than a failed hero who needed his little brother to come rescue him from his own stupidity.

Unbidden, Hermione Granger's snide words about Harry being the true Boy-Who-Lived bounced around in his mind, forcing him to strike the punching bag that much harder.

He'd find the courage to write to Ron later, perhaps during the weekend. He couldn't allow his own fears and shortcomings to be the reason he completely spurned his best friend. Ron deserved better, but he also deserved for Jim to give him an explanation as to what the hell was going on.

But now was not the time.

Now was the time to train.

To train to fight the Dark Lord.

Then ultimately kill him.

The Leaky Cauldron - Hogsmeade - 11:42AM

Draco slowly exhaled as he felt the Legilimens probe lift, internally pleased to see Mr. X give a soft nod of approval. He was having his weekly Occlumency session with Messrs X and Y Room 11 of the Leaky Cauldron, one of two heavily warded meeting rooms Lord Malfoy's solicitor kept on retainer specifically for private conferences such as this.

"Well done. Your shields maintained their integrity for the duration of that probe. Granted it was with a wanded Legilimency probe, but it demonstrates sound potential for the basis of undetected probing that we will cover in our future sessions. As per our last discussion, you will have your in-depth session with Mr. Z before your return to school, around the second or third week of August. You should be firmly a Level One by then, on the cusp of a Level Two."

Draco nodded at the lightly accented statement, trying (and once more failing) to gain a read on Mr. X. A Level Seven Occlumens and Legilimens, the man seemed stoically no-nonsense with no hint of emotion whatsoever behind his advanced Anonymous Glamor Charm, which rendered the man incredibly nondescript and average in looks.

"Sounds good, thank you. I look forward to our future sessions." Mr. X nodded in kind, before signaling for Mr. Y to come in and complete the necessary Memory Lock Charm.

The Charm was necessary to protect the integrity of each of his individual sessions, and as such had to be utilized per every single session for it to be effective. Looking up at the sound of the closing door, Draco nodded at the arrival of Mr. Y. A fifth-level Occlumens and also a licensed and bonded Obliviator who normally worked for the Ministry, but participated in these sessions in a freelance capacity, much like Mr. X. Like his professional companion, Mr. Y also utilized an advanced Anonymous Glamor Charm and was also extremely difficult to get a read on. The only thing Draco could glean was that he was uncommonly soft-spoken, his voice no more higher than a soothingly lilted whisper.

"Are you ready Mr. Malfoy?" At Draco's firm nod, the wizard went through the complex wand movements to complete the Memory Lock Spell.

The spell was an amalgamation of the Memory Charm and the False Memory Charm, an improved modification developed by the Ministry typically used for official government use. Learning the spell required a ministry license, along with swearing magical secrecy oaths to limit both casual use and teaching them to others who were not similarly licensed. The Charm could not be broken by any other means than a password, a phrase of some kind that would not be uttered in casual conversation, and one that would allow Messrs. X and Y to remember whatever parts of the session they were privy to.

It had initially all seemed heavy-handedly clandestine to Draco, but due to the sensitivity of the topic of mind arts training and the somewhat… sketchy legal gray area of the overall practice, the young Malfoy had grown to appreciate the hush-hush nature of it all.

More importantly, Father had stressed that as his heir, it was imperative to become at least a Level Two in order to be let in on all the secrets of House Malfoy. Draco was determined to not disappoint him.

Bidding the two men goodbye, Draco exited the room and ventured downstairs, pleased to see his father waiting for him at a small table near the Cauldron's entrance.

Lord Malfoy was impeccably outfitted in a sleek three-piece suit, topped with a richly brocaded wizarding cloak. Custom light gray leather brogues complimented his attire, paired with his sleek signature blonde locks styled into an elegant ponytail down his back. His signature walking cane was propped by his side, the emerald eyes of the silver python head gleaming. Lucius seemed to be reading through a small black notebook, eyes carefully roving each little word. Feeling his son's gaze, he looked up and granted Draco a small but warm smile, before tucking the notebook into his robe's pocket before grabbing his cane.

"Ready to go?" asked Lucius.

"Yes Father, all ready." Lucius nodded approvingly before placing his right arm around his son's shoulders to quietly guide him out through the bar's front entrance. Draco felt himself stand a little straighter at his father's ministrations, internally pleased at the positive attention. The young Malfoy could easily recall how desperately he'd yearned for his father's approval in his younger formative years.

While not overly effusive, Lucius had bestowed all of the proper affection on his son as was befitting a man of his station. He'd been the opposite to his mother's admittedly heavy-handed brand of affection that until recently, Draco had lavished in. The young Malfoy always got the impression that his father held a latent bit of disappointment in him, a fact that secretly hurt the little wizard (and, unknowingly to him) that his mother readily exploited to further strengthen her hooks into her son. But now that Draco was getting formal Occlumency and getting up to speed with formal heir training, Lucius was considerably more attentive to his son and rewarded him (when appropriate) with quiet praise for his son's burgeoning cunning and cleverness.

Draco found that he liked this kind of attention a lot more than Narcissa's.

Parked outside was a sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom VI, the noon sun gleaming off its glossed curved panels. Their trusty driver Wally Wimbles (a squib) immediately exited the driver's side upon their arrival, quickly and efficiently making sure they were seated and settled. Task complete, he walked back to the driver's side and very quickly got them on the road.

"So where are we off to today father?" Draco asked, quickly discarding his robe to reveal his 'blending in' clothes: a smart pair of deep blue trousers with a tan leather belt, baby blue long-sleeved polo shirt, and a white cashmere cardigan expertly draped over his shoulders. Custom velvet tan loafers adorned his feet, bearing small gold letters of his initials. Saturdays were their official 'father and son' days, where the two spent one-on-one time with each other doing some 'heir-related duties'.

"Well we'll be having lunch at Rules in Covent Garden to start. I assume you're quite hungry after your session, and I know you're quite fond of their fish pie and sticky toffee," Lucius said, smiling at Draco's pleased nod at the mention of his favorite comfort foods. "Excellent. Then we'll be off for a viewing at the Victoria and Albert museum for the remainder of the afternoon, followed by dinner at Le Gavroche. Severus highly recommended it, and I am in the mood for some lobster this evening."

Draco nodded, pleased with the day's itinerary. He recalled the first time his father had mentioned 'venturing' into the Muggle world; he'd been appalled at the suggestion, startled and a touch suspicious about his father wanting anything to do with muggles!

But his father's explanation had quickly sobered him up: "A Malfoy is always well-informed of the world around him, so that he may know which persons and which places to maximize his natural advantage. The muggle world not only lies adjacent to ours, but occasionally intersects with the arrival of muggleborns. Muggleborns who attend our schools and more often than not, become working members of our professional institutions. The nature of said intersection requires that we be thoroughly knowledgeable not only of their existence, but also of their non-wizarding way of life. Before the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy, our worlds were much more closely entwined, and it is necessary that we are well aware of the degree of our entanglement, even after all these centuries of our separation. Our lessers may be comfortable being blissfully ignorant, but Malfoys do not entertain such…lack."

Suffice to say Draco had been as properly chastised as he had been curious, and after the first few ventures, now looked forward to these trips. Muggle cuisine was surprisingly delicious, the clothing surprisingly well-made (with so much variety!), with a bevy of museums dedicated to showcasing muggle history and arts.

Draco had been fascinated to learn that there were quite a few esteemed members of old wizarding families who had also been muggle nobles! His father had painstakingly explained that many wizarding nobles had to renege upon their muggle titles once the Statute passed, leaving that side of their legacy to either fall into obscurity, or be assumed by close-living relatives. Draco had asked if there were any living muggle nobles who were related to the Malfoy family. To his surprise, Father had been…evasive.

Reclining back in his seat as the view pleasantly whizzed by, the young Malfoy wondered what his mother would think of all of this. Narcissa never shied away from her bigotry, bigotry she'd carefully drilled into Draco's head since he could crawl. The same bigotry up until the start of this year, Draco faithfully abided by and, had believed his father abided by as well. But after his disastrous murder attempt (he winced), failed blackmail attempt, and utter trouncing by Potter with the Hydra Throne (he shuddered), the young Malfoy was slowly but surely learning that his survival and success would not be found in espousing such bigotries.

'Besides,' he thought. 'What mother doesn't know can't hurt her.'

Baxter Residence - 4:39PM

Harry sighed contently while he floated in a pond, resting comfortably on some pool noodles that supported his body. The sun was still beaming, spreading a comfortable warmth over his sunscreen-covered face and body. A gentle breeze occasionally blew, rustling the leaves of the massive ash tree planted nearby, interspersed with the soft tittering of some birds that nested in the trees' canopy. It was so perfectly idyllic that Harry couldn't help but sigh once more.

He was currently attending a birthday party for Davy Baxter, muggle neighbor that resided in the non-magical part of the Burford community. Davy's mum Stella had crossed paths with Lily at their local grocery store in the winter of the previous year, where the two had seemingly hit it off. Dr. Stella Baxter was an Ancient History professor at Oxford University, one of the youngest of her year. Her specialty lay in ancient Egyptology, and a brief interlude in the checkout line had made quick friends of her and Lily Evans. As a three-time PhD graduate of the esteemed Muggle university, Lily was granted carte blanche to sit in on whatever lectures she desired. She'd taken full advantage and already sat in on a few of Stella's classes during some of her free Hogwarts' days, even going for coffee afterwards to discuss a myriad of academic (and personal) topics.

During one of their many chats, they'd discovered that they'd both had sons the same age born in the month of July who attended private boarding school (Lily hadn't mentioned Jim) and Stella had invited Lily and Harry to attend her son's twelfth birthday party in the summer. The two mothers had made sure to introduce their sons to each other once they were home for the summer holiday, and the two boys had hit off spectacularly over their mutual love of football, ice-cream, and Sherlock Holmes novels. For Harry especially, it was nice to make a friend his own age outside of his Hogwarts circle.

While his childhood had been a wonderful one, Lily had kept him fairly isolated from other children, a decision born of her admittedly paranoid protectiveness. Granted he could recall the very few times when he'd played with other children on the local playground and such, but being homeschooled by his mother and mentors, the brief friendships never evolved into anything more.

"Alright there mate?" asked Davy, who swam lazy circles around Harry while teasingly spitting out some of the pond water out of his mouth in his imitation of a whale. Laughing, Harry replied: "I'm doing quite alright mate, thanks for inviting me to your party!" Davy was a gangly ginger kid with a heavy smattering of freckles and bright red hair with tints of orange. His cheekily playful personality coupled with his appearance reminded Harry so much of the Weasley Twins (minus the juvenile pranking) that the young wizard sometimes wondered if they shared an unknown common ancestor.

As strange as the world was, Harry would not be surprised at all.

"I can't believe everyone else went inside so early, lame sods! Best time to swim if you ask me!" He rolled his eyes in the direction of his house, where Davy's eight attending friends were milling around after already swimming and playing water tag for the past hour. Sally, Georgette, and Mason were gathered around the food table helping themselves to a second slice of cake. Jeremy and Blake were having a handstand contest (Blake was losing), Theresa and Colette were playing a rather serious round of Patty Cake, and little Johnny (Davy's six-year old baby brother) was contentedly napping on a hammock tied between the two trees on the left side of the house. All of the present adults - Davy's parents, Theresa's parents, and Lily - were seated on the patio, sipping very diluted bellinis and playing bridge as they exchanged bits of conversation.

"Yeah, I'm glad you could make it! I still can't believe you lived so close to us and I just met you this year! Crazy mate!" Harry laughed in agreement. He'd already let Baxter know that he had been a bit of a sickly child, and his mother had kept him homeschooled for the bulk of his youth. His health had slowly but steadily improved, enough to be out and about much more frequently as of the last two years. Davy, as well as his parents, had accepted the well-crafted lie very easily.

"True enough, but there's no time like the present," Harry responded, cheekily wiggling his eyebrows while Davy chortled. The boy swam another lap or so before swimming to settle just about two feet away from Harry's side.

"I've been practicing holding my breath under water, wanna see?" Davy asked.

"Weeeeell that depends," Harry replied teasingly. "Just how long can you hold your breath underwater for, hmmmm?

Laughingly his friend replied: "Personal best is sixteen seconds, but I've been practicing and I reckon I can get up to twenty seconds. Better yet, I bet you I can." His brow went up challengingly, causing Harry to snicker.

"Alright then, twenty seconds, I'll keep count. If you can make it, I'll concede to your greatness oh mighty Davy Crockett!" Harry made small bowing motions with his arms slightly raised, causing Davy to cackle.

"Right then, you're on!" And with that, Davy took a big deep breath and dove headfirst into the water while Harry counted out loud. A few bubbles escaped at the ten second mark, but Davy did not come up for air.

"Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty two, twenty-three… twenty-four…twenty-five… um… Davy? Mate? You beat your personal best, you can come up for air now! Um, Davy?!" More bubbles suddenly escaped, startling the young wizard. With growing worry at his friend's unresponsiveness, Harry took a deep breath and plunged his head under the water.

He almost choked at the sight that met him.

A veritable horde of small, sickly green, humanoid creatures covered the panicked and struggling boy, trying to strangle the boy while viciously nipping at his skin with sharp menacing claws protruding from long wiry arms. A few were attempting to rip his face off with their razor-like teeth, and judging by the rapidly bleeding scratches and teeth punctures on his face, chest, and arms. There was a disturbingly large set of teeth punctures in his chest, and it was quickly losing a lot of blood.

'Grindylows?! What the bloody hell are Grindylows doing here?!'

This was bad, this was very very very bad. Grindylows were vicious carnivores that enjoyed human flesh, and it would take mere minutes before a swarm this large rendered Davy into chunks of flesh and sinew.

"HaAaArRryYy! HhEeLpP mMeEE!" Davy's gurgled screams alerted the fiendish Grindylows to Harry's presence. And to the young wizard's shock, every single one of the creatures whipped its head around to him. At the same time. And their already ferocious visages grew significantly more… feral.

'Shite.'

With that internal thought and no more time to spare, Harry immediately sprang to action. He pulled his head out of the water and took another huge breath, making sure to grab a pool noodle in each hand to use as a makeshift sword. 'If there was ever a time to have a wand,' he thought sardonically. Swimming with muggles meant he couldn't have his wand on his person without it being so obvious. The only one who did have a wand was his mother, but a rapid glance to the patio showed that she and Theresa's mother had gone inside to get more refreshments. Harry wasted another precious second to swear viciously at the horrible timing of it all. Then, he dove headfirst into the water.

A screeching quartet of Grindylows met him face first, leaving painful bloodied scratches on his face. With a mighty swing of his right pool noodle, he sent them scattering, all while struggling to hold his breath and kick with his legs. More descended upon him, attempting to rip off his glasses to scratch out his eyes. Immediately the anti-theft feature activated, sending a sharp ZAP! of electricity that sent them reeling and Harry crying (internally) in relief.

But of course, that wasn't enough.

The entirety of the horde was upon him now, biting and scratching his body with abandon. The pain was blinding; his flesh felt like it was on fire, every nerve-ending firing off at the same time with decapitating pain. Harry felt himself grow dizzy, and in a pique of terror, believed he was going to die. With the feeble vestiges of strength he still possessed, the young wizard swung his arms and legs viciously, trying (and failing) to get the vile little beasts away from his scratched and abused flesh as the creatures rendered his pool noodles to shreds.

But his movements soon grew lethargic as he felt unconsciousness creep in, the edge of his vision slowly blackening due to his injuries and general lack of oxygen.

Expelling precious bits of air he bellowed: "DaAAavy! GgEeTt OoOuTtT OF HeEeRre!"

But his gurgled scream fell on deaf ears; the bleeding boy was unconscious, slowly sinking to the bottom of the pond while crimson tendrils of his blood swirled macabrely around him. With strength he didn't know he possessed, the young Potter kicked as hard as he could to reach his friend, even as the Grindylows continued to attack his body.

Blindly grabbing, Harry felt for Davy's arm, and with a desperate "GoOo UuUP!" a burst of his dwindling magic propelled the boy's body straight out of the water and (hopefully) onto dry land.

Multiple spindly arms enclosed on Harry's neck, strangling him in earnest as he began choking, aspirating murky pond water into his lungs. In his increasing delirium, he felt the beasts painfully rip off pieces of his flesh from almost every inch of his body, releasing more of his blood into the water. The horror and agony of the moment finally sent the young wizard into shock, just on the cusp of unconsciousness. The last sensation he felt was a burst of powerful magic cocooning him, stunning and repelling the Grindylows in kind.

Then, Harry Potter knew no more.

AN 1: Death by Grindylow, pretty clever and suitably outrageous plan on Narcissa's behalf!

AN 2: I love snobby/posh Lucius. PoS Lucius has always struck me as an elitist who considers himself above most (if not all) of his pureblood peers. Not by virtue of being a Malfoy per say, but by virtue of being Lucius - Prince Emeritus Extraordinaire who successfully schemed his way into the Malfoy Lordship right under his father's and brother's noses (more on that later). I am definitely curious to explore his muggle interests, and how that ties in with his 'Vision' that allowed him to claim the Hydra Throne.